Tousled

Javid Titanic AU - Part 7

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6


“Tell us about the accommodations in Steerage, Mr Kelly. I hear they’re quite good on this ship.”

It was the first question that had been posed to Jack since they’d sat down and of course it had to be that one. He looked up at Davey, grateful that, even if he couldn’t sit next to him, he could watch him from across the table. It was a sight he’d never get bored of: Davey all done up in a suit with his hair combed. Although Jack could only image that he’d look even better with the jacket off and some buttons undone, hair tousled by roaming hands. He swallowed and looked away from the sympathy in Davey’s eyes and instead turned to face Esther, the source of the question.

“The best I’ve seen, ma’am. Hardly any rats,” he said, trying to be graceful.

It seemed to work. There were kind-hearted titters of laughter from the other people at the table – rich men and their wives who Davey had diligently introduced him – and they seemed to be laughing with him and not at him. Seeing her attempt at an insult had gone awry, Esther tried to cover her tracks.

“Mr Kelly is joining us from the third class. He was of some assistance to my son,” she explained briskly, not enjoying admitting to it.

Davey jumped in to define Jack as something beyond the cost of his ticket (whether he’d paid it or not).

“It turns out he’s quite the fine artist. He was kind enough to show me some of his work,” he said, offering Jack a small, secretive smile. He was awfully fond of that one particular sketch.

Shooting Davey a reproachful glare, Esther cleared her throat. “Yes, well. David and I differ on what constitutes fine art.”

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procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

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Harry Styles: Singer Opens Up About Famous Flings, Honest New LP
One Direction's Harry Styles goes deep on love, family and his heartfelt new solo debut in our revealing feature.

January 2016. There’s a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you’d passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as “tousled,” he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It’s said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of “Harry Styles.” A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. (“Didn’t read it,” comments the nonfiction Styles, “but I hope he gets more than me.”)

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash’s Paul Simonon: “Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.”) Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

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LOLOL how did Isak figure this out though? Did he go to the bathroom to… ermm.. clean up and then when he got back, Even was gazing innocently from the bed? Hair tousled and slightly sweaty and eyes wide? And then Isak hops back in bed and snuggles up to him and closes his eyes for a few seconds. And then he hears a notification. And another one. And another one. And he’s all ‘what the fuck?’ and Even just shrugs innocently because we all know how innocent Even is. So Isak tries to ignore it… but then they keep going. And then he can feel Even’s silent laughter. So he grumbles and grabs his phone.

The group chat is going insane. Jonas being like ‘gettt ittt mannn’ and Mahdi just using champagne emojis. And Isak just knows. He glares at Even ‘what did you do’? 

Why does everything turn into wolfstar smut?

