#he really wasn’t the best photographer either but for someone stroking their dick with one hand I suppose the photos turned out alright 😌

[tsuchinokoroyale]

How Pride started

How it ended

[bluesfortheredj]

Best of you.

A/N: No one asked for a Gwilym x reader with a side of jealous ex Taron thrown in, but you’ve got it and I loved every single second of writing this. ENJOY!

Gwilym walks down the stairs in his suit, and your eyes follow his body from his brand new patent leather loafers up to his black single crease suit trousers that fitted his thighs like a glove, then to his black shirt with matching tie, and finally to the perfectly tailored deep navy double breasted suit jacket with black lapels.

“Wow,” you exhale when he gets to the last step. He lets out a soft chuckle as you stand there staring at him with your mouth agape, and you notice a flush of red creep up his cheeks under your gaze.

“Nothing compared to you, my dear,” he smiles, “you look absolutely ravishing.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you against his body so abruptly that you almost lose your footing in your heels, and one of your hands lands on his chest with a small thump as you steady yourself with a laugh. His free hand comes up to push your hair away from your face, then he leans in close to let you feel his warm breath against your skin before kissing your neck and then your ear lobe.

“Don’t expect me to keep my hands to myself,” he growls quietly before lightly biting your neck. Your head rolls back as you let out a moan, and you wrap his tie around your hand to keep him close to you.

“Carry on like that, and we won’t make it out of the front door,” you groan while he continues to graze his teeth over your sensitive skin. A short, sharp sound of the car horn snaps you both back to reality, and you pout at each other before braving the rain and running to the vehicle. Once inside and settled on the back seat, Gwilym’s hand lands on your thigh to stroke lovingly throughout the journey.

“Are you still feeling nervous?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit, linking your arm through his and leaning against his side.

“There’s no need to be, I promise,” he smiles, then kisses the top of your head.

It isn’t long until you arrive at Bourdon House for the pre BAFTA party, and Gwilym holds your hand as he slides out of the car. He stands to wave at the gathering of fans that had congregated already, then helps you out before sliding his hand around your back and walking towards the entrance with you. A photographer calls Gwilym’s name and he snaps a picture when he looks up at him with a smile while you keep your head lowered mostly because of the rain, but with a hint of a grin on your face as well. Once inside the building, you lift your head and run your fingers through your hair to make sure you look presentable enough for the event.

“You look perfect,” Gwilym beams, taking another long look at you in your floor length navy dress that matches his jacket; the bias cut silky fabric hugging every curve and skimming over your slight paunch perfectly. He shakes his head in disbelief, and you shoot him a bemused frown.

“What?” you ask with a half laugh.

“Can’t believe my luck,” he smiles, “look at you.”

“You’re too much,” you giggle, “come on, it’s cold out here, and I’m starving.”

You walk into the main room to find a crowd of familiar faces, most of which you’d seen on your television screen recently, and you find yourself feeling out of place once again. Gwilym leads you through the throng of people to the bar as he reminds you that you belong here just as much as anyone else, and when you finally reach the safety of the drinks, you take a deep breath. Someone Gwilym knows catches his eye, and he gives him a wave.

“I’ll be one minute, I promise,” he says, then gives you a swift kiss before walking a few steps away  to his friend.

Almost as soon as Gwilym leaves you, your joined by someone who sneaks up from behind, and you’re shocked to see Taron appear with a smug grin across his face. It was just over a year since you’d last been to an event such as this with him by your side instead of Gwilym, and you narrow your eyes at him as you take a sip of your drink.

“Technically, he’s not actually welsh,” he starts, and you know this isn’t going to be an enjoyable conversation for you already, “so you downgraded?”

“It’s amazing how you can annoy one person within a matter of seconds,” you retort, taking another sip.

“Does he call you cariad like I used to?” he asks, making you do a double take at him at another question so quickly, “I’ll take that as a no. For the best, really.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because he’d never be able to say it in a way that makes your knees weak,” he gloats, leaning in close just as Gwilym turns to check on you. Taron catches his eye to give him a thumbs up, then as a photographer comes up to you both, Taron flings his arm around your shoulders and squeezes you into his side as he grins into the camera. You muster up a polite smile as Taron holds you in place, and once the flash goes off you wriggle out of his grasp.

“What exactly are you trying to do here?” you ask as you notice Gwilym positioning himself so that he can see you properly.

“Having a catch up conversation with someone who is still very dear to me,” he shrugs, but you can tell he’s enjoying the feel of pissing Gwil off, “why, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Taunt Gwilym?”

“Maybe a little. But genuinely, I’ve missed you,” he says, stroking a hand down your arm and letting his fingers dance over your hand.

“That’s a dick move, Taron,” you warn, pulling your hand away from his.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hand up in defeat, then turns to face Gwilym and mouths another sorry in his direction.

“Taron, the jealous ex boyfriend persona doesn’t suit you.”

“But it’s so fun,” he winks.

“I’m going to walk away now,” you reply, “enjoy your night.”

You walk towards Gwilym where he greets you with an open arm, then tucks you into his side as he introduces you to the people he’s standing with. It soon becomes time to take your seats around the long tables for the meal to be served, and you happily settle yourself next to your man.

“Are you okay?” he can finally ask after your interaction with Taron earlier.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, “he was just-”

“Oh, hello you two!” Taron beams from across the table, taking a seat directly opposite you, “this is going to be fun.”

“Do you know each other?” Taron’s friend asks as he sits opposite Gwilym.

“It’s (Y/N)! Don’t you remember? We were together for… hmm, how long was it?”

“I can’t recall, Taron,” you smile politely, and Gwilym’s hand lands on your thigh with a frustrated thud.

“(Y/N)?! Oh my goodness, I didn’t recognise you! Wow, the break up treated you well.”

“She looks stunning doesn’t she, Gwilym?” Taron asks, giving him a smirk.

