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fortunekookie07 · 12 days

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Mc disappears on a mission/snowcrest (Days, weeks, author's choice) I want pain, anguish But a happy ending, with a reunion (the only requirement, life is sad enough 😭)

This is the prompt requested, and I got this idea.

Looking for my Heart

The mission seems simple enough, you thought as you read through the file that Jenna had sent. After you had gone to Snowcrest last year with Zayne and temporarily teamed up with the Deepspace Hunters stationed there she had decided to add more diversity to the training. This included rounds in Snowcrest.

This time it was your turn, you were excited to see Dr. Noah and Pie again. It had been almost six months since your last trip. Getting out of Linkon for the first time in awhile was just the refreshing change you wanted.

Zayne had agreed to take you to the train station so you could meet up with your temporary team, but for some reason he was late. This was highly unusual, Zayne was almost never late. He prided himself on his perfect manners.

You decide to take your luggage downstairs anyways. Surely Zayne was on the way or maybe even pulling up to the complex now. Upon seeing the quiet parking lot devoid of his car a pout forms on your lips. You grab your phone and scroll through the texts you'd exchanged and check to make sure you'd told him the correct time and date. There it was, Wednesday morning 9:30, along with his affirmation and yet no Zayne. You decide that this is not ok and immediately tap the phone icon to call him.

Straight to voice-mail, a frown furrows your eyebrows and your lips purse out in frustration. You call again, once more, twice more. You almost lose count at the number of straight to voice mail calls you send. So you type him a text in anger.

I know you don't want me to go to Snowcrest but this is my job after all. If you didn't want to take me you shouldn't have agreed in the first place. Trying to make me miss the train is really petty. You hit send without a second thought and immediately call for a taxi. Minutes later one is pulling into the parking lot and finally you are off.

After getting to the station and finally securing your tickets and luggage your phone rings. Zayne's name and picture flash across the screen. In anger you shut your phone off and stuff it deep into your bag.

You walk down a few cars before finding a seat. Across from you is a family. A little girl is giggling as her father is making funny faces and the mother is quietly laughing as well. A smile crosses your face and then unwanted thoughts pop into your head.

For a moment you see yourself and Zayne in that exact situation. Though he'd probably never actually admit it, Zayne would do anything you asked no matter how silly. To him you'd hung the moon and scattered the stars. A small smile came to your face and you violently shook your head back in forth, uncaring that your hair whipped your cheeks as you did so.

"No I'm angry, we're mad at Zayne. Be mad at Zayne"! You chant softly to yourself before slapping both cheeks. Having successfully for the moment chased away the daydream you sit back in your seat as the train begins to move and look out at the scenery flashing by. Slowly changing from city to mountains.

Two hours later the heaters in the cars came on as the temperature outside had dropped. It was snowing lightly according to the weather report. Your about to get your jacket on when an alert sound on your Hunter's Watch. You look down and see that a there is a Metaflux warning on the screen and the scanner is red.

Immediately your heart starts hammering in your chest as a cold sweat rolls down your back. This is exactly the readings you saw on your first day Hunting.

"Look out"! You scream just before everything goes white and you hear a high pitched screech and then nothing.

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

She was standing off to the side holding Dr. Zayne's phone. Finally it was her turn to watch for important calls or messages and inform him of them. Finally she would be able to get closer to him. Oh how she had dreamed of this day! Luck was finally dealing her the winning hand.

At least that was the cloud nine Mia was currently occupying until the phone actually started soflt vibrating. A quick glance at the screen sent her stomach straight to the pits of ultimate fury. How did this stupid girl have Zayne's number? She was always around him. It made her blood absolutely boil staring down at her stupid smiling face and name on the screen. "Humph"! She scoffed sending the call straight to voicemail. Oh how it delighted her to reject that snake's call.

Well that was until the phone started vibrating again almost immediately. She's calling again?!?! Mia thought wanting to throw the device into and inferno.

I've been in his department for two years and she already has his number?? How dare she deceive my Zayne! She sent the call to voice-mail again. This went on several more times and she was almost giddy at having rejected the call five times. A wide smile made its way onto her face as a text message popped in then. Zayne would never allow anyone to talk to him like that. She was riding this wave for the next hour before finally the surgery was done.

Mia quickly deleted the records of the call and then looked up as Dr. Zayne set down his instruments and gave his final orders. He was handing the last of the surgery duties over to his team. They quickly got to work stitching the patient back up. Dr. Zayne walked over to her and her heart skipped a beat as she watched another nurse help remove his scrubs and gear before finally standing in front of her.

He looks so tired, she thought silently handing over his phone. He accepted it and a deep frown immediately hung over his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Damn, I'm late". He said quietly.

"Is something wrong Dr. Zayne". Mia asked gazing at his face. Mock concern on it. Zayne only looked at her before leaving the room. Mia was confused, while it was true they didn't have much contact, he'd never outright ignored her before. She shrugged it off as tiredness. It had been a six hour surgery after all.

Mia left the surgical wing and went back to the nurses station to write down the report she knew would be expected by the end of the day. However forty-five minutes later she was being summoned to Zayne's office. He had directly written an email and sent it to her. This had never happened before. Mia had attended dozens of surgeries with Zayne before, but never had an email come to her straight from him.

She was so elated that she didn't even notice the looks she was getting as she practically skipped to his office. Word of her misdeeds had traveled around the entire cardiac ward and then some, but Mia hadn't noticed. Too busy floating in the clouds to see the disapproving stares and mock sympathy she was getting.

She stopped only once at the last bathroom before turning to his office to check her hair and makeup. She quickly undid the ponytail her hair had been thrown in before and finger combed the strands before relying it neatly. Adjusting her bangs to fall just right across her forehead and removing all traces of smudged eyeliner. Perfect! She thought glancing once more before leaving.

Standing in front of his office door she cleared her throat and raised her hand to knock, but another hand beat her to it. She turned a withering look on her face but nearly recoiled in shock. Standing to her right was the president of the hospital along with his secretary and another Doctor she couldn't remember the name of.

"Come in". Zayne's deep voice sounded from the other side. The president quickly pushed the door open and strode inside. His secretary looked at her. A woman in her mid thirties with square framed glasses a high ponytail with side swept bangs and piercing golden eyes. She looked like an eagle that had just found her next pray. Mia suddenly felt small, all her early excitement and high dwindling rapidly to nothing.

She walked into the room like a timid mouse searching for the cat she just knew was watching her. "Y-you wanted to see me Dr. Zayne"? His green and gold eyes looked at her. Expression flat, devoid of all emotion and even life. Her body started to trembled as she played with the hem of her uniform shirt.

"Did I receive any calls earlier this morning"? He asked her out right not beating around the bush. "N-no sir, your phone did not ring". She was sweating nervously. Why was she being asked this in front of the president. She wanted the floor to swallow her.

"Is that so". He said and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees with that single sentance. He wordlessly turned his computer monitor around to show what he was looking at and Mia felt her stomach sink to the floor as she stared at a frozen image of herself holding Zayne's phone. It was clear as day.

"Are you unaware that in addition to their being an observation deck above my operating room there are also cameras all over the place? Are you sure this is the route you wish to take"? He asked as her pressed play on the video. You could clearly see her holding the phone and looking down at the screen when the device lit up. The name couldn't be read from the distance but the picture of you was unmistakable.

Mia lost all composure as she ditched her cover. "Why does she get to have your number and hang around you all the time like some cheap skank? It makes me sick the way she's always coming to the hospital like she owns the place. She doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you. She doesn't deserve to breathe at all"! Mia shouted chest heaving from her words and anger. "Who does she even think she is? She's isn't good enough for you"! She went on. There was no coming back from this, Mia had tossed all caution to the wind and she was going down with her sinking ship.

"Are you so self absorbed that you don't even know who my patients are"? Zayne asked, his voice was cold enough to give Mia frostbite as she practically froze. Horror dawning on her as realization started to sink in. "Not that it is any of your business in the first place. She has an extremely rare heart condition and requires weekly checkups to make sure no changes occur. She has my number because I gave it to her....".

Just then the door burst open and several people came in panicked. "Dr. Zayne you need to see this now"! The male shouted grabbing the remote and turning the TV on to the news in a flurry.

"..Minutes ago on the mountain there was an explosion believed to have been cause by metaflux, at the time the train bound for Snowcrest was at the heart of it. As of yet we are unable to get reports of the accident. As you can see drones are trying to get closer bit having no visual luck. The smoke has completely enveloped the accident. We are able to confirm that the train was blasted off the tracks as you can see here". The reported said as a still image filled the screen.

You could clearly see where the tracks ended brokenly and the huge gouge that had been taken as well as the black smoke. All eyes in the room turned to Zayne who had stood abruptly from his chair with such force that it had been knocked over. He scrambled for his phone furiously before tapping and immediately calling someone. The phone went straight to voicemail. Over and over again to no avail, finally he dropped the phone and hung his head brokenly.

He looked up sharply and sent her a withering glare, "The president will deal with you. I need to go". He said directing the last part to the president.

No one said a word as Dr. Zayne left the hospital and drove straight to the train station. He tried calling Dr. Noah, but to no avail. Emergency lines overruled all other communication.

Zayne felt like all his sanity was about to slip away, you were missing and you took his heart with you when you vanished.

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

That had been eight days ago, every news outlet was following the story as the very world held its breath. Four rescue attempts had been made with no results. The explosion had stired up all the Wanderers and the area was thick with danger. Rescue workers couldn't fend off the Wanderers and there just weren't enough Deepspace Hunters that could destroy them, protect the rescuers, and look for survivors. All hope seemed to be lost.

As morning dawned on the ninth day something changed, the areas that had previously been inaccessible were suddenly clear. The Wanderer sightings in the first zones had dropped to zero. Even the metaflux readings were bottoming out. Like the forests surrounding the area was reclaiming itself.

Zayne finally ditched the watch the Association had put on him and headed into the wilderness. You the only thing on his mind. He was coming for you no matter what.

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

Pain, that was the most prominent feeling you had first as you tried to open your eyes and move. They didn't want to cooperate. Something shuffled near you and then you realized something was holding your hand. At first you were afraid, unable to open your eyes and unable to move. Panic started to set in and with it dizziness. Even though you were already lying down the ground beneath you was spinning. Like a merry-go-round turned on to fast.

Then there was a quiet shushing. "It's alright, please calm down. Your injuries are serious and we have no way to treat them. We barely managed to stop the bleeding. Your eyes have been covered because there were deep cuts on your forehead. In addition your right leg and arm are badly broken. I don't know the extent of all your injuries so please don't move. If it hadn't been for your warning no one but you would have survived. My wife and daughter are alive thanks to you. Please let us help you". A male voice said softly near your ear. A hand brushed your hair back and then there was gentle pressure on your left hand.

A smaller hand had gripped it holding softly. "We managed to put up some shelter, it's been snowing non stop since the accident and the area is not safe. Your watch alerts us to dangers so we're staying hidden. You're a Hunter aren't you"? Those time a female voice was speaking softly. Memories slowly came back, you remembered the family you saw on the train and tears came to your eyes. That family had survived and not only that, protected you at your most vulnerable moments.

With all the strength you had left to muster you squeezed the small hand still holding yours before passing out again. Thankfully in unconsciousness there was no pain and there was also Zayne.

How you missed his cool demeanor and often icy personality. You missed staring into his deep hazel eyes and getting lost in them. You missed him holding you and waking up to him. In your dreams Zayne had already found you and was gently tending all your injuries while hiding how much it pained him to see you in this state.

The next time you woke up all was quiet around you. Carefully you pulled the layers of cloth off your eyes and peered into the dim light. It stung a bit after so much darkness. Huddled around you was a man, woman, and small child. They looked worse for the wear and tou noted cuts, burns, scrapes, and the like on them. Seems they had been extraordinarily lucky to escape with such minor injuries. You took note of the extent of your own injuries for the first time. Breathing hurt if you sucked in air too deeply, seems you can add ribs to the list of broken. Not to mention the burning paid in your side. That was heavily bound with cloth. That must be the bleeding that was hard to stop.

You tried to lift your head but that just sent oy straight back to the world of dreams. All your energy spent on just moving cloth from your eyes and feeling out wounds.

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

Zayne was still unsure of the man walking beside him. He sort of knew about your upstairs neighbor and frequent Hunting partner but had never actually met Xavier before. He was quiet hardly speaking and seemed to be emotionless. Taking down every Wanderer that approached.

He hardly even needed Zayne's help, in fact he was pretty sure the man required zero help at all. It was quite a surprise when Xavier had agreed to Zayne's coming along in the first place. He knew there was more that Xavier knew than he would ever let slip. This guy held more secrets than a diary.

When Zayne had told him he was going to find you with ir without his help Xavier relented and off you were. Easily slipping past barriers and blockads headed for the accident zone.

Suddenly Xavier stopped his sled dogs and walked through the trees. In front the train tracks appeared and so did the spot where a huge hole was. Spanning at least thirty feet wide and probably ten feet deep at its center, it was no surprise the train had been blasted off the tracks. One of the cars lay on its top. Windows busted and scorch marks all over the metal. The fire on this one had burned a long time. The smell of burnt wooden, metal, and coal still lingered in the air. The bursting of snow looked odd on the scene. Any tracks that may have been on the snow were long since gone. Dusted over with more snow.

"Not here". Xavier said quietly leading away from the car and walking further away from the train into the woods. The air was dead silent, no animals had been seen in days. Having run away, or too terrified to come out of hiding.

Zayne felt his heart freezing over with the bitter cold. He would not admit the chances of your survival of the explosion until the evidence was thrust right before his eyes.

The hospital had forced him into a personal leave two days after the explosion. He was walking around in a daze, because quite literally his heart was missing. He got angry everytime he thought about what one of the nurses had done. Rejecting your calls like that several times. Her job was terminated that day. The president would not have such a malicious person on staff at Akso hospital. If word got out that patients were treated like that because a nurse thought she was entitled to whatever she wanted their stellar reputation would plummet.

A crunching noise started coming from a few feet in front of them. Xavier dashed forward towards thr sound.

In a makeshift clearing a man was walking their way. He looked beat up and tired as he froze at the sight of them before smiling in joy. It looked like he had been crying.

"Oh thank god"! He cried coming to them in relief. "We need help, the young woman that is with us is hurt real bad. I don't know if she's going to make it. I can't treat her injuries. Zayne felt his blood freeze as a sickening feeling came over him. "Show us". He said and the man immediately turned are hurried back the way he'd come. For the first time Zayne realized there was a tent strung from blankets and branches.

The man pushed the heavy blanket aside and went in. Zayne paused for a moment before he and Xavier followed. As soon as Zayne got a look at who was lying on the ground it felt like his soul left him.

There you were, his heart so battered and hurt he could barely breathe. For the first time Zayne wished he didn't have any medical training ir knowledge. He could easily see every injury and the signs of the ones the untrained eye could not.

A fever had set in and you were shivering despite the blankets on you and the two people huddled near you trying to keep you warm.

"Move aside", Zayne said with a calm he didn't feel. He took his backpack off and immediately searched for the pain medication and bandages. He gave you a shot to dull the pain your broken bones would definitely be giving you. He removed the cloth wrapped around your stomach and examined the injury. He could tell they had tried their best to care for you but lacking any supplies at all it had been a struggle. Signs of infection were already setting in. The jagged cut to your side was deep and would require antibiotics and stitching. Neither of which he had now. He just tried his best to clean the wounds with the basic supplies he had and moves on.

At some point during his treatment, you woke up. Eyes hazy and unfocused. "Zayne can't you find me already"? The fever had made you delirious. "Hurry and come find me Zayne. I can't hold out much longer". He stoked your head and mumbled. I'm looking for you, I'll find you soon. "M'kay". You say before slipping back into a feverish sleep. "We need to get her out of here now". Zayne says to Xavier carefully turning you onto your back and the carefully picking you up.

Your face scrunches in pain and whimpers escape your lips but you do not wake. The pain meds are doing their job, for the most part.

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

After what seems like a year later you're waking up. You tense as you realize that you no longer have anyone around you. The little girl is gone and so are the mom and dad.

