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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 7 months

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DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick

Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.

Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:

Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.

And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.

Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.

Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”

Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.

There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.

~~~~~~

Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.

The local birds:

~~~~~~

Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.

Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.

~~~~~

Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.

Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.

Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?

Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.

~~~~~

Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.

Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.

Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.

Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.

Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.

Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.

~~~~~

Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.

~~~~~

Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.

Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream

~~~~~

Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #dead on main ship #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc memes

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coryosbaby · 5 months

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—ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ‘ᴛɪʟʟ ɪ ᴘᴀꜱꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ !

(Luke Castellan x bimbo! Reader)

Content warning . Victory sex? Choking, size kink, dumbification, marking, Sub! Reader, Dom! Luke

“Baby!”

Luke’s excited voice echoes throughout your empty cabin. Your curious eyes look up at him, distracted by drawing on pink lipstick with a fine tipped brush. Your lovely boyfriend wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses you flat on the mouth.

“We won,” he says, grinning. “I took the flag.”

You smile excitedly, turning around to hug him.

“That’s so amazing, Luke!” You reply. “ I’m so happy for you!”

It’s true. Your lover may be the best fighter in camp, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get giddy everytime he wins (yet another) capture the flag game.

Not to mention he’s like, insanely hot afterwards. Taking note of him, he’s sweaty and flush with the thrill of battle, and you think this is his best look: when he’s claimed something for his own.

You guide him to your bed, checking him for any major cuts or bruises. He never has any, and that doesn’t change today. You drop to your knees regardless, and nuzzle your face against his thigh. It’s one of your favorite ways to show affection towards him at times like these, when he needs to calm down and let his body rest.

However, you can’t help but clench when his hand wraps around your hair and he pushes his hips towards you. He does it unknowingly, out of instinct, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss to the crotch of his jeans.

He pauses, a smirk forming on his face.

“Need something, baby?”

You nod, a small “mhm” leaving your lips.

His eyes are teasing as his fingers grasp your chin, directing you to look at him.

“Are you going to be good?” He asks, all serious and deep, and you smile up at him, doe eyes gleaming as you excitedly play with the zipper on his jeans.

“I’ll be so good, Luke. Promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

He thumbs over your bottom lip, watching your hands much tinier than his unzip his fly. You pull out his hard, aching cock, the tip pretty and pink. You watch a pearl of arousal slide down his shaft, watch as he looks down hungrily at you. Your mouth waters.

You kiss his cockhead, letting his stringy precum glaze your lips, before sticking out your tongue and gently licking him. He lets out a heavy breath, his hand falling into your hair.

“Fuck,” he groans, sighing. “Such a good little princess for me.”

You whine, beginning to guide him into the warm heat of your mouth. His smell, all sweaty and musky, makes your brain fuzzy. It’s disgusting really, how desperate you are for him after a tournament. Letting him fuck your throat after a game is almost tradition.

And he knows it, too, teases you as you take him all the way in the back of your throat and choke on him. He presses you further down and lets your nose rest against his pubic bone. Your eyes roll back.

“Mmm,” he groans. Tears leak out of your eyes and smear your mascara as your throat contracts. “ Does my dick taste good, baby? How’s it feel having the greatest swordsman in the entire camp fuckin’ your throat, huh? Y’like that?”

You can’t reply, and he knows that. But you let out a guttural moan, making Luke growl.

“Such a stupid little thing. I asked you a question, baby, I expect you to answer it.”

Your lips slide off of him with a loud pop, your lipstick smearing on the side of your cheek as you gasp for breath.

“Love it, Luke. Love your cock so so much, just wanna suck on it forever…”

He grins, then, lets out a little chuckle between his lips as he guides you back down on his cock.

“That’s better.”

You trace your tongue filthily along the vein on him, move your hand down to palm one of his balls. You’re almost dizzy with it as you suck him, and you think you can stay like this for the rest of your life with his hands in your hair and his cock down your throat.

Luke has a primal stare as he watches your lipstick coat his cock in pretty pink stains. His hips buck up, once, twice. He’s about to cum, so he pulls you off of him.

