#Modern interview attire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsfancyferrari · 8 months ago

Text

Wild Imagination

Summary: You were just an interviewer for the Met Gala when you were able to meet the Sir Lewis Hamilton

Song: Brent Faiyaz - ALL MINE

Part 2

Author’s note: Longest story I've ever written! Comment if you want a part 2! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 20.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the bustling streets of New York City, you found yourself standing outside the iconic Metropolitan Museum of Art, the venue for the illustrious Met Gala.

The air was thick with anticipation, and the excitement was palpable as celebrities and fashion icons prepared to make their grand entrances. As an interviewer for the event, you was tasked with capturing the essence of the night, and your own attire was a reflection of the glamour surrounding you.

You glanced down at your dress, a stunning creation that seemed to shimmer under the city lights. The fabric was a deep midnight blue, reminiscent of a starry sky, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that traced delicate constellations across the bodice.

The gown flowed elegantly to the floor, with a subtle train that added an air of sophistication. As you adjusted the delicate straps, you felt a sense of confidence wash over yourself.

“Wow, you look incredible!” exclaimed your colleague, Sarah, as she approached you with a camera in hand. “That dress is absolutely perfect for tonight!”

“Thank you!” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. “I wanted something that would stand out but still feel elegant. The theme this year is ‘In America: A Lexicon of Fashion,’ so I thought a classic silhouette with a modern twist would be fitting.”

Sarah nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You definitely nailed it. I can’t wait to see the reactions when you interview the stars. They’re going to love your look!”

As we made our way toward the entrance, the sound of flashing cameras and excited chatter filled the air. The atmosphere was electric, and you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

We approached the red carpet, where a line of glamorous attendees awaited their moment in the spotlight.

“Remember to ask them about their outfits!” Sarah reminded me, adjusting her camera settings. “Fashion is the heart of this event.”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your mind racing with questions. “I want to know what inspired their looks and how they interpret the theme.”

You had just finished getting your makeup touched up, the final brush strokes adding a touch of glamour before you stepped into the whirlwind of the Met Gala again.

Surprisingly, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. The thought of interviewing celebrities didn’t make your heart race; instead, you found comfort in picturing them as ordinary individuals with extraordinary talents.

“Just remember to smile and engage with the celebrities,” your manager, David, instructed, his tone a mix of seriousness and playful urgency. “I’m counting on you to shine tonight. A stellar performance could mean a nice little bonus for me.”

“Sure thing, David,” you replied, glancing at your phone, half-listening as you mentally prepared for the night ahead.

“Good! Now go out there and do whatever it takes to go viral—even if it means flirting a little,” he added with a wink before striding out of the room, leaving you to gather your thoughts.

As you stepped into the bustling atmosphere of the gala, the lights sparkled like stars, and the air buzzed with excitement. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that these celebrities were just people, albeit with a flair for the dramatic.

You spotted a familiar face in the crowd—Naomi Elaine Campbell.

Summoning your courage, you approached her. “Hi Mrs. Campbell! I’m here with Buzz Feed. Can I grab a quick chat with you?”

The model turned, her smile brightening the room. “Of course! I love your work. What do you want to know?”

You felt a rush of adrenaline as you began the interview, asking about their latest project and what inspired them. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying the exchange.

“By the way,” you said, leaning in slightly, “I’ve heard you’re quite the dancer. Any chance we’ll see you on the dance floor tonight?”

She laughed, a warm, infectious sound. “Only if you join me! I could use a partner who knows how to keep up.”

You grinned, feeling the energy of the moment. “Challenge accepted! But only if you promise to show me some of your moves.”

As the night continued, you mingled with more stars, each interaction building your confidence. You remembered David’s advice and made sure to smile, engage, and even throw in a playful flirt here and there.

“Hey, you’re really good at this!” a young reporter remarked as you both took a break from the chaos. “You’ve had to be doing for years now, you're such a professional!"

You smiled shyly at the reporter, "Just because I sound professional doesn't mean I'm not nervous to meet someone big like Naomi Campbell,"

"You were?" the reporter looked surprised.

"Of course I was, she's one of my biggest idols yet I kept my cool and spoke calmly, my mom always used to say 'treat celebrities like normal people with extraordinary abilities,"

David's voice crackled in your earpiece, urgent yet calm. "Y/N, you need to come back. More people are arriving."

You smiled at the young reporter, wrapping up your conversation. "Thanks for the chat! I hope to see you around soon." She waved goodbye as you turned to head back to your post.

As you mingled with other celebrities, the conversations felt surface-level, lacking the depth you craved. Perhaps it was because you didn’t know much about them, or maybe the atmosphere was just too frenetic.

Then, out of the crowd, you spotted him—Sir Lewis Hamilton, looking dapper in a suit tailored just for him. Your heart raced; you knew you had to find a way to speak with him.

To your surprise, after a few brief exchanges with others, he locked eyes with you. It was as if the world around you faded, and he began walking in your direction.

Panic bubbled up inside you, but you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed.

"Well, if it isn't Sir Lewis Hamilton," you said, trying to keep your voice steady and a hint flirty. "We were all looking forward to your arrival this evening, and I must say, you look incredibly handsome in that suit."

Lewis flashed a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Thank you, Mrs. Y/N L/N. I'm delighted to finally meet you tonight. You look absolutely ravishing, as always."

You were taken aback. He knew your name?

The thought sent a thrill through you. "I’m flattered, really. I didn’t expect to be recognized by someone as renowned as you."

He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. "I’ve heard a lot about you. Your work is impressive, and I admire your passion."

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment. "That means a lot coming from you. I’ve followed your career for years. Your dedication to racing and your advocacy off the track is truly inspiring."

Lewis nodded, his expression sincere. "Thank you. It’s important to me to use my platform for good. Speaking of which, I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the initiatives you’re involved in."

You felt a rush of excitement. This was the deep conversation you had been longing for.

"Well, I’m currently working on a project for sustainability in sports. It’s a challenge, but I believe we can make a significant impact."

He listened intently, his interest evident. "It’s all about how we can reduce our carbon footprint and promote eco-friendly practices within the industry."

Lewis listened intently, his interest evident. "That’s fantastic! Sustainability is such a crucial topic, especially in motorsport. I’ve been trying to advocate for greener technologies in racing yourself. It’s a challenge, but it’s necessary."

You nodded, feeling a connection forming. "Exactly! It’s about finding innovative solutions and inspiring others to join the movement. I believe that if we can get more athletes on board, we can make a real difference."

He smiled, his enthusiasm infectious. "I’d love to collaborate on something. Maybe we could organize an event or a campaign together? It would be amazing to combine our efforts."

Your heart raced at the thought. "That would be incredible! I’d be honored to work with you. We could reach so many people and raise awareness."

As you spoke, the noise of the event faded into the background, and it felt like it was just the two of you in that moment. Lewis leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

"You know, I’ve always believed that passion is contagious. When you’re passionate about something, it inspires others to feel the same way."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I completely agree. It’s what drives me every day. And I can see that same passion in you, not just for racing but for making a difference."

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "It’s what keeps me motivated, especially in a sport that can sometimes feel so disconnected from the real world. We have a responsibility to use our influence wisely."

Just then, David’s voice crackled in your earpiece again, pulling you back to reality. "Y/N, are you there? We need you back at the main stage."

You sighed, knowing you had to leave this captivating conversation. "I’m sorry, but it looks like I have to go. Duty calls."

Lewis's face fell slightly, a flicker of disappointment evident in his eyes. "I get it. But let’s make sure this isn’t our last conversation. I’d love to pick up where we left off."

He reached for your hand, gently brushing his knuckles against yours. "I hope so," you replied, a mix of hope and regret in your voice.

As you turned to leave, the bustling sounds of the event faded into the background, but the warmth of Lewis's touch lingered. You could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, and it made your heart race.

"Y/N!" David's voice broke through your thoughts again, more insistent this time. "We really need you here!"

You took a deep breath, glancing back at Lewis, who was watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "I’ll be back," you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if the cosmos conspired against you that night, weaving a tapestry of misfortune that seemed almost deliberate.

The moment you finally stepped onto the red carpet, the atmosphere was charged with excitement, but the spotlight had already shifted, leaving you in its wake.

Lewis had already slipped away, retreating to the comfort of his home, far from the chaos of the event.

"I can't believe I was too late to talk to him again," you muttered to yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface like a pot about to boil over.

After all, who would wait around for an interviewer when the allure of a quiet evening beckoned?

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the disappointment that clung to you like a shadow, as you mingled with the remaining stars who lingered for the after-party, their laughter echoing in the air like a bittersweet melody.

The atmosphere was electric, a vibrant tapestry woven from laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft hum of conversation.

You found yourself chatting with a dazzling array of celebrities, each one more captivating than the last, their stories and charisma drawing you in like moths to a flame.

As the night wore on, the excitement began to wane, and exhaustion settled in like a heavy fog.

The vibrant conversations around you started to blur, and you exchanged goodbyes with your team, their faces a mix of smiles and understanding.

Yet, your mind still wandered back to thoughts of Lewis, the insights you could have gleaned more from him.

"I really wanted to talk to him more," you sighed, glancing back at the vibrant scene one last time, the lights twinkling like stars in a night sky.

"Maybe next year," one of your colleagues reassured you, clapping you on the shoulder.

With a heavy heart, you stepped out into the cool night air, the thrill of the evening overshadowed by the lingering sense of what could have been. . . .

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Following the Met Gala, your encounter with Lewis Hamilton captured the public's attention, ultimately granting David the boost he had been hoping for—a raise, thanks to the newfound recognition his employee brought to the team.

The buzz surrounding your interaction was undeniable, and it seemed to elevate everyone's profile in the process.

Your thoughts, however, remained fixated on Lewis.

Intrigued by his world, you delved into the realm of Formula 1, immersing yourself in the races whenever your work schedule permitted.

The thrill of the sport captivated you, and you found yourself eagerly anticipating each event, drawn in by the excitement and the sheer talent on display.

The desire to attend a Grand Prix and witness Lewis in action grew stronger, yet your job constraints stood in the way.

The longing to experience the adrenaline of the race and cheer for him from the stands was palpable, but the demands of your career made it a distant dream, leaving you to navigate the balance between work and your newfound passion.

You just hoped that you would be able to see him soon or at next year's Met Gala and speak to him if he hasn't forgotten about you already. . . .

The year had dragged on, each day blending into the next, and here you were, still in the same position at work.

But this time, there was a twist: you had been chosen to attend the Met Gala again.

Your company had gone all out, pouring resources into crafting the perfect dress, all in hopes that you might cross paths with Lewis Hamilton again.

They were determined to make a lasting impression, especially after the unexpected chemistry that had sparked between you two the previous year. Yet, despite the excitement surrounding the event, you couldn’t shake the feeling of caution.

You reminded yourself not to get your hopes too high.

As the night of the gala approached, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the intricate details of your gown. The fabric shimmered under the light, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

“What if I see him?” you whispered to yourself, imagining the possibility of a second chance.

But then, a wave of doubt washed over you. “What if he doesn’t remember me?” you sighed, trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach.

You had replayed the moments from last year in your mind countless times, but the reality of the situation felt daunting.

Finally, the night arrived, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. As you navigated through the crowd, your heart raced at the thought of encountering Lewis again.

As you saunter through the bustling atmosphere of the Met Gala, your senses are alive with the vibrancy of creativity, fashion, and the hum of whispered conversations.

With a strategic focus on reconnecting with familiar faces and unearthing new celebrities, you interview designers, actors, and musicians, soaking in the anecdotes that dance on the tips of their tongues.

The glittering spectacle before you, adorned with high fashion and mesmerizing artworks, seamlessly blends creativity with prestige, encapsulating the very essence of the gala.

After immersing yourself in discussion after discussion, you finally take a moment to step back from the whirlwind of interviews. The moonlight spills through the glassy high-rise windows, casting a magical glow throughout the venue, offering you a fleeting glimpse of solace amidst the chaos.

Yet, just as the weight of the evening begins to settle on your shoulders, a voice, smooth and teasing, pierces the ambient noise.

"Well hello, Mrs. L/N. I hope you didn't forget about me," the voice calls out playfully from behind you, sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

You pivot on your heels, your heart racing, to find Lewis Hamilton leaning against the elegant marble pillar just a few feet away, a devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

His tailored suit catches your eye immediately—a striking ensemble that marries classic style with modern flair. The deep emerald green fabric clings just perfectly to his athletic frame, the subtle sheen giving way to intricate patterns of silver-thread embroidery that weave through the fabric like a secret, shimmering constellation.

His shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, reveals just a hint of a crisp white undershirt, and the tailored trousers elongate his legs, finishing just above a pair of polished black brogues that gleam under the soft lighting.

"Of course not! How could I?" you respond, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you fully face him, memories of last year’s awkward encounter rushing back to the forefront of your mind.

It slips from your tongue before you can filter it: "I feel like I should apologize for what happened last year."

The lightness in the air shifts, as the shared past hangs momentarily between you like an unspoken agreement, a reminder of the unfulfilled promise of time spent together amidst the glamour.

Lewis, perceptive as ever, leans slightly closer, the teasing spark in his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"You should," he replies lightly, a playful lilt in his voice that somehow manages to mask the slight edge of disappointment beneath.

"I dutifully waited for you for hours until my manager dragged me out," he teases, the warmth of his laughter wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

It's almost charming how he knows exactly the right buttons to push to evoke a blend of guilt and flattery within you, and as you meet his gaze, you feel partially exposed yet undeniably captivated by his charm.

The acknowledgment of that missed connection lingers in the air, juxtaposed against the festive backdrop of the gala, only intensifying the electric undercurrent of this reunion.

Desiring to ease the slight weight of remorse that his words brought upon you, you ponder for a moment, your mind racing to find a way to make it up to him.

"Is there a way to repay you?" you ask, a trace of shyness coloring your voice.

The question hangs between you, a delicate bridge inviting the possibility of rekindling what could have been, or perhaps igniting something entirely new.

Lewis glances at you, his smile broadening as if your inquiry brings a glimmer of hope, leaving you momentarily suspended in anticipation of his response.

"Maybe you can come support me in my home race?" he suggests, a hopeful grin lighting up his face, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as they glint like the glimmer of city lights outside.

Imagining the energy of the crowd and the thrill of the race makes your heart race as well, a promise of shared excitement glowing in the air between you.

The notion dances between you like an apparition, stirring both delight and trepidation as you weigh the spontaneity of joining him at such an exhilarating event.

In that moment, everything outside your immediate exchange blurs away, fading into a mere backdrop to this connection that seems to widen with every heartbeat, every shared glance.

Encouraged by the mutual thread of interest, you take a breath, aiming to find the right words to capture the mix of excitement and nerves that flutter within you.

"I'd love to do that, Lewis," you reply earnestly, letting the natural enthusiasm in your voice spill forth.

"Good, because I really wasn't ready to get rejected in front of national television," Lewis says with a playful chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You almost forget that you are sitting surrounded by cameras and a live audience, as the warmth of his personality envelops you. The realization washes over you, pulling you back to the present—a stark reminder of the interview’s stakes.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the lightness that Lewis brings shifts the atmosphere entirely.

His ability to make you feel at ease is admirable, reminiscent of a good friend rather than a celebrity caught in the relentless spotlight of fame.

At that moment, you feel a twinge of guilt for your initial intentions, which were focused solely on extracting professional insights for your audience.

However, it’s hard to resist the magnetic pull of this engaging banter—dare you say, it’s not only entertaining but also enlightening in its own right.

"Oh my gosh, I forgot this was being recorded," you exclaim, shock radiating across your face as you instinctively cover your mouth, stifling a laugh.

You glanced nervously at the cameras, suddenly aware of the audience who is watching you in real time, likely captivated by the unexpected turn the interview has taken.

Lewis's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious, easing the tension that had begun to creep back into the room. You can’t help but join in, the rhythmic cadence of his joy sweeping you back into the moment.

In the midst of the laughter, you suddenly remember your earpiece, which had fallen silent during your break from obligations.

When you pop it back in, the first sound you hear is David's irate voice cutting through your bubble of enjoyment, chiding you for being unprofessional.

You yank it out again, a frown furrowing your brow as frustration surges within.

Who needs a producer barking orders when you're in the middle of something special?

Perhaps today needs to be more about being present in the moment rather than sticking rigidly to a script. The mention of professionalism seems a distant concern, a faint echo overshadowed by the authentic experiences happening right in front of you.

You’re ready to take ownership of your interview and allow it to unfold in a way that feels honest and true, something organic that resonates with both you and the audience watching from their living rooms.

The lights in the lavish venue dimmed slightly, casting a warm glow over the crowd as the murmurs faded into anticipation. The announcement echoed through the hall, calling all the celebrities to the main hall for a special presentation.

As the excitement buzzed around you, you felt a familiar pang of disappointment wash over you at the thought of leaving the company of Lewis.

His cocoa brown eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still. "I guess they really know how to kill a moment, huh?" Lewis said with a cheeky grin, his fingers brushing against yours.

You could feel a warmth creeping up your cheeks, and you downplayed your shyness with a small laugh.

“I was really enjoying just… this," you admitted, gesturing between the two of you. "Don’t you think they could have waited a bit longer?”

Lewis chuckled softly, his demeanor effortlessly charming. "If only they listened to us, right?" He paused, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Then, with great care, he took your hand and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles, reminiscent of last year’s memorable encounter.

The sweet gesture made your heart flutter, igniting a mix of shyness and excitement that left you breathless.

“Lewis…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

With a teasing wink, he pulled away slightly and reached into his pocket. “Before they whisk me away, I have something for you.”

He produced a small piece of paper and leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “It has my phone number on it. I’ll need to send you the tickets for the race.”

Your heart raced. “Tickets for the race? Wait, you were actually serious?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to miss it. But… I might need a bit of company if you’re up for it,” he said, an inviting smile spreading across his face.

You felt an elated rush, realizing just how much this meant. “Lewis, I would love that. I’ve been wanting to see you at the races.”

“Good. Then it’s a date,” he said playfully, his tone shifting back to the more teasing side of him.

He leaned in again, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell anybody else, alright? I have a reputation to maintain.”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection. “Your secret’s safe with me! Just promise you won’t forget to text me.”

“I could never forget someone like you,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with sincere intensity.

You felt like you might burst from happiness.

Just then, the staff made their way toward you, nipping at the edges of your time together. Lewis took a step back, and the moment felt almost surreal.

He let go of your hand slowly, but not without lingering for a moment longer.

"Goodnight, Gorgeous." He said for only you to hear and grinned happily after your embarrassed reason.

You smiled saying your farewell before watching him turn back to the group gathering for the announcement.

You stood frozen, clutching the piece of paper, which felt like a small treasure in your hand. His number was your connection to a world you desperately wanted to be part of.

As you turned toward the camera, your face lit up with a mixture of surprise and glee, capturing the whole moment, you heard the voice of the host spilling out instructions for the event ahead.

You took a deep breath before speaking directly into the lens, the joy radiating from you unmistakable.

“So, looks like we’ll have some exciting plans coming up, folks! Stay tuned for my next race adventure with the Lewis Hamilton!”

With that, you ended the recording, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of emotions.

You glanced back, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him before he disappeared into the crowd, grateful for the serendipitous moment that brought you two together, albeit briefly, in the enchanting ambiance of the evening.

As you stepped out of the cool cascade of the shower, droplets glistening on your skin like tiny jewels, the atmosphere of the Met Gala still danced in your mind—a swirl of vibrant colors, laughter, and the intoxicating scent of sophistication.

You could still feel the weight of the glamorous gown clinging to your skin, a silken reminder of the enchanting evening spent amidst the brilliant and the bold.

Your heart fluttered as you sank onto the plush hotel bed, the soft sheets enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort.

This was the moment you had been waiting for, a delightful collision of excitement and anxiety, as your fingers nervously hovered over your phone.

After a deep breath, you checked for notifications and instantly spotted it—the notifications of the interview you had with Lewis Hamilton, his striking presence still echoing in your thoughts, his laughter resonating like a gentle melody.

Suddenly, in the ongoing reverie, a flutter of memory came rushing back, the way a gust of wind lifts scattered autumn leaves in a jubilant dance.

You could still picture the slick piece of paper he had handed you so casually, his fingers lingering a beat longer than necessary. It seemed so innocuous at the time—a simple slip of white with ink scrawled across it.

But the implications of that note buzzed loudly in your heart. He had mentioned his number, and despite the whispering doubts that David, your manager, planted in your mind, a seed of hope took root.

David's voice echoed menacingly: "Lewis Hamilton is doing all this to seem like a gentleman for the camera and to get more recognition, don’t think for a second that he actually likes you."

The warning replayed in an endless loop, threatening to cage your heart in cautious realism.

With shaking hands, you unfolded the paper, allowing the dim light of the room to illuminate the numbers scrawled across the page.

It was real. There it was, a string of digits that could unlock a connection or forever remain dormant within the realm of what-ifs.

Sitting there, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, adrenaline surged through you.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, your eyes roaming the room—the opulent furnishings, the soft glow from the chandelier casting a romantic hue.

The allure of possibility mingled with your sense of self-preservation, and with a final resolve, you glanced at your reflection in the nearby mirror.

You looked stunning—and vulnerable.

It was time. In that instant, the logic of David's words fell away, leaving only the heart's whisper urging you forward.

You reached for your phone, fingers trembling as they danced across the screen, dialing the number that Lewis had provided.

Each ringing beep felt like a heartbeat, echoing loudly in the silence of the hotel room, rhythmically marking the passage of time laden with potential.

When the line connected, your heart raced, echoing in your ears as you swallowed hard against a wave of emotion.

"Mr. Hamilton?" you ventured tentatively, every syllable laden with weight, aware that the man on the other end could change everything in an instant.

An electric pause settled in the air before the sound of his laughter broke through, smooth and teasing, engulfing you like warm summer rain.

“Y/N, you don’t have to be so formal, there’s no cameras here,” he quipped, the intimacy of his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Those words settled comfortably in your thoughts, breaking down the walls you had so carefully erected. Suddenly, your fears seemed trivial in contrast to the warmth radiating through the phone, infusing your evening with a touch of magic.

The rhythm of your heart settled into a new cadence, emboldened by his playful demeanor. “So, are you still riding high from the Met Gala, or is it just a distant daydream now?” he asked, his voice dancing along with understated charisma.

A giggle slipped past your lips before you could catch it, the sound bubbling with shared memories and possibilities. “I think I might still be in shock,” you replied, the honesty of your words spilling out effortlessly.

“It was as surreal as I imagined, except I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”

The connection felt raw and real—two souls uncovering potential amid elegant facades.

The conversation shifted effortlessly, weaving through laughter and shared dreams, as the moments stretched on, elongating time with each heartbeat that harmonized between you.

“So, about you coming to Silverstone to support me?” Lewis asked, his voice laced with a blend of curiosity and anticipation, sending a flutter through your heart.

You could almost picture that trademark smile of his, bright and infectious, the kind that made everything come alive around you.

His enthusiasm felt palpable, radiating through the phone, and you couldn’t help but huff a soft laugh, “Lewis, you really weren’t joking about you being there.”

It was almost absurd how serious he could be, yet here he was, weaving dreams of shared moments at the iconic racetrack, where the roar of engines mingled with cheers, and everything about racing seemed to spiral under the spotlight of your connection.

You admired his earnestness, how he effortlessly broke through the invisible barriers you had built around yourself, prodding at your heartstrings like an artist with a canvas.

“Of course not, I really want you to be there for me.” His words tumbled out so simply, yet they carried the weight of a thousand sentiments, causing warmth to blossom in your chest.

The flustered smile creeping onto your face could easily rival the glow of the sun itself, and you found solace in the fact that this was merely a voice call — nobody could see the way your cheeks burned at his declaration.

It was frustrating how quickly he could spin you into a whirlwind of feelings, leaving you breathless.

“I don’t know, Lewis, my work is very demanding and the income isn’t good enough to take a trip…” you replied hesitantly, a shadow of self-doubt creeping in.

You cursed yourself internally, lamenting over the constraints of your mundane job, longing for the freedom to jet off at a moment’s notice and bask in the thrill of England’s racing scene.

“Is that it? If that’s your only problem, then I can definitely sort something out,” Lewis said with unyielding assurance, his charm scrubbing away the veil of uncertainty clouding your thoughts.