Originally posted by maria-tries

  • Maybe some time around the age of 16 Remus’s transformations stop leaving him weak and hollow
  • In fact, they start to have the opposite effect 
  • Not that Remus notices; as usual his brilliant mind is always quietly occupied
  • But Sirius notices
  • Merlin Sirius notices
  • It starts with his shoulders, he can’t help but eye the way they sit a little broader when Remus stands up straight 
  • Then it’s his forearms, Sirius can see the tendons stand out a little when Remus lies on the sofa and holds his book above his head. 
  • After the next full moon, it’s his biceps - they start pushing against his shirt when he leans over his potions essay, and Sirius’s mouth all but drops to the floor
  • Suddenly it’s hard to be around Remus, literally, without feeling a tightness growing in his trousers
  • The boys sit opposite each other in the library for hours, an endless pile of homework and exam prep leaving them caught in a dizzying cycle of work, eat, sleep
  • They all need some relief, but fuck Sirius needs a very specific kind of relief
  • Exams are so close, and he has to focus, but just a look at Remus could flick a switch in his body
  • Even his hands, somehow his hands look bigger, stronger
  • Sirius starts biting down hard on his lip each time his eyes drift to his boyfriend in class, or the library, or the common room (okay, just about everywhere)
  • But after half a day his bottom lip becomes red and puffy
  • Instead Sirius finds himself disappearing to the toilets to splash cold water on his face more often than he’d like to admit
  • When Remus’s arm winds protectively around him as they walk down a busy corridor, he has to bite back a whine
  • And when Remus strolls out of the shower one morning, a towel slung low around his hips, Sirius just sits and stares 
  • Because his chest, Christ his chest has transformed
  • And it was all Sirius could do not to go over there and beg Remus to deal with his painfully hard arousal, right there in front of James and Peter
  • And when Remus caught him, eyes roving greedily across his bare skin and freshly tousled hair, he just stared right back and winked
  • Sirius rolled over in bed and bit down so hard on his pillow he could have torn it apart
  • This day was particularly torturous, and it didn’t help that the summer heat had Remus loosening the top few buttons of his shirt
  • Or that, in transfiguration, his hand had been resting high on Sirius’s thigh the whole time Frank was explaining petrification. 
  • Or that, as they walked to the library, Remus slid Sirius’s bag from his shoulder and slung it easily across his own, winding an arm around his waist 
  • By time they sat down Sirius was almost at breaking point, his frustration had his heart beating overtime and his head cloudy 
  • He cast his eyes down, trying desperately to ignore his boyfriend’s newly broadened shoulders, or his tight, hard chest
  • Or the way his arms looked when he stretched out like that, fuck
  • Sirius’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood up, muttering half an excuse about the bathroom 
  • He didn’t feel connected to his feet as they carried him through the library, eyebrows furrowed and head fuzzy
  • He didn’t notice Remus until his fingers were locked around his wrists, and his whole body tugged sideways
  • Sirius’s soft moan of surprise was muffled by Remus’s lips, which collided with his before he could even gather his surroundings
  • Remus’s hand travelled to Sirius’s neck, his thumb pressing gently into the soft skin, while his other grasped at his hips
  • Sirius thought his legs would give way at any moment 
  • Just as abruptly as it began, Remus drew away, focusing his burning eyes on Sirius
  • “You keep disappearing.” He murmured “And you won’t look at me.”
  • He pressed a thumb to Sirius’s puffy bottom lip “You’re not telling me something Sirius.”
  • Again, Remus’s hand slid back to Sirius’s neck, a gentle pressure aiding the fuzzy euphoria Sirius felt at his touch
  • Tell me.” He growled. 
  • When his face blurred back into view, an almost delirious Sirius saw Remus’s expression harden
  • “I can take it.” He said, lowly
  • Sirius frowned, still breathless, resisting the urge to buck his hips into Remus’s warm, gorgeous body 
  • “It’s you.” He murmured, looking down
  • Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt ashamed
  • “You’ve changed and I can’t - I can’t cope. It’s not that I didn’t like you before, I love you whatever you - what ever you look like - and you were always gorgeous, but now you’re just, you’re just kind of perfect and it’s just” Remus’s proximity making Sirius almost incoherent.
  • “…it’s just your shoulders got bigger, and your arms, and I can’t stop, I can’t focus and I know you just want to work and there’s no time for it so I was trying not to bother you but fuck Remus.”
  • “What?” Remus’s hand tilted Sirius’s chin up, forcing him to meet his confused gaze. 
  • Sirius shuttered under his boyfriend’s newly bulky frame
  • “You’re not…” Remus frowned. “I thought you liked someone else.”
  • Sirius nearly choked. “What?” He spluttered.  
  • “Remus” He snapped, taking control and pushing himself closer to the boy. “I can’t focus on anything but you. I can’t study, I can’t sleep, I can’t look at you in class without…” Sirius groaned and pushed his hips against Remus, using his hard arousal to illustrate his point. 
  • Sirius pressed frantic kisses into to the soft skin on Remus’s neck. “And when you came out of the shower today…”
  • Sirius’s sentence ended in a gasp as his back hit a smooth, cool wall. Remus’s warm mouth was at his neck, his hands pressing down his sides, their bodies flush against each other
  • “Why didn’t you tell me?” Remus growled. “Why didn’t you let me help you?”
  • Sirius only moaned in response as Remus’s thigh found its way between his legs, pressing teasingly against him
  • “Sirius.” Remus growled again. “Why?”
  • “You were…busy.” Sirius groaned, feeling Remus grip his chin. 
  • “Look at me.” Remus ordered, his eyes burning. “I am never too busy for you, Sirius Black.”
  • Sirius looked at his boyfriend, panting. His hips bucked into Remus, and he tried to connect their lips again, but he felt a strong hand push him back, denying him.
  • “Now, say it back to me.” Ordered Remus. “I’m never too busy to fuck you, say it back.”
  • Sirius shuttered, Remus telling him what to do was just, fuck
  • “You’re never too busy to fuck me.” Sirius’s need was turning his voice into a desperate whine, but Remus didn’t move.
  • His eyes burned into Sirius’s, and his voice was low and threatening. “Next time you need me, you’re going to tell me, okay? You’re going to say: ‘Remus, I need you to fuck me now.’ And I’m then going to fuck you, okay?” 
  • Sirius’s eyes almost rolled upwards, his whole body was trembling.
  • “Remus,” Sirius managed to whisper, somewhat calmly. “I need you to fuck me now.”
  • Sirius shuttered as he felt Remus grip the back of his thighs, easily lifting Sirius up and pressing him against the wall, his legs now hooked around his waist.
  • “Good boy.” Remus whispered.
Protected | R.M.

