#colour photograph series

[greencarnation]

Printed some fliers and stickers to put up around town tomorrow. Remember that posting isn't the only way to spread awareness and build public consciousness in your area

[scrapbuuk]

Morning light, Kuala Lumpur.

[camellia-thea]

hmm should i post a photo from the vampire photoseries i did a few years ago

[sheltiechicago]

The African Girl Child

Striking smartphone portraits from Ghana

After graduating secondary school in 2019, Sarfo Emmanuel Annor was given a smartphone by his sister. His niece was his first model; since then, he has been capturing life in his native Koforidua, Ghana. “I strive to push the boundaries of African portraits by playing with colour to share the daily life, dreams and stories of Ghanaian youth,” he says of his Life in Colour series. The visual artist’s interest in fashion, partly inspired by his mother’s secondhand clothes shop, deepened after he undertook a tailoring apprenticeship. “Fashion has been an intrinsic part of my journey since childhood. The bold and vibrant colours are not just a palette; they are a language through which I communicate a range of positive emotions.”

God’s Child

Resilient Journey

Serenity

Vision Ahead

[jolalibrary]

20. rainier grey

frankie morales x f!reader | epilogue of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. they're no longer idiots. an: the end

prev chapter | series masterlist

read on ao3

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You sure you got everything from the house, baby? I think so! Does this mean you're giving the keys in?

Unpacking another box, you slide a photograph onto the shelf, right next to his. You smile, shifting it, trying to make your things look like they belong as much as his.

Evidence of you already slotting in. Books sitting with his, plants finding homes in corners that look as though they were made for them.

Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind? Not even a little bit. Good. Because I already handed them in. And what if I had said I thought I’d forgotten something?

The bubbles in the corner appear, fluttering and twitching, until they vanish. You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue-wrapped small artificial cactus, placing it, and tilting your head as your phone vibrates.

You know I’ve checked the place twice. Did the sex chair go into storage okay, by the way?

Even from here, you know he snorted. A breathy laugh, one that has and will always make your lips press together before sliding up into a smirk. You giggle at it, imagining him trying to suppress it if he's with people. Shaking your head at the image as you see him typing.

You gotta stop calling your office chair a sex chair. Well, the only thing that happened in it was that. Gonna drive now, you menace. Hurry home, baby.

Sighing, you rip the tape from the underside of the box and flatten it, staring at the wasteland of boxes that have taken over his living room. Despite the chaos, you feel like you're finally home, for the time in a long time.

A thing you'd whispered to him when he'd hooked his leg over yours in bed this morning.

Steam billowed, carrying the scent of spices, tomatoes, and herbs blending into the air as you hear the front door open.

It brings a smile, tugging at the corners of your mouth, even though this should feel ordinary by now. A thing you should be used to, it feels like the first day all over again.

No more boxes, all unpacked, places for everything and newly learnt routines that you know to listen for.

Head turned to the doorway, hearing one thing after the other landing in the bowl: Keys, wallet and two thuds of his boots being removed.

It's all a routine now, something normal. Dinner is divided between whoever arrives home first. If he gets home first, he starts it, the two of you relying on the board on the wall to keep track. The one that's a vibrant array of colours—butterscotch orange, dinosaur green, and rainy day blue—highlighting the various shifts, jobs, and school pick-ups your month has in store.

This week, it’s a lot of orange. Things are picking up, with more word getting out about Frankie’s business and what he can do. The reviews are trickling in, and you know he’s already quickly outgrowing the summer house in the back garden. You commented on it when the two of you made the decision, something he assured you would be fine. You still agree that paying for two homes wasn’t a wise choice when he was already taking a risk.

Risky—a word you could never use to describe him. But a word you let him have, relenting, melting into his arms as you bid goodbye to the office he made you, with the promise of a better one in the future.

Now, standing in the kitchen that used to be just his and is now ours, you count in your head the seconds until his arms slide around your middle, his mouth pressing a kiss to your head.

“Smells good.”

Turning your head, fingers sliding under his chin—you steal a kiss, and another, sliding your digits around his jaw before they’re tangling in his hair.

“Could get used to this.” You hum against his mouth, murmuring a what that makes him smile, smirk, right up against yours. “You in our kitchen.”

“Well, it has been months now—I’d hope you’d be used to it.”

Shrugging, running his hands up down your arms, he steps back and leans on the counter. On the days when he beats you home, you bring home stories of Harry, customers and the random paint name you’ve found that you make him guess the shade of until he gets it right. Tonight, you ask him how his day has been. A mundane question, a thing that arises every day and yet the answer is never the same.

He talks about another enquiry, how the photos of your old office space, in the place you once called home, had inspired another couple to get in touch. And you try not to smirk, to wear a knowing smile, but instead nod, stirring and grabbing plates as he folds his arms and keeps his gaze on you.

A thing you thought would have lessened, but hasn’t.

“You need my help with this one, or?”

Shaking his head, folding his arms—looking you up and down as he traces his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What?”

“We said if we did this you wouldn’t try and do it all.”

You might not groan outwardly, but you do inwardly. His brows raise as though knowing so too, a thing which almost drags a laugh out of you. Almost.

“Come here,” he says, hand extended, finding your slides in as he drags you close. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“I do.”

Good, he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb—the roughness of it making liquid heat spark in your stomach as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You want a hand dishing up?”

Shaking your head, you kiss his wrist. “No. Go change—you can’t do it all.”

His snigger stays in the kitchen with you, long after he’s left to go change.

Luca told me something interesting at drop off.

Not sure I want to know.

Apparently, we’re getting a dog?

Little shit. No. He asked me and I said I’d think about it.

Well, apparently he thinks that Saturday when we pick him up we’re going to get him a dog that lives at our house.

Fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Are we against a dog?

It takes a second for the squeals to calm down.

Your arms may be scratched, and you may have wanted to sob as you tried to build the crate on your own, but the joy thrumming inside you as Frankie wrestles the puppy and Luca screams with laughter makes it all worth it.

It feels right that there are two bowls on the kitchen floor, both sitting on a plastic mat covered with paw prints.

It makes the home feel complete, even with a wet patch on the rug, even with your new shoe marked with tiny teeth marks, and even though you're exhausted beyond words.

Grinning, you lean back on the couch, watching Frankie pretend to bark and growl as the puppy tries to nip at him. The two alternate between rolling around, evading each other, the creased laugh marks on Frankie's nearly enough to make you get on the floor and join him, just to brush your fingers against them.

Instead, you teasingly poke the boy next to you. “Luca, what do you want to call him?”

Mouth sliding from side to side, Luca shuffles and bounces along the sofa before his head comes to rest on your arm. Frankie shifts to playing a version of tug-of-war. “Tyler.”

“Tyler?” Frankie asks, pausing to stroke the retriever's ears.

Luca smiles and then beams. “Like tyrannosaurus.”

Somehow, you suspected you should have seen that coming.

“Okay, well, Tyler needs to go to the toilet. Do you want to try and take him?”

Luca, nodding and smiling, taps your arm. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

As you stand, you catch sight of Frankie beaming up at you, warmth flooding your cheeks and ears at the sight of it.

What are you doing for lunch, baby?

Well, I was going to treat myself to a coffee and maybe a sweet treat. But what are you thinking?

I was thinking of letting Tyler out, bringing you fast food and sitting in the office at Harolds?

Oh, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. I like that our roles have reversed here.

I know. Do you know when Harold will let you have lunch?

Delivery is almost away, and then I just have to do a few bits.

I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve missed your face today.

Sounds good. Maybe you should have spent more time with it this morning then, than between my legs.

I have zero regrets about how I started my day.

“Have you seen the yard—I think that’s enough room for Tyler, how much bigger can he even grow after a year, and look here...”

Your fingers loop in between his, tugging him, practically dragging him with you to the kitchen window—the slightly overgrown grass and white fence greeting the two of you.

It’s the eleventh house the two of you have seen. Fingers brush over his thumb as he follows you around the rooms in a house that’s spacious, with three bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s airy, light—ridiculously bright.

But it needs work.

A thing you can tell he’d thought on sight, even if the most he’s done is make a snort or a hum.

You suspect Frankie is paying more attention to the things wrong with it, than what is right. Missing some of the things you point out to him, too busy calculating square footage as the two of you walk around it. Ignoring your opinions on floor-to-ceiling bookcases and hallway mirrors, if the two of you could get a bigger bed than you both have now.

You do think he catches that you think Luca should have the largest room—your reasoning dripping from your tongue that he needs space as he grows up, that you both have a bigger closet in the second biggest.

“—And, we'd probably need to get him one of those beds soon, the ones where he has space under for a pull-out or a desk. The closet is decent, but we’ll have to get him some drawers too.”

Your fingers trace along the doors of the closet as he blinks, coming back to you, to the house, to the room.

“Wait—what…”

And you smile. Not just with kindness or joy, but with everything. Push it outwards, hoping it stretches its warmth out over the entire room, hoping it’ll surround him, maybe he’ll allow it to wrap itself around him as you tilt your head.

“I think this should be Luca’s room.”

Walking towards you, the heels on his boot sounding on the wooden flooring. “Baby, you can’t think that. For one, this house is—“

“Perfect,” you finish, palms finding his cheeks, thumb stroking the hair on either side of his lip. “It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You can see it, even if he doesn’t say it: it isn’t.

You’ve suspected for a while that he has an idea of a home the two of you should have. He’d whispered it to you three months ago in bed, head buried in your neck, fingers fanned over your hips as he talked about garden size, a pool, a workshop and even an office.

In some capacity, this house ticks some of those boxes. It has a spacious kitchen, it has a decent yard and a pool that needs a deep clean. There’s a room that could be an office, but would most likely be a spare bedroom for friends, for Benny or one of your own.

And, you’re grinning. Watching him smile in response, all radiant like he thinks you’re the reason the world rotates.

Then he says it, the thing which has been ticking behind the scenes. Unsaid, unspoken—ignored as though it doesn’t have its own pulse. “You deserve better.”

You don’t mean to, but your forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together as your smile fades into a thin line. Feeling it, etched and written across your face as shame works across him. The evidence of a battle he’s having with himself—something churning, twisting as you slide your hands down his neck and loop them at the back.

It’s clear now it’s been needling him—likely making his chest tight, wrapping vines around his chest, all thick and full of spikes, as he rolls his neck and sighs.

Tilting your head, trying to keep your tone level, you whisper, “Baby, what do you mean?”

Because the realtor is downstairs.

Not wanting to cause a fight—a scene. Your skin prickles as you momentarily panic that you’re whisper isn’t a whisper, when his mouth opens, but no sound leaves it. Worry tangles in your head, and in your throat as you move closer. Wanting more words to appear, to conjure, tell me, tell me, tell me, burning a hole in your tongue as you need him.

Your hand brushes his cheek, forehead smoothing out—concern replacing earlier confusion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The edges of your mouth twitch. “And, I love this house.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you glare.

“Don’t… don’t do that, Francisco. Don’t think for me because you’ve concocted some image of what I want.”

Letting his eyes hang down, he sighs. “I’m not–I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You… you’re looking at each house as if it has a checklist to meet—like it’s being measured against something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You sigh, dropping your hands from his face. And you miss touching him the moment you do. Wanting to place them back, have him take your wrists and put them back, but you’re already folding them, shaking your head as you stare out the window.

“You can’t be mad at me for wanting the best for you.”

You snort this time, narrowing your eyes as you shoot him a glare that says you can, and you will.

“If, and I mean if we take this house, I… I want, no, I need to do a lot of work on it. Because you deserve the house of your dreams, and admittedly, I can’t afford to give it to you. Because houses are fucking expensive, but I can make it for you.”

Biting down on your lip, you glance, catching the sight of him running a hand over his face. Fingers pinching the inside of your arm as you try not to let tears bubble, swim and then fall.

“I… I don’t want that.”

“What do you mean?”

You look up, blinking away the tears. Seeing the doubt spread across his face, like he wants to rewind the clock—take back ever saying you deserve better.

And you don’t want to fight, not with him.

“Frankie… I don’t want it to be my dream house, I want it to be ours.”

He takes a step towards you. “I know.”

But you raise your hands, not pushing him back, but not inviting him in either.

“But you don’t. You’re not picturing a doorframe we can keep measuring Luca growing up. You’re not thinking of warm Sundays with our friends around the pool—and you’re not seeing the lick of paint needed so our bedroom is a little dimmer, so your eyes don’t burn from all the off-white.

“I don’t need an office—I like working with you and at Harold’s. And, yes, I’m not walking around thinking you won’t have to do anything to this house, because, of course, you will. You’re good, you have an eye. We wouldn’t even be thinking of buying something bigger if you weren’t. But, you started a business a year ago—we can’t afford perfect. But we can buy good and make it perfect. If, and when you stop thinking of me, and instead us.”

Brushing a hand over his face, he takes a moment. Swallowing a sigh, an annoyed grunt. His fingers itch at his forehead, pushing strands of hair under his hat before he drops it and stares at you.

“You really want this one?”

Nodding, you roll your lips. “What about you?”

And so he looks around. Hands digging into his jacket pockets, walking in slow footsteps around the room—

Hoping you've helped him see it, picture it, with all your earlier ramblings.

Where the wooden trunk he made will go, the bed you just talked about—the prints of stars, spaceships and galaxies. He glances out of the window, spotting the long drive and the trimmed grass—the quiet neighbourhood that he could teach Luca to ride his bike in.

He feels you come up behind him, arms sneaking around his waist, his hands clutching your fingers as he smiles.

“You want to take another tour, Morales?”

He smiles, nodding, before he turns in your arms so he’s facing you, clutching your face as he kisses you. One which is full of sorry’s and love.

He lingers his palms on your face, just for a fraction. “Will you tell me all the other things you picture as we walk around?”

Grinning again, like before. One which would rival the sun and the beauty of the full moon on a clear night sky.

“Sure,” you whisper, taking his hand, leading him out of the room that in several months will be his son’s.

I’ve packed our case and it’s in the shower in our en-suite, so do not turn the water on without looking. Luca’s is half done, but just need you to help me with a few last-minute bits?

Can I ask why our suitcase is in the shower or am I missing something?

Luca is being nosy. He goes into our bathroom but not into the shower. Trying to keep a surprise from him is harder than you think when I apparently “have lying face”.

You do look very suspicious when you lie.

Good job I don’t have to lie for a living.

Is he behaving?

We’ve baked cookies for tomorrow—even if he thinks it's for a movie day. And he’s currently using my iPad to talk to Sam.

I keep hiding in rooms with boxes so he doesn't ask me things.

Rainy, baby.

I know, but it's only a few more hours, right?

Yeah, promise. Sam called me earlier, and said she has managed to get Monday off so she can meet us there on Sunday—says we should pick somewhere in the park so she can surprise him properly.

Do you want me to get to thinking and then text her?

If you don’t mind baby? I should be done here around 7.

Sounds good. Gives me something to focus on until you're home.

You sure you're doing okay?

I’ll be better when we tell him tonight, I’m feeling really bad about lying to him even if it’s for a good reason.

I promise you, the moment he realises we’re going, you’ll see how it’s worth it.

I know. Plus, the promise of you in Mickey Mouse ears is really keeping me going.

The photo of you getting off one of the rides is what is keeping me going.

Mean.

But I love you.

Love you too.

Peaceful—that’s how you’d describe it.

Condensation slips under your fingers, sliding under your wrist, pooling at the watch strap as you hear him shouting something to someone as he makes his way over. The music is quieter over here, the loud voice that attempts to synchronise with the lyrics seems less shrieking, and more full of harmony.

You were only hovering on the outskirts to call to see if Tyler was okay, and then you found yourself lingering. A moment needed, not questioned or protested.

You know that's why he’s been biding his time. Watching, eyes flicking to you just in case you beckon him to come. Now, you smile as he approaches, it pulled from you with so much ease it's reactionary at this point, no thought. Just a-Frankie-smile, all his, hopefully forever his.

The once-warm air has now cooled, whipping the fabric around your frame as he saunters over.

“Wondered how long it would take you.”

Snorting, he takes a sip from his glass—letting it wet his lips, admiring the same view you have been for some time.

Slipping his hand around your waist, you move closer with ease. Hip moving to hip, cheek coming to rest on his shoulder—contentment filling your bones when he brushes his fingers up and down your back.

“You cold?”

“Not now.”

And he smiles, light—it coming with ease now that he has you back by his side.

“Missed you.”

“That’s because you’re a needy boy, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, he buries it in your neck—light, airy—before pressing a kiss to your head and turning to watch those moving on the dance floor. The soft glow of twinkling lights shimmering in his brown, fingers teasing up and down his white shirt.

The moment is only punctuated by a distant sound—a shift in melody embedded into the night breeze. It takes a second, one far too much before you recognise the tune, the song. Smirking to yourself as you remember your passionate rendition in his car the other week. An updated version to the one over a year ago. The look the same, though, all grin, all teeth and almost crinkled eyes.

You feel him turning your head, eyes meeting his.

It’s simple, uncomplicated—a movement that seems rehearsed as you move, leaning, resting your head on his chest as you feel a soft sigh escape his lips.

“When we do this, we’re eloping.”

Brow arching, he smiles. “When?”

“Like you’re not desperate to slip a ring on my finger, Morales.”

Snorting, resting his chin on your head, you take a comforting breath.

Hearing him swallow, you look at him, finding his tongue flicking against his teeth as he stares ahead at the party. “What if I was… desperate?”

Smirking, finding his eyes now on you, even if his head is facing forward. “Well, Frankie, maybe I’d be desperate to say yes.”

Have I told you today you’re beautiful?

Are you texting me from across our hotel room?

I am. I can see your smile in the mirror.

How the roles have reversed. You look good in a suit, have I told you that?

Told me I look good in a different kind of suit today.

Oh baby, you always rock that one very well.

Can’t believe I’m marrying you today.

Can’t believe there’s a chance I’m going to be married by the real Elvis today.

I hope he says uh-huh-a-huh.

If he doesn’t, I say we annul and try again.

You do really look beautiful.

You should take a photo with Will’s camera—I guarantee I’ll get sauce down me.

You and white.

It’s actually rainier grey, but maybe I should have worn butterscotch.

Not sure I’d have survived that. Already pretty close to falling apart at the sight of you now.

Shut up and come here and kiss me.

AN: The End.

God, I was emotional last week, but as much as I am this week, I'm just grateful. Grateful you've all followed, that I got to tell this exactly how I wanted to. But, mainly, that you let this pair into your hearts. I love you, thank you.

[canmom]

Animation Night 189: Nonphotorealistic

There is a funny trend in animation-related terminology to define things by what they aren't. Animation is any technique for creating film that isn't live action. Limited animation is any style of 2D animation that doesn't follow the conventions of Disney's 'full animation' on 1s and 2s - a category that includes a wildly diverse range of approaches and techniques, as this wonderful history by Animation Obsessive describes.

In 3DCG circles, there is a similar term: nonphotorealistic. Which describes, naturally, anything that isn't trying to look like a photograph of a real scene. There has been a real boom in this of late, and just like the other terms, it really doesn't narrow it down very much. Other terms like 'hybrid animation' add a bit more hints.

Of course, if you've been anywhere near animation in the last few years, you'll probably know another term: 'Spiderverse style'.

There is no denying that Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (2018) by Sony Pictures Animation was an absolute landmark for animation. (I wrote about it way back on AN21, focusing more on the cultural angle.) The ludicrously stylish film pretty much set the direction for animation in the 2020s - making a bunch of money and awards and thus finally throwing open the door to 3DCG animation that doesn't look like the style set by Pixar/Dreamworks in the 2000s. Its sequel, Across the Spiderverse (2023), was even more ambitious and successful (despite a troubled production involving a lot of needless crunch). We'll be showing that soon in a Spiderverse double bill so look forward to it!

So perhaps not surprising that when people see the use of graphical styles, 2D elements, limited framerates and the like in 3DCG these days, Spiderverse comes to mind. In its wake have come various films and series that apply these and related techniques: 3DCG animation is more varied than ever, and it's cool.

It isn't really a style, tho.

Here I'm indebted to youtuber Camwing who has made a nice video overview breaking down the animation of recent movies in this vaguely defined paradigm. Among them we have The Mitchells vs the Machines (2021, also Sony), Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022, Dreamworks), and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (2023, animated at the French/Canadian studio Mikros animation), and of course over on Netflix you got the wildly popular League of Legends spinoff series Arcane (2021, Fortiche Productions), and the romance film Entergalactic (2022, DNEG), tying in with an album of the same name.

None of these films has exactly the same style, but they all pull from a related bag of tricks. The core techniques are animating on reduced framerates for a 'snappy', high-clarity feeling, the combination of 2D and 3D elements in some fashion, and taking inspiration from traditional media such as paintings or comic books.

