#And u can make him dance stupid with you at a rave | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wdwmarveldisney · 3 years

Note

Hey I know I keep requesting isaac lahey imagines but I love him so much 😂 but can u please do another one set in season 2 and y/n is stiles sister and they are literally so alike but she is a lot sweeter and nice to people but can be sarcastic mist of the time and instead of Allison it is y/n that matt is stalking and her and isaac are sneaking around together (casue they r in different sides) and Scott and stiles are pretty protective of her and matt has pictures of isaac sneaking into her room and kissing and stuff and obviously just pictures of her through her window and at school and like just protective stiles and isaac ❤️

Pictures

Isaac Lahey x Stilinski!reader

Summary: When you find pictures of you on Matt’s cameras, you call Isaac and Stiles to let them know.

Masterlist

A/N: Okay this took me way too long to post. I’m so sorry about that. Anyways, this is pretty long for me because I did the whole scene where you actually found out so hopefully it’s okay. And who doesn’t love Isaac Lahey?

GIF isn’t mine

Stiles was protective to say the least. Scott too. They cared a lot and you understood that. You understood that they just wanted to keep you safe and alive and you understood why that need to protect you increased when the whole werewolf thing happened. You were obviously with them when they went out to find the dead body; why wouldn't you be? You hadn't wanted to leave Scott behind and was going to tell your dad he was there but Stiles had already spoke up. You kept using it against him and it annoyed him to no end. And now, Isaac is the same. He's super protective and he doesn't like the idea of you being any part of the supernatural. Due to the whole 'we're not part of Derek's pack' thing, you and Isaac had been sneaking around. You had started before he was bit and back then you had to sneak around too but that was mainly because of his dad. He hadn't told you about that until after his dad died and it was the same night he told you about being a werewolf.

Recently, he had been coming round more. Isaac's clingy to say the least. But its not like you hate it. It is so adorable when he just shows up at your window, pouting because he 'hasn't seen you in forever' but its only been two or so hours. You two never spent more than a couple of hours apart, which is why tomorrow was going to be hell. And right now. Matt had asked you to the rave and you had said yes and then you were stupid enough not to tell Isaac. They had this whole plan with Scott and Stiles and you didn't want to distract him so you just showed up with Matt anyway. You had hoped it would stop Stiles and Scott from figuring out about you and Isaac though you're sure Scott already knew and was not happy about it.

So when Isaac saw you two, he was beyond pissed but then so were you after seeing the way he was dancing with Erica and Jackson. And then Matt tried to kiss you but you obviously shut down within seconds but that didn't make Isaac any happen. Now though, you were driving Matt home, fingers tapping rather aggressively on the wheel. Matt must've known and you were glad he didn't say anything. You weren't so glad about being in the car with him. He just kept giving you these looks that made you uncomfortable and just feel...wrong. It wasn't until you had parked up across from his house that he spoke up, "So, about that incredibly bad idea I had," With a deep breath, you gave an awkward and uneasy smile as you tried your best to seem as friendly as possible. "You mean, the kiss?" Matt gave a curt nod, a nervous laugh spilling from his lips as you joined in. Why couldn't he just leave the car already? "Yeah, that's the one,"

Not wanting to prolong this torture anymore, you gave a half shrug, "Don't worry about it," Normally, this is the point that a sarcastic comment would leave you without much thought but you were on too high of an alert to do that, "For real?" This time it was you who gave the nod, almost frantic as you just wanted to get him out, "Definitely," He just sat there, staring straight ahead as you stared him down. Why wasn't he going? Leave Matt, for god's sake. Refraining from smashing your head against the wheel, you watched as he glanced to you with that look. The that made you feel so sick. "So, what's going on with you and Isaac? Are you guys-you guys together, or-or what?" Your eyebrows shot up as you stopped your jaw from dropping. What did he just say?

"Um, what?" Matt seemed to flinch st the hiss, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal. What was wrong with this guy? You shifted in your sheet, no longer wanting to be there and just wanting to be with Isaac. "Just, you two, um, keep looking at each other in that kinda way. And, he, uh, seemed pretty pissed about you being there with me," You don't know whether it was visible or not but you relaxed a lot then. It was only assumptions, nothing more. That doesn't mean you suddenly didn't mind him being in the car. You huffed, running your hands across your face before you talked, "Um, well not really," You heard how hollow his nervous laugh became, saw the flicker of annoyance and anger in his eyes and shifted in your seat once more, "Not really. God, I hate 'not really's.' You never know what to do with 'not really.'," Nothing. You do nothing with 'not really' because its not your decision. Of course you didn't say that since you have some restraint, unlike your brother. Why had you said yes to Matt again? He'd been giving you the creeps since day one and you just had to drop him home.

Instead of shoving the git out the car (and trust me, it was hard not to), you gave that uncomfortable smile once more as you clenched and unclenched your fits around the wheel repeatedly, "Would you understand if I said it was complicated?" Matt sat thinking for a second or two and you couldn't believe he was actually doing that. Surely he was as uncomfortable as you. "Not really," Cue awkward, nervous laughs, "But, I'll try," Yeah buddy, you will. He slipped out the car, waving goodbye and you sighed heavily, relaxing into the seat. "Thank would've been nice," you muttered bitterly before going to drive away when something caught your eye. The bitch left his bag.

You were never good at controlling your curiousity, it was one of the main reasons you got in trouble a lot. Curiousity killed the cat, yeah sure but that cat probably died with a clear mind. Curiousity was so easy to give into, you usually found it gave the best things in life. Like Isaac, for example. You were curious about the quiet, cute boy in the background of every class, why he never spoke up and why he always seemed to walk around alone. Curiousity gave you something as amazing as what you had with Isaac but this time, it may just kill you.

Snatching the camera from the bag, you began to click through them. At first, it was pretty normal. Lacrosse, lacrosse, lacrosse, la- no wait, that's not lacrosse. That's you in class. Okay, maybe it's like a one time thing, just a good shot. You continue to click through the photos and yeah, its not the one time thing. You can actually feel the sick rising in your throat at the sight of in your room, reading your book. Another of you on a laptop. Another of...so it wasn't just assumptions. He knew about you and Isaac because the filthy git took pictures of the two of you. Though as you continue through those few, its never really ever of anything like cuddling, most making out. What a pervert.

You're startled by the tap at your window, shutting the camera off after jumping out of your skin. Trying to send Matt a smile, its more of a grimace. He gives you this unsettling grin and your hand twitches towards your phone to call Isaac. Or maybe Stiles was a better idea. But Isaac could bring Derek. But Stiles could bring your dad. Wait, not important because right now, Matt's mouthing, "Open the window," to you and you sitting there like you can't move. Maybe you can't. Maybe that's what's flooding your entire body right now, the dread overpowering. Slowly, you opened the window and watched as he gave a nervous laugh, “Forgot my bag,”

Laughing worriedly, you gave another frantic nod as you mumbled, “Yeah... Yeah,” Matt grabbed his bag and you handed over the camera, trying your hardest not to let the tremble show. Matt took it with a thankful smile, leaning against the window still. Just go! “Some good pictures in there, don't you think?” No. No, there’s creepy pictures. There’s creepy pictures of you in your room. Not good, definitely not good. But instead you nod, giving a half shrug, “Yeah, the lacrosse ones are amazing. You're really talented. I was-I was-I was really impressed,” That’s a lie. Oh well, if it gets him gone faster. Matt eyes the way your leg was bouncing and your fingers drumming against the wheel once more. He stared at the way your tongue would run over your lips every minute or so and how you seemed to lean into the seat behind you.

“There's a good candid of you in there, too,” Oh really? You hadn’t noticed. You too busy being distracted by the fact they were taken through a bloody window. Biting back the sarcastic comment and glare, you gave the best fake smiley out could muster right now, “Really?” Ok so maybe the way you dragged it out a second too long was pretty sarcastic but Matt didn’t seem to care. He was more focus on his camera and bag, “You can see some of the others, if you'd like. I mean, this-this tiny little screen doesn't really do it justice. But, uh, I could show you some on my computer,” Others? There’s others? There’s others, that’s lovely. That’s just great. Okay, you could call your dad? Maybe he could talk to someone at the station. Or you could just call the station.

What you had to do at this moment is answer him, “Oh, I would totally like that, but maybe another night,” Never. Never, you weird creep. You couldn’t help the slight scrunch of your nose, eyes narrowing just a tad at his next words, “Well, just for a few minutes?” You looked round to his house, seeing how empty it was. Then you looked around the street, seeing little to no cars. “It's getting kind of late,” Matt tilted his head slightly, clearly confused as he almost scoffed in disbelief, “It's the weekend,”

“I know, but I-”

“And, it's spring break. I mean, you don't have anything going on tomorrow... do you?” Did he just cut you off? Oh dear god, how had you not smashed his head in yet? You gave a more strained smile, obviously uncomfortable, “No, I’m just- I’m really particular about my bedtime,” you gave him a wide eye, joking laugh look that made him chuckle along with you. Both of you nodded as you refrained from slamming your hand against the wheel. “I really should get going,” he squinted his eyes just a tad, smile becoming faker, “You sure?” You gave another curt nod, gripping the wheel just a bit tighter to hold back the need to smash his head into the pavement. Not the car, can’t ruin the car. “I'm sure,” you were stiff, your voice clearly conveying it and how uneasy you were. Matt gave a small awkward mumble of okay or something and you drove off, fishing your phone out to call Isaac.

You hadn’t told Isaac exactly what happened but just you needed to see him and that he could use the front door. Then you had called Stiles and said you needed to speak with him and he said he was bringing Scott. You might as well tell the both of them, if Matt had pictures then there’s no point trying to hide it. Somehow you managed to be the first back so you waited in the living room, hands resting on the back of your head as you stared at the ground, totally spaced out. The door opened and closed and you heard the clang of keys as they were put in the bowl before Stiles and Scott were in front of you, both worried though your brother looked worst. You stood up and took your brother’s hand out of his mouth with a small scowl but when you turned to open the door since Isaac had knocked, Stiles began biting his nails again.

As soon as Isaac saw the others, he gave a panicked look to you but you just tried to give him your best reassuring smile. Stiles and Scott seemed confused too, both seemingly tensing up like they were ready to fight. You scoffed, “Oh calm yourselves, it’s not like he’s going attack me in front of you. He’s not that stupid,” you grinned at the offended look Isaac gave before moving the three towards the sofa. You made sure Scott was next to Isaac so he could stop him from leaving though you weren’t too sure whether he would.