“Gorgeous girl,” he compliments softly, wiping your mouth with his thumb. Drool drips down your chin and neck. “Want you on your clothes off and you on your back, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod obediently. Your wobbly legs lift up and you begin to unzip your pink jacket, then your Bebe top underneath comes off with two perfectly manicured hands. You slide your skirt off, and unclip your bra. But before you can take off your heels, Luke tsks. Ever the gentleman (to you, at least), he puts your foot on his thigh and undoes the laces on them.

“Are these new?” He asks, genuinely curious, as if he isn’t about to fuck your pretty brains out.

You nod, heart racing as he smiles up at you.

“I like them,” he drawls, gently tickling your ankle. “They’re cute.”

“Cute?” You say, giggling. “My shoes are cute?”

“Of course they are. They’re stilletos.“

You smile at the fact that he’s remembering the type of shoe because of your many rants to him about clothes. You let him remove them for you before sliding your panties down your legs and crawling onto the bed. He gives your ass a teasing slap as you crawl over him to your fluffy pink pillows.

He towers over you, slipping his shirt off and revealing his bare torso. You almost blush like a school girl, and pinch one of this biceps.

“You’re getting so strong,” you say in awe, feeling the muscle underneath your hand. Luke laughs, kissing your jaw.

“Gotta get big to protect my girl, don’t I?”

You bite your lip, his words sending a throbbing sensation straight to your already dripping core. He pushes his jeans and underwear past his meaty thighs and hastily kicks them off before giving his cock a few heavy strokes. He brushes his tip up against your folds, teasing. You whine, burying your face into his shoulder.

“I need it,” you say against his ear, sugary and sweet. “I need you.”

And how can he resist that, when you’re so pretty and pliant underneath him? He groans, pressing himself into your tight entrance, his hands going to either side of your head as he splits you open. Your thighs spread of their own accord, inviting him in even further.

“Such a tight little slut,” he moans out, watching how your pussy lips practically choke his cock. Your back arches.

“All for you,” you whisper.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he punctuates each word in between thrusts, his pace increasing ferociously at the thought of owning you. “This little pussy? These tits? That fucking brain of yours, it’s all mine. Mine to toy with, mine to use… all of it.”

Your eyes roll back as he begins to mercilessly pound your pussy into the mattress. His big hand plays with your throat, then his fingers wrap around it and he squeezes. Your airflow is nearly cut off, and you gasp for breath as he presses harder. Your pussy gushes slick at the movement. Your lips press against the vein on his wrist, and you stick open mouthed kisses to the skin there. It isn’t long before you need to be let up; however, Luke’s grip on your neck doesn’t move. In fact, it tightens— you try to move it off, try to lift your head up to breathe, but Luke slams you back down into the pillows. Your hand grabs his much bigger one, a small, choked murmur of his name tumbling from your lips, begging, “Luke.. please”.

And that makes his hips stutter. He knows you want this, knows that this is something you’ve always liked. If he had actually hurt you, you would’ve said the safe word.

He shoots inside you with an animalistic growl, his cum coating your inner walls in thick white ropes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Your legs shake and squeeze his hips as he empties himself into you, your clit still throbbing hotly. Luke isn’t a non giving lover, and while his softening cock rests inside your cunt he reaches down and rubs slow, deliberate circles into your clit.

“Cmon,” he breathes out, watching your pussy spasm. “Cmon, baby, give it to me. Let me see you cream on my fucking cock.”

You whimper loudly, your orgasm hitting you so intensely you fear you may pass out. Your back arches up into Luke’s touch as he helps you ride out your high. When you come down, shaking and sticky with release, Luke’s fingers leave you and he wraps you into your arms. He presses a kiss to your hair, and you sigh happily when he pulls you on top of his spent body.

“Luke?” You ask him. Your fingers play with the hand shaped bruise forming on your throat.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

@mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry

#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#luke castellan #Luke Castellan x reader #Luke Castellan x fem! reader #Luke Castellan x bimbo! reader #Luke Castellan smut #Luke Castellan fanfic #Luke Castellan blurb #Percy Jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #Percy jackson fanfic #Percy Jackson series #luke Percy Jackson

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lovedazai · 11 months

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LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON THEM

ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai, tecchou

p.s.! ⊹˚. this has been in my drafts forever & on my mind for even longer :< i just want to spoil all of them

DAZAI ー dazai is glowing under all of your attention. the rosy smudges cover his entire face; they peek from beneath his bangs, traveling across his cheekbones and bleeding over the edges of the bandages on his neck. he didn’t know how long it’d been since you first cupped his cheeks, a smile curling his lips when he saw the red painted on yours. getting showered in your kisses was like a dream, and he thinks that if he were to die right now, it’d be even more euphoric than he could’ve ever imagined. he buries his hand in your hair to cup the back of your head, urging you to continue. he shamelessly whines when you pull away, even if you’re still close enough for the tips of your noses to brush. “just one more?” you press your lips to his cheek, but his lithe finger curls under your chin to bring you back to his lips, darkening the pigmented smears on the corner of his mouth. he lets out a dreamy sigh as he looks at you, wiping the lipstick that escaped the outline of your lips with his thumb. “just one more?” he kisses you, mumbling the rest against your mouth. “for real this time?”