“She looked even better when she was getting dressed earlier...” he quips back, and Taron looks as though he’s been slapped around the face as he looks down at the menu in front of him in silence. Gwilym leans over to your cheek to whisper in your ear how much he loves you, and if you weren’t sitting down already, you’d need a chair as you knees go weak at the sound of his gruff voice. You turn your face to look at him and he steals a quick kiss from you before you both look down at the table in front of you with smiles adorning your faces. What made you even happier about this sweet moment is that you knew it wasn’t even for Taron’s benefit, this was just Gwilym being Gwilym; the deeply loving man that he was.

Taron is kept very distracted by the people around him and his friend on the other side of the table, much to yours and Gwilym’s relief, and you find yourselves in deep conversation with those people sat either side of the both of you throughout dinner. You and Gwilym get up from the table once your side is almost empty, and return to the room where everyone is socialising once again, this time happily full up from dinner. A photographer snaps you both as you walk into the room, then you’re invited to go through to another room where there’s a backdrop set up for professional photos to be taken.

“I don’t know about all this,” you say nervously, stopping before Gwilym gets to pull you in front of the camera.

“I’ll go first,” he smiles, standing on a small marker on the floor and posing for the camera. A few shots are taken as he moves around from side to side, showing off his suit perfectly, and then he holds his hand out for you to take. You join him in front of the camera to stand side on as you face his body, then you hear the clicks as you rest one hand on his shoulder and one on his chest. He smiles down at you as you return the smile up at him, and you couldn’t feel more comfortable than you did right now. Gwilym knew exactly how to put you at ease so much that even standing in front of a photographer wasn’t phasing you in the slightest.

When it’s all over, you thank the man behind the camera, then make your way back out to the crowds. Taron stands at a distance as he watches you both and the ache in his heart only worsens at the sight of you looking so happy. There was no denying you’d both been happy together when you’d been a couple, but it was true what his friend had said, the break up had treated you well and you had blossomed into someone so different with Gwilym. He sees you break away from Gwil for a moment to head to the bar, and he takes his chance to talk to you one last time.

“Don’t run away,” he begins, “I’m not going to be a dick, I promise.”

“Go on...”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for my awful behaviour earlier. I really wasn’t thinking straight. You come in looking like that,” he pauses to gesture to your body, “and with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on your face, and then I realise that it’s because of him and not me, and it sort of sent me into this insanely jealous rage.”

“I knew that wasn’t you. You’re not that person, so don’t worry.”

“Even you saying that kills me. You know me so well, and I thought I knew you so well, but you’ve moved on with this amazing guy who obviously thinks the world of you.”

“Taron...”

“No, no, you don’t need to say anything. You two are made for each other, it doesn’t take a genius to see that. I just always thought that you were made for me, that’s all. Anyway, I’m sorry, and I really hope I haven’t scuppered my chances at an invite to the inevitable wedding,” he chuckles.

“That’s a way off yet!” you laugh.

“By the way he’s been eyeing you all night, I’d say it’d only be a matter of months,” he winks.

“Well, if it happens, we’ll be sending you an invite. As long as you promise the same for when you find mrs. right.”

“Ha, I thought I did already...” he trails off as he looks at you, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders as you hug him tightly. Taron’s arms hesitantly make their way around your waist, and he shuts his eyes as he savours the moment, “okay, now go, I can feel Gwilym’s eyes burning the back of my head. Go on, your man needs you.”

He ushers you away with a laugh, and you return to Gwilym’s side where you belong. Gwilym runs his fingers through your hair before letting his hand slide down your back and come to a stop just above your bum.

“I’ve got a question for you...” he smiles, fishing around in his pocket.

[flashhwing]

daylights and midnights and cups of coffee

pairing: DonnaKory summary: Donna, a down-on-her-luck photographer, is looking for a new roommate; Kory, a popular model, is looking for a place to live.  It's a match made in heaven, right? please check the notes for ao3 link

Donna was going to need a new roommate.  Which was a shame, really.  She was starting to truly enjoy her newfound freedom after finally kicking Kyle out of the apartment (a whole month after they broke up, too; it was about time), but.  Well.  Two bedroom, two storey walk-ups in lower Manhattan didn’t exactly come on a bartender’s paycheck.

Stupid artist Kyle and his need for a whole-ass bedroom for “studio space.”  He could’ve just set up his easel in the living room.  They could’ve saved so much on rent.  But no, he just had to insist.  And now he’s fucked off and saddled Donna with this extra room.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of an extra room must be in want of a roommate.

(Okay, maybe she could get a new apartment, but she quite liked this one.  It had granite countertops, and good water pressure, and four cabinets in the kitchen.  That was three cabinets more than her friend Roy had in his East Village studio.)

“Roy only has one cabinet?”

“That’s beside the point!  I need a roommate, and I really don’t wanna look on Craigslist.”

“Hmm.”  Dick sat on the customer side of the bar, wearing a thoughtful expression and brandishing an almost-full pint of Sam Adams in one hand.  Donna didn’t like where that was going.  Dick’s ‘thoughtful looks’ usually ended in spectacularly bad plans and possible bodily harm, and if he spilled that beer it’d be hers to clean up.  Unfair.  The bar wasn’t even open yet.

“Don’t give me that ‘hmm.’  What are you thinking?”  Please don’t let her regret asking.

“Well.  You’re in want of a roommate, right?” Dick raised one eyebrow.  “I happen to know a fantastic lady in want of a room.”

How weirdly and coincidentally helpful of him.

“Sounds perfect,” said Donna.  “What’s wrong with her?”

“What’s … wrong with her?”

“Yeah.”  Donna shrugged.  “What’s wrong with her?  Why doesn’t she have a place to live?”

“Uhh, nothing?  She’s new in town, just moved from LA.”

“Ohhh, so she’s one of your celebrity friends?”  Dick had a habit of befriending celebrity-adjacent people.  He was Rich (with a capital R), and hung out with models and musicians and people who worked on movies.  People on magazine covers.  He had VIP passes to most of the clubs in Midtown because he knew the owners of most of the clubs in Midtown.  