“Um, okay. Okay, first thing first, me and Isaac are dating,” you watched as Stiles tried to process it as Isaac’s jaw dropped and Scott just nodded. Looking to your brother, you waved off his splutters of confusion, “I know, just get over it. More important things. Like, uh, how do I say this? I think Matt’s been stalking me, kind of,” Stiles literally short circuited at that whilst Scott just looked really confused. Isaac tensed, face falling as his eyes filled with a rage you’d never seen before. Scott looked down before looking back up at you, mumbling a “What?” That you just about heard.

Shaking out your hands, you sat on the coffee table with an uneasy look as you nervously laughed, though it was more of a huff, “Yeah. I gave him a lift home after the whole rave and he started talking about how he tried to kiss me,” you saw how Isaac seemed to get more tense, jaw and fists clenching, “And I was saying it was no big deal and then he asked if Isaac and I were a thing and I was shocked ‘cause we’ve been sneaking around and he shouldn’t know. He gave this reasonable answer and then he left and he forgot his bag. So I picked it up and I was looking through his camera and there was a bunch of pictures of me and some were at school and some were through my window and a few of those were me with Isaac,” you finally looked up to see them all looking extremely pissed, rage swirling in their eyes. Isaac and Stiles both jumped up and Scott moved to hold Isaac as you got Stiles.

“What? No! We have to go...do something!” Stiles shouted, arms flailing as you shoved him back onto the sofa. Isaac nodded in agreement, trying to get out of Scott’s hold. You walked over placing your hands on Isaac’s shoulders with a stern look that made his beta eyes fade away. You leaned into, wrapping your arms around his middle as he wrapped his around your shoulders. Looking at your brother and Scott, you gave a worried smile to them. “Please don’t do anything. I’m going to talk to dad about it, okay? Don’t get in trouble for me,” Isaac scoffed as Stiles rolled his eyes and you and Scott shared a look. “Yeah well, there’s already a restraining order so I can’t go much lower,”

Isaac placed a kiss to your forehead and with a huff, pulled away. He kissed away your small pout before adjusting his jacket. “Derek said not to be too long,” you frowned, hands going back to his shoulders as he gave you a small grin. You could still see the rage and anger in his eyes and you knew part of the reason he was going back was because he didn’t want to end up hurting you or the others because he couldn’t control it. “I’ll take you back,” Stiles shook his head at your words, standing up again. “Um, no. What if Matt’s out there? No, you’re staying here and Scott’s taking him back,” Stiles marched over to the curtains, closing them and then moving to do the others as Scott just looked surprised by the demand. With a small shrug, Scott gave you a quick side hug and began to lead Isaac out. Isaac placed one more kiss to your lips before leaving and you felt the unsettling feeling in your stomach again as you followed after them and closed the curtains by the door.

At least those three were protective, life would always be a whole lot safer.

#isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x stilinski!reader #stilinski!reader #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #mentions of stalking

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs. A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #waaaAAAAAAAAH #ever so slightly nerve-wracking hahaha #this is EXTREMELY sentimental you have been WARNED #it's also supposed to feel almost suffocating or overwhelming #bcoz ur reader yk #okay ANYWAY ENJOY #tw drugs #tw toxic relationship #tw daddy kink

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ageofevermore · 3 years

Text

「 FULL MASTERLIST 」

⊹ fluff, ✧ angst, ≛ nsfw, ** sensitive

find my retired masterlist here

find all concepts here

approximate total word count: 65.5k+

TOM HOLLAND

— what could be ⊹

tom starts to wonder if you really are better off as friends (1.3k)

— bridged ⊹ ✧

the bridge between friendship and something more is crossed in the middle of an airport terminal (1.4k)

— eighteen ⊹ ✧

you’re tired of feeling like the world silences you, but after an interview with sebastian and anthony, you start to wonder if maybe it’s your fault (1.9k) **

— the autocomplete interview ⊹

your favorite thing about interviews is how cuddly tom gets afterwards, almost like he’s a life size teddy bear (1.5k)

— magic in the parks ⊹

and maybe he was meant to find love in the happiest place on earth, or maybe they were just strangers in the same room at the same time (5k)

— daddy’s girl ⊹

and since the day she was born she’s been his biggest fan (1k)

— wrapped in red ✧ ⊹

first time parents go santa shopping for their baby (1.4k)

— home for the holidays ⊹ ✧

tom doesn’t think he’s going to make it home in time for your daughters first christmas (2.3k)

— love to call you mine ⊹

she’s got somebody else’s eyes but you love her as your own. or, tom has a daughter from a previous relationship, but she’s your little best friend with honey eyes (1.5k)

— influencer ⊹

you’re the youngest holland, and what you want, you get (1.4k)

— no pants with his love ⊹

tom never miss out on an opportunity to rave about just how much he adores you (1.5k)

— SERIES

— butterfly kingdom ⊹

periwinkles have blossomed for eighteen years between the old english kingdoms of florence and arkadence. two royal families— one of many sons, and one of a single daughter, have filled the acres of land with peace for centuries. now, the two kingdoms will become one. (3.4k)

one | two | three | four | five | six

[ find the sole masterlist here ]

HARRY STYLES

— amalfi coast ⊹

and maybe it was meant to be harry and his golden girl on the southern coast of italy, capturing magic before their lives changed forever, again (0.9k)

— lookout point ⊹

you’ve always been a fan of hallmark movies. you’ve made him watch them with you so many times, that when he chooses to propose, it’s in a snow sprinkled garden with a ring you’ve always dreamed of (3k)

— canyon moon ⊹

in which harry dedicates fine line to his and your daughter, then brings her on stage to close the show (1.4k)

— adore you ⊹

in which harry goes away for a few weeks and upon his highly anticipated arrival home your daughter doesn’t recognize him (1.7k)

— golden ⊹

in which harry doesn’t understand how he can possibly love such a small baby so painfully much (1.7k)

— seven tomorrow ⊹

you run into him at your campus starbucks not expecting to fall in love with his smile and the stupid holiday headband holding his hair back (1.5k)

— light up ⊹

in which harry hates that the two of you can’t enjoy a night on the town without the blinding lights of paparazzi (1.3k)

— ten little fingers, ten little toes ⊹

he proposed, you danced, and you created a family, all to one song, and now he’s singing it with your kids beside christmas lights and framed memories (1.2k)

— strawberries ⊹ ≛

you get carried away in front of a chocolate covered strawberry audience (1.1k)

— on your knees ≛

after being away for so long, you decide to test harry’s patience while he’s in a virtual business meeting (1.2k)

— falling ⊹ ✧

harry doesn’t want losing you to be his fault, but he can’t help the way he feels (0.6k)

— SERIES

— four ⊹

from a little british town to first class flights, you’ve always had a place in your heart for harry, and he’s had a place for you in his (0.2k)

one | two |

[ find the sole masterlist here ]

CHRIS EVANS

— don’t wake dodger ⊹ ✧

you settle down for a night in with the family, showing off some of your favorite christmas films after an eventful afternoon in the kitchen (1.2k)

— BLURBS

[ find the sole masterlist here ]

PETER PARKER

— heavy without you ✧

death is heavy on your mind this christmas season, but it’s even heavier on peters (1.8k) **

— you scare me ⊹ ✧

she had known him for so long, wasn’t it meant to be obvious that every night he snuck out of his bedroom to save the world? (1.7k)

[ find the sole masterlist here ]

BUCKY BARNES

— BLURBS

gentle (0.2k)

[ find the sole masterlist here ]

HARRISON OSTERFIELD

— COMING SOON

— BLURBS

[ find the sole masterlist here ]

#oliviiarodrigos complete masterlist #tom holland #harry styles #chris evans #peter parker #anakin skywalker

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paellaplease · 4 years

Note

HAII!! if it hasnt been done yet, could you do revali x reader with basorexia? maybe reader really wants to give him a kiss but she really cant since,, yknow she has lips and he has a fuckin beak so she just decides to give him a lil smooch on the cheek? idk that was just an idea i had in mind, u dont have to write it!

22. basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss.

pairing: revali x reader summary: revali spirits you away to enjoy the new years eve festivities.

In the darkness of your room, you awoke to the sound of a soft tapping on your window. Twisting in the mess of blankets and pillows, you pushed aside the papers and textbooks that had accumulated at the foot of the bed, noticing only then that the candle at your desk had long since extinguished.

Head pounding, you rubbed at your tired eyes, feeling heavy. How long had you been asleep?

The tapping grew more insistent, forcing you to get up. Grumbling, you allowed yourself a second to stretch, ignoring how your room felt like water sloshing in a glass.

"Yeah, yeah. Hold on!" You said, hobbling to the window. Brushing the mess of hair from your eyes, you pulled the curtains away and roughly pushed it open.

The culprit hovered outside, eyes bright and smug. Revali looked very much at home though he was floating at a dizzying distance away from the ground. In the sleepy haze, he looked like a painting of some myth you had read before, with the late night sky as his backdrop and the outline of your window as his frame.

"Took you long enough."

"Apologies. I thought some tree branches were hitting the glass."

The Rito made a show of turning in the air. "Funny, I don't see any nearby trees."

"I know," you sighed, disappointed.

Revali rolled his eyes and poked his head through the window, feathers brushing past your cheek as he ignored your personal space in favour of scoping out your room. The stiff turn of his neck as he looked around reminded you of the curious and confused little birds that landed on the sill from time to time.

"Quite a dreary home you have here." Gesturing to the overall darkness, he pointed to your stack of scattered papers. "You shouldn't study without proper lighting, it's bad for your eyes."

"I was asleep."

"Why, I'm surprised. And here I thought you were one of the festive many who choose to stay awake at an ungodly hour in order to count down the remaining seconds of the year."

"Well," you shrugged, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Not like it's anything special. New year, same shit. What difference would a countdown do?"

Biting down on your tongue, you stopped yourself from saying anymore. The cold breeze sifted past the light shirt you were wearing, making you shiver.

He was right, normally you were one of those people who stayed up, excitedly watching the hands of the clocktower tick til they reached midnight. You enjoyed the energy of being in a collective crowd, waiting with bated breath for the first inhale and exhale you would take into the brand new year.

The final month on the Hylian calendar brought a sense of relief and a hope for new beginnings. Usually today of all days you were at your happiest, jumping at the prospect of celebrating along with the rest of the kingdom and yet…

That sinking weight clawed at your chest again, forcing you to clamp down on it once more.

You grimaced. There it was; that bitter feeling. Hylia. How annoying. It twisted in your brain like an angry snake, pulling down your mood and enthusiasm along with it.

Last year you wanted to cheer and dance until the morning light. Now all you felt like was staring at the wall. Or falling asleep.

You blinked, turning back to the window to see Revali patiently waiting for you to continue. Feeling your face warm, you hustled your brain to get a move on. A coherent thought would be great right about…now!