His confidence made you pause, the wheels of your imagination racing.

It was surreal to think that Lewis Hamilton, the very face of resilience and determination in the racing world, was willing to go out of his way for you.

“Lewis…” you began, almost overwhelmed by the thought of him putting in so much effort on your behalf, unsure whether to be flattered or simply dazed by the enormity of the offer.

“Y/N, you just have to agree to come with me, and I’ll do the rest,” he reassured, the confidence in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You couldn’t help but think that this might be a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the kind that stories are made of. Of course, you wanted to be there.

The thought of cheering him on, of sharing the adrenaline rush as he raced across the track, filled you with excitement. Yet, skepticism still lingered in your mind like a faint cloud.

You paused to ponder, “Is there a catch?” you asked, a glint of suspicion dancing in your voice despite the eagerness bubbling beneath it.

After all, magical opportunities often came with strings attached, or at least that was what your cautious heart believed.

Lewis laughed, the sound a soothing balm that seemed to wash away your hesitation. “I don’t think there is, unless making a beautiful woman fly over to England for you is a crime,” he replied teasingly, and you put your hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh while also trying to hide the giddy embarrassment swelling within you.

How could one man be both charming and utterly disarming?

His words dripped with sweetness as if he were seasoned in the art of affection, and you found yourself fighting a battle against your own defensiveness, the walls beginning to crumble at the sheer conviction in his voice.

“Okay, I accept your offer, Lewis,” you finally said, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you as the words flowed freely, like a torrent finally breaking through a dam.

You knew that this decision could change everything; it felt like a leap of faith that could lead to a world woven together by racing and shared dreams.

“Great! I’ll start getting your paddock pass ready for you,” he exclaimed, happiness echoing in his voice like a song, and you could almost visualize the way his eyes lit up, brimming with enthusiasm that could spark any dormant ambitions. . . .

The excitement in the air was palpable as you packed your suitcase, the warm glow of anticipation wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Lewis had called you just three days prior with the news that he would be flying you out to England on Thursday.

"You deserve a little adventure," he had said, his voice cheerful and encouraging. "Plus, I can’t wait to show you around."

"We'll have plenty of time to explore," you had replied, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, but your heart raced at the thought of spending time with him.

The days rolled by in a blur, but Lewis kept you connected through our daily conversations.

"I just boarded my flight!" he texted one morning. you could almost hear his laughter through the screen as you pictured him boarding with his signature style.

Each update from him painted a vivid image—how he texted you from the paddock to show off his team outfit, a tailored suit that clung perfectly to his frame.

"Looking sharp as ever!" you texted back, your heart fluttering at the thought of our video calls, where we’d share laughs and glimpses of our lives, albeit from a distance.

Lewis had a twinkle in his eye as he held up his phone, the screen lighting up with your curious face. "I have someone who wants to meet you, Y/N," he announced suddenly one day, his voice brimming with excitement.

You were lounging on your bed, propped up on your elbows, intrigued by what he had in store.

"Who is it?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued as you leaned closer to the screen, eager to see what was coming next.

As Lewis adjusted the camera, it shifted downward, revealing the floor of his apartment. Suddenly, you heard the soft patter of tiny paws, and before you knew it, a bulldog strutted into view.

He seemed oblivious to the camera at first, but you couldn’t help but call out to him.

"Roscoe!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with warmth.

The moment he heard his name, the big pup spun around, his tail wagging furiously as he searched for you.

In the background, you could hear Lewis encouraging him, "Look at the phone, buddy!"

When Roscoe finally caught on, he erupted into a joyful bark, his tongue lolling out as he playfully licked the screen.

"Someone's excited to see me! It's you, Roscoe, such a good boy!" you laughed, your heart swelling with affection for the adorable dog.

The connection felt instant, as if you were already friends, and you couldn’t help but smile at the delightful scene unfolding before you.

Lewis watched with amusement, clearly enjoying the bond forming between you and his beloved pet.

"Are you sure you haven't seen Roscoe before, he seems to be acting very familiar with you," Lewis laughed as Roscoe was trying his best to get to you by rubbing his face into the phone.

"Nope, this is the first time I've seen him in person," You said, wishing that you were on the other side of the phone to give Roscoe a cuddle. "People say I'm very lovable, I didn't know it stretched to animals,"

"They weren't lying," Lewis muttered for only himself as he watched his son fall in love with you. . . .

Finally, Thursday arrived, and the world felt bright with possibility as you made your way to the airport.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Lewis. "Text me when you land and I'll pick you up."

You pouted slightly, knowing that you had insisted on making your own way to the hotel.

"You don’t have to, Lewis. I can take a cab. You’ve just had a long flight, and I don’t want to inconvenience you." you typed hurriedly, trying to dissuade him.

"Nonsense! You’re my guest, and I want to make sure you get settled in without any hassle. Just trust me, okay?" he replied, his tone playful yet firm, a reminder of his stubbornness that you had grown to admire.

With that, there was no arguing.

When you finally arrived, the familiar feeling of jittery excitement washed over you as you wove through the arrivals hall, scanning the crowd for his familiar face.

And then you spotted him—he looked effortlessly stylish, a radiant smile illuminating his features as he waved enthusiastically.

"Here she is!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. you inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, momentarily lost in the moment.

"Hi, Lewis! You didn’t have to come all this way," you said, trying to play it cool as you two pulled apart.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I wouldn’t dream of missing this. Besides, it’s not every day I get to hang out with the most stunning woman I've seen."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased back, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed your amusement.

As you two walked to his car, our conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by light-hearted banter and lingering glances that held unspoken promises.

A part of you wondered if he felt the same tension underneath the surface, the way your heart raced each time our arms brushed against one another or how our laughter seemed to echo longer than the sounds around us.

"So, what do you want to do first in England?" Lewis asked as you two settled into the car. "There’s so much to see, and I’m more than ready to show you."

You considered this, excitement bubbling up within you. "Well, I definitely want to see the London Eye, but honestly, just being here with you is enough for me."

His eyes sparkled in the rearview mirror, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something deeper—something that mirrored your own feelings. yet, it vanished just as quickly, replaced with his usual playful demeanor.

"Alright then! Just you wait, this will be a trip to remember."

Lewis drove you to the hotel where you would be staying for the week, the excitement of the upcoming events buzzing in the air. As you neared the hotel, you couldn't help but gaze out at the picturesque setting, your anticipation building.

The towering structure was surrounded by lush greenery, and the sun cast a warm glow over everything.

As he parked, Lewis turned to you with a gentle smile. “Welcome to your home away from home! Let me help with that,” he said, stepping out and grabbing your luggage before you had a chance to protest.

His demeanor was that of a true gentleman, and you appreciated how he always seemed to think of your comfort first.

You followed him into the lobby, the grandeur of the hotel taking your breath away. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate chandeliers, and the air was filled with an inviting warmth.

After a brief check-in, you made your way to your apartment suite, which felt more luxurious than you had expected. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, inviting Lewis to place your luggage down.

“Oh wow, Lewis! This is incredible,” you exclaimed, marveling at the spacious living area, which boasted a stunning view of the surrounding hills.

“You didn’t have to go this far for the hotel,” you muttered, still taking it all in.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “I wanted to, and it’s really close to Silverstone, so I can pick you up in the morning. I didn’t want you worrying about anything while you’re here.”

He set your suitcase down and turned to you, revealing a little envelope in his hand. “Also, here is your paddock pass,” he said, handing it over with a flourish.

You took the pass and looked at it in awe. “Wow, I can’t believe I’ll be in the paddock! This is going to be an unforgettable experience!” You looked up at him, your excitement practically radiating off you. “Thank you so much, Lewis. This means a lot.”

His smile broadened as he leaned against the doorframe. “Just doing my part. You’re going to have a great week; I promise. I’ll pick you up at ten? That gives you enough time to settle in?”

“Ten sounds perfect!” you replied, feeling a mix of gratitude and exhilaration. “But Lewis, I really can’t thank you enough for this. You’ve gone above and beyond.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice earnest. “Besides, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable and ready for the weekend. Now, do you need help with anything else before I let you get settled?”

“Honestly, I think I’m good. I’ll just unpack and get a little rest before tomorrow. It’s been quite a journey,” you admitted, glancing around your new temporary home.

“Alright then, I won’t keep you,” Lewis said, stepping back towards the door. “Just remember, I’m just a text away if you need anything.”

He paused at the threshold, a playful grin on his face. “And I expect you to be ready on time. No wanderings through the hotel lobby!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No worries, I won’t keep you waiting, I promise!”

With a final wave, he stepped out, leaving you in your luxurious suite, the thrill of the upcoming week washing over you like a tide.

As you looked out the window at the sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you couldn’t help but smile at how perfect everything seemed—and how grateful you were for Lewis being a part of it.

You stood in your newly unpacked bedroom, admiring the sight of your neatly arranged clothes in the wardrobe. Each piece had its place, a small reminder of home. You plopped down onto the bed, feeling a mix of fatigue and exhilaration.

You turned on the TV, wanting a familiar face to calm your nerves. The moment the screen flickered to life, you spotted him—Lewis, with that radiant smile of his, sitting confidently in the conference room.

My heart fluttered as you watched him engage with the journalist, animated and passionate.

“Why do I still get so nervous watching you?” you whispered to the screen, mirroring his expressions as he cracked a joke that made the whole room burst into laughter.

He seemed so at ease, so happy, and it made you grin. But as the conference continued, you noticed him glance at his watch, a familiar look of urgency flashing across his face.

To my surprise, he offered a quick farewell to the people in the room and hurriedly exited the room. You chuckled softly. “Always in a rush, aren’t you, Lewis?”

What you didn’t realize was that his departure meant he had something important to attend to—you.

The thought sent butterflies fluttering in you stomach as you recalled our last conversation.

“Text me when you land and I'll pick you up,” he had promised. He must have gotten your message and immediately left to pick you up.

The thought of that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He was just doing this for his reputation. You repeat to yourself, trying to get the thought of Lewis Hamilton liking you out of your head. . .

As the morning sun poured through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow upon your bedroom, you stirred from slumber at the soft chimes of your clock announcing that it was just 8 AM.

Yet, restlessness fluttered within you, an unyielding excitement mingling with the tremors of anticipation.

Today was not just any day; it was a moment poised on the cusp of something magical, something enveloped in the promise of romance.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the cool touch of the wooden floor grounding you, and felt your heart race in sync with the rhythm of your eager thoughts.

Images of Lewis filled your mind—his charming smile, the way his laughter lit up the room, the aura of confidence he exuded in that unmistakable Mercedes uniform.

Selecting the perfect outfit was crucial; it had to embody elegance while echoing your growing infatuation with him.

You settled on a classic jet black dress, its fabric soft and flowing, perfectly mirroring the sleek tone of his Mercedes. The color seemed to beckon, much like the promise of adventure before you, stirring a wave of confidence within you.

You slipped the dress over your head, watching as it cascaded down to hug your curves in all the right places.

Standing before the mirror, you meticulously arranged your hair, letting soft waves frame your face, and applied makeup to accentuate your features—a subtle hint of romance in every brush stroke.

Time seemed to blur as your excitement melded with an anxious yearning for the text that would signal his arrival.

You checked your phone repeatedly, promising yourself it would be just moments away, but instead, an electrifying tap on your door startled you, pulling you out of your reverie.

Your heart raced even faster as you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your veins like fireflies in the twilight.

You hesitated briefly before swinging it open, your breath hitching at the sight of Lewis standing there in his pristine Mercedes uniform.

The black fabric contrasted sharply with his deep complexion, and you could see the hint of disbelief in his eyes as they traveled from your dress to your face, lingering longer than necessary, his lips slightly parted in awe.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you faded into oblivion, and you stood entranced by the magnetic pull between you.

A feeling of nervousness washed over you, choking back the words you longed to say, leading to a self-critical whisper, “Is it too much? Should I change?”

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as embarrassment washed over you, the vulnerability of a romantic moment sending your mind into a flurry of doubt.

To your surprise, Lewis snapped back into focus with a wide grin breaking across his face, illuminating the air between you with an unexpected warmth.

“No! I mean no, you look amazing,” he breathed, his voice flirtatiously laced with sincerity. “I was just stunned by your beauty.” Those simple words cascaded over you like a soothing balm, erasing your uncertainty as a rush of flustered energy surged through you.

With your heart fluttering like a captive bird ready for flight, you felt a smile spread across your face—a beautiful mirror to his.

You finally closed the door behind you, the sound muffled by the magic pulsating in the air, as you wrapped your fingers around the strong curve of Lewis’s arm that he offered to you.

The world beyond felt tantalizingly distant as your connection grew, a potent blend of eagerness and hope swirling between the two of you.

With your heart racing in rhythm to the hurried beats of the moment, Lewis guided you out of the hotel and towards his waiting car, a sleek Mercedes that gleamed under the gentle morning light.

The drive to the paddock was quick, just as Lewis had promised, yet each passing moment in his company felt like a fleeting treasure, leaving you yearning for just a little bit more.

As he maneuvered the car through the bustling streets, your laughter filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of the engine, and you found yourself hanging onto every word he said, equally as enthralled by the subtle charisma of his voice as by the depth of his stories.

The conversation was weaving a beautiful tapestry of shared interests and playful banter, with each anecdote revealing another layer of who he was.

But suddenly, with the gentle thump of the car coming to a stop, it felt painfully abrupt.

The heaviness of the moment rested on your chest; you wished you could linger in that bubble of warmth, just a moment longer, before reality ushered you both into the thrumming chaos of the paddock.

As he helped you out of the car, his touch was delicate yet firm, igniting a spark that coursed through your skin as you stepped onto the asphalt.

You both headed towards the paddock, your heart racing in anticipation—not just of the buzzing environment but also for the chance to stand beside him in this exhilarating world.

You flashed your pass at the entrance, the small piece of plastic suddenly feeling like a ticket to an uncharted adventure, and followed closely behind Lewis.

The way he waved to the adoring fans sent a rush of pride through your veins; you could see their surprised expressions when they realized who was accompanying him, an unexpected twist in the narrative that made your heart flutter with delightful mischief.

Once inside the garage, the atmosphere was electric, a spectacular blend of excitement and adrenaline as the staff bustled around, their dedicated energy palpable.

They were welcoming, treating you with kindness and warmth, probably because you were with Lewis.

Yet, as you absorbed the scene—the myriad of tools, the gleaming car, the stacked tires—there was a stillness inside you; you were no longer just a bystander but a part of this captivating world. You found a spot in front of the many TVs, each screen poised to bring the race to life, the anticipation tangling your nerves as you prepared for the spectacle.

You turned to Lewis, who began explaining the intricacies of the garage operations, and although you were a newcomer to the sport, his passion was infectious, igniting an eagerness deep within you.

"I got something for you, Y/N," he said, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, breaking up the flood of information he had been sharing.

You blinked in surprise, leaning slightly forward, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” you asked eagerly, your heart flutterin.

Lewis shifted playfully, a smile dancing on his lips as he rummaged behind him and emerged with a black cap, resplendent with his signature emblazoned across the front.

In that instant, your face lit up with joy; his gesture felt intimate, something so personal yet shared openly with the world.

You thanked him, slipping the cap onto your head, feeling the weight of it ground you in reality, but also lift you into a new realm of possibility.

“How does it look?” you asked innocently, tilting your head playfully, seeking his validation, as if the cap itself carried the promise of his approval.

“Perfect,” he replied without hesitation, his gaze holding yours—warm, unwavering. You couldn’t help but blush at his compliment.

“Supporting me does suit you,” he added with a teasing smile, the playful banter making your heart race even faster than before.

In that moment, you realized how right he was; wearing this piece of him made you feel connected, almost like an extension of who he was in this dynamic world.

With a light-hearted push, you nudged him, the laughter escaping your lips in a gentle rhythm, creating a moment that people would kill to capture.

But before the magic could linger longer, a staff member called for him, signaling that it was time to prepare for the practice race. As you watched him walk away, every step taking him further into his world, a bittersweet feeling settled in your chest.

Just then, a cameraman approached, the lens of his camera zooming in as he directed his focus towards you.

As you caught sight of the camera, you instinctively smiled and waved, a mixture of shyness and excitement bubbling within you.

You were about to turn your attention back to the screens when, from the corner of your eye, you glimpsed the caption that flashed: your name followed by "Lewis Hamilton's partner."

The weight of that label struck you in that instant, a delightful shock that pierced through the air, echoing in your mind as both a chance happening and a beautiful reality.

You hadn’t anticipated the intimacy of that moment being broadcast to the world, yet it felt incredibly right, as if everything had aligned perfectly in that exhilarating chaos of the race world.

Suddenly, the noise around you faded, and in that moment, you felt an undeniable sense of belonging, as if you were no longer just a spectator but a pivotal part of a greater story unfolding in the dazzling world of Formula 1. . . .

You could feel the weight of disappointment lingering in the air as Lewis emerged from the chaotic hum of the paddock, his face betraying the inner turmoil that he tried so valiantly to mask.

While he adorned an exterior of calm confidence, tucking away the feelings of a seventh-place finish, his eyes spoke volumes—a glimmer of frustration intertwined with determination.

It was a moment that made your heart ache for him, a reminder that even the greatest champions wrestle with the trials of their passion.

As he stepped into the garage, you instinctively opened your arms, drawing him into a suffocating hug that melted away the façade for just a moment.

“You did good,” you whispered gently in his ear, as you could feel the tension gradually release from his shoulders, even though you knew he felt he could have done more. You held him tightly, relishing the warmth radiating from his body, allowing him a fleeting escape from the relentless world of competition.

Lewis lingered in your embrace longer than necessary, allowing his head to find refuge in the crook of your neck, seeking comfort amidst the storm of competitive disappointment.

In that fleeting bubble of intimacy, you felt your heart race, realizing that these simple moments—while overshadowed by the pressure of the race—were what truly mattered.

But as he reluctantly pulled away, a shadow of embarrassment flickered across his features, and he muttered an apology that hung in the air like a dewdrop clinging precariously to a petal.

“Sorry,” he said softly, and you could see that familiar streak of humility running through him, the man who, despite his victories, remained grounded amid the roar of accolades.

“Don’t apologize; you needed that,” you replied, your voice steady but affectionate, reassuring him that moments of vulnerability were not a sign of weakness, but rather a testament to the depth of his passion.

His faint nod reassured you that he was starting to let go, if only for an instant, of the relentless expectations he harbored for himself.

“Now, you change as fast as you can, we need to see the whole of London before Roscoe starts missing you too much,” you declared with a playful nudge, pushing him gently toward his driver’s room.

There was an infusion of excitement in your voice, a spark of adventure that contrasted with the somber ambiance of the paddock. The thought of showing him around the city ignited a new energy within you, one that suggested a fresh start, a break from the taxing intensity of competition.

Lewis responded with a half-smile, momentarily distracted from his earlier humdrum. “I’ll be back in a second, stay here,” he replied with a determined glint in his eyes, and you watched him retreat, feeling a pang of anticipation for the adventures that lay ahead, even if they were just fleeting moments of joy amidst the backdrop of grandiose skyscrapers and historic streets.

As you settled into a nearby chair, you watched the flurry of staff and mechanics bustle around his car, fine-tuning every minute detail as if it were a delicate piece of art being prepared for an unveiling.

The love for machinery and the intricacies of the racing world enveloped the space, yet your mind wandered aimlessly, drawn towards your phone in an attempt to find some levity amid the seriousness of the day.

A flicker of curiosity prompted you to dive into Twitter, where you scrolled through the effusive commentary of fans speculating about your relationship with Lewis.

What struck you was the mix of admiration and bewilderment, as many fervently debated whether you were merely a cousin, a relative, or something even more storied—his wife, perhaps?

A bubble of laughter escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all; “I wish,” you muttered under your breath, momentarily lost in a world of fantasy where the lines between reality and desire blurred enticingly.

But before you had too much time to dwell on your musings, a familiar voice broke through your reverie. “I’m back! Are you good to go?” Lewis announced, and your heart leapt at the sight of him clad in casual attire—a crisp black T-shirt fitted snugly against his chiseled frame, paired with dark denim jeans that accentuated his athletic stature effortlessly.

He looked remarkably different, stripped of the racing gear that had just a moment prior defined him, and instead exuding a relaxed charm that made your pulse quicken.

There was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, an energy that seemed to dance with untold stories and adventures yet to unfold.

“Yep, let’s go!” you exclaimed, enthusiasm bubbling within you as you slid your phone into your bag, keen to prioritize the moments of spontaneity that awaited beyond the confines of the paddock.

Together, you made your way to the back exit, slipping away from the clamor of racing fans who thronged towards the main entrance.

A shiver of excitement coursed through your veins as you both stepped into his car, the sleek interior a stark contrast to the chaotic noise that defined the day thus far.

The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you as the door clicked shut behind you, creating an intimacy that felt both safe and exhilarating.

Lewis turned to you, and you could see the remnants of his earlier disappointment beginning to fade, replaced by an electric anticipation that mirrored your own.

“Where do we start?” he asked with a sly grin, tilting his head, eager to soak up every ounce of the city he loved.

“The London Eye, obviously! We can stroll along the river and see the sights,” you suggested, your voice brimming with enthusiasm.

This was your chance to share a piece of yourself with him, to weave together the threads of your lives in a way that felt effortlessly beautiful.

As he pulled out onto the road, you caught the unmistakable glint of excitement in his eyes. Each moment held the promise of connection while the city unveiled its secrets before you.

As you both embarked on your little tour of London, sharing laughter and playful banter, it became clear that this day would be more than just a distraction; it was an invitation for intimacy and understanding, to forge a bond that danced in freedom, not tethered by the constraints of the race or its disappointments.

You could feel yourself beginning to drop the pretense of being just a friend—every exchange and subtle glance became charged with unspoken words and possibilities.

The world outside blurred, and for that brief moment, all that existed was you and Lewis, wandering together down streets lined with splendor while time unceremoniously slipped away.

And as you shared stories amidst the laughter, with each word and each shared memory, you couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, what started as a pitiful race day could lead to something woven with romance and dreams, a blossoming connection fueled by shared experiences that danced just beyond the horizon of a typical friendship.

As he told stories of past races and the whimsical incidents that peppered his illustrious career, your heart ached with admiration—not just for the racer he was but the man behind the helmet, someone with dreams as grand as the city itself, melding seamlessly into the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

In that moment, surrounded by the vibrant pulse of London, everything felt right.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the London sky in hues of orange and pink, Lewis and you made our way to the London Eye. It had been an exhilarating day exploring the city, but deep down, you had been eagerly anticipating this final adventure.

You had never been on a Ferris wheel before—not in the US, where I'd grown up, nor anywhere else for that matter.

The towering structure beckoned to you, its silhouette against the evening sky a symbol of the iconic moments that London had to offer. Yet, beneath the thrill of excitement bubbling within, you felt a familiar flutter of anxiety in the pit of your stomach—my fear of heights.

As you two stepped onto the glass capsule, your heart raced. The floor felt solid yet somehow surreal, and you instinctively reached out for Lewis's hand, clutching it tightly as the ride began its ascent.

The moment you two started elevating above the bustling streets, you felt a rush of panic wash over you. “Oh my gosh, it's so high!” you gasped, glancing down briefly. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Might be a little late for that realization.” Lewis chuckled softly, his warm smile radiating calmness.

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, and his gaze met yours, steady and encouraging. “Just look at the view. It will be worth it, trust me.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look out at the panorama unfolding before us. The Thames glimmered below, and the city lights began to twinkle, creating a beautiful tapestry.

“Okay, it is pretty amazing,” you admitted, feeling a sense of awe creeping in as you took in the landscape.

“See? Nothing to be scared of.” He flashed a grin before leaning in a little closer, his voice soft against the gentle hum of the ride. “Hey, let’s talk about your project—the one that reduces carbon footprint.”

You brightened at the mention of your project, the excitement momentarily overshadowing your trepidation. “Oh yeah! So, I’ve been researching this method of carbon capture using algae, which is fascinating!” you replied, your nerves diverting as you got lost in the details. “They absorb CO2 much more efficiently than trees...”

“Really? That sounds incredible! Algae might not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think about fighting climate change, but it makes so much sense.” Lewis’s interest was palpable, and you found comfort in sharing your passion, your earlier fears nearly forgotten.