It takes you almost three minutes to notice that you are lying in a bed now and not on a covered ground with several blankets. Only when you realize that do you also hear the sounds of machines. You blearily open your eyes and see the white walls and the large curtained window on your left.

Zayne is also there, asleep in a chair that just screams uncomfortable. There is a chart in his lap and you realize it's yours. You are glad that you can't read what is written from your angle. You try to turn onto your side and one of the machines starts beeping angrily at you.

Zayne snaps awake instantly and reaches over to press a button. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. He must be exhausted. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a whisper. Your mouth is so dry.

Your voice is only a whisper. Instead you try to move your hand. This manages to catch his attention. He is immediately checking you over. Doctor mode has been activated.

"Are you in pain? How is your head"? He fires off questions rapidly. Unable to answer them you point to the water on the table. His gaze follows your finger and he grabs the glass holding the straw for you to sip. "Slowly, not too fast". He gently chides.

"Zayne, you found me". You say not answering any of the questions. "Of course I did". He says matter of factly sitting down and staring at you again. "I know you are too resilient to go down without a fight. You're tougher than that".

You smile softly gazing at him. "I need my heart". He gently takes your hand staring at the ring on your finger. He won't say it but you have certainly put his heart through a beating.

"When can I leave the hospital". You ask and he just sighs. "You're just going to have to stay put for awhile. You're in for a long recovery. The extent of your injuries were no small matter.

"Dr. Zayne I'd like you to return my finacee to me now". You say in a joking manner squeezing his hand.

A long sigh is drawn out from him before he says "just what am I going to do with you"? He leans over and kisses your forehead, both eyelids and then finally your lips.

"I hope you know a person can't live without their heart. Don't make mine disappear again. " You smile, feeling warm with his words.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne x reader #halseyhatter #fic prompt #love and deepspace

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 8 months

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The Only One Worth Posing For

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You're a famous photographer so you often get invited to red carpet events. Your best friend is an actor, and you've taken tons of pictures of him. The only problem is that he only poses for your camera.

Square Filled: “yeah, you’re cold. I’m giving you my jacket” for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Camera? Check. Extra lenses? Check. Press pass? Check. Supply bag? Check. Gorgeous pink dress you got just for this event? Check. You check the time on your phone to make sure you’re not running late, which you’re not. Your best friend should already be at the movie premier for his new movie, and you’re one of the photographers on the red carpet.

You’re a famous photographer that takes pictures of celebrities for events like movie premiers, the Met Gala, award shows, etc. Your career started in high school when you took almost all of the pictures for the yearbooks. Then, you took pictures of your friend’s graduation pictures and got paid less than one hundred dollars for it. Once in college, you took a lot of photography classes that allowed you to hone your skills and become better.

Someone saw your pictures on your college website and loved them so they got in contact with you, and that’s how you got your first job at a magazine. It took about a decade to get to where you are now and you couldn’t be happier. Along the way, you’ve met and hung out with a ton of celebrities including your best friend. You two met back when you were the photographer for the magazine, and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

Speaking of the devil, he texts you just as you are leaving the apartment.

Are you on your way?

just leaving now! be there soon xx

I can’t wait to see you :)

The message brings a smile to your face. He never fails to lift your spirits no matter how you’re feeling. He sent for a car to take you to the movie premier instead of you taking your own. When you get there, the place is packed with press, fans, and cars carrying celebrities.

“Thank you,” you smile at the driver and get out.

You head to the booth to check in and present your press pass to her. She confirms you’re on the list before letting you inside the area where the press is located. You set your bag on the ground and take out your favorite lens to use in times like these, the kind of lens that allows you to zoom in clearly even from where you are. The more popular you got, the more expensive equipment you bought.

You got here at the right time because celebrities show up not long after you get set up. Much like everyone here, you call their names in hopes they pose for your camera. You get a lot of good shots of very iconic celebrities like Johnny Depp, Jennifer Lopez, Morgan Freeman, Julia Roberts, and Sandra Bullock. The movie did so much press to make sure it is the most popular movie which is why so many celebrities are here.

You look to the left and see your best friend walk down the red carpet with a huge smile on his face. Matthew Gray Gubler. A man of many tricks. A man who never fails to make you smile. He looks past every person who calls out his name until he finds your camera. His eyes light up and begins posing for your camera and your camera only.

“Matthew! Look over here!” one of them says but he ignores them,

‘Stop it’, you mouth to him and his smile only gets bigger. What did you expect? He always does this whenever you’re in the crowd with a camera. He only cares about you and your career. If you can get good pictures of him, then you can sell them for a lot of money. People around you are frustrated with you and him but you don’t care about them.

Matthew leaves the red carpet and joins the group of celebrities who are hanging outside before they can go inside the theater. There are only a few more celebrities to capture, then you’re packing up your things. Apart from being part of the press, Matthew invited you as his plus one.

“Are you serious with Matthew?” one of the other photographers says.

“Sorry. Maybe next time,” you shrug.

You bring your case back to the town car that is still waiting for you, and you toss your press pass into the backseat. There is no reason for you to have two outfits when you can wear your red carpet outside as one of the press. You walk back over to the same booth and check in as a guest. She gives you your guest pass and you make your way into the area where all the celebrities are.

“I’m gonna slap that motherfucker when I see him,” you joke to yourself.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Shemar Moore smiles when he sees you.

“Shemar! I thought you were still filming S.W.A.T.,” you grin and hug him.

“I couldn’t miss this premier.”

“Where is Matthew?”

“Last I saw him was by the entrance to the theater.”

“Great. I’ll see you inside.” You leave his side and go find your best friend. He’s talking to one of the younger and newer kid stars, and you slink up to his side. “Excuse me. Mind if I borrow him for a second?”

“Sure. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

You pull him to the side and away from everyone for some semi-privacy.

“What the hell was that back there?”

“What?” he laughs.

“You can’t keep posing for my camera only.”

“You tell me this every time, and what do I keep telling you?”

“Mine is the only one worth posing for.”

“See? It’s law at this point.”

He leans in and kisses you quickly. You two have been testing the waters for a romantic relationship for the last couple of weeks. It’s been going well because you’re taking it at your own speed without the public knowing.

“You’re gonna piss off the other photographers.”

“I don’t care.”

He pulls you in and kisses you much deeper this time. You only allow two minutes to yourselves before you pull away from him. Goosebumps litter your arms and you shiver slightly under his gaze.

“You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

“That’s not why I’m shivering,” you say and shiver again.

“Yeah, you’re cold. I’m giving you my jacket.”

He sheds his jacket and slings it over your shoulder to provide you with warmth. He slides his hand into yours and pulls you toward the entrance to the theater.

“Let’s go watch this movie. Afterward, you’re gonna let me take you home.”

“We live together,” you giggle.

“Even better.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Only for you,” he winks and kisses your cheek.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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meloo-melon · 1 month

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Gen Z Adam & Lute in uniform

I experimented with my style a lot in this one and tried to keep their colours and silhouette as similar to their og’s as possible, especially when it came to Adam.

I wanted to keep his triangular silhouette with his jacket and wanted to keep his pattern on his robe with subtlety of the red streaks at the end of his jacket. I also added a chain and two golden spikes coming out of between of his horns to give his iconic A symbol. Which led me to make his horns more angled to resemble an A in some angles. His sleeves also go from light to dark like his og sleeves and I added white cuffs to represent his white pattern at the end of his sleeves in the show.

For Lute, I switched her belt for a corset as gen z girl teenagers, especially the more alt and gothic ones tend to use corsets a lot in their outfits as an aesthetic choice. She is wearing an oversized jacket with a night gown, making it more alt and modern. I kept all of her colours the same unlike Adam. And I tried to make it as similar to the og as possible without it being unoriginal, but not different enough to make her unrecognisable. I kept her mask the same expect for the two dangerous looking side metals that resemble her grey sidetails. She looks like she can pierce someone’s throat with that. As you can see in her jacket and boots she still has the grey streak just like her og.

I tried to make this drawing as similar to my og gen z drawing of them to maintain the same aesthetic people liked. As you can immediately see I kept a very angular and sharp edges with them to portray to the audience their villainy and dangerous and their threat to the main characters in HH.

If you finished reading this thank you and I appreciate you and this is in any way not a realistic depiction of gen z. It is highly exaggerated and simply made to be fun.

#drawing #artwork #digital art #digital drawing #hazbin hotel lute #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #sketches #hazbin hotel au #art

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charles-leclerizz · 1 month

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EPISODE 01 : Start your engine

🏁 EPISODE AGE RATING : U/A 16+ [contaings swearing]

🏁 GENRE : Drama, Action, Sports, Romance

🏁 WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10 , 366 WORDS ]

🏁 MUSIC SUMMARY : THE GREATEST BY SIA, PUMPT IT - BLACK EYED PEAS

🏁 CREDIT [S] : "BEHIND THE SCENES" BANNER, NETFLIX PLAY BAR BY ME [@charles-leclerizz], TEXT DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune

🏁 TAGS : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

DIRECTORS CUT : first episode children, better get soome snacks and a drink, and i highly reccomend looking at the masterlist, aisha's profile and the porsche f1 team links, since they will explain everything. It is also recommendeed you first read the trailer, which is once again found on the masterlist below.

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

The opening credits of the series begin to play, revealing bold block letters reading,

“Bahrain 2025”

And in the background, the black fades to reveal an aerial view of the landmark circuit, a staple of the history that defines Formula One. As the shot zooms in, we see the morning mist rolling over the grey, freshly re-laid tarmac of the track leading up to the garages of each of the 10 teams, most of them shutdown and blocked away from prying eyes. Though, as the camera moves forward, the view widens and we can see at the very end of the line, the Porsche garage emitting a yellow glow.

The acrylic entrance leaks hues of gold whilst we finally approach the opening where we see Aisha jumping in place, a set of Bose x Porsche headphones sat on her ears, the white body and metallic automobile logo on the muffs bouncing with her movements.

She looks up from her focussed point beneath her, facing the camera that zooms in and captures the determined flare within the pools of her eyes.

The music, already beginning its powerful bass bursts, dims and briefly we can hear her laboured breathing as she stretches her hands above her and unzips the tight athleisure jacket that she had worn previously for warmth. The adidas logo crumples as she throws it away, revealing a cropped sports bra, white with grey stripes at the sides containing an embroidered Porsche logo on her left breast.

Soon enough, the music comes blaring back and the camera merely turns to follow her body as she begins to run away from the safety of her team enclosure. The scene ends with her exiting the shot, running down the initial straight of the first ever track she will race as a formula one driver.

“Aisha, what drives you in the world of Formula One?” A deep, cryptic voice off camera asks the driver sitting in shot. She smiles menacingly and leans back against her seat, her hands planted on her elegantly crossed legs as she adjusts the low cut, ‘V’ collar of her waistcoat, the colour matching the iconic Porsche guards’ red, of the rest of her risqué pantsuit.

“What drives me?” She chuckles, a low, raspy amusement that reverberates against the stormy backdrop behind her, “The competition, the domination, it runs in my blood;” She leans forward, as if the camera crew were privy to her obvious need to achieve. Aisha’s thin, golden bangles on each of her wrist’s jingle as she goes to adjust her volumous hair, “it’s not about the winning, it’s about obliterating the finish line.” She shrugs nonchalantly, despite the aggressive competitiveness that crackles in the air.

The voice chuckles at her threatening demeanour, yet continues, “Some media outlets commented on your driving style, since F2 and F3. They say it’s violent. What’s your response?”

Aisha bites her lip, thinking on the best way to diplomatically answer the question, despite her need to curse the people who doubted her.

Instead, she sighs with faux disappointment and her wide, mascara rimmed eyes move down to her rouge and gold nails whilst one of her fingers comes to slip beneath the platinum stud that sits comfortably on the left of her nose.

“Violent?” She asks, her voice barely above a murmur, “They could’ve been more descriptive.” She rolls her eyes once before inhaling, “Try...relentless. When I’m on track, behind the wheel, it’s war. And I aim to be the last one standing, if you can’t get with the program, move out the way. Cause I’m here to win.”

Her promise of no mercy is palpable as she shifts minutely in her seat, tapping her nails against one another whilst waiting for next question.

“What about the rest of the grid?” The interviewer prompts, treading carefully with his words, “Any words for them?”

Aisha scoffs under her breath, uncrossing her legs and flipping over the golden dainty necklace that rests within her exposed cleavage, the glinting logo of her team catches the light whilst she adjusts herself.

“Why words? They’ll know what I’m here for when I pass them. They’ll feel it, the fear, the resignation. I’m a whirlwind, all they can do is get swept up in it, this season, I am not racing against them, their teams or even their car; I’m racing against their hatred of losing to me.”

She smiles at the camera, eyes crinkling at the sides as her nose scrunches, a pure juxtaposition to the threat that peeled out of her mouth like scalding, hot water.

“Before we end. For your fans, what do you want them to know?”

“Hold on for your life, they’re about to witness history on the track. Cause I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fuck shit up.” Aisha grins wickedly and laughing loudly at the flurry of reactions off camera from the crew that stood behind the myriad of wires.

Three different scenes are overlayed one another, the first being of Lewis Hamilton, giggling at someone off screen before focussing his large doe eyes onto the interviewer who also sat behind the large camera.

The second being 3X world champion Max Verstappen, who sits heavily onto the provided stool and sips at the can of the sugary energy drink in his hand, Max stared at the camera, a bored sheen coating his crystalline blue irises as the third, and final driver’s scene overtakes his.

This time Charles Leclerc enters the identical set, the Ferrari golden boy had narrowly escaped his fans-who’s screams of joy could be heard in the background as he waved a final time and pocketed a bright red, branded Ferrari pen whilst sighing, glancing around haphazardly.

“Lewis”

Hamilton perks up at his name, smiling serenely, prompting the interviewer to continue.

“The world of Formula one is ablaze about new entry, Aisha Patel. Do you think, as a seasoned professional, she has what it takes to compete?”

Lewis whistles lowly, leaning back against his seat and wraps his arms around himself, “Damn- starting strong huh?” He snorts once before re-adjusting his posture, “Y’know, we’ve heard of her up here. And she’s talented, but obliterating F3 and F2 does not directly auto-translate to domination on our track.”

“Is that scepticism that I hear?” The interviewer chases after the hesitation in the driver’s voice, like a dog after a juicy bone.

“Call it...” Lewis arches an eyebrow as he mulls over his words, “Healthy cautiousness. I’m waiting to see how she handles the pressure after the lights go out.”

“Max”

Max hums lazily, as though he had one too many bubbling seltzers that sat, pristine on the refreshments table, “Yeah?”

“Aisha Patel.”

Max clenches his jaw at the sound of her name.

“She’s said to rival your aggressiveness on track, what are your thoughts on her joining your world?”

Max scoffs at the seemingly preposterous statement, “What about her? She’s aggressive, so what? It’s skill that matters here in the big leagues. Give a baby a steering wheel to a supercharged car, that’ll be aggressive. I’m not holding my breath for her. “

“That sounds like someone who’s threatened?” He probes the already on edge driver.

“A threat?” Max chortles as if someone had offered him a mere penny for his thoughts, “I haven’t been threatened since kindergarten. I’ll let her have her try at the status quo, take one for the team and all.”

“Charles”

The alarmingly red adorned man tilts his head inquisitively at the interviewer, his gentle smile popping his dimples.

“Miss. Patel has been said to be relentless on track, throwing caution to the wind. Your thoughts on her violent debut?”

Charles hums as he nods his head, “It’s nice to see fresh blood on track, bonne, she’s certainly caught people’s attention. Let’s see if she’s all bark and no bite.” He mummers the French praise before shrugging at the end of his sentence.

“You’re excited to compete against her?”

“Of course- who wouldn’t be? New team, new driver. The more varied the sport, the more interesting.” He answers neutrality laced into his words, despite the excited glint in his eye.

“Thank you for your insights.” The interviewer thanks the men in their tapes, each of them reciprocating with equal politeness.

“Of course,” Lewis grins and claps his hands, turning to start chatting once again as he dismounts from the chair, already walking away.

“No problem,” Max nods his head once, stepping down from his seat whilst receiving a fresh can of Red Bull.