"Hey have you ever wondered why they don't grow trees on this side of the castle? It's not fair the more expensive quarters get all the pretty greenery. I mean, non-noble guests still need that sweet oxygen everyone keeps raving about, you get me?" Shut up brain, that's enough. I said a coherent thought. C o h e r e n t.

Stars in his wings, Revali shook his head but answered anyway. "I agree, it's hardly fair. Also go change into something warm, we need to get you outside."

"What? Why?"

Something in the Rito's expression clued you in to the fact that he wasn't in the mood to play stupid. You've been sitting in the dark for the past few days and it didn't take a private investigator to know it was playing tricks with your head. "Fine, but when I say we go back--we go back, got it?"

He huffed, turning around to give you some privacy. "I promise on my honour."

The brightly lit lanterns of the town square made you squint as you shuffled closer to your guide, the sound of the city loud in your ears.

Though less prominent, the twisting feeling in your gut continued, making you more hyper-alert than usual to the world around you. Adjusting the sleeves of your coat, you followed Revali past the streets, the Rito expertly navigating through the sea of people.

Somewhere along the way he had taken your hand, and you told yourself it was a good way for you both to stick together. Wouldn't want you getting lost and spending the final minutes of the year playing an elaborate game of hide and seek after all. He was a great friend like that. Nevermind that everytime you would hold his wing a little tighter to remind yourself that he was there, he would always squeeze back.

You needed a distraction.

Just focus on everything that's not him.

The night was alive with the sound of music. It didn't matter if you partied with an alcoholic drink in hand, or a glass of milk, everyone in Hyrule was filled with an addictive buzz that came with an event that only happened once a year. Vendors with bright smiles called out from their stalls, the smell of freshly baked sweets or the sizzle of a barbecue beckoning you to take a closer look. To your left, a group of friends raised their hands in the air, loudly welcoming a Goron that had turned up late but regardless had finally arrived.

The archer followed your line of sight, guessing the question bouncing in your head. "Daruk is in Eldin, probably rattling Death Mountain with that story again about the Moblin camp and the barrel of explosives."

"I love that story."

"Of course you would."

"Sorry about your feathers though."

"Whatever, they grew back."

"How about the one's on your--"

"Anyway," he interjected quickly, playfully nudging you to the side and glowering at your laughter. "We've been told to 'take a break'. The other Champions have chosen to spend this day with their families and loved ones. We are planning to regroup and continue preparations in the days following."

"How about you?"

"I already said it."

Your cheeks coloured at the implications of his words, mind replaying the previous sentence. Families and loved ones. Families and loved ones. He didn't even hesitate. You both were not related. So that left you with...

"Woah!" Digging your heels into the dirt, you abruptly paused your brisk walk and saved yourself from colliding with the archer's back.

Stopping at one of the stalls, Revali held two fingers up. You glanced up at him questioningly but he refused to give anything away, expression relaxed. The vendor returned quickly, the Rito thanking them quietly and placing the payment on the bright yellow table cloth along with a large tip in their jar.

He turned around, dropping a square shaped pastry into your hands. It was some kind of rice cake, with a fluffy exterior and a golden baked surface that smelled of butter and felt warm like the sun.

Taking a bite, you smiled at the hints of coconut that were hidden in its sweet flavour. The sticky treat was familiar somehow. "Is this so luck sticks to you in the new year?"

Revali scoffed, though failed to hide his own smile behind the cake held in his wing. "You said the same thing when we first met. You need new material."

"Says the baron of bird puns."

"I am the king." He punctuated the statement by biting into his own rice cake. Offering his wing, he gently took your hand once more, turning back to step again into the busy promenade.

Following him, you noticed that the crowds ever so slowly began to thin. A lantern lit hill was coming up. The grassy expanse was dotted with a few people, though it was blessingly not as populous as the town square. "I should be the one that's surprised. Thought you hated crowds unless their attentions were all on you."

"It's tolerable so long as I am with good company."

The both of you walked up the hill with an unspoken agreement to make it to the top. Taking a seat on the grass, you allowed yourself to breathe, chest heaving from the small burst of exercise after days of being sedentary.

The twinkling lights of Castle Town stretched out before you. Gazing at it, you could imagine all the untold stories hidden in the glowing little pockets of the alleys and in the hushed whispers behind closed doors. Funny how in a city so full of people, one can feel so alone.

Revali was the first to speak, breaking you from your thoughts. "I think I can understand now. Looking at it from this distance, it really can feel like nothing much has changed."

You continued to stare at the lights, trying to focus on a certain string in an attempt to ground yourself. "Yeah. Sometimes it feels like though the world continues to spin, I'm remaining completely still. Just stagnant."

Frowning, you ran your hands through the grass, feeling the dirt shift under your fingers. You could feel your frustrations building, bubbling up to the surface with no way of dragging them back down.

"And the challenges just get worse every year. How am I going to face those old problems and these new ones if I'm still the same lost person I was back then?"

Your voice echoed at the last sentence, making you hide your head in embarrassment. That was loud.

Some strangers relaxing on the hill turned around to flash you an annoyed glare, before quickly returning to their picnics after spotting the Great Eagle Bow on your friend's back.

"I'm so sorry." You wanted more than anything then to dig a hole and hibernate preferrably for the next hundred years or so. "I'm yelling, that isn't like me. I'm so so--"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You needed to say it." He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. There was a serious element to it that made it a little hard to breathe. "There is one part of that I don't agree with, however."

"What is it?"

"That entire section about you, how did you put it, stagnanting." He twisted a wing in the air, thinking on his words before pointing a feather directly at your face. "You're fully capable of enacting the change you want to see in yourself."

You felt a little dizzy now. But another kind of dizzy, one very different from the vertigo you felt waking up in the darkness of your room.

"And who said you were exactly the same as you were back then? You've changed. In a good way. You're stronger and more capable of things I'm sure the person you were two years ago or even less couldn't even fathom doing."

Turning to face you, Revali gave you his full attention, compelling you to do the same as the cadence of his speech joined the steady rhythm of your own beating heart. From the back of your mind, you could barely register the sound of people gathering together, their voices floating into the cold night air.

'Ten!'

"It's difficult to see your own progress from a distance."

'Nine!'

"So take my advice and start looking at yourself up close for once."

'Eight!'

He had that expression on his face, one that said he was thinking too hard about something. It was like watching him try to pull the planets together with just a piece of string. His brows were furrowed so deep that your fingers wished to run over his feathers and smoothe the worried creases.

'Seven!'

You slowly reached out to him, giving him enough time to back away. Revali stilled as your hands traced up the nape of his neck, leaning in as his pulse thrummed underneath the soft pads of your fingertips.

'Six!'

He opened his beak the moment you reached his face. You paused, half expecting him to tell you to let go and pretend like it never happened.

Instead, he called out your name.

'Five!'

He said your name again, though quieter now. It was enough to tug at the invisible force drawing you two together. Enough so that the polite distance nervously enforced by the both of you gradually began to dissipate, trailing away like a ribbon of smoke as you both leaned in closer.

'Four!'

"May I--," He cleared his throat, eyes darting away for a second before they were back on you again. Bright green in the lantern light. Emeralds in the desert sand.

'Three!'

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes."

'Two!'

"Your way or mine?" You couldn't help but joke. Revali smiled, exhaling a soft joyful laugh before pressing his forehead to yours.

'One!'

'Happy New Year!'

An earth-shaking boom rattled your ears, but all you could think of in that moment was Revali and the feel of his feathers against your skin; the utter elation of being so close to someone you deeply cared for and that cared just as deeply for you.

In the dazzling light you lifted your head from his, both your eyes meeting for a brief moment. Hands moving, you gently angled his face with a steady hand, feeling then the soft, butterfly light brush of his wings on your waist.

Closing your eyes again, you leaned in to press your lips against his beak, the blush on your face warmer than any fever or furnace. The Rito's soft sigh was barely audible as you trailed your kisses upwards, stopping at the red circle on his cheek.

Revali laughed again as you turned his face to press a kiss to the identical red mark on the other side. "You're very thorough."

"You deserve it." You beamed. "And this is just the beginning, just you wait at the end of the countdown I'll--"

"Actually my dear," he grinned, pointing to the sky.

"Huh?"

Above you were the vibrant colours of the firework display. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring, but a confirmation that you were definitely minutes in to the new year.

"Oh," you said, before shaking your head with a smile. "It's fine, we got 12 more months to prepare ourselves for the next one."

Revali nodded, pulling you closer so he could press your foreheads together again.

"Indeed," he grinned. "Now will you finish your sentence? What exactly were you going to do at the end of the countdown?"

fin.

#revali x reader #revali #botw #revali botw #prompt fic #more taggs later #i wrote this entirely on my phone so apologies for any errors #been thinking about this for a long time #also very late but happy new years #paella writes

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thenextchapter22 · 4 years

Text

Happy Halloween

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You are walking home from work on Halloween night and get taken to a party...filled with monsters.

A/N: I just wrote this yesterday and I did not expect it to be so long. I was planning on it being a drabble haha. This features all the demon brothers as different Halloween monsters, some I took from Obey Me! and others I came up with. Please enjoy! :))

Halloween night was almost nearing its end. There were no kids out, it was time for the adults to party. Saturday night and a full moon? It was perfect. But you were in no mood. Yeah, your girlfriends were out with their sexy costumes on, but you had an apartment you lived in alone you had to afford so you had to take this extra night at work when you were offered the chance.

______

The night was chilling and the moon was full. You were so ready to go home after a long shift, have a glass of wine, and then pass out watching some good scary movies eating candy and popcorn. Sadly, this would be done alone, but you didn’t really care about that much anyway.

The walk home wasn’t long but it sure felt like it was. You tugged your coat around your body to keep warm, and headed down the cobblestoned alleyway to your apartment.

“Hello, there,” a voice said behind you.

You jumped and turned. A strange man in a dark hooded outfit stood in the center of the path, and you could just see his smirk on a pale face. You took a few steps back, ready to fight. Those self-defense classes were not going to be for nothing.

“What do you want?” you asked plainly. Damn, you didn’t have your pocket knife or pepper spray. How stupid could you be, fucking hell.

“I just want�� a little bite…”

You paused and tilted your head. “What? Did you follow me from the restaurant, because it’s still open for a couple hours if you’re looking to eat?”

He glided closer, and his face was more visible in the street light above you. He was stunning, and you were in awe at first. Then you saw his eyes dark red. And he had a black diamond on his forehead. What was this guy dressed up as? And he seemed a bit older to go trick or treating…

“Look into my eyes,” he said in a seductive tone.

You did, and waited. If he was going to attack you, you would defend yourself. You were not going to attack first because that would be stupid, he could have a knife or something.