Summary: Reggie Mantle grew up protecting what he loved.


I miss you.

You received the text on the first day of school, the instant your baby pink ballet flats maneuvered within the halls of Riverdale High, which were marginally filled with mayhem from everyone’s first day jitters.

Well, not everyone. You, despite your extra pretty face, extra shiny curls, and extra preppy outfit, wore a heavy façade that drooped lower than the Maybelline Fit Me-concealed eye-bags that were situated below your unexplained, cheery eyes that tried to greet everyone with much positivity as possible. As everyone knew your perfect reputation, the happy-go-lucky cheerleader that everyone admired and loved since the day you entered high school. It was never tarnished, so you refused to let a silly break-up move it at all.

You took out your phone and shakily gazed down at the message. It was sent in clear, with no emoji’s or silly grammatical errors. Your nervous fingers moved for you, but your brain was being silly that day and it had no planned response for the text message.

A wave of students accidentally crossed and one of them partially collided against your hardly five feet tall physique, which was a thankful jolt that rattled you off from replying to the text message. You squeezed the iPhone tightly, bearing no mind of the glittery fake diamonds from the phone case bearing harsh indentions against your palm.

The moment you were able to fix your locker and lock it behind you, you immediately set off to find a seat in the gym—hoping that an early departure from the first day madness would create a false sense of comfort from your inevitable fate, which was meeting your ex-boyfriend again subsequently after a summer of trying to forget all about him.


Everyone had always said that you were perfect for Reginald Mantle.

You were a girl blessed with your father’s dominant sloped nose and your mother’s graceful and tiny, ballerina body. Being the only child meant being under the revolving gaze of your mother and father’s watchful eyes twenty-four/seven, and you grew up to be accordingly limpid; yet, at the same time pretentious for you were the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Riverdale.

Reggie was a boy meant for you even before you knew what he was supposed to be. He was a constant person in your life, a fixture caused by your parents and his parents’ meddling. Though, despite your unending play times together and a hired tutor that taught you and him up until you were in middle school, Reggie and you grew up in different paths, in different aspects.

You and Reggie were in the opposite sides of the spectrum. Nevertheless, you were inexplicably drawn to him. He was exactly the same as you, but as the same time, so, so different.

He was difficult to figure out. He had pushed children off swing sets and had hogged all the toy cars to himself as he disliked sharing. You hated the smirk on his face when he teased his inferiors, and still you loved him when he kissed you goodnight. He’d hold you in the softest way possible, muscled arms entrapped around you with touch as light as a feather, and similarly he’d used the same arms dangerously with heated intent at someone else.

You never got why people often told you that he was perfect for you. He was, in your point of view, a mixture of positives and negatives. He was your opposite.

The thing about opposites was that when a unity occurred, it would be a co-existent dependency that held itself with tension.

You loved him more than he loved himself. That was probably the reason why the balance wasn’t right and he pushed himself off, leaving you in the dust.


“Are you alright?” Surprisingly, Cheryl Blossom would be the first person to question you that today. The said Blossom stood above you, her red curls down the right side of her chest, a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow. You tried to hide the flinch that came with Cheryl’s edged tone, but she assumingly noticed it since she took it herself to sit next to you on that noisy lunch table.

“Talk to me,” she demanded. “I don’t want anyone on my squad to be sadder than my supposed star quality. You cannot rain on my parade on this week’s performance.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered as you picked on your salad.

“[y/n], a stupid boy doesn’t have the right to state your mood status.” She hissed. “There are 7 billion people in the world. God knows how much boys will there be after your life post-Reggie Man—“

“Damn, Cheryl,” You stood up. “I said I’m fine!”