“Cheers mate,” The camera captures Charles leaning forward to shake the interviewer’s hand whilst patting his shoulder, before detaching to go and talk to the gaggle of Ferrari personnel who had gathered within the filming shed.

The 2025 drivers had gathered onto the Bahrain track, the relentless mid-day sun beating down on them as a few of them had the pleasure of black umbrellas being held above them, whilst other’s held small hand-fans in the large palms, basking in the cool breeze that the battery powered trinket provided.

Aisha walked out, her racing shoes tapping against the tarmac as she made her way towards the others. A few Porsche employees trailed behind her, one of them stayed closer behind her, offering her a metallic, grey hand-held fan along with a chilled bottle of water.

“Thanks,” She murmured, brushing the hair that managed to escape her ponytail, “It’s fucking boiling.” Aisha complained, tugging at her fireproofs whilst another employee came up to her, patting her face with a setting powder as an attempt to dry her skin.

“Can’t really help it, love.” The media admin, Sarah, pointed out removing her focus from one of the jittery interns to the driver, “Now- you’re going to walk out, fans are going to see you. Are you sure you don’t want to hide your face right now?”

Aisha cracked open the bottle in her hand, having pressed the condensation coated plastic against her forehead long enough. She faced away from 2-3 people surrounding her to peak past the acrylic barrier, onto the track, where the rest of the drivers stood haphazardly scattered around the starting position boxes that had been freshly painted onto the concrete polymer.

“It’s fine, I think I’ve already heard all their opinions on me.” Aisha groaned, fanning her face again as she kicked a non-existent pebble beneath her toe, “What could go wrong?”

She peaked out again, like a tense meerkat, only to be surprised with her teammate, Pierre chatting with his former partner, Esteban Ocon. His racing suit was already zipped up fully as he basked in the fan’s unintelligible shouts and squeals, the thick, grey fabric stretched over his body nicely as the different sponsor logos morphed to the wrinkles and dents of the cloth.

“He’s already out there.” She hissed, “Making me look like shit.” Aisha banged the back of her crown against the wall that provided her with the much-needed shelter, from both the sweltering rays and the assessing gazes of the crowd above.

“Nonsense lovey.” Sarah assured her, picking at the hem of her fireproofs and pressing a few of the sweaty, stray strands of hair back into position, “Pedro’s just catching up with some friends.”

“Pierre.” Aisha corrected, pulling up her identical suit from hanging lowly from her waist to her shoulders, thankfully she still had time to leave it unzipped.

“Whatever.” She flapped her hand dismissively, “Baguette man isn’t doing anything you won’t have to.”

“Okay,” Aisha breathed out, keeping her lips taught and still as her rouge lipstick was touched up by another Porsche jersey adorned worker, “My helmet?” She looked around, patting herself, as though it would appear out of thin air.

Sarah looked around her surrounding, panicked, before snorting and pointing to the ledge behind the group, “There ya go babe.” She leaned past Aisha to knock on the head gear.

“I’m a mess,” Aisha whined, picking up her helmet whilst rubbing the glossy exterior with an open palm, she runs her fingers over her last name that’s printed on the back.

“A hot mess.” Sarah corrected her, hooking their elbows together whilst ushering forward the teenage interns next to them- their hands shaking with apprehension as they gripped the phones in their hands, the gadget recording each moment.

Aisha stilled slightly as her foot contacted the tarmac, the crowd already hushing with undivided interest on her mere shadow. She could feel anxious sweat begin to build up on the nape of her neck, flushing her face and glistening against her skin.

Finally, after a few minutes of inner turmoil, she allowed Sarah to guide her out within the crowd of other team’s media escorts and her fellow drivers. The grandstands erupted with chaos, the rushing of footsteps- scrambling to take the first photos of her in her debut, the unravelling of flags, the patriotic colours burning against the pristine plexi-glass barriers and multiple little girls shouting happily at her image.

Aisha forced a smile onto her face, the unexpected praise soothed her blushing ears as she waved up at the viewing boxes.

“Well, well. Nobody’s ever screamed like that for me.” A voice creeped up behind her, causing Aisha to whip around with a cautionary hand on her chest.

A cheeky grin greeted her, “Lando” Aisha breathed out, leaning to the side of his stature to acknowledge the rabid paparazzi behind of them with a tight-lipped nod.

“Hey,” He greeted her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping the top of his helmet that sat squeezed between his arm and waist, “You nervous?” Lando tipped his head boyishly, his curls falling over his forehead, hazel eyes softening as he watched her.

“Not really,” Aisha lied, “do you need to pee?” She looked at him anxiously, watching as he stopped bouncing like a full bladdered toddler, and stood still. Lando chuckled under his breath and opened his mouth to answer, until he lurched forward under the weight of a heavy arm that hung from his shoulders.

“Little Lando Norris.” Daniel chuckled, rubbing his knuckles over the younger’s head, and snorted when Lando pushed his hand away stumbling out from his hold, “Already chatting up the newbie?” Daniel looks at Aisha with a smirk, “I think his pubes finally grew in.” He faux whispered, his voice gritty as he winked.

“I’m not chatting up anyone,” Lando smacked Daniel between the eyes before walking backwards, next to Aisha, “Just catching up.” He shrugged, side-eyeing her, gauging a reaction from her steely expression. Luckily, he got one, Aisha’s eyes widened slightly, her eyelashes fluttering to match her hearts faster pace as she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.

“Catching up?” Daniel inquired, suddenly interested, “You guys know each other from before?”

“Yeah, we karted together.” Aisha crossed her arms over one another, before accepting a cold can of thumbs up from a staff member, “Still remember how he shit his pants.” She mumbled.

“I did not!”

“What the fuck.”

Both men exclaimed at the same time, Lando blushing a furious red and Daniel cackling loudly- leading to not only the attention from the other drivers that stood in a 200m vicinity but also Aisha snorting out her drink from her nose.

“I did not shit my pants.” Lando gritted out the last part, to stop prying ears of the other men approaching to become privy to his humiliation.

“You did though?” Aisha arched a brow at him, “I passed by you on the last lap, therefore winning-“ She poked her outstretched pinkie from her can into his puffed up chest, “And that made you so mad, that you shit your pants.”

“Oh god,” Daniel wheezed, taking support on his shorter teammate who had trotted up to join the conversation. Yuki scrunched up his face, tilting away from the force of the elder before looking at Aisha sympathetically,

“You excited?” He grinned slightly, showing off the gap between his front teeth.

“Definitely. How could I not be?” Aisha looked down at Yuki, shifting her weight slightly as an attempt to lower herself, “The crippling pressure? The thousands of viewers? The weight of both of my country’s on my shoulders?” Aisha blew a nonchalant breath from between her lips whilst waving her hand in front of her face, “No biggie.”

The three men stared at her, blank expressions on their face, one of them pressed their lips together, smacking them and creating an equally awkward “popping” noise for the group to bask in.

“I meant more like, the race and stuff..” Yuki mumbled, scratching the back of his head before yelping when Daniel smacked the nape of his neck, “But yeah, what you said works too, fo sho, no doubt, no doubt.” He corrected himself hastily.

“Fo sho?” A fourth voice chimed in, this time with a French lilt to his words, “Who’s got yuki talking like that?”

Aisha looked away amusedly from the smaller driver to the voice, her eyes widened at the blaring red that adorned the man in front of her.

“My period wasn’t due until after the race.” She commented, meeting the man’s intense gaze, “Are you here to ask if I’d like to continue watching?” She tilted her head innocently.

“Ah, I see.” He scrunches his nose at her, “You’ve got our baby Yuki talking like that.”

“Hey, fuck you man.” Yuki protested, throwing his arms up with a huff.

“I know you want to,” The seemingly french-man retorted back with a shameful wink,

“You wink like you’re trying not to cry.” Lando pointed out.

Aisha clapped her hands at her revelation, “That’s what it looked like!”

Lando shrugged, as though it was obvious.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m not here to start the next French revolution or whatever-“ She mumbled, holding out a polite hand as a civil greeting.

Though, she was not met with his acceptance immediately, instead the three men surrounding her grimaced and hissed through their teeth- Daniel shook his hand out like he had just burned himself. Aisha looked around, oblivious to the reason for their reactions and jolted her hand out to the man.

“I’m from Monaco,” He snarked, accepting her hand begrudgingly, “Not France.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged in reply.

“Charles” he gritted out, squeezing Aisha’s hand tightly- a poor attempt to veil his distaste, “Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver.”

“Really?” Aisha squeezed harder, taking a step back to roll her eyes over his bright red suit, “Couldn’t tell.” She snorted.

“Right, well” Lando coughed, reaching forward to peel away both of their hands simultaneously, “This was fun. Meeting new people.” He took Aisha’s hand in his but dropped it quickly when she looked down at their conjoined fingers. Lando coughed, the tips of his ears blushing a furious scarlet, before he shifted to glance at his oh-so-interesting boots.

Luckily, the situation was saved by one of the administration workers clapping their hands and speaking robotically into a megaphone, “drivers, please make your way to your positions.”

The seasoned drivers around her began to exit their conversations and walk towards the bleachers style setup at the start line of the circuit. At least 12 black, metallic chairs sat in a row behind a small plaque, displaying bold white font that detailed the circuit name and the iconic formula one logo sprawled along the edges of the display board.

“Didn’t need this fucking helmet.” Aisha hissed to herself, jogging to one of the Porsche employees that stood at the edge of the camera shot, handing off the piece of equipment, before making her way back to the crowd.

She zipped up her suit and removed the piece of elastic from her hair, letting the noir waves fall down her shoulders as she scanned the already in place men in front of her, thankfully Pierre waved at her and ushered for her to take place next to him, standing behind the pair of Mercedes drivers who were snickering at some joke the other had just told.

Aisha huffed, clasping her hands behind her waist whilst jerking her head side to side due to odd strands of hair tickling her eyes and nose, before she could exasperatedly wipe her face with her hand, a pair of fingers had come and brushed against her nose. Aisha minutely followed the soft pads across her cheek before trailing her gaze up to the origin, Lando met her eyes, his own irises blown out as his hand lingered by her cheek- his thumb twitching across her skin before he coughed and re-took his position.

“Thank you,” She murmured beneath her breath, neutralising her face against the onslaught of obnoxious camera shutters and piercing sun rays.

“No problem,” Lando nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to her face, tracing her features with his shy stare, “You did great in qualifying, yesterday.” He hastily complimented.

Aisha tried to fight against the blush that made its way up her neck, “thank you,” she snipped, pressing her lips together as a futile attempt at hiding her girlish smile.

Lando huffed out a laugh, turning his neck to grin at her, “anytime.”

Finally, the pictures had come to a stop, and the long-barrelled cameras were packed away and the grid were herded to a large, open roof truck. Another admin worker trailed behind the last driver into the pen-like vehicle, stepping up the stairs to hang back from the railing after locking the gate, “everyone’s here?’ she asked, giving a once over the flocked in men, and woman.

“Aisha, you’ll be first to talk to Lawrence,” She met eyes with Aisha, who was already waving to the rowdy fans who had collected at the banisters of the grandstands, “And then it’ll be whoever’s closest.”

The lady nodded once when the drivers thanked her, then she caught Aisha’s gaze again and she smiled reassuringly, “See you guys around.” She waved and dismounted from the railing with a jump.

The large platform began to move as the truck silently hummed to life, Aisha moved from her comfortable position at the back of the area-leaning against the matte, black railing towards Lawrence who smiled excitedly at her approaching figure. As she knitted through the small groups of 3 drivers littered in her path, she continued to wave at the fans who shouted and screamed at each subtle view they managed to glimpse of her.

“Aisha! Hi!” Lawrence greeted her, offering his hand for her to shake and swivelled around to collect a microphone.

“Hello, hello.” Aisha grinned back, accepting the long piece of tech from him, comically rotating it in her hands observing the porous black material that had been painted with a flaring red to create the F1 logo.

“So, you’re finally here! The big leagues, and yesterday’s qualifying must’ve been very exciting. We’ve all been so blown away with Porsche’s car, and your performance. P5 ! Amazing. Walk us through what you’re feeling right now?”

“I mean, it’s a confidence booster of course, qualifying top 5- but I think that along with that it’s proving to myself and other little girls like me that it isn’t about who you are, but what you can do, regardless of gender or background.” Aisha nods once, leaning her elbow against the railing to crane her neck around and take in the track that lay ahead of the speedily moving vehicle.

“It’s great that you can showcase your talent and inspire young minds, but with that said- there’s obviously a pressure that comes with entering such a male-dominated sport.”

Aisha stilled slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking for a beat, “I mean, there’s always going to be extra expectation on you when you’re breaking barriers. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to pave the way for future generation, so really, its fuels my success and goes to show that gender or race, doesn’t correlate to your ability on track.”

“Well said, and while we’re on the topic of your determination, whilst being in the spotlight almost 24/7 and the battles on track, how do you maintain focus? It must be overwhelming.”

Aisha chuckled, turning to look at the other drivers, a few of them had tuned into her interview not-so-subtle whilst others were still deep in conversation, “I mean, when you’re battling against jumbo sized toddlers, and then being put under the loving spotlight of the media, I agree, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes. But then I remind myself, why am I here? What am I here to do? And at the end of the day, it’s just me, the car, and the track, so I really don’t mind it too much.”

She shrugged at the end of her sentence, flipping her hair over her shoulder before unzipping the thick race suit. Revealing her tight, fireproofs beneath, the Indian flag sat proudly on her shoulder whilst her team logo lay sprawled across her chest along with the sponsor logos littered across the rest of her front.

“You make it seem so easy Aisha,” Lawrence laughed, oblivious to the tension that had gathered in the young woman’s shoulders and the tightness of her eyes that had increased tenfold throughout their conversation, “Last question before I let you go, to all of your young fans gathered here today-“ he pointed up to the bleachers that came into view on the straight that the truck was approaching, where multiple younger children stood, jumping in their spots as their Porsche hats bobbled on their heads, “-what would you tell them? Especially those who are most likely facing challenges in their racing journey?”

Aisha smiled serenely, imagining herself in the seats that sat so far away from her, what her younger self would long to hear to make her racing career just a little bit easier, “To all the younger dreamers, never let anyone else tell you your limits. They may say to stop, but you need to believe that you can keep going. Chase your passions relentlessly because if you do, then the only barriers will be the ones we allow ourselves to see. Keep fighting, because one day, you’ll see that you’re right where you need to be.”

“Wow” He sighed, hand on his heart, “That inspired me.” Lawrence laughed heartily, “Finally, maybe just a few words in your native language, now from what I know you spent at least 3 years living in India? For your education?” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her response.

Aisha nodded happily, “Yes, I did! so you want a message in Hindi? There are so many languages in my country, but sadly I’m only fluent in Hindi, despite being Gujarati myself.”

“That would be great, please do.”

“Sabse pehle, main apne sabhi fans ko bahut saara pyaar dena chahti hoon. Aap log mere liye inspiration ho, aur main hamesha aapke saath hoon. Aap sabka support mere liye bahut important hai, aur thank you kehna chahti hoon.”

[First of all, I want to give a lot of love to all my fans. You are an inspiration for me, and I am always with you. All your support is very important for me, and I would like to say thank you.]

“Amazing, thank you so much Aisha,” Lawrence gently took the microphone away from her and offered a grateful smile before looking towards Fernando who had made his way towards the pair.

“No problem,” Aisha stepped away, patting the eldest driver’s back once before turning away and making her way towards Lando, who had already been looking towards her, waiting for her to approach him, along with Oscar and Logan who were engrossed in conversation.

The scene fades away from the three seasoned drivers and in the blackness another title appears, “RACE DAY” and following this the Porsche garage is finally revealed for the first time, much like the other teams the hard acrylic surfaces were decorated with the team colours and many engineers, technicians and workers were rushing around whilst other’s begaan to detach the hydraulic tubes from the cars in preparation for the first race of the season.

Before the first car revved up with anticipation, the halo was shown displaying the driver number and surname, “GASLY 10” and with that, the tubes were removed and the driver’s engineer pulled away, removing the iPad from Pierre’s gloved hands, allowing him to speed off towards his starting position.