CHUUYA ー chuuya had given you his black card for the day, letting you buy whatever you desire with the promise of showing him everything when he got home that night. shopping bags and tissue paper dot the floor; the soft blue eyes that watched you flaunt your new clothes now linger on your lips as you apply your new lipstick. “i really like this color,” your phone camera works as a makeshift mirror, and you pop your lips, bright red spread evenly across them. “i got it because it reminded me of you.” you make yourself comfortable on his lap, placing your knees on each side of his thighs before you press your lips to his skin, warm from his blush. you start kissing along his cheekbone, leaving a trail of stains across his face until you press your lips to his. his bare thumb makes itself home against your jaw, and his ungloved fingers are warm from where they rest on your skin. when you pull away, chuuya’s grin is equal parts lovesick and prideful, and you smile at the marks you left behind. “this color looks so good on you.” he says, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “yeah? it looks good on you too.” you kiss the corner of his lips, watching in satisfaction at how it smudges his skin. he holds you firmly to his chest, hand sneaking beneath your shirt and settling on the dip of your lower back. “you got any more to swatch on me, pretty girl?”

RANPO ー the smile that formed when you first started kissing ranpo slowly drops as his lips quiver and his hands grip at your shirt, keeping you close to his chest. the stains left behind from your lips are camouflaged against the background of his flushed cheeks, pretty pink complimenting the green of his eyes. “so pretty,” you mumble. “did you know you’re the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen?” you think you hear him whimper at your words, and the little noises vibrate against your mouth. his lips are sweet from the konpeito he was eating when you first found him, and you make sure to linger on them every now and then. his grip on your shirt tightens when you pull away, smiling at the collection of lipstick marks across his face. “why’d you stop?” he pouts. “i’m out of space. i kissed you all over.” you tilt your head, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. “except there.” his hand leaves your side to pull at his loosened tie, and you watch him unbutton the top of his shirt until his collarbones are visible. “there,” his hands settle against your waist once more, tugging you back to your rightful place pressed against him. “now keep going!”

FYODOR ー what starts as one kiss turns into two, then three; you couldn’t resist the urge to keep going when you saw how easy it was to paint his pale skin with your lipstick. you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind as he sits at his desk, grinning to yourself as you trace the marks across his cheekbones with your finger. “what are you smiling about?” he looks at you from the corner of his eye, a slight smile of his own growing. “nothing. you’re just handsome.” he hums, spinning his chair to face you. “does it have something to do with this, i wonder?” he has a knowing glint in his eye as he holds your jaw to trace his thumb along your mouth. you kiss his fingertip from its place on your lip, admiring the way the pigment stains his fingertips as best you can; it's a welcome contrast to the blood from his biting habit. he takes the opportunity to pull your face to his own, kissing your lips as his hands sneak to your waist. “if you insist on showering me with your sweet affection,” his lips curl upwards into a self indulgent grin as he pulls you onto his lap. “you should at least be comfortable while you’re doing it.”

NIKOLAI ー you carefully trace the shape of your lips, not noticing the man who teleports into your room; you hear him before you see him. “boo!” you jump, gaze drawn from your reflection to nikolai’s smiling face, peeking up from behind your shoulder. “kolya,” you sigh. “you almost ruined my lipstick.” he meets your pout with a giggle, squishing your cheeks in his hand. “lipstick, you say?” a gloved finger swipes across your lip, smearing the fresh coat you’d just put on. his visible eye sparkles as he looks down at the fabric, darkened with pigment. before you can realize it, he’s taken your spot at your vanity and pulled you into his lap. he taps his cheek in the form of a request, visible eye crinkled from how hard he smiles when your lips meet his skin. it only grows with each kiss you place, giggling when you brush his hair back to kiss along his jaw. when he looks over your shoulder and catches himself in the mirror, dotted with red stains, he can’t help but wish your marks were as permanent as his scar. he grabs your chin, turning your head so he can press his lips to yours. “i thought you wanted me to kiss you,” your nose brushes his, eyes falling to his tinted lips before he tilts your face upwards to meet his gaze. “don’t be so greedy,” he grins, twirling your lipstick tube between his fingers. “it’s my turn now.”

TECCHOU ー you were especially indulgent with your goodbye kisses today, and tecchou couldn’t find it in himself to mind. he leans into your touch as you tuck his hair away from his face, brushing your lips right beneath his marking. he lets you do as you please, content to stand there as your kisses tickle his skin and pleasantly turn his stomach. “can i have one here too?” he points to his lips, shivering when your hands curl behind his neck as you move to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing back up to his cheek. “i have to go soon,” his voice is as serious as ever, but his lips are pulled into the tiniest of pouts, hands still lingering against your hips. your lips are pressed against his chin when he sighs your name, finally making you look up at him. the red stains scattered across his face match his uniform; the thought of your boyfriend going about his day visibly stained by your affection makes you fill with butterflies, and you've never been so thankful for his obliviousness. you place his hat on his head, straightening the brim. “stay safe today, okay?” you whisper, pressing one last kiss to his lips. he nods, hand falling to the handle of his sword, but his stoic face isn’t nearly as intimidating with your lipstick smeared across it.