He blinked a few times, and then stepped back. He pushed his hood off and sighed. Wow, he was like a dark angel. “Well, if you would have simply said something I wouldn’t have gone through all of that. Obviously my enchantment was for naught. Are you going to the party? If so, it’s this way.” The man turned, and looked back with a raised brow. “Well?”

You stumbled after him. “Uh, yes, the party…”

Well, it looked like you had something to do after all. Follow this sexy man to a party. It was Halloween.

_+_

You kept staring at him as you walked the streets, which were pretty bare. He seemed to notice it because he glanced back at you, and each time you flushed scarlet. He chuckled each time as well.

“You’re very beautiful when you blush,” he said suddenly, making you jump. “My name is Lucifer.” You introduced yourself, and he nodded and smiled. “Pleased to meet you.”

Eventually you both ended up at a large mansion. You sincerely hoped this wasn’t some elaborate trap. Also, why did you follow him? How stupid were you?

He held open the door for you, and smirked while you awed at the incredible house. “It’s King Diavolo’s property. I assume from your expression you have never been to his annual party?”

You shook your head. “N-no.” King Diavolo?

“Hm, interesting. Let me take your coat,” he said, and you gave it to him. Lucifer placed it in a closet and then offered his arm, which you took. You felt so under-dressed, but you supposed you could say your costume was a waitress (even though you were one, technically).

Once you entered the next room, you could hear and see the lights of a party in full swing. Then the double doors opened and it was booming bass and flashing lights assaulting your hearing and vision. Glancing around you saw all types of costumes. Demons, Werewolves, Vampires, Mummies, and more. Some were really well done, too. It was a rave of faux monsters and you were just in a plain every day outfit.

“What do you think?”

“It’s… wow!”

He agreed. “Come, let’s get you a drink. I didn’t get mine so I’m quite thirsty.”

You both walked around the dance floor to reach a smaller section of food and drinks where only two people stood.

“Beel, Belphie, this is my… new acquaintance. These are my brothers.” Then Lucifer turned his head sharply to the left and sighed. “Excuse me, my brother is causing problems. I’ll be right back. Beel, Belphie, you’ll stay with her. She has never been here before.”

And Lucifer left you with the two at the side table full of food. One person was wearing a stitched clothing look, and had stiches all over his face and hands as well. He was portraying Frankenstein’s monster, obviously.

He stopped chewing and spoke, “My name is Beel, and this is Belphie, my twin brother.” He ignored your suspicious glance at the term ‘twin’ and continued eating the food in front of him.

Belphie yawned. He leaned against the table, and blinked blearily. He was so pale, paler than Lucifer, even. Did he wear a costume? He just looked sickly. “Are you well?” you asked on impulse.

Belphie smirked. “You’re very sweet to ask, hm? I wonder… Are you a hum—”

“Beel, how many time do I have to tell you? This food is not all for you.” Lucifer’s voice rang out.

He was suddenly beside you, with someone else in tow. A tanned man with little to nothing on, jeans and no shirt with a dog costume featuring wolf ears and a tail. He had a sharp-toothed grin as he looked you up and down.

“Mammon, stop drooling. It’s disgusting. I apologize for his behavior, we didn’t get to train him properly.” Lucifer went to Beel, then, and was attempting to rearrange the food on the table and show him what he could eat.

While the twins chuckled, Mammon rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’m just appreciating the view, that’s all!”

You blushed. “W-what? I’m not some piece of meat, you know!”

Mammon licked his lips. “To me, sweet cheeks, you are.” He winked. How rude was that!

“Hey, I didn’t know we all were getting together! Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because your annoying, Levi,” Belphie said monotonously.

Levi was a purple haired man with a witch hat and scepter in hand. He had ridiculous stripped tights on, too. But he was kind of adorable.

“Rude! I am not annoying, you are! Always moaning around and sleeping, so stupid!” He looked at you, then, and you raised a brow, ready to introduce yourself. But he suddenly laughed. “Wow, if I wasn’t busy I would totally do something about this normie. Okay, who wants to have some fun?” He waived his wand, sparks coming out at the tip, which you thought was a cool trick.

Mammon raised his hand. “Oh, I am in. If it involves some money I’m double in. Let’s go!” Mammon blew you a kiss, and you thought you saw his tail wagging. But that was impossible.

Beel was still speaking with Lucifer when you noticed Mammon being dragged off by the witchy-boy. “I can’t help it if my stomach is like this, you know, it’s just the parts I was given.”

Lucifer sighed. “I know. Next time I’ll make sure Barbatos knows you are coming so he can prepare.”

“No need. I have brought more food for Beel to enjoy so the other guests can as well.” Another sudden appearance, this time with a bat-ear wearing butler dressed man. He also wore a tail? Why all the tails? Seriously, though, if there were any more people popping up out of nowhere you would have a heart attack.

Beel’s face brightened. You couldn’t help but smile, too. “Thanks!” he said, and he dug in.

“Yes, thank you, Barbatos. It’s much appreciated.”

“As I said, it’s not a problem,” the so-called Barbatos said. Then he looked you over, raised a brow, and shook his head. “Not another one.” And he walked away.

You had no clue what that meant, but before you could think more on it another person showed up (you actually saw them walking over, thankfully). This man was tall and dressed in white, with white angel wings behind him.

He smiled at Lucifer. “Ah, Lucifer, I was hoping to see you. It’s been a while. I hope you’re well?”

“I am, thank you. This is my new companion.” Lucifer gestured to you.

The man frowned. “Luci, don’t tell me...”

“No, no, Simeon, she is one of us. I’m not sure what, but you know how impolite it is to ask.”

You were lost yet again, but oh well. It was a party with people you really didn’t know, there were bound to be inside jokes, right?

“Yes, of course.” Simeon smiled at you, and took your hand to kiss it. His lips were smooth and he was basically as perfect as Lucifer, only darker skin and brighter eyes. “Pleasure. Don’t let Lucifer corrupt this bright soul of yours. Enjoy the party.” And he left, asking Lucifer to contact him more.

Lucifer stroked your lower back and you shivered. “Are you cold?” He draped his cloak around you, and you could smell his scent. It was subtle, almost like breathing in cool air with a hint of spice.

He smirked. “Would you like to dance, darling?”

You blushed, but nodded. Lucifer took you out on the dance floor.

“This is so fun,” you said. “I never really go out on Halloween. Usually I stay home.”

“Well, I am glad to have you here with me now.” He leaned in and breathed in against your neck. “Hm, I would love to taste you, however. Shame.”

You stuttered. “U-uh-um…”

He chuckled. “A shy type, hm? Very endearing.”

“LUUUCIIIFERRR!”

He stopped spinning you and pulled you close, and you leaned into him. He wasn’t warm, but he wasn’t cold, either. It was like he had no heat at all to give or receive.

“Asmodeus. I am busy, bother me later.”

“But Mammon is—”

“If he isn’t eating anyone, then leave me alone.”

“Aw, who is your friend? She looks so sweet! Not your type, that’s for sure!” he giggled.

“This is my brother, Asmo. Please, if he does anything to you, let me know.”

The three of you walked to the side of the dance floor and you got a good look at Asmo. He was beautiful. There were fake scales of all colors highlighting his cheeks and neck, and he wore a tight cat-suit. You assumed he was either dressed like a snake or lizard, but you were not sure.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, darling~” He kissed your cheek, and you blushed. He giggled. “I’m a siren, but I promise I won’t sing to you. I couldn’t let this gorgeous face shrivel up!”

You widened your eyes. Wow, these party-goers were super serious on their roles. Maybe this was a huge LARP party.

“Asmodeus, is Mammon behaving himself or not?”

“Ah, yes, yes, he is not, no.”

Lucifer looked pissed. “What is he doing?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” Asmo waved his hand around like it was noting.

Clearly it wasn’t, as Lucifer strolled away so fast you swore if you had blinked he’d be gone. “What—?”

Asmo laughed at you. “He does that a lot. Anyways, my dear, I must be going. I have a lot of fans to see and people to seduce~ Keep to the side and you’ll be safe! Oh, and call me if you want to have some fun later,” and he was gone.

Left alone for the first time, you actually glanced around. The party was stunning and so were to people. You were glad you went out. Meeting Lucifer and his brothers was fun, even if they were a little weird.

“Here, have another drink.”

You glanced over to see a blonde man dressed in a red and black cloak with striking blue eyes. He also wore false vampire fangs. He nodded at the table, and held out a red solo cup to you. “It’s from the punch bowl. Nothing too strong, no alcohol either.”

You took what the blonde vampire offered. “Thanks.” It was delicious, bubbly and sweet. “It’s good.”

He smirked. “I could tell you’d like the sweeter drinks. You reek of innocence.”

You blushed, holding the drink close to your body. “Uh, okay…” What a creeper.

“Satan. Enough.” Lucifer strolled over. “Are you all right, my dear? Did my brother frighten you? He can be a bit brash.”

What kind of a name was Satan? Also, how many brothers did Lucifer have? Six now? “No, he’s fine. He gave me a drink.”

Lucifer glared at Satan. Satan glared back. Did they just hiss at each other?

Come to think of it, why did all these guys have strange names like Satan and Lucifer and Leviathan? And while you glanced around, you could see tiny details you had not before. Like Mammon’s fake appendages, or Levi’s wand…

“The time has come. Midnight is upon us! I present with great honor… our King Diavolo!

You were so focused on connecting dots, you barely heard Barbatos announce. Then, when a blinding golden light came from the top of the stairs, you, and other party-goers, gasped. He was stunning. Large, regal, painted in gold and with black wings expanding behind him.

“Monsters of all kinds, I welcome you to this year’s Halloween Party! I hope you all have a hauntingly good time.” Chuckles throughout the room. He grinned. “Midnight is seconds away. Please join me in counting down.”

You looked around, Lucifer at your side, Satan behind you. You saw Levi and Mammon standing together, cheering and raising glasses in time with the countdown. Beel and Belphie behind you, Belphie smirking at you in a way that was lecherous and mysterious.

“Three… two… one!”

You expected something big, grand, like fireworks. Instead, you saw something terrifying. Firstly, you noticed Belphie. He stared you down as he evaporated into nothing. He was still there, but you could see through him! Then, you glanced around, and really took note of all the costumes.

Only, they were not costumes. You saw Mammon’s tail actually moving. You saw Levi waving his wand and making sparks and more drinks appear. Many, many other things, that you swore you did not see before. But maybe you did, and assumed it was fake and for Halloween?

“Darling, your heart is beating so loud. Are you all right?” Lucifer’s hand on your back had you jumping.

Your heart? He heard it your heart beating.

You shook your head. He looked you up and down, and frowned. “No, no, ‘m not okay,” you said shakily.