“It does, right? And the best part is it can be grown in almost any environment. I mean, it could revolutionize how we approach carbon emissions!” you felt your enthusiasm grow as you spoke, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about the height.

“I love that you’re so passionate about this,” Lewis said, nodding appreciatively. “It always makes me think about how we can all play our part, no matter how small. Like taking the tube instead of driving. It seems little but actually makes a huge difference.”

“Exactly! Every action counts. I just hope my project can inspire others to think about their impact on the environment, maybe even help spark a movement.”

Suddenly, the capsule paused at the top, and you felt your breath catch again as you glanced out. “Wow,” you whispered, the whole city laid out like a glimmering mosaic beneath you. “It’s... breathtaking.”

“See? You did it!” Lewis said, breaking into a proud smile. “You made it to the top. And look at how beautiful everything is! This is what you came for.”

You nodded slowly, finally able to appreciate the view without that tightening grip of fear. “You were right, Lewis. I’m so glad we did this.” I turned to him, realizing in that moment how grateful I was for his support. “Thanks for holding my hand through this.”

He laughed lightly, “Always. I think I’ll be holding your hand during the descent too, just in case.”

As you two finally began our gentle descent, you injected a playful note into the air. “If I scream, just remind me that I won’t fall.”

“I got you,” he replied, still holding your hand firmly. “We’ll conquer this fear together.”

As you both descended from the ferris wheel, your fingers remained interlaced, a testament to the bond that had formed between you.

Neither of you seemed willing to sever that connection, as if the thrill of the ride had woven an invisible thread that held you together. The vibrant lights of the fairground flickered around you, but your focus was solely on each other.

"I can't believe I actually did that," you remarked, glancing up at him with a mix of exhilaration and disbelief.

"Right? I thought you were going to scream the whole time," he replied, chuckling softly. His laughter was infectious, and you found yourself smiling wider.

The moment felt suspended in time, a perfect encapsulation of joy and companionship. As you approached Lewis' car, he gently squeezed your hand, and for a brief moment, you hesitated, reluctant to part ways.

"You know, I could get used to this," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, his expression serious yet playful. "What, holding hands or riding ferris wheels?"

"Both," you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly. Just then, Lewis opened the car door for you, and reluctantly, you released his hand, feeling a pang of loss as the warmth of his touch faded.

You stepped into the car, your heart racing with the promise of more adventures to come. . . .

The night seemed to conspire against your fatigue, offering no respite as your mind swirled with thoughts of Lewis, each cascading wave filled with warm anticipation.

As dawn broke, casting a soft golden glow through the hotel room window, you reluctantly opened your eyes, momentarily squinting at the light.

You felt more drained than you had the previous day, but excitement surged through you like electricity—today was the day Lewis would welcome you into his world and unite you with Roscoe, the bulldog whose playful spirit had captured your heart.

The thought of seeing him again put a spark in your step, propelling you from the comfort of your bed and urging you to prepare for a day filled with unknown joy and warmth.

You dashed into the bathroom, the cool water of the shower invigorating your senses, washing away the remnants of exhaustion.

After the steamy shower, you rummaged through your suitcase, determined to put together an outfit that would both thrill and impress. you finally settled on a flowing sundress in a soft, pastel blue that danced gently around your knees, perfect for the bright day ahead.

You paired it with a lightweight denim jacket, knowing you might need an extra layer later, and slid on your favorite ankle boots; they felt both casual and chic.

But the pièce de résistance was the signed hat—a structured wide-brimmed beauty that Lewis had gifted you just yesterday.

It sat atop your head, a charming reminder of the budding connection you two shared and added an air of confidence to your look.

As you admired yourself in the mirror, you twirled slightly, causing the dress to billow around you and your heart to flutter with the thought of Lewis.

The knock on the door snapped you back to reality. You opened it with a beaming smile, your excitement palpable.

Standing before you, Lewis appeared effortlessly handsome in his casual attire, a little rumpled from what you imagined must have been a busy morning.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and before you could think, you jokingly raised your arms and asked, “How do I look?” The way he regarded you, his gaze lingering and softening, filled you with a warmth that spread through your entire being.

“Breathtaking,” he replied, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

You couldn’t help but shy away from his gaze momentarily. “Thank you, Lewis,” you managed to say, still caught in a delightful web of surprise as you stepped outside, leaving the hotel behind.

We walked towards his car, and as he opened the door for you, the small gesture felt steeped in kindness, a hint at the chivalrous man he was.

“I’m just describing what I’m seeing,” he said with a teasing smile as he helped you into his car.

You felt your heart leap at each word that rolled off his tongue—a simple admission that held a depth of meaning you longed to explore.

The drive to the paddock was punctuated by leisurely conversation, laughter spilling easily between you two, and soon you two were waving at enthusiastic fans along the route, their cheers only enhancing the thrill of the moment.

The sights and sounds of the racetrack felt familiar, yet each visit held a novel excitement, especially with him by your side.

Once you two arrived at the Mercedes garage, everything became a beehive of activity, each team member focused on the monumental task ahead: qualifying.

Lewis had mentioned that his dad was coming to watch him this weekend, and the thought made your heart flutter. You found yourself secretly hoping that you might get a chance to meet him, to see where the source of Lewis's passion and determination came from.

Watching Lewis slip into his racing gear was mesmerizing; he moved with a graceful urgency, each movement deliberate yet fluid, threading the air with palpable confidence.

You couldn’t help but admire how he transformed into this fierce competitor in mere moments, the ease with which he stepped into his role stirring an admiration deep within you.

“So, the qualifying—what do you think is going to happen?” You ventured, curious to discover the intricacies of his racing mentality.

Lewis paused, considering your question as he donned his helmet, the glint in his eyes suggesting a thrill of anticipation. “I just focus on each lap and trust your instincts. That’s all I can do. But having you here makes it feel even more special,” he said, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

His admission settled into your chest, stirring something profoundly sweet, as you realized just how much our connection meant to him as well.

My fingers curled around the hem of your dress as you mulled over his words, excitement racing in tandem with your heartbeat.

Soon enough, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation as the time for qualifying drew near, and you could feel the electrifying energy in the air. Lewis, with his trademark confidence and undeniable charm, was whisked away into his car, the roar of the engine sending shivers down your spine.

You positioned yourself in your assigned seat, glued to the television screens that illuminated the bustling paddock.

Each moment that ticked by only heightened your excitement as you watched Lewis's car take to the track, maneuvering through each turn with grace and precision.

The tension built during Q1, your heart racing in sync with the telemetry data flashing across the screen.

Just as you thought you had reached the peak of your adrenaline, you felt a light tap on your shoulder, pulling you from your reverie.

Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Lewis's dad, Anthony, standing there, a warm smile dancing on his lips.

You quickly removed your headphones, eager to engage with him, as he had always struck you as a genuinely kind person. “Hello, it’s wonderful to see you!” you greeted him, feeling a flutter of excitement.

Without hesitation, Anthony gestured for you to follow him into Lewis's driver room, filled with a hint of nervous energy.

As you two entered, Anthony’s playful demeanor sparked a hint of curiosity within you.

“I’ve been wondering who the beautiful woman your son has been with these days,” he remarked, and your heart skipped a beat at his words, suddenly feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Caught off guard, you stuttered a bit, completely flustered by the unexpected compliment. It was in that moment that you understood exactly where Lewis had inherited his flirtation and charm.

“Sorry it took so long to meet; Lewis has told me a lot of you,” you managed to say, your voice slightly trembling as you spoke.

Anthony chuckled, a twinkle in his eye that mirrored his son's playful spirit. “All good things, I hope?” he asked teasingly, his eyes narrowing with playful mischief, making you laugh softly in response.

The sincerity of his interest made the room feel instantly warmer, and you couldn't help but feel a newfound connection between you two.

“Of course! Your son is a true gentleman,” you assured him wholeheartedly, enthusiasm spilling from your lips as you recalled moments shared with Lewis.

Anthony’s eyes sparkled with the joy of a proud father listening to the praise he had longed to hear.

“I’ve heard. I also heard that he likes you,” he said, his expression shifting into one of intrigue, and suddenly, you felt the world around you fade into a haze of disbelief at his bold assertion.

My heart raced even faster at his comment, a whirlwind of emotions twisting within me. “No, I think that’s just a rumor—” you started to defend, yet your voice trailed off as you struggled to find the right words to counter his claim.

The fluttering possibility of Lewis harboring feelings for you sent a wave of warmth rushing to your cheeks, and the vulnerability in your tone revealed your genuine shock.

“Y/N, I think I know when my son likes a woman,” Anthony said with a straightforwardness that left you momentarily stunned.

You met his gaze, searching for signs of jest, but there was only sincerity written across his features.

“It’s complicated,” you finally admitted, your voice softening as you grasped the weight of his words. The prospect of a romance with Lewis was tantalizing yet terrifying at the same time, a dance on a precipice you had not anticipated.

As Anthony leaned against the wall, his expression shifted to one of fatherly approval, you could sense the protective warmth radiating from him.

“You don’t have to worry,” he continued, “Lewis is a good guy, and he deserves someone who appreciates him as much as he does.”

His assurance wrapped around you like a warm embrace, filling you with hope and possibility at a time when you was craving clarity about your burgeoning feelings for his son.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” you replied, your voice imbued with sincerity.

There was something reassuring about Anthony’s presence; it made the entire experience feel more sacred, as if love was being woven into the very fabric of the moment.

As you stood there, sharing glances with this kind-hearted man, you felt the weight of unspoken words — a bridge of understanding forming between parents and their children, and how love always finds a way to connect you in the most unexpected of circumstances.

“I just want to make sure he’s happy,” you added earnestly, your emotions surfacing as you reflected on the connection you felt with Lewis, leaving you hopeful for what lay ahead.

Lewis climbed out of his car, the roar of the engine fading as he removed his helmet. As he stepped away from the adrenaline-fueled world of motorsport, a wave of relief washed over him, the weight of the race lifting from his shoulders.

The cheers of the crowd echoed in the air, but at that moment, all he could see was you, standing there with a radiant smile that mirrored the joy in your heart.

Your arms opened wide in celebration, and when you enveloped him in a warm hug, it felt as if the two of you shared a world all your own, where victories were sweeter just because you were there to witness them.

“Congratulations,” you whispered, your voice a gentle caress amid the chaos surrounding you.

“Thanks,” Lewis replied, his eyes gleaming with both relief and happiness. But there was something else dancing in those hazel depths—an urgency, as if something unsaid lingered between you.

His gaze flickered past you, landing on a figure standing in the backdrop, and he asked, “Have you spoken to my father yet?”

The concern in his tone made your heart flutter. You turned slightly to follow his gaze, spotting Anthony engaged in conversation with some frantic staff members, his presence calm among the bustling chaos of the post-race scene.

“Yeah,” you said, your heart racing, not just from the excitement of the race but from the idea of what Anthony had shared with you.

“Y/N,” his father had said with a knowing smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he leaned closer, “I think I know when my son likes a woman.”

“Really?” Lewis asked, his voice laced with curiosity, his brow raised in intrigue. You couldn’t help but catch a hint of a smile tugging at his lips; the connection between father and son was palpable, and you could feel the warmth radiating from them.

“What was it about?” he probed, and there was a soft eagerness in his tone that made your heart skip.

You locked eyes with him, taking a breath to steady yourself before responding, knowing that the truth could weave its own spell between you.

“It’s a secret,” you said shyly, your voice barely escaping your lips as you playfully averted your gaze. The moment felt charged, filled with hidden meanings and unspoken promises, and you could feel the tension building in the air, drawing you closer to him.

“Well, it’s a secret I’d like to know,” he laughed lightly, teasing but genuine. “Can you at least give me a hint?”

The way he looked at you, with those warm, inviting eyes, made it hard to focus on anything other than the connection thrumming in your shared space.

You were enchanted by the way he seemed to lean in closer, as if straining to catch the secret that danced just on the tip of your tongue.

You could see the delight that shimmered in his features, a beautiful reminder that this incredible moment was shared between just the two of you.

“Alright,” you said, leaning closer, your voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll give you a clue: it involves you.”

“Really Y/N?” Lewis said, sounding disappointed as he brushed a hand across his brow.

You nodded slowly, feeling the back of your cheeks heat up from the intimacy shared, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering possibilities.

"Can you be more specific for me?" Lewis asked, his curiosity getting the better of him and you were enjoying teasing the man.

"Nope, that's the point of a secret and don't be begging your father too. His lips are also sealed," You teased, wiping the beads of sweat from his chin with the cloth.

"I think I know how to get secrets out of my father," Lewis replied, taking the cloth out of your hands and wiping his neck. "Be right back,"

You watched him as he walked over to his father, who was looking proud of his son's achievements. Suddenly Anthony looked over to you and winked, knowing the secret was safe with him, you sighed in relief.

"You ready to go?" Lewis asked, a broad grin lighting up his face as he emerged from his room, now dressed in his casual attire. He sported a soft, navy blue hoodie that hung comfortably on his shoulders, paired with relaxed-fit dark jeans that accentuated his long legs.

The sneakers on his feet were a cool shade of gray, slightly scuffed but well-loved. It was a look that effortlessly combined comfort and style, making him seem approachable yet undeniably attractive.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing back at Anthony, who was gathering his things. "Goodbye, Anthony! It was great hanging out." Your words dripped with sincerity as you waved enthusiastically, a smile lingering on your lips.

As you turned back to Lewis, he chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Looks like you've become best friends with my dad in just a few hours," he teased, throwing an arm casually around your shoulders as you strolled toward his car.

You nudged him playfully. "Don't be jealous, Lewis. He’s just funnier than you are!" you fired back, laughing at your own jab, the warmth of camaraderie wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

"Don’t forget who brought you here," he reminded you with a smirk, opening the car door for you. His charming demeanor was hard to resist, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach as you slipped into the passenger seat.

As he slid into the driver’s side, your memory kicked in. "Wait a minute," you said, turning to him with a sparkle in your eye. "We’re going to your house first, right? To meet Roscoe?"

A delighted grin spread across his face. "Are you ready to meet him?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation, as if he could read your mind.

"Yeah, I’ve prepared myself enough," you joked, pretending to brace yourself dramatically, eliciting a laugh from him.

You could practically feel the excitement bubbling within you at the thought of finally meeting Roscoe, the bulldog whose playful antics and silly personality had already captured your heart over countless phone calls.

The short drive to his apartment was filled with lighthearted chatter, laughter, and stolen glances. Soon, they arrived at his apartment complex, and Lewis parked. You both hopped out of the car, and he led the way, guiding you with a playful swagger toward the entrance.

Once inside, Lewis paused for a moment at his door, opening it with a flourish. "Ladies first," he said, bowing slightly in exaggerated manners. You giggled, stepping inside as he followed closely behind, closing the door with a soft click.

The first thing you noticed was the delightful chaos of the space—dog toys strewn about, a comfy couch in the corner, and the rich aroma of something baking wafting through the air.

But your attention was entirely diverted when you caught sight of Roscoe waddling toward you, big, expressive eyes capturing your gaze completely.

"There he is! Roscoe!" Lewis announced, his tone filled with pride. You crouched down, and the bulldog ambled up to you, his tail wagging like a propeller.

"Hey there, buddy!" you said, your heart swelling as you reached out to pet him. Roscoe responded with an enthusiastic nuzzle, planting his big, slobbery face against your palm.

"He definitely likes you," Lewis remarked, a knowing smile on his face.

You chuckled, scratching behind Roscoe's ears. "How could he not? Look at this guy! He’s adorable!"

Lewis watched as the two of you bonded, the moment feeling blissfully perfect. "I think we have a new best friend," he teased, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, enjoying the sight of you and Roscoe sharing a precious moment.

And in that instant, surrounded by laughter, joy, and an unexpected connection, you realized this was the beginning of something special—an afternoon filled with warmth and a bulldog that would soon have a permanent place in your heart.

As the last of the sunlight faded and shadows stretched across the cozy living room, Lewis glanced out the window and turned to you with a smile. “Since it’s already getting dark, I think it’d be best for you to stay for dinner before I drive you home.”

You looked at the glowing kitchen where the rich aroma of roasted vegetables drifted through the air. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Not at all. Besides,” he said, nodding toward Roscoe, who was wagging his tail with boundless enthusiasm. “Roscoe clearly doesn’t want you to leave yet. He’s taken quite a liking to you.”

With a soft laugh, you gave Roscoe a pat on the head as he rolled over, exposing his belly for all the affection you could give. “I suppose I could stay for a little longer. Right, buddy?” You scratched behind his ears, causing him to let out a joyful bark, as if to affirm your decision.

As you played with Roscoe, the rope toy caught his attention. You tossed it lightly across the room, and he bounded after it with a joyous bark, his energy infectious. But it didn’t take long before he returned, rope clenched tightly in his mouth, looking at you with those big, pleading eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” you asked, giggling as you wrestled the tug-of-war rope with Roscoe, who was determined to win. “He’s quite the little beast!”

“ Nope, you just relax and play with Roscoe,” Lewis called from the kitchen, chuckling as he chopped vegetables. “The food will be ready soon.”

You couldn’t help but admire the sight—the way Lewis moved in the kitchen with confidence, the casual ease in his posture. There was something about this moment that struck you as particularly domestic, almost as if you were a couple enjoying a quiet evening together with your dog. You felt a warmth spread through you, mixed with an unexpected shyness at the thought.

“Hey, Lewis?” You turned slightly to get his attention, cheeks faintly pink.

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder, a curious tilt to his head as he wiped his hands on a towel.

“Do you… do you do this often? You know, having someone over for dinner?” The question felt a bit bold, but the warm atmosphere encouraged you.

His smile widened, revealing a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Only with special guests. Roscoe has very discerning taste when it comes to company. He’s quite the judge of character, you know.”

“Oh really?” You feigned surprise, which made him laugh.

“Absolutely. You passed the test. And I dare say, you’re his favorite human now,” he replied, leaning back against the counter, looking comfortable and at ease.

Roscoe, hearing his name, bounded over and dropped the rope at your feet, tail wagging furiously. “See? He’s demanding your attention!” Lewis teased.

You chuckled, grabbing the rope and giving it a playful tug. “Alright, Roscoe, what’s your strategy here? I need to understand your tactics if I’m going to beat you.” You tossed the rope again, and he darted after it, momentarily distracting you from your thoughts.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Lewis commented, watching you with an approving grin. “I think Roscoe might have finally met his match!”

After a few more rounds of tug-of-war, you flopped down onto the floor, breathless and laughing. “I never thought I’d be wrestling with a dog tonight.”

Lewis leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression warm and inviting. “And yet, here we are. I’d say it’s a good night.”

You couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Yeah, it really is.”

Just then, Roscoe curled up beside you, and you instinctively reached out to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears while glancing up at Lewis.

In that little domestic scene, something beautiful and simple brewed between you two, leaving you shy yet hopeful for more moments like this in the future.

"Foods ready," Lewis announced after setting Roscoe's bowl on the ground, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he watched the eager dog bound over to his meal.

Roscoe sniffed at his food for a moment, tail wagging vigorously, before diving in with joyful determination. The playful afternoon had taken its toll on the dog, and it was evident he hadn’t just worked up an appetite; he had worked up a hunger.

As Roscoe happily chomped away, you stood up from your spot on the floor and made your way to where Lewis had set the table. The beautiful aromas of the dinner he had prepared wafted through the air, filling your senses with comfort and warmth.

“Wow, this smells amazing! What did you make?” you asked, looking at the colorful spread.

Lewis chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. “I decided to whip up some pasta primavera with garlic bread. Figured we could use something hearty after our adventures outside.” His eyes twinkled as he gestured to the food, an inviting sight that made your mouth water.

You shook your head in disbelief, “You’re the best, Lewis. I can’t believe you cooked all this while I was chasing after Roscoe!” You glanced down at the dog, who was now taking a moment to indulge in a dramatic stretch before returning to his bowl.

He looked up, his mouth full, and let out an affectionate, if muffled, bark. “Are you jealous, Roscoe?” you teased. He tilted his head, responding with an innocent blink, as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“Hey, I think he’s trying to tell you he deserves to be spoiled after all that running around,” Lewis chimed in, grinning. “But don’t worry, you’ll get your share of spoiling too right now.”

Placing a generous helping of pasta onto your plate, Lewis added, “And for dessert, I made chocolate mousse. It’s chilling in the fridge, waiting for you.” The mention of dessert made your stomach rumble in excitement, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Seriously? Chocolate mousse? Okay, now you’re just trying to win my heart,” you said playfully, taking a seat at the table.

You noticed how Roscoe glanced up at you, licking his lips in anticipation. “And what about you, buddy? Don’t think you’re getting any chocolate. It’s all for us humans!”

“Just wait until I tell him ‘off’ when he tries to steal bites from your plate. He’s persistent,” Lewis laughed, shaking his head as he filled his own plate. “But I’ll keep him busy with his favorite toy until we’re done.”

As you both began to eat, the conversation flowed easily between bites. You shared stories about childhood memories, musings on the challenges of adulting, and hopes for the future, all while Roscoe settled under the table, letting out the occasional contented sigh as he savored his meal.

“Everything tastes even better when you share the kitchen with someone you enjoy,” you remarked, your fork raised in appreciation.

Lewis looked up, his expression softening. “I feel the same way. It’s nice to have someone to share these moments with.”

As dinner wound down, Lewis leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Alright, Roscoe, time for a little break. You did a great job eating, but now it’s our turn to indulge in dessert. Are you ready for the chocolate mousse?”

Roscoe’s ears perked up at the word 'chocolate,' but you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry, buddy, no chocolate for you. But I’ll make sure you get an extra treat tomorrow for being such a good boy tonight.”

"You'll come back tomorrow?" Lewis asked surprised.

"Of course I'll need to see my favourite dog before I go back to the States," you said easily, petting Roscoe in the ear.

Lewis' face fell in disappointment at your words, a reaction you might have missed if you weren't paying close attention. His eyes, which had been bright with anticipation just moments before, dimmed as the weight of your statement settled in.

The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the room, illuminating the cozy mess of blankets and toys strewn across the carpet.

Roscoe with a perpetually wagging tail, lay sprawled in the middle, paws twitching as he dreamed. Lewis and you sat cross-legged on the floor, you attention divided between a tattered tennis ball and the dog’s joyful antics.

“Hey, Roscoe, catch!” you shouted, tossing the ball into the air. He sprang up as if launched by a spring, bounding after it with glee, his fur glistening in the light.

You laughed as he returned, the ball clutched triumphantly in his mouth. “Good boy!” you leaned down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the warmth of Lewis’ body close to yours.

“You've really got a way with dogs,” Lewis said, a hint of admiration in his voice as he watched you interact with Roscoe. You glanced up to meet his gaze, and the air between you shifted, thickening with unsaid words and fleeting glances.

There was a moment, a heartbeat, where it felt like the world had narrowed down to just you two — you, him, and the soft panting of Roscoe in between.

“Thanks,” you replied, your cheeks warming slightly. “But it’s really him that has all the charm.” As you spoke, you noticed how close Lewis had moved, his shoulder brushing against you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel your breath hitching slightly, the tension in the air almost electric. Your eyes locked, and for a moment, it seemed you would bridge the distance that separated the both of you.

But then, like a cold splash of water, David's voice echoed in your mind, warning you about Lewis.

“He doesn’t like you like that; it’s all for his reputation.” The thought made your stomach twist.

You abruptly pulled back, a rush of embarrassment flooding over you. “Um, I think I should…” you started, trying to formulate an excuse that wouldn’t make you sound foolish.

“Wait,” Lewis said, reaching out and gently grabbing your wrist. The warmth of his touch sent another jolt through you, but you couldn’t let it sway your thoughts.

“Where are you going?” There was genuine concern in his eyes, and it momentarily melted your resolve.

“I just… I need to go. It’s getting really late,” you stammered, fumbling to gather your scattered thoughts and the few belongings you had on the floor.

You stood up awkwardly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment you two had nearly shared.

“It’s dark out, though. At least let me take you home. It’s too dangerous to walk alone at night,” he pleaded, his expression earnest. You hesitated, the conflict within you swirling like a storm.

“Okay,” you finally nodded, still feeling the remnants of embarrassment prickling at your skin.

You grabbed your coat, offering Roscoe a quick goodbye. “See you later, buddy.” He tilted his head, as if sensing the shift in the mood.