BSD MASTERLIST

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avis-writeshq · 2 months

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hi! could i request track one with spencer reid where reader gets drunk and needy for spencer 😭 but he denies (cuz yk shes drunk) and just takes care of him please? thank you!

off my face — spencer reid

summary: “i’m off my face in love with you.” in which reader gets drunk and spencer has to nurse her back to health. pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: rated 16+ for allusions to smut, reader gets drunk, reader wears lipstick and a dress, mentions of throwing up [not in detail], spencer being sickeningly perfect, lots of pet names, inspired by that one video of matthew. you know which one i’m talking about. a/n: i er… got carried away because i love this trope 😔 i am in fact obsessed wc: 1.23k

It’s too loud. Granted, it’s a club; it’s supposed to be loud. Spencer cringes a little as the music somehow manages to get even louder and he sips at his coke. He has your purse in his lap and he’s also manning your drink like a guard dog; moving himself to the furthest seat in the booth that is away from the crowd. Your inevitable return is a lot sooner than he expected, and he watches with amusement as you slide into the booth and curl into his side, reaching for your drink.

“Have fun?” Spencer asks with a soft laugh, one arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a kiss to the top of you head.

“Mm,” you hum in affirmation, eagerly sipping at the sugary concoction in front of you. “Would’ve been funner with you, baby.”

He laughs louder at that, rolling his eyes teasingly and squeezing at the flesh of your waist. “You know it wouldn’t have been.”

“Bet you’d be real sexy with all that sweat dripping off you,” you coo, your voice sickeningly sweet as your fingers move to toy with the buttons of his shirt.

Your fingers are wet with the condensation from the chilled glass of your cocktail and they brush against the sensitive skin of his collarbone. A shudder runs down his spine at the contact, and his cheeks grow hot. His hand finds your wrist and he holds it firmly, but not enough to hurt.

“Don’t,” he says, half jokingly half seriously as he moves his head to track your gaze. “How much have you had to drink, angel?”

You ignore the question, moving your fingers upward to brush against a blooming purple mark near his collar. A pout rests on your lips as you gesture to it, a frown forming on your face. “Who gave this to you?”

He bristles, moving the flap of his collar to cover the bruise. “You did. This morning.”

“Oh yeah!” The smile returns to your face awfully fast and a giggle bubbles up from your throat. “You love me.”

“I do,” he agrees, kissing your head again.

Your expression is all too gleeful as you move your head just at the right time so that he lips would meet yours. He pulls away after a brief moment, about to say something else, when you effectively cut him off by pressing a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Angel– sweetheart, you’re very drunk,” he says gently, prying your needy fingers away and holding them firmly in his hand.

“Nuh uh,” you deny, leaning forward again and kissing his neck right where you left a mark earlier that morning.

He jolts at the contact, pulling away as pink rises to his cheeks. “We’re not doing this while you’re drunk, honey.”

You blatantly ignore him, maneuvering yourself so that you’s practically half on his lap with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. He doesn’t mind the attention, per se. He just feels incredibly guilty about enjoying it when you’re loopy from all the cocktails you have had. You’re pressing kisses against his cheeks while your hands play with the collar of his shirt, tugging at the purple tie you chose earlier that day and there are lipstick stains all over his skin. He’s well aware of it; bright red with a sticky residue and he will forever not understand how you can wear it all the time.

His tie has come undone entirely and you pull at his shirt to kiss dangerously close to his collarbone.

“Okay–” he’s flushing scarlet and he doesn’t dare meet the eyes of anyone in the team. “Okay, baby, that’s enough. Let’s get you home.”

“Ooh,” you giggle, wiggling your eyebrows with insinuation.

“You need sleep.” He says it sternly, although you don’t seem to grasp the concept.

“What kind of sleep?” You ask, winking.

He shakes his head, amused and exasperated, as he rebuttons his shirt and reties his tie. “The REM kind. Come on, angel. Say good night to your friends.”

You giggle tiredly, waving goodbye to your friends. Penelope looks absolutely hammered, wiggling her eyebrows at you with an expression full of insinuation. Emily is smirking in your direction, swirling her martini around before taking a sip. JJ looks equally elated, snickering softly as she holds onto Will’s arm.

Spencer ushers you gently into his car, leaning over the console to open the glove box on your side and brandishing a packet of micellar water wipes. He takes out two for himself before passing the rest of them to you.

“For your makeup,” he explains, wiping the lipstick marks off his cheeks. “I’ll help you with your skincare when we get home, alright?”

You’re in love. It isn’t long before he’s helping you up the stairs of his apartment and sitting you gently on the couch. Your eyes are droopy and it seems like the sugar high from your cocktails is wearing off. Spencer runs his fingers through your hair gently while he holds a glass of cold water to your lips, urging you to drink. You only do it to appease him and once he’s satisfied with your water intake, he’s reaching for the zip of your dress.

“Someone’s needy,” you coo, giggling as he pulls it down to just below your ribcage. “Gonna rough me up?”