Your words were a little too loud, and laced with anger. The whole open-lawn cafeteria went into a full pregnant pause from your little burst and your eyes betrayed you as it went to a familiar face that you couldn’t just let go off. His smirking, never ceasing, hardly-caring face wavered slightly as he looked your way, as everyone had. He looked down once before pushing his left foot off benched on the seat and faced in the opposite direction, going back into a conversation with Chuck Clayton.

You couldn’t care less what that meant and you sped off from your table, grabbing your cellphone with you. Opening the text message up on your interface, your quivering fingers typed out a reply before hitting send.


“I thought you said I couldn’t see you again,” the tall and handsome boy chuckled as he sat coolly on the stools that they had in Pop’s. His tousled, brown waves would shine into a blondish side under the neon lights of Pop’s infamous signs, and his pretty blue eyes would turn your messy head into a complete haze of white noise. “I missed you,” Jackson voiced out, echoing what he had recently texted you that morning.

It was seven in the evening, and mostly everyone had this night tacked to watch the last screening due for the closing Midnight Drive-In. You had thought to go but you knew that it would simply be another place that would haunt you again with memories that happened in the arms of a familiar stranger.

“I couldn’t resist,” you whispered zealously, biting your lip, then striding towards him until both of your faces had no space with each other. He kissed back passionately, and you followed along in accord, ignoring the way your heart bleated in a monotonous fashion, like it was a routine you followed every morning. Fingers tracing down his rugged, jean jacket, you stopped as it went to a tracing on his arm. A tattoo of a dangerous serpent.

“Watch it,” he pushed himself off you and went to slip down his sleeves. “Any good ‘ole folk wouldn’t wanna see that snake on a young thing’s skin.”

“A young thing, huh?” You titled your head, letting him caress your cheek. It made you feel like being touched by an intruder. You held your tongue from stating that out loud. “I heard that your buddies are over at the drive-in tonight.”

“—yeah,” the handsome, rugged boy agreed, holding your hand like a whisper. “But you’re much better than any movie, let’s agree. Pretty and innocent [y/n][y/l/n].”

“If my father saw you with me,” you told him with a trace of a smile hinting on your lips while leading the boy down to a booth. “He would freak,” you ended with a pendulous but crude smirk, as the feeling of going behind your parents’ back often created a brilliant feeling of teenage rebellion.

However, the light that would go unperturbed that night beneath the luminescence of you with the boy from the Serpents would go back unlit as a sudden burst of unexpected customers walked in the empty Pop’s.

It was a famous group of blue and yellow hues, the king, the boy in between the boisterous and rowdy laughs, and you couldn’t help but shake as his eyes immediately turned toward the serpent and your contumacious self.

“[y/n]?” Reggie Mantle took it upon himself to breeze through the rows of booths with a face of disbelief, his voice rising. And as you expected, anger rising as his comical face slowly slipped to stone cold when his eyes landed on the lingering fingers of the serpent teenager on your arm. “Who the hell is he?”  

“Fuck off, Reggie,” you glared, bringing yourself to whisper to your current partner beside you, “Ignore him.” You tried your best to act a casual as possible, though the sudden racing of your heart that went with the way your ex-boyfriend stared at you in a mix of hardening confusion and indignation.

The other football players were left in a fit of widening eyes as Reggie, in impulsion, went and grabbed your arm in fury, “I’m taking you home.”

And it was a laughable scene, provided that you have been in witness in a circumstance like this before; on the contrary, you were always behind him before, supporting him like a good girlfriend. Until now.

Reggie showed the chaos within him through the bones between his knuckles—several scars made proof of that. Now, you were his enemy, the one that caused the fire beneath his eyes. The booths made a guarded ring.

“What the hell, man—“ The serpent boy scoffed before Reggie snapped and gripped and landed a good punch with no regret on the other boy’s face. That started a full-blown fight, which lead pandemonium where Moose, Chuck, and several others hurriedly tried to pull the Asian off the other boy. Reggie’s blows were pernicious, and over the yells of the football team trying to stop the fight, the only thing you could do was watch everything in horror.