The drive to your apartment was wrapped in an uncomfortable silence, the kind where every unspoken word hung heavily in the air. Lewis stole glances at you from the corner of his eye, and you pretended to focus on the passing streetlights, your heart still racing from what could have been.

Once you two reached the hotel, you turned to face him, trying to conjure a smile. “Thanks for the ride, Lewis,” you said, but your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears. You could see him searching your face, but you didn’t want to let him in.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “You seem… distant.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, the words barely leaving your lips before you hurriedly added, “Really.” you opened the car door, desperate to escape the tension that had built up like a pressure cooker.

“Okay… well, goodnight,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Goodnight,” you echoed, stepping out into the cool night air, trying to dispel the emotional turmoil churning within you.

As you made your way to the entrance, you could feel Lewis’ gaze following you until you slipped inside and shut the door.

The moment you were alone, the weight of everything hit you like a tidal wave. You stumbled to your bed and collapsed, the tears flowing freely as you processed the confusing whirlwind of emotions.

The hum of Roscoe’s playful energy, the lingering warmth of Lewis beside you, and the cruel reality of David's words conspired together, leaving you feeling fragile and broken.

When had things become so complicated? You buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed, as you tried to navigate this tangled web of friendship, affection, and fear. . .

“Did I ruin everything, Roscoe?” Lewis asked, his voice trembling slightly as he let out a sigh, collapsing onto the soft carpet of his living room.

The stark contrast of the vibrant colors around him seemed to amplify the weight of his emotions. He glanced at the door, half-expecting to see your radiant smile again, the same smile that had captivated him since the very first moment.

But that smile had been displaced by the heavy cloud of doubt that now loomed over him.

“What if she never looks at me the same way again?” he muttered, his thoughts swirling like autumn leaves caught in a brisk wind.

Roscoe trotted over, sensing the heaviness that enveloped Lewis. With soulful eyes, the bulldog placed his head on Lewis's lap, offering unspoken comfort as he met his gaze with an understanding that needed no words.

“I should have been more patient,” Lewis continued, running his fingers through Roscoe’s fur, his heart aching at the thought of losing you. “But she's just so beautiful, so full of life. It overwhelms me.”

The words flowed from his lips, each syllable a tender confession as he wrestled with his own fault lines.

The memory of you—your laughter ringing like sweet music, the way your eyes sparkled under the sun—danced in his mind, and he found himself yearning for the light you brought into his life.

“You love her too, right?” he asked Roscoe, his voice softening with vulnerability.

Roscoe responded with a joyful bark, an affirmation that seemed to echo the depth of Lewis’s feelings, as if to say, "Yes, she is the one."

Just thinking of your expression when you left, the flicker of fear in your eyes, made his chest tighten with regret.

Soft, fluttering memories spiraled in his imagination, each one highlighting the incredible moments shared—the warmth of your hand in his, the laughter echoing through his garage, the way the winter breeze intertwined with your soft, unguarded whispers.

Roscoe tilted his head, as though he understood the tempest within his owner’s heart, and Lewis chuckled bitterly.

“What do you know of love, Roscoe? You have your toys, your treats, and that’s that,” he said, but deep down, he recognized that beneath that simplicity lay a profound truth.

"If only it could be so simple for us,” he whispered, gazing into Roscoe's eyes, hoping for an answer, a spark of clarity that seemed to elude him.

Perhaps he didn't ruin everything. Perhaps this was his moment to reclaim what was rightfully his—the connection that had blossomed so beautifully between the two of you.

With newfound determination igniting within him, Lewis knelt beside Roscoe, taking in the loyal creature for a source of hope. “Let’s not give up,” he said, brushing his fingers through Roscoe’s fur one last time.

“Tomorrow, after the race I'll tell her. I’ll tell her how much she means to me.” The resolve in his voice steadfast, he looked into his companion’s eyes, feeling the unspoken promise echo between them.

Roscoe barked again, tail wagging, as if he could sense the shift around him. “Yeah, we’ll make this right.”

You knew today was going to be so awkward when you woke up and saw the dog treats scattered on the floor. Just yesterday, you'd been wrapped up in a whirlwind of emotions.

You and Lewis had almost kissed, but fear had held you back, leaving an unspoken tension that lingered in the air even now. Instead of leaning in, you had let him drive you home in silence, your heart thumping in your chest as you wrestled with what could have been.

As you stared at the mess on the floor, a part of you longed for a way out. You knew Lewis would be picking you up today for the grand prix, and your mind raced with thoughts of fabricating an elaborate story about being sick.

But deep down, you couldn't deny it—missing him already felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to miss the race, especially with the thrill of seeing him light up the track ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you got out of bed and began your preparations, washing away the fears that clung to you like the morning fog.

Deciding on an outfit was an emotional balancing act itself. You wanted to feel cute yet comfortable, something that reflected your excitement and also the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface.

Finally, you settled on a sleek Mercedes shirt that Lewis' father had gifted you just the day before, paired with a flirty mini skirt. As you looked in the mirror, you felt a mix of confidence and anxiety coursing through you.

Once you were ready, you hovered by the door, waiting for that inevitable knock. Your heart raced with anticipation as the seconds dragged on. Finally, there it was—a firm, familiar rap that resonated through your chest. Holding your bag tightly, you opened the door to greet him.

Lewis stood there, looking effortlessly amazing in a fitted black shirt and sleek joggers that accentuated his athletic frame. His braids were tousled just right, framing his face in a way that made you want to reach out and touch it.

The morning sun caught the gleam of his earring, enhancing the sparkle in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, lost in him.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Is it too much?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious, glancing down at your outfit.

“Not at all,” he replied, stepping closer and meeting your gaze. “You look beautiful wearing my team's shirt.” It felt like a melody, the way he spoke, and you could hear the sincerity in his tone.

Your heart swelled at his words, gratitude washing over you like a warm blanket.

Neither of you mentioned last night, and that made you feel a strange sense of relief. Perhaps you both needed a little more time to navigate those uncharted waters.

Instead, you shifted the focus and talked about the race, discussing your hopes for the day and your excitement about the atmosphere at the track.

As you both climbed into his car, the tension felt lighter, almost playful. “So, do you think I can beat Max today?” he asked with that familiar cocky charm that always made you smile.

“Of course! With you behind the wheel, I wouldn’t bet against you for a second,” you replied, excitement bubbling in your voice.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he shot back, his eyes sparkling as he began to drive.

As the track came into view, the thrill of the day rushed in, pulling you both from the space of uncertainty. Today was about racing, adrenaline, and celebrating something that felt bigger than both of you.

And deep down, you knew that sooner or later, you would face what happened last night, but for now, in this moment, you were grateful just to be by his side. . . .

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears as the adrenaline from the race settled into a sweet, soothing buzz of triumph.

Lewis had just clinched his first win of the year at the British Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the garage was electric with celebration.

Everyone was ecstatic—team members high-fived, some shed happy tears, and you felt an overwhelming rush of joy as you basked in the shared euphoria.

“Unbelievable, wasn’t it? He nailed that last lap!” one of the mechanics shouted over the celebratory din, clapping you on the back.

As the cheers continued, you turned to see Lewis’s dad beaming with pride as he approached you. “Come here!” he said, pulling you into a warm hug. “You’ve been a huge support for him. Thank you!”

With a genuine smile, you pulled away. “It’s all Lewis! He did it all today.” You followed the throng of people heading toward the paddock, eager to see where Lewis would park his car for a well-deserved celebration, but the crowd was thick, and progress was slow.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Bono, Lewis’s race engineer, called out, effortlessly parting the crowd with his presence. He glanced back at you and extended his hand. “Here, I’ve got you. Let’s get you to your driver.”

You gripped his hand tightly as he guided you through the throng of ecstatic fans and staff. The lush green of the paddock soon came into view, and excitement bubbled within you.

By the time you arrived at Lewis’s car, the atmosphere was jubilant. Lewis was already engulfed in hugs from his team, laughter and shouts blending into a chorus of celebration.

Amidst that lively chaos, Lewis’s eyes scanned the crowd, and when they finally landed on you, it was as if the world fell away.

A wide grin spread across his face, and he bounded over, leaving a trail of joy behind him.

He gave Bono a playful dap on the way past before enveloping you in a tight embrace that felt like a lifeline. Your heart raced, feeling his warmth and excitement radiate through you.

“I can’t believe it! You did it!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I know! I really can’t!” He chuckled, burying his face in your neck, his arms firmly around your waist as if scared to let go.

The excitement, the sweat, and the fear of losing this moment melded together in a glorious array of emotions you never wanted to end.

“I’m so proud of you, Lewis,” you whispered softly into his ear, your heart swelling with affection.

Finally, he pulled back, a radiant grin lighting up his face that could rival the sun itself. “Thank you! That means the world to me,” he said, locking his gaze with yours.

“Hey, can you meet me in my driver’s room later? I want to talk to you about something.”

Your heart raced anew, understanding the implication in his request. You nodded, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Of course.”

Reluctantly, he let you go, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment longer than necessary. “I need to go hug my dad and talk to everyone, but I can’t wait to see you later!”

Lewis called over his shoulder as he turned to rejoin his father, who was waving him over, still beaming with pride.

You watched him go, your heart fluttering. The thought of what was to come made your anticipation bubble over.

The air in Lewis' driver’s room felt charged with an electric tension, the kind that often accompanies moments that can alter the course of a friendship.

You glanced around the room, taking in the trophies and photos that celebrated his career achievements, but your mind was far from the accolades.

Your heart raced as you rehearsed the words in your head, wondering if they would even come out right. You had decided that today would be the day you finally told him about your feelings, no matter how nervous it made you.

“Hey Y/N,” a voice broke through your thoughts, sending a jolt of surprise through you.

You spun around to see Lewis leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile adorning his face. Despite the lighthearted demeanor, your pulse quickened even further.

“Lewis,” you managed to mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as curiosity replaced the playful glint in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage. “Well, I’m sorry I falling in love with you, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do anything about it.”

The words rushed out of your mouth in a torrent, fueled by a mix of urgency and rebellion.

You were leaving for the US today, after all; there would be no more consequences after this, at least none that you could face today.

Lewis blinked, his expression shifting from amusement to surprise. “You… What?” he stammered, processing your confession.

“Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous but it's true,” you continued, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety wash over you. “I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just a crush or something, but it’s not. And I didn’t want to leave without being honest with you. So there it is.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, your heart pounding in your chest. You dared to meet his gaze, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

“I’ve always felt some sort of connection between us,” he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. “But I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“I didn’t either for the longest time, Lewis.” You paced a little in the small room, your nerves still high. “But every moment we spent together, every laugh and the way you looked at me—it just made me realize how I felt.”

Lewis walked toward you with an intent look, his gaze steady as he noticed your anxious pacing. With a gentle grip, he stopped you in your tracks, firmly yet tenderly holding you in place.

The world around you faded momentarily, leaving just the two of you in a bubble filled with unspoken words.

"You're too nervous when you haven't heard my side yet," he said, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.

Your heart raced, and you finally mustered the courage to respond, your voice slightly trembling as you retorted, "Because I already know what your answer is." A flicker of mischief danced in his eyes, and you felt both exasperation and relief wash over you.

"Which is what? Does it include ‘I love you too’ in it?" Lewis teased, his grin widening as he caught the surprise etched on your face. His playful approach seemed like a lighthearted facade, but you could sense the underlying seriousness in his words.

“Lewis, you can’t just joke about that,” you said, attempting to push him away, as if wishing to distance yourself from the emotional weight of the moment. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, each more potent than the last.

"I'm being serious," Lewis insisted, his expression shifting as he stepped closer, momentarily silencing the protests echoing in your mind.

“You may be serious, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve made it impossible for me to figure out what I feel,” you admitted, your voice cracking ever so slightly and exposing the vulnerable truth you had hidden deep within.

The air felt thick, and your emotions swirled chaotically, battling against the desire for clarity and connection while grappling with fear and uncertainty.

He reached out, his finger softly lifting your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. "Do you know why I called you here?" he asked, his voice low and sincere, almost as if he were sharing a cherished secret.

You shook your head slightly, unsure of what to say, the anticipation hanging fragilely between you. As he began to speak again, each word came out wrapped in a warmth that made your heart flutter.

“I wanted to tell you that I love you, to not leave today and stay more days with me. I was even going to try to bribe you by saying that Roscoe was going to miss you too much.”

With every few words, he inched closer, cupping your face, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek, igniting a fire within you that competed with the cold fear that had gripped you moments ago.

His declaration knocked the breath from your lungs, and the gravity of his confession anchored itself in your heart, rendering you momentarily speechless.

You had imagined this moment countless times, but hearing the words come from him felt alarmingly surreal.

“Don’t try and lie, Lewis,” you muttered, skepticism lacing your tone, disbelief lingering just beneath the surface. “You don’t love me.”

It was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the potential heartbreak that could arise if what he was saying wasn’t genuine, and yet, deep down, you clung to a fragile hope that he meant every syllable.

"How can I prove it to you?" he asked, his earnestness brushing against the walls you had built around your heart.

A moment of silence enveloped you both, and as your mind raced, a spark of defiance ignited within you. You knew that if he was sincere, he would be willing to do anything to show you just how real his feelings were.

And before you could even think it through, the words tumbled out of your mouth: "Kiss me like you mean it."

You could hardly believe you had uttered those words, yet the challenge stirred a wild anticipation within you.

“As you wish,” Lewis murmured, a soft smile gracing his lips as he leaned in closer.

His lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, like the gentle caress of a spring breeze coaxing flowers to bloom. Your heart races as you lean into him, the warmth of his body igniting a spark within you, while his hands rest on your hips, firm yet gentle, pulling you closer as if he is attempting to steal your very breath.

The kiss deepens, each exploration of his mouth becoming a silent promise, a secret dance under the stars that are beginning to twinkle above.

You can feel the world around you fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the cocoon of your shared intimacy, a sanctuary born from the connection that feels electric and alive.

As the kiss evolves from slow and sweet to something fervent and consuming, there’s a delicious tension in the air, palpable and intoxicating.

The way Lewis responds to you, his hands gripping your hips with a barely contained urgency, sends shivers of delight cascading down your spine.

You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the strength of him against you, grounding you as everything else blurs into insignificance.

Your heart thrums loudly in your chest, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, and all that matters are his lips and the way they meld with yours, igniting a fire that burns brighter with every shared breath.

He pulls you closer, as if the distance between your souls is far too great, and you can’t help but giggle in the moment, playfully teasing him as you pull back slightly, searching his eyes for unspoken words and the desires that linger just below the surface.

Gazing into his deep eyes, you catch your breath, the avarice of the kiss leaving you dizzy with exhilaration. You notice the way Lewis' hands twitch at your sides, the unmistakable want radiating from him, begging for permission to explore further.

It’s endearing how respectful he is, yet you can sense the beast of longing within him, restrained but unable to disguise itself completely.

"Are you holding back?" you tease, tilting your head playfully as you meet his gaze, heart racing not from fear, but from the thrilling affection that dances between you.

His lips curve into a smile, warm and inviting, a secret shared between just the two of you, and he responds, his voice low and irresistibly charming,

“Maybe I am, but only because I don’t want to overwhelm you… yet.” The air between you hums with the unspoken promise of more, leaving both of you teetering on the edge of something exhilarating yet tender.

You can't help but press further, letting the playful context of the moment draw out his desires even more. "But you still need to prove it to me that you love me," you throw out, a challenge hanging between you like tantalizing mist, thick with expectation.

You watch as his brow furrows in mock seriousness, barely able to contain your laughter. “That kiss wasn't enough?” he asks, feigning confusion, yet you see the intensity in his eyes, a glimmer of amusement mixed with something deeper that pulls you in.

His hand started to move, fingers cascading over your mini skirt, tracing the delicate fabric as if mapping uncharted territory. The sensation sent shivers running down your spine, igniting a spark of desire that left your breath hitching.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he breathed, his voice a soft whisper that felt like velvet against your ear.

The intimacy of the moment enveloped you as you met his eyes, your heart racing in rhythm with his own. You could see the desire reflected in his gaze, and suddenly, the space between you closed like the cresting tide, pulling you both into the depths of a kiss that was tender, full of promise, and laden with the heat of anticipation.

Yet just as you began to lose yourself completely in the intoxicating haze of passion, a sudden knock on the door shattered the intimate cocoon you had woven together.

You jumped slightly, a startled gasp escaping your lips, but Lewis tightened his hold around you, grounding you in the present even amidst the intrusion.

“Lewis, everyone is looking for you to celebrate,” came George's voice from the other side, carrying an air of urgency that seemed to tug at the edges of your romantic bubble.

The weight of reality crashed in—a reminder of the outside world that waited just beyond the door—but you could feel Lewis’s breath against your cheek, warm and soothing, as he whispered softly, “Let them wait a moment longer. I’m not done with you yet.”

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pascaloverx · 5 months ago

Text

MINE

SNEAK PEEK

Summary: You are a journalist working for a modest newspaper, and for several years, you have been in a relationship with Friedrich Harding—a man of inherited wealth who is now embarking on a new venture in real estate renovations. One day, you are assigned to cover the story of a man known as Count Orlok, just as Friedrich is hired to renovate the Count's mansion.

Author's Note: This fanfic takes place in the Nosferatu universe but with several changes. First, it is set in the modern world. Second, instead of the reader being involved with Thomas Hutter, she is with Friedrich Harding. I’m not sure if I will continue the fanfic, so if you enjoy it, please interact and leave a comment. If not, my apologies.

AO3 LINK one

PREVIEW

A heavy rain reminds you of the night you lost your parents in a terrible car accident. Rainy nights bring back the loneliness that settled in your heart since their passing. You remember begging, on the night after their death, for someone—anyone—to come and keep you company. Someone you would have by your side, no matter what. At times, you recall kneeling by your bed, feeling the wind grow stronger and stronger. Since then, from time to time, a creature visits you in your dreams. You never see it entirely, but you hear it murmur, growling as it whispers your name, appearing only as a shadow behind the curtain.

"Darling!" Friedrich calls from the first floor of the house you share. You stand on the balcony of the master bedroom on the second floor.

"I have incredible news," he says, rushing up the stairs excitedly.

"My love, be careful! The last time you climbed these stairs in such a hurry, you spent two months in a cast," you say, moving toward him. But he is so thrilled that he lifts you off the ground, spinning you in the air.

"I've secured a once-in-a-lifetime work opportunity. This could change everything!" he exclaims, pressing several kisses to your face. You smile, happy for him, while waiting for the right moment to share your own news.

"I'm so happy for you that I almost feel bad for saying this now, but—I’ve been offered the chance to interview a Count. The catch is, it's outside the country. I told my boss I needed to discuss it with you first," you say as he gently sets you down.

"The renovation I'm about to start is also abroad," Friedrich murmurs, cradling your face tenderly. "It seems fate has already decided for us, doesn't it?"

"And what if we are sent to different countries?" you ask, worry creeping into your voice at the thought of being apart for so long.

Friedrich smiles, his gaze warm and reassuring. "I would travel the whole world just to see you," he says before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

For a brief moment, everything feels perfect—until a voice, deep and distinct, murmurs in the distance: "Come to me, sweet creature, come to me." The words slither through the air like an unseen presence pressing against your skin.

You tense, glancing around. "Darling, did you hear that?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Friedrich chuckles softly, leaning closer. "I can only hear my heart pounding for you," he murmurs near your ear. His breath is warm, grounding—but the sensation of another presence remains. The whispering fades, yet something unseen lingers, watching, waiting.

"You are a fool," you say, shaking off the unease as you playfully swat his arm. It is only then that you truly notice his attire—an old-fashioned ensemble, carefully tailored, complete with a hat that makes him look like he stepped out of another era. Your brows furrow. "And what exactly is this outfit?"

He turns slightly, adjusting the fabric with an air of pride. "The client wants us to dress like this when we visit his estate for the renovation," he explains, flashing a charming grin.

"You are quite the sight for sore eyes," you say, stepping closer and pulling him into a lingering kiss.

Friedrich laughs softly. "It’s amusing, really, that we’re both going to work for a Count." He pauses for a moment, as if trying to recall something. "Actually, my client has the strangest name… sounds like a clock, wait—"

"Orlok?" you interject, the name slipping from your lips before you even realize it.

Friedrich snaps his fingers. "Yes! That’s it—Count Orlok. Strange name, isn't it?"

A cold shiver runs through you. The name feels eerily familiar, as if it had been whispered to you in a dream. You glance toward the window, where the heavy rain distorts the world beyond. For a fleeting moment, you swear you see a shadow shifting behind the curtain—tall, gaunt, and unnervingly still. Friedrich, unaware of your unease, chuckles. "I suppose it adds to the mystery. Who knows what kind of man he is?"

You try to force a smile, though your mind lingers on the voice from earlier. "Come to me, sweet creature, come to me."

"The strangest thing is that we are both going to work for him," you say, shivering slightly as Friedrich's lips trail along your neck.

"All I hear is that I'll be with my beloved—traveling, working, and stealing every possible moment together," he murmurs before capturing your lips in another kiss.

In one swift motion, he lifts you into his arms, making you laugh softly before carrying you to the bedroom. Later, as you lie entwined in Friedrich's arms, sleep slowly claims you. But in the depths of your slumber, something else stirs.

"In the darkness, we meet again, my sweet creature," a voice—inhuman, neither fully man nor beast—echoes through the void.

"Who are you?" you ask, but your breath falters. The air is thick, heavy, suffocating, as if your lungs refuse to obey.

A shadow, faceless and towering, lifts its clawed hands toward you. Every instinct screams at you to run, to scream—but instead, you step forward, drawn by something far beyond fear.

"Come to me," it commands, and before you can resist, its grip closes around your throat. The claws nearly pierce your skin, and a sharp pain spreads across your neck as you feel the warm trickle of blood.

Then, the creature moves closer, its presence overwhelming. Cold lips press against your skin, and an unnatural stillness fills the air. A shiver runs through your spine as you feel sharp teeth sinking into your flesh, puncturing the delicate skin of your throat. The sensation is excruciatingly real—so vivid that you can feel the slow pull as your blood is drained.

A wave of agony crashes over you, unbearable and all-consuming. The pain burns through your veins, twisting deep into your core until— you jolt awake, gasping. Your hand flies to your neck, your pulse racing beneath your trembling fingers. The pain lingers, phantom yet undeniable. The room is dark, silent except for Friedrich’s steady breathing beside you.

#modern nosferatu #nosferatu x reader #nosferatu fanfic #nosferatu 2024 #female reader #friedrich harding #friedrich harding x reader #friedrich harding x you #friedrich harding x female reader #nosferatu x female reader #Spotify #thomas hutter #count orlok #nosferatu movie #ellen hutter #modern au

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redpill-tfs · 6 months ago

Text

The Ideal Candidate

Sean adjusted his tie as he sat stiffly in the oversized chair. The reception area of Aceman Inc. was sleek and modern, but the high ceilings and muted decor only seemed to amplify his nervousness. He still couldn’t believe he was here. Applying for the HR position had been a whim—a shot in the dark. The company was known for favoring seasoned professionals with decades of experience, not fresh-faced 23-year-olds.

Yet here he was, summoned for an interview less than 24 hours after submitting his application. The rapid turnaround was shocking, but Sean was determined to make a strong impression. He’d gone all out, picking a bright green suit and pairing it with an orange tie adorned with playful wavy patterns. It was bold and a bit unconventional—just like him. “Let them see the real me,” his boyfriend had said with a supportive grin that morning.

The receptionist called his name, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Sean Ackerman? Mr. Johnson will see you now.”

Sean stood, smoothing his jacket and taking a deep breath. He could do this. As he stepped into the office, Mr. Johnson, a man in his mid-fifties with a sharp suit and an air of authority, looked up from his desk. His initial surprise at Sean’s attire was subtle but unmistakable.

“Ah, Mr. Ackerman,” Johnson said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Sean sat down, his bright tie contrasting vividly with the subdued tones of the office. Mr. Johnson flipped through a stack of papers, then looked up with a faint smile.

“We were impressed by your resume,” he began, “but as you know, Aceman holds its candidates to high standards. I want to ensure you’re a true fit for our team.”

Sean nodded, sitting straighter, his confidence bolstered by the compliment. “Of course. I’m ready to prove myself.”