He started to lead you away, then. But you were interrupted. By King Diavolo. Oh, my fuck, was he actually a King of Monsters?

“My King,” Lucifer bowed, and you did, too, on reaction.

Diavolo grinned. “Luci, my oldest friend! How are you? Enjoying the party?” Then he looked at you, and you held your breath. He seemed to pause. “What is a human doing here? Are you doing this again, I thought we talked about this when you brought that human two centuries ago.”

You ignored the fact that he said ‘two centuries’ and panicked. “P-please, I-I’ll go now…”

Lucifer was in shock, as well. “But my enchantment did not work, so I assumed…”

King Diavolo stroked his chin. “It didn’t, hm? Strange. Yes, she is human… But that has not happened before.”

You were stuck being observed by him. Trapped in a room full of legitimate monsters. Why did you come? How fucking idiotic could you be?

“Well, it has always been a vision of mine to align all worlds together. I do want to know how she wasn’t affected by a vampire’s enchantment, too. But it’s too dangerous for her to be in this room. Take her upstairs until the party is done.”

“Yes, King Diavolo.”

#shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me halloween #halloween fanfic #my fics #om

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procancelled · 4 years

Text

It’s Hard To Be A Diamond In A Rhine Stone World 2008

Something I’ve noticed is that the majority of BOTDF songs address the listener instead of a specific person in the song. This is concerning given how sexual the songs are and how young the fanbase is.

Slash Gash Terror Crew Anthem!

- Fandom name.

- Violent

- Anthem for the fanbase is very sexual despite fanbase is young.

Bend over

Shake those titties

- Gross and demeaning

Pull over

Hello Kitty

- This is a FUCKING CHILDREN’S CARTOON CHARACTER!

Back it up like a U-Haul truck

Sock it to me

Rub my junk

- Anthem for fanbase asks them to do sexual things to Dahvie

You’re a freak… like me!

- Trying to connect to the audience and make them relate to him

Save the Rave

You can talk

You stupid tricks

- Demeaning to people who criticise him or come out with allegations against him

I’ve taken the pills

Giving into cheap thrills

- Normalising drug use

I fell in love with a girl

At the dance club

She said what! As I’m kicking

Up the party drugs

- Connecting relationships, ‘love’ and drug use

Shoot up this place

- Violent

S My D

- A whole song dedicated to Dahvie’s oral sex fixation

I’m probably gonna lick

Feel you up until you drip

- Oral sex fixation and overly sexual

Do you like my sexy hair?

- Wig, shitty, mouldy, stinky wig.

I’m not wearing any underwear

- So it’s easier to get your dick out?

- Also, this is said in a very childish tone instead of trying to sound sexual

S my D

Pop it out like lipstick

- Childish sounding when referring to his oral sex fixation

Take the bottles, pop ‘em out

- Connecting alcohol with sex

Gimme gimme more on the dance floor

- Sex in public, exhibitionism

Turn around, what the hell

Go real fast, break it down

Do it ‘til you touch the ground

Want it slick, want it sure?

- Fast semi-violent sex

Bitch I know you want some more

- Disrespectful and also sounds very rapey

So open me up like Christmas

- Childish sounding which is very gross

S my D motherfuckin’ bitches

- Disrespectful and demeaning

Suck it good

Suck it hard

Suck it right

- Demanding

- Oral sex fixation

- If you want good oral sex then maybe you shouldn’t try to get oral sex from underage virgins, most of which don’t know or understand oral sex

Ima Monster (Heart On My Sleeve)

- Yes you are

I’m banging with the b-o—t-o-dizzle

With wiffles

- What the fuck does this mean?

‘Cause I dribble like I’m rubbing on nipples

- Obsession with breasts

- Why would rubbing nipples make him dribble so much? He’s not seen boobs for the first time, he’s an adult

Gotta get out the pickle

- Childish sounding and gross

Make it rain with the ripples

Let my candy rum trickle

- Linking alcohol and sex

Get you buzzed with double triples

Getting head, in rentals

- Oral sex fixation

- Car sex again

Avoiding the parentals

- Why would adults need to avoid parents? Because an adult should be having sex/a relationship with an adult so parents aren’t an issue right? Unless this is actually because he is avoiding parents because he intents to pursue a minor

They be hatin’ us

Cause we glamourous

They be hatin’ us

Cause I’m fabulous

- Uses things like jealousy as the only reason he/the band are hated

Can’t stop me once I’ve started

- Sounds rapey as fuck

Baby got me retarded

- Slur

Chop, chop, chop you up

- Violent

Eat you like a cannibal

Spit you like an animal

- Violent

- Dismissive, uncaring and disrespectful

Slice, slice, slice you up

Cut you up, I’ll slice and dice

- Violent

Serve you up as cold as ice

- Gloating

Go ‘head girl, shake that butt

Make me freaking bust a nut

- Overly sexual

- Objectifying

Let’s get wasted, super UHW

Guess what honey, I’m a freak

I’m a freak, inside the sheets

- Links alcohol and sex

- Saying he’s a ‘freak’ is reminiscent of how he uses BDSM as an excuse

Rough, tough, naughty nurse

Rip it up, make it hurt

- Normalising rough sex to a young audience that doesn’t know much about sex

- Telling fans what he likes and what he’s like (supposedly) sexually

Don’t stop, get it, get it

Last for hours, not for minutes

- Demanding

- Yeah as if you could Dahvie

Open wide for my surprise

- Oral sex fixation

Scratch and blow for your grand prize

Smear it on your plastic face

- Rude

- Marking who he’s with sexually

Leave you with a sweeter taste

- He has told girls that his cum tastes like ice cream, young girls.

Super soaker on your chest

Let it drip down on your breasts

- Breast obsession

- At shows he would pour drinks on girls chests. He would also spit on them, mainly whichever girl he decided he wanted to have sex with

Haters make me famous

- He indoctrinates his fans to think this way so whenever they see people criticise him or talk about what he did to them they will just replay that their ‘hate’ is just making Dahvie more famous

- They aren’t haters and Dahvie is famous for all the wrong reasons

It’s Hard To Be A Diamond In A Rhine Stone World

Slash Gash Terror what?

Slash Gash Terror who?

Slash Gash Party Crew

- Violent name for fanbase

You know how we fucking do

- Telling fanbase how to act

Pull over, that ass is so phat

You makin’ me clap

- Overly sexual and demeaning

I don’t know how to act

- He really doesn’t

I do it in the front

I do it in the back

Shake it down like that

Make that booty go clap

- Overly sexual while sounding childish and not sexy in any way

Can’t knock it, I’m profit

- Money obsession

- Uses money and parents connect to the cops in his area to get out of any repercussions

I got paper to chase

I got money to make

- By scamming fans

Squish, squish on your chest

- Childish sounding

Rub those titties, super breast

- Ah yes, one single super breast, the other one is mediocre

- Breast obsession

Ah, ah lost my breath

Ultra sex you’re the best

- Overly sexual

I’m packing

- Doubt

I’m stacking

Some rated x action

Strawberry whip cream

We can be a sweet team

Bang bang choo choo train

Show me how you work that thing

- Childish sounding while being overly sexual

This is how we fucking do

In the Slash Gash Terror Crew

- Addressing fans

- Telling fans how to act

Keys To The Bakery

Haters block

- ‘Haters’ = valid critics

- Ironic since he blocks anyone who comments on his posts with the allegations against him

And snitches rock

- Does he mean rock in some kind of bad way?

- He calls anyone who confesses what he did to them as a snitch to make it sound bad so his fans go after them

Yo pass me the cup

I’ll drink till

I throw up

- Unhealthy behaviour being normalised to a fanbase where the majority can’t legally buy alcohol

I get you wetter than Hurricane Katrina

- Hurricane Katrina happened in 2005, three years before this album came out. People were still suffering.

- Hurricane Katrina caused 1,200 deaths and $125 billion in damages

- This line is said eight times in this song

Cuddle leads to trouble

When you’re up in my bubble

- Sounds incredibly rapey

I don’t chase em

I replace em

- It has been reported that over 100 people have reached out with stories about how they have been hurt by Dahvie

- If Dahvie couldn’t get what he wanted from someone he would stop contacting them

- He would also stop contact if he felt at risk of being exposed

Stackin’ hoes

Like dominoes

- Disrespectful

Make a rumour

- Constantly calls the allegations ‘rumours’ so they seem less valid, especially to people who don’t look into them further

Sense of humour

- Nothing about rape or paedophilia is funny

Entertain with my life

Make me popular over night

To be famous is so nice

- Acts as if the allegations just gain him fame. He is the literal embodiment of ‘HaTeRZ MaKE mE FaMOUs’

Reeses pieces butter cup

- Random and childish sounding

Mess with me

I’ll fuck you up

- Threatening violence

- Many victims have said he is a violent person

This is how we party up

- Saying the way he acts is normal

She licked it like a lolli pop

- Childish sounding

- Oral sex fixation

Don’t stop till you hit the spot

- Demanding

You got me crazy or maybe

Get smashed

- Linking sex and alcohol

I can’t stop

Till I pop

- Sounds rapey

- Only cares if he gets off, doesn’t care about the other person

There’s danger on the spot

- Dahvie is the danger

Got money in my hands

Mad dough! Cash flow

Got the diamonds that glow

We be popin’ Champaign

Like we won the damn game

- Obsession with being rich and flaunting that

- He hasn’t got anything now. He’s poor and lives with his parents

Mosh and Roll!

When I step in the club

Everybody shows me love

- No they don’t

- And now some places, not just clubs, won’t let him in

I’m in the business of terror

- Being honest there

More metal than Slayer

- HA! HA! HA!

- THE FUCK!?!?!?!?

I got money and hoes

- Demeaning

In different area codes

- Has victimised women in many states and even different countries

Cause haters make me famous

- This stupid narrative again

But love will make you shameless

- Dahvie doesn’t understand love and he also should feel shame

I’ll slash, gash this party bash

- Violent

Gotta get that money cash

- By scamming?

Up and down with no breaks

We as in, I’ll make you shake

- Gross and overly sexual

We’re gonna burn this town

To the ground

- Violent

I’m not a trend sweater

I’m a trend setter

- This is an actual line that is spoken

Girl you better pop an umbrella cause

You’re making me wet drip, drip

I gotta get that lick

- Oral sex fixation

For the centre of the tootsie pop

- Childish sounding

You know I can’t stop

- Sounds rapey

Shank you with my bling brass

- Violent

Stacking up on my money cash

- Obsession about money

Do You Want To Be A Superstar?