For example, Arcane and Entergalactic both use the trick of 2D backgrounds/projecting paintings onto 3D geometry, inhabited by 3D characters with a stylised shader. Arcane is dripping with 2D visual effects. Puss in Boots drops the framerate during its action scenes - the opposite of the old paradigm of full animation, where fast actions would get more frames. Spiderverse draws 2D expressions onto its 3D models to push them further, and is full of all kinds of colourful stylised rendering - screentone effects, kirby dots, outlines, the works.

It's tempting to link this to 2D-in-3D animation, and certainly many of these films apply this technique - this is the major niche where Blender has found its way into industry pipelines. But using 2D isn't mandatory to count here. For example, TMNT Mutant Mayhem has an incredibly striking storybook-painting style, accomplished largely by clever shader work and a strong sense of graphic design. Genndy Tartakovsky's canned 2014 Popeye project was planning to use a ton of 2D-style posing and squash-and-stretch, accomplished largely with rigged 3D models. There are many paths to take!

And mind you, I haven't even covered one of the biggest angles here. Search for nonphotorealistic 3DCG on Youtube and what you'll probably find most is information about cel-shading - aka 'anime style'. This has also advanced considerably in the last few years, with the techniques pioneered by Arc System Works in Guilty Gear such as editing the normals of characters for more precise control over shading, and minute adjustments to break up the mechanical feeling of 3D, becoming widely copied in both games and films. (And particularly, animated porn.)

Vtubers in particular have really run with this technique, generally speaking using cel-shaded models with edited normals, inverted eyes, etc. etc. to try and get the feeling of an anime character come to life. [You can see a lot of these state of the art techniques if you download Pixiv's free VRoid Studio software and import the model into Blender using the VRM plugin.]

Naturally this kind of cel-shaded approach has found a particular home in Japan. In anime, the biggest champions of it are certainly Studio Orange, whose hybrid approach involves planning out shots with 2D animation before matching them with the rigs. We've covered their adaptation of Houseki no Kuni in great detail on Animation Night 97; their Trigun reboot was perhaps even more popular. But cel-shaded techniques, 3D previs and the like have also made their way into big films like Eva 3.0+1.0 (AN66).

Although this type of rendering aims to recreate the look and feel of 2D animation as much as possible, it always ends up being something new: character models that would be too complex to draw, an ease to 3D movements and camerawork that would be challenging in 2D, and generally a new hybrid style. This is good! 2D animation is already very good at being 2D animation - it's fascinating to see what 3DCG becomes with that inspiration.

So with that brief overview, where does that take us tonight?

I'm not quite ready to do a Spiderverse double bill tonight, so instead the plan is to check out a couple of recent American franchise films that are taking on the new suite of techniques. I've mentioned them up above, but let me introduce them more fully here.

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is a sequel to a fairly unpopular spinoff about a side character of the Shrek franchise (AN75). Not, on its face, very promising - which is why it is all the more striking that I was told on all sorts of sides that I must watch this movie. I'm finally going to make good on that.

The title character is a kind of feline musketeer type, now facing the end of his swashbuckling career as he's lost 8 of his 9 lives. Not wanting to hang up his hat, he goes on a quest to restore them. What makes it stand out its the action scenes, which go all in on the anime-influenced, extreme perspective and lighting, limited framerate style that we're discussing above. Apparently it looks sick as shit.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem is a fresh reboot of the venerable TMNT franchise, which pretty much describes itself in the title: four turtles (named after Renaissance painters, of course!) live in a sewer as ninjas, led by their aging master who is a rat. Starting as a comic book, it became one of the iconic toyline-driven TV shows of the 80s - but it's still going! Indeed, Turtles has been on a roll of late (at least going by animator scuttlebutt), with Australian studio Flying Bark Productions turning a lot of heads with their neo-Kanada School style (and for really stretching the definition of 'storyboard').

This new film takes a different approach to the bombastic action of Rise. It focuses on a new origin story for the turtles, telling a kind of coming of age story - but what makes it unique is the animation style and cinematography. Cinéma vérité is not a phrase you really expect to be associated with ninja turtles, but the film seems to really go all out in a way you wouldn't really expect from a franchise movie, shooting the young turtles in a handheld style and focus heavily on character. Marcel Reinhard's shader work, allowing the animators to isolate lights to specific objects and characters and introducing graphical elements of cross-hatching, stippling, etc. etc. to the lighting, gives it a uniquely painting-like feeling, augmented by a lot of 2D creativity in lighting and effects.

Turtles has never really been my thing, but this film looks unique enough that I really want to see it - and I hear it's a good film too.

So that's our bill for tonight! Puss and Turtles. Let's see what the big studios have been cooking of late...

Animation Night 189 will be starting around 10pm UK time (roughly three hours hence) and carrying on til about 2-3am same! We'll be on twitch.tv/canmom as usual. Hope to see you there!

[wordsarelife]

⛧༺ NO BODY, NO CRIME ༻⛧

EPISODE 05: i think he did it but i just can’t prove it

pairing: theo nott x potter!reader

summary: you and theo go to the ball of the nocturne society and find out more about the dark magical artifact

warnings: extremely big trigger warning for the whole series, in this chapter: mentions of murder, illegal activities, underage drinking and smoking of weed, mentions of intoxication, mentions of stabbing

note: welcome back to the fifth episode of nbnc! i’m so excited to have you all back!! sorry it arrived a bit later than promised, didn't have the time to finish it sooner, but i hope a little sooner than usual is still good. check beneath the tags for a little surprise!!

please let me hear what you think in the comments!!

“okay” you muttered, still staring at the place malfoy had last stood. “what do we do now?”

theo sighed, glancing at the paper in his hand. “we still have that invitation” he shrugged. 

“you seriously wanna go in there?” you asked baffled “after everything malfoy just told us?”

“well, if they’re onto us, we better try to find out more” theo noted. “i’d rather know who i’m facing than sit around and wait for them to get me first”

“good point” you finally agreed after a few beats of silence. you adjusted your mask. 

theo looked at you, waiting. “ready?” 

“ready” you nodded. 

theo spoke the latin code word from the paper. aetema iuventa. eternal youth. the portrait swung open, revealing a hallway filled with green lanternts that hung above your heads. the entry to the party was closed by another door that flew open when theo’s hand touched it. 

you weren’t ready for what you saw. everyone was dressed in similar festive clothing, just like theo and you. but the ball was everything else but that. 

the location was beautiful. a big dance floor, surrounded by tables with food and drinks, a big chandelier hanging from the ceiling that rattled to the beat of the music. you bet those diamonds were real. 

though the location fit the theme of a ball perfectly, the behaviour of the guests did not. 

a couple was making out against the wall next to you, a few people were licking salt from each others bodies, while a few were snorting something that looked an awful lot like cocaine at the very end of the room. 

“i thought most of the slytherins had gone home” you noted, swerving to the side, right before a drunk and masked man got to take you down with him. 

“it might’ve looked like that” theo agreed. “but many stay for the holidays and let the houseelves bring them dinner”

“that’s possible?”

“only if your parents are heavy financers of the school, i guess” 

“hm” you nodded, following him to a table filled with drinks. “well, it’s a bit more scandalous than i would’ve thought” you muttered, watching people run to the dance floor when the first few notes of ‘you know you like it’ broke through the boxes. 

the music was electrifying and drowned out every bit of fear in your body. 

“good evening” a voice broke your gaze away from the dancing people. theo looked up too. 

a girl was standing in front of you. she was wearing a black dress with dark green details along her chest. it almost looked like a wedding dress photographed with a black and white filter. her black hair was styled in a beautiful updo, definitely with magic. you were sure not even a hairdresser could style their own hair so beautifully. 

the girls mask was in the same colour as her dress — a mix between black and green — as her dark brown eys studied both theo and you “hello pansy” you greeted. 

her eyes widened, as suprised flooded them. “and you are?” pansy parkinson asked with a hint of distrust in her voice at the sudden exposure. 

“y/n and theo” theo intervened quickly, not liking the edge in the way she was talking to you. 

“potter, huh?” pansy crossed her arms, the fabric of her dress flowing around her elbows, as she quirked a brow at your greeting. “you’re smarter than you look, love”

you ignored her, as your eyes wandered behind the girl, staying on mattheo, who was wearing a mask too, but his smug smile was the biggest giveaway in the world. “what did i tell you, pansy?” he said “she lives up to her boyfriend’s expectations, right theo?”

“um” you muttered, knowing fully well, that theo and you had not discussed anything related to your relationship status. 

theo was more relaxed than you, answering before you could make a fool out of yourself. “of course” 

both mattheo and pansy smiled in satisfaction, while your cheeks turned rosy. “would you like a drink, y/n?” pansy asked with a sudden kindness “i’m allowed to call you y/n, yeah?” 

“sure” you shrugged, not feeling like you had any right to forbid her whatsoever. “can i have one glass of this?” you pointed at a green colored bowle that honestly looked like it was the least alcoholic thing from the table. 

pansy complied, putting down the drink she had poured for herself and filled a little glass with the green liquid. 

behind your back, mattheo and theo were eagerly discussing something that didn’t reach your ears, due to the loud music — right now, the bridge of ‘you don’t own me’ was jumpin through the room, rattling the chandelier — but theo’s hand was gripping your waste, unconsciously assuring his presence. 

“here you go” pansy held the drink in your direction, you welcomed the glass, drinking a sip and scrunching your face at the horrible taste.

“is this your first slytherin party?” pansy asked as she giggled at your expression of disgust.

“it’s my first cult party, if you mean that”

pansy rolled her eyes. “the nocturne society is not a cult”

“no, you’re right” you nodded sarcastically “it’s just a very tight knit group of friends, how did i miss that before?” 

“okay” pansy breathed. “some of the members might confuse it with one” she nodded to the a group of three people, who were eagerly trying to hex tattoos of the nocturne society’s coat of armour onto their hands. 

“cults are dangerous, even if not everyone believe it is one”

“cults are dangerous, murder is bad, i know” pansy muttered, before she downed the rest of her drink “we’re no saints, but we ain’t killers either”

“maybe you aren’t”

“yeah, maybe” pansy nodded, deep in thought, her eyes wandering along the people around you. “just be careful, theo he—“ she paused, unsure if she should really finish the sentence, before she finally sighed, a soft smile on her lips, “he really likes you”

“i really like him too”

pansy squeezed your hand in a reassuring manner, sending you a look that told you again to be cautious, before she held up her arm, waving for mattheo to follow her. 

mattheo quickly excused himself from his discussion with theo, following pansy through a crowd of people, your eyes quickly losing them. 

“what was that all about?” theo asked as soon as they had disappeared. 

“i could ask you the same” you smiled michievously, taking another sip from your drink, before you finally decided it was too strong and put it down again. 

“i don’t trust them” theo shook his head, worry wandering over his face. 

“i thought mattheo was your friend?” 

“it’s not just him, it’s this whole society. how are they involved? mattheo and i always got along, yes, but i’ve always managed to stay out of his dubious plans”

“did he tell you anything useful?” you asked, not trying to discuss the future of mattheo and theo’s friendship here and now. “did he find out anything about the artifact”

“actually, yes” theo nodded, his gaze wandering into the crowd of people behind your back. 

“what is it?” you wondered, turning around and searching the people for a familiar person. 

“come on” theo motioned for you to follow him. “i think i just found someone who could help us”

he took your hand in his, dragging you a through a crowd of people. in the middle of the dancefloor, the music was somehow louder, wrapping you in a thick bubble, where the only thing you were feeling was theo’s touch. you grabbed his hand tightly, scared to lose him between this many people. 

you feared that once you would lose him, you were caught. you were sure that this whole party was magically manipulated, as to make it harder to leave. you noticed the mission theo and you had set, slipping to the back of your mind anytime the beat hit and the chandelier above you rattled. 

theo stopped when you reached a corner across the room from the table with the drinks. a guy in a suit was busy rolling himself a cigarette. his suit looked like it was made out of couch cushions, the soft material crunching at any move he made. you noticed it was dark green, but so dark that it almost looked black. 

his hair was slightly curled, dark brown and messily decorated his head. he looked up at the sound of your approaching footsteps. 

“enzo?” theo asked. 

you only recognized the boy now. he looked a lot more comfortable and relaxed when he was hiding behind a mask. 

it seemed that your company only confused enzo or you were sure he had recognized his friend sooner. “theo?” he finally asked, after he had searched the masked face in front of him. “and?”

“y/n” you quickly answered, smiling at his expression, when he sighed in relief. 

“what are you doing here?” even though it was not far to assume, enzo sounded nothing but nice as he send you a smile, surprised at your unexpected presence at this party. 

“theo brought me along” you said simply, not feeling in the mood to explain the real reason why you had come, so you put it simpler: “we wanted to ask you something, about the artifact” 

“oh” enzo pushed the finished cigarette into the pocket of his trousers. “the artifact?” he questioned, his voice losing a bit of it’s confidence. 

“do you know anything about it?” theo asked

“well, it’s not been dealt like a secret, not as much as it should've been at least” he shrugged, before he looked around, checking for any unwanted listeners. “blaise, he’s in the room behind this door” he nodded at the wall behind you, “he knows more about it”

“thank you” you smiled honestly, trying to calm the worry on his face. 

“but please don’t get careless” enzo pleaded. “i heard it’s pretty dangerous and i’ve kept out of it for the most part. but a few people were absolutely obsessed with it. too obsessed to still care about anything else”

“we know it can be dangerous” theo muttered, not impressed by the warning. 

“you don’t understand, theo” enzo shook his head, more urgency in his tone now. “it’s soul shattering. you lose a part of yourself with it. it makes you become something you wouldn’t have imagined in your worst nightmare. it could even get you to hurt a person you loved” his eyes wandered between theo and you. “love. it’s like a trigger”

“we’ll be careful, i promise” you put a hand on enzo’s shoulder, assuring your promise. 

theo and you excused yourselves, walking in the direction of the door. enzo watched after you, taking out th cigarette from his pocket. “they should’ve never brought it here” he muttered, but you were too far away to still hear him. 

the door enzo had guided you to was surprisingly easy to open. you had thought the room behind it was special, granting it a higher security than the party itself. 

the opposite was the case. the room was full of smoke, to the brim. theo and you inhaled a large amount when it wandered in your direction. 

“woah” a voice called and with a move of a wand, most of the smoke was gone. blaise zabini was laying on a red velvet couch, a blunt in his hand and surrounded by various people. he was bare chested and only still wearing the trousers of his suit. his shoes and socks were gone too. 

there was a thin layer of sweat on his dark skin and his eyes and lips were redder than normal. 

“theodore nott” he recognized immediately. “where have you been all this time?”

it slowly became clear that theo really was an outsider in his friendgroup, considering all of them seemed to be regular members of those secret parties. 

“and accompanied by y/n potter, if my eyes don’t trick me?” blaise now asked, sitting up and waving you both inside. “get lost” he told the others. the room quickly cleared out and theo closed the door, ensuring that your conversation was kept private. 

“does this even lead to something?” you asked, pointing a hand in blaise’s direction. “i mean he’s higher than a kite”

"and yet sharp as a blade" theo replied with a smirk, glancing back at blaise "don’t let his state fool you”

blaise rolled his eyes, leaning back casually “higher than a kite, maybe, but i’m still seeing straight enough to know when i've got a legend in my midst. hey ace!”

“ace?” you repeated confused. 

“you don’t get to be the reason for blaise zabini making it through divination class without earning yourself a praising nickname” theo shrugged. “he’s been calling you that ever since”

“you copied my answers?” you asked, a bit of surprise stinging in your voice. 

“pretty obvious question, huh?” blaise shrugged. he made a motion for both theo and you to sit down on the couch next to him. “so tell me, what can old blaise do for someone like ace potter, hm?”

“this is weird” you muttered, but followed his request, before theo and you explained what you were searching for and why. 

while you were talking, blaise nodded along, expertly rolling another blunt, before he lit it up, unintentionally breathing the smoke in your direction. 

your nose was fillled with the smell of weed and there was no escape in the small room. 

“i’m sorry” blaise said when theo asked him to put out the blunt. “i need this or i won’t be able to think straight”

“okay” you nodded, putting a calming hand on theo’s knee, who you felt was ready to discuss the matter. “then let’s not waste any time. what can you tell us about the artifact?”

“it didn’t work” blaise shrugged, “it was useless basically. just a dust catcher if you ask me” 

“we heard different things from enzo” 

“well, i’m sure it’s pretty dangerous once you find out how it’s activated” blaise muttered. “but we didn’t. no one could use it, it was impossible to crack. nothing we tried worked”

“what did you do with it?” 

“nothing”

“what do you mean ‘nothing’?” you almost laughed, his answer confusing you. 

“we kept it in the hope that we would find out what we could use it for. it’s in the cushion behind you.” 

theo quickly sat up straight, not wanting to disturb or destroy the artifact by leaning against it. 

“professor burbage suspected that i had stolen it. she confronted me before she died. but it was weird, really” blaise’s mind wandered off, as he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air unfinished. 

“what? why?”

“well, for starters: she didn’t even want to have it back” blaise shrugged. “she was acting strange altogether. she made me promise to be careful, but i think she wanted me to keep it and try to use it further” 

“why would a teacher want a student to keep a dangerous dark magical object? that doesn’t make any sense if you ask me” theo mumbled.

“well it doesn’t, unless she—“ you paused, thinking for a second before you finally finished the sentence. “unless she didn’t know how to use it herself”

“you could be right” theo nodded, his eyes widened. “we never found out how burbage got it into her hands in the first place. maybe you weren’t the first person to steal it, blaise”

“just for the protocol; i was not the only one involved in the um, disappearance of the artifact” 

“no one here is writing a protocol, blaise” you assured with a tap to his arm. 

“you never know who listens” blaise mumbled, the paranoia of the weed clearly setting in. 

“has someone shown any particular interest in the object or tried to take it?”

blaise shook his head. “no, not that i noticed”

“great” you smiled. “please be sure to hide it better, we don’t want anyone getting stupid ideas and going to dumbledore could lead to you leaving the school, so just keep it on the down low, yeah?”

“don’t worry, ace” blaise nodded with such a confidence you almost had to laugh. “it’s like fort knox in here.”

“sure, okay” theo nodded, standing up, but wobbling a bit. 

“are you alright?” you questioned, copying his movement, but finding yourself to be unable to stand straight. 

“it’s the weed, i think” theo mumbled and you nodded. “maybe it’s just a short effect”

the effect was anything but short. as soon as theo and you walked, or more wobbled back onto the dancefloor, it seemed to only highten the feelings you were experiencing. 

everything he said was so so funny. the music was like a drug, you couldn’t walk away from and theo’s two heads were definitely a sight to see. 

“what was the plan?” you screamed into theo’s ear. the loudness of the music made you feel like it was coming from right next to you. 

“what?” theo called back, before he finally understood your words. “what plan?”

“uh- i forgot” you answered before you broke into a loud giggle. 

“let’s dance” theo encouraged, taking your hand in his and bringing your bodies closer together.

you recognized the song that was playing as ‘meddle about’ and theo smiled, because he recognized it too. 

the dancefloor was quickly filled with even more people that had the sudden need to dance to the intoxicating music. the chandelier glistened in an intense green and if you weren’t mistaken, it flashed a lighter tone with each beat. someone had hexed it to fit the music playing perfectly.

theo and you moved effortlessly. it felt like you had no real control over your body, as you lost yourself in a haze of sweaty and hot bodies. the light made the scenery feel ethereal. 

theo’s chest was warm as your hands pressed against him. he held you close by your waste, the fabric of your dress not able to lighten the heat of his touch. 

he smirked down at you, when you threw your head back, your hair falling out of the clip you had secured it with. theo caught it effortlessly, clasping it around his belt. 

his hand didn’t go back to it’s original position on your waste, but wandered to your neck, lifting your head up, so that your eyes met his. his face looked heavenly in the green light illuminating it. his skin looked like porcellain and the usual blue of his eyes was a mirror to everything playing out before you, you even noticed your own face in them. 

“that’s me—“ you pointed to his left eye as theo brought you close in the same second, connecting your mouths and interrupting the rest of your sentence. 

his lips were soft and just as hot as the bodies surrounding you. he tasted of nicotine and —if you weren’t mistaken—, a hint of blaise’s weed you both had inhaled, but maybe that was only due to your own state of intoxication. 

theo’s hands wandered through your hair, tilting your head to bring you even closer to him. you found help in his tie, your hand clasping around it like a lifeline as your knees got weak at the way he was kissing you. 

you felt yourself fall deeper and deeper into the haze as theo’s lips intoxicated your body even further, but you were interrupted by a loud snapping sound. 

you broke the kiss. “what was that?” you muttered against his mouth. it looked like no one around you had heard what you had, maybe they were even further gone than you. 

