Request: OMG! Welcome
back! Can I please have an ethan dolan imagine were he’s super jealous and it
causes a heated arugment making u storm out and just gray having to calm him
down pls xxxxxxxx
Word count: 461
Requested by: Anon
Thank you! I’ll be
staying for good now ;) x
“Ugh, you are so infuriating Dolan!” I shout, turning away
from him. He takes quicks steps towards me and grabs my arm, turning me around
to face him.
“He was practically undressing you with his eyes!” he yells
back, the veins in his neck popping out.
“That doesn’t mean you can hit him! You punched him, you
could have seriously hurt him!”
“I told him to back off, I was just protecting what’s mine!”
Ethan yells, backing me up into a wall.
“I’m not a piece of property, you don’t own me.” I growl, as
he closes the space between us. Ethan’s breathing is heavy, he’s face is red
with anger and his hair is messy from the amount of times he’s pulled it. Now,
this would be a beautiful sight if I wasn’t so mad with the kid.
“I’m not dealing with your jealousy right now.” I say,
climbing out of his grip and making my way towards the kitchen.
“And I’m not dealing with you wanting to fuck other guys!”
he shouts loudly, causing Grayson to walk out to make sure everything’s okay.
“You okay y/n?” He questions, worry lacing his tone.
“Fuck off Grayson,” Ethan growls, “this doesn’t involve you.”
“I’m fine, thank you Grayson, I was just going.” I say,
greasing Ethan off.
“Hell fucking no you aren’t.” Ethan protests causing me to let
out a laugh.
“Like I said Dolan.” I pick up my bag from the floor. “You
don’t own me, you can’t tell me what to do.” I make my way towards the front
door, Ethan hot on my heels.
“y/n!” He shouts, “don’t just leave! We’ll take about it.”
Grayson pulls Ethan back before he can grab my arm which doesn’t please Ethan
“Get the fuck off me Grayson!” he yells, turning around and
getting in his twins face.
“Just let her go, let her cool off.” I smile at Grayson and
slam the door before Ethan could turn around.
Before Ethan can try and convince y/n to stay, she leaves. He
lets out an inhuman growl and throws a punch at the wall.
“Ethan!” I scold him. But it doesn’t stop him, he continues
to throw punch after punch. I pull him away and notice the blood trickling down
“I can’t help but get jealous because I get so worried about
losing her to someone else.” He says, breathing heavily. “You need to cool
down, let her relax too.” Ethan starts pacing back and forth in the room. “She’ll
come back, and if she isn’t back within the hour we’ll go looking for her and
your dumbass can apologise for being a dick.” Ethan lets out a small laugh.
“Anything to get her beautiful ass back.”
Soooo first imagine
back and sorry if it’s not how you wanted it or not very good I haven’t written
in over a year ahahah x
( Prompt: princess diaries style “I grew up not knowing I was royal and suddenly my royal grandparent showed up out of nowhere and told me I was so now I guess I’m the heir to the throne and you’re my crush from my pre-royal days but I still have a crush on you” AU )
A/N: So my crush talked to me today ( it was just a simple hello but I DIED ), and I died again when I saw Tom Holland strip down to his boxers in that new trailer. My friends are probably sick and tired of hearing about me rant about Tom Holland’s abs and my new husband, Matt Murdock.
As it turns out, you don’t have to worry about
keeping secrets from your friends for long.
After about a month of gruelling ‘after-school’
sessions with an endless string of tutors, of having to come up with flimsy
excuses for cancelling on outings and get-togethers, of having to tough out the
agony of avoiding Peter’s soft and concerned eyes that beg you to tell him what’s
wrong, the paparazzi snap pictures of you and your grandmother having afternoon
tea in the Hilton. They’d put two and two together, and before you could say, “I
have a crush on Peter Parker”, pictures of you are splashed all over the front page.
Your phone’s been buzzing non-stop, but you’ve
been ignoring the messages and missed calls – Did you even know fifty people from
Midtown High? – too focused on your very furious grandmother, who’s been pacing
the room, a wild animal in cage. Peter’s face, coupled with his adorable smile,
flashes across your screen for the tenth time; you flip your phone over so that
you won’t have to see his picture.
“Grandmother, I’m sorry,” You apologise meekly. “This
is my fault.”
Throwing the papers aside with an impatient huff,
your grandmother rounds on you, her eyes fierce and piercing. You almost regret
having said anything.