“No.” He answers it swiftly, and had you been sober your heart would have split in two. He continues, “I’m going to put you in something more comfortable and then you’re going to sleep.”

“Boring.”

“No, it’s not– it’s not boring,” he flounders, his cheeks growing hotter at your words. He can’t believe he’s arguing with a drunk person. “It’s not boring, baby, it’s safe. Alcohol is a neuro inhibitor. There’s a reason why you can’t drink and drive and it’s because the brain’s neural activity patterns are suppressed or blocked. That’s also the reason why you can’t ask a drunk person for consent; they don’t know or understand what’s going on around them.”

You’ve half fallen asleep at his explanation, the sleeves of your dress falling down your arms and a shiver runs down your spine. “So we’re not going to be partaking in passionate steamy love making?”

“No, we’re not,” he confirms, pulling your favourite pair of cotton pyjamas over your head. It’s a pale pink set with little bows prints all over it and a lacy collar. “Lift your hips for me, angel, I need to get the shorts on you.”

You comply, kicking the dress off into some forbidden corner of the room and Spencer takes this chance to slip the matching shorts onto your legs and up your thighs. The rest of the night is smooth sailing from there– he has successfully applied your skincare in such a way that you would be singing his praises. He has also managed to get you to drink another cup of water, and even though you’re going to wake up complaining about the fact you need to pee. He’d rather you complain about that instead of some raging headache.

Spencer climbs under the covers next to you, pulling you into his chest and kissing your shoulder. A soft snore leaves your lips and he can’t help but chuckle. Passed out, as expected.

“Good night, angel,” he murmurs into your ear, holding you tight. “See you in the morning.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

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cupid-styles · 3 months

Text

renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!"

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do.

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.)

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain.

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it.

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair.

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint.

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky."

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late.

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?"

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom.

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?"

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take.

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there.

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!"

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles.

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces.

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction.

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat.

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them.

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone.

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely.

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg.

"What does usavory mean?"

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes.

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes.

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class?

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom.

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it.

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N.

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included.

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper.

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07.

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table.

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart.

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins.

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always.

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it.

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups.

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning.

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day.

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either.

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out.

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks.

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days.

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his.

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door.

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?"

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in.

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job.

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water.

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this.

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman.

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs.

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting.

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips.

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy.

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious.

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu.

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely.

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine.

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth.

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life.

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips.

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors.

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap.

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her.

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body.

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience.

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile.

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles.