Ummm… Mic check…

One… Two… Um… Fucking twelve

- Again this is an actual line that is spoken

My fashion is so siq

- He dresses the way he does so he looks younger

My fashion will make you lick

- Oral sex fixation

Watch those panties fucking drip

- Gross and overly sexual

Scene hair weave

- Scene hair wig you mean

Scene attitude so fucking mean

- Acts like being mean is okay and normal because of being part of a certain ‘culture’

Get on the floor

Get on the whore

- Demanding and demeaning

Pull down your pants and drop your drows

- Demanding

(Like Oh My God Dahvie you’re so obscene)

- Acts like everything he does is just because he’s ‘obscene’ which is like him saying that how he treats women while he forces himself on them is BDSM

Bitch I’m the motherfucking war machine

- Violent

Don’t give a fuck just bust your grill

- Doesn’t care about being violent

Throw them hoes

- Demeaning and dismissive

Throw these motherfuckers who get too close

- Violent

Porn star bash

Porn star splash

- Porn obsession

My porn star cash

- Dahvie isn’t a porn star

Pretty damn stoned

- Linking drugs and sex

Pretty fucked up? Yeah I know

- Acts like everything he does is a big deal

Do you wanna be a super star?

Get fucked up and go real far?

- Acts like if you’re famous you are going to get ‘fucked up’

Or do you want to be a porn star?

Fuck for money and go real far

- Demeaning sex work

Wet from dreams

Wet from screams

Wet from sex and dripping with cream

- Overly sexual

HOT HOT SEX!

HOT HOT BREASTS!

HOT WHITE TIGHT SHIRTS

BUSTING OUT YOU’RE CHEST

Double D titties

Double D pretties

- Obsession with breasts

- Objectifying women

Girl got them thighs

You’re pretty damn fine

- Objectifying

I don’t give a fuck what I say

I don’t give a fuck I do it everyday

- He literally doesn’t care as long as he gets away with what he does

Yes I’m different

Yet I’m unique

- ‘Uwu I’m not like other predators’

Mess with me

I’ll grind you like meat

- Threatening violence

Let’s get wasted, super fucked

Go head girl shake that butt

- Childish sounding

- Linking sex with alcohol

(Let’s get wasted)

Make me fucking bust a nut

- Demanding

Wet Dream War Machine

Operation get crunk, I'm in love with your trunk

- Combines sex, alcohol and ‘love’

Get me fucking love drunk, baby girl I want

Drugged up like party monster, sexed up so grab the condoms

- Links drugs and sex

Boom, Boom, Boom

In my hotel room

- Raped underage girls in his hotel rooms while touring or would book a hotel room to take underage girls to

I'm the teenage bloody dream

- ‘Bloody’ is he trying to be British or violent

- He isn’t a teen and also shouldn’t be encouraging teens to want to be with him

Everybody fuck me

- No

Getcha drink on

Take your clothes off

Let’s get down and dirty

- Normalising drunk sex

- Demeaning

Mad Rad Hair

- You mean wig

I'm fenny not a faggot!

- Slur

With extensions so thick

- It’s a wig not just extensions

You can suck my dick

- Oral sex fixation

So get in my chair

Let me pimp your hair

- Used cutting hair as a way to spend time with underage girls. Arrived at a time when the parents would have to go to work so he could be alone with the underage girl

- He couldn’t cut hair. He called himself Dahvie The Elite Hair God on MySpace but he had not talent. I would think it’s the same with makeup. During this time his makeup wasn’t very heavy. It was only when Jayy joined the band and the band was more successful that his makeup got more extreme since he could afford a makeup artist, and Jayy actually can do makeup.

Let’s get wasted super fucked

- Alcohol reference

My hair is better than yours

- IT’S A WIG!

So just fuck me on the dance floor

- Demanding

- Exhibitionist

Everybody gettin' tense

Feeling up my body

- Overly sexual

I love this filthy

Life to get CRUNK ALL NIGHT!

- Linking alcohol and sex

My hair’s looking so tight

- WIG!

In case you didn't know

I'm a really big deal

- He wasn’t overly famous outside of MySpace at this point

So shut the fuck up

- Demanding and disrespectful

And take your clothes off

- Using fame to get people to have sex with him

Come' a MySpace whore

- Demeaning

- Telling his fans the kind of person he’s interested in

- Being scene was a way for him to look younger and prey on young girls

Change your name to

XXGORE

- He gave some of his victims their MySpace name

#Blood On The Dance Floor #dahvie vanity #kawaii monster #anti blood on the dance floor #anti dahvie vanity #trigger warning rape #tw: rape #botdf #anti botdf

15 notes · View notes

footbaliimagines · 6 years

Text

New Years Kiss (a Jesse Lingard imagine)

Hello!!!!!! It is me, returned from the dead (I can’t find the gif but insert the bitch thought u saw the last of me gif from American horror story gif here)

Idk what this is really these bits and bobs are NOT chronological they are just like fragments if that makes sense?? So even though the 3 words bit is when they were together its like a ***flashback*** but I wasnt sure how to make that v clear also the chapters are like numbers counting down from ten like at midnight ygm??? Okay I am rambling so will shut up hope u guys like it and hope you have a wonderful nye <3 I hope and am sure 2019 will be wonderful for all of you <3

TEN minutes after you meet him, you realise that you’re kind of fucked.

(And by kind of, you mean completely, overwhelmingly, catastrophically fucked.)

It happens quickly, in a way that you’ve never experienced before.

So quickly, as a matter of fact, that when he locks eyes with you for the first time, and when he grazes your arm when brushing past you to grab his drink, it’s like a switch has been flicked inside of you that you were never sure even really existed.

You put it down to the bubbles from your prosecco that you’d downed just before chatting to him, and that the tipsiness and the buzz of alcohol is the only reason you could be feeling the way you do right now.

Now he’s a face that you can put a name to, instead of just viewing him as Marcus’ other footballer friend, that familiar grinning face you’d spotted at gatherings who always offered you a shy, awkward smile whenever you shared eye contact but someone who you’d never actually found the balls to speak to.

(Sure, as a regular human being with functioning eyes you knew that he was attractive, but he was way out of your league.)

(The constantly grinning, elusive, life of the party Jesse Lingard, who Marcus had raved about to you pretty much since the day they’d met, with his 5 million Instagram followers, ridiculous dance moves that no self-respecting 26 year old man should let the world see, and that smile- God, that stupid, infectious shit eating grin, when his eyes crinkled and made everyone else look mediocre in comparison to him.)

(He wouldn’t look in your direction even if the world was about to end.)

It’s New Years’ Eve, and his Christmas jumper smells like Baileys and cinnamon, lasting remnants of the festive period. “Nice to meet you.” You practically have to shout over the music. “I know Marcus.”

“You what Marcus?”

“I know Marcus.”

“You know who?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, dismissing his question. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“I said.” You shout. “It doesn’t matter.”

He nods and smiles again, leaning in, “I don’t want to be weird or anything, considering we just met,” his gaze is hazy and clouded with the effects of the beer he’s clutching in his right hand, “but you’re really fucking pretty.”

You can feel your face flush, a blush superior to the one your red wine had already given you, and the next thing you know it’s nearly midnight, and you’re drunk and giggling and he’s flirting and tracing between the gap between your jeans and jumper with his fingers, and you’re both leaning in and your friends are counting down from ten, and he kisses you, amidst cheers and shouts and fireworks.

And you tell yourself, what’s the worst that could really happen?

“Only NINE stops.”

You trace your finger over the plastic Metrolink sign, running it up and down the line connecting the two tram stations, marking your place and his. “Nine stops to get from me to you.”

He snakes his hands around your waist, pressing his chin into your shoulder and kissing the exposed skin of your neck. “Stop.” You laugh, voice breathy. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in Manchester city centre on a Thursday night.” He pulls away, leading you towards the platform and laughing loudly, his voice booming throughout the cold night. “There’s no one fuckin’ here!”

He’s had a few pints, and he’s tipsy, handsy, flirty, silly Jesse, one of your favourite versions of him, kissing you breathlessly and grinning, hands running up and down your tight jeans and hooking into your belt loops and murmuring in your ear about how excited he is to pull them off of you later.

“Nine stops, you know,” He hums as the tram pulls away and you lean into him, watching the city pass you by, “is pretty far.”

“You’re such a city boy now.” You roll your eyes. “It’s like, 20 minutes. If we went back to my hometown, you’d be lucky to see a bus more than once every half an hour.”

“You wouldn’t have to do the whole 9 stops if you moved in with me.”

You crinkle up your nose and quirk an eyebrow at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“What do you think I’m suggesting?”

Laughing, you prop your feet up on the empty seat opposite and lean into his side, as he flops an arm around your shoulder. There’s no one else with you two and your voices and shared laughter echo throughout the empty carriage. “I’m serious!” He holds his hands up and looks at you with wide eyes. “Do it. Move in with me. You can cook me breakfast every morning, and make me my tea for when I get back, make me a brew whenever I want one… you’ll make the perfect little housewife.”

“Now that you’ve said that, you can fuck off.”

And you both brush it off and don’t speak of the topic again, but when he leaves for training the next morning, there’s a spare key for his flat lying on a post-it, with a hastily scribbled note.

You don’t have to properly move in – no pressure or anything like that. But I had a spare key lying around and wanted you to have it. Jess x

(When the breakup comes, you don’t work up the courage to give it him back, and it’s still lying in your bedside table draw, post-it long gone, gathering dust and eventually added to the pile of his things you swear you’ll get around to giving him back one day.)

(There’s a strange feeling in your stomach every time you pass by his stop.)

It’s EIGHT in the morning.

You’re sat in the coffee shop equidistant to your flat, Marcus’s house and United’s training ground, where every Sunday without fail, the three of you would meet up for breakfast.

(Well, where you used to meet up every Sunday.)

(Minus that one time you were too hungover to leave the house without projectile vomiting on your own feet.)

For the first time since the breakup, Jesse had appeared, the sleepiness still drooping over his eyes and his hair mussed by his pillowcase. Your mind flashes to the image of him sleeping face down in his pillow, a position that made you nearly piss yourself laughing every time you saw him, but you suppress the memory quickly.

“Everyone can see it except the two of you, you know.”

Marcus tips his chin upwards and nods matter-of-factly. You roll your eyes and huff. “You’re a prick. And not just for saying that. But for inviting him out for our thing, our tradition, again, when you know it’s just going to be fucking awkward. He didn’t have to be here.”

“I’m only saying.” He raises his eyebrows and holds up two hands, as if to say, not my fault, I’m not interfering in the slightest, I’m just telling you that I know you’re still in love with your ex, and I know he still feels the same, and that even though there’s a very high chance things could still go catastrophically, terrifically, hugely wrong, I’m going to tell you and mess with your head anyway?

You reply snappily, huffing and folding your arms across your chest, “You’re messing with me, and it’s pissing me off. Fuck off. Tell him to fuck off too while you’re at it.”