Really, some of Dick’s acquaintances weren’t the sort of people who’d give a down-on-her-luck bartender the time of day.

Dick rolled his eyes.  “I guess you could say that.  She’s great though: she’s fun, she’s down to Earth, she’s stylish – just your type!”

“My type?”

“Of friend!  She’s your type of friend.”

Donna didn’t sigh, but it was a close call.  “That’s great, but it doesn’t tell me anything.  Is she clean?  Is she loud?  Sounds like money’s not an issue, but is she responsible?”

“Yes to all of that.”

“Loud isn’t a good thing, Dick.”

“Okay fine.”  Dick shrugged and leaned back.  “If you can’t accept that one flaw, I guess you’ll have to just find some schmuck off Craigslist.”

“No, it’s.”  Donna groaned.  “It’s fine. What’s her name?”

“Kory.”

She’d heard that name.

“Kory.  You don’t mean your ex, Kory?”

“Is that a problem?”

Donna pinched the bridge of her nose.  “Why are you trying to set me up with your ex?”

“Hey, not all exes are created equal!” Dick said, maybe a little too quickly.  “I know you’re still reeling from Kyle, but Kory’s not some slack-off jerk-face like him.  Promise.”

“Well, if you promise.”

Dick tilted his head pointedly.  “Oh, come on.  We broke up like two years ago and I’m still friends with her.  That should be recommendation enough.”

“That doesn’t mean much.  You’re friends with all your exes.  Roy … Babs …”

“Yeah, coz I don’t date assholes.”

Donna narrowed her eyes.  What happened that patented Dick Grayson charm?  Or was that reserved for strangers and reporters, old friends be damned?

He must’ve seen the look on her face, because he quickly tacked on, “Too soon?”

All he got in response was a small hmph.

“Sorry.  But seriously, why are you being so resistant?”

Why was she being resistant?  This was good, technically.  She’d spent the last two weeks asking around for friends of friends of friends who were possibly looking for a place to live, with no luck.  And here Dick was, suggesting someone who definitely (probably?  How much did models make?) had enough money that rent wouldn’t be a problem.  Someone he knew and held in high regard – and as much as Donna liked to tease him, Dick was a good judge of character.  Kory should be, more or less, a perfect roommate.  So, what was Donna’s problem?

Maybe it was that she’d met Kory once and could say, without exaggeration, that she was the most intimidatingly beautiful woman Donna had ever seen.

Not that she could say that to Dick.

“I’m not … I’m not being resistant,” Donna said.  “Go ahead and give her my number.  Have her call me if she’s interested.  And either drink that beer or get out, we’re opening.”

Dick slid his glass across the bar and hopped off his stool with a mock salute.  “Knew you’d give in.  See ya tomorrow, Troy?”

“Later, Dick.”

Kory moved in two days later, on a Friday.

It wasn’t like Donna hadn’t met Kory before.  She had, once, during her senior year of college.  It was at some Wayne Enterprises banquet she had to attend for her scholarship.  Dick had introduced them, and Kory had told some story about her sister and an angry pelican, and Donna had walked away from the encounter with a general feeling of holy shit.

But that was two years ago, and even the memory of holy shit wasn’t enough to prepare Donna for the sight of Kory Anders, popular instagram model, standing in her living room with two suitcases and a hairless cat.

She just seemed so … out of place.  Donna’s apartment wasn’t bare by any means; there was a couch, a tv, curtains on the windows, and even some of Donna’s prints framed on the wall.  She had a rug on the floor and a blanket thrown over the couch.  It was all very tasteful – and of course it was, having housed pair of artists for nearly two years.

The apartment could be a Renaissance painting, all soft light and muted colors.  And there Kory stood, with her dyed pink hair and flagrantly purple, sleeveless blouse.  Like one bold, bright stroke of paint right down the center of the canvas.

And wow, Donna really needed to get Kyle out of her head.  She was a photographer, not a painter, dammit!

“Your home is lovely,” Kory said with a small smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” Donna replied.  “Here, let me grab one of your bags.”  They were both lime green, but otherwise mismatched.  One was a large, hard-shelled roller, the other a half-sized canvas duffel bag.

Most of Donna’s accessories were black (or at least very dark jewel-tones).  Black was practical.  It went with everything, didn’t stand out, never looked dirty … an all-around useful color, really.  

But all of thirty seconds in Kory’s presence, and Donna thought she could stand for more greens or purples or pinks in her life.

Best not read too much into that...

She led Kory to the spare room and gestured around.  “So this’ll be your room.”

Kory looked around, humming appraisingly.  She let the cat jump out of her arms, and Donna gave it a wary eye.  The apartment was pet-friendly, and Kory had assured her that Silkie (seriously, the cat’s name was Silkie) was house-trained, but Donna had never lived with a cat before.  She was more of a dog person, herself.

Plus his wrinkly, pink skin was a little off-putting.  Still, she supposed he was cute in his own sort of disgusting way.

“What are those?”  Kory gestured with her chin towards the ceiling.

Donna looked up and grimaced.  “Yeah, those.  This was Kyle’s studio and he wanted, uh, glowy stars?  For some reason?  I haven’t been able to get them down, sorry.”

“That’s fine.”  Kory said airily.  “It adds a bit of whimsy.”

Donna thought Kory probably knew a lot about whimsy.  Amazingly, the thought wasn’t in her judgemental voice.

“I don’t have a bed or any furniture for you,” Donna said, eyeing the two (only two?) bags Kory had packed.  “Do you …?”

“I’ll have to purchase them,” Kory said.  “I left everything in LA and only brought what I need.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“You can always find cheap furniture,” Kory said as if it was the simplest fact of life.  “I find it easier to replace things than to try and carry them everywhere.”

“Not me, sister,” Donna said, leading Kory back out to the living area.  “That couch is staying with me ‘till the day I die.”

Kory looked at the couch with an inquisitive eye as Donna ducked under the counter separating the living room from the kitchen.  The couch wasn’t anything special, Donna knew – not even a full set.  Just a loveseat and an armchair, both a deep red color.  They weren’t overstuffed, but they weren’t threadbare either.  Overall, it was an exceedingly average couch.