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

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shomixremix · 3 months

Text

THE ALTAR OF ADORATION ♥︎

recently i've been getting more and more into my zhongli brainrot (even though he's been one of my fav characters since forever lol) so here you all go!!

oh also tysm for over 1k notes, 100+ reblogs and 50 new followers!! you guys are the best <3 i really didn't expect that kind of support on my last post - turns out everyone likes some dragon men!! so i decided to write some more, here you lovelies go!!

tags: Zhongli, female! reader, dragon! zhongli, religious themes, sacrificial offering, smut, fluff, mating, breeding, creampie, monsterfucking

-> you have been chosen as a sacrifice to the great geo lord rex lapis, during a period where everyone believed he was mad at mortals. scared for your life and trembling, you now realize there was another problem troubling lord morax.

reqs open ♡︎ | minors DNI

great lord rex lapis roamed the earths and heavens for centuries, ruling the land of geo and its people through the thick and thin. they were very devoted followers, obeying his every wish.

however, the height of his reign has long passed, and people simply stopped caring about their archon. until recently.

crops began to wither, mines dried out, contracts were getting broken left and right - rex lapis has had enough of their careless behavior. his people have disappointed him, and this was a sign of his fury. if something wasn't to change, he would abandon them completely.

the people of liyue decided to recommit to their religion, prepared to offer the geo lord a sacrifice of any kind, just so he'd once again bless them. you, even though born in a time where people lost their respect for the geo lord, have always been a devoted follower, praying to him each day and leaving flowers and beautiful crystals under his statue of the seven.

already being a believer of the geo archon, you were chosen as the ceremonial sacrifice.

while nobody knew where rex lapis resided, the site of the ceremony was chosen to be on mt. hulao. as the crowds of people gathered from all over liyue around the lake on the top of the mountain, you stood in front of them, shaking. while you were a follower of morax, you didn't feel it was right to die for the sins of your people.

"it's time to pay our sacrifise!" yelled one of the townsfolk, holding your wrist in an iron grip as he he slit your palm with a sharp knife. you screamed out in pain as maroon blood dripped down your hand. the man who slit your hand placed a valuable cor lapis stone in it, watching as the orange stone quickly became stained with your red blood.

you held your breath as they placed you on the highest point of the mountain and pushed you off, chanting morax's name over and over.

falling seemed to last centuries, even though it was just seconds. you waited and waited for your body to hit the ground, tightening your hold on the cor lapis and in your head praying:

"rex lapis, if you're here, if you hear my prayer, please, i beg you, save me!"

suddenly, your feel onto something, tightly closing your eyes. was this... death?

you open your eyes and realize this wasn't any kind of afterlife - in fact, you were very much still alive, spread on top of the back of a large dragon. your mortality was confirmed by the sharp pain you still felt in your left hand.

"..r-rex l-lapis..?"

the dragon stayed quiet as you clutched his mane, holding on to him for dear life. he only let you get down once you were inside a large cave, seeming like it wasn't a part of the human world - no, this had to be an adepti realm.

an uneducated mortal maybe wouldn't be certain just who was standing between them, but you knew oh so very well. his goldenish brown scales, the big, honey-colored eyes and the tail which ended in a mosaic of clouds all gave him away. standing before you was the geo archon, the adeptus who saved your life even though you were a peace offering.

he stayed quiet, removing you from his back like it was nothing and moving to a completely different side of the cave, laying down on the cold ground with his back turned to you.

he was in no mood to talk, you knew, but you had to thank him for saving your life.

"lord morax..?"

he grumbled in response, steam coming out of his large nostrils.

"i cinserely thank you for saving my life... i was supposed to be a mere sacrifise, yet you still showed me mercy.. i.. just, thank you so much.."

the second the word "sacrifise" leaves your lips rex lapis perks up, turning to you with frantic eyes. he grabs your hand to inspect the still slightly bleeding cut, tearing a piece of your skirt to wrap around your wound as a bandage. morax tightly ties it, then quickly moves from you.

"it should stop the bleeding," he grumbled low, never turning to look at you, almost as if he was completely uninterested, "i will bring you to the villege tomorrow, little mortal. now sleep. your body needs rest"

how could you rest after such a traumatic experience? after almost having your life, all your hopes and dreams, unfairly thorn from you?

"no, i.. i can't return! they will all know that i failed, that i wasn't the sacrifise they all needed to save liyue from your punishment!"

morax huffs, his tail hitting the ground with a loud thump.

"then you can tell them all that i do not wish for a sacrifise. spilling innocent human blood is not only unecessary but also completely repulsive to me."

your eyes widen as he says this, your body instinctively moving a little closer to him: "you.. do not wish for a sacrifise, my lord? then how should we repay you for our sins? how can we ever make you forgive us for losing our faith in you..?"

rex lapis growls lowly, his body tightening like he was in some kind of discomfort or pain.

"the lack of my blessing isn't for the reasons your kind believes," he growled, "i'm not upset at you humans. now sleep." you knew well that that was an order, and an order coming from an archon must always be obeyed. yet, you didn't, scooting closer to him.