He barks out a laugh and you roll your eyes. “I’m trying to reunite my two best friends, that’s all. Get the gang back together and all that!” He whines and shuffles closer to you, flinging an arm around your shoulders loosely. “Let me live. You both know you’re both being stubborn. Just talk to each other. It’ll all work out.”

“I don’t even like him anyway. Not like that. Not anymore.”

It’s a lie, a stupid, threadbare, slap you in the face lie. Marcus knows it too, and snorts. “Yeah, sure. I believe you. It’s not like you’ve been pining over each other for the past 3 months and you’re giving the girl he’s talking to at the moment daggers.”

You pull away your gaze sharply. Jesse’s in the queue- well, he was in the queue, now he’s loitering by the serviettes - and he’s been pulled to the side by a beautiful girl. They’ve been chatting amiably for the better part of the last ten minutes and you can feel your blood temperature rising steadily. “I’m staring,” You begin, and your head starts whizzing at a million miles an hour to come up with a decent excuse. “Because Jesse has our coffees and I don’t want them to get cold just because he’s in the middle of a stupid conversation.”

“’Stupid conversation’,” Marcus air quotes your words and smirks. “Jealousy isn’t a very attractive trait, you know.”

“I’m not jealous.” You scoff. “I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Fuck you.”

A few minutes, and plenty of glares and continuous teaching jabs from Marcus later, Jesse approaches and smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that.” he chuckles, and hands you your mug.

Your fingers bump and it’s so meaningless and tiny but you kick yourself for still flinching when your skin made contact. “Careful. It’s still hot.”

(See, he cares about you. Maybe it’s not all just in your head!)

It’s an instinct to smile back at him, a repressed reflex to not pat the empty space next to you and rest your hand on his thigh, but you gulp as he sits opposite instead, far away from the table, from you. “Make conversation.” Marcus hisses.

You can feel your face blossoming cherry red, feel the discomfort in the air rise, feel your palms grow sweaty, and you shoot him a dirty look, mouthing, “Stop making it obvious.”

“You’re the one making it obvious.” He hisses back.

“Hm?” Jesse looks up from his phone to across the table.

He’s wearing that stupidly adorable, confused look on his face again, and you want to kiss him, you want to throw your boiling hot coffee in his face, you want to slap him, do something, do anything that would be less unbearably awkward than the three of you making small talk about the new Kenyan variety of coffee beans Marcus was trying out.

“Hm what?” You gargle.

“I was just asking what you guys were mumbling about.” He leans back, hands gripping his mug.

“Nothing.” You interject, before Marcus can start up again. “Marcus’s just being a dick, that’s all.”

You kick yourself for acting like such a lovesick, pathetic idiot, because you’ve never been like this before, you’ve constantly sworn to yourself that you’d never going be like this, but now he’s in the picture and it’s like everything that you ever held dearly to you has gone straight out of the window. Marcus pipes up, “So, who was that girl?”

(Now he decides to fucking speak.)

“Which girl?”

This time, you’re not quick enough to interrupt Marcus from piping up. “The girl you were flirting with before, Jesse, who you might go out with, who seems really nice and wasn’t a baby by actually talking to you about her feelings instead of hiding behind her emotions because she’s so scared of rejection and open communication, that she’d be willing to sacrifice the possibility of something really great?”

(You’re this close to chucking your cappuccino over his head.)

Jesse side eyes Marcus, opening his mouth to reply but then shaking his head and exhaling instead. “She’s right, you are being fucking weird today.” He shakes his head, tipping his chin upwards slightly and shrugging. “Besides, she’s not really my type anyway.”

(She was beautiful.)

(She’d be anyone’s type.)

He’s looking at you dead in the eye this time, ignoring Marcus’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, and you venture, “What is your type, then?”

He pulls a face, like come on, are you really asking that, you know what my fucking type is and you know it’s not that girl I was talking to strategically 2 foot in front of you so you’d see and get jealous, and when he doesn’t answer, you take it as a silent victory for #TeamYouWereRight, not #TeamJesse.

“That’s for me to know, isn’t it?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

You let Marcus fill the silence of the rest of your breakfast, and when you leave you’re too much of a coward to even look Jesse in the eye.

It only takes him SEVEN days to move on

When the cover of Ok! on your best friend’s coffee table catches your eyes, you can almost feel your wine and the tequila shots you had knocked back rising back up your throat. Your vision is hazy and the bitterness, the anger, the hurt surges through your veins as you pick it up and throw it to the floor, out of sight and out of mind. You were right, the featurette screamed out at you, he wasn’t, isn’t worth it, isn’t worth you crying over.

It only took him a week to find someone else to fuck and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to go out tonight with the same intentions.

Deep down you know you’re being childish and if you were sober you’d probably never have sunk to such a level, but the tequila is buzzing in your blood and you can’t stop thinking about that fucking photograph.

(A photograph of Jesse revelling in a post-Boxing Day victory glow, crowded with Paul and Marcus in some swanky inner city bar, with his hand on the thigh of a beautiful woman whose Instagram account you made a mental note of to stalk when you were in a soberer state.)

There’s a tranquil voice somewhere in the back of your head telling you to step back and be rational. You’d been friends with Marcus and the boys for far too long to trust the split-second capture of a loitering paparazzi over his word.

It was probably just a one-night stand, that rational voice piped up again. Plus, he’s single now. Give him a break. The boy is gonna need to get laid eventually.

(But he’d told you he didn’t want to be with anyone else, that he’d rather have quiet nights in with his teammates to celebrate, probably just PS4 and takeaway, that he wouldn’t enjoy going out if it wasn’t with you.)

(That rational voice in your head could go fuck itself.)

You shrug off the worry at the back of your mind and post the picture to your Instagram story regardless.

Your phone buzzes 2 minutes later.

Who is he?

You hate yourself for revelling in his jealousy, but the sense of satisfaction you gain overrides any rationale that sober you would have considered.

Who the fuck is that guy?

Can you reply?

I can see you’ve read these messages, you know.

Are you fucking him? Is he your new boyfriend?

Fuck you.

Happy SIX months, babe. Love yaaaaaaaa!!!

is what the balloon reads, as the delivery man comes by Jesse’s house with a bunch of flowers almost the size of him and a handful of personalised helium balloons.

“Delivery for Mr J Lingard?” The postman reads off his phone, before handing Jesse the assortment of romantic gifts and offering up a screen for Jesse to sign.

He smiles tiredly and nods.

(He swore he had remembered to cancel this order after you’d broken up.)

“Ta mate,” He replies, taking the flowers inside and dumping the balloons behind him in his hallway.

“Anniversary, eh?” The delivery man smiles. “She’ll love the presents.”

(He’s going to throw up.)

Jesse attempts to smile and brush it off with a laugh, but it’s not convincing. “Fingers crossed, yeah.”

“Best of luck.” He walks back down his drive. “Have a nice day.”

“And you.”

He’s alone again in his hallway, the gifts surrounding him, a flurry of red and pink bows and yellow roses, your favourite, your name written onto the balloons.

He imagines you in the kitchen with him, you, being your typical over-emotional, dramatic self probably welling up at the card he’d written, tactfully arranging the balloons for an Instagram photo, talking about inhaling the helium and taking a video for his Snapchat speaking in funny voices, getting stressed out about doing your eyeshadow for your dinner later that evening.

He can imagine looking at you from across his kitchen table like you just hung the moon in the sky, the thought of being with you, eating breakfast with you, talking to you all making his stomach churn. Because the breakup hadn’t been formal nor had it been official, and it was only after you blocked most (well, all) of his social media accounts, and your face no longer appeared, grinning and slightly flushed, in the stands of Old Trafford, that he had realised the severity of what had happened between the two of you.

And Jesse kicks himself over it every day, he could have done more, could have turned up to your house or your office and demanded an answer or at least a conversation, but his stubbornness and obstinacy had prevented him from doing so, and your unwillingness to communicate had landed you both at a stalemate.

(If he could go back in time, he would.)

He leaves the anniversary gifts in his spare room upstairs and doesn’t even open the door.

05:02 – Are you up?

05:14 – Lol of course you won’t be

05:14 – Soz for texting. I can’t sleep and I think I’m just getting a bit caught up in own head

05:16 – I just

05:16 – I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind

05:16 – I just don’t know why this is still so fucking difficult. It’s been like 3 months and I still can’t sleep because I’m thinking about you and how everything went wrong

05:19 – I’m sorry if I pressured you when I told you I loved you and I’m sorry for not fighting more

05:20 – Didn’t meant to rush you. Just wanted to be honest.

05:20 – And now I’ve fucked everything up. And I’ve fucked it with Marcus too, jt’s always awkward and I know he’s taken your side and everything is just shite

05:26 – Fucking hell

05:26 – I can’t do being just friends and I can’t do platonic. Maybe we just should just cut if off completely

05:27 – Please come and see me so we can talk it over

05:27 – I just can’t do this, this in between

05:28 – I love you and I know you still love me

05:28 – Is that not enough???

It’s FOUR in the morning and Jesse’s regretting even leaving the house in the first place.

His head is pounding with the deep bass coming from the speakers behind him, as he gingerly sips at his lime soda, thoughts of his alarm ringing at 7:30am tomorrow morning looming in the back of his mind, thoughts of what his Mum would say if she knew he wasn’t getting a healthy 8 hours of sleep before a game, thoughts of you in that little black dress, swaying to the beat, standing far too close to that short-back-and-sides-probably-a-fuckboy idiot whispering something that Jesse doesn’t want to imagine down your ear.

(Thoughts of what he’d like to do to you in a dress like that.)

You eventually shrug the other guy off when he gets a little too eager, a little too handsy, and pull your hair loose from its ponytail, eyes scanning around the club and pausing when the land on Jesse.

He’s stood in the corner, not speaking to anybody and hardly moving, and that’s when you know he must be in a bad mood, because the DJ’s just started playing Sicko Mode and he’s not even flinched. Then one of his mates appears by his side, hollering down his eardrum, and Jesse doesn’t even respond with a smile or a laugh, he just shrugs him off and walks towards the doors.

You’re not sure why, but you follow him as he heads towards the smoking area. You lose him eventually in a sea of drunk people, and exhale, the wind suddenly sobering you up.

Fucking typical, you think, lighting a fag and leaning back against the brick wall, eyes closed.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

You open one eye and there he is, stood there in front of you, looking at you with a mixture of fondness, annoyance and disapproval. Looking at him dead in the eyes, you lift it to your lips and inhale. “I must have a tendency for going back to things that I know are bad for me.”

He looks at you, and you can tell he wants to bite, to start another fight, but then he bites his tongue and exhales. “How have you been?”