“i don’t care” theo mumbled, pushing his mouth to yours again.

“no” you said when he began kissing you neck. there was the sound again. “theo, we have to stop”

“no, why—“

“we’re falling for it” you said, holding his face in your hands. you quickly noticed the redness in his eyes. “it’s not real, theo, we have to wake up” 

theo ignored what you were saying and tried to kiss you again, but you quickly swerved to the side. that seemed to have been enough for him to fall out of his own trance. “what—where?” 

“yeah, i know, we—“ the snapping sound repeated for a third time. now louder, more urgent. you searched the room for a hint where it was coming from, when your eyes finally wandered to the ceiling above you. 

your eyes widened. three of the five strings that were holding the chandelier had snapped. it was hanging dangerously to the side, only waiting for the other two strings to break. 

“the chandelier” you said and theo understood immediately, helping you to push the people away. 

you had reacted at the right time. just a second after you had pushed the last guy away, the fourth and fifth string snapped at the same time, sending the chandelier flying down. 

theo and you, having been the last people in the middle, dashed to the side. he pressed you body to his chest, as you watched the chandelier fall apart right in front of your feet. 

a few seconds went by without anything happening. 

1, 2, 3. when finally loud screaming broke out and everyone fell into a similar panic. the people began running to every side, while theo and you stood in the middle of the room, watching the chaos around you unfold. 

people were screaming all sorts of things. from ‘oh my god, so close!’ to ‘someone just tried murdering me’

you continued standing still, quickly realizing that it was to no use to throw yourself into the panicking crowd. bodies hit you as they ran through the room without care and theo and you could only wait and hold each other until the panic had calmed down. 

a body collided with yours, almost pulling your hand along as they ran around you. theo caught you, pulling you back. you watched after the figure in confusion.

“what is it?” theo muttered, noticing the room had calmed down as the guests were pouring out of it. he walked you both to the wall, away from the leaving crowd. 

you held up your hand between his and your body, revealing the content inside. it was a crumpled up piece of paper the unfamiliar person had given you admist the chaos. 

theo furrowed his brows, taking the paper from you and folding it open, reading the words written inside of it: “humpty dumpty sat on a wall, humpty dumpty had a great fall. all the king’s horses and all the king’s men”

you looked at him, waiting for him to finish. nothing happened. “couldn’t put humpty together again?” 

“yeah” theo nodded, “but it doesn’t say that” he held the paper in your direction, showing you how the rhyme ended in the middle of the last verse. 

“what does that even mean?” 

“i have no idea” theo pushed the paper into the pocket of his trousers, “but i say we get out of here. we cannot be sure the noise hasn’t triggered a teachers attention”

“yeah” you nodded. you looked behind you at the door that was hiding both blaise and probably the most dangerous artifact in the whole castle, debating if you should warn him. the door flew open, revealing blaise leaning in the doorway. 

he waved at you, clearly less intoxicated, and watched as theo walked you out of the room. 

“despite how the night ended it was pretty successful, right?” 

“you think so?” theo asked surprised. “i wouldn’t say we found out a lot” 

“well, i’m pretty sure that we can rule out the artifact as a motive. i mean she didn’t even want it back, it would’ve been easy enough to steal it from the professor, but blaise is basically no threat if the killer was really trying to get to the artifact”

“yeah, you’re right” theo nodded. “if the artifact was the motive, there would've been no murder, so it’s basically a false lead”

“maybe an intentional false lead” you thought aloud. “remember who first mentioned it?”

“mattheo” theo muttered, realizing it had been his friend who had first brought up the existence of a dangerous dark magical artifact. 

“but mattheo isn’t the killer” you quickly assured. 

“how can you be so sure?” he challenged, skepticism dancing in his eyes.

“well, first of all: it’s mattheo we’re talking about” you replied, shaking your head. “he isn’t stupid, and he doesn’t even have a motive. why would he risk an unnecessary murder when he gets absolutely nothing from it? no, the killer had a reason. a good reason.”

“something that warrants a murder?”

“no” you shook your head. “something that requires a murder”

“a point of no return?”

“exactly” you nodded. 

the both of you were walking down the corridor to the gryffindor common room, theo not leaving you alone until he was sure you were safe. you had made a stop at the room of requirement, switching back into your normal clothes, as to not reveal where you had been the whole evening.

“i know it’s not really the right time, but i just wanted to tell you that i had a great time, apart from all the drug intoxication and us nearly being killed by the chandelier, thanks for saving me by the way”

you smiled at him, stopping in the middle of the hallway as you looked at each other. “i couldn’t have imagined better company than you, theo nott”

“don’t flatter me, sparrow. you’re the most—“

the portrait to the common room flew open, revealing an angry harry potter. he was red in the face as he walked in your direction with an urgency you had never seen before. 

hermione almost fell as she tumbled out of the portrait behind him. she looked even worse. the buttons on her cardigan were only halfway done, missing out one completely as it hung to the side. her face was as red as harry’s but not from anger. the reason for it were the tears on her face, sobs shaking her whole body as she tried reaching for harry’s arm. 

“i couldn’t stop him” she sobbed, trying her best to hold him back from theo and you. “i’m sorry” 

“what?” you muttered confused “what happened?”

theo was less relaxed than you, quickly interpreting the scene, knowing clearly well hermione would’ve never revealed your secret. “what did you do to her potter?” he stepped in front of you protectively, softly pushing hermione behind him at the same time. 

“what have i done to her?” harry huffed unbelieving. “what have you done to my sister?” 

“harry, please i can—“

“no, you can’t” harry shook his head. “i have been worried sick. there’s been a murder and you’re nowhere to be found, running around with him. he is part of the people we once stayed clear of, remember?”

“harry, please don’t—i mean burbage, she—“ 

harry shook his head and you had to look around theo’s body to make out his expression, the surprise in his eyes making your eyes widen, while hermione was hanging on your arm like it was a lifeline. 

“i’m not talking about burbage”

“what?” you muttered in shock, stepping around theo to fully look at your brother, hermione right by your side. “where is ron?”

you could feel hermione shake her head. 

“it’s not ron” harry declared and your breath calmed down for just a second, before he added “it’s neville.”

hermione sobbed again. tears shimmered in your eyes, while you grabbed theo’s arm as not fall to the ground. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, the air being sucked from your lungs completely. 

“longbottom?” theo almost whispered. even he was shocked at the revelation. none of you could even think about what would qualify neville as a murder victim. he was never involved in anything remotely bad. he always stayed clear of danger or forbidden stuff. how could someone even so much as think about—

“hermione found him in the library” harry’s voice was a lot calmer now, realizing your obvious shock to the situation and deciding there was no use in screaming at you now. you outstretched your arm, pulling hermione close. she hid her face in your shoulder, as both of you cried together. “this was in his hand. she thought you might want to see it, so she made a copy” he held a little piece of paper in theo’s direction, who quickly took it. 

“how?” you whispered, while theo was staring at the writing. 

“stabbed” harry’s voice broke, as he looked to the ground. he cleared his throat, taking hermione from your arms and walking her back to the portrait. “please come inside now” he demanded, but his voice was only so much as a whisper, defeat swinging along in his tone. 

you nodded quickly, ready to follow behind them, when theo held you back. “wait”

and with that he held the paper in your direction, the one neville had held in his hand when he died. you looked at him, silently asking if that was really important now, when he nodded down at it. 

your eyes fell on theo’s hand, the veins popping out through the hard grasp he had on the paper. his hand was shaking, nerves playing out as he recited the earlier message you had received in the ballroom: “humpty dumpty sat on a wall, humpty dumpty had a great fall. all the king’s horses and all the king’s men..”

your gaze froze on the words, reading what was written on neville’s paper.

“..couldn’t put humpty together again”

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ps: there will be one more chapter, but surprise: there will be a seventh one: an epilogue!!

[hereticpriest]

Muse

Fandom: Rush

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Niki Lauda x reader

Warnings: Some time period typical misogyny, heavy flirting, rough sex, semi-public handjob, road head, semi-public blowjob, oral (m and f receiving), deep-throating, face-fucking, vaginal fingering, soft femdom, soft bondage, switch Niki, switch reader, cum-eating, cum as lube, use of protection (condoms, birth control pills), lack of protection, pull-out method, possessive Niki, enthusiastic consent, consensual somnophilia, consensual free use, woman on top, mating press, breeding kink resulting in pregnancy.

Only a favour could ever get you onto one of these hellspawn racetracks. Only Tony fucking Olsworth, your oldest friend in the world, your biggest mentor, and the man who first helped you sell your photographs to some of the most prestigious newspapers across the world could get you to the Argentina Grand Prix. He was the first person to ever see you for who you were and what you could do, and believe in the success of both. Talent recognizes talent, afterall. Tony saw you, saw how good your eye was, and helped you get to where you were today. So, of course, when he broke his arm and bruised a couple of ribs in an accident and couldn’t fulfil a contract for photographs of the first Formula One race of the 1975 season, he knew exactly who to call. The only person in the world he would trust to take over for him, despite never having done any photography for driving.

You were fresh off of taking some award-winning photos for the MLB World Series in October, followed by a month of chasing insane assholes around the world while they did nonsense like free-climbing and hang gliding. Despite not being your usual niche, National Geographic paid quite a bit for the photographs along with your colleague Miguel Amalia’s multi-page spread article. You’d been hoping for a bit of a break before the start of the new year - plenty of sports took place in the early half of the year, and you had plans to be at the best of the best. You were going to go to the spa, pamper yourself, maybe even go to a few galleries.

Until Tony.

“Look at you, doll! You look wonderful. Not at all like you’ve been scrambling up mountains god knows where and camping in the wilderness. And look at you now, in beautiful Argentina, at the start of the season of the best sport in the world!” The older man cheers at the sight of you, champagne in one hand, the other in a cast from wrist to shoulder. You don’t know how he could possibly be so happy considering his broken arm and bruised ribs, but Tony’s always been a strange one. Despite not having to be here, and having you as his official replacement, he still showed up, his white-blond hair perfectly coiffed back to show off a round, cheerful face. The crows feet around his hazel eyes wrinkle further as he offers you a pearly-white, toothy smile, and you can’t help but smile at his jolly face. He’s here both to show you around, and because he hadn’t missed a Formula One race in years. He was a fan as well as a photographer.

“You’re delusional, Tony, honey, you must be getting sunstroke. There are far more entertaining sports out there where two people don’t die per season.” You retort, walking with him as he leads you through the facility and explains the different teams to you. He’s dressed for the warm weather in a salmon shirt and khaki shorts, the material breezy and loose for good air flow. You’re only half listening if you’re being perfectly honest, distracted by the sights of drivers and mechanics scurrying around cars. If nothing else, the colours will pop well in photographs.

“I want you to see the qualifying races so you can understand some of this a little better, and get the timing down. It’s a good time to get to know the drivers as well. Brabham are the ones to watch this year, you just wait and see.” Tony explains, and you hum noncommittally, “Carlos Reutemann and Carlos Pace. Argentina and Brazil respectively. This is Reutemann’s home Grand Prix.”

You nod along with Tony, looking at the drivers he points out, until he gets called away by a reporter he knows for a quick chat. He tries to bring you along, but you excuse yourself from the conversation, wandering instead. One thing you can say for Formula One in comparison to other sports is that the drivers are very different from other athletes. It’s nice to see some variation for once, though you notice throughout the drivers themselves a somewhat similar aesthetic cropping up. From a distance, you notice a dark blond, delightfully curly-haired man in a red racing suit with rather striking features. Eyes a piercing blue, a fairly obvious overbite that pushes his upper lip out in an endearing manner and makes his chin look somewhat weak in comparison, and gorgeous facial structure. Statuesque, almost, like he should’ve been sculpted from marble. He’s thin, and not particularly tall as is typical of drivers, but he looks almost soft in a way that appeals to you.

Not stereotypically pretty, certainly, but interesting. And isn’t that what you crave most of all? Some small spark in this drab, grey world of people who all seem to always try and look exactly alike? Isn’t that why you refused to go into advertising photography despite the good pay and the many offers you received? So many people nip and tuck away their unique features that would make them interesting. Crooked teeth or gaps, freckles and moles, big or crooked noses, strong brows, weak chins, sallow cheeks, belly fat or loose skin. All of it is so much more compelling than symmetry or median appearances. You loathe being bored, and frankly, you find a certain boringness in attractiveness. That’s why you let your passion (and fear, frankly) drag you up the sides of mountains, to countless countries all across the world, even in the worst weather imaginable. That’s why despite disliking extreme sports, you still accept contracts to photograph them, accepting the risk to both the athletes and yourself. You’re only human, and a selfish one at that.

Your camera is in your hands before you even notice what you’re doing, and you steady yourself carefully, adjusting your settings to account for the bright day and distance. The man, whoever he is, pushes his hair out of his eyes as he examines his car, and you grin as you get a rather lovely shot of him laughing at something a nearby mechanic says to him. He turns slightly and you notice his suit is undone to the waist, exposing his lovely tummy and a delicious amount of body hair that you can’t help but snap a photo of. You’re completely in the zone, oblivious to the world around you when Tony steps up beside you.

“Ahh, I see you’ve met our King Rat.” Your mentor hums pleasantly, and you blink, lowering the camera so you can peer at him in stunned confusion.

“The who?” You ask, figuring you’ve misheard him. Tony raises his eyebrows at you like he thinks you might be a bit daft, then gestures with his champagne glass widely towards the man you’ve instinctively locked in on.

“Niki Lauda, darling. He’s a driver for Ferrari, with Clay Regazzoni as his teammate. The dark-haired chap with the ‘stache. They call Lauda the Austrian Rat.” Tony explains, then gestures towards his mouth with a grimace, “You know, his unfortunate… well, overbite situation.”

Your head tilts, and you stare blankly at your oldest friend for several moments before looking around you at the rest of the people at the Grand Prix. Press, drivers, officials, mechanics and countless other people involved in making Formula One run smoothly. Countless people who must be intelligent to be able to keep this all running with minimal hiccups.

“All of them? Call him this?” You clarify, and Tony must register your shock for he clears his throat a little and looks mildly ashamed of himself.

“Well, yes, it’s not a very kind nickname but it is extremely common… unfortunately, of course. Poor chap probably doesn’t deserve it, even if he is known to be a bit of an asshole.”

You look around again, then lift your camera to peer at who you now know to be Niki Lauda, finding him frowning at a man in a similarly vibrant red racing suit to his. Clay Regazzoni, then, you put together the obvious context clues - the man certainly has a well-groomed moustache. Even with an unimpressed look on his face, Lauda is still striking, and you snap another photo of him leaning into the seat of the car to examine something before looking at Tony again.

“Is everyone in this horrid sport brainless? I’ve met more intelligent boxers, and they get punched in the face for a living.” You muse, and Tony laughs into his champagne, spluttering as he chokes on it.

“I think the point is for them to not get punched in the head, my dear.” He corrects you, and you roll your eyes. As you go back to your camera, Tony observes you, finishing off his glass, “Are you intending on taking photos of anyone other than the rat today?”

You scoff, taking a picture of the two Ferrari drivers together talking over their cars, gesturing somewhat animatedly, “Certainly, the moment one of them does anything even remotely interesting.”

Tony peers around the garages as if looking for something to contradict your blatant disinterest with, then follows your gaze.

“So, Niki Lauda standing still, talking to his teammate while gazing wistfully at his car is more interesting than any of the other drivers who might be doing the same thing?” Tony asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to make a point, but you’re not really interested in hearing him out when you know what he’s going to say.

“He’s actually compelling to look at, so yes.” You retort, and Tony exhales a laugh, fondness and amusement mixing with his annoyance to soften it nearly entirely.

“Alright, darling, take some photos of the other teams so you have at least something to sell that isn’t a photo of Lauda. Take some pictures of the Brabham team, maybe that handsome young Hunt chap that everyone is so riled up about, and then you can go back to stalking the Ferrari garage. At least you’ve found something to keep your interest in the races - I was a little nervous I might have to bribe you into paying attention.”

It’s good advice, and you know you’re meant to be taking photos for Tony, but it takes genuine effort to rip your gaze away from the Austrian driver. Tony leads you towards the Brabham area, and you obediently take several good photos of both Pace and Reutemann. Tony even takes the time to introduce you to them, and you pretend to listen while they discuss Tony’s injury. They’re nice enough, though you can blatantly tell that they’re only indulging you because you’re a woman.

This is a trend that repeats several times. Tony leads you from garage to garage, and most of the drivers are either nice enough to pose for photos, let you take candids, or tell you to stay out of their way. You’re not offended by the brusqueness. They’re preparing for a Grand Prix qualifier. Tony might not mind bothering the drivers while they’re obviously busy, but he has a relationship with most of these men. He’s known them for years.

As you meander your way through, Tony tells you which drivers will likely hit on you, preparing you so you’re not shocked. He even indicates a couple he doesn’t recommend being alone with for any length of time, though he tells you that’s for your comfort and not because he truly believes you’d be in any real danger. You’re pleased to find neither Ferrari driver on either of those lists.The Hesketh garage is abuzz as you approach it, and you raise an eyebrow sceptically at Tony, who leans in to your ear.

“James Hunt is the driver they’re all interested in. He has a lively fanbase, with a high female audience. Handsome, charming… Tall, even, for Formula One.” Tony muses, and you spot the blond in question. He’s stereotypically handsome, certainly. Blue eyes, long blond shaggy hair that looks well-maintained and soft, and enough muscle that he probably looks a little funny getting into one of those tiny Formula One cars paired with his height. His smile is wide and suave revealing nice, white teeth. Tony hasn’t met Hunt yet, but he leads you through the crowd and introduces you to a couple of mechanics he knows. Eventually, James catches your eye, and his smile reaches his eyes as he marches over. He greets Tony in a friendly way, clearly knowing him by reputation even if they haven’t met, a hand clapped gently on his cast. He expresses seemingly sincere regrets that Tony won’t be able to take photos of the race, but Tony reminds him that that simply means he gets to relax and enjoy it while you do all the work, directing the blond’s attention towards you.

“And who might this be?” Hunt asks, holding out his hand for you. When you take it to give him a handshake, he rotates it to kiss the back of your hand, and you snort.

“This work for you often, Mr. Hunt?” You ask, gently pulling your hand free and introducing yourself. He doesn’t seem put off by your dismissal of his attentions. If anything, he takes it in stride, immediately taking the clear no and getting back to business. He’s an agreeable man, letting you take all the photos you want, though you notice he struggles with letting you take candids. His awareness of the camera is almost preternatural, and you have to be particularly careful about staying out of his eyeline to get anything you’re particularly happy with. It’s a common issue - if people know you’re taking photos, they want to look their best. You don’t blame him.

Finally, Tony leads you back towards the Ferrari garage, and you sigh with relief that you won’t be wasting your entire roll of film. He keeps walking, though, closer and closer until you’re just outside of the barriers. You freeze up, snapping at Tony that you don’t want to meet this team, but he grins widely at you, his hand like a vice around your wrist.

“Come along, darling, don’t be impolite.” He teases, and you barely refrain from hissing at him like a child.

“Clay, my friend! I’ve come to wish you good luck, and introduce you to my colleague.” Tony says loudly as he approaches, and you barely wiggle your hand free before the moustached driver walks over with a friendly smile. He hugs Tony, slapping him on the back gently, then holding his cast.

“What is this? I was hoping the news about your accident was wrong.”

“I know, I know, a tragedy. I won’t be able to make you look good for once. Luckily, I brought along a dear friend who will hopefully do you justice.” Tony gestures to you, and you hold out your hand to Clay as you introduce yourself. He doesn’t try to kiss your knuckles, though you see the instinct flash in his eyes before he thinks better of it. You like him more just for that.

“A pleasure to meet you. I look best from the left, remember that.” Clay teases, and you can’t help but laugh. He’s pretty charming, in a different way than Hunt was, “Have you met Niki yet? Niki! Come socialise, it’s good for you.”

You stiffen at Tony’s side. You always hate meeting your muses for the first time, hesitant to have their allure ruined the minute they open their mouth. The Austrian driver steps out of the garage, a bottle of water in hand which he drinks from as he approaches. He looks as hesitant to meet you as you are to meet him. A certain shyness takes him over, and you examine him curiously, since he didn’t seem to have any issues with his teammate or mechanics earlier. Tony reaches out to greet Niki and introduces himself, then claps you on the back and pushes you forwards.

“My friend here will be subbing in for me, taking pictures of the race so that I don’t get a slap on the wrist. This is her first Formula One race, but she’s an accomplished sports photographer, so I think she’ll manage just fine.” Tony gives your shoulder a little shake, and you hold out your hand to Niki, who seems to hesitate for a moment before he takes your hand to brush his lips across your knuckles with the tiniest hint of a bow. Your cheeks are on fire, and you hope it isn’t obvious - you are a grown adult woman and you are not going to get flustered over a driver. And if you do, you’re going to hide it as best as you can. You freeze in place, not pulling your hand away until he drops it, and you squeeze your thighs together in a way you hope isn’t too obvious.