The camera pans over to the second car that is yet to exit the garage, the driver within seemed to be hurriedly re-reading the car statistics, consuming that data over and over again, the scene rotates from the back of the car towards the front, where from beyond the middle column of the halo we get a glimpse of the large helmet following her heads sporadic movements, the Indian and British flag printed onto the front side of her head gear, peeped in and out of view as she handed away the tablet and she pulled on her gloves that lay waiting on the chassis in front of her.

With a confident thumbs up, she followed one of the Porsche employee’s guiding movements towards the other racers who sat in their cars, waiting for the start. Maintaining an even pace, she passed by the other cars, the exposed carbon fibre of Esteban’s Alpine in P10 and bright orange of Oscar’s McLaren in P7. She found her box waiting for her car as she pulled in and slowly removed her foot from the acceleration as she joined the grid in waiting for the formation lap.

The music faded away, to allow Aisha’s monologue to play over the still of the onboard camera, “This is it, I thought to myself, all the years of hard work and sacrifices have led up to this moment. This isn’t like F3 or F2-“ the live replay of the sleek interior of her F1 car is replaced by exhilarating moments of on track battles from her previous racing leagues, “- this is F1, where dreams are trampled on and shattered if you can’t keep up.” Her voice trembles slightly as we hear her take a deep breath in and the cars are overtaken with a new scene.

We see Aisha, in the same deep red sultry pantsuit, her side profile contrasted in the shadows as her chest rises and falls, “I remember the moment exactly, I told myself ‘Aisha, soak it in, the cheers and the feeling of other’s dreams, their expectations, cause it can make or break you.” She laughs incredulously at herself, “dramatic I know.”

“But it was electrifying, the whole thing, the thrum of the engines, the anticipation. I have never felt anything like it. But it’s everything I’ve trained for and everything I’ve wanted since I was little and racing go-karts.” Snippets of the raging, overwhelming sound of spluttering go-karts overtake the screen as one after another, we see young Aisha, drowning in an oversized sponsored uniform cut through the chequered ribbon.

“To the other drivers on the grid, it’s just the first race of the season, but for me, it’s my debut, it’s the first and only chance to prove that I’m meant to be here.” Aisha claps her hands, and the bursting flashes of her karting days cease, and we’re brought back to her, sitting in the tall stool, legs crossed over elegantly as she waves her heel back and forth, “The countdown began, and it’s lights out and away we go.”

The red lights above the Bahrain track fade away one by one, Crofty’s voice is matched with hers, and just as the sound of the engines crescendo, the scene ends.

“Right Lando- “

The young British man makes his way into the stool, wobbling slightly as he flails his hands before rocking back to stability. He lets out a relieved breath and crosses his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the golden, volt bracelet on his wrist the Luis Vuitton logo glinting in the light from his absent-minded movements.

“Hi, yes, I’m here.” Lando looked up at the interviewer, his eyes bouncing between the 3-4 different camera’s capturing him from odd angles, “Which-“he pointed at one of them, “-which one am I looking at?”

The interviewer laughed before leaning forward and tapping the lens of the middle-most camera, “This one.”

Lando breathed out, “great” before adjusting the pillowing fabric of his hoodie and stared straight into the glass barrel in front of him, “I’m Lando Norris, and I race for McLaren Formula one team.”

“We ehm we didn’t need that. It- it’s different from Drive to Survive,”

Lando cringed and rubbed the back of his head, causing the bracelet to ride up beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, “My bad- “

“Don’t worry about it, Now-“The sound of cue cards being shuffled could be heard, “Onto the first question, we’ve heard rumours about you and Aisha, especially during your karting days, care to elaborate?”

Lando sucks air through his teeth as he smirks, “Me and Aisha…” He looks down to his hands, fingers finding purchase on the angled charm of his bracelet, “We go way back, I mean, it was either me or her who were winning the races, she was,” He sighs heavily, his eyes starry as he looks back up to the camera, “She was, no, she is everything.”

“Can’t help but notice the bracelet that you have on, anything significant?”

“It’s symbolic, I guess?but nothing too big.” He shrugs it off, hiding away the jewellery from prying eyes.

The interviewer presses their lips together, humming whilst shuffling the cards once again, “Right, of course, but some fans have already started to notice that you and she are…close.”

“Close? We’ve always been close, it’s like electric with her, it’s hard not to be attached to her talent.” Lando smirks playfully, winking at the camera, “Karting with her was so intense, we pushed each other to the limit, and I will always hold her and those memories close to my heart.”

“Seems like obsession,” They laugh.

“Oh, it most definitely is, I mean, have you seen her?” Lando flourishes dramatically with his hands, as though the woman was sitting right next to him.

We are brought back to the first driver’s briefing of the season, mere days before the Bahrain Grand Prix, Aisha had just sat down next to Pierre and began to chat amicably with her new teammate, bouts of laughter erupting from the pair momentarily.

The camera pans from the bonding partners to Lando, still hiding his head between his palms in embarrassment, though from between his ringed fingers we see his emerald irises peeking through the gaps, staring thoughtfully at the enrapturing driver who was currently fiddling with the van clef, indigo bracelets that shimmered around her wrist.

Oscar, who was also curiously watching the woman jogged Lando, snapping the man out of his trance, “Mate- you’re drooling,” He poked his teammate’s cheek.

Lando slapped away the finger that prodded his face, “I am not.”

“Whatever you say,” Oscar hummed, turning his attention back to the administrator who was flipping through a few data filled papers, bringing their mouth closer to the bendable microphone. Oscar leaned into Lando, bumping their shoulders together, “Just be careful.”

Aisha breathed out a sigh, capping the black, matte Bulgari pen, slipping it into the awkwardly small purse that hung from her shoulder. She slammed the driver’s door of her car, having just finished a load of signing and smiling with fans, her main objective was to get through the security scanners peacefully.

“Hey stranger,” A voice came up behind her, tapping her arm.

“Lando,” Aisha tried to contain the quiver in her voice, “I thought you already got in.” She adjusted the neckline of her top, the tight sleeves hugged her shoulders and left her skin exposed to the warm sun.

“I did, I just needed something from my car and then I saw you,” He grinned at her, tapping his key card against the scanner, walking seamlessly through the rotating barrier, “You look like you’re about to walk a runway.”

Aisha laughed, tucking a straightened lock of hair behind her ear, “Thanks, you look…” Aisha assessed his outfit, a pair of light blue baggy, Levi’s and one of his own merch hoodies, “normal.” She cringed at her unnecessary honesty.

Yet, Lando just laughed and nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah- compared to you.”

Aisha continued to walk through the paddock, the British driver at her side whilst she waved to those personnel that passed by. She looked down at her own clothes, a neat, navy, off-the shoulder top that hugged her chest in all the right places was tucked into a grey mini-skirt, compliments of one of the many brand ambassadors of her team, the item was paired with a thin brown, gold buckled belt along with knee-high go-go boots.

“You could say that” She conceded, adjusting the golden Porsche chain that clung to her neck, “I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” Lando pocketed his hands.

“I you wanted to get dinner. For old times’ sake?” Aisha leaned forward on one foot, tilting her head hopefully before coming to a stop and waiting for his response.

Lando beamed widely, his eyes sparkling, “Definitely, I would be an absolute idiot to turn you down.”

Aisha blushed and looked down at the bracelets on her wrist, multiple layered golden chains which reflected light against her face in the most euphoric way, “Great, I’ll ju-“

“AISHA, oh my god it’s really her, AISHA!”

A shrill, young voice erupted from behind the pair, and a group of 3-4 young girls came running up to the pair. Aisha laughed to herself, plucking out the pen once more.

“Hello,” Aisha greeted the pre-teens who surrounded her, two of them dressed in a signature papaya orange whilst the other two sported metallic, silver Porsche merch, “You guys look so good!”

She accepted the hats and odd poster that the girls shyly handed her, “We’re so excited to see you race! You’re the only one who looks like us.” One of them spoke, her copper toned, youthful cheeks bobbed up with her smile as her long, black ponytail weaved with her excited movements.

“That’s so sweet, I think I might just win the race for you.” Aisha opened her arm for the girl to step into as they took a photo.

“Ehm, Lando, could we get an autograph as well,” Another one asked, already unfurling a second poster along with presenting the enraptured male with a sharpie.

“Absolutely! How could I resist?” Lando accepted the pen and began to sign the poster along with some newly presented items that the other two girls had produced.

“Thank you, guys, so much!” Aisha waved off the girls and turned back to Lando, already handing over her phone for him to enter in his number.

The young fans were squealing on their way back to their parents, who were just as excited for their young daughter’s interaction, “Did you guys see the bracelet?”

“What bracelet?” Another one asked, carefully rolling up her poster and handing it to her father, who tucked it under his arm and offered his hand for her to take.

“Lando’s, the one he wore for the whole of last season…” She adjusted her cap, looking confusedly at her three friends.

“Oh…I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

The screen faded away from Lando, sitting with his teammate whilst gawking at Aisha and we’re brought back to the present, the on-board camera of the Porsche is aimed at the lights that have just gone dark and all at once, a symphony of rubber against concrete fills the scene.

Aisha navigated turn one with ease, emerging from the throng of cars still in P5, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she focussed every ounce within her body on the track ahead. The bright spotlights above her cast a blinding hue over the grandstands, illuminating the eager fans from around the world, their flags waved in their air as they watched with anticipation when she approached Lewis from behind, pressuring the world champion ahead as they weaved into the next turn.

Aisha aimed for the apex, seeing the slightest gap for her to slip past, as she pointed the head of her car towards the opening, she held her breath and pressed on the throttle. Aisha lurched backwards as she could feel the crackles of her under-board hit the track with each increase in speed she made, yet she managed to dodge the Mercedes car and fly down the straight, maintaining her tyres as best as she could.

The radio thrummed to life in her ear as her race engineer, James, began to speak, “Great work with Lewis, already around 1.15 behind you. Take care of your tyres for now and defend.”

Aisha breathed heavily as she continued to meet the corners and walls with barely an inch to save herself as a highly effective attempt to prevent more overtakes, “Got it.”

She continued her pace throughout the laps, the continuous build up over 20 rounds had inched her closer and closer to Carlos who was struggling in P3, his braking getting worse and worse with each sharp turn.

“James- how much closer do I need to overtake?” Aisha gritted out, flitting her eyes to the large, white metallic DRS sign that entered her limited field of vision.

“Only a bit more Aisha, it’s time to push.”

Aisha stepped harshly onto the gas, her engine thrumming all around her as she charged closer to the bright red Ferrari ahead. She could see the rubber of the tyres in front burn and smoke with every swerve. The roar of her engine filled her ears, drowning out the noise of her own heartbeat as she braced herself for the challenge, “Here we go,” she murmured, voice firm and steely with determination.

She surged her car forward, pushing her machine to the limit as she matched Carlos’ pace with precision and determination, the desert heat bore down in mirage-like waves as the two drivers danced on the razor’s edge of competition. One by one measly lap, the distance shortened until they were wheel to wheel, and all Aisha could do was grit her teeth until she could taste the tangy calcium as she continued the precipice of a wipe-out, the promise of a podium too good to lose.

Aisha’s heart pounded with exhilaration as they hurtled down the straight once again, soon enough the pair were met with the sharpest corner yet, Aisha pushed further and Carlos relented, edging away meekly to allow her to slip by. The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of euphoria crashing over her senses as her heart swelled with triumph.

“WOO! P3!”

“Amazing work Aisha, halfway there. Get some distance between you two.”

“I can take on Checo,” Aisha promised, her aggressive spirit burning deeply within her core as her eyes narrowed into the back of one of the red bulls.

“Go for it, but be careful, your tyres aren’t that good.” James warned her, his voice crisp with caution.

“I got this.”

Aisha revved up once her power had flashed a promising green on the screen in front of her, “It’s time to pounce.” She promised herself whilst flicking the DRS button with her thumb, letting the flap behind her quiver open, the force launched her forward like never before as the lap count leached into the 40’s, Checo hadn’t yet pitted, neither had she, and suddenly, it was a battle of the wills.

She tried all that she could, nudging her nose into the smallest of gaps and backing out when he had angled himself predatorially, grazing her front wing enough for her heart to jump into her throat, “What the fuck is he doing? Fucking cocksucker, he wants to kill me or what?” Aisha had to remind herself to lower her voice.

“It’s within regulation, keep pushing you’re approaching DRS again.” James assured her.

The car trembled beneath her, like a jaguar waiting to pounce again after one failure, she pressed again. This time she nipped Checo’s wheel, causing for him to quickly move out of the way, narrowly missing a spin-off and allowing Aisha to speed into P2.

“FUCK YES! HOLY SHI-“

Aisha’s celebration was cut short when a dangerous thrum approached her rapidly, she attempted with all her might to duck and weave into and out of his path, but Checo was relentless, continuously rubbing against her wheels and forcing her to utilise her power.

“Fuck, fuck what the actual shit?” Aisha screeched as she continued to sloppily defend, her anger bubbling up like hot water.

The red bull growled and pounced in front of her, clipping enough of her front wheel to send her spinning. Aisha shouted with malice, throwing up her hands as her wheels began to rotate rapidly, “BASTARD!”

Her vision blurred as the world around her continued to haphazardly shift, the fans above stilled with trepidation as they watched her strangle her wheel with both hands and wrangle the car back into position.

“Okay, so that’s P5- P5, Piastri, Sainz, Perez and Verstappen in front of you,”

“Copy.” Aisha grumbled darkly, manoeuvring the vehicle so that she could continue to viciously speed down the final lap, murderously defending her position as her stomach finally settled and head stopped pounding with adrenaline.

The race ended with Crofty heartily congratulating her over the commentary,

“And Verstappen has won the Bahrain grand prix! with Checo in P2 and Sainz in the Ferrari in P3. Now the fans have spoken, and new-comer Aisha Patel has been voted driver of the day, rightfully so, securing a solid P5 finish after a challenging battle on the track. it's fantastic to see her scoring valuable points in her debut race. And let's not forget the incredible debut of the Porsche F1 Team! It's clear that they're a force to be reckoned with in the championship.”

A view of Max passing through the finish line is shown, sparks flew behind his car as he speeds through and turned into the parc ferme. Aisha is also shown, her eyes steely from within her helmet and as she stops her car she clambers out of the cockpit and rips of her headgear, a scowl evident on her usually cool face.

She pushes open the gate to the media pen, narrowly avoiding Max, who spared her a dark glance from over his shoulder before turning back to the interviewer.

“Yeah, people make stupid decisions sometimes,” She heard him answer the unintelligible question. Aisha could already feel the anger burn her throat as she whipped her head around and met Max’s eyes, he stared back, an inferno raging within his blue iris’. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by her Media manager, pulling her away gently, Aisha followed tearing her eyes away from the Dutchman. Yet, she could still feel his heated gaze on her.

Aisha scoffed passing by Carlos and Checo, who were conversing in fast Spanish, and headed towards the common media area, where eager and ravenous reporters began to clamber on top of one another as they caught sight of her sweaty face and stringy hair.

“Aisha! Aisha!” They called, loud voices breaking through the microphone and blowing through the audio.

Aisha huffed and went towards the tell-tale white microphone, the sky sports logo sprawled all over the foam cover,

“Hi Aisha, congratulations on the P5 today,” Mark started, holding the microphone out for the visibly annoyed driver.

“Thank you,” She snipped, but blinked a few times before forcing herself to continue, “Y’know could’ve been a P2 finish for Porsche today, but I’m happy with both Pierre and I’s finish, at least we scored some valuable points.” Aisha robotically recounted her PR training.

“Definitely a tough break for you out there,” He nodded solemnly, “Care to walk us through what happened with Checo on lap 43?”

Aisha sucked in a breath, looking behind her where her PR person stood, arms crossed over her Porsche shirt as she shrugged, “Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing end to my race, P2 would probably be a dream, but Checo made a-“ Aisha bit her tongue momentarily, looking into the few dozen camera’s pointed at her, until she noticed Checo’s reflection walking behind her, heading to the cool-down room, “-a dickhead move absolutely dangerous, there was contact because he couldn’t use his eyes, and that caused me to spin out. It’s racing, I know, but you don’t see race winners or legends making moves like that.” Aisha hissed.