"the only thing to be upset about is that they sent you as the offering. how unfair it is to send one of my most devoted followers to die for my amusement.."

you hold your breath, afraid that he was actually considering killing you.

"i've recieved all the little treasures you leave out for me and have heard your every word. you're a persistant little one, aren't you?" even though you couldn't see him, you could feel the smirk on his face.

the knowledge that he has seen and heard how you worship him makes your heart thump loudly in your chest, a pool of pride and flusterness swirling in your belly.

suddenly, morax smells the air sharply, then started writhing on the ground in pain, cursing out a deep yet broken"fuck..!".

"are you in pain, my lord? can i do something to help?" you ask eagerly, wishing to help your saviour.

"move away!" he roared, steam coming out of his mouth. "go to sleep and stop talking to me when i ask, mortal!"

you frigtenedly to as told, laying down on the ground and turning away from him, squeezing your eyes shut. suddenly, you hear little muffled whines and cries coming from him, which immediately makes you look at him again.

his large head is completely flushed red, his lungs heaving up and down quickly. he panted out short little puffs of air, his eyes bloodshot ready and his body trembling slightly. you didn't know what was wrong with him, he acted like some kind of a wild animal in a rut-

"lord morax, are you.. in a rut..?" it was a shameful question to ask the archon, yet your curiosity got the better of you.

he huffed out, more and more in pain with every passing minute. "i haven't... hah... i haven't been in centuries... it's inevitable i go through it every couple of hundred years..."

morax groans, visibly in a lot of discomfort.

"and of course that when i'm in a rut they just have to send me a gorgeous woman as a sacrifice to worsen my state..."

your cheeks darken as he murmurs this, blood rushing to your head.

"how do i worsen your state..?"

"your arousal" he rasps, "i can smell it, little mortal. i can smell you, and it's torture. it pains every muscle in my body to resist you, but i have to; it's my duty"

your heart aches at his words.

"i can help" you breathe, unsure what you were even offering. his sharp eyes turn to you, piercing you with his gaze.

"no", his answer is short but stern, "i could kill you, i could harm you and leave you not remembering your own name. i cannot do that to my most devoted follower. not to you, y/n"

your heart stops, dropping to your feet.

"how do you know my name...?"

he groans as he explains: "i often wander around the mortal world in my human form, to feel closer to your kind... i have met you a couple of times during your prayer at the statue of the seven. i cannot use your pure body to breed when i know how much respect and hope you have in me. it would be betrayal to you, and you would never see me, nor my human form, the same"

"it pains me to see my archon in pain" you whisper as you get closer to the large dragon, your stomach stirring. you gently touch the scales down his back and feel how he shivers under your touches.

"i want... i want to help you, if i can... i want to help you through this.. you have helped me through the darkest points in my life, and even though i don't know who your human form is, i have a feeling i'm close to you even then... i just desire to help you, lord morax..."

"do you even understand what kind of help i need? what i will do to you if you allow me?"

you smile, running your hands through his shiny mane.

"yes, i understand. use me however you like, my lord."

his self control snaps, big paws pinning you down on the ground. he's panting like a dog as he nuzzles his head against your neck, tearing the rest of your skirt off. only left in a pair of underwear and a thin shirt, you tremble under the archon's touches.

"hm.. such a beautiful mortal..." he hums as he tears the rest of your cloth from your body, leaving you completely bare. you try to cover yourself with your arms, yet morax grabs them and pins them by your sides.

his large mouth comes in contact with your skin, licking, kissing and biting as he moved down. morax grazes your skin with his teeth, never biting down hard enough to draw blood from your veins. you had already done your sacrifice, more blood wasn't needed. his tounge moves from your neck to your exposed breast, swirling around your hard nipples, earning a little whimper from you.

then, he moves even lower, nipping at your stomach. he forces your tighs apart, burying his large head to your folds and forcing you to hold on to him by his horns. rex lapis tastes you eagerly, lapping up any slick your body oh so willingly gave him. you moaned and whined as he fucked you with his tounge, making you come almost instantly.

"ohhhh!! m-morax~ ahh..." you moan as he helps you through it, sharply tugging on your sensitive clit with his sharp teeth, always careful not to hurt you.

"celestia" he sighs into your slick folds, earning a tremble from you. "you taste devine, my dear. i haven't enjoyed such a sweet taste in centuries"

he shows you no mercy and continues to eat you out as if you were his last meal, one paw holding down your wrists and the other secured on your hips, not allowing you to move at all. after about three delicious highs he pulls from your frail body with his tounge, you start begging for the real thing. you knew his rut wouldn't be over unless he fucked you, and you were kinda hoping this torterous foreplay would be over soon...

"m-morax... please.." you whimper, squeezing your legs around his snout. he grumbles low, giving one final lick to your greedy pussy.

"i have to loosen you as much as possible so you could even try to take me. preperations can take up to days."

your eyes open wide and your mouth partens. you couldn't wait days to get him to fuck you, and you certainly didn't know how you'd survive days worth of eating out!

"but i cannot wait that long" he smirks, rubbing your outter tighs and ass. in one swift motion he flips you over so you were on your knees, face down and ass up. you feel his length rubbing up on you; even though you couldn't see him, your eyes went wide in shock. you felt how impossibly large he was, both in size and girth, almost being comparable to your legs.