“A pleasure.” Niki says, and his accent is thick like molasses, sending a shiver up your spine. You smile at him, introducing yourself and trying not to wilt under Clay’s intense, almost knowing scrutiny. This is why you hate meeting your muses - you always feel so self-conscious, as if every act is under scrutiny. It doesn’t help that you’re actually attracted to this muse. Normally, it’s a platonic appreciation for someone’s form or the way they move, but Niki Lauda was a case of his own and you had to admit it, at least to yourself.

You wonder briefly if he has a girlfriend, and if he’s one of those athletes that tends to plough their way through their fans. You don’t notice a ring, but you know that that doesn’t mean anything in sports - rings interfere in many sports, and plenty of athletes don’t wear them even if they’re happily engaged in a committed monogamous marriage. You’d ask Tony, but you’re sure he’d make you regret it. 

“Not to worry, Niki, she won’t be hounding you for candids. I think she’s already got nearly a whole film roll of them by now.” Tony muses, and your eyes go wide as saucers while Niki simply looks confused.

“Tony.” You say warningly, but he ignores you.

“Perhaps she’ll spare a bit of her film for the other drivers.” He teases you, nudging your arm, and you grab Tony by his ear, earning a yelp from him.

“Excuse me, please.” You mutter to Clay and Niki, dragging Tony only a few feet away before giving him a gentle smack to his good arm.

“You’re going to make him think you’re making fun of him, not making fun of me, Tony. It’s rude. I can take a good ribbing, but you will NOT make other people uncomfortable to embarrass me, are we clear? Or I will walk off this track and you can find someone else to take these race photos for you. Am I understood?” You scold him, finger jabbing into his chest, and he looks suitably apologetic.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Tony admits, and you jab him one more time.

“Of course you didn’t. Tease me all you like, but don’t involve other people in it. All you lot call him a rat - he doesn’t know that I think you’re all a bunch of idiots. He probably thinks I was making fun of him as well.” You put your hands on your hips, huffing at Tony while he apologises. You walk back over to the barrier, offering Niki what you hope is a sincere and reassuring smile.

“You’ll do well in your race. I won’t say good luck, since you don’t need it.” You inform him, then grin cheekily and wink at Clay.

“Good luck.” You tease as you wave at them and start to walk away, “Bye boys. Enjoy your race thing.”

~

Tony apologises to Niki once you’re out of earshot, and Clay grins widely at his teammate, nudging him a couple of times, seemingly thrilled with this new development. 

“You’ve got an admirer.” Clay informs him, and Niki scoffs, watching you walk away. He observes in silence as you crouch, snapping a couple of photos of another driver before he finally tears his gaze away. Clay claps him on the back and turns to Tony.

“So, she was taking pictures of Niki?” Clay presses, and Tony glances at you as if to make sure you’re far enough away before he agrees.

“She likes people with interesting features. She finds a lot of people… well, boring, I suppose. She told me once that I’d look boring too if my cheeks weren’t so round.” Tony admits, and Clay snorts, “when we got here, she took notice of Mr. Lauda over here. I’ll admit, she doesn’t usually like meeting people she finds interesting like that, so I brought her over here to tease her a little.”

Niki looks away from Tony, watching you as you walk towards the press area, pausing briefly to snap a couple of photos of seemingly random things. He’s soon knocked out of his thoughts by Clay bumping him on the arm as Tony departs, and he says a quick goodbye before heading into the garage to get his head in the game.

~

The walk back towards the press ring is long, and you stop several times to take photos along the way, several of which you think might just earn you a pretty penny. You crouch to take a photo of a neighbouring driver from below, highlighting him against the sun in a way that you think could be beautiful. Thank god you wore bell bottoms today instead of a skirt - you’d never be able to get these kinds of shots without flashing someone.

Tony rejoins you soon enough, a little subdued, though he snaps out of it when you tell him you’re actually kind of enjoying yourself. He promises that by the end of the first Grand Prix, you’ll be hooked, and begging him to take you along for the rest of the season. You remind him that you have a strict ‘no begging’ policy, and that you’d just get your own contract if you really wanted to stick around. Tony isn’t bothered, of course, just thrilled to have you interested in his favourite sport. He gives you earplugs, and you both watch the qualifiers, with Tony pointing out tips and tricks for getting good photos. He doesn’t even tease you when it becomes clear that your best ones are of Lauda, though you know it isn’t the last you’ve heard on that matter.

With the qualifiers finished and pole position set, you depart from the track with Tony and head for the dark room you’ve rented space in near your hotel. You spend a good few hours there, but by the end of it, you’ve got several pieces you just know are going to make you a hell of a lot of money, aside from just what you’re getting from Tony. You secure your film and developed photographs, and spend the rest of your evening on the phone with a couple of your contacts, selling your photographs and earning yourself a paid trip around the world following the Formula One races.

You send off several photos to a couple of publications via express mail early the next morning on your way to the track, though your spirits are dampened by the fact that Tony left a message at the front desk for you - he’s sick, and he won’t be able to come to the race today. You have no goddamn clue how you’ll find your way around despite being there just yesterday, but you suck it up, putting on a rather lovely cream button-up shirt dress with a belted waist, suitable heels that you can walk in, and over-sized sunglasses.

You’re early to the track simply because you had to leave so early to get your mail out, and plenty of the drivers aren’t there yet. You slip out of the taxi and, admittedly, meander around for a little while trying to refamiliarize yourself. The track is busier today, even this early, and you find yourself just a little lost without Tony there to guide you. Maybe you should’ve paid more attention when he was showing you around yesterday, but how were you supposed to know he was going to get sick? The man HATED missing even a single race.

“Hey!”

You nearly jump out of your skin as a loud, familiar voice calls out to you, accent thick and instantly recognizable. You freeze like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar despite knowing full well that you’re allowed to be here, and you swear you hear the faintest chuckle from the Austrian driver. And they called him ‘cold and serious’ in the articles you read about his unique start in Formula One last season. 

“Hello Niki.” You hum as you turn to face him, pushing your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. He’s dressed in a short sleeve button-up shirt the same colour as his eyes, and jeans that you struggle to hide your appreciation for. It’s a simple outfit, but something about seeing him out of his racing suit is attractive. His pretty dark blond hair is pushed back out of his face, curls thankfully not brushed out, and he looks hesitant to be approaching you. You almost wish you kept the sunglasses on so you could eye him up without it being so obvious.

“You’re lost.” He accuses, and you laugh, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes. You’ve been walking around aimlessly.” Niki retorts, and you snicker at his bluntness, stepping closer to him with a warm smile.

“Help a girl out? I wasn’t paying much attention to Tony’s tour yesterday, and I can’t remember where I’m supposed to be.” You offer the driver your best doe eyes, and it only takes him a moment of consideration before he closes the distance between you and offers you his arm. It’s a dash old-fashioned, but you let him play the gentleman, gripping his bicep in your hand and pressing into his side. He leads you towards the track at an even pace, casual and unhurried, and you admittedly find yourself appreciating his gentlemanly behaviour as you hold his elbow and his bicep presses against your breasts.

“Clay told me that you’re helping the man from yesterday. That you don’t normally take photos for Formula One.” Niki comments, and you agree quietly, “You don’t enjoy the sport.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised by his straightforwardness and unable to help the fondness bubbling in your gut. You don’t try to lie to him to save face. You wish more people would just say what they meant.

“No, I don’t. You risk your lives for very little reward. Frankly, I think it’s unnecessary, and I prefer sports where I don’t have to be terrified that I’m going to watch someone I’ve taken pictures of die in a horrific accident.” You reply honestly, “however, I’ve been taking photos of more extreme sports lately, and while I still think it’s stupid, I have taken some very beautiful pictures. So perhaps it is not all bad.”

Niki is quiet for a moment, and a quick glance tells you he’s thinking about what you said rather than ignoring you. His arm flexes under your hand, and you give him a gentle squeeze, instinctively trying for soothing.

“There is a limit to the risk I accept. But what would life be like if we only did what was necessary?” Niki asks, and you hum thoughtfully, considering that as you walk with him. You examine his face from the side, trusting him implicitly not to lead you astray, and wish you could get your camera out and snap a photo of him from your current angle. It’s a very nice view. From this perspective, you wonder how anyone could ever call him a rat.

“Boring.” You decide, and you see a hint of a smile tug at his lips, a flash of white teeth peeking out. You grin, proud of the reaction you’ve earned yourself, and finally tune into your surroundings only to find yourself approaching the Ferrari garage, “Niki, dear, have you kidnapped me without me even realising?”

The Austrian driver cracks another smile at that, shaking his head as he leads you into the garage, not bothering to answer your teasing. Several mechanics look up at you with a hint of impressed confusion before getting back to their work, and Niki pulls out a chair for you, so you finally release his arm. You put your camera bags on the table to get them out of your way, then sit at the table with a wide smile.

“You’re early for the race. If you would rather wait out with the press and get a sunburn, go ahead.”

“Well, aren’t you thoughtful?” You coo, and he doesn’t answer you, looking hesitant once again. You dig through your bag, pulling out a stiff manila envelope filled with cardboard backing to protect its contents from bending, and hand it to the driver, “One of my favourite photos from yesterday. I hoped you might like it.”

Niki looks at the envelope but doesn’t open it, and you smile at his obvious shyness.

“I’m sure you’ve got to go get changed, right? I’ll wait right here. And I won’t snoop or anything. Your boys will keep me honest, won’t you, boys?” You ask the mechanics, one of whom laughs and mutters something under his breath that you’re sure isn’t appropriate, though it doesn’t sound malicious. You let it be, certain you’ve heard worse, and Niki looks hesitant to leave you alone but eventually begins to back away.

“I won’t be long.” He promises, and you smile pleasantly, waggling your fingers at him. Some of the mechanics keep looking at you, but you keep your pleasant expression, sitting pretty as you wait. You know that teams can be pretty tight-lipped about their secrets, so you keep to yourself to avoid the semblance of being nosy or trying to find a story. You’re not a journalist anyways, you’re a photographer. You don’t really care about their trade secrets.

“Well, well, well, look at who I’ve found.”

You turn in your seat to grin at James Hunt as he enters the Ferrari garage, nodding to the mechanics, then looking around quickly as if searching for his friend and rival.

“Hello James. Niki’s just getting changed.” You inform him, getting up to shake his hand, pleased when he doesn’t try to kiss it again.

“Ahh, he is, is he? Did he give you a ride this morning?” James asks, and you laugh as you sit back down, unable to help yourself despite the very obvious and rude implication. He’s cheeky, but he’s charming enough to get away with it. You’re not offended, anyways - you’d happily spend a night in Lauda’s bed if he invited you.

“No, James, I took a taxi from my hotel. I was far too busy in the darkroom developing my photos last night to be entertaining Mr. Lauda. Not that it’s any of your business, you nosy twat. Anyways, I’m sure you both left the track at around the same time, so you know I didn’t leave with him.” You retort, and Hunt snickers, giving you a pat on the shoulder.

“I know. I was just messing with you. I wanted to see if you’d get angry.” He admits, pulling a chair over and sitting on it backwards, his arms crossed on the back of it, “So, why’re you in the Ferrari garage?”

You grin sheepishly.

“Niki rescued me from my own lack of directional skills.” You reply, and at Hunt’s raised eyebrow, you continue, “I got lost, and he stumbled upon me and took pity.”

An understanding hum escapes Hunt, and he rubs the lower half of his face as he considers your excuse. He murmurs to himself, almost like he’s lost in thought, “Right… he did, did he?”

You raise an eyebrow at the shaggy blond, “Not common for him to help out a lady in need?”

James shakes his head immediately, waving a hand as if to swipe that thought away.

“No, no, Niki’s a good man, and a gentleman with the ladies. It’s just a little peculiar for him to bring someone into the garage with him.”

“He told me I could go wait in the press area and get sunburnt instead.” You remark, and Hunt laughs.

“So, I assume you’re cheering on the rat, then? I won’t hear your lovely voice shouting my name from the stands?” He teases playfully, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m a very professional photographer, thank you very much, sir. I will be taking photos of as many drivers as I can, and I will be very happy for anyone who wins,” You retort, and James raises an eyebrow with a wide grin, sensing there’s more to come, “however, if my camera malfunctions and they happen to look a bit drab in their photos, it certainly won’t be because they beat Niki and I’m a bit of a vindictive bitch.”

You giggle as James gives a loud, brash laugh, pleasantly surprised. You lean forwards a little in your seat, and Hunt looks away from you briefly before grinning brighter. God, he’s like the sun, it’s almost unnerving.

“So, what is it about the rat that’s got your knickers in a twist?” He asks, and you raise an eyebrow at him with a disbelieving snort.

“First, that’s wholly inappropriate talk in the presence of a lady, so go fuck yourself, darling. Second, why is everyone so goddamned surprised? He’s handsome, whether you blind idiots can see it or not. Far less boring to look at than you lot.” You retort, and James touches his heart and gives a pouty hiss as if wounded, “His facial structure is lovely - high, strong cheekbones, a well-defined jawline, wonderful little nose, and yes, an overbite. I find it quite endearing, frankly. He has nice lips, and his eyes are beautiful. I like his curls. And his arm felt sturdy and supportive under mine when he guided me here.”

James listens, a hint of softness in his eyes as you go on about his close friend and rival, though his ulterior motive is exposed when Niki steps fully into the room and sets a bottle of water on the table beside you. You nearly jump out of your skin, and your brows pull together as you connect the dots, then turn a scowl on James. He puts his hands up, then smiles at Niki.

“I just came to check in. Looks like you’re doing fine. I’ll see you on the track.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the man who most certainly just overheard you complimenting him quite liberally. Normally, you like to think you’ve got quite a strong backbone. You don’t get embarrassed easily. You’re fairly self-confident, and you can stand up for yourself. 

Not today.

“I should go to the press area if I want to get a good spot.” You practically squeak, and Niki raises an eyebrow at you. He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already moving, shouldering your camera bags and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can get a word out.

“I won’t say good luck, since you don’t need it. See you later.” You shout over your shoulder as you practically dart from the garage, your cheeks on fire as you flee. You think you vaguely hear Niki shout something behind you, but you’re already too far to make it out, and you’re too embarrassed to stop or go back. You reach the press area and get set up, talking with a few of the reporters and photographers you know. Taking the cues Tony had given you, you take some pretty fantastic pictures of the race, including one of Niki during a pitstop, Hunt finishing the race in a spectacular second place, and Niki finishing in fourth. You take photos of the winners, deftly avoiding the spray of champagne, and fleeing to the parking lot to consider how you’re going to get home.

Part of you considers waiting for Niki and asking if you can get a ride back to your hotel with him, but the other part of you that’s still a little embarrassed and very unsure about how the Austrian man might react to your fawning holds you back, and you end up calling a taxi. Your plane ride home is a redeye, and you make it from the hotel to the airport just in time to make your flight. You’ve got just under two weeks until you have to go to the Brazil Grand Prix, and you know you’ll be busy, so you don’t stick around in Argentina for any of the afterparties despite being happy enough to live that kind of party life when it’s called for.

Your next two weeks are a whirlwind. You sell even more of your photographs from Formula One than you originally expected, and you reconsider your distaste for the sport even further as the money rolls in. An entire candid series of your photos gets purchased by a popular racing magazine to show the behind the scenes of the Argentina Grand Prix, and you’re proud to see your work highlighted on the glossy pages.

A friend of yours calls on your third day home in an absolute panic, as a model dropped out of his reshoots for a perfume campaign ad that has been bogged down with nothing but problems. He’s way over his original deadline, and desperate to get this done before the publishing date of the ad campaign. You’ve modelled before - you feature heavily in the portfolios of several friends you came up in the industry with - and you have no problem subbing in despite a lack of interest in consistent modelling work. Nudity doesn’t bother you either. You do life modelling at the local art school by your house several times a semester, having become good friends with the director of the school shortly after moving to the area.

Just under two weeks later, you board a flight to Brazil with a copy of the magazine in which your photo is printed in hand, and you can’t help but cringe just a little at the sight of yourself. Thankfully, you don’t advertise your modelling, so most people you know won’t ever see it. You’re draped upside-down over a chaise lounge, oiled legs over the back of the sofa and crossed elegantly, an arm around your breasts as perfume drips onto your bare chest and rolls up your neck. You’re dressed in only pearls and a pair of heels that are hanging from your feet like you might kick them off at any second. Your head is hung over the edge of the seat of the chaise, perfume dripping up the line of your throat, and the bottle features prominently beside you. The only thing that hides your cunt from view is a small strip of silk fabric draped around your hip and between your legs. It’s a beautiful photo. Minimal retouching, stunning composition, and the black and white photo looks far more elegant than it might have in colour. You’re proud enough of it, and you have a folder of some of the rejected shots as further payment for your troubles.

You arrive in Sao Paulo midday on Friday and make contact with the owner of a darkroom, then head off to your hotel. Tony rings you up no more than two hours after you arrive to coax you into getting dinner with him, and he presses about how the rest of the last Grand Prix went, bragging about how many of your photos he’s seen in the last few days. Tony promises to drive you to the track in the morning, and comments that many of the drivers are staying in the same hotel as you both are. He tries to encourage you to get a drink with him, but you insist on heading back to your hotel room to get some decent sleep.

On Saturday, you dress in a peach crochet crop top and high-waisted denim shorts that you have to admit make your ass look fantastic. You’re far from the only person to be dressed for the weather when you arrive - it’s atrociously hot, and Tony insists on bringing a parasol that you can’t help but tease him for. You opt to slather on sunscreen and bring a bottle to reapply later, along with water so you don’t dehydrate. Once again, Tony walks you through the garages as he says hello to drivers, spending extra time with some of his friends while you take countless photos and, admittedly, eye the Ferrari garage. You nearly jump out of your skin when a loud, British voice calls out to you moments before an arm is clapped around your shoulders.

“Hello darling.” Hunt croons, pecking your temple pleasantly, and you smile up at him.

“Hello James.”

“I think you’re more fond of me than you’d like to admit. I saw the photos you took of me winning second. You didn’t make me look drab at all.” The large blond teases, and you shrug.

“Ah, well, I’ll try harder next time.” You retort, and he laughs as he uses his grip on your shoulders to turn you around with him away from Tony. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, brown sandals, and a thin grey t-shirt, but you don’t imagine that will last long. It’s too hot for it. You’re surprised more of the drivers aren’t shirtless already.

“Now, I need something from you.” James insists almost gravely, and you raise an eyebrow as you peer up at him.

“That’s disconcerting. I promise you nothing.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much, love. Just an autograph.” James insists, pulling a familiar magazine out of his pocket and flipping it open to your photo. You wonder if he expects you to be ashamed, or embarrassed. He’s grinning widely, holding out a marker to you, and you take it blithely. Using your teeth to remove the cap, you sign your photo directly across your barely covered tits, then hand it back to him.

“Enjoy. Try not to make the pages stick together or it’ll lose all its value.” You hum crudely, and James laughs so loud you just know everyone must be looking at you. You snap a photo of him braying like a donkey, and he waves you away, his bright grin showing he isn’t actually upset. He flees with his prize, promising to see you later, and Tony leads you closer and closer to the Ferrari garage while you desperately try not to panic. Clay meets you outside, a friendly grin on his face as he greets you both. He compliments several of your photos, including one of him that he informs you his wife is particularly fond of. You promise to have a proper print made for her and take his information so you can mail it, promising to think about attending one of the afterparties for the Grand Prix. You laugh at the lack of subtlety as Clay pushes you to go into the garage while he chats with Tony, but you obey his silent command, finally feeling capable of looking Niki in the eye. You’re slightly less so when you spot a copy of the dreaded magazine on one of the toolboxes.

Niki looks up at you as you enter the garage, and you’re pleased to see that he looks at least somewhat happy to see you. Sure, he’s blushing a little, but you assume that’s because of the magazine and you’re frankly not upset about him getting a peek at you naked, and perhaps wanting another. You waggle your fingers at him, and he nods in return, stepping closer to you. He’s already in his racing suit, though it’s tugged down to his waist, and you take in the sight of his naked chest shamelessly.

“Nice to see you, Niki.” You greet him, putting your hands into your back pockets and offering him a wide smile.

“I did not know if you would show up to another Grand Prix.” He comments, and you shrug, taking a step closer to him.

“Turns out I like racing more than I thought I would. I ended up getting a contract for the rest of the season, so, I guess you’ll have to get used to seeing me around.”

“There are worse things.” Niki replies with a wry, playful smile, and you laugh, “The photo you gave me. It was decent.”