“—fighting on public property, what on earth caused you to do that?!” And Mrs. Mantle let out a startled shriek and tried to shield her son as Mr. Mantle gave a tumultuous slap on Reggie’s already bruising face. You gripped your jacket, feeling the cotton and thinking of it as abrasive as hooves, guilt going off you in waves as the only thing you could do was watch the aftermath unfold in the Mantle estate, where you had been protectively ushered off to with your parents and Sheriff Keller due to Pop’s emergency dial.

“This is getting out of hand,” Reggie’s father continued, a harsher than stern look on his purple face. Yanking back his hand, his gaze shot to you, which you couldn’t bear to hold longer than a second. “This boy has been nothing but trouble this year—I swear, this was the last straw, Reginald. I need to ship him to board—“

“It was my fault,” you found your voice, hurried and not gentle at all—willing to cross out the guilt killing your tightening chest. Your parents’ tension-heavy faces whipped their heads to you, their protected daughter that could hardly do no wrong in this world. “I came there with Jackson—“

“No, I fought him, she had nothing to do with th—“ Reggie hastily claimed, harsh and scarily void of emotion. He was seemingly too callous from responding to his father—and you had realized that this could have been happening more so than none and that this boy could have grown up this way, and while your heart was pouring from hearing him protect you, you knew that it was your call to turn things around.

“No,” you squeaked, hearing yourself panic. “I guess I was being rebellious, I met up with Jackson, and – and- “ You eyed your father. “He was with me and Reggie saw me and Jackson did something and he got provoked,” you finished, lying. You looked at Reggie, and he gazed at you, turmoil and hurt swirling in his eyes.

That led to a tension-filled silence. You closed your eyes, and could hear the sounds of Reggie’s father’s footsteps going off to a direction. Somewhere that’s not here, of course.


“Sorry, that shouldn’t have happened,” he would tell you days later, smirk latched to his lips like a boy to a candy bar. He’d say it would no feeling, no emotion, as if he wasn’t someone that was in what happened and he was merely a person who’d heard of what happened.

The memory of his father slapping him because of you would haunt you forever, and your eyes would wander to his cheek not due to any romantic purpose, but the ache of wondering how much it hurt to protect you, a person he shouldn’t even be caring for anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you ignored his first statement, and spat out what you needed to say. The hallways were empty. “I was being petty. I wanted to—“ The words were dignified to be stated out in the open. “I wanted to forget about you.”

His silence mocked you. The 6’3 handsome and usually word-y jock—the boy you really, just really, really loved, gazed at you as if your turbulence, though with a slip of concern on his façade. You continued, lips burning with words you only imagined you would say in a dream, “You hurt me, Reggie. I hated you for making me spend a summer without you. So, yeah. I did something. I slept with that douchebag, that serpent, just to forget about you. So, fuck you.”

The response was instant. An utter storm shadowed over his face. “Fuck me? Fuck me? Are you fucking kidding me?” His fingers wrapped tightly around his coifed hair, eyes blazing with chasms of void and anger. “The only thing I ever did was goddamn protect you! If you hadn’t been so stupid, you wouldn’t be in this mess. I shouldn’t have protected you from the start if it was going to lead this way.”

“Protected me from the start?” You questioned, beckoned with hatred.

“Yes! I’ve always been protecting you. I love you, [y/n]. So much. The reason I ended things is because you were going to end up broadcasted on this shitty book and—“ Reggie sighed and you looked at him confusingly. He stepped forward, “Look, last year I was in hell. My dad caught me doing some stupid shit and he was going to blame it on you. I needed to protect you, it was instinct. I had to break up with you because I couldn’t bear the guilt that—“

This time, it was your turn to slap him. Reggie snapped his head back at you, shocked.

“You stupid jerk,” your body shook from relief and at the same time, numbness. “You couldn’t have at least told me about that? I literally cried for a week because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, the great Reggie freaking Mantle.”

Reggie stared at what only could have been eons, before shaking his head and returning a soft gaze that was only for you. “I’m sorry.”

You could shake your head as he placed out his warm hand next to yours, swirling and wrapping it around yours in the gentlest way possible.


It was an epiphany, when you looked at him and you had finally seen a glimpse of an extent that he would do for you. The balance was off and you had thought of it in the wrong way.

He loved you more than he loved himself.


omg i’m so sorry. whenever i write i’d always get so carried away with excessive details and annoying character musings!!! please tell me what you think! feel free to reblog or like or message me! always open to hear what you guys think huehue. :) 

The Hulk’s Daughter

Originally posted by hamilll

Peter Parker x Reader

The Hulk’s Daughter

Warnings: None?