“Good,” Johnson said, his tone shifting to something more evaluative. “Let’s begin. At Aceman, we value experience. Our ideal candidate typically has years of professional growth—someone in their late thirties or early forties.”

Sean opened his mouth to respond but paused, a strange wave of agreement settling over him. His joints ached faintly as he shifted in his chair. It made sense, didn’t it? After all, he’d graduated over 15 years ago. The protest marches, career changes, and long hours had taken their toll, but they’d shaped him into the seasoned professional he was today.

Johnson continued, his gaze sharp. “We also value tradition. Aceman’s dress code is strict for a reason—it reflects our commitment to professionalism and respect.”

Sean glanced down at his outfit, and a pang of embarrassment hit him. What had he been thinking? A green suit? An orange tie? No, he would never wear something so garish to an interview. His navy-blue suit was crisp, his tie perfectly knotted. Professionalism was paramount, and he was proud to represent it.

“And most importantly,” Johnson said, leaning forward slightly, “we embody conservative values: faith, family, and duty. Our employees must reflect these principles in their actions and beliefs.”

Sean felt his cross pendant brush against his chest, a comforting weight. Of course, faith was central to his life. He’d always known God’s path was the right one, guiding him through every challenge. His voting record spoke for itself—unwaveringly Republican since he turned 18. As for family, there was nothing more sacred. His wife, Ashley, and their three boys were his world. Raising them with the right values was his greatest responsibility.

Johnson leaned back, studying Sean with an approving nod. “You’re shaping up to be an ideal candidate, Mr. Ackerman. We’d be honored to have you on board.”

Sean stood, extending his hand confidently. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson. I’m eager to contribute to Aceman’s success and think I have a lot to offer the company.”

"I believe so as well. I'm sure you'll bring in lots of ideal candidates after your training period ends."

#conservative #conservatives #gay to straight #liberal to conservative #lib to con #atheist to christian

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daisy-01-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Crazy! (Modern! Hisoka x fem! Reader) smut

A/N: I think my wisdom tooth removal makes me not think clearly lmao. For my followers, I’ll still be writing JJK content so don’t worry about it! I’m just trying something out.

SMUT

MINORS DNI

Hisoka is a deranged man, maybe more than that. And everyone knows that.

Being a Yakuza isn’t a small feat. Feared and admired, he’s untouchable. Even the law can’t touch him. He is just simply the strongest.

People question his weird choice of attire, dressing as a clown. Surely a Yakuza could be more sophisticated than that right? but he’s insane. No one dared to look at him.

Some say that he’s a coward, hiding under the pretense of Yakuza to kill people. But no one dared to go his way. And he has a sickly pleasure in knowing that people feared him.

Some people try to fight him, but all of them just ended up dead at the spot. He didn’t have a guard at his house, and didn't even need to. He will kill them all, it gives him thrill although weak mutts like them only give him a small amount of so. He’s gonna have to go on a killing spree again.

***

“Can you believe it? he killed 30 people last night” your friend murmur.

“that psycho, shouldn’t the law do something about this?” You said nothing as you continued your report.

You just simply don’t care, a part of you try to convince yourself it’s because you work in this type of field-as a journalist.

But part of you also know that this is who you really are. A cold hearted bitch.

Your friend calls your name and you have to pretend like you care. “You do know that the law can’t do anything about him” you told her and she sighs.

You finished your report “do you think one of us will be able to interview him?” you asked her.

She shrugs “I don’t know, he scares me”

You pursed your lips, you have been sending email to him countless times.

To interview him about his killing spree. It doesn’t even have to make sense, you need him to talk and being recorded. Hisoka never wants to be interviewed. Paparazzi never follow him, because they will be dead if they do so.

Not only will you be promoted, your company will skyrocket if you’re able to interview him. So you will do anything to have this.

***

You’re able to get onto his ridiculously huge house (mansion) and you knock on his door.

He opens the door with a smug smirk “hello” he’s handsome, but you think it’s weird to have that painting on his face.

“I’m a journalist and I’m here to interview you” you mutter, you bring a camera and a recorder. Also your card.

He smirks “you do know journalists have to go through my e-mail yeah?” He wears ridiculous suits with polka dots. But he looks handsome with his hair slicked back.

You sighed “I’ve tried a hundred times, but you didn’t answer any of them” you mutter.

He grins, and it’s maniacal “then maybe it’s your cue to leave” he mutters.

You’re filled with fear, but capitalism wins again “I won’t leave” you said.

“I’ll kill you” he whispers “twist your pretty neck and you’d be dead” he coos creepily.

You grit your teeth “please” you said “you can kill me after” you know he wouldn’t.

He cocks his head “oh? that so?” he murmurs.

You nodded “I have a proposition” you muttered.

He grins “come inside”

***

The inside of his room is dull, and you’re not surprised. Black and white furniture but pink couch. He has an odd taste.

“Sit down” he mutters “what is your proposition?” he tilts his head.

You stare at him “let me interview you, and I’ll let you fuck me”

He cackles loudly, then he grins maniacally “are you that confident you’ll satisfy me, sweetheart?” he mutters.

You gulp “I’ll try”

He grins “I won’t be satisfied with only one round” he told you “I have great stamina”

You stare at him “I’ll be okay” you mutter.

He grins “suit yourself”

***

You make sure the camera is on, then you turn on your recorder. “Good day, mr. Hisoka” you mutter to him. “Good day” he grins, and you feel very nervous all of the sudden.

You make sure you’re in frame as well.

“I’ll cut straight to the chase” you said to him “why did you kill the 30 people?” you asked him.

He grins sadistically “I was bored” he murmurs

“I went on a killing spree once a month to satiate my bloodlust”

“Why once a month?” you asked him. He shrugs “just feel like it” he mutters ambiguously and you know that’s the closest thing you can get on that question.

“What do you feel when you kill people?” you asked him.

He grins “thrill” he mutters “the stronger the people are, the more I feel the thrill” You try calm your nerves down even though he can kill you anytime here

“do you feel regret about your victims?” He cackles “no” he mutters “never even cross my mind”

After half an hour, the interview ends and you turn off your camera and recorder.

He grins “strip” You gulped, as you do so.

***

You shudder as he slurps and lap your pussy, shaking your hips as his long tongue toys with it.

“Has been a long time” he mutters, muffled as he licks and lap your pussy. You shudder as you splurt.

He didn’t stop kissing and making out with your pussy, you moan as you cum again.

You mewl as he fingers you roughly, grinning “you look blissed out” he coos teasingly. You moan as his long veiny fingers move in and out of you, the squelching sounds mewling loudly.

This is the hand he used to kill people, but it turns you on knowing so. He grins as you splurt.

You gasp when he unzips his pants, showing his huge cock-pink and all veiny. You gulped. His cock nudge your pussy as you moan, he grins “not backing down?” he teased you and you think of doing so. It’s too big.

But you shook your head, and he grins as he plows your pussy roughly-he grunts at how tight it is. He wastes no time as his cock abuses your pussy “shit” he curses as you moan in delight.

He grins "too fucked out to think aren't you?" He plows you harder as you squeal in pleasure. His cock is too good in you.

You moan as his cock scrape your gummy walls, you shudder as he grunts and plow it-his bed creaked as the squelching noises fill the room. "So sloppy" he grunts "you feel like a virgin" with that he splurts inside you.

You pant in bliss as he grins

"another round"

***

You get recognition and instant promotion after what happened with that clip you submitted. You get praises anywhere since Hisoka is untouchable.

"How did you do it?" Someone asked in amazement.

Your thighs shake from what happened-from the many rounds.

"Luck, I suppose" you manage a smile.

#hisoka #hxh 2011 #hunter x hunter #Hunter x hunter hisoka #hisoka x reader #Hisoka x reader smut #hisoka smut #hisoka morrow #reader insert

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months ago

Note

About Malleus new years card, given how heavily Japanese culture it goes into. It might be a hagoromo, a white cloth/scarf that floats in the air around a goddess. Given that Malleus is the strongest mage, it might be a symbolism of that. Even so it's used for goddess, Vil and a few others worn clothing meant for women. It wouldn't be unusual to be used for Malleus.

[Referencing this post!]

These asks are all about the fashion of the New Year’s Attire cards and how they relate to Japanese culture, so I thought to combine them ^^

Since I’m responding to three asks in one post and it takes a while to explain things, I’ve placed everything under the cut :> There’s a lot of discussion of Japanese clothing, culture. and folklore in this, so if you’re interested in those topics then you’re in for a treat!!

To the first ask: Though Twst is fairly gender fluid when it comes to dressing its characters, I'm certain that's not a 羽衣 (hagoromo/"feather garment/cloak"; typically worn by celestial women in Japanese mythos). Hagoromo are thinner, longer, and more scarf-like than what is depicted in Malleus's initial card art. You can tell that he's clearly got a sheet that covers his entire body there. The fabric also doesn't appear to be floating like a hagoromo would.

The first two images depict 被衣 (kazuki/katsugi); the latter two images depict 羽衣 (hagoromo); you can see there is a notable visual distinction between them.

To the second ask: It’s possible that the artists looked at kabuki fashion for inspiration, but they most likely did not base the entirety of the New Year’s Attire outfits on that alone. As Yana states in one March 2023 interview, she and her team try to avoid creating outfits that too closely resemble a single real-world culture or brand. To that end, they seem to pull their inspiration from many different cultures and time periods, which is why you'll see a mixture of traditional and modern Japanese elements in the New Year’s Attire.

歌舞伎 or Kabuki, for those who don't know, is classical form of Japanese theatre which mixes dramatic performances with traditional music and dance. I consulted with a few friends who are familiar with Japanese culture (hereby referred to as A-ko, B-ko, C-ko, and D-ko) about the topic and they had some enlightening information to share. Because I am not familiar with the art form or how to gauge it myself, I will be relaying the information provided by those friends in addition to my own research. A-ko informed me that kabuki used to be co-ed (or at least did feature women; the first kabuki troupe formed was all-women) and modern kabuki is all-men. As for the poses, B-ko remarked that they can be considered common "festival dance poses", not strictly kabuki poses. C-ko added, "[...] There is very little, if anything, kabuki-like about the New Year’s cards apart from possibly SOME of the poses [...] Jack is probably the most kabuki we’re going to get because of the dynamic palm thrust and gaudy composition of his attire." The eye makeup being red and of that design also invokes the image of kabuki makeup without it fully committing to its extravagance!

Overall, the group seemed to agree that the New Year’s Attires lack the over-the-top expressions and elaborate costumes of kabuki. There’s also the more obvious lack of full-face stage makeup, but it’s kind of a given that Twst is wouldn’t go this route, especially since the context of these cards is helping out in a store and not putting on a dramatic performance.

On the topic of Malleus and oni (Japanese yōkai, demon, orc, ogre, or troll), I don't think he's intended to look like one??? Sure, he has the horns, but as B-ko said, "[Malleus] always has those horns." Very little in his actual outfit resembles the costume a kabuki actor playing the part of an oni would wear--unless you count the excessive black, as that's a color typically used for oni, but that black is usually paired with red. As for the hair styling, D-ko explained, "Oni usually don't have hair [...]". I find it interesting that some oni masks I found do seem to have hair, but it's usually very sparse omg balding!Malleus real???? and/or a middle part and not the sideways part that Malleus is sporting. Additionally, while oni do have horns, the shape of them is nothing like Malleus’s.

It's true that fur is rarely seen in historical Japanese clothes, but they don't seem to be that common in kabuki either?? According to C-ko, "fur and pelts [...] were a luxury few could afford. Thus, only those people decorated with furs would be royalty or individuals vying for power.

B-ko suggested that the reason why Jack wears fur in his New Year’s Attire isn’t to emulate Kabuki—which tends to feature fluffy wigs, like the one pictured below—but to emphasize his “wolf”-ness and to keep him warm from the cold. C-ko pointed out, however, that “[…] fur accents (like what Jack has) became the trademark for popular and celebrated figures [...] towards the end of the warring states period; when kabuki came into vogue, many plays were inspired by the lives of such personae as well as the legends surrounding them. This is why much of kabuki is characterized by the term basara—of grandeur and ostentatious eccentricity. The actors themselves would not have had access to furs, so they focused instead upon conveying that same sort of energy through their theatrics and outlandish couture. They still used substitutes, of course.” C-ko also added, “The most memorable kabuki roles feature things like fur—which many associate with kabuki.”

Finally, the group altogether said that, “Vil isn’t [dressed like] a geisha. His outfit bears no resemblance to what geisha wears.” 芸者 or Geisha are highly trained Japanese hostesses who entertain guests with song, dance, and conversation—furthermore, there’s a rigorous training process and a very specific appearance they take on. Makeup aside (if Twst is not doing kabuki makeup, why would they do geisha makeup?), a feminine figure and long, flowing kimono is not enough to get the “the look”. B-ko commented, “[…] Calling Vil [dressing like] a geisha just because he wore a feminine kimono […] Like, damn. Does that mean every woman who wears that style [of a] kimono is a geisha now?” It takes considerable time and dedication to achieve this to earn the title; it’s not meant to be taken lightly!

From D-ko, “Overall Vil’s outfit is kinda westernized.” This is due to the hat, gloves, bows, fishnets, and laced collar. A traditional geisha’s outfit lacks the bells and whistles that Vil’s design boasts. The silhouette also seems to be wrong. Why? “Because technically you try to make your silhouette as not curvy as possible when wearing a kimono,” but Vil’s silhouette appears more hourglass-like. The devil is in the details!!

Lastly, to the third ask: Going to skip over talking about Jack's umbrella pose and the kabuki inspiration, since I already addressed that earlier in this post! I'll briefly add that it's not for sure that Malleus is meant to be a certain thing unless Yana and/or her team come out and say it. B-ko agreed, saying "I don't think you can say Malleus is definitely [Ushiwakamaru], since I literally gave [other examples of what] he's dressed like [...] I can understand 'taking inspirations from', though..."

In the final ask, Anon remarks that Jack and Malleus's looks may be inspired by that of 弁慶 (Benkei) and 牛若丸 (Ushiwakamaru), two characters from Japanese folklore. Ushiwakamaru is the nickname of Minamoto no Yoshitsune, who, according to C-ko, "[...] fought and recruited his loyal vassal Benkei in a fabled confrontation on a bridge." While some elements of Jack and Malleus's New Year's Attires resemble what Ushiwakamaru and Benkei are usually depicted wearing--especially Malleus's veil--not all of it matches up. For example, as B-ko notes, "[...] what Malleus is wearing under the veil isn't what Ushiwakamaru is wearing, but looks [like] more of a kannushi (神主/"divine master (of ceremonies; often Shinto clergy)")." B-ko linked this site and recommended checking it out to make clothing comparisons; the kannushi garb was just an item they picked out for similarities on a cursory glance. This brings me back to a point I mentioned in the second ask: Twst's fashion takes inspiration from many sources and blends them.

"I think it really boils down to [Malleus and Jack] evoking the atmosphere of that famous [Ushiwakamaru and Benkei] print," C-ko continues. They drew comparisons between Malleus, a character twisted from Maleficent (commonly depicted with her raven Diablo), and Usiwakamaru, who is the disciple of a tengu {crow/raven yokai). They also compared Jack, a steadfast and virtuous individual, with Benkei, who is a monk with similar traits. Furthermore, in the famous folklore story, Benkei is depicted as having felled 999 men before facing off against Usiwakamaru, a supernatural force. So, like Jack, Benkei is a powerful combatant up against an even more powerful supernatural force, Usiwakamaru/Malleus.

jxxbisbsjJvsjsb I didn’t think we’d be talking about Japanese fashion, history, and folklore to this extent, but here we are 🤩 I hope that, if you’re reading this, maybe you learned something new and interesting from the post!! I know I certainly did while chatting up my friends.

P.S. Thank you to A-ko, B-ko, C-ko, and D-ko for their knowledge and perspectives! Couldn’t have written this without you.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Malleus Draconia #Jack Howl #Vil Schoenheit #notes from the writing raven #jp spoilers #Maleficent #Diablo

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mysticgalsworld · 10 months ago

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swept away pt.2

a/n: thank you all so much for your support on pt 1 !! i’m so happy to continue this story for all you lovely ppl.. also just a reminder i take requests !! (special shoutout to angelikaschischi for requesting this specifically 😋) anyways pls enjoy lovelies 💕

pairing: hugh jackman x cleaning lady f! reader

summary: after getting a job at a cleaning company as a maid, you’re surprised to find out that the house you’re cleaning for belongs to the Hugh Jackman..

content warnings: fluff, angst, f! reader, maternal role, cursing, hospital, mental illness, power imbalance, slow burn?, not spellchecked

parts: 1, 2

The car ride to the small headquarters of Pristine Cleaning Co. was long. Your knuckles grip the steering wheel tensely, white emerging from the force of your grip.

“I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” His vicious words cut back into your memory and your foot presses on the gas to go faster.

The squeak of a giggle behind you rings in your ears as you look behind you. The small toddler grabs her own foot in the carrier. Looking at her, you sigh, allowing the tension from your body to exit.

The roundness of her cheeks distract you from your memories and force you to look at her from the rear view mirror. Her finger comes out suddenly with a small whine as she points to the busted radio.

“The radio?” you ask her, not expecting an understandable response. You press the knob, waiting a bit before a slight sound comes out. It’s scratchy and distorted, but after harshly smacking the top of the dashboard, it clears up.

Alicia Keys’ voice comes out slightly muffled, but to the gummy grin of the toddler behind you, she doesn’t seem to mind.

You closed the banged up door of the old sedan before opening the back and grabbing the baby carrier. Slamming the door, you make your way into the modern building of the Pristine Cleaning Co.

Even though you would rather chop your head off than take another step, you continue. Adjusting your attire, you knock on the small office door and wait. The silence on the other side is as unnerving as the first time you did your interview, but you stand taller.

“Come in.” a smooth voice answers from the other side. Picking up the carrier from the floor, you push open the door slowly before putting on a trepidatious smile on your face.

The woman’s eyes flicker up to you from her paper calendar. She adjusts her framed black glasses before looking down at the carrier and back to your face. “Y/N. Have a seat.”

With her tone, you have to force the saliva to not gulp down your throat as you sit. Thankfully the toddler is too entranced with grasping at the bows in her hair to make any noise.

The room is almost completely silent, saving for the heavy breathing from the child, the automated air conditioning blowing softly into the office, and the heavy sound of keys clicking as she continues to type.

To save you both from the awkwardness of the half-silent room, you speak. “Miss Wong. I was wondering if you have considered finding a replacement for Mr. Jackman’s house?”

She starts, pausing to look thoughtfully at you, resting her manicured fingers on the desk in front of her.

“Mr. Jackman?” Her voice is boarder line sharp as she asks the question. Shit. You were supposed to be “silent, thorough, and unnoticeable” not aware of the residents who lived there.

You swallow softly before meeting her eyes. “I saw a picture on the dresser. So I assumed..” Her eyebrows raise before she sighs, a sound so strangely unlike her you almost shiver.

“Your job is to clean, not to assume. But we have attempted to find a replacement cleaner for his house, yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, hands making slight fists under the table as you process her vague sentence. You nervously glance up at her, urging your voice to exude professionalism.

“Attempted? After my last cleaning I had hoped to switch his house for the one near Rosemount Grove..”

Miss Wong nods, acknowledging your words. Her gaze remains fixated on you, expression unreadable. The silence stretches on for a few more seconds before she finally responds.

“Yes, attempted. Unfortunately, we have been unsuccessful in finding a replacement cleaner. All our other cleaners at this moment have their hands full with their assigned clients.”

She leans back in her chair, her manicured fingers drumming lightly on the stack of papers in her desk.

“I’m afraid I can’t reassign you, Y/N. It’s either this house or nothing.”

Your hands begin to sweat against your pants as you look at the toddler, now completely passed out. Your voice comes out soft as your gaze is stuck to the sleeping toddler.

“I suppose you’ll call him?” With a wavering voice you think of how much this job means. Without it, you don’t know where you would be.

Pushing up her thick framed glasses, Miss Wong continues to type. She watches silently as you look down at the sleeping toddler, a flicker of understanding passing through her usually stoic expression. She nods slightly, acknowledging your statement and the implications it holds.

“I’ll call him,” she confirms, her voice as poised as ever. “But Y/N?”

Your eyes flash to her, searching for a hint of her next words, but her gaze is already back to the computer screen. Professionalism oozing from her tone, she tries to hide her concern. “The kid won’t be a problem, will it?”

Rapidly shaking your head, you wonder if she even sees it from her typing. “No, Valerie stays with my parents during the cleanings. Not an issue at all..”

She nods imperceptibly, her head barely moving. You move to stand, grabbing carrier from beside you. “Thanks Miss Wong, have a nice day.” She glances at you once more, her eyes drifting back down to the carrier before you exit, but saying nothing.

Once in your car, you try to start it. The engine stalls slightly but you try again, making a mental note to get it checked out. The car starts with a low stammer and you finally leave.

When you enter the familiar open house, your breath catches in your throat. Opening the door with your key, you beg to some higher power that he sent the company the correct days he wouldn’t be here.

Wiping your sweaty hand on the thighs of your worn jeans, you start. As it was before, you start with the kitchen. Then you go to the living room, basking in the peaceful silence surrounding the house.

The creak of the front door knocks you out from your trance while dusting. Heavy steps enter the home and as you turn to look, you see the man you were hoping to avoid.

Hugh Jackman’s tall, muscular figure steps through the front door, filling up the space with his mere presence. His eyes scan the living room, taking in your figure as you stand frozen in the middle of dusting.

At first, his expression is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and slight regret. But then it softens slightly as his gaze roams over you, noticing how skittish you seem at his unexpected entrance.

“Oh, hello...” His voice is gravelly, and his steps slower as he moves further into the room.

You nod in response to his greeting, you face no longer cracking professional smiles when you see him.

To you, his face is a reminder of those fucking words. “I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” Because that’s all he thought you were. A thief. A criminal.

The words replay in your brain. They taunt you. In the morning, in the silence of a car ride, in your nightmares.

Turning away, you continue to dust. Hoping that your brushing him off would’ve given him the hint, you are surprised to hear his weight shift as he continues to stand in front of the door.

Now you drop the duster, going to pick up the vacuum. In your peripheral you can see his mouth open to speak, regret so clear on his face. But instead of listening, you crank the vacuum to the highest setting and hope he gets the hint.

He pauses for a moment, watching your dismissive behavior with a mixture of guilt and frustration on his face. Realizing you were purposefully avoiding his attempts to talk, his brow furrows and his tone sharpens slightly.

“Y/N. I need to talk to you.” His tone seems regretful as he slightly raises his voice to talk over the vacuum. You see him out of your peripheral, hands on his hips as he stands there in his sweaty workout clothes.

Instead of acknowledging him, you turn with the vacuum, pretending to not have heard him.

Seeing you ignore him makes him breathe out a heavy sigh before placing a hand over his face in frustration. “Y/N, please! I need to apologize…”

Lowering the vacuum, you turn to him absentmindedly. “I’m not supposed to talk to you…” you respond, devoid of any warmth.

His frown deepens at your words, his shoulders sagging slightly in disappointment. “I know that. But I need to talk to you…”

Turning off the vacuum abruptly, a sudden silence engulfs the room. You turn to him with your arms crossed. You raise your eyebrows with calm anger, hoping to urge him on.

He swallows, his accent sounding gravelly with his low tone. “I’m sorry.”

Raising your eyebrows in surprise, you almost laugh. The two words you dreamed about hearing finally coming out of his mouth and they don’t feel like enough.

Instead of responding you grab a cloth, starting to wipe down the coffee table. Behind you, he clears his throat. “Y/N.”

You turn to him, the dirty cloth still in your hand. With a tone oozing professional indifference, you start. “I have nothing to say sir. Please let me finish my job and I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“I can’t. I need you to know how sorry I am. I really messed up and I apologize.” He starts to pace slowly, the scene strangely mirroring the situation he was apologizing for.

He continues, his voice rising slightly in regret. “I mean—the second you found the watch behind the dresser I felt like an fucking idiot.”

You giggle slightly at he starts to ramble out his apology. Suddenly your old phone starts to ring. Shit. You keep it on silent and only emergency calls actually ring.

You mumble a quick sorry to him before picking up. Glancing down rapidly at your phone, you answer. Hugh sees this and stops, wondering why you looked stressed as you answer the phone.