“Does it have some sentimental value?”

“Nope.”  Donna emerged with a three-quarters full bottle of Chianti.  She popped the cork and poured two generous glasses.  “I just like the color red.”

Kory smiled.  It pulled one corner of her mouth higher than the other and made her eyes soft.  Donna smiled in kind and handed her a glass.

“To new roomies,” Donna said, raising her glass.

“To new roomies,” Kory repeated, clinking her glass against Donna’s.  As she took a sip, Donna couldn’t help but notice the wine matched Kory’s lipstick.

A thought occurred to her.

“Hold up.”  Kory stopped, glass still held to her lips.  Donna put up her thumb and forefinger, framing Kory’s face between them  “Stay right there,” she added with a grin.

Kory seemed to catch on as Donna ran to her room for her camera.  Dick must’ve told her Donna was a photographer.  

It wasn’t like she was a professional or anything.  Well, technically she was, had a degree and a practice and all, but mostly she did shoots for senior photos or family portraits or whatever.  She’d tried to do freelance for some magazines, but apparently nobody was interested in pictures from some no-name bartender in New York.  Something about them being a dime-a-dozen.  Even attaching her name to Dick’s (he offered) hadn’t done the trick.

Not that she was giving up.  She still sent out her portfolio and did interviews every chance she got.  She had an instagram with a decent following.  It just … wasn’t enough to live on.

Hence the bartending.

“So where do you want me?”  Kory was perched on one of the kitchen stools when Donna came back out.  Her legs were crossed and she held her wine glass delicately in the air, elbow resting on the counter.

“Right there, actually.”  Donna grinned.  She hadn’t worked with a subject who actually knew what they were doing since college.  This was going to be fun.  “You don’t mind, do you?” she added as she flitted around the room, adjusting the lights to be soft and flattering.

“Oh, not at all,” Kory replied.  “I was actually going to ask how much you charge.”

“How much –”  Donna stopped in her tracks.  A popular model wanted to pay her for her services?  Usually she had random strangers trying to get her to work for free.  “Well, I was gonna give you the friends and family discount.”

“And how much is that?”

“Free.”

Kory’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.  “Free?  Donna, do not undersell yourself.  Everyone else will.”

Donna snorted.  “Ain’t that the truth.  But no, this is just for fun.  Call it a bonding exercise or something.  Besides, I’m not gonna charge you when you haven’t hired me.  You don’t even know how good I am.”

“Dick showed me your instagram.  I may be just a model, but I know good art when I see it,” Kory said with a wink.

“Oh, Miss Anders.”  Don’t blush, don’t fucking blush.  “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it now?”

“You know it.”  It wasn’t what Donna wanted to say, but she didn’t want to scare Kory off ten minutes after meeting her.  “Alright so … look at the door.”

“What’s my mood?”

Donna considered for a moment.  “You’re on a blind date set up by your best friend, and it’s going great.”

Kory’s demeanor barely changed.  Her posture straightened, her fingers curled a little looser around her glass, and her eyes seemed almost imperceptibly brighter.

“Are they funny?” she asked.

“Mm … they’re witty.”  Donna snapped three shots in quick succession.  “You’re vibing pretty hard.”

“Are they pretty?”

“Just your type.”

Two more shots.  Kory sucked in her lips in what might’ve been the most adorable expression Donna’d ever seen a person bear.  She took three more shots.

“Are we coming back to my place after?”

“Uh … you might wanna buy a bed first.”

Kory threw back her head and laughed.  There.  That was the energy Donna wanted.  She took five shots before Kory turned to look at the camera.

“I think we’re gonna get along splendidly, Miss Troy.”

Donna didn’t bother holding back the grin spreading across her face.

“I think you’re right, Miss Anders.”

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tryst Part 6

Hi Babies! It flags it with the picture- but I’m sure we all have it memorized! Talk to ME! Umbria II (or Before it you fancy) 

The lighting is so gorgeous and soft, she knows they have to get up off the couch. She can't miss this golden hour, she needs a few more amazing shots, it’s gilding his lily, but choice it preferred by editors. Helene is a little boneless though, still. And she doesn't really want to leave the hotel room, but he looks, better than the light really.  And it's her job to capture it. Even here, lazing in a hotel room, he is a sight to behold. He's all tan and recumbent, body stretched out. He looks easy, at ease, except his eyes. Harry's eyes are always a dare. Green lights set her to go.