You can’t help but snort, bumping your fist against his bicep gently, “I’m glad you liked it. I’m sure I’ll get more good ones today. Have you put sunscreen on yet, by the way? The sun is harsh today.”

“I forgot mine at the hotel.” Niki admits, and you grab the strap of your bag, wiggling it, then setting your bags on a nearby table since they’re heavy enough that you don’t feel like lugging them around.

“I brought some. I’ll share, since you were kind enough to show me around.” You offer, and Niki nods as he steps closer to you. You pull out the bottle and offer it to him, but he doesn’t take it, and you look at him for a moment as a hint of a cheeky smile tugs at his lips. You let out a breathy laugh, pleasantly surprised, and you pop the cap to squirt some of the sunscreen into your hand then give it to Niki to hold so you can use both of your hands. Niki offers you his arm, and you take your time rubbing it into his skin until the white cast fades. You’re thorough as you make your way up first one arm, and then the other. He lets out a quiet sigh as you rub the thick cream into his chest, and you offer him a faint smile, a knowing look on your face.

You can feel the slight shift in the air. The way Niki leans into your hands, his gaze fixed on you the entire time. The way your heart has begun to pound in your chest, and you can feel Niki’s heartbeat against your palms. You wet your lips as you rub your hands over his shoulders, then carefully turn him around so you can get his back. You’re gentle but indulgent here, letting him enjoy the massage you’ve turned this into, and he lets out a quiet grunt as you work out a knot in his shoulder blade. Once he’s thoroughly protected, you turn him around again, carefully applying sunscreen to his neck and ears, then up over his chin and jaw. He watches you as you cup his face and gently rub some of the thick cream into his cheeks, sweeping over his nose, and up his temples to his forehead.

His stare is intense as you swipe your thumb across his lips, but you’re quick to return your hands to his chest. You apply a layer of sunscreen to his stomach, then examine him to be sure you’ve got him covered, and he finally lifts a hand to squeeze your waist, gentle as can be. The air shifts again, and your eyes go half-lidded, pupils blown. You swallow, throat dry from the spike of heat running through you, and you finally tear your gaze away from him to look around the garage. The door is open, and you can hear Clay and Tony chatting with the mechanics. You wet your lips, placing your hands on Niki’s chest and running your thumbs over his collarbones.

“Hey, Niki? Where do you get changed?” You ask quietly, but your meaning must be clear, since he cracks another grin that sends flutters through your stomach. He slips his arm around you, hand on your lower back as he leads you further into the garage towards the restricted back area where the drivers have their trailers. Niki opens the door for you, then follows you in, and you pull him closer to you the moment the door closes behind him. He raises an eyebrow when you lock it, seemingly surprised, and he cups your cheek tenderly.

“We don’t have time.” He reminds you, hushed, and maybe a twinge regretful. You smile up at him, guiding him to lean against the wall as your hand slips down his stomach and into his racing suit. A ragged gasp leaves his lips, and he bucks instinctively into your hand the moment it wraps around him, already more than half-hard. You give him a couple of gentle strokes through his underwear, then push his underwear down his thighs so you can free his growing erection and wrap your hand around him.

“We don’t have time for more, no. But I guarantee I can take care of you before anyone misses you too much.” You purr against his ear, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck as you begin to stroke him properly. He arches into it a little, letting out an endearing little hum of contentment that makes you smile as he braces his shoulders against the wall behind him. Niki groans as you release him briefly to spit into your hand, and his arm tightens around you, his grip sliding down from your lower back to grab a handful of your ass. He watches you as you play with him, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly open as he takes little gulps of air, tensing every time you squeeze on your upstroke as you get close to the head. You practically moan as he starts to thrust into your hand, eyes fluttering closed as he leans into it.

“That’s it, honey. Take what you want. M’here just for you.” You whisper against his ear, unable and unwilling to hide the blatant desire in your voice, “I wish we had time. I want to feel you, Niki. I’d be so good to you.”

The Austrian groans, head falling back as his thrusts speed up, fucking into your hand with just a hint of desperation. You can feel him throbbing against you, and you moan softly, dropping your other hand to roll his balls in your palm. A gentle squeeze draws a deeper groan from him, and his hips stutter as he gets closer, so you reluctantly let go of his balls and undo your shorts. He moans softly, sounding almost pained, his pretty blue eyes half-lidded and dark with desire.

“We don’t have time.” He reminds you, voice full of remorse as he squeezes your waist, and you laugh softly as you pull your shorts and underwear down just a little.

“I know, honey, I know. I’m just giving you somewhere to… leave your mark.” You purr, and he groans, pulling you closer to him. He cups your cheek instead of your ass as you stand face to face with him and pull your underwear and shorts out a little, aiming towards your cunt. He lets out a raspy moan of your name as he tips over the edge, hips stuttering as he coats your lower belly, pussy and underwear in cum. Once he’s done, you tuck him back into his racing suit and pull your underwear up to cover the sticky mess he’s made. You wiggle your shorts back up and button them, then pat his chest gently with your clean hand, licking a couple of stray drops of cum from your fingers.

“I won’t say good luck, since you don’t need it.” You murmur, and you’re gone before he can even catch his breath, hooking your arm through Tony’s, “Sorry boys, hate to interrupt, but I’ve got to take Tony here and head over to the press ring.”

Tony follows you, and Clay calls a playful sounding goodbye as he heads into the garage. You spot Hunt making his way in that direction too and snort, almost feeling bad for Niki for the ribbing he’s likely about to get. Until you remember that his cum is dripping down over your cunt, and you won’t be able to get off until the qualifiers are done. Tony asks you about your talk with Niki, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and you nudge him in the arm with a scoff. He gives you a mildly judgemental look as you duck into a bathroom to wash your hands, but he doesn’t comment, except to remind you that if ever you weren’t happy, you need only tell him and he’d fix it.

Considering Tony’s contacts worldwide, you believe him.

Together, you tuck into the press area, and Tony cheers loudly while you take photos of the drivers getting into their cars. Throughout the qualifiers, you get some fairly good photos, though you pout a little when Jarier gets pole position. With the qualifiers over, Tony pauses to speak with a couple of reporters he knows, and you linger nearby to take photos. You turn to observe the drivers scurrying around their garages, only to freeze as you spot Niki through your viewfinder. He pauses a few steps away from you, hands on his slim hips, and you smile a little at the sight of him all dishevelled from driving. His hair is a little sweaty, curls sticking to his forehead, and you have to bite back a dreamy sigh.

“It has come to my attention that you might want to go to dinner with me.” Niki comments, and you raise an eyebrow at him, biting back a smile.

“Was that a question, honey?” You ask, and Niki’s eyes darken a hint at the nickname you’d only recently whispered in his ear. Unable to help yourself, you let your gaze trail over him, head to toe and then back up, and Niki cracks a smile at your obvious desire.

“Go to dinner with me tonight?” He asks, stepping closer to you, and you shiver as his hand skims over your waist, fitting into the curve like it belongs there.

“Do I have time to go back to my hotel and change? I’m a little sweaty, and I don’t think this outfit is appropriate for dinner.”

“We’re staying at the same hotel. I will come get you when I’m done here. What is your room number?”

You give it to him without hesitation, stepping a little closer to him and watching his gaze trail over you. He leans in closer to you, lips against your ear, and you shiver with delight at the feeling as you grip the front of his racing suit to steady yourself.

“You will not wash me off of you.”

Your thighs clench, and he rubs his thumb into your side gently, almost soothingly as you lean into him a little. You suck your lower lip into your mouth, biting it gently, and Niki pulls it free with his thumb.

“It is shameful that I have not yet kissed you, with what I let you do.” Niki murmurs, and you smile as you reluctantly step away from him, fairly sure that he won’t kiss you here.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances,” You reply, your voice playful and low to avoid being overheard, “especially if you keep letting me do whatever I like with you.”

Niki lets out a soft laugh, and you can’t help but grin at the fondness in his eyes, “I will pick you up soon. Go. Then, we will see who is doing what they like.”

~

Two hours later finds you sitting at a table in a warm, surprisingly romantic restaurant, running your foot up the inner side of Niki’s calf while you tell him about some of the work you’ve done. You’re dressed in an a-line dress of layered muted pastel gossamers with a plunging neckline that Niki seems to appreciate considering the ample attention he’s paid to your assets while you ate. He’s told you a bit about his racing career, giving you the typical highlight reel and only opening up a bit more when you ask him about himself rather than his driving. He seems more interested in talking about you, which you can understand. You know he gets asked a million annoying questions about himself in every interview, and then often gets dogged on for giving short, straight-forward, or blunt answers. You tell him about the art school near your home, and the life modelling you’ve done, which he seems curious about but not jealous in the way you’ve had previous men in your life be.

You tell him stories about some of the highs and lows - a student who drew you so beautifully that you felt on a high for the next week, another who kept making your chest bigger than it was, and a third who was kicked out of the class because they kept asking if the class could do in depth anatomy drawing classes since you were naked anyways. You tell him about the modelling you’ve done, largely for your friends who were aiming at going into fashion photography and needed to build out their portfolios. Niki admits that Clay showed him the magazine with your perfume ad in it that morning, and you smile as you sip your wine, offering him a playful wink when he inquires if you’ve done any more nude modelling.

You skim your hand across the table clearly made for dates considering how close you two are, tracing your fingertips across his, and blush as he takes your hand and holds it gentler than any boyfriend you’ve ever had despite you not being his. Contrary to the statement made by the cum still marking your cunt. With his free hand, Niki eats the last bite on his plate, and you feel excited butterflies in your stomach at the thought of perhaps going home with him soon.

“Do you want to get dessert?” He asks you, and you smile, finishing your glass of wine. You slip your hand free of his, and Niki watches as you fidget for a moment before getting up. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, leaving a hint of a wine mark behind as you slip something into his pocket. He lets you, curious and intrigued by your bold nature, and far more focused on the pretty curve of your hip beside him.

“I’ll meet you outside. Don’t make me wait.” You whisper in his ear, then squeeze his shoulder and head out of the restaurant, past the waiter who seems to be returning to your table to see if Niki wants the bill. You step outside, your clutch in hand and your white heels clicking on the pavement as you enjoy the warm air outside. You hope you weren’t too bold, but when you peek in through the window, you spot Niki staring at the lacey fabric of your underwear pulled only slightly out of his pocket. He seems to have realised what it is, and he meets your eyes through the glass, bringing a coquettish smile on your lips. You wink, and his jaw clenches visibly. He tucks the fabric away just in time for the waiter to arrive with the bill, and Niki pays it so quickly you think he must’ve just let the waiter keep the change, for soon enough he’s walking out the front door towards you.

A strong hand closes around the curve of your hip, and you lean into him, gasping as he jerks you ever closer. He leads you towards the street, hailing a taxi with a simple wave of his hand while he whispers harshly in your ear, “You tempt fate, playing with me like this.”

“Do I? It certainly seems like you’re enjoying it.” You purr, giving him a pointed once-over. He opens the taxi door for you and helps you in, then sits beside you, his hand skimming over your thigh once you’re both settled. He gives the driver the hotel name, then leans into your ear again to avoid the man hearing him.

“I already want you. You do not need to keep seducing me.” He murmurs, and you laugh quietly as you cover his hand and slip it further up under the slit in your dress.

“Is that what you think I’m doing, Niki? Trying to catch your interest and keep it?” You ask, and he squeezes your soft thigh, his eyes dark with desire, “I know you want me, honey. I don’t think you quite know how much I want you, but you’ll learn.”

Niki’s breathing gets a little harsh, and you pet his arm soothingly, doing your best not to make a scene as he rubs his thumb into the meat of your leg.

“The seduction doesn’t stop when I catch your interest,” You inform him, your voice hushed and low, “nor does it stop when you fuck me. It does not stop when you go back to race tomorrow, or when we don’t see each other for a month until the next Grand Prix, or even if you make me yours. It does not stop when we are too tired, or when we are upset. It will continue until we no longer want each other.”

Niki lets out a quiet breath, and you perk up as the taxi pulls up in front of your hotel. The Austrian driver pays for the taxi, slipping out of the car and then helping you out as well. He steadies you, his arm around your waist again as he leads you into the large hotel, heading towards the elevator in thoughtful silence. You don’t question it when he pushes the button for his floor instead of yours. In the quiet of the elevator, he pulls you closer to him, cupping your face in his hand to gently tilt your head back. He presses his lips to yours, gently at first, then a little more hungrily when you moan into his mouth. Your arms slip lazily around his neck, and he sighs into the kiss when one hand tangles into his curls, your manicured nails scraping against his scalp.

You break the kiss as you near his floor, letting him lead you towards his room, his pace just a little bit more hurried than it was before. The door clicks open, and Niki guides you through it, kicking it closed behind him while he pulls you into another kiss. Now, in the comfort of his hotel room without anyone around to see, you smoothly undo the buttons on his shirt while he sucks at your lower lip, then breaks away to nip your top lip. You pant together, both struck breathless as you finally get his shirt open and shove it down over his shoulders.

“You’re in such a rush, mouse.” Niki murmurs as he finds the zipper on the side of your dress and pulls it all the way down to your hip. You frown at him to show your displeasure at his teasing, but it doesn’t knock the grin from his face as he lets you yank his undershirt over his head. He puts a hand over your ribs, thumb tracing the soft line under your breast while you unbutton his jeans, and you sigh into his mouth as he kisses you like he wants to devour you. You’ve just got his jeans undone when he finally pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and you gasp as he guides you to step back out of it, his hands already slipping back to undo your bra. He pushes you back onto the bed once it’s discarded, and you pull your legs up, scooting back a little on the mattress. He catches your ankle before you can get out of his reach, and you feel your cheeks get hot as he parts your legs to admire what remains of the mess he made of you that morning.

“I liked this.” Niki informs you as he rubs his thumb over the messy seam of your cunt, and you shiver with excitement as he pulls you open a little so he can see how far down his cum dripped.

“So did I.” You admit, and his gaze flicks up to you before he pushes his jeans and underwear down over his hips. Your eyes go half-lidded with desire at the sight of his pretty cock, and you welcome him with open arms as he crawls onto the bed on top of you. He trails kisses up your body as he goes, pausing to suck your nipples into his mouth, first one, and then the other. You grasp at his hair, a happy sigh escaping you, though it turns into a ragged moan as Niki slips first one, and then a second finger into you. He crooks them, and you gasp as he strokes across that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl while his thumb presses into your clit.

“Fuck, Niki.” You moan, and he smiles against your skin, trailing kisses across your heaving chest while he pumps his fingers into you. His lips meet yours for another kiss, and you roll your hips to meet him, fucking yourself on his hand while he bites your bottom lip. He scissors his fingers, then adds a third, stretching you out and making you dig your nails into his back. He groans, biting the top of your tit and pulling his fingers free of you to give his cock a couple of firm strokes. You sit up on your elbows as he opens the drawer on his night table and pulls out a foil packet. Niki starts to climb onto the bed, but you lean up to meet him, pushing him to sit up at the head of the bed.

“You are very… bold.” Niki murmurs as you crawl up over his legs to straddle his thighs, “you wish to be on top? To take what you want?”

You hum your agreement, ripping open the condom packet and rolling it onto him while he smooths his hands up over your thighs. Thankfully, he seems agreeable, even if he’s mildly surprised.

“And what is it you want, mouse?” He asks, supporting you as you put one hand on his shoulder and reach behind you with the other, positioning him against you. He lets out a quiet moan, stroking your thighs, then skimming his hands up to grip your hips.

“You, Niki.” You moan as you seat yourself on his cock, sinking down until he’s balls deep inside of you. You drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair while the other hand grasps at his shoulder blades, and you press your chest firmly to his. He kisses you hard, grasping your hips and guiding you to start to ride him as he moans into your mouth, not so much kissing as you’re sharing breath. He’s long, filling you completely, and thick enough that it’s a little bit of a stretch to take him. The slight curve of his cock strokes against a spot inside you with every thrust that makes you whimper and grip him a little tighter, desperate for more. You break the whisper of a kiss and let your head fall back as you ride him hard, setting an eager pace that makes your thighs ache. Niki skims his hands up to cup your tits, closing his lips around your nipple and scraping his teeth across it in a way that makes you whine for more before he switches to the other one.

You gasp as Niki reaches between you to strum your clit, and he groans lowly as you tug on his hair. You begin to move faster, and Niki leans back a little bit to watch you, admiring the way your tits bounce with every thrust. He looks beautiful like this, one hand clutching your side and helping you move, lips parted around a moan, glistening with just a little bit of sweat. You wonder how anyone could ever call him a rat. How anyone could be so blind as to miss how gorgeous he is. And yet you’re happy they did miss it, because now he’s here, under you, letting you take your pleasure from him. Your thighs are burning, and you’re fairly sure you’re going to be sore later, but you’re also rattling towards a stellar orgasm and you couldn’t be happier. With Niki fucking Lauda.

“That’s it, mausi, take it. Take what you need from me.” Niki groans, circling your clit and panting for breath as he does his best to hold on until you come. You moan for him desperately, and he plants his feet to thrust up into you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Thank God for Niki. He notices you about to scream as you come for him and guides your mouth to his neck, which you bite down on instinctively, clinging to him as if he’ll give you mercy. A guttural groan rumbles against you as Niki quickly finds his own peak only a couple of thrusts later, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure you’ll be bruised afterwards. 

Niki carefully guides you down onto the mattress, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as he slips into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returns to you shortly after, crawling onto the bed over you and burying his face in your chest. You pet his hair gently, letting out a sleepy laugh as he nuzzles against your breasts, humming with contentment that makes your heart swell in your chest. You rub his shoulders, and he lets out a happy, muffled moan against your skin as he slips his hands under your back to hold you.

“Sorry for biting you.” You murmur, and Niki chuckles against your chest, scraping his teeth over the curve of your breast.

“You haven’t hurt me, mouse.” He replies, “Relax. Perhaps, if you are good, I’ll fuck you again before we sleep.”

~

In fact, he fucks you twice more that night. Once on your hands and knees, face pressed into the mattress as Niki rails you like he’s trying to exorcise his demons through your cunt. Then, in the shower you take together afterwards, back pressed into the cold tiles with Niki’s forehead nuzzled against yours, more intimate than you ever thought you’d get from what you presumed would be a one night stand or a race fling. While you use another condom the second time, Niki simply pulls out after making you lose your mind on his cock in the shower, spreading your cunt open so he can cover you in his cum.

He reluctantly lets you wash it off after, and you sleepily promise that he can come on you in the morning, crawling under the sheets with him. In the morning, he takes you up on your offer, lazily fucking you from behind with your leg pulled back over his hip as he strokes your clit. This time, you reach back to stop him from pulling out, telling him you’re on birth control while he presses kisses into your shoulder. He groans against your skin, and you find yourself gasping for air as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. Heat floods you, and you moan helplessly as Niki fucks his cum deeper into you, redoubling his efforts to make you come before he gets oversensitive.

The mattress shifts behind you as Niki gets up, leaning over you to press a kiss to your temple, then heading into the bathroom to clean up. You roll out of bed, and Niki returns to find you wrapped in a bedsheet and staring out the window, and you lean into him when he steps up behind you and puts his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you sigh dreamily.

“You can borrow something.” Niki murmurs against your skin, and you tilt your head to kiss him, enjoying what you know might be the last few moments of afterglow before he’s done with you. Niki breaks it reluctantly, stepping away to rummage through his luggage and find a shirt and boxer briefs for you. You get changed, finger-combing your hair to neaten it, then helping Niki button his shirt while you steal a couple of kisses before you leave.

“I’ll see you at the track.” You murmur against his lips, and he hums, giving your bottom a firm squeeze.

“Come to the garage. You can watch the race from there.” Niki replies, and you can’t help but smile.

“That’s bold. People will ask questions if you have a photographer waiting in the garage for you.” You remind him, and Niki looks at you blankly.

“They can ask all they like. My woman will cheer for me from my garage, not wait in the sun in the stands like everyone else.” Niki retorts, and you feel your stomach flip, heart beating nearly out of your chest.

“Your woman?” You clarify, and Niki pulls you closer to him, kissing you hard enough that your teeth clack together clumsily. It does nothing to take away from your eagerness, and you clench your fingers in his shirt, knees going just a little weak. You’ll never admit it, though.

“You think I am so careless to come in any woman? I have condoms for a reason, mouse.” Niki reminds you, and you gasp against his mouth, eyes rolling back as your cunt throbs, “unless, you do not want to be mine.”

“Don’t be stupid, Niki Lauda. You know what I want.”