but another thing surprises you - the head of his cock is poking at your tight entrance, but another thing is poking at your ass! you turn your head in shock, and he reassures you.

"i am different than a mortal, my dear"

you let out a loud scream of his name as he harshly thrusts both of his heavy cocks into you. he thrusts as far as he can, entering your cushy womb from how big he is and almost ripping your ass apart. you scream and cry and writhe yet he doesn't budge, letting you get used to him inside you for a few moments before he starts thrusting.

he starts moving without a warning, dragging you back on his cocks. you turn into a sobbing mess as each one of his thrusts so pleasantly tease your g-spot, bullying your tight walls.

"ahh.. ahhh! mphhh! mmphshs! m- mor... ah! ohhh!"

you cry and cry, not even knowing your own name out of so much pleasure. you feel like your holes are completely loose and yet, clamping down on him greedily. he tugs your head back by your hair, snuggling his nuzzle in your neck so you'd hear him better.

"shh, don't cry... you've asked me for this, little mortal. you asked to be fucked like this, hm? look at you, so pretty like this. so no need to cry, you will be fine. i allow you as much pleasure as you need. "

you couldn't stop yourself from coming, squirting your juices all over his cock. he watches this in amusement, fucking into you harder and faster. in one moment, he threw his head back in pleasure, making a loud roar.

"fuck, y/n..." he groaned as you hiccupped your sobs, finally giving a harsh, last thrust and stilling inside. you felt an impossible amount of warmth spread through your body as he filled you with seed, spilling a wave after wave of cum in your womb. he had filled you so much that it spilled from you, leaving you entirely breathless.

as soon as he's done he pulls out, letting you fall to the floor. he picks up your limp body, curling himself around you and cuddling you close.

"it's alright, my dear... you did perfect. you were just devine, and you've felt better than anything i've ever felt in all my years. rest, now. i will take care of the rest tomorrow."

your head hazy, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and your eyes heavy, you lay curled against him and finally get the much needed sleep.

the next morning, you wake up with a human, veined arm around your bare waist.

"there you are... you are too adorable in your sleep" a deep voice said from behind you, and you turned around, expecting to see the geo archon.

yet, you were faced with a man you knew all to well - the man you had deep feelings for ever since he first arrived in liyue harbour.

"mr. zhongli?!"

he hums out a laugh, tightening his hold on you.

"yes, if i'm correct, we've met in my human form a couple of times?"

you blush deeply, reminiscing on the few blissful times you talked to him. he was a very handsome, successful young man, with great wisdom and a clever mind - and you admired him very much, so much that you couldn't help but fall in love.

"you look dissapointed... are you not fond of me after finding out who i am?"

he asks, his gaze softening and looking almost saddened. you quickly reassure him:

"no, no, i'm not dissapointed! more like stunned.." you blush and he notices, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

"oh? why is that? i have always assumed we had a fairly good relationship, y/n. you have always been so nice to me"

"i.. i've had feelings for you for quite a while..." you say shyly, almost embarassed of the fact.

his lips curl into a genuinely happy smile, his arms pressing you closer to his bare chest.

"then everything turned out alright"

you smile, but everything suddenly dawns on you - that zhongli seemed to be okay with your feelings for him, that you almost died yesterday as a sacrifice, that zhongli is morax and most importantly, that oh, you fucked the geo archon, in his dragon form no less!

"am i pregnant now..?" you ask quietly, reminded that the act of a rut is mainly to breed and create off-spring. zhongli laughs at your question, leaving a quick peck on your forehead.

"no, most likely not. but you will be, in a few hundred years, once i have to go through this all over again" you almost choke on your own spit as he says this.

"but... i won't be alive in a few hundred years... you will have to find another to help you through this.."

as soon as you mention him sleeping with another woman his face turns into one of disgust, his strong arms gathering your entire body in his hold.

"as my mate, you will live as long as i do, and i'm immortal, my dear."

"your mate?!"

"yes. by helping me through my rut, you have become my mate. of course, only if that's what you wish" he says, pressing a loving kiss to your eyelid. "and do not worry, my dear, dragons mate for life"

he almost purrs into your warm skin, making a referance to what you said about him sleeping with another woman.

"...being your mate.." you sigh, cuddling into his chest.

"it's like what you humans call "relationship" except a stronger bond, sort of an unbreakable contract between the two of us. a forever promise of care, love and loyalty."

"i think i would like that" you humm into his chest, "but, let's take it a little slow?"

he kisses you full of warmth, his hands soothing your sides.

"of course, my dear. i will take you on a proper date when we get back. for now, just lay there and let me thank you properly for your help last evening..." he sighs as he kisses your shoulder over and over again.

yesterday at this time of day you were supposed to be nothing but a sacrifice to the geo lord, and now here you were, getting your body worshiped by him, forever safe and secure in his arms as his mate.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin smut #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli smut #zhongli fluff #dragon zhongli #smut #fluff #religious themes #female reader #requests open

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