"Hey, we need to get ready - I don't want to miss the light." The light was good, if the way his skin looked, bronze and shimmery, like a halo on all that was exposed, was any indication. He cocked the book down, side eyed her, like a glare's hot cousin, "I don't want to go anywhere. I wanna read. I think this is my vacation!" And he ticked his eyebrow at her. That, that deserved a picture. "Don't be a baby, and it's definitely a working holiday at best." His fits of pique were almost cute, because he always did what he was supposed to. She knew she just needed to arch her own brow, or remind him someone may be waiting on them, or mention Jeffrey, and Harry would haul himself up, and put on a shirt. It was a shame. She supposed his reliability was a good quality, except when it drew him away from her. She wondered if he'd ever blown something off, to stay in, stay in bed, get back under the covers and out of their clothes. She wondered if he would with her. Helene wanted to ask, but that wasn't their relationship, she knew it. She'd started as a friend. Then became a friend with benefits, and that's where she felt likely to stay. Was that a zone?  The ‘a friend you fuck but don't love’ zone. She thought that was where Harry put her, intentionally or not, but he had broken out of that box in her head.  Ripped off the handcuffs, and she was terrified, because he was more to her. But she couldn't say it. Because he was also her boss, the best she’d ever had, and her friend, a really good one. And her lover, it seemed, but not a love. It was a shame she had fallen. But he was such a beautiful man.  She couldn't help it. "Why don't you just take pictures here?" That broke her train of thought. "Like this?" Her brow erased her forehead on that. "Yeah! Why not?" "Cuz you'll never let me post them!" She's laughing - they both know it, he's half naked, she only gets one of those a tour. "I will, for my birthday I will!" "Your birthday or mine?" "Either, it's a gift anyway!" "You're an ass!" She's laughing. She loves when he shows his cocky, it's usually during sex, but it's always sexy. She likes when it’s buried under humility, but not always, not when she wants him to be buried in her. God! Everything about him draws her in. She is fully aware she is a moth, bashing herself onto his fire, she's going to do it anyway. Can't resist the flavor of those cherry nips and raspberry lips. It's worth it. Helene reaches behind her for the camera. "Game on!" "It's not a game!" He's laughing. God she hopes not. He looks better in the view finder. She's is not sure how that is possible. He keeps reading, or pretending to, dropping the book down occasionally to his chest with a lazy fucked out smile. She knows that look. She's determined to see it again this afternoon as she did this a.m., and last night. Other times he places the book on his lips, resting on the over plumped line at the top edge, contemplative, studious. She thinks he is her favorite subject. To study and shoot.   One time he flips her off while holding the book. His other fingers on his side, middle finger on the spine facing her. Well, that's just a dare. When he cocks the book at an angle, keeping his face mostly covered, and gives her the look he gets when she goes to her knees, she snaps the shot and knows it’s the last one. It is the shot, happy fucking birthday to her, or him, or everybody. Helene sat the camera on the table, thought she heard it fall off the edge, but she barely had time to wince before she was crawling into his lap, under his arms, her head between his shoulders, just below the book. "I'm reading." He murmured - eyes intentionally glued to the book. "So read." It was not meant to be a whisper, but it slipped passed her lips sotto voce and was followed by her tongue, catching his crucifix in her mouth. Licking it out of the way to find the hollow of his chest like a swallow finds home. The notch fit the wide flat of her pink muscle perfectly and he tasted strong of him, even a hint of her, she had slid down his body from his face at one point this morning. His nipples looked like cherries, always did, but she was hungry and the sweet tart taste was all that could satisfy her. Her tongue curled around one and then the other as he kept reading. He wasn't even breathing heavy. She would have been miffed if she didn't know that this was, in fact, a game. Whoever gave up first. So she bit. That drew a sound from him, and when she licked to the other side and bit the tip of his other tit, he moaned. "I'm reading." He was whispering across the centimeters between them now. "So read."  Helene smiled like the cat about to get the cream. The distance between her first position and the high waist of his brand new favorite pants was minuscule, but gave her time to give him butterflies, using his representation of a favorite feeling. Tongue tracing detailed lines on his gleaming skin. She slipped her hands in to unhook the bar closure of his rich trousers and found him hard beneath. When she licked the leak at his tip, where it peeked out to say hello from the  waistband of his calvin's, she felt the book brush her hair and could smell the pages as the air wafted out of them when they hit his stomach. His hand went into her hair. She guessed love, the verb, was more important than a mixtape. "You're reading." She reminded. "No, I'm not." And he gripped her hair and gave her a little direction. That kitty cat grin crossed her face again. She peeled his boxers down. Licked his dick up, from the crease of his testicles to the glans. The circuit she made of his tip, well that had him breathing heavy and talking now. "Your mouth, c'mon kitten, open your mouth." And he flexed his hips up. But he had been a tease. So she snapped the waist band, a little jolt to his thighs and an "ahh!" "When I'm ready!" She said. And nibbled at his sartorius. "God, please be ready soon. I really need to feel your mouth, Helene." "Why don't you tell me about that. What you need, hmmm?" She lay her head on his hip, where her breath could caress his pulsing cock. "Um, ok, god! Fuck!" He flinched when she cocked him towards her mouth and sucked in just the tip. "I love how much you can fit, everywhere, I'm always surprised. Cuz you’re so small, love to throw you around. And the sounds you make, ugh..." She licked around the head audibily. "I love how responsive you are. So I really need youto show me all that and put it in your mouth.” He’d run out of breath by then, was panting. "I love how big you are," she righted herself between his legs and got comfy, opened wide and sucked him deep. The pop when she pulled off the tip was just for his praise. "Oh fuck, Helene, again!" And so she did, the pops off the top weren't so frequent, but the deep strokes had Harry speaking in an English form of tongues, full of praise and love. Just like him. His taste was irresistible, but his giant heart kept her hanging on more than his dick. She knew this would have to be the last time. He didn't want more, didn't see her as more, and she'd never demanded or suggested more. That was her failing. But she deserved it. More. She'd treasure this though. All the times with him. She'd take all of this to the next relationship, learn from it, and find something requited. Harry liked her fine, and she wanted to work for him again. He was a stellar boss, would be a really amazing boyfriend, but he needed some time. Not everything was forever, sometimes that hurt, but it was ok. She was ok, and this was incredible, and hers for the time being. His taste, the sound of his voice, tuneful even when he was groaning, the shape of him, and the shape of him inside her, she'd get to keep the memories, and it didn't even have to the be photographic, because she has those too. And she'd know what to ask for next time. The lessons would come with her too. How she wanted to be fucked, loved, and treated. But mostly that she wanted reciprocity. Which she'd demand next, and now. He was at the back of her throat, just an inch left out, and she swallowed to his babbling, his hands buried in her hair as he begged.  "Stop, Helene, I’ll come, I'll fucking come." Did she want that? Kind of, honestly, but also, if she was swearing off Harry Styles, she had other positions to try, explore, learn by heart. So, when she needed to recall, it would be like the home phone number that didn't exist anymore, but would always be hers. She pulled off and stroked twice. Smiled at him, swollen lipped and wet mouthed. "God, fuckin amazing. C’mere!" And he pulled her up and over him. To where they were eye to eye, lip to lip, hip to hip. She came to rest, aligned like they always were, in her heart, him filling the negative space between her thighs with his powerful ones. He was holding himself at just the right angle, so they could find all those geometric configurations, acute and obtuse. She slid easily over him twice, and then onto him. The exhales were just shy of rapture.  "Cherie?" She smoothed his growing curls back. "What will you remember of Italy? Of me?" He looked thoughtful for a minute. Distilling some words down. "The way your hair is honey in this light, and the ease of your bones on me." He was a murmur on the air between them. That was a good memory, sweet and solid. That's what she would take too. "I'll remember that you were caressed by sunset and it loved you the way we all wish to. And how you looked reading your book. And your songs, those unwritten." "I'll write some for you." He promised. "Don't, I'm not just a memory." "No, a dream." His hands found her hips, and the cadence he set, the rock and sweet roll gathered everything but moss, all of her senses, feelings, and attitudes. He stayed deep, buried to the hilt and moved her hips in a susurra. Helene aided him, made it orbital. They could have stayed like that for a long time, suspended like the moon. But his neck veins were straining, begging for attention and release. Her mouth climbed the especially pronounced one on the left side above his clavicle. She was sure she was on the right track by his grip, it had migrated to her ass, was tight. A few inches from where she loved it. Where he had taught her she liked it. It made her clench. "Do you want it?" He circled his thumb over her asshole. "Yes." She whispered in his ear, bit down on his lobe. But she meant more than he thought. Harry pulled his hand away, to her mouth. Had her wet one, then two, three fingers. "I want it." Brought it back round. Sighed over the first instrusion, jaw dropped over the second, squirmed over the third. "Helene?" "I'm good, I'll be able to take more." She assured. Kept up the little dip and roll of her hips. Worked back on his fingers until it was all pleasant stretch. Her own fingers found a place between her legs and the crazy amount of sensation, the presence of Harry's teeth on her right nipple, brought her off faster than she thought possible. Crazy to think that just a few months ago, she'd never come during sex. Now she came every time, with him. But she knew how to get there now. "Fuck, fuck, Harry, it feels so good!" Her clench was tight, he looked pained, and she felt her clit pulse against her fingers, drum skin vibrating. She slipped off his lap. "Do you have anything?" "What?" He was staring at her like he'd never seen a naked woman before, much less her. He hadn't followed her round the bend she'd mentally decided on. "Lube. For my ass." She brushed her fingers between her ass cheeks, felt the sensitive space there, a little frisson of pleasure. "Um, Yeah, bottom of my kit." He started to move. "I'll get it." "Non, I'm up amour." She started then stopped. "If you don't mind" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head an inch, chuckled. "I don't mind." "Keep that warm for me." She nodded at his slick cock. "Just like that!" Yum, his hand moved up and down slow. Just enough to keep it tense, hard. His eyes were closed and he was squeezing a little when she got back. "You ok?" "Yeah, I'm just, fuck Helene, I'm really turned on, and I'm afraid I'm gonna come on the first stroke." She giggled a little, she loved when he was weak. It was rare, for him to be so hot he was out of control. "Don't laugh at me!" He laughed a little at himself though. "I've only done it like once, and it was shit, I was like 19." Ah, a one off. This would be better, they had sexual rapport. Spilled over from professional, no doubt. She made a thoughtful face, tapped her chin with the bottom of the lube tube. "I have an idea. You could eat my pussy until you can handle fucking my ass." She'd take that with her too, asking for what she wanted. His eyes closed and when he opened them again  they were florescent, buzzing like neon. "C’mere." A beautiful order. And he grabbed her hand and slid down on the sofa. "Sit on my face." "With pleasure." God, that first stroke of his tongue was always something. He usually started with the wide flat, this time from all the way back to the tip top of her.