Your brows furrow as the person on the phone speaks. “What? Is she okay?” Breathing more heavily, you listen to the other side. “The hospital!” Your voice raises before you mumble a quiet “fuck” under your breath.

Ending the call with a “I’ll be right there,” you rush to pack up your things, leaving a very confused Hugh.

When you say “the hospital” Hugh’s heart drops for you. A sense of dread fills him when he sees you pack your things with panicked movements.

“What’s going on?” His voice exudes authority as he commands an explanation. Your head already feels like it’s about to explode and trying to explain the situation to him may make your head literally melt off. With a rushed sigh, you brush your messy hair off of your forehead. “I’m sorry sir, I have to go to the hospital. So I can’t finish the cleaning today.”

Hugh watches your stressed mannerisms, his mind racing with unanswered questions. He feels a pang of concern, and his brows furrow as he looks at you.

"Ok that’s completely fine.” With that, you nod and head towards the front door with a jog. Once outside you run to your old, beat-up car. Unbeknownst to you, Hugh stands in the front doorway, watching as you rush to leave.

Turning the key, you pray to any higher power that your car starts. It spudders with a low dying sound and you could almost laugh. Of course this happens at the worst possible fucking time. You try again, getting the same result and sighing.

In frustration, you bang your head against the steering wheel, tears fighting to fall. A hard knock against the window startles you as you look up. Hugh stares with furrowed brows as you open the car door. “Need a ride?” His smooth voice almost acts like a buey in this moment.

“Please…” You hurriedly follow him to his silver Audi Q7. Not used to the luxury car, you hesitate but think back to why you need to ride with him in the first place. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Which hospital?” Your breath catches as you think, “Uh—Rosemount Community Hospital.” With a nod he drives, a solemn expression on his face.

The drive was silent. As soon as the car came to a stop, you hopped out. Rushing through the glass doors of the community hospital, you ask the lady at the front desk for the room number.

Hugh follows, not wanting to leave you here at the hospital alone. He knows he hates the smell of hospitals, the place where death and life meet, and wonders what you think. Do you like hospitals? Do you find them comforting? Or a bad omen?

Following you to the room, he can’t hide his surprise when you open the door to a small toddler sitting with an older woman.

“Valerie…” Your voice whispers softly and you go to cradle the toddler who now has a bright green cast on her tiny leg. You turn to the older woman, your expression becoming venomous as you grit out,“What happened?”

The older woman splutters in surprise at your tone before crossing her arms. “I was making lunch. She wanted to sit on the counter so I let her, but she started to climb. I turned around for one second—once second and she fell…”

Your face reddens as you breathe deeply. Your normal calm anger transpiring into a red-hot fit of rage. Hugh, still stuck in a state of confusion and shock from seeing the toddler, glances curiously at your expression. “Mom, you can’t do that. She’s a baby, she can’t even walk yet… She shouldn’t even be on the counter in the first place.” With a sigh, you put a hard on your tired face while picking up the giggly toddler.

“Just—can you get the doctor please, Mom?” You sit with Valerie in your arms, watching as your mom leaves the room. Almost disassociating, you stare at the stark white tile before Hugh speaks up.

“Is that your daughter?” His voice seems curious and a little shaken. You aren’t really old, maybe mid 20s. Clearing your throat slightly, you still hold your gaze to the tile. “No.. she’s my little sister. My mom has early onset Alzheimer’s and usually my dad is there to help take care of her.”

Hugh feels his heart drop slightly at your response, a pang of sympathy filling him as he to you. His eyes flicker to the little girl sitting snugly on your lap, who is still giggling obliviously.

Nodding slowly, he takes in the weight of your words before speaking quietly. “I'm sorry about your mom—that’s horrible. And your dad?"

You shrug your shoulders casually, your expression blank and disappointed. Valerie brings you out of your the thoughts, her small hand getting stuck in the bottom of your hair. With a smile, you glance to her face. Chubby cheeks, stubby baby teeth, and the soft tufts of her hair remind you of who you’re doing this for.

Clearing your throat, you look to Hugh, who’s now standing in the corner. “Thank you…” Your voice comes out in a whisper, almost as if you are afraid to say them louder.

His eyes widen for a moment, his heart clenching at the almost timid tone in your voice. He swallows deeply, feeling his throat grow dry as he responds.

"Don't mention it..."

You laugh softly as you think of your piece of crap car sitting dead in the front of his nice house. With a small sigh, you realize having to get it fixed will eat into your already minimal savings.

Pulling out your phone, you call a tow truck company to pick up the car and take it to the shop. Hugh just watches as you do this, a little confused because he was more than willing to do it for you. While you’re on the phone, your mom comes back with the doctor in tow.

Immediately, you end the call and give your attention to the doctor as he explains that Valerie’s leg is broken, but will heal nicely after a couple months. You breathe out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding and thank the doctor for his time.

Turning to Hugh, your voice comes out strong. “Thank you, Mr. Jackman. For everything… I’ll see you next week.” You almost miss the slight frown at your professional use of his name, but you don’t. Turning to walk out of the room with Valerie in your arms and your mom on your heels, you give him one last smile as you go.

The next week goes smoothly. Continuing your routine, you start with the kitchen. As you start to organize the refrigerator, you hear the heavy steps of Hugh entering. Instead of his normal sweaty workout clothes, you’re almost surprised to see him in comfy clothes.

He gives you a smile before continuing to the coffee machine. Without turning around, his voice rings out above the soft hum of your music. “Coffee?”

Instead of answering, you walk to the cupboard and pull out two mugs. He watches as you place them next to the machine, a small smile on your face. The hint of domesticity from making coffee shocks both of you, so you retreat back to the fridge.

He pours the coffee and approaches you at the fridge with both cups in his hands. Your pinky brushes against his as you grasp the ceramic mug. A buzz of electricity shoots through your arm as you revel in the warmth of it. In a daze, you whisper a thank you before picking out the creamer and offering it to him. He takes it with a smile, happy that you are no longer ignoring him.

Taking a sip, you bask in the rich taste before Hugh’s voice pulls you out of your focus. “How’s Valerie?” Almost completely forgetting that he was at the hospital with you, you clear your throat surprised. You don’t know what surprises you more, the fact that he remembers her name or actually cares about how she’s doing.

“She’s fine—finally getting use to the cast.” I take another sip of my coffee, choosing to keep my gaze on the island between us. He nods in my peripheral, his voice coming out to give a small “That’s good.”

The silence is somewhat awkward and somewhat comfortable, but he decides to break it. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never accused you.”

Nodding, you take in his words. You focus on the deep rumble of regret in his voice, the emotion of it making his accent come out stronger. “I’m not a thief. I just—I can’t lose this job.” Your voice comes out almost desperate. You could curse at the small wobble that comes out as you bite through the words. Afraid to look him in the eye after your words, you set the mug down and go back to reorganizing the fridge.

You can feel his eyes stuck on you, the feeling of it curious and prodding. You continue, picking up the condiments and reorganizing them.

“My father gave me that watch.” The words are so sudden and soft, it shocks you. Your shoulders deflate as you unravel the tension from your earlier words. You turn slowly, mouth open to say something but he stops you. “—That’s why I was so upset… He passed a couple years ago and I wear that watch to—uh remember him, I guess.”

The soft and somewhat solemn expression on his face takes you off guard. Even though he is looking down at the counter in remembrance, you almost feel like the atmosphere is staring down into your soul.

“Mr. Jackman…” you start. He interrupts, holding up a hand, “—Hugh, please.” Nodding, you play with the handle of your mug as you watch him. “Hugh, I’m so sorry.. I shouldn’t have been so defensive and—”

Your mouth opens to explain more, your fear and hatred of people not treating you as a human with thoughts, maybe even your fear of losing this job, but he stops you. He stops you from your unnecessary groveling. “None of it was your fault. I was just stressed and upset and I took it out on you… I’m the one who’s sorry…”

With a nod and a small smile, you listen. Really listen—to everything; his voice, his words, and the soft gravel of his accent. “It’s okay…” With a nod and soft smile, toeing the boarder of friendship, you turn and go back to the fridge.

The following week, the smiles only grow. Instead of telling your company the dates he won’t be there, it seems that every time you come to clean he “accidentally” keeps running into you. When you are cleaning the kitchen, he decides that is the perfect time to have his midafternoon cup of coffee. Or when you’re cleaning his bedroom, he needs to grab things that he coincidentally forgets to bring downstairs.

And the notes reappear too. Silly doodles with swirls and faces conjoined with encouraging notes of admiration. And every time, they make your day. Even when your morning has taken a turn for the worse.

Like this morning Valerie decided now was the time to try to take her cast off by herself. You sigh exhausted as you remember the wails and cries of pain from the itching she had under the cast this morning.

Even with your face and body exhausted, the neon brightness of a colored note sticking to the TV screen brings a soft smile to your face. You pull it softly off the dark screen and pull it closer to your tired eyes to read.

“Coffee?” It’s covered in zigzags, smiley faces, and a badly-drawn cup of coffee, but yet you still feel your feet pulling to the kitchen.

Moving to the kitchen, you are shocked to see Hugh sitting at the countertop with a puzzle, a steaming cup of coffee in his own hand and another in the seat beside him. With a tired smile you greet him, a casual “Hey Hugh” coming from your lips.

He glances up from the puzzle, a pair of reading glasses and a concentrated smile on his face. For a second you glance down to his lips, drawn in a concentrated pout from the puzzle. But still he greets you warmly, the pout disappearing in an instant, replaced with a warm smile.

You take the counter seat next to him, sipping your coffee and watching as he continues his puzzle. Small conversation flows easily, you focused on the coffee and him on the puzzle.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he focuses on his next question. “And Valerie? How’s her leg?” Your shoulders sag as you sigh with exhaustion. “She wasn’t doing too well this morning, her leg itches a lot but she can’t verbalize it yet so I basically just have to guess.”

Hugh nods, his lips pursing together as he thinks. “God, that sounds tiring. I know when my kids were younger it helped if I distracted them with things they liked.” He shrugs casually as he suggests for you to try it. You nod, taking in the information before taking another sip of your coffee.

Raising the mug to your lips, a piece of the puzzle stands out to you from your peripheral vision. Timidly, you slide the piece over to him, noticing it’s the one he’s missing. The appreciative smile he gives you could light up a room as he slides the puzzle to fit in between you both.

Knowing that you company wouldn’t approve, you have so many things that need to be done, and are a complete hot mess, you work on the puzzle with him.

You find it peaceful. Another taste of the domesticity you could have if you just let yourself be swept away.

a/n: hey lovelies !! as always, let me know what you think and whether or not you want me to continue with a part three.. i’m hoping to update a least once a week, but sometimes it may be more or it may be less (also pls lmk if you have any requests) anyways, love you guys 💕

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman x f! reader #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman and ryan reynolds #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman fanfic #swept away #tumblr fyp #fypage

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rayan12sworld · 1 year ago

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💙🧡Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down

By:KizuKatana

Summary:

Wei Wuxian would like to think that - if he had known that Lan Wangji would walk out of his life immediately after they hooked up- he wouldn’t have given into his ridiculous attraction for the man. He wished he were better at lying to himself.

Guest-starring Lan Wangji’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters

Chapter:10/10

Words:63,215

Status:completed

“I don’t work with major sects. Especially not the Lan.”

He had to see Wei Ying, to make sure he was okay. He hadn’t been allowed to see Wei Ying six years ago, and the man had nearly died. Would have died if Wen Qing hadn't randomly happened to be interviewing at Gusu hospital that same day. It was unacceptable that a sheer coincidence was the only reason Wei Ying was still alive. The company Lan Wangji’s family owned had put Wei Ying at risk, then abandoned him. Someone in his family’s company had made the decision to fire Wei Ying without notice, which violated company policy. Someone in his family’s company had further made the decision to pull medical support over a policy that was clearly not meant to be used in this way. Lan Wangji was going to find this ‘ someone .’ And when he did… Lan Wangji cut himself off at the shocking violent images that flickered through his normally peaceful mind. There was precedent for such punishments. Though much of his ancestor’s history had been burned, enough survived to make it clear that Lan discipline had always been harsh. In the modern context, he knew such measures would be viewed as archaic… even barbaric. But cultivators were given leeway by the authorities and society at large to handle their own business. Lan Wangji felt a primal sort of anger and thirst for vengeance that - for the first time in his life - made him fiercely glad that there would be no boundaries to stay his hand if he found the one responsible for Wei Ying’s treatment.

“You never told me that you and Hanguang-Jun had been romantically involved.” Wei Wuxian choked on his in-drawn breath, which sent him into a coughing fit that lasted almost a minute. “What?!” He wheezed, when he could finally form words again. “Why would you think… it was only… we weren’t romantically involved. Fuck, who says shit like that?” Wen Qing eyed him skeptically. “If you’re trying to play this off cool, you are failing spectacularly. Though that’s nothing new.”

Lan Xichen shot him a sideways glance, and continued to scroll. “Wangji…,” Lan Xichen said after several more pages of scrolling. “Did you have time to do anything other than follow Wei Wuxian around and document his actions?” Lan Wangji felt his ears heat as report after report with his signature flashed across the screen. He had, perhaps, not realized that there were so many reports he had written about Wei Ying. “I was the Compliance officer,” Lan Wangji replied tersely. “Mn,” Lan Xichen said, an unforgivable smirk appearing on his face. “You wrote him up for wearing too few layers on a night hunt after being covered in Yao viscera and changing into civilian attire?” Lan Wangji clenched his jaw. Wei Ying had been wearing only shorts and a tee-shirt. It had been a professional trip. It had been… distracting. “You know that most people don’t flirt by giving citations of minor rule violations to the person they are interested in, right?” Lan Xichen persisted, openly laughing at him, even if it was only with his eyes. “ Ge ,” Lan Wangji said repressively, which only served to amuse Lan Xichen more.

He also really wanted to run his sword through Su She, metaphorically. And also literally. His hand flexed around the cool, smooth hilt of Bichen. He trusted his brother, but Lan Xichen was kind. Su She did not deserve kindness. “Please trust me, Wangji,” Lan Xichen pleaded, as if reading his brother’s thoughts. “Su She must face discipline. According to the sect rules, not civilian laws,” Lan Wangji stated. He would not bend on this.

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b0tsbby · 2 years ago

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RACING AU!! AGAIN!! YIPPEE!!!

Time for another Non Racer character in this Death Racing Au! It’s *checks notes* Sports Reporter Intern Meryl! Who is actually very excited about the sport! But had no idea it was full of illegal action outside of December city!!

Design notes and talk under cut!

I’m still working on the details ehehe but I like how she turned out. Really wanted to hone in on the 90s to 2000s technology and attire here, taking inspo from JSR cuz I feel like in this au December city is just modern in that Y2K urban sense? I’m still figuring out worldbuilding okay‼️😭

She uses her Walkman to record people she interviews on the road (haha) but she ends up documenting her thoughts on it cuz shits kinda crazy. The headphones work as a radio receptor too to hear about the races that she’s literally watching through the radio commenter’s perspective…to get the…as much information as she can...

That changes once she meets Vash though. She ends up using them to help and give him the low down while he’s racing so he doesn’t actually get his shit rocked.

She’s so silly.

#trigun #trigun stampede #meryl stryfe #trigun au #trigun meryl #trigun fanart #trigun last line #meryl stryfe trigun #I love her so much #she’s just some guy #but she could solo knives in the parking lot #idc #she puts fear in Knives heart idc #also she definitely has a flip phone #THEY ALL DO #except for Roberto maybe

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theaawalker · 2 years ago

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Delusional | Lex Luthor x Fem!OC [1-Shot]

Pairing: Lex Luthor x Rose Holloway Song Inspo: Delusional by Simon Curtis Word Count: 2,433 Summary: desperate to get out under her tyrannic mother's corporative thumb, executive secretary Rose Holloway submits an application for an opening at LexCorp. Much to her surprise, she is asked to interview the next week. The pay is pretty good, and this Lex guy couldn't be as awful as her mother. What could go wrong? Warnings: mild mentions of parental abuse Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

Last thing I remember from my dream was having to tell my angry mother the news about my job. That was enough to get me awake. I scrambled around in my covers and opened my eyes, squirting as the light from the curtains hit my face. At first, I just closed my eyes to block them from the sunlight. But then I realized it was morning, and I forgot to set my alarm last night! I was going to be late on the first day!

I pushed my covers off my body and climbed out of bed, ignoring my slippers that awaited my feet. I looked at my alarm clock, and, as if taunting me, it read 12:21 PM. I grabbed my already ready work attire and took a quick shower. I put on my clothes, did my hair, applied some makeup (not too much, because I don't wanna look as desperate as I was), and brushed my teeth. Into my mall closet I went, searching for some shoes to go with my outfit.

I did my best to fix myself a nutritious breakfast. Nutty bars seemed like the way to go, but they get stuck in my teeth. The last thing I wanted was to be humiliated on my first day - I hadn't felt like that since high school. I managed to make due with a glass of orange juice; just when I put the cold glass to my mouth, a car honked outside. I groaned to myself, knowing who it was, "Mom."

Rushing out the house, I barely remembered to lock the door. I hadn't told my mom about my application for LexCorp, so I knew she was gonna drive to her building instead. That meant I had to somehow sneak past her and make it to LexCorp in time. It's not that far... I hope.

I swung my business bag around my shoulder and got to the car. Only it wasn't my mom's car. It was... nicer and more modern. The windows were tented so I had no idea who was inside. I didn't know what to do, so I sorta stepped back. The window suddenly rolled down, revealing a face I had known for my whole life.

"Mary!" I squealed with delight, and relief.

"Get in." She ordered. "Or you're gonna be late." I had told her about my application. Well, I told her not to tell our mom about the application. "I can't thank you enough, Mare Bear." I said as I hopped into the nice vehicle. Mary looked at me as she took the wheel.

"You can start by not calling me Mare Bear, Nose." I had to smile at that. She and I call each other cute names sometimes. She calls me nose because, apart from my lips, my nose is my most dominant feature.

"Hang on, little sister." She said, pulling out of my driveway. "LexCorp, here we come."

(Time Skip - At LexCorp Parking)

Butterflies fluttered in my thin stomach as we approached my future workplace. It was so weird; seeing it on the computer was one thing, but being there was another. The building looked so full of purity, energy, and technology. I started to wonder if I could really help improve it. I mean, I wasn't anything more than a secretary of a fashion magazine editor. Also, I had no idea if they'd even accept me. I knew that my mom would hire me because she knew me, but this Lex Luthor probably didn't even know I existed until last week.

"Well, here we are. LexCorp Industries." Mary gave an introduction. I released the sigh I'd been holding in since we pulled up. "Aren't you going in, or...?"

"What if I'm not good enough, Mary?" I blurted out my worry. Mary gave me an eye roll and held my shoulder. "Look. These guys may have worked here longer than you but that doesn't make them better. For all you know, by this time tomorrow you could be doing all their jobs. Besides, any treatment you get is better than mom's." She had such a good point. It was either this or back to being paid to be yelled at by your mom.

"Okay," I finally said, "I'll-I'll do it." She gave me a nod, and I nodded in returned. We leaned in for a hug, and she wished me luck one last time. I bet was gonna need it. I can't focus when I'm nervous, and when I can't focus I screw things up. But there was no way I was spending another day at that fashion hell. So I picked my bag up and got out of the car.

Mary waved at me as she drove off. I waited until she was out of sight, and slowly spun around to face the building again. It looked so massive and complex. This may sound weird, but it kind of terrified me. I shook if out though, and marched toward it with a high head.

Inside was not much different than the outside. People were scattered everywhere, and they all looked worthy of being there. One lady walked past me wearing all black with the coolest haircut. I touched my rough, brown hair to find it a plain straight. I never thought I'd say this but I wish I had a rubber band right about now. The place wasn't crowded, but it was far from being empty.

I looked around for any clue to where Lex's office was. I had an interview with him in ten minutes and I couldn't even find him. I decided to ask one of the employees. I walked further into the work hall until I saw something out of the ordinary. There, in the middle of the room, about six men were playing basketball. I tried to process an excuse for what I was seeing. 'Maybe they're testing their body maneuvers for a video game?' was all I could think of.

Basketball or not, they didn't look as intimidating as everyone else. So I walked up to the court and tapped on the shoulder of closest one, who appeared to be in the middle of shooting.

I cleared my throat.

"Excuse me." He turned and smiled at me. He had strawberry-blonde locks that curled by his jawline. His eyes were blue and playful, and reminded me of two blue balls. He was shorter than me, but only by about an inch. "Sorry to interrupt your game, but I was wondering if you knew where Lex Luthor's office is." He gave me and odd smile.

"Hm. You must my new secretary. How are you? Lex Luthor. Welcome to my little LexCorp." The man held out his hand to me. I looked at it, and, ever so hesitantly, shook it.

Raising an eyebrow, I asked. "You're Lex Luthor?" He odd smile turned into a cheeky one as he giggled.

"Indeed I am. Alexander Luthor Jr., in your presence." He said, slight bowing his head. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't confused. He looked so young, way too young to be running a business. "I'm sorry, I'm confused. You look so..."

"Young? Well..." he turned away for a second to throw the through the hoop. "Age is just a number, correct? And there are infinite numbers to compare to mine, so there's no use in trying to be any other."

I just looked from him to the net and swallowed. "I guess that sounds right."

"Great! Hm. Yes, yes. You are here for the job." He said, eyes darting down in remembrance. "Executive secretary if I recall." Before I knew it he had his hand on my shoulder blade, and we began walking down the hall to I-have-no-idea-where. But I simply nodded and played along.

"Um, yeah. I used to work as one at my old job."

"Old job, mm? Might I ask where?" I didn't bother looking at him to answer, I just kept my head forward. And judging by my sight, we were headed for an escalator. "Nowhere special. Just a stupid fashion magazine corporation." I scratched my forehead as we boarded the escalator. I let Lex go first, being as though I had no idea where to go beyond the escalator. The rising staircase made my body feel like it was lifting by itself.

"I see," Lex said. "That explains your chose of clothing décor. Anyway, tell me- Wait! Silly me. I forgot to request your name." He addressed, stepping off his step and placing his foot on the smooth, white tile floor. I copied his movement and we returned to our original pace.

The hallway was all white, and filled with white doors. Any one of those could be mine. All I had to do was get an interview with Lex. First, we had to get to his office.

"My name's Rose. Rose Lee Holloway." I offered a kind smile, one which was returned.

"Rose. Hm." His eyes darted up in thought. "The Latin origin of rose, a flower name from Rosa." He looked back at me. "Did you know the Normans brought Latin to Britain in the 11th century?"

I shook my head. Lex just put his hands in his pockets and stared ahead. "Are you interested in alien studies and research?"

"Um, no. Only what I read on the news about Superman. But do find the fact that one is living here funny."

This made Lex chuckle. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, an alien protecting a species that's not his own just makes us look inferior. Why should we rely on a humanoid destructor rather than weapons of defense? It just sounds dumb."

Lex snapped his finger and pointed at me. "Exactly, Rosie. May I call you Rosie?" 'If I get this job he can call me anything he wants.' I thought.

But I simply replied, "If you want."

We reached the end of the hallway, where, to our right, sat a giant silver door.

"Follow me." Lex led us down the pathway and opened the giant door for me. "In you go." I slipped past him and almost tripped when I saw Lex's office. That place was like two master bedrooms in one giant space. There were chairs in there I've never seen in my life! And that's saying something since my mom used redecorated our living room almost every year.

I was so in shock that I didn't even notice Lex walk past me to his desk chair. I strolled to the front of his desk and sat in small chair, where Lex was seated on the table. He grinned at me, making me even more nervous. We both knew what was about to happen.

"Humor me. What got you interested in this position?"

"I've had previous experience with executive assistance, such as memoing, filing, answering phone calls, and prepping schedules. I also dabble in digital art, so if you need any promo or posters, well, I'm your gal." I chuckled nervously, and he just stroked his chin. "Ahem. I admire what this company has done for the ecosystem repair in other countries. Between partnering with other green companies and philanthropy fundraisers, it- you have really great work." Then it got quiet. "...yeah."

Lex leaned forward, knuckling his silvery desk's edge, and looked into my soul. He studied every inch of my face, my eyes... my soul. It was like he was trying to read my mind. When he got his answer, he exhaled.