Mark stared at her, mouth agape before he recollected himself and forced a flabbergasted laugh, “Well, that’s one way to put it.” The other surrounding reporters were close to drooling at the mouth, their own mics pushed further through the gaps as they imagined the debaucherous headlines they could create from her outburst.

“How were you feeling during that moment?”

“Truthfully?” She tilted her head, “Pissed, but you probably didn’t you marky-moo, my radio probably told you that. But after I managed to regain my original position, I was more determined to just finish the race with a solid end.”

He laughed at that but stilled when Checo emerged once again from the cool-off room, “Checo!” Mark called, oblivious to the thunderous haze that overtook Aisha. She checked behind her shoulder, and her upper lip curled with malice,

“I’ll let Checo say his bit- “She murmured, “Excuse me.” And left the pen, heading towards the Porsche garage whilst avoiding eye-contact with Lucy, her fuming PR manager.

“Hey! Checo!” Aisha called out, throwing down her headphones, leaving her race engineer in concerned confusion as she approached the red bull driver, amid his team, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.

“Oh, hey Aisha-“

“Do not, hey, me.” She snarled, “What the fuck was that on track? Were you trying to kill me back there? You could’ve overtaken me in so many other ways.” Aisha approached him, prompting Checo to take a simultaneous step back, hands raised.

“It’s racing Aisha, I had to make a split-second decision.”

“We all make decisions, Perez,” She snarled, hands balling up into fists, “You don’t see Charles or Carlos or anyone with half a brain doing what you did? You messed up my race!” Aisha’s voice begins to raise, drawing attention of the red bull personnel, since the pair had manged to slowly move up to the entrance of the garage, and prompting a few camera men, who were following around Lando and Oscar to pan over to her.

Aisha groans, smacking her palm against her head a few times as a display of aggression before turning back to a very sweaty, nervous driver, “Never mind my race- you had fucking so many other options, why? Why did you decide to clip my wheel? Is it because being overtaken by a woman was so embarrassing, for red bull’s number two, you couldn’t handle it?” Aisha mocks him, before starting to approach his frozen form, a violent fire burning in her eyes and spreading to her limbs, igniting them with her fury.

Just as there was merely a centimetre between the two, a pair of strong arms hooked themselves around her elbows, holding her hand away from Checo, who had started shouting about his “personal safety”.

“Are you fucking stupid?” A gruff voice whispers into her ear.

Aisha kicks out, a futile attempt to free herself, “Let me go,” She whips her head around, her hair flying,

“Can you stop? I will literally knock you out.” The voice continues, grunting when her foot narrowly misses his groin.

“Fine-“ She huffs, going limp as she shoots daggers into Checo’s retreating back being escorted by a flurry of blue clad workers, “Fine, let me go,” She mumbles.

The man drops her onto the floor instantly, allowing her to stumble over her feet. Aisha finds her footing once more and spins around to meet his eyes, “Max?”

Max stares down at her, his eyes squinted with annoyance, “Who else? You’re in front of the red bull garage.” He rolls his eyes and steps a large stride away from her.

Aisha blinks once. Twice. Before scoffing and crossing her arms, “Yeah. Thanks.” She snarks before walking away from him, leaving the dutchman standing, fuming in his spot. She manages to skip over the McLaren crowd but had attracted almost half a dozen cameras on her, the large intimidating lens’ were pushed into her face haphazardly, narrowly missing her face a few times.

Aisha had to hold herself back from stealing the cameras from their holders and smashing them onto the ground. She could feel a self-depreciating throb begin to build in her head, the memory of all the idyllic children watching her, and those who had felt represented by her made tears prick at her eyes. In that moment, with too many lens’ focussing on her quivering lip, she hoped that they wouldn’t catch the salty sadness that threatened to stream down her face

The post-race interview scene fades away, and a familiar red bull jersey is announced into the scene, the dark blue merging pleasantly with the dark grey background. We’re introduced to Checo’s frame, a placid smile on his face.

“Hi checo,” The interviewer greets the driver, who nods in acknowledgement, “Well, Bahrain was an intense time for you, especially the on track accident with Aisha, would you care to talk us through the whole thing?”

Checo clears his throat briefly, “Yeah, uhm, it was a tight battle with her, and she was holding her ground y’know, but I saw an opportunity to make a move and I took it.” He shrugged once, reverting his gaze away from the camera, “And, as an unfortunate by product, she ended up spinning out, but it’s racing, these things happen.”

“I think everyone knows that she seemed quite upset about the incident, did you have a chance to speak with her afterwards?”

“uhm, people say things when they’re angry, and Aisha was frustrated but I’m here to win races, that’s what I’ve been hired to do. Once again, it was a choice that I had to make, and it’s hard to consider everyone’s emotions while I do it.”

“Max, we recently interviewed Checo, and he had some…words to say about the situation in Bahrain, specifically with Aisha after the race. Now, we saw that you had intervened just in time, what was going on during that moment?”

Max shifted in his chair, slipping down slightly, and crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I could see that the situation was escalating, with Aisha getting increasingly angry, it would’ve ended pretty badly.”

“You sound so sure about that.”

“Trust me, I know anger when I see it, and I know that races can get heated especially when avoidable occurrences aren’t avoided, but I also think that emotional regulation is crucial to compete.” He distractedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Does this change your initial views on Aisha entering the sport? Since you were pretty, pessimistic.” The interviewer cringes just as the words escape their mouth.

“I wouldn’t say I was pessimistic,” He quickly rejects, “But I think she had something to prove, just like any of us, she isn’t exempt from it. And she, raced like any of us would’ve in the moment, so do I suddenly think of her as a saint? No, but do I think that she’s building up to something? Maybe.”

“Aisha!” A voice calls from behind her, Aisha smiles at the fans who had offered her a notebook to sign, she watched them walk away before responding,

“Yeah?” She tucks away her pen into the silver, Porsche gym bag that hung from her shoulder.

Lando jogs up to her, tapping his card against the scanner before pushing through the gate and reaching her side, “Great race, you handled it...well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to spin off his compliment.

Aisha laughs at that, throwing her head back, ”It’s okay Lando, you don’t have to say anything” She tugs at the sleaves of her tight black jacket, the hugo boss label stretched over her chest as she pulled at the fabric, “I- I can get pretty mad,” Aisha shrugs, kicking an imaginary pebble with her shoe, rustling her oversized tracksuit bottoms, the three parallel lines on both her legs fluttered with the airy clothing.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t go down to well on camera,” He itches the back of his head, “I actually came to ask if you’re staying at the same hotel as the rest of us, Oscar took my car and I’m stranded.”

“Lando…” She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag, “If you wanted to ride in my Porsche, you could’ve just said so.” Aisha gestured to her silvery 918 Spyder, the high-end sports car shimmered beneath the spotlights of the private car park.

Lando hissed through his teeth and grinned, “You caught me.” He held his hands up, “It’s the only way I can be photographed in the car without causing an uproar.”

Aisha tilted her head at him, “Oh, so nothing else is convincing you?”

“Hmmm, that, and maybe the very beautiful and scary woman who drives it?” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She looked down at his open palm before searching the area around them, the rest of the grid had departed long before, leaving just her car and another in the parking. Aisha squinted her eyes at the remaining automobile, a Honda NSX, the only owner being none other than a certain grumpy blonde, who was more focussed on his back seat than on the couple who still stood in the middle of the concrete.

Accepting his hand, she revelled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, soft skin against coarse knuckles, a warm aura enveloped her being as she guided them towards her car, pulling out the flat fob to click open the expensive machine.

Yet, as she watched Lando retreat into the passenger’s seat with an amazed, “oh damn.” and went to unlock the trunk to slip her duffel bag into, she felt an icy gaze glued to her back.

Aisha turned once behind her to where Max was sitting in his driver’s seat, eyes glued at first on Lando, an unrecognisable expression painted on his face before he slowly slid it up to her face, and his once oddly neutral gaze turned into an annoyed squint.

With that, the dutchman tore his eyes away from a now, slightly agitated Aisha, towards the open road and pulled out of the car park, speeding away to what she assumed would be the hotel.

“Hey,” Lando leaned over the dash, reaching for her hand that rested on the headrest of her seat, the other braced on her car door as she watched the retreating Honda, “You okay?”

Aisha jumped out of her disturbed haze, and back to where Lando was now rubbing his fingers over hers that had tensed enough to turn her milky brown skin into a pale white, “Yeah- I’m fine, just checking for reporters.”

“I’m that embarrassing?” He teased, watching her intently as she fastened her seatbelt and smiled at the sound of the purring super engine.

Aisha snorts, “No- not at all, just making sure that McLaren’s golden boy isn’t photographed inside a Porsche- with the grid’s certified crazy woman.” She pressed on the gas.

“Yeah, but…what if I want that?”

“What?” Aisha’s eyebrows knitted together; eyes still glued to the unfamiliar roads ahead as the GPS stopped squawking at her for a brief moment.

“I don’t care if you’re the crazy woman…You’re just, you. I don’t care about the rest.” Lando smiled lazily, his eyes studying her quickly flustered face.

“You’re a horrible flirt Norris.” She grumbled.

166 notes · View notes

auras-moonstone · 10 months

Note

can you write something of jack x shy!reader that are either working on a romcom together or she’s his interviewer?

hi! i actually really like how this turned out. hope you like it too💓

enchanted to meet you — jack champion

word count: 1,409

pairing: jack champion x fem!interviewer!reader

summary: y/n feels scared for her first job as an interviewer but jack’s warming demeanour makes her feel more comfortable as the interview goes on.

Y/N’S HANDS WERE SHAKY AND SHE CONSTANTLY HAD TO RUB THEM ON HER DRESS BECAUSE OF HOW SWEATY THEY WERE. To be fair, she was only 18 years old and doing her first interview. It was very sudden, she just started working on this known magazine and the woman who was supposed to go to the Scream premiere had an accident so they just sent the only person available: Y/N Y/L. And of course the person she had to interview was Jack fucking Champion—the six foot tall boy with unbelievable gorgeous factions and a killer smile.

Y/N was probably the youngest person in there. Everyone seemed to know each other and she was just there, alone and feeling extremely scared and anxious. She used to have a plan—start getting over her shyness with chill interviews so that in the future she could be ready to interview famous celebrities. But no, she was straight off sent to the premiere of one of the most successful franchises of all time. She was going to throw up.

The silhouette of the boy started to make his way to her “Hi!” his excited voice greeted her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting a very bright brown set of eyes. The boy was even prettier in person (and taller). He was wearing a white tank top below his stylish black jacket and black trousers. He was so handsome. And did she mention he was really tall?

“Hi, sorry. I was lost in my thoughts” she apologised, her cheeks already turning red. That was a typical feature of her—always expect her to blush, her blood always betrayed her.

Jack was instantly enchanted by her sweet and soft voice. He had never felt so nervous during an interview—probably because he had never been interviewed by someone his age, and certainly not by anyone close to being as breathtaking as her.

“It’s okay” he assured her, his smile so shiny it almost blinded her.

Y/N smiled thankful “First, I’d like to congratulate you on your movie! I got to see you on Avatar and thought you did an amazing job. It’s fantastic that you got to work in such iconic franchises! Were you a fan of the Scream movies before getting the role?” her voice, thankfully, didn’t show how insanely nervous she was. But the hand holding the mic certainly did. Jack noticed her shaky grip, and he wanted so bad to put his hand on hers to comfort her, but he knew it would be too much.

“Thank you so much, you’re really sweet. And yeah, it’s honestly a dream come true” Jack pulled his dazzling smile and Y/N couldn’t help but take a quick look at it. He had perfect teeth, holy shit. “I watched the movies before we started filming and I absolutely loved them!”.

“Can I ask who your favourite Ghostface is?” Y/N questioned him. Very original, Y/N, she said to herself. Why did they hire her? She was really not qualified for this.

“Oh, I love that question!” Jack exclaimed. “You know, I always say Stu but now that I have re-watched the movies and read some opinions online, I also really like Jill! What are yours?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, she was not expecting him to ask her questions. It wasn’t usual during interviews for reporters to be questioned “Oh- I- I think Roman, Stu and Jill” she answered nervously. His eyes were so strongly focused on her that she almost melted on the spot.

“Roman is also a really good choice. You have great taste! And by the way, I love your outfit” Jack complimented her, looking at the black dress—it was like the one Courtney Cox used at the beginning of Scream 2. Y/N stood still. Did he know the effect those words had on her? Because she was two seconds away from collapsing.

“Thank you for saying that… your outfit is amazing too” she brushed it off with a little laugh.

“Thank you! Look, I have ghostface socks!” he said in an enthusiastic tone. She look down to see the black socks with patters of the mask and couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s adorable” the comment slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. But far from being uncomfortable, Jack’s smile grew bigger. “Did you all know who was playing Ghostface from the beginning or was it something you found out towards the end of the shooting?”

“Actually, we didn’t know who would be playing Ghostface until the revealing scene” he answered, and admired the way her eyes shone in awe. “I take it you are a really big fan of the franchise”.

Y/N let out a nervous laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed “Is my enthusiasm that readable? I’m sorry, I literally grew up watching those movies”

“And now you are at the premiere interviewing the cast! That’s amazing!” he exclaimed loudly.

His happy aura was really contagious and it made her feel a little less shy “Well, thank you, Jack. Do you have any future projects?”

“Yes! I actually did a movie with Liam Neeson that will be coming out soon called Retribution and another one called Freaky Tales! So yeah, I’m very excited” he balanced on his feet.

“That’s amazing! Congratulations” Y/N gave him a genuine smile. Then they heard someone calling his name, telling him it was time to go. “Thank you for you time, Jack. Hope you felt comfortable”.

“I did! It was fun, and you were excellent” Jack smiled down at her. The team kept calling him but he wouldn’t move, trying to decide if he should just ask for her instagram or if it would be too weird. Maybe she had a partner, god he hoped not. Before he could even ask her name, Mason came to him and grabbed his arm.

“Jack, we have to go” his friend told him. Jack sighed, waving at the beautiful interviewer and cursing himself for not being quick enough.

Y/N turned around, ready to walk back to the van, completely wonderstruck by the charming young actor. She just prayed that wasn’t the last time they saw each other.

THE INTERVIEW WENT VIRAL IN LESS THAN AN HOUR, AND EVEN FOR A FAMOUS COMPANY, IT WAS UNEXPECTED. The people were going wild on the comment section, pointing out how the actor looked at his interviewer in complete amazement. No one would have thought it was going to have such a repercussion. Especially not Y/N.

championslover man was in AWE

liked by masonthegooding

landrydaylight pls the way he looks at her i need them to be together!!!

liked by masonthegooding, jennaortega, baileybass, jamieflatters and more.

haunted.ethan “look, i have ghostface socks” really jack??? 😂😂😂

devyn_nekoda i can’t believe he said that omg

jackchampion I WAS NERVOUS OKAY LET ME BE

ghostfacelandry the evolution on this two min interview was so heartwarming??? like she was really shy at first but then you could tell she got used to his presence omg i adore them

jacksrep the way she blushes!! girl is honestly strong cause i would’ve passed out from having him in front of me

spiderboyjack let’s go to the important thing: does anyone have her insta????

championslover i just found it, it’s y/n.y/l/n (holy shit she’s so pretty!!!)

jacksgf oh jack… i get it now!!!

jackchampion championslover thank you for your service 🫡

championslover oh he’s down BAD

liked by jackchampion

jackchampion started following you

Y/N stared at the notification in shock. And then her heart stopped when she saw another notification, this time it was a direct message.

hey! it’s jack

i really wanted to get your instagram the day of the interview but honestly i was too scared

hi jack!

well, i’m glad your fandom (who honestly should be called by the fbi) found it.

hahaha me too tbh

and i’m going to be forward, i can’t stop thinking about you ever since the interview and it was killing me that i didn’t even get your name (by the way i’m praying you don’t have a partner).

i can’t stop thinking about you either (nope, i’m single)

you made me feel really comfortable, and that is not something i can say about a lot of people… especially not those who i talked to for two minutes

i don’t know.. you give that special kind of vibe very few people have

you know how to make someone blush ☺️

i heard it was your first interview. i can’t believe it, you were amazing!

thank you! i was so nervous but it could’ve gone way worse

you made it easier, you were really sweet

i’m glad i was your first interview then :)

i was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tomorrow? i’d really like to get to know you better

i would love to, jack!

great! send me your address and i’ll pick you up at seven.

can’t wait 🤍

me neither😫 wanna facetime???

sure! text me xxx xxxx

#jack champion #ethan landry #jack champion x y/n #jack champion fluff #jack champion x reader #jack champion imagine #jack champion oneshot #jackchampion #jack champion fanfic #scream 6 #scream iv #ethanlandry

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happeehippie · 3 months

Text

instagram j.b.

summary: follow joe and his fiance evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim is Yasmin Quintana*

series masterlist.

breezyevie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, bengals, and 367,972 others

breezyevie: pics i sent my mom this week

view all 9,736 comments…

user: im sorry what did we do to deserve this?