Author: Morgan

Prompt: What about you being like a new avenger (and working in the lab wit father figure Bruce) and you “meet” the others for the first time at the party

Note: I took some creative liberties here…hope you don’t mind. I’ve been in a super Peter Parker mood lately, so, here ya go. Also, I’m not dead, and I think this will serve as the first of like seven-ish fics in what I call: The Morgan Reniassance.

Being a high school student was tough. Being a high school student and a student intern at the Avengers’ Tower? Tougher yet. And being a superhero on top of it all…you didn’t know how the hell you fit in time for homework, but somehow you managed. Luckily for you, it was spring break now, so you kind of had time to chill and catch up on everything you were falling behind on.

“Hey (Y/N), would you mind passing me the file over there?” Bruce Banner, your kind of sort of father figure asked, motioning across your station to a file detailing the new pieces of tech Tony had whipped up in his free time.

“Yep, no prob.” You slid it down to him. He pushed up his glasses and nodded appreciatively. You took a long sip from your mug of coffee. You hadn’t even liked it that much, but it was kind of a necessity in the lab.

“So…” Bruce smirked a little bit. “Tony’s throwing a party tonight.”

“I don’t know if I can go…you know, I have like three packets of Algebra homework to catch up on.”

“He’s not going to take that as an excuse and you know it.”

“Ughhhh, I know.”

“I think he wants you to finally meet Spiderman.”

“Wait.” This changed everything. “Spiderman is going to be there?”

“Little crush, huh?”

“W-what? Pfft, no.” Yes. “There is no way I have a crush on Spiderman.” Yes you did. “That’s ridiculous.” No. It really wasn’t.

“Don’t worry. He’s a nice kid.” Bruce removed a gear from the little bot in his hand with a pair of tweezers and then replaced it. “And I heard he has a little bit of a crush on Galactic Girl, if my sources are right.”

“OhmyGodreally?!” Your eyes glowed pink for the shortest second and you nearly fell off of your stool. “I mean, cool. That’s cool. I guess. Maybe I could meet him. Or something.”

“Okay, but if he breaks your heart, I’ll break him.”

“Okay Dad,” you smirked. He smiled. Dad. A title he never thought he would hold. And yet, here he was with this teenager who had latched onto him. And he couldn’t have been happier.

***

You walked into the party wearing a pink shirt and galaxy leggings. You had put on more makeup than usual, and you were accompanied by Tony and Bruce, one on each arm.

“And this is Wanda and Pietro and you already know Nat.” Tony introduced. “Ladies and Speedy, meet the newbie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wanda offered her hand. Pietro smirked, Natasha smiled. You were in awe. You had heard so much about these people, and here they were, dressed in street clothes and making small talk.

“And this is Capsicle and his USO girls.” Tony motioned to Captain America himself, who was standing beside Sam and Bucky.

“Ha. Very funny.” Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“Welcome to the team, (Y/N).” Steve saluted.

“T-thank you.”

“Don’t pass out.” Bruce muttered.

“I’m trying.” You replied through an awestruck smile. And yet, the more people you were introduced to, the more it became obvious that the reason you were here…wasn’t here yet.

“Spider Boy is on his way.” Tony read a message on his phone, and not even thirty seconds later, the red-clad young super hero was clinging to the window. He peered inside for a few seconds before waving awkwardly. Unlike everyone else, he was wearing his uniform.

He climbed into the penthouse, landing on his feet right in front of Tony.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Stark. There was a robbery and-”

“Relax, kid. You’re fine.” He motioned to his face. “But uh-”

“Oh. Oh! Right. Sorry.” He tugged off the red mask, releasing a head of tousled brown hair and kind brown eyes. God, he was cute. Waaaaay cuter than you had expected him to be. “You uh, must be the new girl.” He thrust his hand forward. “I’m Peter Man. I mean- Spider Parker. I uh,”

“(Y/N) (L/N).” You shook his hand with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Peter.”

“You break her heart, I’ll break you,” Bruce warned with a well-meaning chuckle as he and Tony removed themselves from the conversation.

“So uh, your dad is the Hulk, huh?”