~

After the Brazil Grand Prix, you spend the early evening bent over the edge of Niki’s bed, or grasping the headboard for dear life as he fucks out the adrenaline high of racing into your sweet body. You’re booked for another late flight home, and Niki barely lets you go in time to make it to the airport, even though he’s got his own early flight in the morning. You head home with promises to visit Niki in Vienna once you’ve settled your work commitments and sent off your photos to their respective buyers. You talk to each other at least every other evening, though you both have a lot going on. One evening, you even drag your phone into the bathroom so that you can talk to Niki while you’re in the bathtub, and he expresses regret that he can’t share it with you. It takes far too long, in your opinion, to get your business settled. But finally, nearly two weeks later, you call Niki earlier in the day than you usually do.

“I’m ready. So, if you still want me, I can be in Vienna as early as tomorrow.” You inform him instead of saying hello, and Niki’s breathy sigh crackles over the landline.

“Tell me where to pick you up, and when. I will be there.” Niki replies, and you giggle, excitement bubbling in your belly.

“So it’s a good thing that I booked a plane ticket arriving tomorrow without asking?”

“Bold, as always, mouse. What time am I picking you up?” Thankfully, Niki sounds amused rather than annoyed.

“I arrive at Vienna Airport at eleven am tomorrow. My flight leaves at 7:30 tonight. So, I’ll be getting on the plane while you’re fast asleep at 2:30 am.” You inform him, “At 11 am, it will be 4 am for me, so I’m taking a nap on the plane so I can try and beat jet lag.”

“We will have a lazy day.” Niki promises, and you sigh happily at the idea, folding a pair of jeans to tuck into your suitcase.

“Should I bring anything in particular?”

“I will take you out to dinner - something suitable for that. It is mild this time of year. Similar to your weather, I believe.” Niki comments, and you laugh as you pack a knit sweater.

“So, no requests for lingerie? Short skirts? Plunging necklines?” You inquire, and Niki gives a thoughtful hum, as if he hadn’t even thought of requesting anything.

“I trust your taste, mouse. Bring what you think I will like, and I will do my best to show you my appreciation.”

“Yessir.”

~

After an eight hour and fifteen minute flight that you entirely slept through, you pick up your luggage after going through customs, and spot Niki waiting for you from a distance. There is no dramatic reunion. You don’t run across the airport into his waiting arms to kiss his face off like in a movie. Instead, you walk calmly over to him, and he takes the handle of your luggage, putting his arm around you and greeting you with a gentle kiss to your cheek and a query as to how your flight was.

He opens the door to his car for you, helping you in, then putting your luggage in the trunk. You squeeze his thigh when he gets into the car, and you notice him smiling as he drives away from the busy airport towards his home. You stroke his thigh as he drives, and you can’t pretend you don’t notice the stirring in his trousers. It does nothing to stop you, of course. You have plenty of plans for your Niki. As you get to a less busy area of town, you hum thoughtfully to yourself, then pull your hair back out of your face. Niki glances at you curiously as you reach over towards him, unzipping his trousers.

“Woah- mouse, what are you doing?”

“Whatever I like.” You retort, pulling his half-hard cock out of his boxer briefs and swirling your tongue around the leaky tip.

“Mouse…” Niki groans softly, wrapping your hair around his hand and pulling gently as if to stop you.

“If you can’t focus, pull over.” You hum, slapping his cock against your tongue a couple of times, then taking him into your mouth. Niki grumbles to himself above your head, letting out a low, growly groan. You hear the gentle tick of the turn signal, and then the bumps and rumble of the car pulling off the road. As soon as the car turns off, Niki’s hands tangle in your hair, and you moan around his cock as he pulls.

“Fuck, mausi. You could not wait?” Niki asks, and you hum an affirmative, bobbing your head at a leisurely pace, “No, of course not. You were too desperate for my cock, weren’t you?”

You slip your hand into his underwear to roll his balls in your palm, and he groans, bucking up into your mouth then apologising hoarsely as he pets your hair back from your face. You moan around him encouragingly, then decide that Niki deserves your somewhat unique talent. He’s been good to you. Blown your mind enough times despite your limited time together. You let him slip from your mouth, swallowing the precum and saliva pooling in your mouth, then taking a couple of deep breaths.

“Feel free to thrust, if you like. I can take it, honey.” You purr, and before Niki can ask for clarification, you take him back into your mouth, sinking down until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. Niki groans, guttural and low, his head thumping back against the headrest hard. Rumbling german interspersed with the occasional english swear word falls from Niki’s lips as you swallow him down, wiping every thought from his mind until his gentlemanly ways fall lax and he begins to fuck into your mouth eagerly. You moan helplessly as he chases his release, gripping your hair tightly as he finally falls over the edge.

“Don’t swallow yet. Let me see.” He pants, and you obediently do your best not to swallow or let any of his cum leak from your overstuffed mouth. Breathing through your nose, you sit up in your seat and situate yourself, then open your mouth to show off the mess he’s made of you. Niki moans softly, tapping your chin.

“Swallow.”

You obediently do, and he leans across the short distance to kiss you, licking into your mouth to taste himself off your tongue.

“When we get to my home, I will show you around. You will put down your things, and then I am going to ruin you for any other man.” Niki whispers against your lips, and you moan softly, letting out a little whimper when he leans back into his seat to put himself away and then resume the drive home.

And ruin you he does. As promised, Niki takes you on a tour of the home, his hand tucked into your back pocket. You put your luggage in his room, and then he takes you into the bathroom to take a bath, though you’re sure you nearly cause a flood with how much water flows over the edge when he fucks you. Afterwards, nice and clean, he takes you down to his living room and you try to watch a film together, but Niki ends up not seeing much of it as he kneels in front of his couch between your legs and makes you see stars on his mouth.

You have a light lunch, then curl up together for a nap, your head pillowed on Niki’s chest with you curled around him. You wake to Niki laying you back on the couch beneath him, covering your neck and chest in kisses as he flips up your skirt and pulls down your tights.

“Is this okay?” He asks, and you moan softly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

“Niki, you can fuck me whenever you like. Even if I’m sleeping, you don’t have to wake me up. If I’m not into it, I will tell you, but I promise you I’ll almost always be into it.” You murmur, and Niki groans as he yanks your underwear down and positions himself. He slips inside easily, still all pliant and wet from before your nap, and you relax beneath him and let him take what he needs. You’re still half-asleep, so you don’t participate nearly as much as you usually do, but Niki seems to like the sleepy moans and whimpers he’s able to pull from you, and the way you hold onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you together.

The rest of your visit in Vienna goes similarly. Lazy morning sex seems to be a necessity for both of you. Breakfast is always a quiet but gentle affair, curled up together while you eat. Niki takes you to art galleries, museums, and historical sites. Some days, he takes you on walks. Some days, you don’t leave the house much at all, and you begin to realise how easy things are together. You take enough pictures of your boyfriend to open a Niki Lauda gallery, and he lets you drag him to a darkroom to develop many of them, which results in Niki fucking you in the low lit room with his hand over your mouth to stop anyone from hearing you.

You fly to South Africa together, and you only spend one night in your own hotel room before Niki drags you back to his own, complaining about poor sleep. Once again, Niki is disappointed with the results of the race, and he follows you back home instead of going to Vienna to enjoy the nearly two-month break before the Spanish Grand Prix. You end up in Ibiza for a good month of that break, lazing in the sun, swimming, or giving each other couples massages. You end up being the better masseuse of the two of you, and Niki lets you work out his stress until he melts underneath you, his pretty blue eyes half-lidded and happy.

It’s bliss, honestly. By the time Spain rolls around, you’ve dropped all pretence. Everyone knows you’re together - Tony, Hunt and Clay are all beyond thrilled. Hunt asks you far too many questions about your sex life, and you answer none of them, except to inform him that you are thoroughly satisfied. Tony warns Niki that no one will find his body if he hurts you, and Niki doesn’t seem bothered by the threat, confident that it won’t be necessary. Clay simply seems pleased that Niki is perhaps more at ease, and that you’re happy together.

Spain ends up being a nightmare. The race is cancelled part way through due to dangerous conditions and crashes, and Niki needs the break to work with his team. You end up spending the break working as well, away from Niki, and while it is difficult, you make quite a bit of money. Your work is hot at the moment, and plenty of people are happy to pay for your photographs of other sporting events.

Monaco changes things. Niki wins. And he keeps his momentum, winning three Grand Prixs in a row, placing second in another, then first again in France. Great Britain is a mess all around, but Niki recovers with a third place in West Germany. Austria is another mess on par with Spain with the race ending early and only half points awarded. In Italy, Niki secures his championship with a third place, but he goes on to win first in the United States anyways as if to prove he earned it with his fifth first place of the season.

He proposes after the season is over, and you marry at the courthouse in Vienna. He goes home with you to pack your things after you manage to secure a visa due to your marriage, and you move your belongings across the ocean without a single thought of looking back. Niki only breaks the news to the press when he is caught wearing his wedding ring at a post-championship interview, and he’s not thrilled to have most of his interview questions diverted to his recent wedding, but he answers what he’s willing to. Which isn’t very much, frankly.

~

“Does that feel good?” You whisper as you stroke your hands up over your husband’s arms to squeeze his triceps almost reverently. Niki’s eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, quiet moans falling from his pretty pink lips. You watch with a smile as his muscles flex against the soft silk tying his wrists to the headboard, and you can’t help but sigh adoringly as he catches his lower lip between his teeth, emphasising his overbite in such a pretty way that you want to take a picture of him. Not that he’d ever let you. 

Not that you’d ever want anyone else to see him like this. You’ve very possessive of Niki’s submissive side.

“Mausi.” Niki murmurs warningly, and you give him a sharp look, eyebrow raised as if you can’t believe him. You can. Niki is terrible at being patient in bed, and while he enjoys submitting to you, he does not enjoy it when you tease him. Or rather, he does, but he likes to pretend he doesn’t. Male pride, you assume.

“What is it, sweetheart?” You ask, pouting at him mockingly as you run your hands down over his chest, thumbs swiping across his sensitive nipples. He jerks beneath you, letting out a raspy moan that has you cooing sympathetically, “Ohh, are you sensitive, baby?”

Niki presses his head back into the pillows, moaning breathlessly as you pinch his nipples between your index fingers and thumbs, sitting your bare ass back against his hard cock as you tweak them. A gentle pull has Niki bucking up against you, digging his heels into the bed to try and get some leverage so he can thrust up against you. It’s difficult with his ankles bound to the footboard, but he tries regardless, desperate for more contact. You pull again a little more sharply, and Niki lets out the softest whimper, an angelic look of submission on his face as he pushes his chest up into your hands rather than pulls away.

This is when you give him mercy. You lean down, cupping his pecs from below and pushing them up while you bring his right nipple into your mouth and suck harshly. Niki groans, and you flick your tongue over him a couple of times, then bite gently when his nipple gets hard. You’ve missed him so much while he was gone, nearly a week without him feeling like too much even though it isn’t the first time. You lovingly kiss your way across his chest to his other nipple and repeat the process, but this time, you adjust your hips so you’re pinning his cock between your wet cunt and his stomach. You start to roll your hips, grinding on his cock in a mimicry of the pussyjobs he’s used your cunt for in the past. He’s especially fond of them when you’re half-asleep and pliant, in the early hours of the morning with the sun's first light kissing your skin through the partially open curtains. He says you look like a painting like that, only you’re his, so he can touch the artwork all he likes.

Niki blinks up at you with hazy eyes, lips parted and panting for breath as you toy with him. His pretty blue eyes are full of love and lust, your personal favourite look on him, and you smile as he arches again, pulling on the silk binding him to the bed desperately. You smile, tangling your fingers in his hair and gently pulling his head up, forcing him to look down his own body so he can see the leaky pink head of his cock peeking out from beneath your cunt. There’s a little puddle of his precum on his belly, and he flushes as he realises how much he’s dripping.

“Do you want more, baby? Do you want your mausi to sit on your pretty cock and make you feel good?” You ask, and Niki nods as much as he can with you still holding his head up, “Do you want to fill your mausi with cum? Wanna get her pregnant?”

Niki moans eagerly, nodding again, and you grin as you release his hair and let his head fall back to the pillows. You lean down, lips pressing against his ear while you stroke his cheek lovingly, “I’ve been off my birth control since you left for testing. It’s been almost a full week, so it’s well out of my system.”

That gets a reaction out of him.

“Put my cock in your perfect little cunt, mausi. Let me stuff you full of my cum and I promise I’ll get you pregnant with my child.” Niki moans, and you practically purr with delight, scooping up his precum with your fingers and rubbing it over his cock until he’s slick and glistening. You lift your hips and rub the head of his cock through the wetness dripping from you, then notch the head against your hole. You sink down until he’s buried inside of you and you can feel his balls clenching.

“You promise, honey?”

“I swear.” Niki replies instantly, breathless, and you can feel him twitching against you, desperate to roll you over and fuck you into the sheets. He watches with wide eyes as you arch back to grab the little emergency release ties you’d learned to do since you started tying each other up, freeing his ankles from their bonds with one tug. Niki immediately plants his feet in the mattress and starts to buck up into you, and you gasp, falling forwards into his chest while he fucks up into you.

You reach up towards his wrists, tugging the release ties, and Niki surges up before you even have a chance to sit back on him. He rolls you over onto your back, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing them up, folding you in half. He plants his hands into the mattress with your knees hooked over his elbows, and you stare up at him with wide eyes as he slowly pulls out, then slams back into you. He sets a somewhat eager pace, faster than he usually takes you, and you find yourself gasping for breath as you grasp at the sheets beneath you.

“Niki!” You cry, and he groans, leaning down to kiss you surprisingly softly considering how roughly he’s pounding into you. It’s a pretty stark contrast to the sex you’ve had over the past many months, and more reminiscent of the desperate and lust-charged fucking of your early days together.

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you, mausi. My perfect little wife.”

You can’t form words, but there are tears in your eyes as you try to catch your breath. He kisses them away, dropping his hand between you to stroke your clit, and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Nod if you’re okay, mausi.”

You nod firmly, and he nuzzles his nose against yours, then kisses you again, moaning into your mouth as he gets closer. You finally find your words as you’re about to come, crying against his lips, “I love you too, Niki!”

It’s the last conscious thought you have for the next few minutes. You come back to yourself as Niki is rolling you both over, laying back on the mattress with you on top of him, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. You can feel the warmth of his cum buried inside of you, deep enough that it’s not yet leaking back out. Your husband pets your hair gently, adjusting you just a little so he’s no longer buried inside of you to avoid either of you getting oversensitive and achey. You hum sleepily, and Niki presses a kiss to your temple, his chest rising and lowering rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. You pull the blankets up over the both of you, and Niki strokes your back as you both settle in to go to sleep, too tired to move.

And six weeks later, you find yourself sitting in your doctor’s office with your very proud husband as your doctor tells you that you are, in fact, pregnant. Niki swears he got it done with that first stellar fuck after returning from his testing with Ferrari, but you couldn’t care less, pleased as punch to find yourself pregnant so quickly. Soon, you’ll have a baby Lauda in your arms.

Who would have ever thought that you’d meet your future husband when you went to do a favour for your best friend? Who knew you’d meet your future baby daddy at one of your least favourite sports?

Niki still got blushy when you told him you knew he was yours the moment you set eyes on him, even now, months into your marriage. It was true, though. You knew the moment you saw him - the moment he inspired you, and captured your creative eye. He was your rat, and you were his mouse, and you had the rings to prove it.

[mclarensangel]

Wedding Bells

please pretend that all the dresses are the same, that the skin colour and other items match your own and that the men look like max. I love you all.

All photos are from Pinterest. All usernames were made up on the spot I don't actually know if they're real usernames or not. Might make this a series, let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged!

warnings: weddings, nerves, money, some suggestive comments.

Max Verstappen has posted

maxverstappen1: Today I finally married the woman of my dreams. I have never felt happier or luckier. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you Schat. my vrouw. forever and always

ynverstappen: I can't put into words how much I love you. I am so happy to have become your wife. I will hold the name Mrs Verstappen so dear to me forever.

-> maxverstappen1: I love you so much, Mrs Verstappen. jij bent mijn wereld.

-> lewishamilton: congratulations to the pair of you, your gift should be there soon!

-> maxverstappen1: thank you, Lewis! Enjoy the Almave at the bar!

-> ynverstappen: Cheers, Lewis! And thank you, Roscoe, for coming!

-> roscoelovescoco: woof woof!🐶

landonorris: congratulations mate! I'm so happy for you!

-> maxverstappen1: cheers mate! enjoy the open bar!

-> landonorris: Oh I will be!🍻

maxslefteyeball: I can't believe Max got married and there's not a single redbull item in sight

-> ynverstappen: trust me it was a fight to have the only Red Bull thing be at the bar

-> maxverstappen1: I'd do anything for you schat

-> ynverstappen: awww maxie

-> landonorris: get a room you two🤢

-> maxverstappen1: oh we will be!

-> ynverstappen: MAX!

ynverstappen has posted!

charles_leclerc: Félicitations max and yn!

-> ynverstappen: thank you charlie x

-> maxverstappen1: thank you charles!

ynverstappen: officially changed the name! couldn't be happier to marry the love of my life. I love you so much Maxie, and I can't wait to love you for the rest of our lives. mijn man.

maxverstappen1: I will never get sick of calling you my wife... Mrs Verstappen. ik hou van je, mijn vrouw

-> ynverstappen: ik hou van je

-> landosmiamiwin: congratulations to my parents!

-> Yabadabadoo: when will it be my turn

valteribotass: sleeping on the highway tonight

-> landonorris: same

-> sweetcornsbestie: LANDO?💀

carmenmmundt: Estoy muy feliz por ti, tu boda fue hermosa. mi mejor amigo

-> ynverstappen: gracias mi hermosa mejor amiga. Te amo. Thank you for being my MOH

-> carmenmmundt: yo también te amo <3 It was my honour

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alexandrasaintmelux: Félicitations belle fille!

-> ynverstappen: Merci mon ange! Thank you for being my bridesmaid!

-> carlossapendix: I'm gonna need these wedding photos ASAP

-> maxverstappen1: they're coming just wait!

If, at 18, you had been told that you would be marrying the Formula One driver you were obsessed with, you would have laughed. But here you are at 25. Surrounded by your friends and family, as you get prepared for your wedding. Carmen, your maid of honour, was currently in the makeup chair, whereas your mother was in the hair chair. One of the photographers was capturing moments between some of the bridesmaids. And one of the videographers was interviewing one of the bridesmaids for the wedding video. You were sat in a comfortable armchair watching it all happen around you. You weren't nervous to marry Max, you were however nervous about everything going right. And as if she could sense your anxiety, one of your bridesmaids, Alexandra, came over to sit in the chair next to you. She already had her hair done, and was next in queue for makeup.

"feeling anxious?" she asks, taking a sip from the prosecco glass she had been holding in her hands.

"I'm not nervous to marry Max, it's something I've been waiting for this day since he proposed. I just want everything to go right. And I'm really hoping that Max doesn't have some Red Bull uniform on underneath his tux" you giggle, taking a small sip of your water.

"If Carmen has anything to do with it, everything will go perfectly. I think even the wedding planner is scared of her" Alex responds, the pair of you glance towards the planner who is hurriedly writing something on the checkboard she was holding whilst repeatedly looking up anxiously at Carmen. Both of you look back at each other, before bursting into laughter. Silence falls comfortably between the two of you as you sit and absorb the atmosphere. And before you knew it, you were in the hair chair, whilst Alex was in the makeup chair.

shootingstarphotography has posted!

shootingstarphotography: here are some getting-ready shots for our clients Mr and Mrs Verstappen! Enjoy

-> ynverstappen: thank you all so much! These photos will be posted all over our house!

-> maxverstappen1: I agree with my wife, thank you both so much. I'm going to get ALL of these framed.

-> shootingstarphotography: thank you for having us, the food was delicious as well!

ynverstappen and maxverstappen1 have shared a post!

iamstupid: these are so beautiful I'm actually going to cry.

-> lilysgolfclub: RIGHT! I'm obsessed, look at her!

ynverstappen and maxverstappen1: we wanted to show you some more of our photos. If you would like to see more, we're more than happy to show them!

oscarpastyboy: I didn't think I could become any more obsessed with these two, but then they posted these photos and I'm in love

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the moment you began walking down the aisle to Max, you were overwhelmed with the feeling of love that radiated not just from him but all your guests. Your parents were walking you down the aisle, and Max was standing nearly in tears at the end of it, his best man, Lando, stood just behind him smiling and his groomsmen were behind him, their smiles almost as big as the grooms. Your bridesmaids were waiting for you, each and every one looking stunning in their dresses as a light breeze passed through their hair. Your maid of honour, Carmen, was standing nearest to where you would be stood, the proudest smile on her face. As the music began to play, everyone let out a soft laugh. Max had believed you were coming down the aisle to one of Charles's piano songs, however, you had worked with him to have the F1 theme tune played on the piano to make Max feel happier. You smiled at Max, before placing a hand in the elbow of each of your parents as you made your way almost too slowly down the aisle. You wanted to run, to get down there and marry the man as quick as possible, but you remained in your parent's embrace until the end, when both parents kissed your cheek before taking a seat.