The normal tease of him, to switch to kissing, nibbling her inner thighs was, "fuck, dammit, Harry!" He gave her that look, the one he slid the book down to grace her with that started this, all heavy lids and sex on a stick. The suction at her clit and slight head shake were gonna get her there. But he must have needed more time, before he opened her up. She was excited, a little nervy. He'd done it, not well apparently, once, but she'd never done it. Would it hurt, in a bad way, or good, in that bone deep ache, next day soreness memory way.  Her hands found his hair and her eyes rolled back in her head when he brought his hand up, sucked in new fingers and wrapped them around her hip. Started with the count again. 1, 2, 3 fingers. Helene was afraid she might have strands of his hair between her fingers, she'd pulled so hard. "Harry!" He was sucking again, light, wide over her clit, and licking too. "I'm gonna come." He nodded, hummed and slipped a finger into her vaginal opening and rubbed the top of her canal. "Basai-moi!" He pushed her back when she lost her legs. She came to rest on his lower stomach. He sat up and pushed her hair back. Kissed her back to her senses with his fragrant mouth. "You good? Want to do this?" "Do you?" "God, yeah, please." "Yeah, let’s do it." She smiled, "how?" "Slowly." He kissed her eyes, "bend over." He stood up, sat on the dark wood coffee table, arranged her over the couch. And slow he went. From the tops of her shoulders to the backs of her thighs, then in between. Mouth, fingers, tongue, huge hands spreading her cheeks. When his cool slick fingers came up, and he spun them inside her, scissored them slightly, worked up to four, she was ready. More likely, impatient. "Harry, tu me rends folle." Her back was curved sharp, like a lens. "Take me." "Turn over, its easier on your back I think." "I thought you haven't done this in a long time?" He laughed. "Well, I haven't been the verb so much, usually the object. But I know how to make it good for you." "Oh!" She smiled. Yeah, she kinda knew that, him and boys. Liked it, to think about it, though that seemed politically incorrect. She’d got an inkling when Xander came round backstage, he and Harry were, familiar. She lay back for him, he arranged her thighs and she relished watching him slick his cock up. Thumb the tip the way she knew he liked. Hot though it was, worked up as he'd got her, she still tensed when he put the head at her puckered opening, though all of her felt empty and open. "You gotta relax, or it'll be uncomfortable." "Just do it." Helene figured it was best to get the hard part over. "It's not like a plaster, you have to start well to make it good. Easy." He kissed her the way the next world felt. "Slow." When she'd forgotten that his dick was an inch too low, consumed by his fruited lips, he pressed the tip through. That was usually her favorite inch. But now, it didn’t hurt, uncomfortable though. She squirmed a bit, wasn't sure if she meant to get it deeper or push it out. "Shhhh, shhhh, we can do this." He pulled back, brought her hand to her red and ripe cunt. "Play." So she did, and those deadly eyes, so bright green they may have been nuclear, made her forget the discomfort until he was pressed all the way in. "Oh!" Her busy hand stilled while the other gripped her breast. "Oh!" Harry groaned. "Fuck!" And he pulled out and pressed in, slow and heavy. Fucked into her for long minutes until she was taut as bow, her back off the couch and her heels digging into his ass. "Touch yourself, put your fingers in." And she did, her hair a mess all over the embroidered couch from tossing her head back and forth. It was a lot of sensation, penetrated back and front. "Feel me?" He whispered. "Yes!" God could she feel him, everywhere, through the membranes thin as can be, could make out the tip when it passed in and out over her knuckles. "Helene, I need to come." He must. He'd been holding it since she'd got her mouth on him. "Un moment." And she got her thumb to work, pressed down on her nub, and kept her fingers against the companion spot inside until the bow snapped and arrows of feeling darted across her synapses. "Fuck!" Harry let out and she watched, with half her attention because she didn't want to miss it, while his teeth gritted and his muscles froze and his mouth fell open. He pulled out of her, her rubber legs akimbo, and her will and way to move lost.   Helene stared at him, red trails on his skin, flush of his chest, splotches on his neck. "Can I take a picture of you, like this?" "You look at me like that, I'll say yes to anything." That was the pot calling the kettle. His looks were persuasive. So, she didn't ask him anything hard, or lengthy. Because he would have agreed, and not meant it. Now months later, she's really happy, has had a few great dates with a good man. It might be love. But she still takes that advantage she had pressed after their fucked out afternoon. "Can I really post that picture on your birthday?" She’d looked at it in the little square, that was a lot of skin. Not so much as the one she snapped then. He really might have said yes to anything, because he'd only shrugged, carefully put her camera on the couch before he picked up her sleepy body, carried her over his shoulder to the shower. She posted the before shot, on his birthday. The after one was just for her.