> breezyevie: i want to post more life stuff!

eviesmomma: i love you two!

> breezyevie: we love you mama!

user: not the love note 😢

> breezyevie: jb is the best.

user: someone needs to take away your ig. i’m sick of seeing ur bf.

> breezyevie: fiancé

joeyb_9: you look pretty everyday.. fyi.

> breezyevie: you are the loml.

user: my dream

millyg: you make me sick.

> breezyevie: envy is a disease. 🤪

user: i’m blocking you.

breezyevie

liked by millyg, joeyb_9, eviesmomma, and 736,820 others

breezyevie: GameDey! me and mills are ready for the divisional round

view all 10,837 comments…

user: i’ll be there tailgating atleast

user: seriously how much orange do you own

> breezyevie: i don’t think i can answer.

user: let’s get it! WHO DEY

joeyb_9: make sure you bring your helmet.

> breezyevie: i’ll be ready to save the day if needed.

user: yaaaaasss my fav!

millyg: i just want to make it clear that i am an eagles/chargers fan and i don’t own cincy merch.

> breezyevie: i tried to get her to wear some of mine. she says she’s no bandwagon.

joeyb_9

liked by breezyevie, lahjay10_, joemainmixon, and 492,936 others

joeyb_9: King in the North

view all 50,736 comments…

user: i know a gangster when i see one

user: you’re a pos.

bengals: 👑

user: the hardest post of all time

breezyevie: king of my heart. 💗

> user: the tswift reference 😭

> user: i knew i could count my queen to be a swiftie

> breezyevie: all of the best people are.. except joe. 🫠

user: joe is so fine tbh

user: joe cool.

lahjay10_: my boy 💪🏽💪🏽

breezyevie

liked by bengals, joeyb_9, millyb, and 927,062 others

breezyevie: there is nothing i love more than watching my joey do the damn thing. #whodey

view all 6,397 comments…

user: i love him

> breezyevie: he’s just the best

user: him not posting pics of you is a red flag

> breezyevie: i’m not sure why this bothers y’all so much.

millyg: i’m obsessed with you

> breezyevie: nooo. i love you.

user: queen of the afc

> breezyevie: stop it right now!

user: be honest did you pick joes game day fit?

> breezyevie: 👀

user: how does it feel to be dating the best qb in the history of the nfl?

> breezyevie: my joey. 🧡

joeyb_9: always supporting me 🤍

user: you’re like obsessed with him.

> breezyevie: i am.

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, lahjay10_, and 1,639,388 others

joeyb_9: “Cartier glasses I won’t even peek at you”

view all 27,672 comments…

bengals: Icon

user: if you’re ever feeling down with ur busted gf let me know

> millyg: let’s respect my girl. they’ve been together for almost six years, he don’t care about you.

> user: they are engaged now, get a life.

user: jacket goes HARD

lahjay10_: you bad ass!

user: work it joe

breezyevie: best dressed qb in the league?

> joeyb_9: with a little help. 👀

user: this guy has no clue 🤣

user: i was unaware of the swag

millyg: drip

breezyevies ig stories

#bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #nfl #nfl imagine #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow instagram

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the-offside-rule · 2 months

Text

Mason Mount (Manchester United) - Theatre of Dreams

Requested: yes

Prompt: 10) Baby's first game

Warnings: none

The sun hung low in the sky as Mason, his wife Y/n, and their son Joshua approached the iconic Old Trafford stadium for Joshua's first ever football match. Excitement buzzed in the air, and little Joshua, donned in a mini version of his dad's jersey, couldn't contain his giggles. "Daddy, are we going to see you play?" Joshua asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. Mason chuckled, holding onto his son's tiny hands, carefully leading him into the stadium. "Yes we are, bossman." He replied, lifting him up as he spotted the few reporters and photographers, not wanting to reveal his son, nevermind startle him. Whilst everyone knew the couple had a child, they didn't know what he looked like or anything about him. "Can you score? You haven't scored in ages." Mason looked over to Y/n who attempted to hide a grin. "Yeah, I'll try."

Mason showed Y/n and Joshua up to the box where most of the WAGs stayed, telling them about where everything is and how to leave after the final whistle blew. "So I'll wait for you in the car park?" Y/n asked. Mason nodded. "Yeah, just-" He was cut from his wrds as he felt a small tug at his trousers. The couple looked down to see Joshua pointing out the window. "Daddy, it's so big!" Joshua exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. Mason grinned, sharing a look with Y/n and once again lifting Joshua up. "Yep, it's one of the biggest stadiums, buddy. You're going to have a great time." Mason placed a gentle kiss onto his son's cheek. "Now, you sit with Mummy and I'll see you after the game, yeah?" He suggested, handing him over to Y/n.

"Bye, Daddy!" Joshua smiled, pulling at his mother's jacket. "Oh, before I leave-" He paused and reached for a black Manchester United bag, pulling out a small box and handing it to Joshua. "I got you a quick pressie." Joshua examined the box carefully before pulling the lid off and being confronted with a bright red jersey. He lifted it and looked at the back, his father's number staring back. "What do you think?" Mason asked gently. "It's not blue." Joshua replied. Mason couldn't help but feel his heart drop a little bit, the thought of his son not supporting him lingering in the back of his mind. "But red is my favourite."

Mason beamed with joy and ruffled his hair. "Good man." He grinned. "I'll see you after the game." He stood up and leaned over to Y/n. "Love you." He whispered. "Love you too."

As the players took to the pitch, Y/n and Joshua cheered with unbridled enthusiasm, their voices merging with the chorus of supporters around them. "I see daddy!" Joshua exclaimed, clapping his hands. "No, baby. Daddy is number 7, not 19." She explained calmly. "Oh. Okay." He searched the pitch again before turning back to his Mum. "What number is 7 again?"

As Mason walked back to the car, he smiled gently upon seeing Y/n leaning against the car. "Missed you." He said with a tender smile, grateful for her unwavering support. She giggled as he practically fell into her arms. "Ot has been 2 hours." He shrugged. "I dom't care. Couldn't wait to get off the pitch for once." He said, pulling away and looking behind her. "Was he okay?" He asked, referring to Joshua who was asleep. "He was fine. He's just a bit sleepy now." Mason nodded. "We should get home and get him to bed."

As the couple reached home, they stopped in silence for a moment. "This is mad, you know." Mason arched a brow. "I mean, I remember my first match as your girlfriend and now we have our son coming with us. That's all I mean." Mason smiled sleepily. "It is mad when you put it that way." Mason undid his seatbelt and hopped out of the car. "Would you mind bringing in my kitbag and I'll bring Joshua to bed?" Y/n agreed before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

With tender care, Mason unbuckled Joshua's seatbelt, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tranquility of sleep. He marveled at the innocence that radiated from his son's peaceful countenance, a sight that never failed to fill his heart with a sense of warmth and pride. Gently cradling Joshua in his arms, Mason stepped out of the car, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. As Mason made his way towards the house, his footsteps were soft and deliberate, each one a testament to the love that guided his every move. He savored the weight of Joshua in his arms, the bond between them forged in the quiet moments of tenderness and affection.

Mason kicked off his shoes upon reaching the front door. He loved home. The warmth of the house enveloped them like a comforting embrace and each step on the soft carpet adding to the comfort. Mason tiptoed up the stairs, his movements fluid and effortless as he navigated the familiar terrain of their home.

Mason opened the nursery door, hushing Joshua as he stirred in his sleep. Mason gently laid his sleeping son down in his crib, tucking the blankets around him with infinite care. He lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on Joshua's innocent face. "You doing alright?" He turned to see Y/n leaning by the door. "Just fine. I'll be right back to you in a minute and we can go watch a film or something." He replied. "Or try for baby number 2." He almost jumped at the suggestion. "Do you mean it?" Y/n chuckled softly at her husband's reaction. "Maybe. Don't leave me waiting too long." She said before heading away downstairs.

"Goodnight, Joshua." Mason said as he brushed a gentle kiss against Joshua's forehead. With a final glance, Mason tiptoed out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, and for his son to sleep after spending his evening in the Theatre of Dreams.

#football #football imagines #football blurbs #mason mount x oc #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount fic #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount

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zeroone-eleven · 4 months

Text

Scorching Cold; Bela Dimitrescu (Resident Lover):

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

Requested? ☑

"Take me back to you, into your wild heart."

Summary: Bela's iconic outfit isn't suited for all climates, as she finds out by letting her hubris get the best of her.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

----------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶-----------------------

After getting her heart back, Bela is finally able to really feel cold. She keeps shuddering even indoors once the colder season hits, Bela does her best to play it off but the shudders do not escape your notice. It was when Bela tried to suppress the reaction to the cold inside her private study room- That she now shares with you- When you decide to suggest an outfit change.

"I think a leather jacket would work with a hooded long sleeve underneath. If you wear a dark toned hoodie, it'd make your eyes and your hair pop!"

Bela scoffs, straightening her back before elegantly running a hand through her hair. "I'd sooner catch a delirium inducing fever than switch out the outfit I'm known for."

You raise an eyebrow at how she's willing to brave the cold just for an outfit before chuckling to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head as you playfully bump shoulders with Bela.

"Don't put your foot in your mouth, pretty girl."

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

The next day you wake up with a groan as sunlight shines into your window. The crook in your neck from spending so much time hunched over papers had carried over from the day before. You take a moment to let your mind wake up before checking your phone.

3 texts from Jassmine

10 texts from Angie

1 text from Bela

You go through all of them, answering Jassmine's questions and doing your best to decipher Angie's hammered typing style. The last message had you jumping up from your bed before you could even register the fact that you were in pajamas.

The oldest Dimitrescu is stuck in her apartment. She did infact, catch a delirium inducing fever last night when the temperature dropping significantly lower than normal yesterday.

Daniela wastes no time in tagging along, she was already on the couch drinking a mug of coffee when you throw your door open, offering nothing more than a "Bela's down with a high fever.". The heterochromic Dimitrescu runs and drags you to MJ's dorm building to commandeer her bike before telling you to hop on.

Daniela paddles as fast as she can and you get to her older sister's apartment in what can possibly be counted as record time.

(The roommates currently sharing half a braincell end up throwing themselves onto the curb infront of Bela's apartment when Daniela squeezes the front brakes instead of the rear ones first.)

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

The bedridden Dimitrescu sits up in her bed, looking at the pair by her bedroom door. Squinting and sniffling as though trying to discern who the roommates are.

"Oh hello there pretty eyes! Daniela, Hiiiiiiii!"

Bela smiles at you, lovestruck and red eyed and sniffling before every other word she utters before she flops back down on the bed. Groaning with regret when the mattress shakes due to the impact.

Daniela's jaw falls open in shock, arms crossing before her shocked expression turns into a light hearted scowl when stomps her foot in indignation. "Hey! I have pretty eyes too, you know!"

You leave Daniela to watch over her sister, patting her on the shoulder while heading to the kitchen to cook up a pot of chicken soup- It's found to be an easy task, with how Bela keeps her pantry organized. You smile to yourself as a fleeting thought pops up in your head:

It's easy to move around like it's second nature because I know her now.

It takes just as much time as you'd anticipated it to take, even if you moved around the kitchen in a hurry. You come back to the bedroom to find a scene that would've made one hell of a story if only anyone who would listen could even find it in themselves to believe you.

Quite frankly, you doubt that even Angie would believe this story once you get the chance to tell it.

"That's not tissue! Let go! I'll find you some more, I swear!"

"If it's not tissue, then why is it so soft and nice!?"

"It is nice and soft because I take good care of it! Hey stop, that's my favourite jacket- HEY!"

The shock wears off soon enough, allowing you to really take in the scene of Daniela pushing Bela's head away with one hand while using the other to try and pull her beloved jacket out of her older sister's grip. Bela keeps trying to bring the hem of Daniela's jacket to her nose, and Daniela's sweating with effort while looking like she's seriously considering throwing her sister out of the apartment window- If only she could figure out a way to carry the blonde without being treated like a piece of tissue paper first.

You quickly set the tray down on the night stand before Daniela can find a way to act on her thoughts, you jump into the fray. Getting to work on pulling the sisters apart.

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

The of you eat chicken soup in silence.

It took a lot of coddling and an infinite amount of forehead kisses to convince Bela to drop the puppy dog eyes and let Daniela's jacket stay untainted. The redhead quietly lamented that she's in warshock after witnessing the normally stoic Bela Dimitrescu beg for you to help her pry the jacket off of her own sister's shoulders.

At that point, Daniela's just thankful to have been saved by you.

Bela's trying her best to look seductive, slowly slurping her soup without breaking eye contact with MC. She sneezes into the soup and Daniela goes from looking weirded out from witnessing Bela's delirious antics, to choking on her own soup because of it. She laughs even as her sides hurt, and she laughs even when Bela chucks a pillow at her sister's head.

You wipe Bela's face clean of soup droplets, valiantly trying to force the laughter bubbling behind your lips only to fail despite your best efforts. Your girlfriend crosses her arms in indignation, and you're almost thankful for the fever because all it takes is a kiss to her cheek for her scowling to cease and be replaced with a lovestruck smile.

Daniela places her own bowl onto the tray before lifting it off the nightstand, replacing it with an unopened tissue box.

"I'll go ahead and wash these up and take my leave. You sure you can handle her, MC?"

A mischievous smile makes its way onto your lips, and you can't find it in yourself to feel sorry for the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

"Better than you and your precious jacket can, Daniela."

The youngest Dimitrescu flips you off over her shoulders before closing the bedroom door. With a shake of your head, you look to Bela who has her arms outstretched towards you. "Now what am I gonna do with you, huh?"

She grins, bright and hazy eyed due to the fever. "You could give me my well deserved cuddles!"

You smile, taking her hands in yours before slipping into bed with her and laying her head down on your chest. In her current state, she deserves to be spoiled- What are you to do but obey when your blonde haired Goddess asks something of you anyways?

The teasing about the chicken soup incident can come tomorrow when the fever breaks and she's back to being fully conscious of the things that are happening. But for now? Small wins are still wins.

"It's a deal sweetheart, but only if you start wearing layers once you're all better."

----------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶-----------------------

Attention all Bela stans: 01-11 has rung the dinner bell. Tonight's course consists of Fluff-infused chicken soup, thank you and enjoy.

#resident lover #resident lover bela dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil bela dimitrescu #Resident Lover MC #Resident Lover Bela Dimitrescu x MC #Resident Lover Bela Dimitrescu x Reader #Bela Dimitrescu x Reader #Bela Dimitrescu x MC #Daniela Dimitrescu #Resident Lover Daniela Dimitrescu

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m0chisenpai · 4 months

Text

strike

˚｡⋆ mike schmidt x black!fem!reader

in which mike finally gets the guts to ask the sweet librarian out. the iconic sunshine x grumpy pairing but its more tooth rotting fluff

Mike finds himself hoping he would see more of Ms.Y/N. He hoped Abby would forget her bag, or book again so he could stumble back into your library and just soak in the warmth of those big brown eyes. And to his luck she forgets a folder, a book, a lunchbox over the span of two weeks.

And each day he comes back into your library he swears he's fallen deeper and deeper.