“My adoptive dad, yeah.” You laughed. “He’s awesome. Took me in after I got involved with all of this alien shit. I really don’t know what I’d do without him.” You looked over to Bruce, who was standing at the bar with Tony. “And you’re Tony’s…nephew-ish thing, right?”

“You could say that, yeah.” Peter smiled and chuckled. “I’m um, going to get changed. I swear I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll hold you to that, bug boy.” You smiled. Peter ran off as Nat walked up to you.

“So, you and Parker, huh?”

“What? I just met him.”

“Remember: I know everything.” She winked.

“Right. Of course. How could I forget?”

“Don’t smart mouth me, young lady.” She gave you a playful shove.

“Yes, ma’am.” You playfully shoved her back as Peter walked back into the room, this time wearing a Bill Nye t-shirt with a flannel and some jeans. Somehow, he was even cuter this way. “Here comes your boyfriend.” She walked away before you could retort.

“Much better.” He grinned. You nodded. There was a patch of silence, and then Tony turned on some very loud, very danceable music. Bruce met your eyes and then tilted his head towards the slowly-assembling makeshift dance floor. Peter seemed to get the hint. “Do uh, do you want to dance?”

“S-sure!” You replied. He held out his hand. You stared at it for a second before slipping yours into it.

***

“So, looks like Parker’s gonna be your son-in-law, huh Brucie?” Nat smirked as she watched you and Peter dance like the dorks you were. It was cute.

“Yeah. He’s a good kid. I’m glad things worked out.”

“Me too. But if he breaks her heart, I’ll break him in half.” Nat smirked.

“You’ll have to get in line.”

2

What can’t Harry Styles wear? The former boy bander has shown his playful side in floral suiting from Gucci and slick ensembles from Saint Laurent, and pushed the envelope with daytime dressing in Japanese cult label Blue Blue Japan. And earlier today in New York City, Styles took center stage in Rockefeller Center for his solo music debut on the Today show, sporting a bespoke suit from English tailor Edward Sexton. This isn’t the first time the cool crooner has opted for solid tailoring. However, his choice of color, millennial pink, energized the live audience and took Styles’s wardrobe into Bowie-like territory.

The custom suit featured natty ’70s-inspired elements, including a single button creating the illusion of a nipped waist, while a peaked lapel enhanced strong shoulders. A simple black button-down offset the bright hue and lent a boyish, Johnny Cash–esque spin to the look. The finishing touch? Styles’s famous wavy tresses, tousled like a true rock star.

Bad Behavior

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 587

Warnings: suggestive themes

A/N: Still writing a drabble for every song on Lovely Little Lonely because I’m still not over how perfect it is…and I may or may not be avoiding my coursework. Anyhow, this drabble is based on the song ‘Bad Behavior’ by The Maine. Enjoy :)

Originally posted by ensigncris

“Am I distracting you, darling?” Sighing deeply, your gaze drifted over to the man laying on his bed, a smirk playing on his lips. “I never wanna be a distraction." 

Keep reading

BTS Reaction to After Having Sex

Incognito;bts reaction to after having sex? 😊 LOVE YOUR BLOG BTW ESPECIALLY LUCIDITY I-I JUST LOVE IT BLESS

Note: Thank you cutie! & damn, this is short compared to my other ones lmao. *credit to gif owners*


Jin ➳ Dropping down beside you, Jin’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned his head all the way back, releasing a relieved sensual groan. “Damn,” he whispered in the dark room, reaching towards you to pull you into his chest, “you were absolutely beautiful baby.”

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut


Suga ➳ He chuckled lightly as he loomed over you, having already released the pent up overwhelming feeling of going to the afterlife, into you. “Fuck, babe,” he muttered, blinking as his bare chest lay against yours. He dug his face into your neck, laying on top of you as he smiled, “that was amazing.”

Originally posted by my-eccentric-mind


J-Hope ➳ Digging his fingers into your hips, he stared at the ceiling as he released a groaned in bliss before he fell beside you. He wouldn’t say anything, only giving you a tired smile while his breathing was ragged, his thumb grazing your cheek lovingly before giving you one last kiss.

Originally posted by jjilljj


RapMonster ➳ Having already pulled you into his arms as he gave you mini kisses onto your cheeks, you were amazed with how quickly the man’s soft snores emanated the room. You couldn’t help but smile while he looked so content from how much energy he had used that night as he got to finally relax.