Handing your bouquet to Carmen, you turned and grinned at Max. And the tears in his eyes, made you tear up too.

"you look beautiful schat" he whispered, loud enough for you to hear.

"And you look so handsome, Max" you responded.

"I can't wait to show you what I've got on underneath" You smirked at the teary-eyed man forgetting that you both had mics attached to you. Max's eyes widened before squeezing your hands, trying to stop the flush from his cheeks being too obvious to the crowd.

shootingstarphotography has posted!

shootingstarphotography: with the consent of our stunning clients, we have decided to post some more photos of the Verstappen wedding. Enjoy!

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ynverstappen: we can't thank you enough for these beautiful photos!

-> maxverstappen1: you will always have consent to post the beautiful photos of my gorgeous wife

-> landonorris: simp 😬

-> maxverstappen1: says the single man.

-> ynverstappen: TELL 'EM MAXIE

-> hulkenboy: your honour, I love them

Before you knew it, You and Max were walking back down the aisle, ready to sign the wedding certificate, with Carmen and Lando as your witnesses. You were officially Mrs YN Verstappen. Your dreams have come true in the best way possible.

"What are you thinking about schat?" your husband asks

"how unreal all of this feels. I can't believe you're my husband. I remember the very first time I met you when you were the second driver for Red Bull" You responded turning to face him. He laughed, responding "Don't remind me of those days"

"you'll always be the number one to me" you spoke, leaning up for another kiss before the wedding planner or someone else would pop up to take you away to somewhere else.

shootingstarphotography has posted!

shootingstarphotography: as mentioned beforehand, here is a continuation of our most recent client, part one of their reception

comments have been limited on this post

landonorris has posted!

landonorris: congratulations to one of my best friends, on the wedding, their reception and on their love.

comments on this post have been limited by the user

ynverstappen: thank you Lan, enjoy the party!

-> maxverstappen1: she's the only one I'm ever going to marry, so I had to make it perfect. Thank you for coming mate, and thank you for being my best man!

-> landonorris: I'd do it all over again for the pair of you

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As you and Max sit at the sweetheart's table, you're able to overwatch everyone. Everything had gone perfectly, the cake cutting, the entrances, even the speeches. And it was nearly time for your first dance with your husband. What everyone didn't know, not even the maid of honour or best man, was that you both had been going to dance classes to make this perfect. The pair of you sat there, content, holding one another hands as you absorbed everything in.

"I'm surprised you haven't had a Red Bull yet" you teased.

"Who said I haven't?" he joked back. He opened his mouth to say something else before he was cut off by the announcer.

"I would like to welcome Mr and Mrs Verstappen to the dance floor for their first dance. The music will be played live by Charles Leclerc and it is a song written especially for this moment" The man spoke loudly despite the microphone in his hand. You turned your head quickly to look at Max, as this wasn't the song that you had prepared. "don't worry schat, I made sure whatever song we practised to was the same tempo, it's going to be as perfect as you" he spoke calmly before standing up and offering you his hand. You graciously took his hand, smiling at him as he led you to the dancefloor. Once the pair of you stood in the middle, the piano began to play, filling the room with its soft notes.

This was perfect.

maxverstappen1 has posted!

maxverstappen1: final post for today. Here is the final moment of our first dance. I will treasure you always my love. thank you for marrying me. forever and always.

ynverstappen: thank you for marrying me, mi corazon. forever and always.

comments on this post have been limited.

whos next???

[atlaslego]

Olympus-V01

I try not to favour any of my creations since they are all the best I could come up at the moment. However, I have to admit I like this one just a little more than any others.

Colour combination, weaponry, technics, and overall design, I think it is a very unique one out of my lineups. If you don’t feel the way I feel, I think it is must due to my subpar photographic skills.

“V” in the series code stands for “variant”. I am not very good at coming up totally new idea in a rapid and constant manner, but I commit to upgrade and improve the things I made. For this one, I changed the way of connecting upper and lower body with ball joints to make it stronger. Arm is also updated but more of a borrowing idea from Astro. Leg is the major change, from joint design to assembling technic, which I tried something very new. There is also a small aesthetic change on the head.

Each variant going forward will have little differences from each other besides the colours.

I am very happy to present Olympus-V01 to you and hope you enjoy!

[sheltiechicago]

I Am Not Who You Say I Am

Photographer: Tyresha Bailey-Davis

University/School: Humber College

This series shows a positive representation of people of colour in contrast to what is presented in our media today.

INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY AWARDS™

[barricadescon]

Jean Baptiste Hugo announced as Guest of Honor at Barricades 2024

Barricades 2024 is pleased to announce Jean Baptiste Hugo as one of our Guests of Honor for this year's convention. Jean Baptiste Hugo is the great-great-grandson of Victor Hugo. He has extensively photographed Hugo's home in exile on Guernsey, a project about which he said this: “In 2014, I was about to start a series of photographs of Hauteville House, where Victor Hugo stayed in exile for 15 years. I had the intention, picturing in my mind the dark gothic rooms, to use the legendary black and white 400 Tri-X Kodak film, known for its grainy quality and its rich black tones. It just happened that around that same period I started looking into the extraordinary colour possibilities offered by digital photography, having considered it for years , I must admit, as very inferior to black and white film. The introduction I was given to digital colour photography inspired me enough to try and capture as faithfully as I could the colourful atmosphere of my ancestor’s folly on Guernsey and, I am glad I did, as it allowed me to engage in an exploration of colour and texture in a very creative way which I am still pursuing today through other photographic subjects.”

[goldencherriess]

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Fem! Reader

Summary: Y/N had never been a normal kid, she knew this much. But a certain night puts everything into perspective.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood

Series masterlist || Main masterlist

Y/N often dreamed of the skies. Clouds and stars twinkled behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. Deep sleep often carried her across the midnight universe until thunder struck and slashed the skies in two. That was when she woke up, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

She wouldn’t fall back asleep after that. She’d lay back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the background, muffled sounds of a still lively Manhattan. 

She wasn’t born and raised in Manhattan. She faintly remembered, as through a mist, a cottage hidden from prying eyes, surrounded by rolling hills, cutting mountains and whistling winds. And if she let her mind focus long enough, she could remember stormy eyes looking down at her. But as fast as the vision came, it went. 

She turned on her side, her gaze catching her reflection in the mirror aimlessly hung on her wooden chipped wardrobe. It was dark in the room, but her eyes glowed all the same. Growing up, her mother always did say her eyes resembled her father’s, brave, tumultuous and violent. Like a storm, the most beautiful eyes, she used to say. 

Y/N blinked before she sat up. Her bare feet touched the cold floor and she gathered a moment to herself to stare out the window. The tall blocks of Manhattan obscured the silver vision of the moon. She turned to look at the electronic clock on her bedside table. It read 2:14 am. A sigh escaped her lips and she got up, letting the duvet fall soundlessly on the purple carpet. She tiptoed all the way out of her bedroom and down the corridor. She passed another bedroom. The door was ajar and she could hear her aunt softly snoring. 

When she entered the kitchen, she was greeted by the humming of the old fridge. She opened it, a wave of coldness cooling down her hot body, the sweat trickling down her temple. The blue light of the fridge cascaded down, illuminating the dark corners of the kitchen. Seeing nothing that could interest her or satiate her thirst, she closed it back, a few polaroids appearing before her eyes. Her mother smiled at her through them, ringlets falling down her back. Y/N appeared in all of them, either hiding her face away from the camera or boldly sticking her tongue out. 

Her father was absent in every photo. She never did meet him. She never knew how he looked, or what his name was. Or what his favourite colour was, the simplest of things. She only knew that he cared enough to leave. 

She could tell the photographs were chronologically pinned on the fridge, because down the line her mother disappeared from the photos and was replaced by her sweet aunt. If she squinted she could have said they were the same person. She remembered a hospital bed, her mother’s pale and sickly face and her aunt’s gentle hand on her shoulder. 

She turned away from the refrigerator. Her hands opened the cupboard and took hold of her glued back Milka mug (she had broken it a few months ago when she thought she saw a winged horse on the roof of the neighbouring block. When she recounted to her aunt what she saw, her aunt only kissed her forehead, picked up the broken pieces of the mug and promised she would mend it back together. Y/N never told her again of the visions).  She opened the tap and let the jet of water fill the mug. She closed it, raising the mug to her lips, the sound of falling droplets onto the sink filling the air. The water felt like a cleansing wave down her throat and she almost forgot the recurring dreams she had. They’ve been hunting her mind for a few years now and she started to wonder if there was something wrong with her, if the winged horses, the lightning and the thunder were clear signs that she was going insane. It didn’t help that she moved schools every few months (“She gets into trouble too often”, “She’s too impulsive”, “She must go to a school for children with special needs” were some of the things the school counselors and the principals always did say to her aunt. They thought she couldn’t hear them, but she did. Always). 

She couldn’t help glancing out the dirty kitchen window. Thunder lightened the Manhattan sky for a split second. She started. Silence and darkness came and she was, once again, left alone in the kitchen, with only the humming of the fridge and the splashing of the droplets to keep her company. A shaky breath escaped her lips. She raised the mug to her lips, but she didn’t get to drink any more water. Lightning illuminated the kitchen once more and a two-headed dog appeared before her, just beyond the window. She screamed and her mug slipped from her hands, shattering. 

The dog was there, tauntingly bearing its teeth at her. Thunder reverberated and rain started falling from the open sky, pattering against the window. A storm was brewing in Manhattan and she took a step back, gaze frozen on the dog. The moment it started barking (she swore she could hear it as though it was beside her), she yelled. Padded footsteps announced her aunt’s presence. “Y/N?! What is it, sweetie?” 

Y/N could hear her gasp, but she was too paralyzed to turn around. The dog jumped on the window and a crack appeared. She jumped back, colliding with her aunt’s waist. A gentle hand settled on her shoulder, much as it did a few years ago in a small hospital room. “Y/N, we need to leave.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. The dog jumped on the window again. Another crack. 

“Y/N, did you hear me? We need to leave. Now.”

Thunder. The heads of the dog hit the window in an attempt to break it. Two cracks.

“Y/N, look at me,” her aunt said, turning her around and gripping her shoulders. “Your mother entrusted me to take care of you and this is what I’m doing. She said that when the time comes, I need to take you to the camp.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and searched her aunt’s gaze for clues. “Camp? What camp? It’s the middle of October.”

“Not just any camp. Camp Half-Blood, a place where you’re safe.”

“I don’t understand. Safe from what?”

The dog hit the window with its heavy paw and the window almost shattered. 

Y/N didn’t need to look into her aunt’s eyes to understand what she was referring to. Safe from two-headed dogs, safe from storms. Safe from nightmares. She simply nodded and her aunt took her by the wrist, dragging her out the kitchen and down the hallway, only stopping to pick up the keys from the glass table. “Take your jacket. It’s raining outside. And you are not catching a cold under my eyes,” her aunt commanded. 

Y/N did just that, taking a hold of her yellow rain jacket, noticing that her aunt just threw a cardigan on herself. She was a woman in her late twenties, with no college degree and rent issues. She was barely getting by (and Y/N always did have the gut feeling she was a burden. She could see it in the extra shifts her aunt took just to get some money and in the dark circles she would wear under her colourless eyes). “Won’t you be cold?” she dared to ask.

A shattering sound filled the air.

“No, come on!” her aunt responded, taking her by the hand and running down the stairs with her in tow. Y/N threw glances behind her shoulder. She didn’t understand why she was being hunted by a two-headed monstrosity and how she was seeing it without thinking, for the first time, she was off the rails. She couldn’t understand how her aunt was seeing it too, nor why she was never told that there was nothing wrong with her, that she was seeing things for what they truly were. 

“Why is it chasing us?” she yelled over the dog’s mad barking. 

“It’s chasing you,” her aunt replied, before opening the block’s door. 

Rain cascaded down on them, soaking them to the bones. Thunder and lightning cut the skies. “Why?”

Her aunt opened the car’s door and pushed Y/N inside, before she ran to the driver’s seat. She entered the car and closed the door with a bang. “Seatbelt on,” she ordered. 

“Why’s it chasing me? What did I do?”

Her aunt put the keys into the ignition. “Seatbelt on, Y/N,” she repeated, her voice strained.

Y/N huffed, before complying. Her aunt drove the car out of the driveway, speeding down the road. Rain splashed the windows angrily. “Your mom told me you’re special. And you are. I saw you. You dream and see all these things-”

“I thought I was going insane!” yelled Y/N, red in the face. “I thought there was something wrong with me!”

Her aunt spared her a sad glance, before focusing on the road. “I know, I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know how to-” she sighed. “How to raise you. I’m still learning, Y/N.”

Lightning enlightened their way out of Manhattan. “So, you believed me all this time? When I told you about the winged horse-”

“I knew your mother was right. She told me of the time she fell in love with a powerful man and then she had you. She said that he wasn’t like any man she had ever met, that he was different. Different from anyone.”

“You know who my father is?” demanded Y/N, turning in her seat.

“I wish I knew. She just told me that he was a god.”

Y/N’s brain stopped for a second, confusion darkening her features. “What? How’s that possible? Did she meet Jesus?”

“No, no. She met a Greek god. All those stories she told you growing up, they’re true. And you’re the child of one of them.You’re a half-blood, a demigod.”

Thunder boomed and the car rolled down the road. Loud barking carried over the storm. Y/N turned into her seat, looking behind the car. A dark haired dog was running through the rain towards them, tongues sticking out of its mouths, teeth glinting in the lightning. “It’s on our tail!”

Her aunt glanced in the rear window, before her foot pressed the pedal, accelerating. Soon, woods covered the car, and the city was no longer in sight.  A river slithered down, reflecting purple and silver lightning, angry waves dancing on the surface. Y/N frantically opened the glove compartment of the car, ruffling through all the brochures and papers, before her fingertips felt the sharpness of a silver penknife. 

“Y/N, darling, what are you doing?” her aunt asked, worry seeping into her voice.

“That thing’s following us. And it’s obviously settled on having me, so it will get what it desires,” answered Y/N, staring at the shimmering silver of the knife. 

“What?”

“Just enough to buy you time. And for you to arrive safely at this camp-”

“Y/N, the camp’s for you,” stared her aunt at her, before settling her eyes back on the road.

“I’m only safe in your arms, auntie,” replied Y/N, voice soft. Her aunt turned to look her in the eyes and she started at the determination in Y/N’s, bolts flashing in them. “I’m not afraid.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and threw open the door. Ruffling wind entered the car, swaying her hair upwards like a veil. Stinging droplets whipped her skin, cold nicking at it like unforgiving, cutting glass. The dog’s barking cut through the storm’s aggravating simphony and Y/N smiled softly at the woman who looked so much like her late mother. She jumped out of the car, rolling into the mud and hitting her elbow into a slippery rock. She hissed once she felt her skin ripping open, blood curling down her arm. Thunder boomed in the distance, but she only blinked the rain out of her eyes. The car skidded down the muddy road and hit a tree. 

The two-headed dog trampled the leafed wood path, fury lightning its red eyes. Y/N got up, drenched to the bones, shivering in the freezing wind and raised the only weapons she had: the penknife and her ambition. She heard the car’s door open and being slammed. “Y/N, don’t-”

She frowned and hurled the penknife towards the monster’s chest. It stabbed its flesh, blood flowing down its fur. The dog only growled, it raised one of its paws and struck Y/N, casting her into the river’s abyss. Before her whole body was engulfed by the chilling waves, she saw a rumbling lightning striking the two-headed dog. The wind carried away what remained of it: dust and ashes.

Y/N tried to stay afloat, but currents dragged her down and she didn’t know how to swim. Water invaded her lungs and her eyes stung. The cut on her elbow burned her under the unforgiving currents. Panicked, she kicked her feet. She couldn’t see the surface, she could only feel the embracing cold, darkness. Her hands numbed and her legs stopped trying. She felt gentle hands, grabbing her by the waist. Her head broke through the tumultuous waves and her lungs welcomed the sweet, refreshing air. Her eyes came into focus and she recognized her aunt carrying her to the shore. Cold air hit her as her toes touched the muddy earth. Her aunt enveloped her into a bone-crushing hug and she accepted it, sobbing into her already wet cardigan. “You’re so brave, so so brave. It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe, now. You’ll be alright, you’ll be alright.” Her aunt caressed Y/N’s wet locks, whispering in her ear and gently swaying her. 

Y/N’s gaze caught sight of a tall tree in the horizon and an imposing, ivory gate with Greek columns braved the already dying storm. Thunder and lightning shied away behind grey clouds and the moon scared away the last raining drops. 

She’d be alright. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: There it is! The prologue to my first ever PJO series. I'm very excited to share this fic with you all, it is very close to my heart. This was a very short introduction, to get into the feeling of the story and to meet Y/N. Fret not, the chapters will get longer! (like, much longer, 10k words longer). I hope you enjoyed it!

If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the series tag list, drop a comment or send me an ask!

Lots of love xx

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead @asgards-princess-of-mischief @islayhawkin

Series tag list: @mynicknameisgasoline @constellation-archive

[albarrancabrera]

I SEE YOU – 14 ARTISTS IN A DIALOGUE IN COLLABORATION WITH HARPER’S BAZAAR NL @bildhalle Amsterdam Friday, 13 September, 18 - 21h

Special thanks to @mirjamcavegn & @miluskavantlam who have curated this exhibition.

"I SEE YOU" is a reflection on a dialogue that references appreciation and true connection. It’s a direct acknowledgment of the “other”.

We’re honoured to be in this exibition "in dialogue" with one artist that we highly admire: Richard Caldicott @richardcaldicott He’s one of the main representatives of constructed photography. A key set of his work is a series of still lifes created using ordinary plastic containers. 

By playing with the interaction of light and colour, Caldicott no only makes the viewer forget about the quotidian use of these objects, but also emphasizes the qualities of the photographic medium itself, producing objects independent of any antecedent reality.

His innovative approach to photography opened our eyes to the medium's potential for creative expression. This style of work suggests that photography, through its interplay with light, time and chance, can create images that challenge conventional perceptions and interpretations.  . In our "Polarized" series, which is part of our "Opticks" project, we continue using photography to explore the 'structure of reality' and 'the why of things,' echoing Berenice Abbott's vision of photography as “the friendly interpreter of science.” Unlike previous series, this one investigates natural components that are normally invisible, except through experiments that make them visible.

Transparent objects, especially plastics, subtly alter how light passes through them, changes that are invisible to the naked eye. However, when exposed to polarized light and observed through a second polarizer, hidden internal differences reveal vibrant colors and shades of gray. . As Duane Michals states: "Photography deals with appearances, but nothing is ever as it seems."

1: © Albarran Cabrera, Polarized #55452, 2024  2: © Richard Caldicott, Combination Green, 1996 3: © Albarran Cabrera, Polarized #55450, 2024  4: © Richard Caldicott, Untitled #167, 1996

[604to647]

Skittles

3.8K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You catch Detective Tim Rockford in a compromising position.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please) - but it's all fluff (things start to move towards spicy near the end)!  Talk of prostitution (sex work is work!), nicknames (Shutterbug, baby), feather light dusting of angst, soft!Tim as usual 💕

A/N: Another instalment of The Rockford Portfolio! Because the collection of one-shots is non-linear, they can all be read as standalone - though there is a reference to something that happened when they first met in Marine Attraction. This one can take place anytime, but I imagine it to be earlier on when Tim and Shutterbug have started dating for a few months/they're in a newish established relationship. Graffiti Alley is a real place! There might be others, but the one I frequented (and where the moodboard pics were taken is in Toronto, behind Queens Street).

Series Masterlist

Photography themed dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

“Thanks for your help, Darlene.”

“Sure thing, boss.  Sorry no one showed.”

“Not your fault.  You sure it’s this alley though?”

Darlene, seasoned pro at the world’s oldest profession and one of Detective Tim Rockford’s longest standing and most trustworthy informants, gives him a withering stare, “I think I can remember where I gave the guy a blow job, Timothy.”

“Geez Louise, Darlene, alright – I’m sorry,” Tim throws his hands up in mock surrender.  Over the years, Darlene has provided him countless pieces of good intel – usually regarding the comings and goings of suspects or other persons of interest in his cases; her information always panned out - he didn’t have any reason to doubt her.

Theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement, as most cop-informant relationships were.  He never busted her for soliciting, and to be honest, he probably wouldn’t have even if she didn’t help him.  In Tim’s mind, sex work was work and Darlene and her fellow sex-workers had the right to make a living, as long as everyone was being safe and no one got hurt.  He had a tendency to emphasize the safety part – Darlene and a few of her closer friends knew that if a client were to ever get rough or out of hand, a call to Detective Rockford would bring about an appropriate response. 