So here he is, bright and early on a saturday morning, the smell of aftershave fresh in his nose, the curls on top of his head are softer and smell like pine for some odd reason and he's wearing his good pair of blue jeans with a relaxed flannel.

A bundle of flowers sits beside him terribly hidden under his work coat from Abby's prying questions.

"Your gonna ask her out aren't you?" Mike's eyes snap to hers in the mirror.

"And if I was?' Mike grumbles trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

"She said she's never been bowling before" Abby hums looking out the window. And so Mike hums again, when really he hopes and knows that Abby takes that as his thanks.

Abby walks ahead of him as Mike keeps a steady pace behind, wondering if he doesn't look like he's about to vomit or drop. But the sight of you int hat soft worn reading chair calms all his nerves. "Mr.Schmidt! Back again so soon? I think you might get mistaken as staff" you giggle meeting Mike halfway.

"You'd be surprised" Mike huffs watching Abby dive into a bean bag.

"Here" he pulls his arm from behind and feels his pride sweell as you coo and take the bouquet into your arms. "You shouldn't have! Thank you Mike" You reach forward pulling him into a hug and its then he realizes today you smell good. Expensive. Was that a new perfume?

Now that he's looking down at you, he sees that your lips have a little shine, your eyelashes are curlier. You look even more beautiful. And as you walk to your desk with him in tow, you have a gentle, sensual sway to your hips clad in one of those skirts that hug you in just the right areas.

"I was wondering if you had any plans Friday night" Mike finally speaks up rubbing his hands onto his knees to keep them as still as possible.

"Actually I don't! My friends and I were suppose to go out for drinks but mommy duties cut in and they had to cancel."

Luck must be on Mike's side today because your eyes slant and you lean forward to and cup your chin in your hand. "Are you asking me out Mr.Schmidt?"

And Mike leans forward, "I just might be Ms/L/N." And you lay your hand upon his arm.

"Call me Y/N."

Work dragged by for Mike that Friday. But before he knew it he was flying home to shower, shave, fix his hair and pick out an outfit decent enough for a bowling alley. And as soon as Abby's babysitter hit the threshold he booked it to your house.

You lived a few streets over and Mike parked in the drive way of your home jogging to the door. You were beautiful, a black overall dress with a red off the shoulder sweater underneath and matching knee highs to pair. You cradle a small leather bag in the nook of your elbow, covered by the fall chill with a jean jacket that clearly you owned for some years.

"Too much for a bowling date I know" you bashfully giggle.

"No you look beautiful" Mike smiles holding his arm out for you to slip through. He’s a gentlemen opening the door for you to get into the passenger side.

“Now where do you plan on taking me Mr Schmidt?”

“That’s a surprise Ms L/N” he smirks and you let out a silent hum. A silence falls over you and Mike clears his throat.

"Why a librarian?"

"Hm, I was always a book worm but I didn't see myself writing any books of my own. So I though why not work where I find myself most days" you explain now looking to Mike you rest your hand beneath your jaw.

"I know we're away from school, but you truly do n amazing job with Abby."

"I think you're one of the rare few who would think that."

You huff placing a hand on his bicep, "i'm serious. She loves you dearly from the drawings she's always making of the two of you, and she's a kind soul. Clearly she gets that from you."

"Thank you" Mike takes his left hand off the wheel to give your hand a quick squeeze before it returning it to its original spot.

When the neon glow of the alley illuminates, your eyes glow up as well, clutching Mike’s arm. It’s the new place thats opened in town, not just an alley, but an arcade tucked away inside as well. The place is shiny new and you two pay for your shoes and sit down at one of the lanes. Mike quickly ties his shoes, and you struggle slightly, he assumes cause your names must be new and he kneels in front of you.

“Here.” Mike taps his knee and you sigh.

“Mike you don’t have-“

“I insist. I’ve heard breaking one of those hurts bad.” He nods to your short french tips, and you place your foot atop his knee and he quickly laces the left, thenn the right.

“Alright, ready to get demolished?” Mike smirks down at you as you both walk to the lane.

“Don’t get cocky now Mikey, beginners luck might be on my side!” You exclaim picking up the shiny green ball while Mike picks up the darker blue one, he hopes you can’t tell its heavy and he’s struggling to keep hold of it.

“How about a wager then?” You raise a brow, “ winner gets to request anything from the loser?”

You grin rocking side to side. “Anything?” And Mike echoes back the promise. “You got a deal Schmidt!”

The first two rounds you can barely knock down three pins. Mike gets a strike and knocks more than half the pins down. But after he starts letting up. And by some miracle you win by the skin of your teeth.

"HA I told you!" you twirl pointing to the screen displaying you are the winner.

"Yeah, alright. What's your prize?" Mike tilts his head. You hum tapping your pointer finger to your chin as you scan the alley then point.

Its the food station, with fried foods among other sweets displayed on the menu. "I want to share a milkshake with you. With a big cherry on top!"

The night feels magical to Mike, too good to believe as he carries a red tray balancing two cartons of fries and a burger with the comically large milkshake sitting in the middle.

You sit together devouring the alley's greasy treats. With your reward, the shake, sitting between the both of you.

You steal Mike's fries scrunching your nose when he swats your hand playfully, but he lets you eat them. And you lean forward giggling as you two share the shake like some romcom high schoolers. Your hands just barely brushing against one another, your eyes start to glaze and you pull back sharply.

And Mike starts to apologize, thinking he'd misunderstood.

Your hand begin to tremble and its then Mike realizes you aren't even looking at him, its whatever or whoever is behind him that's got you looking like you've seen a ghost.

Mike looks over his shoulder and to his disgust, the arcades got a booth where a bright pink hippo is singing some high pitched song for a kids birthday party. Its jerky movements take him back to the same ones buried in rubble from the previous year.

But Mike can only focus on you now, your having a panic attack. He's seen plenty at his job. So he takes hold of your hands and begins to massage them.

"Hey, you're safe, breath Y/N" he's got sight of your eyes and he holds your gaze as he tries to ground you. "Match my breaths," he breaths in for three, holds then lets go. You do the same.

In and out. In and out.

You do this a few times till your hands relax into Mike's. Embarrassment flashes across your face as you look down to your hands. "I'm so sorry. I just can't stand those...things." you whisper.

"I understand. Mike smiles.

"Really?" You finally look up.

"Yeah, my sister used to be obsessed with them. But it just feels like they're.."

"Watching?" You finish for him and he nods. "Yeah, creepy things." Your nose scrunches again, and Mike can't resist and playfully pokes it making you huff a giggle.

"There you are" he whispers as your smile lights back up. You finish your meal and head back to the car. Some old song plays on the cars radio, your body is turned to Mike. His hand on your knee, your hand atop his.

He drives a bit slower, wanting to enjoy this peace. At one point you lift his hand to your mouth and place a kiss to the back of his hand leaving a glossy red stain and Mikey has to stop the car from swerving.

When he pulls to your home he's reluctant to let go so he can go to your side to open the door and walk you to your front door. The light from your front door illuminates you. The wind tosses your hair a bit. You look too perfect in this moment.

"Thank you for tonight, it was so much fun."

Mike smiles his thumb caressing the back of your hand, "do you think we could do this again? Minus the creepy robots?"

"Of course. Maybe I can beat you at skee ball?" You're leaning closer to Mike and he hums, his eyes closing just when you press your lips to his.

It lasts for a quick moment, a peck that leaves Mike breathless when you pull back.

"Good night Mikey" you whisper opening the door finally letting your hands fall apart. Once your door shuts, the breath Mikey seems to hold releases as does a soft laugh as he walks back to his car.

You truly had him wrapped your little finger.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x black reader #black!reader

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artfulacrostic · 10 months

Text

had my second high definition viewing of atsv in the theater today and here are my favorite details that i missed due to being overwhelmed on my first viewing:

LONG AF POST:

-gwen is literally wearing a rainbow shaped trans pride pin on her jacket with her prom outfit. she's soooo so canon trans <3

-captain stacy HAS A TRANS FLAG PATCH ON HIS POLICE UNIFORM JACKET?????? when i'm telling u my eyes popped out of my head 😳 SHES SO CANON TRANS!!!

-poster outside miles's guidance counselor's office reads: "visions sciences: telling you your story".

-parallel of miles's and gwen's dad kicking things out of general exasperation towards the beginning and end of the movie respectively

-when miles as spidey is talking to his dad and giving him advice (for himself) there's a reference to miles possibly reading vonnegut? (maybe in class??) "if this isn't nice what is" is a collection of kurt vonnegut's commencement speeches. (literally subtitled "advice to the young". the writers were extremely clever for this reference. if not reading it in class, miles has been searching up life advice on his own)

-i barely caught this but i'm PRETTY sure that in miles' room near his door there's a MICHELLE OBAMA presidential race sticker??? was president obama in the earth-1610 dimension michelle obama?? iconic if so

-fedex on earth-1610 is REDEX

-gayatri seems like they took elements of both gwen (police dad) and mj (young model) for her background as i believe i caught her visible on a "zomato" ad billboard (which appears to be the earth-50101 version of ubereats)

-i spent all of hobie's scenes trying to pick up the details of his many pins; but the only one that i could really make out with the quick shot changes besides the union jack pin was the one right above it, which is a three-leaf clover. i wondered if maybe it had some kind of significance to maybe irish independence or smth but i couldn't find anything online that backed that up so not sure what it means. if u know pls drop it in the replies.

-hobie's boots are definitely NOT ladder laced. i KNOW there is concept art and poster art of him with ladder laces but in the actual movie they are 100% crossed. also unlike the poster art, both boots have blue laces, not one blue, one yellow/orange. i wanted to be all on board the ladder lace code train but i'm pretty sure they just made his laces blue so that they could contrast against the red boots and be spidey colors. they probably abandoned the ladder lace part of the visual when someone realized what blue ladder laces meant in lace code. "HAS hobie killed a cop," you ask? given his comic backstory i'd say the odds are HIGH. but i would bet they didn't want people to think that since he's gone through canon event asm-90 ("a police captain close to spider-man is killed by falling rubble during a battle with a nemesis") that there's any possibility THAT was the cop he killed and he's proud of it (since it's supposed to be all abt character development from the ✨trauma✨ of the event)

-during the whole "intervention" scene, while all the other spider-people are facing directly in towards miles and miguel from wherever they are standing in the circle, hobie is the only one whose back is turned. he watches most of the scene over his shoulder. also, during a couple shots facing miles before the entire society of spiders show up, hobie is separated in the shot from all the other main spiders (Peter B, Gwen, Jess, etc) BY MILES. he is visible over one shoulder and everybody else is visible over the other. these two details are great signals of hobie having already MORALLY turned his back on miguel's authoritarianism, as well as giving a nice inverted "devil/angel on the shoulders" nod.

-peter b asks miguel to take a picture of him and mayday since it's her first chase; miguel brushes him off but mayday understands and uses her webshooter to click the camera button on peter b's phone and take a selfie without him noticing 😂😂😂 shes everything to me

-when miguel is pinning miles to the train, after gwen and peter b have caught up, there is a very fast moment when miles calls for help ("PETER!!") and peter doesn't reply to him, but calls out to miguel to calm down (smth like that) instead 🥲 peter for the love of god step up your mentor game and look out for this kid i can't handle it anymore

-when gwen takes the watch hobie made her out of the box, the screen is briefly visible and reads "project botleg". bootleg -> bot -> "botleg"; I SEE YOU HOBIE. people think he's so cool (and he is!!) but he's also just as much of a dork as all the other spiders. what a goofball

-in miles-42's room, a speed bag/speed ball/maize ball is attached to his wall near the door. there are other substantial differences to their rooms, but i think this is clearly a reference to uncle aaron-42's large presence in miles-42's life, given the association from both movies of aaron with the punching bag and miles getting guidance from him/looking to him for support.

-in addition to all the miles-1610 vs miles-42 prowler vs spidey reflection imagery in the end credits, guess who else has several moments of flashing from spider-man colors (red and black at least) to prowler colors (purple and green)?? miguel, that's who. miguel and miles-42/uncle aaron-42 team-up in beyond the spiderverse? or just an extra parallel for the antagonists sharing goals/possibly methods?

OKAY ANYWAY if ppl want i can try and dig up images of some of these but i figured that would make this post long af so that's all for now folks!! go see across the spider verse again and marvel at how much more fine detail you find like me 🕸🕸🕸

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Text

A CROW'S CARRION COMFORT (X)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.3k

WARNINGS: Banter, angst, death, guns, violence, plot lines coming together, mentioned insomnia/nightmares, wounds, mentions of stitches & blood, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You stare at the phone blankly, unblinking eyes in the darkness of your room stiff. At all sides, the shadows bleed away from the light of the device as it shows the small icon of an ongoing call—the picture void of any personalization, just a plain circle. Your eyes blink, and the voice that had been speaking comes back into your ears like a far-off murmur.

“I swear on your mother’s life I didn’t mean to do it like I did, Kid.” That Jersey accent makes your lips thin. “My daughters mean the world to me, see? I ain’t shittin’ you when I say you remind me of ‘em. I…I can’t stand to see one of my girls hurt.”

Hector had a fast and hurried tone, and your phone sat on the coffee table unaffected—the door to your room closed and fastened shut in a lie that you were getting dressed for bed. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since your outburst out back; Gaz and your… reconciliation? You didn’t know if that was the word, but it was the best you could come up with at the moment.

Your lips don’t speak, and your face feels void of blood.

“Kid,” Hector gets more desperate. “You don’t understand, alright? My girls mean so—”

You slap the red icon and his voice cuts out as if it were never there.

Staring at your phone, you listen to the house as your mother’s voice wafts in through the vents, a roar and wave from an ocean with garbled words you can’t make out. Bringing a hand to your face, you slowly rub up and down; pushing back the weight as your fingers dig into your eye socket.

A knock echoes off the walls.

“...You alright in there?” You blink, slightly shaking your head. It was like the Sergeant had a radar on him—telling him whenever you were doing something other than what you’d told him.

It struck you that this time, it didn’t dig so much into annoyance as it did some deep part of yourself that somewhat appreciated it.

“Be out in a minute,” your voice calls and a firm tap to the wood moments later lets you know he heard; footsteps going back across the hall to his room.

From there you do your normal routine—a shower, a quick brush of your teeth even if you were going to be grabbing food at midnight anyway, and pajamas. Nothing more than a large oversized shirt and sweats.

Feeling a chill up your spine, on the way out after grabbing your laptop and the attached USB, you snag a blanket as well, unwilling to put your dirty jacket on even if your fingers twitch to fiddle with your coin. Throwing the fabric over your shoulder, you push open the door and slink across the hall to enter Gaz’s room; the lights there dimmed, and the twin lamps shone a warm glow.

Eyes flinching a moment, you sigh as the man looks up from where he’d been leaning against the frame of his bed. When he sees you, he pushes off and blinks carefully. There’s a tight moment of silence that borders on awkwardness.

“All squared, then?” The Brit asks, and you toss your chin.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and a navy compression shirt, small white accents in the stitching; his hat was on the nightstand. Not letting your eyes wander, though it was, horrifically, hard not to do so when every muscle and dip was on display, you loosely passed him your laptop with one hand.

“Suppose,” your voice eases out, eyes flicking at the sounds from downstairs—moving furniture and such. You wondered if your mom had enlisted Alex to do her grunt work, and you have to comment internally that he isn’t getting paid enough for that.

Kyle watches you before softly taking the laptop, glancing down at the USB still stuck in it before he sighs under his breath. He places it down on the bed, feet shifting.

The man wasn’t one to pry into things where he didn’t feel he belonged or it wasn’t his duty. Your personal affairs weren’t a part of this, but somehow, somewhere along the line, you’d managed to intertwine them like a jumbled pile of cords. Tonight, the pond out back and the willow trees…Kyle’s eyes dart to your injured palm; where the skin is bare and soft from your shower.

Without a word, he walks to his duffel bag and takes out his med kit, nodding his head to the desk chair near the back wall firmly.

“Let’s get that hand re-wrapped properly, eh?” He watches as your tired body waits for a second more. “It’ll get infected if I don’t keep an eye on it.”

You pause, and for some odd reason, an embarrassed heat builds in your cheeks.