[zooptoopfanworks]

False, Fatal Motif; Pt 1

Hey, guys! It’s been a long time since I posted an original work. I guess that’s because I admittedly haven’t been writing as much as I used to. Part of that I attribute to writer’s block, the other to just flat out lack of motivation.

But I’m back, for the time being, with another fic! It’s a slight work in progress, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! Prepare for heartbreak! Angst! Tension! Hopefully not false advertising on my part, but I digress...

“No.” A young Judy gasped in disbelief. She backed away from her bed until her back thudded against the wall of her own little burrow. Her friend’s cell phone dropped at the foot of her bed as she hurriedly scampered back. Her mind suddenly filled with a maelstrom of emotions, disbelief, anger, and betrayal proving to be the most prominent at the moment. “That can’t be real” She gasped, tears threatening to burst the dam she was struggling to maintain. “You... you must’ve altered the pictures somehow.”

Jean, another rabbit, one grade level higher than her, with her fur a darker shade of gray than Judy but shorter ears, shook her head solemnly. “No, I didn’t Judy. This is as real as it gets.”

Judy’s eyes darted from Jean to the phone, then shook her head deniably. “No... There’s some explanation to this, I know it... She’s... a sister, or a cousin, or something like that.”

“Judy...” Jean sighed and crouched down in front of her “Family don’t hug like that. They don’t kiss like that. You saw the pictures for yourself”

Her state of denial remained strong, but began to crack along with her composure. “He... he wouldn’t do that to me... He said he loved me...”

“Judes, I know this is a lot to take in. I’m gonna be blunt. He lied. He doesn’t care about you.”

“Don’t you DARE say that!” Judy reared defensively, the first hints of tears leaking through her eyes. “We love each other!”

“Judes, it’s obviously not double sided.” Jean calmly replied.

“Yes it is!”

“Maybe at first. But lately he hasn’t been with you for more than an hour”

That was true. But so what? He was perfectly capable of having a circle of friends that extends beyond her.

“You’ve been quote-unquote ‘dating’ for a year, but he has yet to take you on an official ‘date’”

“Yeah, but we kiss! He loves me!”

Jean sighed and shook her head “Judy, from an outside perspective... it’s unbalanced.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe on your end, you feel whatever passes for love, but his side is purely lust, if anything.”

Judy’s rage started to show in her face. “Get out of my room.”

Jean kept pressing on. “I’m serious, Judy. It’s clear he wants something that you’re not giving him.”

“I said get out.”

“Judy, boyfriends wrap their arms around your waist. In the rarer occasions where he touches you, he takes every chance he can to cup at your ass”

“GET OUT, DAMN IT!”

“I know guys like him! To him, you’re nothing but a trophy!”

Judy screamed louder than she ever screamed before and chucked her pillow across her bedroom, sending a small potted flower toppling to the floor. Then, she faceplanted on the bed, defeated. The hard truth of her friend’s words finally sunk in, and she realized how true her words were. It was astonishing how believable he would make his lies just to keep her around. Her screams were replaced with pathetic sobs as her body convulsed uncontrollably as she took air in sporadic gasps. Within seconds, her pillow was soaked with tears. Jean set a paw on her back and stroked it as though she were the most delicate newborn bunny that would shatter at the slightest hint of aggression.

“I… I really thought…” Judy struggled, unable to finish the thought.

“I know, Judes…” Jean whispered.

“He said… He’d never… But…” More sobbing. It was amazing Judy didn’t drown herself yet.

“I can’t believe I actually believed him…” the first full sentence she’s managed.

“Happens to the best of us, Judes.” Jean replied, clearing her throat

Judy’s broken heart expressed itself in similar bouts of broken speech for a good hour. After a while, her whole body hurt as much as her heart did, and the pair sat together in silence.