"Hm." His lips twitched. "Hm-mm, yes. You have the gaze of a woman on the run." Lex said softly, almost sorrowful, like a therapist. "A lioness, mm, trying to strike out of the pride, make it on her own. Tell me, dear Rosie, who-oh-who are you running from?"

My head drew back and I nearly gulped. Was this man actually telepathic? Either way, he seemed to have me figured out. There was no use in denying it further. If honesty got me a job, then honesty it'll be. I just wish it wasn't such a sore subject.

"My mother." My tongue suddenly tasted foul and acidic. "She's not a very nice mother. Or boss."

"Mommy issues," Lex gestured to me, "meet daddy issues," he gestured to himself, making us both chuckle weakly. I supposed it made sense, hurt child meets hurt child. I wondered to what extend his father hurt him, but put off the question as taboo for an interview.

"Anyhow," he leaned back and continued, "mind if I ask you some professional questions?" He asked, making a yuck face as the word 'professional'.

"Yes, go ahead." I straightened my posture.

"Alrighty. How did you like the building so far?" That was not the question I expected him to ask first, but it was his company. 'Get hired, Rose, get hired.' I cheered myself on.

"Ummm... It's very detailed and finely organized, Mr. Luthor. It's techy but also really chill. Just feels like a good environment people-wise." If my resume didn't cut it maybe sucking up to him would. But he just waved it off.

"Please, call me Lex. It's only fair since I'm calling you Rosie." He had a point. "But does it look like the kind of place you want to work at?"

I looked around the spacious, flawless, white room and sighed. Such a long way from that undersized, secretary desk my mom forced me in.

My pitiful eyes found Lex again. "Very much."

Out of nowhere, Lex suddenly clapped near my face. "Fantastic! Then congratulations, Ms. Rosie. You're hired!" I had to clear my ears to make sure I heard him right.

"Wait, what? I'm hired?" He just nodded like an excited child. "But what about the interview?" I asked, still not understanding his reasons behind hiring me. He bent from his spot on the table to open up a drawer beside his legs.

"That was the interview, my dear Rosie. It began from I first introduced myself." He then pulled something out of the drawer; a red cylinder candy, and offered it to me. "Jolly Rancher?" I gave a clearly puzzled look, raising my eyebrow. "It's cherry." He offered again.

With nothing to lose except my job there, I accepted.

"Okay." I smiled tightly.

But instead of handing it to me, Lex leaned in to put it in my mouth himself. For a second, I felt his cold, steel fingers brush on the tip of my lips before departing. Then he licked those fingers and smiled from ear to ear like nothing happened.

Being the kind person I am, I gave the smile back. He might have been a bit odd, but I had a feeling Lex was gonna grow on me.

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frozen10fanzine · 1 year ago

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Frozen Through the Years

Yearly Spotlight: 2018

Written by @secretsofthestorymakers

For the Frozen Fandom, 2018 was mostly a year of looking forward to Frozen II. From casting announcements to character leaks, 2018 was the first time fans were actually given more information about the long-awaited sequel!

To name a few examples...

~There were several announcements of new cast members that excited fans as they tried to work out who the new actors would play. ~On Instagram, one of the animators announced that the character designs for Frozen II were finalized. ~In an interview with Variety, Jennifer Lee said that Frozen II would focus on Elsa and Anna again, but would be “bigger (and) more epic,” as they were “going to go far out of Arendelle.” ~There was the appearance of a new image on Instagram that showed Elsa and Anna in new outfits in front of an autumnal forest along with text that translated from Russian to “Frozen Heart II.” This particularly excited fans, but many people also dismissed it as fanart at first. Luckily, it was eventually revealed to be a leak from a Russian 2019 calendar where each month featured a Disney film that was scheduled to be released that month.

In addition to all the Frozen II excitement, Frozen: The Broadway Musical premiered in March! It featured 21 songs, 13 of which were not in the original film. The show ran for 26 previews and 825 regular shows on Broadway before closing due to the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020.

Several new books and comics came out throughout this year as well. They expanded the lore of the Frozen universe, particularly with stories about the kingdoms surrounding Arendelle.

Lastly, in November, Ralph Breaks the Internet was released in theaters. It featured Elsa and Anna in modern attire along with all of the Disney Princesses! After the credits of the movie, there was a screen that promised a sneak peek of Frozen II. It played a second of footage from the beginning of Frozen before Ralph took over the screen again, singing Rick Astley’s "Never Gonna Give You Up," effectively Rickrolling the viewers.

Overall 2018 was a big year for the Frozen fandom as fans looked forward to 2019 and the release of Frozen II.

Stay Tuned For More

👆🏻 Click above if you want to celebrate the 10th Anniversary of Frozen. The due date is April 12, 2024.

We look forward to seeing your memories ❄️

#frozen #frozen10 #frozen 10th Anniversary #frozen 2 #elsa #anna #sven #olaf #water has memory #frozen fever #olaf's frozen adventure #frohana #ofa #for you #yearly spotlight

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year ago

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Meet, Greet, Indiscreet - Chapter 2

AN: Thank you all for reading part one. I hope you enjoy this next instalment, about when Steve and Bucky next met, over 10 years later. Catch up here.

Beta’d by @endlesstwanted who is the comma wrangler in chief.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list | Stucky Bingo Master List | SRB Master list

Summary: With their actual initial meeting revealed, it’s time to address the first time that rumours swirled around the pair of them - the Nouveau Tech Gala last year. With such a large period of time between their first and second meetings, would Steve even remember the young man from the Battle of New York?

Relationships: Modern Bucky Barnes x Cap! Steve Rogers

WC: 3k

CW: Modern Bucky Barnes, Cap! Steve Rogers, Anxiety, Fluff, TV Interview, Flashback, Flirting, Social Media goes wrong, Nat is a good bro.

Bingo Fills and Challenges

@stuckybingo - G4 - Sunsets

@steverogersbingo- A2 Steve vs Social Media

A year ago

Bucky stuck a finger down his collar and tugged at it, desperately trying to reduce the feeling of being strangled. He didn’t often wear suits - in fact, he didn’t often wear anything that wasn’t a pair of shorts and a graphic tee -, but he needed to make a good impression that night. For more than one reason.

Primarily, he was well aware of what an honour it was to be invited to Tony Stark’s Nouveau Tech Gala, and he needed to get that across in his dress. His usual attire, as well as being comfortable, was now his signature for his followers, hence why it had become almost like a uniform by now. However, it was definitely not suitable for an event like this, which had necessitated him squeezing himself into this constricting monkey suit. He had kept his baseball cap on, though - he did need people to actually recognise him.

Secondly, it was highly likely that a certain supersoldier, who may or may not have been his number one crush, was going to be in attendance. He’d never forgive himself if his second meeting with Steve Rogers wasn’t at the very least a mild improvement on the first. Not that he’d really know who Steve was that day, other than the very athletic and very handsome man who’d save him - and yeah, a load of others - from certain death. Even though he doubted it was possible, a small part of him hoped that Steve would recognise him. Obviously it would be even better if Steve agreed to become the person he already was in Bucky’s private imaginings, but that was even less likely than another alien attack on New York.

Having gone through security, his invitation and ID strenuously checked, Bucky made his way into the ballroom of the opulent hotel. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t having Tony Stark standing right there, as if waiting to personally welcome him.

The eccentric billionaire slash superhero clapped him on the shoulder. “Barnes, right?”

Bucky nodded, feeling like a gauche imposter. Luckily for him, Tony didn’t seem to notice. He slung an arm across Bucky’s shoulder and steered him across the crowded room.

“I was waiting for you. My kids told me that if I didn’t get at least three selfies with you then, not only would I be ‘mid’, but they’d ‘put me on blast’, whatever the heck that means. But before that, I need to introduce you to the others. Nat and Clint are avid gamers - something about getting their kicks without being arrested. I decided I didn’t want to know any more than that…”

Bucky looked up as they approached, easily able to identify each of the Avengers and feeling even more like he didn’t fit in there. He could see the faces of Natasha - the Black Widow -, Clint Barton, and Thor. He could see Bruce Banner’s profile. And Steve Roger’s back. His broad shoulders, slim waist, and solid thighs all expertly encased in a tailored suit. He’d sort of been expecting this, but he wasn’t ready for it all the same. How was he going to keep a straight face when looking at the man who’d starred in the filthiest of his fantasies?

What he hadn’t banked on, though, was Steve being in a bad mood. “I don’t even understand what this event is for,” Bucky heard the man of his dreams utter. “Why would anyone want to pretend to play war, and so vividly as well? I just don’t get it.”

Nat cocked her head and gave Steve a look. “You don’t have to get it, Steve. You have other ways to relax and escape the world, like your art. For some of the rest of us, pretending to blow shit up does the trick.”

Bucky could see Steve raising his arms in a placating gesture. “Alright, maybe I do get that, I suppose. But people who make money - their livelihood - from playing these games in front of an audience? That’s weird, right?”

It was obvious from their faces that the others had seen Tony approach with him by his side, but Steve, with his back to them, did not.

Tony coughed. Loudly. Steve spun round and his face went an interesting shade of pink.

“So,” Tony drawled, “I wanted to introduce you all to James Barnes - Bucky. He’s the one that Pete and Harley love, and said they’d disown me if I didn’t invite.”

A round of various greetings sounded from the assembled Avengers, the last one being from Steve himself. Unfortunately, it was more of a muffled grunt than anything else. Bucky tried to fight the heat that was rising in his own cheeks, and swallowed thickly.

“It’s great to meet you all. I feel, standing here, that I have no right to call myself famous. You guys… well. You’re real life heroes and I’m in awe.”

The group smiled and brushed off his starstruck comments, thenstarted to ask him about the games he played and his channel. As Tony had mentioned, both Clint and Natasha were big fans of the CoD franchise, and it wasn’t totally surprising when Dr Banner admitted that he’d dabbled in MMORPGs.

“I like the one with the talking mushroom and the cars and blue seashell,” Thor announced, smiling broadly.

The others chuckled, and Clint leant across to Bucky, his hand held up by his mouth so he could stage-whisper “Don’t be suckered in by his innocent and naive demeanor. He’s a shark at Mario Kart.”

Throughout the whole exchange, Steve stayed silent, and from the corner of his eye, Bucky could see the supersoldier giving him strange looks. He tried not to get too disheartened by it. It was a long shot, thinking that Steve might remember him, and now the man he idolised thought he wasn’t worthy of respect.

The conversation started to wind down, the superhero group returning to discussions about omissions and wounds and bad guys, so Bucky decided to excuse himself. Plucking a glass of champagne from one of the many circulating waiters, he made his way across the vast ballroom and out onto the balcony, which overlooked Manhattan.

The sun, while still fully visible, was low in the sky. Its rays bounced orange off of all the glass skyscrapers and Bucky couldn’t help but think back to that horrific day, all those years ago. The recovery that the city had made was almost unbelievable. Speaking of unbelievable…

Bucky let out a loud sigh, as he remembered how Steve had disparaged him and what he did. There went his hopes.

As he sighed again, he heard a voice from behind him. A very recognisable voice.

“So, you’ve found my secret hiding place?”

Schooling his features, Bucky turned his head to the side as Steve joined him at the concrete balustrade. “It’s not so secret. The main room is only fifteen feet away.”

Steve snorted and his lips twitched up. “The jig is up. You’ve discovered my terrible secret. I’m no good at small talk.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Bucky replied. “Why do you think I make my living from behind a screen? I am weird, after all.”

Steve blushed again, looking chagrined. “Yeah, sorry you heard that. It was very rude of me. I know nothing about you and I should know better than that.”

“It’s okay - you’re not the only one to think that way. But my job isn’t just playing games for fun. It takes hours of practice to get as good as I am. I have to study game theory, and for the longest time I was my own PR team and my own accountant. Finding tournament fees at the beginning wasn’t easy.”

“How long have you been doing this - the gaming and Tube thing?”

Bucky’s own lips formed into a smile. “Since college. I studied Games and Game Design there. My parents thought I was crazy, wanting to make it my life, but I was determined to succeed.”

Steve turned his head away to stare out at the view and the gradually setting sun. “Is that why you were there that day? At the bank. Were you getting a loan or something?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “You remember? You remember me?” His heart started to thump in his chest and Steve turned back to him, ocean blue eyes sparkling.

“Uh, yeah. It’s not everyday that aliens try to destroy New York and a pretty young man kisses me.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to look embarrassed. “Yeah - sorry about that. It was a totally inappropriate move by younger me. My Ma would have had my hide if she’d found out. She raised me better than that.”

“Hey,” Steve said in a placating and amused tone. “I liked the boldness. It was refreshing and just not something I was used to.”

In that moment Bucky realised something. Steve was flirting. With him! Stay cool, Barnes…“So,” he tried to say as nonchalantly as possible. “Tell me about the other things you weren’t used to then, but are now.”

From his inside jacket pocket, Steve pulled out a small notebook with an equally small pencil. “Where should I start?”

The pair of them laughed and Steve took a step closer so he could show Bucky all of the things he had written down. As they talked, Bucky tried desperately to pay attention to what Steve was saying, instead of just staring at him and mooning over how dreamy his voice was. The way the rays of the setting sun played over the planes of his face was hypnotising, and the urge to touch him was almost irresistible.

It wasn’t until he started to shiver that Bucky realised that the light was almost gone, and with it the warm temperatures of the day. Steve also noticed his reaction.

“We should get you back inside. I sometimes forget that I run hotter than normal folks and therefore don’t notice when it starts to get cold.”

Steve placed his hand into the small of Bucky’s back and Bucky mentally gave parts of his body a stern talking to as the thrill of the contact, over clothes as it was, zipped through him.

“I gotta ask, with all of your catching up with current day tech, etc., do you actually know how to use Twitter? I see you have an account and the odd thing gets posted, but I wasn’t sure if that was you or a PR person.”

Steve ducked his head down, a lock of his hair falling forward onto his forehead and making him look a lot younger than his physical age of around forty, even with the beard. “It’s generally me, with a bit of help from one of the others. Hence why I don’t use it often.”

“Well, if you want to, or something, feel free to follow me. Or hit up my DMs. Or whatever.” Did he sound cool enough? Had he rambled too much? They halted just inside the doors and faced each other, half hidden by some kind of potted palm.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” Steve answered with a low voice. Bucky looked up into his eyes, feeling for a moment as if he were on the ocean, swaying, drowning. Was it his imagination or was Steve moving closer to him?

“There you are, Capsicle!” Tony’s voice somehow sliced through the general cacophony in the room and it felt to Bucky as if all eyes were now on him and Steve. “Sorry to intrude on whatever this is,” he gestured between them, and Bucky couldn’t tell if Steve was embarrassed or annoyed. Probably both. “But I need your help with General Ross. You’re much better with these military types than me, and Bruce is hiding in the restroom until he leaves.”

Steve flashed an apologetic glance over at Bucky and he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Don’t worry about me. It was nice talking to you, Steve.”

As Tony steered Steve away, Bucky took a few deep breaths, trying to process what had just happened. Had Steve been making a move to kiss him? He made his way over to the bar, greeting those he knew in the computing and social media industry who were also present. Perched up on a bar stool, he’d just taken a sip of his cold beer when the Black Widow appeared at his side, her lips quirking into a Mona-Lisa smile. “I gotta say, Steve is really taken with you.”

Bucky spluttered and grabbed at the pile of napkins, trying to quickly clean up the bar top. “What do you mean? He and I only just met.”

Natasha raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “That might be so, but he’s never committed a Twitter faux pas before.” The bartender placed a martini glass in front of her and she casually picked it up and took her own sip. Bucky was confused by her statement, but pulled his phone from his pocket to see what she was talking about.

His mouth fell open.

Three minutes before, Steve had taken him up on his offer of contacting him through Twitter. However, he hadn’t sent him a DM message. No, he’d outright tweeted, just tagging Bucky in it.

“@BBarnesGamer, If it’s not inappropriate of me, I’d love to meet up again and recreate that kiss.”

The blood drained from Bucky’s face. “Oh no…”

Nat placed her glass back on the bar and opened her purse as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She pulled out her own phone and started tapping at the buttons. “Don’t worry about it, Barnes. I’m getting it deleted now and if anyone asks we’ll blame it on Clint stealing his phone for a prank, thinking it was mine.” She put her phone away and Bucky refreshed the app, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the tweet was gone.

“But does that mean he didn’t really mean it? If he asked you to delete it?”

“Oh, he means it,” she said, her nose crinkling up. “And he has no idea at the moment that he contacted you the wrong way. I just deleted it because, firstly, Steve isn’t out yet, and secondly, I don’t peg you as the type who wants to be romanced with the whole world peering at you. Now, smile.”

She pointed off to his side and he looked up, baffled. Two things happened at once. Firstly, Nat’s lips came down on the corner of his, almost a full kiss but not quite, and secondly a camera went off. Bucky blinked away the bright spots floating in his vision as Nat smoothed down her hair. “There. Damage control. Now, if I were you, I’d be the one to start up the next DM conversation. Or better yet, pick a more secure platform. Good luck, Mr Barnes, and remember, I know how to use a real gun.”

She waltzed off as if she hadn’t given him the most intimidating ‘shovel talk’ ever, and Bucky wondered what he’d let himself in for.

Present

The host was chuckling, and Bucky couldn’t blame him. Looking back, it was a pretty funny story. “I always wondered what had happened there. It was a flurry of gossip for a few days, but once that photo surfaced it all seemed to make sense. And you and the Black Widow did seem to make a cute looking couple. Steve, when did you realise what you’d done?”

Steve smiled sweetly. “Only a short time later. Nat came over and let me know what had happened, but that she’d fixed it. I’d never been so grateful for her before. She didn’t tell me about the photo though. That took me by surprise. It was her way of getting back at me for causing her an issue. The worst thing, though, was the teasing I got from Tony. How that man managed to keep his mouth shut in public, I have no idea.”

“Well,” the host said, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, “it all seemed to work out in the end.”

“Absolutely,” Bucky agreed. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

“It does, however, bring us up to the incident of three weeks ago, which it seems there was no covering up for - if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Bucky bit on his lower lip, desperately trying not to laugh. Yes, at the time it happened it was definitely mortifying - for Steve more so, but in the few weeks and with time to reflect, it was frankly even more amusing than the Twitter incident. The big downside, obviously, was that it had forced Steve to come out. Bucky himself had been out for years, raised in a time when it was more acceptable to be gay.

“As I said earlier,” Steve intoned, “it definitely wasn’t the way I would have wanted to come out and announce my relationship, but that doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of either myself or Bucky. I love James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and that’s something the world is gonna have to deal with.”

“Here, here! But in terms of what happened - can you tell us how that even came about? I don’t suppose that anyone at the tournament was expecting to see what they saw.”

Somehow, despite it all, Steve managed to chuckle, and Bucky couldn’t be more proud of his adaptability. “I can definitively say that I wasn’t planning it, but that’s what happens when you’re tired, post-mission, and not paying attention to the things around you. I’m going to blame the super-robots.”

However, Bucky still wanted the last word. “I’m gonna blame his inability to read a calendar.”

Chapter 3

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796, @christywrites,

@alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @starrkermarvel,

#shrunkyclunks #stucky fic #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers bingo #stucky bingo

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shojoqueendom · 1 year ago

Text

"Me and Kimono" | Interview with Atsufu

Translation of the interview with Moyoco Anno published in the June 2023 issue of "Neppū" on Note.

Starting from the May 2021 issue, Moyoco Anno's cover illustrations mark the beginning of the third year with this June issue. When you think of Moyoco, you might recall the image of modern, real-life women wrapped in contemporary fashion, symbolized by works like "Hataraki Man" and "Happy Mania." So, why did Moyoco choose to depict "women in kimono, with a somewhat classical vibe" on the cover? We inquired about Moyoco's affection for kimono, which underlies this decision. Nowadays, Moyoco's passion for kimono has grown to the extent of establishing her own brand that creates kimono with her unique artistic style. This "kimono fever" seems to stem from a desire to see more people casually wearing and embracing Japan's beautiful nature, such as its plants and birds, through clothing.

My grandfather's kimono and the kihachijo he wore at the age of 3

Interviewer: Thank you very much for illustrating the cover for the past two years since the May 2021 issue. It has been well received that 'women in kimono evoke various stories,' and we are grateful for that. As a result, we have decided to continue for another year. Producer Suzuki (Toshio) even joked, 'We would like to continue until Moyoco-san gets tired of it.'

Anno: Is that true? Isn't it just that you're getting too lazy to change (laughs)?

Interviewer: That's not true at all (laughs). I'm serious. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to ask you about your connection with kimonos, Moyoko-san, and hear a comprehensive discussion about it. When did you first become fascinated with kimonos?

Anno: My grandfather was a kimono wearer. He always wore kimonos in his daily life. Perhaps it was also because of the area, Shimokitazawa in Tokyo, but when I was a child, there were quite a few people like that in the neighborhood. If there were about ten elderly people in the neighborhood, for example, about two of them would be wearing kimonos. Among relatives, it was only my grandfather, though.

Interviewer: So it wasn't yukata, but kimonos.

Anno: They were ordinary men's kimonos. Made of sturdy fabric, they came with a haori, juban, and ensemble. He also wore a coat for kimonos in winter. When we lived together, my grandfather's way of casually taking off his kimono was impressive. Men's kimonos are designed to be worn at the same length, so the juban worn underneath can be removed together. He would hang it on a clothes rack, wearing only fundoshi and underwear, and then go to bed just like that.

Interviewer: It's like shedding a skin, isn't it?

Anno: Exactly. Then, when I woke up in the morning, I would put it back on just like that (laughs). Since kimonos aren't washed every day, men's kimonos are quite convenient, right?

Interviewer: Your grandfather was a tailor, if I recall correctly.

Anno: Yes, that's right. But he had already retired by then. However, since he loved sewing even after retirement, he was always making something, and when I was little, he made various things for me too.

Interviewer: When did you start experiencing kimonos yourself?

Anno: I was already wearing a yellow hakama ensemble when I was about three years old. I can't remember if it was a gift or someone's hand-me-down, but I wore it for New Year's and in the winter. I always used to fuss about not wanting to take it off once it was put on me.

Interviewer: Was it comfortable to wear?

Anno: I loved it. Maybe part of it was because I was happy to be with my grandpa. Also, one time when the maid who was at my grandfather's house said she was going back to her hometown, I followed along. I was delighted to be dressed in children's festival attire there. We brought back that festival attire and kept it at home.

Interviewer: So, it seems like you were quite enthusiastic about kimonos even at the age of three.

Anno: Indeed, I liked kimonos from that time. But you know, it's a hassle for parents to dress you up every time, right? When I was little and happened to have something that fit me, they would dress me up, but as I grew older, it wasn't so easy. Still, they always bought me yukatas every year. When I was in elementary school, whenever there was a Bon dance in the neighborhood, my school friends and I would all go out wearing yukatas. Once I was dressed in a yukata, I would wear it every day for about a week from then on. Like, going to the school pool in the morning during summer vacation, and then coming home and wearing a yukata around the house.

Interviewer: Didn't you ever walk around the neighborhood dressed like that?

Anno: If you walk around in a yukata when it's not a festival, you'll definitely get some strange looks (laughs).

Encountering antique kimonos

Interviewer: What was the subsequent evolution of your interest in kimonos like?

Anno: When it comes to kimonos for girls, it's usually associated with the coming-of-age ceremony, right? Well, about a week before that, I injured my foot. What's more, at that time, my family was too poor to afford to borrow a formal furisode for the coming-of-age ceremony. So, I didn't wear a kimono for the ceremony. Then, because they felt sorry for me not being able to attend the ceremony, my friends suggested we all get together wearing kimonos. They all had kimonos bought for them, so they wanted to wear them again at least once. They were all dolled up in furisode with fluffy white shawls, but I was the only one in a plain casual kimono. Mine was a cute komon with a navy background adorned with little hammers and treasures, but compared to everyone else's formal attire, it did seem a bit plain (laughs).

Interviewer: Even though your friends didn't mean any harm, it must be a bitter memory.

Anno: At that time, I realized that you really need financial stability to afford kimonos, and I distanced myself from them a bit. Buying a kimono isn't the end of it; you also need a place to store it. You definitely need a certain amount of storage space. And because the rules for storing kimonos are different from regular clothes, you need a dedicated space for them.

Interviewer: Did your enthusiasm for kimonos reignite around the time you started serializing "Sakuran," which features Kiyoha, a courtesan in Yoshiwara, around 2001?

