Collided (Sandra Bullock X y/n fanfic)

The Collision

The impossible (or maybe just unbelievably unlikely) happened to me on a Sunday morning. I'd just moved to LA the Friday before and I was hell-bent on becoming a regular at the most Californian coffee shop I could find. Just round the corner from my place (meaning a 15 minute drive, I was not in my English walkable city anymore), was a small but overpriced cafe. They sold delicious coffee and it always came in the perfect coffee cup, the plastic ones with the flat lids. It was my first stop of the morning.
It was a sweltering Sunday morning, although everyone else seemed very casual about it. My sweat had developed sweat. I was uncomfortable in a stripy pantsuit, on my way to an audition, just like half the population of the city. It was flattering but not my usual style, and I was self conscious that someone would somehow know I'd never worn a pantsuit before.
It was barely 8am and the sun was scorching. Just the walk from my car to the shop was panic-inducing. I'd been talking to myself the whole morning, getting ready in my apartment (unpacking boxes as I went), getting the lift down to the lobby, in the car. Muttering to myself about everything. I was in my head a lot the past few days. I didn't know anyone yet, so I only had myself to talk to.
I was obsessed with appearing American. I wanted to be walking down the street like I lived there, not like a tourist who was hoping they'd bump into a celebrity round every corner. Well, I certainly wasn't hoping that. In fact, since moving to Los Angeles, everytime I stepped out the door I was hoping for the exact opposite. I just couldn't bear it, the adrenaline, the awkward reality of idolising a stranger. I was a fangirl at heart but I was not delusional, I knew if I met anyone whose face had appeared on my Pinterest board, I would lose myself entirely. I'm not talking screaming, crying, throwing up. No. I am talking exiting my body, leaving this realm, lose myself. I would want so badly to be cool, calm and collected (everyone knows that's the only way you get a celeb to fall in love with you), but I'd crumble under the pressure.
So as usual, well as of the last three days, I got out of my car with as much confidence as I could manage and burst through the coffee shop door. I didn't cringe when everyone looked at me, they needed to look at me so they could remember my face. How else could I ever become a regular?
I strode up to the cashier and resisted the urge to say "the usual please." Instead I smiled and said "could I get an iced latte, please?"
The cashier tapped her screen, a subtle and slight wave of acknowledgment on her face that always came with the English accent.
"Sure." She said.
I paid and waited, keeping my head down to avoid looking out the window. I couldn't bare seeing Elizabeth Olsen on a jog or something. I mean it, I'd drop dead. Then everyone in the cafe would really remember me.
The order was taking longer than I expected, and I was close to running late for my audition. I couldn't stop the anxious tapping of my feet and hands as I mentally retook the route to the place. LA was a maze and I still wasn't used to driving on the right hand side of the road.
"Y/n!" My name was finally called and I took the drink, taking a second to throw an extra remember me, see you tomorrow! smile their way.
With my bank account drained from that transaction, I raced across the sidewalk. My feet were a blur as I watched them carry me toward my car. Left, right, left— smack. I almost snapped my neck I looked up so fast. I could tell my worst nightmare had come true from the dread prickling up my spine. That was the adrenaline kicking in. The hormones in my body literally reacted to her before my brain even knew what happened.
"Oop!" She let out a small sound as we collided. It was all I could do to reach out and grab anything I could to keep both of us from falling. It didn't work. We came tumbling down in a pile of awkward and extremely bony body parts. I know what you're thinking, I spilled my expensive coffee all over her and I'm about to gush and fawn over some spoiled blouse. Nope. Close though.
I managed to save the coffee, although it earned me a bent wrist on my other hand. Ice cold water spilled from the stainless steel cup in her hand, spraying over me like a waterfall on my descent down.
I scrambled up instinctively, unable to stop the gasp from flying out my mouth. It wasn't because Sandra motherfucking Bullock was laying on top of me in varying degrees of agony, it was because I was freezing. Her eyes were wide as she looked from my wet face below her to her hand that was clutching her now empty cup.
Sandra bullock. Sandra Bullock. Sandra Bullock. What the fuck do I do? oh my god I'm so cold.
"Shit. Shit. I am... fuck I am so sorry. You're drenched." She clambered up as I continued with my scrambling. She groaned, holding her knee as she stood.
Her voice was jarringly familiar as it swam into my water-blocked ears. All those nights watching one movie after another, the rom coms, the thrillers, the action movies. And now she was actually in front of me. And my wrist was throbbing. My suit was ripped at the elbow.
"I..." shivering, I wiped my hand across my face. A full face of make up gone. Oh shit I was standing in front of Sandra Bullock with mascara running down my face.
"Oh god, you're freezing. Step..." she grabbed my arms. "Step into the sun. Come on, over here. Are you hurt? We should go to the hospital."
She was rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm them up. I couldn't feel anything once I looked at her properly in the light. Dark, cascading hair. Sharp jaw. Those pouty lips. She wasn't very smiley on account of the fact she was guilt-ridden.
"I'm not hurt. I'm..." I blinked. "Are you?"
"I'm fine. Your suit... I mean it'll dry but you're obviously on your way to work or something and it's ripped and... I've totally ruined your day. Let me get you a new suit, please? I promise I'm not a murdery stranger, just a clumsy one."
You really have to reassure her now, y/n. Seriously. Say something. Anything.
"It's... it's okay, Sandra. You don't ha—have to d—do that." My teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
Her head wobbled at the sound of her name coming out my mouth. Fuck. I should've let her introduce herself.
"I do. If only to stop you from getting hypothermia. Are you sure you're not hurt? You took the brunt of the fall there. My car's just round the corner, can you call work and tell them you'll be late...?" She paused, as if to leave a gap for my name.
"Y/n."
"Y/n." She muttered, as if committing it to memory.
My heart dropped at the sound of my name leaving her lips.
"I'm on my way to an audition." I said, regaining a part of my consciousness.
"Oh, shoot. Okay, what for? I can see if I can contact them or... contact someone who can contact them."
My whole body was shaking. I was thankful it looked like I was cold and not suffering from a panic attack.
I reached into my soggy blazer, which I was embarrassed to be wearing. I hoped she'd gathered it was for a character and not my usual wardrobe. I looked like a stuffy librarian. Or maybe a sexy one? I wanted to imagine I had the chic, wet look going on, although I don't know how much the ripped fabric was adding to it. I pulled out the advertisement for the role, the paper shaking in my wet hands.
Sandy peered into my space to read it.
"Richard... Bowmont. Okay, yes. I can contact him, don't worry." She clapped her hands with relief, toning it down when she remembered I was freezing to death. "I'll just be a second."