“Silly child,” She says, her tone warm and
exasperated all at once. “How on earth is it your fault? It’s the damn press –”
You’ve never heard her swear before. It makes
“Frankly, I’m surprised that we’ve been able to
keep you out of the public eye for so long.” She shakes her head, deep in
thought. “But now that the – How do you say – dog’s out of the kennel, we’ll
just have to make the most of things.”
“What’s going to happen to my baby?” Your mother
demands, going into full mother-bear mode,
her voice holding an edge of protectiveness to it. “Is (Y/n) going to be safe?”
I assure you that precautions are being taken, even as we speak. There will be
increased security –”
You’re sure your face turns pale at the thought
of having a team of beefy bodyguards on your heels 24/7.
“– We’ll enroll her in some self-defense classes,
we’ll get her a Taser, some pepper
spray … Whatever’s necessary. I swear on the Crown of Serangoon that I will
do anything and everything in my power to keep (Y/n) safe.” Grandmother sighs then, having gotten it out of her
system, and continues. “However, I think a press conference is in order. We’ll
have to introduce (Y/n) to the public officially, and the date of Coronation
Day will have to be pushed forward –”
Your mother and grandmother launch into a deep
and lengthy conversation about banquets, fittings, classes. And all you can do
is sit there, your head spinning, a satellite out of orbit.
At least you don’t faint this time.
progress, at least, you think.
You walk into school the next day, and nearly
run out screaming for Stanley to take you back home, press camped outside the
school be damned.
Stanley had had to muscle his way through about
three feet of screaming paparazzi pressing themselves onto you from all
directions, screaming out their questions, the camera flashes blinding and
searing themselves into your retinas.
Everyone wants a piece of you, it seems. Kids
goggle at you when you walk down the halls; in addition to the news article,
there had been a news report filled with pictures of you: From a smiley,
gap-toothed, pig-tailed (Y/n) to a
teenaged (Y/n), smashing her cheek
with Peter, clowning about for the camera. The press had raided your Snapchat,
Instagram and Facebook accounts, it seemed. You’d had the misfortune of seeing
the report at a diner, but the fortune of having Stanley and his limo nearby;
you’d ran out before anyone could identify you.
Kids you barely know, have barely talked to in
the past year – nerds, jocks, Queen Bees – all stop to talk to you. A year ago,
you wouldn’t have been breathing the same air as them; but now, all everyone
wants is to talk to you, to ask for your autograph, to invite you to parties.
Worse, your friends are slipping away. You
manage to wave to Michelle only once, in a corridor, surrounded by your new fan
club. She doesn’t return it. Her eyes are huge and dark and accusing, all at once. As for Peter – he’s taken to spending time with
Ned, and he can’t quite look you in the eyes, even when you try to catch his
You know that you have a whole lot of apologizing and explaining to do,
but how can you possibly start if your friends have already decided that they
want nothing to do with you? To avoid encountering Peter, you bury yourself in
your phone and hurry away. Every instance leaves you with a frigid soreness
buried so deep inside that no amount of heat could wring it out.
On second thought, you accept that party
You’re wearing a slim black Costume National
sheath dress, a strand of pearls around your neck. Your hair is neat, your face
made up with a thick layer of makeup. You look like you’re a famous model – or a
princess – and you can feel the press staring at you as you walk into the room
You’d caved, had tried to dial Peter on your cell
phone with trembling fingers, but it’d gone straight to voicemail. You try not
to think it’s because he hates you.
Grandmother handles the interview like a pro. Public
speaking is not your forte – there had been an unfortunate incident in the
fourth grade involving a judging panel at the annual talent show, and the front
row of students being covered in vomit. All you have to do is fix a vapid smile
onto your glossed lips, sitting stiffly between your mother and grandmother.
“Princess (Y/n),” Someone’s saying your name
now, and you immediately glance up, more than a little startled at being
addressed. “We’ve received pictures of you and a boy identified as Peter
Parker. Is he your boyfriend?”
Your hands are shaking. Your knuckles are white
when you ball them up into fists. You might have a security detail, a whole armoury
of weapons and weekly self-defense classes, but Peter, Ned and Michelle don’t.
If you’re not careful, someone could hurt them to get to you.
And you don’t
think you could live with yourself if it did happen.
Protect your friends, only to lose them … Or
disregard their safety for your own selfishness?
It’s not even a choice.
Your mouth is dry. You have to practically force
the words out of your mouth. “No. No, they – Peter was just a … He’s not
important. None of them are.”
The moment the lie leaves your lips, you want to
scream. You want to take all your words back.