That Darlene had once tried to use Tim’s business card as a get-out-of-jail-free card was another story.

Early on in their arrangement, Darlene had offered to include some additional ‘perks’, but Tim had never taken her up on it; the power imbalance didn’t sit well with him and she eventually stopped offering, the possibility of their relationship being anything other than strictly professional evaporating years ago.   He knew other cops that didn’t object to mixing business with pleasure, and while Tim didn’t judge, it wasn’t for him. He saw it as his responsibility to take care of his informants, and he did so by paying Darlene one of his higher informant rates and providing her with some security in the knowledge that he was but one phone call away if she ever needed help; in return, Darlene kept an eye out for information that could help with his cases and she nearly always delivered.

Unfortunately, today was not one of those times.  Darlene had called and said that she had it on very "good authority" that a few of Mr. Pie’s men had been hanging out a lot in Graffiti Alley.  Darlene had overhead the men in question talking about Mr. Pie’s distribution network – an area of the Pie organization that Tim had been heavily investigating.  And as a result, Tim’s spend the better part of his Saturday sitting in his car with Darlene, parked in an inconspicuous alcove in said alley waiting for her to identify any of the men should they turn up.  No dice – during the daytime, Graffiti Alley is almost welcoming: people walk their dogs here, photographers and artists with sketch books come to be inspired by the ever changing graffiti art, even tourists wander through to admire the colourful murals. Apparently, the less than savoury characters only emerge at night.

Tim hands Darlene the envelope with her informant pay, which she accepts eagerly, “And do you have the other stuff?” 

“Of course.  Not my first rodeo, Darlene,” Tim reaches his long arm into the back seat of his car and grabs a small plastic grocery bag and hands it to her as well.

“Yesssss… you got Skittles this time,” Darlene digs into the bag, eyes eagerly looking over the selection of candy that Tim's given her as part of their agreement.  She selects the package of Skittles and starts to tear it open – eager for her sugary reward.

“In the car? Be carefu-,” starts Tim, but it’s too late.  Darlene pulls apart the wrapper just a bit too aggressively and the bag of candy explodes, scattering the little sugary rainbow orbs all over the front seats and floor of Tim’s department issued Crown Vic.

Darlene shrieks with laughter, “Sorry, boss!! I’ll clean it up!” and starts scooping up all the candy she can see.  Tim helps as much as he can, but he’s already groaning at the near guaranteed prospect that they won’t be able to find every spilled Skittle and days, weeks and even months down the line, he’s going to periodically find candy in his car – crushed, melted and sticky. 

Darlene leans over the centre console, hands groping around the floor of the driver’s side, feeling for errant candy.  Tim closes his eyes and sighs, “Don’t bother, Darlene.  And don’t eat candy that’s been on the floor, okay?”

“Tim?”

Tim’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice coming from somewhere outside the car, not too far away.  He turns his head and looks out the window to you standing across the alley, a small smile of surprise on your pretty face – clearly not expecting to see him in Graffiti Alley where you had come to shoot photos.  Tim’s about to roll down his window to greet you when Darlene chooses this exact moment to pop her head up so it’s now visible to you from outside the car and Tim watches as your face goes from bemused to shocked.

---

You love Graffiti Alley.  It runs behind one of the city’s busier, more fashionable streets downtown. An alley in every sense of the word: dirty and lined with the bins and refuse discarded by businesses that only cared to maintain a posh appearance for their front of house.  But what the back walls lining the alley way lacked in cleanliness and refinement, it made up for in vibrant and exciting graffiti art.  You’ve come to admire and shoot the murals in Graffiti Alley many times before, but you returned often – the street artists frequently paint over, around, and even collaborate with each other so there’s always something new to see.  After a delightful brunch with your friends in the same part of town, you made your way over to Graffiti Alley with the intention of trying out a new lens you had downloaded which you suspected would pick up on the saturation of spray paint colour rather prettily.

Noticing several new murals you’ve never seen before, you had happily snapped pic after pic, rather pleased with the results when you checked your camera roll.  You’re looking through your latest set of photos, thinking that Tim might particularly enjoy a few of the bolder, stylized tags, when, almost as if you manifested him, you look up from your phone and see him sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, partially hidden in a shady alcove along a wider part of the alley way.

Tim's eyes are closed and he looks like he’s sighing – you knew he was working this afternoon, but looking around, there’s no one in this alley save him and you; thinking perhaps he’s taking a quick break, you call out his name.

Spying the look of recognition on his face when Tim turns to face you, you’re about to start walking over when the head of a woman pops up into view and based on the angle at which she appears, the only place her face could have been prior to surfacing had to be Tim’s lap.

You’re not sure what your facial expression conveys upon realizing that you've just caught the man you’ve been dating in the middle of receiving a blow job in a dingy back alley, but internally, you’re stifling a nervous type of laughter – this is awkward and mortifying.  Maybe later, you’ll remember to be hurt, but right now your confusion and embarrassment for the situation are protecting your heart.

Your instinct is to run away.  To put as much distance between you and Tim’s daytime dalliance as possible, as soon as possible.  The instant you spin on your heel, you hear the car door opening and Tim call out your name.

Only able to take two steps before you hear, “Shutterbug! Please don’t go!” accompanied by Tim’s hurried footsteps catching up to you, stopping you in your tracks - it'll be impossible for you to outrun him if he insists on chasing after you with those stupid long legs of his.

Did he even have time to zip up his pants?! You cover your eyes before turning around, not sure if you can choke down what would undoubtedly be a sign of hysteria if you have to come face to face with Detective Tim Rockford being caught with his literal pants down.

Tim puts his large, warm hands firmly over yours, gently pulling them down before he says softly, trying to catch his breath, “Baby, I promise it’s not what it looks like.”

Still afraid to look, you keep your eyes closed, and say in a rather sarcastic voice, “I’m not sure what you mean, Tim.  What does it look like?”

You hear Tim give a low chuckle, and your eyes fly open, Does he think this is funny?!  You’re ready to give Tim a piece of your mind but your outburst dies in your throat as soon as you see the desperate, near panicked expression on the big, strong detective’s face.  Normally so stoic and formidable (save with you), you don’t think you’ve ever seen Tim look quite so vulnerable.

He must register the change in your attitude, because Tim gently takes your hand in his and makes to lead you back to his car; the driver’s side door is still flung open and through it you can see the pretty, though tired looking woman sitting in the passenger seat looking at the two of you rather sheepishly. Softly, Tim pleads, “Come with me please, Shutterbug.  I’ll explain everything.”

When you arrive next to the car, the woman gives you a small nod when Tim introduces you to one another.

“Baby, Darlene is an informant who’s helping me with the Pie case.  She’s actually helped me with many cases over the years.  We have a long-standing professional relationship,” he hopes he's properly emphasizing the strictly business nature of his and Darlene’s relationship, “… part of which includes her exchanging information for diabetes.”

Tim makes a sweeping motion with his hand and for the first time you notice that the car floor mats, driver’s seat and all the little nooks and crannies of the centre console are all positively littered with Skittles.

You giggle, “There’s so much candy.”

“Yeah, well, I splurged for the family pack to be nice,” Tim rolls his eyes, but his shoulders release a little of their tension at the sound of your laughter.

Darlene comically holds up her hands to show you both of her fists, clenched full of candy, “The bag exploded and I was just trying to salvage what candy I could from the floor – Skittles are my favourite.  I promise I didn’t have your boyfriend’s dick in my mouth.”

You laugh loud and true at Darlene’s frankness – any and all uncertainty or insecurity you've been feeling evaporating in an instant.  When you feel Tim’s arm wrap around your waist, you lean into the firmness of his hold.  Looking up, you find him already gazing at you with look of devotion; he whispers, “Promise.”

Studying the earnestness in his eyes and the softening of his normally steely countenance, you believe him and whisper back, “Okay.”  The smile that breaks out across Tim’s face is nothing short of mesmerizing, warming you through and through – though you see it only for a moment before his mouth descends upon yours.  Lightly brushing your lips repeatedly, Tim nuzzles your nose and presses his forehead to yours – anything to stay close enough to feel the soft fan of your breath; he expresses his relief, his contentment and his desires, all without words.

“Dammmmnnn boss, you’re soft for her.”

“Darlene,” Tim’s voice stern, signaling an end to today’s stakeout.

“Right, got it.  Me and my bag of candy will be going now – sorry for the mess and … yeah, well, you know.  Anyways, I’ll call you if I see those guys again,” and with a wave of her rainbow colour stained hand, Darlene exits Tim’s car and saunters down Graffiti Alley.

Finally alone, Tim cups your chin with one of his paw-like hands, the other cradling the back of your head, and in a tender tone he pledges, “Baby, I would never, okay? Never with Darlene or any informant.  And now, not with anyone but you.  There’s only you.”

You kiss him softly to match the promise of his words before deepening the kiss, licking behind Tim’s teeth and letting his tongue tangle with yours so he knows you believe in him.

When you break apart, you’re in a teasing, jovial mood about the whole situation, “Not even with Darlene?  She seems fun.”

“She’s a handful is what she is,” Tim grimaces.

“But you still make sure she’s okay and take care of her,” you suspect that it’s no small deal to your gentle giant when people make the effort to help him; you look at him lovingly, appreciating that while he may not broadcast his kind and considerate nature, it likely drives all his decisions and actions.

“Well, I try,” Tim looks bashful under your admiring gaze.  He gestures to the mess in his car, “And look where it gets me.”

Giggling, you offer, “Want me to help you clean up the car?”

“Nah, there’s a car wash place nearby that has those vacuums.  I’ll take it there.  You wanna come, Shutterbug?”

Nodding, you go help Tim brush off what candy you can from his seat before rounding the Crown Vic and doing the same to the passenger seat.  Tim insists on putting down his jacket for you, and although you don’t think it’s necessary, you made yourself a promise when you first started dating Tim that you would never pass up an opportunity to see him wearing his gun holster.

As luck would have it, a high school soccer team is running a fundraiser at the car wash today, so you and Tim don’t have to do anything but sit on a bench and wait for the car to be cleaned.  You stifle a laugh as you watch Tim give a nervous, pimply teenager his keys after flashing his badge. Only when he returns do you tell him that he’s had a green Skittle stuck to the back of his slacks the entire time.

Tim sighs, with no actual air of annoyance, as you turn him around where he stands and take your time unsticking the candy from the fabric, making sure to run your palms unnecessarily over the swell of his ass, pretending to look for other rogue Skittles.

Tim looks back over his shoulder down at you, “You just about done there, Shutterbug?”

“Nope,” you chuckle, giving his butt another once over with your grabby hands before lightly slapping each cheek, watching in satisfaction at your boyfriend’s cute booty dancing a little. “Now I'm done,” you announce cheekily to Tim’s amused silent mouthing of 'Finally' to the sky.

Wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling your legs into his lap, Tim presses a soft kiss to your temple as you snuggle into his soft embrace.

“You know, I thought I might lose you today,” Tim confesses into your hair.

Tilting your head up, you meet his tired eyes, the rich browns deep and swirling, “Like if I hadn’t believed you and Darlene, and just left?”

Tim sighs and looks pained, reliving the flash of fear that ran through him earlier that you might want nothing more to do with him, “I would have understood.”

Cupping his distressed face in your hands and running your thumbs soothingly over Tim’s facial scruff, you hope he feels your sincerity when you assure him, “It’ll take more than that to get rid of me, Detective.”

“Don’t want to get rid of you.  Wanna keep you always,” murmurs Tim, closing the distance between your faces.  Mouth pressing to yours sweetly, unhurried but full of feeling – Tim drinks in your returned affections, thirsty for your reassuring and calm touch.

After your affectionate display attracts the hoot and hollers of the carwash teens, the two of you break apart, smiles goofy.  Still a ways to go before the car is finished, Tim asks if you shot any good photos in Graffiti Alley and you happily take out your phone and walk him through today’s captures. 

You’re nearly done showing him the colourful murals that caught your eye today when Tim suddenly straightens, “Wait, go back please, baby.”  You swipe back a few pictures until Tim points at a bright stylized tag and you give him your phone so he can study the screen.  After a minute or two, he resumes scrolling slowly through today's street graffiti pics, pausing only to take retrieve his case notepad from his jacket pocket – flipping to a page of notes and using it for reference while he intently scrutinizes your photos.

Silently, you watch the cogs in Tim’s mind turn, lost in his theories and the problem solving nature of detective work that he loves so much. You're always fascinated seeing him like this: in his element, where his brilliant mind and the shrewdness of his instinct meet, and he can seemingly conjure solutions to problems you don’t even understand out of thin air.

When he gets to the end of today’s camera roll, a brilliant, heart stopping smile illuminates the detective’s entire face, the type that if you weren’t already sitting would make your knees buckle.  He looks at you, roguish grin on full display, “Shutterbug, I have good news and bad news.”

Your shout of “Noooooooooooooooo!! Not again!” carries across the carwash, causing the teenagers to furiously debate amongst themselves who's to be the poor soul who has to come over to tell the two of you that Tim's car is clean.

You're incredulous. Your boyfriend really has to stop confiscating your phone for police work.

---

It’s a little past midnight when a persistent knocking wakes you up.  When you open the door to a sheepish looking Tim, he apologies but you don’t mind the late hour – not when you spy the glow of success stamped all over his handsome face and the spring in his step when he enters your apartment.

It’s clear that Tim, having gone straight to the precinct after dropping you at home this afternoon, hasn't gone home.  You pull him towards you for a tender kiss, concerned for the long hours he keeps, “You’ve been at work this whole time, detective?”

Taking off his jacket and shoes, Tim nods but looks the opposite of tired.  He’s excited and elated at the way the puzzle pieces of this case have started to fall nicely into place today, in large part thanks to you.

“Special home delivery,” Tim holds out your phone, voice full of gratitude.

“So my photos helped?”

Did they ever.  Tim eagerly shares with you the fruits of your joint labour – when you showed him your snapshots earlier, he had recognized some symbols discreetly painted into the graffiti art in a few of the photos.  The same symbols appeared over and over in coded messages that the police had intercepted between Mr. Pie and his distribution network.  The messages were unreadable and a source of great frustration for the detective squad until today, when Tim realized that the code breaking key was hidden in plain sight all over Graffiti Alley.  Tim had spent the rest of the day with the LAPD Cipher Team, decoding the messages they had on hand and setting up stings and operations necessitated by the freshly revealed information.

It had been a good day.  Tim grins at you and thanks you earnestly for your contributions. 

Slipping your fingers under the smooth leather of Tim’s holster straps, you give them a little pull – instead of pulling him towards you, Tim’s solid frame remains unmoved and your actions cause you to tip into his space.  Eyes all innocent, you blink at Tim, “I want to be paid in candy too”

Detective Rockford is on you in an instant, hungry and eager to reward you - for your help, your understanding of the nature of his work, your understanding of him.  Mouth never leaving yours, his hands roam expertly over your lithe body, slipping under the soft silk material of your lace trimmed sleep set.  Meanwhile, your delicate hands are decidedly less gentle as you tug and pull at Tim’s belt, pants, dress shirt buttons, undershirt – breathy whimpers of victory attempt to escape your occupied mouth every time your fingers relieve Tim of another piece of clothing. No patience for order, you litter your floor with his clothes to create a telltale trail leading to your waiting bed. 

A shirtless Detective Rockford rests his head on your fluffy pillows as you climb on top of him, worshiping you with his eyes, still unable to believe his incredible luck that such a goddess would allow him to worship at her alter.  You worship him right back – tracing soft shapes over his hard chest as you marvel at the goodness housed within and the quiet strength of his broad shoulders and muscles.  Though your touch gives him nothing but pleasure, Tim removes your hands from his chest by your wrists and brings them to his lips, gently kissing them before raising them over your head so he can remove your camisole.

With you straddling his hips, bare and gorgeous only for him, Tim hardens fast under the plush globes of your ass. Willing himself to slow down, he slowly skates his thick, rough fingers over your delicious curves, bringing his large palms to a rest just under your breasts.  You're just beginning to tremble with arousal from Tim thumbing your nipples, pretty peaks already pert and hard from his attention, when a frightening thought enters your mind, 

“Wait, Tim!  Wait!”

Sitting up at your urgent tone, Tim wraps his arms around your waist, lightly running his commanding hands up and down your spine in a soothing manner – eyes full of concern.

“If you used my photos in your investigation, does that mean we have to break up?” you remember the conflict-of-interest protocol that separated you from your handsome detective for seven months the last time he used your photos in his casework.  The idea that you’ll have to part from him again threatens to break your heart.

Happily, Tim would never let that happen.  “Don’t worry, baby.  We went and shot our own photos today to enter into the file - we won’t use yours as evidence,” he presses his plush lips against the sweet spot on your neck that he discovered the first time he slept with you, “Never breaking up with you, Shutterbug.”

“Good,” you breath, grinning before pushing him back onto the bed, your body falling on top of his.  Ghosting your open, wanting mouth over Tim's lips and inhaling the intoxicating, woodsy scent that always leaves you dizzy, you murmur, “Wanna keep you always, Detective Rockford.”  And then you kiss him.

[gargoyleandgremlinpress]

Sudden Nature by everbrighter

This MDZS fic/series is a modern AU that's mostly without magic... except there's a heavenly bureaucracy. And every once in a while, it makes a mistake, and sends someone who's died back to earth. This is rare, but frequent enough that hospitals have resurrection wards just in case.

If you're at all familiar with canon, I think we can all see where this is going.

Wei Ying is a a whistleblower on the Wen Corporation in this one, who's adopted baby A-Yuan. When he's killed in an accident, Lan Zhan raises Lan Yuan and lives with his grief... and then Wei Ying comes back. This is a story that's emotional and heartfelt, and very funny in bits, about grief and loss and family, and getting something back you never thought you would, much like canon.

The series is a bunch of interconnected short fic with two long segments. The first one is from one from Lan Sizhui's point of view: "Lan Yuan has lived most of his sixteen years not knowing the man who raised him as a toddler. So when Wei Ying suddenly comes back to life, both Lan Yuan and his dad, Lan Zhan, work to make room in their lives for him. Too bad he has a science project due this week..."

The second one is from Wei Ying's: "Wei Ying comes back from the dead, all of a sudden. Over the course of a week, he remembers what it is to be alive, and what it is to be in love." (Not gonna lie, I kind of love the parts where Wei Ying is adjusting to no longer having the body of a twenty year old, in terms of sleeping for a week on the couch now has CONSEQUENCES.)

But it was the very first part of the series that hooked me, where Lan Zhan falls in love. And it's not who you think.

"Aren’t there classes for this? Aren’t there books a person is supposed to read for this? Should he have done research? Shouldn’t he have prepared? But ah, it’s too late now, and there’s a baby in his arms, face to the shoulder of Lan Zhan’s cable-knit sweater."

I finished the typeset for this fic back in the fall of 2022, and it was in my pile of text blocks to finish binding for Binderary, an annual fanbinding challenge, in February, 2023. It was the last one left. I looked at the text block. I looked at my bookcloth and paper options for the cover. I pulled out two options... and couldn't decide. It turns out, I just didn't have the right combination of colours.

In the interim, I obtained some Duo book cloth, a particular line that has a two-tone colour shift to it, gorgeous in person, but really hard to photograph. The company that makes it, sadly, has gone out of business, and the final group orders for it obtained near epic status among @renegadeguild circles. (It has its own lore. And fic.)

Which is to say, the spine of this book is Duo Dragonfly, and the cover is chiyogami paper. The endbands were my first time trying a double core, in sewing thread, and are a little bit shaky as a result, though I'm pretty happy with the colour combo. Lettering stencilled in gold acrylic paint.

I was going for an ethereal, heavenly feel with the title page, and a shout out to the Toronto setting with the spread on the table of contents. (Hello, fellow Canadians!)

A few interior shots here, and a vaguely Lan cloud used for the section breaks. I did a bit of formatting to mimic a newspaper column for the article that starts off "Thirty-Seven," the long section from Wei Ying's point of view.

I am pretty happy with how it turned out, and glad I held off to get the match that felt right for the cover materials!

And behind the cut for spoilers... the last sentence in the short chapter right before Wei Ying's death gets me RIGHT IN THE FEELS every single time I read it.

Lan Zhan held onto A-Yuan! He held him for fifteen minutes, and then for the next sixteen years it took for Wei Ying to come back from getting milk at the 7-11! Oh my heart. Nnngh.

(Also, I slid in a fan art illustration for the fic from GreenTeaPikachu, so enjoy the drunk!LanZhan Does Parkour as an added bonus for clicking through!)