“I’m sorry, Jean…” Judy finally muttered, her face finally out of the pillow. “I said some things I didn’t mean.”

Jean pulled Judy to her feet. “It’s not your fault, Judes. He’s a dick. C’mon, I hear your mom made another blueberry pie.”

Fast forward to a few years after her employment.

It had been two years since Judy first met Nick outside the elephant ice cream shop. Within the following days, he became her first friend in the city. A few days after, she said somethings and fucked everything up, and after endless sessions of self loathing and regret, He forgave her after three months, even though it took until three months after that when she forgave herself for what happened. They became police partners on top of best friends, meaning they spent a lot of time together. In that time, they became close. REALLY close. Before either of them knew it, they were sharing secrets they thought they had blocked out for years, and their feelings for each other grew exponentially. Six months later, he finally grew the balls to ask her out, which she quickly agreed to.

It started out rocky, as could be expected. On top of hiding their relationship at work, inter-species dating wasn’t exactly held in high regard. But somehow, Nick made it work. He channeled as much of his optimism and energy into what they had. Even on days when he was dead tired, he always tried to make time for Judy. They’d cancelled each other’s dates more times than either cared to admit, whether it was work or something personal, but they always made up for it. It wasn’t exactly something out of some teenage romance novel where everything is perfect and everything worked out… but it was theirs. It was theirs and they loved it.

But Nick changed.

It was gradual at first, but zoning out quickly turned to unnecessary aggression, on duty as well as off duty. It even took Judy a while before noticing herself, and a little longer to ask Nick what was wrong. Sometimes, he would brush her off, denying that anything was wrong, other times he’d change the subject... sometimes he would even ignore her completely.

Judy prodded him for answers for weeks on end and made no progress. Nick had always been a closed door, but she would usually get him to open after a little . But not this time. This time, Nick was not only closed, but locked, deadbolted, and barricaded. Nick was getting worse and worse, and she wanted nothing more than to help him. But to do that, she needed to know what was going on, and he wasn’t opening up to her.

So she hired a private investigator. Probably a bad idea in retrospect. Terrible idea, but It made sense at the time. And within a few months, she got results.

Results she was completely paralyzed by. Results which made her relive that same scene in her bedroom when she was in high school. She REALLY needed to talk to him now.

Just then, she heard three taps on her door, followed by Nick’s voice. “Carrots? It’s Nick. Look, I need to talk to you about something.”

Judy pursed her lips and marched over to the door, swinging it open and crossing her arms.

Nick looked like a mess. His shirt was buttoned one button too low, his fur was tangled and in a matted mess, and his tie wasn’t even tied on correctly. He fired a half assed smirked in her direction and rubbed the back of his neck as he walked into her apartment.

“Look, I know I haven’t exactly been myself lately, and I know you noticed too. You asked me what was wrong, and I did nothing but shut you out.” He held up a paw and shook it in front of him. “I have a nasty habit of doing that, don’t I?”

Judy gave him nothing but scowling silence.

Nick tilted his head slightly. “What’s with the look?”

Judy’s eyes shot fire as she spat at Nick. “Who the hell are you, Nicholas Wilde?”

Nick squinted his eyes. “What? Judy, what’s this about?”

“Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“Find out about what?”

“THIS, Nick!” She thrust the photographs to Nick’s chest. Nick took them, puzzled as he thumbed through them, Each phototgraph, courtesy of Judy’s PI, featured Nick with a mystery... woman. A husky, actually. Slightly shorter than Nick, beautiful, well built... Essentially, the kind of mammal that would be more... suited to someone like Nick.

“Where the hell did you get these from?” Nick questioned.

“RJ Ringtail”

“Ringtail? The PI?” Nick sputtered. “You had me FOLLOWED? What the hell, Judy!?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Judy demanded. “It was clear something was bugging you. I was given limited information,so I did what I needed to do to get to the bottom of it! All I wanted to do was help you! Apparently, you were already helping yourself to something I couldn’t give you!”

Nick thrust a finger toward Judy. “Is that what you think is going on? Well, let me tell you...”

“It’s clear that’s what’s going on, Wilde!” Judy interrupted. She shoved her paws in her eyes and leaned her head back. “God, Nick! I can’t believe this! This is Quinn and high school all over again!”

“Quinn?” Nick asked, confused. “You mean…”

“Yes, Nick. That Quinn!” Her paws were balled up into fists and she just wanted to punch something. “You’re just like him!”

Nick sighed heavily and shut his eyes, scowling. Comparing him to Quinn, Judy’s high school sweetheart, ex boyfriend, certified asshat… It hurt a lot more than he let on. “Judy, if you’d just let me explain...”

“NO, Nick!” Judy screamed. “No more! These pictures tell me just enough.” She heaved many heavy sighs, on the verge of sobbing before she continued. “...I can’t do this again...”

Nick’s own enraged disposition suddenly melted. “Judy, what are you saying? Are we okay?”

Judy shook her head and turned her back to him. “There’s no ‘we’ anymore, Nick...” She muttered. “We’re through. I’m done.”

All she heard was Nick’s own shuddering gasps as he struggled to find the words. “Judy, please, let me explain...”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! JUST GO!”

She kept her back to him. She couldn’t bear to face him now. Things were silent, except for the labored breathing from both parties. Seconds of silence turned to minutes, and she spun around, only to find Nick gone, and her front door neatly closed.

For a few seconds, she stared at the door, and simply couldn’t feel anything, as though the adrenaline from the earlier event left her numb. Then, all at once, it hit her like a cement mixer. One second, she was bravely staring down her closed the door, the next she was a pathetic huddled mess on the floor, heaving gasps as her own sobs suffocated her.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She whispered to herself as she smacked herself in the head with her fist as she condemned herself for letting this happen to her again. She should have thought better than to become involved with an ex-con artist, reformed or not. The dates, the smiles, the sidelong glances, the smirk… the kiss… it was all a lie. And she fell for it all over again.

Work was probably going to be really awkward from now on.