Originally posted by ksjknj


Jimin ➳ It was like he was possessed, turning into a different man with demanding needs once you two went about your escapades, but once it was over; he was mortified as he laid beside you shyly, his blond hair tousled and his cerulean eyes child like. He would just pull you into his arms with a small “I love you” escaping his lip.

Originally posted by lonastic


V ➳ Your fingers were intertwined with his, and as his eyes scanned your shimmery bare body, he bit his lip as his eyes fluttered closed, trying to remember your recent activities as soon as he can with a smile. He then put all his weight on top of you, soon switching positions as your small body lays on top of his large one.

Originally posted by buisually-appealing


Jungkook ➳ The man was a ball of energy, always wanting to go a second round but knowing you needed to rest. He would give you one last searing kiss before leaving a small peck onto your lips to enclose the night’s session as he pulled you flush against his chest, soon drifting off to sleep.

Originally posted by miichan-shiota


Masterlist

Kallias x Viviane fic

Inspired by this post

Viviane just wants to be High Lady, and Kallias will never get a full nights sleep until she is.

@catastrophicallyinlovewithbooks @dorianthekinkymf @destiny14444 @illyrian-high-lord @highladystarfall @rhysand-vs-tamlin @a-court-of-feels-and-fangirls @abraxos-sniffing-flowers @rebornasqueen @light-the-stars


Viviane couldn’t sleep, she had tossed and turned all night, listening to the howling winds blowing fresh snow around outside.  The palace should have been freezing but due to whatever magic Kallias had put in place around the glittering white citadel, it was kept warm and cozy. 

Viviane pulled the blankets higher around her neck, sinking into their warmth and curling up against her mate. 

She remembered when he first held her hand and brushed her cheeks, 50 years before the wall.  She had held his hand before of course, when they were children, but that was the first time I touched her after becoming High Lord of the Winter Court.  She remembered being surprised to find his hands just as warm and comforting as they had always been, surprised to find that that ice magic hadn’t made him cold to touch.

Their first kiss…. that first kiss ever after his fifty years trapped in that mountain- fifty years knowing that she loved him and that he loved her, but never getting to see each other- had been nothing close to that cold foreboding ice magic that thrummed underneath his veins.  Viviane had forgotten how warm his hands were all those years.

Viviane leaned up and buried her face in the crook of Kallias shoulder, she kissed him there, slowly and deeply on the neck, trying to gently wake him up.  She brushed a hand down his bare chest and wrapped a leg around his, trying to get as close to her mate as possible.

Viviane wondered for a moment when it would stop.  The overwhelming need to be near him, to be with him… the wanting.  She went out of her damn mind when he wasn’t with her for more than a few hours.

“Kal,” she whispered into the dark, dragging a finger lightly down his nose.

The blankets shifted beneath him as he woke up from slumber.  His eyes were still close but he said, his voice broken and rough from sleep, “What is it my love?”

Viviane smiled as she looked down upon her husband.  His white hair sleep tousled, the lines of worry and concern between his eyebrows now smoothed.  He looked so much younger when he slept, more peaceful and so relaxed.

She leaned down to kiss him on the mouth, his left hand running up form her thigh to drape around her lower back.

When she pulled back she looked into his eyes and smiled, “Make me your High Lady, Kallias.”

The smile that just danced on his lips now faded, “Is that what you want?” he asked her, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger.

“Is that what you want?” she returned to him. 

“I will always want you with me Viv. Of course I want you to be my High Lady.” He kissed her cheek.

“Really! When?” she beamed.

“Tomorrow,” he kissed her deeper, his hands cupping her cheeks, “Tomorrow.”


“My High Lady.” he whispered dreamily, running his hands through her hair.  He had whispered it many times as he made love to her atop the sheets, both of them now naked and sweaty and wrapped in each others arms.

“Why didn’t you ever make me High Lady before?” she asked curiously.  She wasn’t angry at Kallias, just wondered how neither of them could have thought of this before.

“I-I didn’t know it could be done.  No one had ever dared before Rhysand.” he told her, catching her gaze.

“Tomorrow, My High Lord.” her eyes welled with tears of happiness and she kissed him. Kallias brushed away the ones on her cheeks, hating to see her cry even if it was about something she was happy about.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Viviane could have sworn he whispered it, breathed it into her soul.