“Y-You don't have to do that,” your voice stutters, eyes jumping from his throat to his under eye before they settle on the wall behind his head. Kyle’s brows furrow, med kit slightly lowering in his hand as he studies you in confusion. “It’s not…that’s not…”

Your lips are thin, jaw clenching. But Gaz isn’t as clueless as he was when he first got you under assignment, he rubs at the back of his neck once and begins walking over slowly.

“Spitfire?” He levels earnestly. You wait, blanket shielding your form. A hand is extended in front of your face, and you blink down at it. “Let me help.”

Right about now you’d fire a quick insult his way—tell him to mind his own business and slink off to your room; you would have reasoned that was what he deserved. But, damn him, he seemed to know that you craved some semblance of a warm touch, craved to keep that comfort from just a tiny while earlier.

The scene under the willows had changed something fundamental in your brain. Had taken the bits of what remained and sewn a fraction together. Like a reluctant recipient, you had allowed him in on the basis of your own gnawing guild—had spilled over like a glass of water.

Yet, you admitted that for once in your three long years, crying hadn’t felt as much of a curse when his head was sitting atop yours.

With a lick of your lips, you slowly set your hand into Kyle’s palm—silent as a mouse.

“Thank you,” he says, earnestly, before his fingers lightly curl over your own and he gently pulls you over to the desk chair.

Kyle sits you down softly, kneeling like he had the first time you found yourselves in this position, and places the med kit on the floor before twisting your hand.

“Any pain?” He asks as if talking about the morning paper.

You have to wonder if he feels as awkward as you do—like you’re inhabiting another’s skin and pupating it, nothing but a marionette doll. It’s as if now since there’s nothing to bark or argue about, you’re rendered…mute.

Kyle calls your name and you blink, gaze moving to the side of his mouth.

“Yeah?” You breathe out softly, still hearing the noise from downstairs. The Brit’s hands squeeze yours once, and you nearly shiver like a fool.

“Do the cuts hurt?” Brown eyes narrow slowly, tilting his head. “I have pain medicine in my bag if it does. Most it’ll need now is just some tight bindings. No use with more stitches, the worst of it has pulled back together.”

“They’re fine,” you whisper, flexing the hand. “Gaz,” your curiosity leaks in, and perhaps a bit of your boldness.

The man hums under his breath as he grabs gauze and bandages. Your eyes stare into his scar.

“Can I have his journal back?” You expected a quick and firm ‘no’ to roll off his accented tongue, but after a minute of his careful yet attentive eye, a smirk flashed on his lips. Amusement fills the air.

“Oh, you mean the one you broke into a museum to steal?” Gaz raises a brow in mocking question. “That journal?”

Your lips huff out, “Yes, Sergeant, that journal.”

“I suppose I shouldn't mention the unconscious security guard that was found in the hallway along the way, then?” He chuckles. “He’s fine, by the way.”

“It would be best if you didn’t.” On your face, your lips fight a smile at the banter—the still pounding flesh under your eyes going to the back of your mind from the crying and the fatigue. Your voice is still raspy from sobbing.

Gaz shakes his head, smiling with white teeth. “If there’s a handful of things I’ll never understand, Spitfire,” he squeezes your hand one last time and stands up; your gaze following the small inhale he takes in his chest. “I think it’s safe to say you’ll always be one of them.”

You chuff a laugh, stifling a yawn on your lips, as you push out, “Rich, coming from a guy whose file says he prides himself on understanding ‘even the finest details.’”

The memory of the cafe, the first real meeting of the two of you, flashes through your heads. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Still can’t believe you bloody threw a pack at my head,” Gaz murmurs, rubbing at the back of his head as he walks away. He points a finger back at you as he flips and begins walking backward to the nightstand, you roll your eyes at him. “Head might still be ringing, you know?”

“If only,” you grumble, smirking. “I'd have been surprised if that was enough to bring you down. Pleased, but surprised.”

“Hell, so would I,” Gaz admits with a grin. “Not a bad arm, though.”

“Thanks,” you joke with a raised brow, standing as the man opens the drawer and digs a hand inside. “I use it to slap air vent covers into unsuspecting security guards.”

His laughs echo off the walls, and the noise momentarily stops downstairs; he covers his mouth with his forearm to try and hide it, but the sound itself makes your lips pull back in a pleased grin. You giggle tinily at his reaction, face going heated.

“Fucking hell,” Gaz shakes his head, smiling wide as he stares at you. His throat bobs in a swallow. “So this is a pattern I need to be aware of, then?”

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in.“One hundred percent.”

“Christ, Love.” Your father’s journal comes to light from the confines of the nightstand drawer, and it’s like all of the strange joy is sucked out of the air like a spell of smoke and mirrors.

Your lips pull back down to a thin line, blinking at the black leather and the bulk of wrinkled pages. Kyle feels it too, shifting his jaw for a moment before clearing his throat. Along the sides of the object, his fingers tap twice.

“You know I can’t let you have it,” he says, voice firm but begging you to understand his position. You do know that.

Already your forked tongue is begging to be let loose—to snap and release venom. But your eyes hurt, and the night is long; there are so many more important things to think over than how to make this man miserable for just doing his job. You imagine he does that to himself more than enough if the confessions by the pond meant anything in the long run.

There’s just so much that hurts, and you can’t figure out a way to make it stop.

You rub at your face and grumble out a tired, “Yeah.”

Kyle sighs, looking away for a moment before he filters his gaze back. His foot shifts. “Guess that just means we’ll have to go through this shite together then, eh, Spitfire? You said the USB was password-protected?”

You stare with parted lips as he puts the journal down on the bed, taking your personal laptop instead and flipping it open to the screen while the stick blinks to life. A swift brown glance is spared towards the chair.

“Password-protected, right?” You nod in a soft jerk of your head, suddenly unable to look at the man as he blinks at you, shrugging.

“It’s late,” Gaz looks you up and down—tilting his head as he also pulls out the other item from the nightstand, the laptop from the museum. “I’ll try my hand at finding something, but until you get some rest and come back, I’ll stick to skimming the—”

You interrupt him.

“I’m not going to be sleeping tonight,” your body pushes you up, and you stalk over to the bed slowly while pulling the blanket farther up your shoulders. The bindings on your hand are tight and sure.

Kyle pauses as you take the journal, watching you with a furrow in his dark brows. He lets you explain as you feel his digging gaze—curious but confused. You clear your throat, flipping open the first page of your father’s life like that was all he was; words on thin paper, the indent of a pen nib.

“Nightmares, remember?”

“Yeah,” Gaz answers, “I just didn’t…” He pauses, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You both stand shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the laptops as the man lowers the first back to the comforter with a puff of air. The item in your hand you turn over to the first page—dated on a day you knew all too well. Your birthday. Your first birthday. Inside of your chest, your heart tightens.

Your father had started journaling the very day you were born.

You snap the journal shut and turn to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing out, “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your dad hadn’t become a soldier?”

Kyle startles, eyelids blinking quickly. “W-what’s that,” he stutters, looking down at you in shock.

“Your dad,” you say slower, mocking almost before your voice once more fades back to a genuine question. “If he hadn’t…I don’t know, if he hadn’t made the decision to sign that enlistment form, do you think you’d have become anything different? You said you took after him, I’m just wondering.”

“Yeah,” he’s confused at this, going to cross his hands over his chest and stare at you as your mouth takes down a deep breath before re-opening the journal and skipping the first few entries entirely. “I…couldn’t really tell you. Haven't thought about it like that, I suppose.” Gaz’s fingers lightly dig into his biceps. “Why do you ask, Love?”

You shrug, eyes scanning memories.

“It’s like we’re all just shadows of what our parents were. Trying to carry on a legacy that died with them before they could ever complete it. It’s…funny, I guess.” Your lips take down a breath. “I tried so hard to become my father that I feel like I’m falling down the same pit he did.”

“You’re better than that,” Kyle reassures immediately, taking a step closer to the bed.

“You don’t know that,” your voice counters.

Instinctual self-preservation kicks in, leaving your throat tight with the knowledge you should stop talking. On the roof, there begins the slight pitter-patter of rain. Talking to him, it seemed, had suddenly become addictive—perhaps it was because there was truly no one else who could offer you advice like he could. After all, he’d been there through all of it. You just had to say it.

“I need you to understand my position here.” you skim over your father’s account of your third birthday and the cake you’d gotten; two layers decorated with your favorite cartoon characters. Your eyes flicker away to stare at the man’s chest, at the cross of his arms.

Kyle grunts under his breath but can appreciate the level-headedness you’re coming to him with. This was a conversation he could have—so much better than a round of insults from both parties and the hidden glares.

“I understand it,” he admits, nodding once. “Through all of it, I always have.”

Inside of your chest, your heart sputters. “Good,” you cough out and a moment later you’re changing the subject, fingers hot as Gaz looks away for a moment. “The USB had a limited number of password attempts—there’s only two left.”

Brown eyes glance over the room, sliding past furniture and the old creaking of the walls.

“Then we don’t try anything until we have something narrowed down, yeah?” Kyle, after a second of hesitation, moves over to your form and sits beside you on the bed, moving your father’s laptop onto his legs. “We leave it alone for now…” He side-eyes you. “I take this, you take the journal?”

“Shouldn’t you be sending this off to an analysis team or something?” You interject, not complaining but cashing in on the fact that if you get him to speak to you, your head will stop spinning. Gaz’s scent pools in your nose like perfume, and you wonder if you can ever separate that scent from the press of his head above your own; the dig of his fingers as they kept you to his neck.

That steady pulse.

“Yeah,” that boyish charm returns as if it were second nature. “But the way I see it, Spitfire,” his shoulder bumps yours and you’re surprised you don’t immediately flinch away. “I’ll be saving my own neck if I don’t. Figured you’d have ransacked my room by now.”

Your nose releases a puff. “Was about a day away.”

“Knew it,” he mutters, smirking. “But, no, I will be calling in a team and writing up a report. Just…not right now.”

“I’m flattered,” you sarcastically comment. Yet, you really were. It’s…nice to be able to speak like this. The sins of the past haven't been forgotten, and they won’t be, but right now there has to be something said for the simple existence of someone to joke with—to tease and spill secrets too. When did you last have that?

The rain patters far overhead as Gaz gets to searching, fingers tapping and his shoulder close to yours as you flip through pages slowly. The weight is back on your chest, but a portion has been chiseled off like a stone sculpture. Biting on your lip, your mind hones in on the details of the entries.

Months and years fly past in mere minutes, things that your mind calls to but can’t fully recall—when your father had gone on his business trip to California, the meteor shower when you were eleven. Even when you had broken your arm in middle school gym class. There were family secrets and drama. Apparently, you had broken a back window with a baseball when you were thirteen, which, despite all of it, made your eyes widen slightly like a child who had just stolen a cookie.

“Found something,” Kyle calls about half an hour in, moving through files and script down to the very base of the laptop’s components—you barely noticed, only blinking over when the thunder from outside makes you tense.

“Hm,” you hum, sitting up straighter as your eyes burn from the tiny written words. The blanket around your body keeps you in a cocoon, and somehow, Gaz seems even closer than he had been before.

A finger is pointed to the screen casually, one hand moving the cursor as your eyes stay on his cheek.

“Encrypted files—dozens,” you furrow your brows.

“How hard is it to break?” His lips pull thin.

“I’m not exactly an expert on it—” You take the laptop from him and roll your eyes.

“Garrick, I got into CIA databases,” the man’s sigh is all but seen on the airways, letting you do as you wish as he shakes his head. “All you had to do was ask.”

He huffs, grunting out, “Well, if you’d have let me finish, Love, I would have.”

“Then you should have just started with it.” A smirk pulls your lips. “Chop-chop, Sergeant, there’s no time to beat around the bush.”

You enter each individual line of the script, fishing like a hook in water for something out of place or a mere segment that didn’t feel right—each time you dig deeper, past firewalls that you have to wonder why were even there in the first place—you feel his eyes on you.

Gaz breathes quietly through his nose, not used to the way your vision eagerly skims the screen ahead of you as the minutes draw on into double digits; your sights trained like his are when behind a gun. You enjoyed this, he realizes with a tilt of his head. Enjoyed the thrill of breaking into something—the stab of achievement at…control. Kyle glances down at the bandages over your palm, and at the bags under your eyes.

Control. His lips slightly parted. It was the thing you always seemed to lack; the thing you never had to begin with.

Your words at the pond told him much, most of which he already suspected but hadn’t had the time to process with all the running around. Truthfully, the man didn’t know if you even knew it yourself, but it was painfully obvious that despite the history of this estate and the memories, you gained a sheen of mild fear every time you came home.

At the creaking, the nothingness—he could see it in your eyes.

You hated it here. You loved to hate it; to hate the darkness and the groaning frame, the neverending rush of water through the pipes like a tsunami amplified by the static silence.

For not the first time that night, the man’s chest tightens and he clenches his jaw to force down his stiff expression.

So many questions, so many things to say, but so little time.

“Got it,” you snap your fingers, bringing your legs up to fold on the bed, knee knocking into Gaz’s thigh. The both of you don’t care enough at that moment to move, and, in fact, the Sergeant’s body leans even closer—shoulder right behind yours.

Files alight on screen; a folder already opening for you as the script peels back.

“Now, what do we have—” The name of the overarching folder in the white bar makes you freeze, face going dead-still like something had just shot through you; a spark of shock making your eyes widen.

“Spitfire?” Kyle asks, face pulling closer as his fingers grab the side of the screen, turning the device somewhat his way. “What’s going…”

Brown eyes lock on the same item that yours are on and his heart skips a beat. Each MP4 file in that folder was dated, named, and either holding one of two letters: ‘A’ or ‘D’.

But the folder name. The dates all fall on the same as the red ink that had been in your father’s office, once a month, all detailing different entries into the museum. The fifteenth; the day he was always home, waiting to take phone calls but still…with you and your mother.

The name.

Chiyou.

Before Gaz can stop you, you’re clicking on the first file—dated on the fifteenth of September, 1999, and named ‘Randal Wolfe - D’. The video pops up, and your finger slams on the unmute button.

The screaming is the first thing you hear, but your eyes land on the man not even a millisecond later. Kyle’s eyes go wide, air stuck in his throat. It wasn’t smart, but neither of you could take your gazes away from the scene in front of you.

A man was tied to the ceiling by chains, hanging from his arms as his feet dangled. There’s so much blood, even the large pixels and the fuzzy recording can pick up the puddles of it, drops dripping to the floor. Your jaw falls open as your pulse mimics a war drum, lungs decreasing the amount of oxygen available to your brain.

He, this Randal Wolfe, is begging. Begging for his life just as the long arm enters the frame, a jet-black pistol held in its gloved grip with gold detailing. You stare at that gun and take down a violent inhalation, hands on the laptop shaking as the flick of a safety is lost below the wails and pleas.

“It’s not just a name,” Kyle breathes, stopped dead in his tracks even as his brain screams at him to move.

You stare in growing dread and horror, guts tightening inside of your abdomen and your fingers jerkily clenching into fists. So many files—so many names that had been cataloged like the storage room in the museum; laid out in alphabetical order. Execution tapes, extortion tapes, ‘D’ for dead and ‘A’ for alive, MP4s with cold evidence of the same caliber that Kate Laswell had been looking for, if the surroundings offered any clues as to secondary locations. Organized with the staples of a man dedicated to his work.

Work.

Chiyou. The way you now recognize the title is a curse, a stain that bleeds your soul black until nothing remains but a void. Why now? Why, out of all of the times to remember, why did it have to be now?

A Chinese mythological figure, now revered in a different sense. Your own father had taught you about him in passing, textbooks from school, and the large books in your own library. Stories that he’d read to you in front of a fire—rain similar to the storm outside battering the windows. A God of War. It was never just a name.

Your tongue is lead.

“...It’s a business.”

Kyle’s hand snaps the laptop closed just before the gun can be fired, the sound cut out as your eyes continue to stare straight ahead—knowing the boom and the spray of blood that came immediately after like the back of your hand.

The silence extends like purgatory and if you think hard enough, the dripping of crimson can be felt still on your face just as the sound of glass breaking from downstairs snaps your attention away.

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