Anno: I think it was before that… It was around my mid-20s when I was living alone in Ebisu, Tokyo. There was a pop-up antique kimono shop at an event venue, and I encountered some really beautiful kimonos there. I wore one of those kimonos for the cover of "AERA" magazine (May 5, 2003 issue). It was the first time I encountered an antique kimono that fit me perfectly in terms of length, even with my height. It was a beautiful silk kimono with a reddish-purple hue and vertical stripes with a bluish tint.

Interviewer: Did you dress yourself for the "AERA" photo shoot?

Anno: Yes, I did. Looking back now, I realize it was a mess, and I wonder how I managed to go to the shoot (laughs).

Interviewer: Why did you decide to feature kimonos in the photos?

Anno: I really didn't have anything else to wear (laughs). I wasn't making enough money to indulge myself. Although I wasn't in debt anymore, I still didn't have time to go shopping for clothes or anything like that.

Interviewer: You didn't have the mental space for it either.

Anno: Exactly. When I was working at home, I usually just wore casual clothes, so I thought about what to wear for the "AERA" cover.

Interviewer: Ah, you remembered you had kimonos.

Anno: Ironically, I had nothing but kimonos (laughs). I tend to be like that quite often. People sometimes say I'm like a fashionable manga artist, but that's not the case at all.

I remember when I was invited to a home party by fellow female manga artists at the time. I thought it was just a casual gathering at home, so I went there thinking it was fine to wear casual clothes, but everyone else was dressed head-to-toe in Chanel, Prada, or Gucci.

Visiting vintage clothing stores in Kamakura

Interviewer: You got married to director Hideaki Anno in 2002 and moved to Kamakura in 2004. I heard that during this time, you were already collecting kimonos by visiting nearby vintage clothing stores.

Anno: It all started when we had the chance to go to Kyoto shortly after we got married, and we met a friend of the director who was from Kyoto and was also an expert in kimono, as his wife was a Kyoto native who was also into Japanese traditional dance. So, when I casually mentioned that I was also interested in kimonos, she introduced me to a well-established kimono shop in Kyoto. Since the director was very enthusiastic about our marriage and told me to "buy whatever you want," it kind of turned into a situation like that (laughs).

Then the wife said, "You'll get the hang of it if you try wearing it once," and she dressed me up on the spot. The next day, when we were heading back to Tokyo, she selected a complete set of necessary kimono dressing tools for me. That experience gave me a sense of how to wear them properly. With that base knowledge, I later learned to wear them by watching tutorials online or reading books.

Interviewer: So, did your interest in kimonos reignite around the time of your marriage?

Anno: I was hesitant to wear the tailored kimonos sent from Kyoto to Kamakura because I was afraid of ruining them. So, I started buying cute patterned or sturdy Meisen kimonos from vintage clothing stores in Kamakura and just tried wearing them out. I felt like it was okay to wear them since they wouldn't be a big loss if they got dirty. That's how I started wearing kimonos frequently. However, the kimonos that the director bought for me in Kyoto haven't been worn at all (laughs).

Interviewer: Do you have any unique points to look out for when seeing kimonos at vintage clothing stores, as someone like you who frequently visits them?

Anno: It's definitely the patterns unique to antiques. There are hardly any kimonos left from the Meiji period. There are some from the Taisho period, but their condition isn't great. So naturally, there are a lot from the Showa period, maybe around right after the war. The charm of the patterns and the beauty of the fabric. Also, there's something cute about the "Hakkake," which is the fabric attached to the hem of the kimono. Usually, it's plain, but sometimes it's lined with pink in a white kimono with purple patterns, which is a color scheme unique to that era.

Initially, I'd wear kimonos and then turn them into a haori, then into a juban, and if the pattern is flashy, it could become an obi, and eventually, it could be used as the lining of a haori. I like that you can see the progression with antiques.

Interviewer: Do you learn this kind of knowledge from books or the internet?

Anno: Yes, and I also ask friends who share the same interest in kimonos, or I talk to people at vintage clothing stores. One of the assistants who happened to visit my place was working part-time at a famous vintage kimono store while also working as an assistant. She told me that near my house in Kamakura, there was a vintage store with a lot of piled-up clothes that were not organized at all. The store had many good items, but they were all chopped up and turned into dresses, and a certain famous actress used them as costumes. So, she asked me to hurry up and buy the old kimonos before they were chopped up and rescue them (laughs).

I couldn't draw 'Sakuran' without actually trying on kimonos

Interviewer: Does "Sakuran," set in Yoshiwara, have any connection to the resurgence of your love for kimonos?

Anno: Initially, I didn't pay much attention to kimonos when I started drawing "Sakuran," but I realized the difficulty of drawing kimonos once I actually started drawing them. With Western clothing, you see someone wearing it every day, so you can kind of draw it in any pose intuitively. But with kimonos, I had no idea, for example, how the sleeves should look when the character moves. So, when I was drawing "Sakuran," I often wore kimonos and moved around to draw them.

Interviewer: Did you draw manga while wearing kimonos?

Anno: Not during the inking stage, because it would be troublesome if ink splattered on them. But I always wore them during the stage where I confirmed how they looked. The way kimonos were worn back then and today is completely different, so I sometimes adjusted them to match the style of that time. For example, courtesans tie their obi at the front. Also, depending on the era, in the Edo period, they didn't fold the obi into two. So, it was very wide. And the patterns are clearly different between the Edo period and the Meiji, Taisho, and Showa eras. There's a difference between the Edo-style patterns that still exist today and the modern antique patterns of the Meiji, Taisho, and Showa eras. Of course, there were many elderly people who wore Edo-style kimonos even in the Meiji era, but the designs preferred by young people have more of a modern feel. Furthermore, there are differences between Edo (Tokyo) and Kyoto. Edo-style kimonos often have patterns that look like monotone from a distance, like screentones, while Kyoto kimonos often have distinct and independent patterns. They have a relatively elegant feel.

Interviewer: Your knowledge deepened while drawing manga, and the cycle of acquiring more things continued, right?

Anno: There was a time when I had an extraordinary amount of things, so I sold everything once. I even went through a phase of bidding on Yahoo Auctions. There were times when I couldn't do it myself because I was busy with work, so I asked my assistants to bid for me (laughs).

Interviewer: How many kimonos do you currently have?

Anno: Not that many. Probably less than 50. Once I started making them myself, I mostly wore the ones I made.

Drawing the desired pattern, scanning it, and then printing it onto fabric

Interviewer: So, you finally started making your own kimonos. That's the original kimono brand "Hyakuyoudo" that you launched about two and a half years ago, right? Please tell us about the process that led you to start making kimonos yourself.

Anno: Actually, after returning from Kamakura to Tokyo, there was a period when I didn't wear kimonos for a while.

Interviewer: Why is that?

Anno: It's like a habit, you know? When you wear something frequently, it becomes natural to wear it, but once you stop, it suddenly becomes a hassle, and there was a period when my heart drifted away from kimonos. Then, suddenly, when I felt like it was time to start wearing kimonos again, I realized that I had forgotten a lot of what I had learned before, so I decided to find a teacher and learn the basics again.

Interviewer: Forgive my amateur sense, but is kimono dressing really that difficult?

Anno: At first, it's more like as long as it doesn't fall off, it's fine, but as you get used to it, you start to notice things like why does this part always feel tight when I sit down, or why does this part always sag after a while. Or why does that person look so good in a kimono?

Interviewer: Is it really that different?

Anno: Yes, it is. So if you want to wear it beautifully, it's better to learn from a professional. So, one day, I took some old kimonos and obis that I had to a dressing lesson. I actually wanted to use this old obi, but the fabric was too worn out to use, so I said, "You can print this."

Interviewer: What do you mean by "print"?

Anno: It's a photographic process. For example, if you have a patterned fabric that's already worn out and you want to make a new one, you can scan the worn-out fabric to copy the pattern. Once you import that data into a computer, you can adjust the color tones and remove stains on the screen. Since kimonos are usually made by repeating patterns of about one meter, all you need is to scan that one stroke cleanly. Once it's in the computer, you can even change the background color.

Interviewer: So, it's a way to salvage patterns from worn-out antique kimonos?

Anno: Yes, at first, I was just copying them rather than redesigning them. I had some favorite obi patterns, so I scanned them and kept them for storage. For example, it's just a pattern of swirls drawn in pointillism, but they're all dyed from Ise katagami, so it's completely different from what you would get by digitally dotting it now. The intervals between each dot vary slightly, and each dot has a different expression, some are slightly longer or thinner. When you look at the whole thing, it creates a fluctuation. I think you can make things that look the same at first glance digitally, but the finish is completely different. So, I had the Ise katagami pattern scanned, inverted the colors, and made it into a komon pattern and then tailored it into a kimono. I tried two or three of those, and it was so much fun. Of course, I did it all for my personal kimonos.

Interviewer: So, did you start drawing patterns yourself from there?

Anno: Initially, when I told my teacher that I wanted to scan the patterns of summer clothes, which are often made of ro fabrics, she said they couldn't be scanned because the fabric itself is woven to be translucent to keep it cool. I was shocked, thinking, "Wait, isn't summer clothing more likely to get dirty and need to be scanned to preserve the pattern?" So, I decided to draw them myself.

Interviewer: I recall from an interview in a kimono magazine that you mentioned you couldn't scan them with a machine, so you memorized the patterns with your eyes and drew them by hand.

Anno: Right. Since the current patterns are copyrighted, I copy the antique patterns with my eyes. Instead of tracing them directly, I memorize the patterns I see in shops, bring them home, and draw them based on my impressions. In the process, I change the colors and rearrange them.

Interviewer: Even though you say it's just repeating patterns of one meter, isn't it still quite difficult if you can't visualize the entire bolt of fabric?

Anno: It's challenging. So, I made a lot of mistakes at first. It was like, "This wasn't supposed to happen" kind of feeling (laughs). I thought individual patterns were cute, but when I made them into kimonos, I realized, "Oh, this is how the pattern looks." But since the dressing instructor who taught me that you could print patterns was a professional, she would give me advice like, "If you want to bring out this pattern here, you should place it like this." So, I've been relying on her ever since, and in the end, she became the operator and designer for our digital work.

Interviewer: So, that dressing instructor ended up becoming the person behind "Hyakuyoudo"?

Anno: Yes, she's the one. Or rather, it's thanks to her that Hyakuyoudo came to be. If I had just been struggling alone to draw patterns and failed to make my own kimonos, Hyakuyoudo wouldn't have happened.

As I discussed with that dressing instructor and created various patterns, before I knew it, that's how it happened. Every time, she would say, "Do you want to try making this?" and it just naturally led to, "Should we sell this?" (laughs).

At first, I made patterns just for friends and staff who wanted them, sharing them as if I were giving away souvenirs. Eventually, people started asking for different colors, and each time, I made new colors for them. I made trial prints of one meter each, called "mass samples," by inkjet printing and changing the color patterns. It costs about 5000 yen to do one trial print. But I couldn't ask my friends to pay for the mass samples. Everyone would casually ask for slight changes, like wanting a bit more blue, so I went along with it. Before I knew it, people started saying, "Isn't this a kimono shop!?" and that's how I decided to start a kimono shop.

Interviewer: That's what led to the creation of Momoyado about two years ago.

Anno: Exactly. And then, even though I only had about two patterns on hand, the topic took off, and we received various media coverage. Eventually, we even got invited to a pop-up store at Isetan Shinjuku in Tokyo, and I thought I was going to die.

The origin of the name "Hyakuyoudo"

Interviewer: How many staff members are there?

Anno: We've increased to about 7-8 people since this year. Packing and shipping kimonos requires professional skills. If you just fold them and send them off, they'll shift around and get wrinkled inside, so you need to wrap the kimono in wrapping paper and insert paper to prevent it from shifting. That kind of work requires training. Also, it's difficult for amateurs to check for needles left in the kimonos after sewing. You often find a paper that says "Checked for needles" included when you buy a kimono, but you need someone to do that.

Interviewer: So, you need professionals just for shipping and inspection.

Anno: Yes. And at sales events, you need people who can dress customers and take measurements. We've started holding fitting events twice a year, and even then, you need someone who can wrap fabric like a kimono.

Interviewer: Ah, it's the process of fitting the fabric to the customer's body.

Anno: That's right. Customers can imagine themselves wearing it. Including the people who participate in the fitting events every time and those who always participate in regional events, there are quite a few.

Interviewer: And you're controlling all of that as the president?

Anno: No way, I couldn't do that. The dressing instructor supports the operation, so I just draw the patterns. The instructor arranges them properly as kimonos and places orders with digital printing companies.

Interviewer: Is it like necessary people naturally gather?

Anno: That might be true. When we suddenly got a request for an event at Isetan, someone who had been a store manager at a certain kimono shop for many years suddenly came to us saying they wanted to work at Hyakuyoudo, even though we weren't recruiting. It was incredibly lucky.

Interviewer: They're very persistent.

Anno: I still tell everyone that if S-san hadn't joined us then, we would have been crying at Isetan, clueless about everything like the setup. We didn't even know the rules for setting up displays at pop-up stores, and we somehow managed to make it work thanks to her joining us at the last minute. She kept bringing in salespeople who could dress customers. So, without the dressing instructor who supports the printing operation and her who supports the sales operation, Hyakuyoudo wouldn't exist.

Interviewer: Is the name Hyakuyoudo derived from your name, Moyoco-san?

Anno: Yes. And I hope to have about 100 patterns eventually (laughs). Initially, we only had about two, so I thought it would be nice to have about 100 base patterns.

Interviewer: Are all those 100 patterns drawn by you, Momoko?

Anno: Yes.

Sketches to elevate to the patterns I desire

Interviewer: So, have you been using the patterns of those kimonos for the cover of "Netsufū" all along?

Anno: No, there are plenty of different things. The patterns that look good in illustrations and the patterns that make lovely designs on actual kimonos are quite different.

Interviewer: Does studying dressing and patterns deeply affect the way you draw kimonos?

Anno: Yes, it does. The way people wear kimonos varies depending on their age and other factors. In the February issue's cover, there's a girl kneeling down, but that's actually because her foot has fallen asleep. Her foot is asleep, and she's trying her best to stretch it out by squeezing her thumb tightly.

Interviewer: I thought it was a beautiful illustration, but I didn't realize her foot was asleep (laughs).

Anno: Her foot is asleep. This girl doesn't really unbutton her collar that much. Also, she's pulling her neck quite tightly. But for older people or in the summertime, it's more stylish to have the collar a bit unbuttoned, or it gives a more realistic feeling of wearing it.

Interviewer: Drawing the ideas for each illustration, how do you usually come up with them? For example, the February issue features peaches.

Anno: Yes. I usually try to draw images of the upcoming season. So, for example, I thought about cherries for April, but it's better to capture a slightly earlier season.

Interviewer: I've heard that you struggled when you first started drawing patterns. What was difficult about it?

Anno: Making patterns is difficult. There are many people who can draw plants very well, but even if you draw plum blossoms realistically, they won't become a kimono pattern. Or even if you draw them in a manga-like style, at least I don't want such a kimono. It's very difficult to take it to the point where it becomes a pattern that I would want.

Interviewer: But Moyoco-san is essentially a professional artist. Is it still difficult for such a professional to imagine?

Anno: It doesn't work out. There are many things I started but then gave up on. I was really enthusiastic about making a kimono belt with cherry blossoms and night cherry blossoms this year, but I couldn't make it at all.

Interviewer: Could you explain a bit more about why it's so difficult?

Anno: It takes time, for one thing. There are already many different kinds of plant patterns, from abstract designs to patterns close to sketches, that have existed as antiques for a long time. But just copying those isn't enough. It's better to have existing patterns. At first, I thought that maybe if I copied existing patterns extensively and incorporated them into my imagination, reconstructing them, it might work. But no matter how much I did it, it didn't work. I wondered why it didn't work, but the fact is, if it's plum blossoms, you have to sketch them to death to make it work.

Interviewer: You have to confront the real thing until the plum or cherry blossoms are abstracted in your mind.

Anno: That's right. And then it takes quite a bit of horsepower to take it to the level of cuteness as a pattern. There's a pattern called "Mimosa" that I made this spring, and I got a lot of them from my friends.

Interviewer: It's your favorite flower, isn't it?

Anno: Yes. I received a lot of them last year and this year, and I was really moved, so I sketched them every day. As I drew a lot, I gradually understood the characteristics, and then I could draw the pattern without making it look exactly like the real thing. What I found cute about the mimosa was the cute overlapping leaves, and I started depicting them in the pattern. When you see the beauty of the maple leaves falling to the ground and the shadows of the maple leaves on the ground, you understand what people in the past thought about, and that helps with the pattern.

Interviewer: So you've transitioned from the step of copying to a more fundamental step.

Anno: That's right. But I still think I'm in the early stages of development. I've just realized that, and if you ask if I've succeeded, I haven't succeeded at all yet. It's just that I've finally realized that much.

Interviewer: You seem to really like plants.

Anno: Yes, but I also want to draw birds. The good thing about old Japan is that people loved nature so much, and there are kimono patterns with ears of rice that are only in season for about two weeks. Of course, I think only rich young ladies wear them, but I want people to wear them more casually. "Hyakuyoudo" also sells obi belts, and for example, with a reversible obi belt, you can use it for two different seasons, such as using tulip patterns for two weeks and then switching to chrysanthemum patterns.

Interviewer: Japanese people used to love nature so much. You want to incorporate that into your patterns.

Anno: Yes, I enjoy doing that kind of work. It's really nice nature… I also love daffodils, so I released a daffodil obi belt for this winter, but I thought it might be a little too much like a drawing of daffodils.

Interviewer: Oh, really (laughs).

Anno: While I was doing it, I thought it might be a little different, but it turned out cute, so I released it, thinking that someone might want it. Well, I still plan to draw various daffodils.

Interviewer: Do you observe landscapes and plants in your daily life?

Anno: I've always loved flowers, and the flowers I receive from the florist every week, I draw them every morning. I can't do it when I'm chasing manga deadlines, but I try to draw them every morning when I have time.

Interviewer: Is that for the kimono patterns?

Anno: Yes, it is. Once I draw them.

Interviewer: Do they make it into your drawings?

Anno: They do. They really do. So I try to draw them at least once during the season. I don't know if the leaves grow on the left and right together or alternately. But once I draw them properly…

Interviewer: You incorporate their presence into yourself.

Anno: That's right. You have to do it. Just looking at them doesn't cut it.

Interviewer: Do you ever look at botanical encyclopedias? Like the paintings by Tōtaro Makino from NHK's morning drama.

Anno: Yes, I do. Artists like Hisui Sugiura. His works were stored in a museum in Shibuya Ward, so I used to stop by and see them on my walks. There's an exhibition in Takasaki this spring, so I plan to go and see it. It's a good study to see where predecessors with excellent painting skills and artistic sense choose to focus. Like, which part of this flower, stem, or joint do they choose to depict? You start to understand what they like, such as liking stems. The kind of picture I want to turn into a pattern for the back of an obi belt isn't just a picture of the plant itself; it's like the base of a lily bud depicted as slightly plump. That's the kind of picture I want to carry on my back.

Interviewer: I see. So it's better when the fetish of the person who drew it is incorporated, isn't it?

Anno: That's right. It's definitely interesting when the feelings of the pattern designer are reflected.

Director Anno and Kimono

Interviewer: Do you ever go to the mountains to sketch plants?

Anno: Surprisingly, wildflowers that grow deep in the mountains aren't really suitable for kimono designs (laughs). They're unfamiliar, you know? If I were to use them as patterns, it might be better to focus on areas with lower elevations. Although the Kusamaki (Japanese shrub) is beautiful, the trees are too big and too far away to see clearly. So, I often use flowers sent from florists as my subjects. I've told them before that I always want something I can use as my motif. So, this year, I've been asking them to send me lots of plums. They've been sending them to me every week.

Interviewer: Do you have any flowers you always want to draw?

Anno: Yes, there are. It's quite a mysterious coincidence. The florist I mentioned is actually the daughter of a kimono shop owner. Although her family's shop has already closed down, since she grew up surrounded by kimonos, she knows what kind of plants would be suitable for kimono designs and sends them to me accordingly.

Interviewer: That's quite a fortunate coincidence.

Anno: Yes, it really is.

Interviewer: Now, in terms of the balance between your work on manga and creating kimono designs, how does that ratio look?

Anno: Well, one thing I've decided on is not to push myself too hard with kimono designs if they interfere with my manga work. Manga is my main job, so I don't want to struggle too much with patterns. The basic idea is always to create patterns that I and the people around me who love kimonos would want, so I always keep that in mind.

Interviewer: Among the cover illustrations you've done over the past two years, there are three instances where you depicted men wearing kimonos. Was there a particular reason for that?

Anno: It's because I feel men should wear kimonos more.

Interviewer: Including Director Hideaki Anno?

Anno: He doesn't wear them. I've tried to get him to wear one by buying things like Ultraman yukatas (light cotton kimono worn in summer) (laughs), but he never wears them.

Interviewer: It seems like it would suit him.

Anno: It doesn't. His legs are too long, so the position of the obi ends up being too high, making him look like a fool (laughs). He also tends to walk with his weight forward, walking all floaty like that. So, he ends up looking like Ganmo (a comic character drawn by Fujio Akatsuka).

Interviewer: Does Hyakuyoudo have men's kimono?

Anno: We've received several requests from men, but we still have few patterns specifically for men.

Interviewer: Nevertheless, designing kimono with polyester material is quite an innovative idea.

Anno: Yes, indeed. Considering the idea of making it easy for people to wear them regularly, it was important that they could be easily washed. When you send a regular kimono to the cleaners, it costs as much as buying a new one. Hemp juban (undergarment worn beneath a kimono) can be washed in a washing machine, which is great, but we're still in the prototype stage. The black ground with the Yukiwa pattern makes it suitable even for men.

Interviewer: Do you have any new ideas for the third year's cover starting soon?

Anno: I'm thinking of making it a bit more like ukiyo-e (Japanese woodblock prints) in style. Not just the design but also adding elements like the artist's signature, explanatory frames, and titles commonly seen in ukiyo-e. I'm considering making it a bit more decorative.

Interviewer: Speaking of ukiyo-e, you recently tweeted about visiting the Ota Memorial Museum of Art in Harajuku, Tokyo, and how deeply moved you were by the "Hiroshige Ojisan Zufu" (Illustrated Book of Mr. Hiroshige).

Anno: It was so much fun. In the landscape paintings by Utagawa Hiroshige, there are lots of tiny old men depicted, and when you look closely at their faces, each one has a different, expressive face, and they're all so cute. None of them have the same face. Some are walking alone, smiling, others look cold, some are happily eating lunch, and others are filled with relief upon finally reaching the inn.

Interviewer: You paid a lot of attention to the details.

Anno: Yes, the expressions of those who arrived at the inn are great. Although they are just extras in the big picture, the personalities of each of those extras are meticulously depicted. Along the Kiso highway, there are three somewhat suspicious-looking characters, sticking out their bellies or warming their backsides by the fire. Those three definitely seem like they could be horse thieves or something. At first glance, because the landscapes are the main focus of the painting, you wouldn't notice them unless you looked closely.

Interviewer: Indeed, you really have to pay close attention to notice.

Anno: Exactly. But when you look closely, it's amazing, isn't it? Apparently, it was first noticed by the curators of a local art museum, and they proposed the exhibition. I admire how they found it. Hiroshige would probably be happy to know that his work was noticed.

Interviewer: That's wonderful. We're looking forward to your ukiyo-e style cover illustrations, Moyoco-san.

Anno: Yes, I'll do my best! (laughs)

(This interview was conducted on April 10th.)

◇ Composition by Taku Yamashita.

First published: "Neppū" June 2023 issue (published by Studio Ghibli)

The Instagram account for Moyoco Anno's kimono brand "Hyakuyoudo" is regularly updated with the latest information.

Sources:

https://note.com/anno_moyoco/n/n611652bab695

https://www.hyakuyoudo.com/

https://www.instagram.com/hyakuyoudo/?hl=es

https://twitter.com/anno_moyoco

https://twitter.com/anno_moyoco/status/1757691347098911015?s=20

#moyoco anno #anime #manga #shojo #josei #shojo manga #josei manga #shojosei #sugar sugar rune #kimono #design #art

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