“I’m alright.”

“Good.”

“And you?”

“Good.”

“Jess?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

(The next thing you know, you’re in a taxi togetther and he’s telling the driver his address and your hands are all over him and his are all over you.)

(And you fall into bed with him again, like always, like you know deep down happens every time, as if its a habit, and when you wake up the next morning in his shirt you tell yourself that this time really will be the last time.)

You hadn’t anticipated saying those THREE words to Jesse so soon.

God, you hadn’t even considered the possibility of things lasting between the two of you for longer than a few weeks, but now here you were nearly 6 months later, lying on his sofa with his head in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. “Hey,” Jesse speaks and sits up, switching the volume of the telly down to zero.

“Hm?”

He looks away, before turning almost as red as the United shorts he was still yet to change out of, then gulping and shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He cuddles back into you and though your heart melts, you wiggle him off and jab him with your elbow.

“Talk to me.” You whine. “You’re no fun when you’re being weird like this. What’s up?”

Jesse heaves a sigh, and for the first time during your conversation, looks you in the eye before burning bright red again and glancing away. It’s like he can’t bear the sight of you, and his determined avoidance of both a proper conversation and sharing eye contact with you makes you feel slightly nauseous.

A few moments of silence pass before he looks at you again. “I, well- I feel weird right now.” He stumbles. “Because, um, I-“

“Jesse, what is it?”

Your pulse begins to race as your mind inevitably wanders, and the pessimist in you instantly leaps to the worst possible thing. Was he breaking up with you? Things had been going so well, and surely Marcus would have called to give you a heads up if he knew something weird was going on with Jesse.

(Then again, you had cancelled on date night for the past 3 weeks to binge the Great British Bake Off.)

(Still, would that really have warranted a breakup?)

(And plus, Jesse was the Bake Off’s second biggest fan, after yourself, naturally.)

It could be something smaller, something to do with his family, or his career. But he never felt uncomfortable discussing football with you, despite your feelings towards his club, and his relatives treated you like one of their own.

(Your mind does eventually wander to the possibility of him cheating, or him finding someone else, but due to your own stubbornness and for the sake of your sanity, you’re quick to expel any ideas like that straight out of your head.)

“I love you.”

His voice is soft and cracks at the end, and it’s so, so far from what you had been expecting, and so unlike the usual confident, grinning Jesse that you were used to that a lump forms in your throat. “Oh, Jess-“

“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to scare you off.” He mumbles. “But I’m finding it way too hard to not have those stupid fucking three words replaying in my mind every time I look at you. Because that’s what’s happening, I swear. I’m trying to play it cool and casual but all I can think about every time you smile, or speak, or laugh is the fact that I’m in love with you.”

A smile pulls on your lips and you immediately scramble forward to wrap your arms around him. He laughs and you feel his chest rumble underneath you. “You don’t have to be scared.” You comfort. “Trust me, I was shitting myself way imagining the worst just now.”

Jesse laughs. “Cos like, it terrifies me, it fucking scares the living daylights out of me, because I’ve never felt like this about, well- anyone before. And I was petrified that you didn’t feel the same way.”

You grin, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his with force. It’s a hasty, reassuring kiss, and your teeth clash and you murmur in between kisses, “I love you.”

(Months had passed since that night now and those three words hadn’t lost any meaning.)

(And you just wish you could say them to him again.)

“I know we said it the last TWO times, but we really need to stop doing this.”

His voice is soft, breaking the silence you were lying in.

(You’re grateful that he was the one to speak first, but you’re not so grateful for him bringing up that wretched conversation yet again.)

He looks across at you, the dim light from your lamp illuminating the side of your face, your knotted hair and smudged lipstick, and then at your bedside clock, reading 01:23. Jesse sighs and you can feel your heart sinking into your stomach, as he reaches for his boxers and pulls them on. Your bedroom is a mess, cushions and throws tossed to the floor, and he speaks up again, “I mean it, this time.”

“Okay.”

He continues, though he really doesn’t need to. You’ve got the message loud and clear. “I think it’s just good for our, er, healing. Isn’t like, not sleeping with your ex like the number 1 thing not to do after a breakup?”

“Probably, yeah.”

You hug your duvet up around your body protectively, before reaching for your bra and t-shirt that had been tossed to floor just two hours earlier, when the expected texts had come, the are-you-awake, the got-plans-tonight?, the I’m-horny-and-I-miss-you-let’s-not-waste-any-more-time texts.

(Leading to the exact opposite of what was good for you after the breakup.)

(For fucks sake, you tell yourself.)

(Dua Lipa did not write New Rules for you to be this pathetic, this needy, this easy.)

“Fine, then.” You say, blasé, casual, giving off an air of nonchalance and indifference that couldn’t be further from the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “You don’t have to spend the night. Can you see yourself out or do you want me to get up?”

The way he looks back at you after you speak is enough to break your heart all over again. It’s a pleading look, and he’s willing you with his eyes to try and communicate for once, for the first time, but you refuse to meet his eyeline.

“I can see myself out.”

“Right.”

He dresses in silence, grabs his stuff and stalks out your flat, slamming your door on his way out. You scramble out of bed to watch him walk down your street, the way you used to when you started dating, when he used to blow you kisses as he ambled off your drive, or when you used to watch him run to a taxi on mornings when he was late for training.

This time, for the first time, he doesn’t look back at your window.

It’s been ONE year to the day since you met him, and you hate yourself for noticing the parallels as you walk into the living room at Marcus’s NYE party and he’s the first face you can recognise.

It’s like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy and it makes you want to die.

(Fortunately, he doesn’t quite spot you yet, and you’re free to make a beeline to the kitchen, in peace and quiet with an unopened bottle of Chardonnay as your company.)

(It lasts about 15 minutes.)

“Hey.”

You turn around and you see him, smiling at you in that same, stupid, garish, adorable Christmas jumper, holding out a Quality Street chocolate. It’s a peace offering, an olive branch, and you take it with a nod. “You alright?”

Jesse nods and takes a seat on the sofa behind you. “So, what are your New Year's resolutions, hey?”

You settle on the sofa next to him, knocking your knee against his accidentally, cursing and looking at him from over the rim of your glass of wine.

Jesse chuckles then shrugs sarcastically. “Can’t improve perfection.”

Your instinct is to let out a cackle, and you do, you burst out laughing so dramatically your drink nearly projects out of your nostrils, because he’s not even wrong and there’s not much about him that could really do with changing.

(Scrap that, he should learn to cook.)

(And definitely how to use a tumble dryer.)

(And call time of death on those dances he insisted on doing every time he scored a goal.)

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“What are your resolutions then, hey?” He knocks his knees with yours.

“Eat more fruit.” You fib.

Stop being so stubborn and accept that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Stop bottling up your emotions. Don’t be afraid to let people know how you feel. Stop being such a fucking coward all the time.

(Resolutions that Jesse of all people didn’t need to know about.)

“Boring.” He hums.

“Drink more water.” You add, nodding. “Start going to yoga again.”

“That’s so generic.”

“Fuck off. It’s called self improvement.”

“It sounds like every basic 23 year old girl I’ve ever met.”

You peek at your phone when he looks away: 23:58.

Fuck. How the fuck had it got so late already?

Your friends begin to gather in hordes in the kitchen, the TV broadcasting the fireworks in London has been switched on and drinks are poured and held aloft. Jesse jumps to his feet and offers you his hand as you do the same; his hand feels warm and familiar and when he lets go it suddenly feels like there’s acres of space between you again.

“I think I’m getting déjà vu.”

You roll your eyes, resisting the urge to smile. “Déjà vu to when?”

“That night. The first time we met.”

Jesse tips his chin backwards, and someone behind him trips, bumps him forward, and he stumbles into you, by reflex finding your waist and your free hand pressing up against his chest.

He’s inches in front of you, and you can feel your pulse in your eyeballs and his breath across your face.

You splutter out, “I’m really, really fucking sorry.”

Jesse laughs. “What the fuck are you on about now, mad woman?”

“I’m sorry. About it all. About everything.”

He shakes his head, as if to say it’s okay, stop apologising, we haven’t been this close without wanting to kill each other since the break up and I don’t think we should even tempt the possibility of us arguing again.

And he’s leaning in, and you can smell his cologne and it’s comforting and reassuring and confusing, and makes your head spin but grounds your feet, and you’re closing your eyes as your friends begin to shout.

Happy new year!

And he’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you can feel his hand gripping your waist, holding and squeezing you and you can feel your stomach fizzing. When he pulls away he’s looking at you softly, gaze mellowed by tequila and the closeness between you two. “Happy new years, Jess.” is all you can muster, as he leans in and smiles again.

“Happy new year.”

#My writing #jesse lingard #jesse lingard fanfiction #jesse lingard one shot #jesse lingard imagine #england nt #england nt fanfiction #england nt imagine #manchester united imagine #cant believe i just typed that i feel DIRTY #footballer fanfiction #footballer imagines #footballer imagine #footballer one shot

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tenecity · 6 years

Text

from haters to lovers; zhu zhengting

from haters to lovers—a series where nine percent and you have the cliche, typical love story

warning: mentions of gender discrimnation

sosososososososo after much procrastination, crying and cracking my head, i finally got someth to possibly hate abt zzt hell yes god

also! taking into consideration tt china is still a v much conservative society, gender discrimnation is everywhere and rlly, as of yet, cant b helped

so which is why, imagine ure a chinese woman you found it weird, almost distasteful that a boy would be in yr dance class

i mean, guys are suppose to be strong people, doing more physical stuff like wushu or smth, and then there’s this boy here, doing pointe and perfect turns

“zhu zhengting is here!!!! oml doesn’t he look like a fairy?” your best friend tugs your sleeve as she discreetly point to the said boy. you roll your eyes. youre tired of this whole rave about him. literally, the entire class fangirls abt him; and apparently, it is not just for his looks, for also for his dance

spsjssjnsnsbs hE IS SO ELEGANT

you wld nvr admit it, but ok i guess ure borderline jealous.

i mean, his lines r clean, force controlled in his movements, perfect timing for rushed movements and then he slows down with such grace that you will never have

but its still irks you, that a boy should dance so softly and gracefully. doesn’t seem to sit well with your traditional thinking

so anyway, sidenote! you suck at turns wowww so coincidental

and every lesson, you usually would stay back just to practice it and you always end up with bruises and what nots as you fall repeatedly, no one there to catch you when you fall

somehow, zhengting stays back today as well, rehearsing his main role in the upcoming performance, “swan lake”

and you can’t keep your eyes off his figure

it is mesmerising, how he can convey emotions, feelings, an entire story, through mere movements of the arms and legs. you observe how his every move is calculated, strength justttt the right amount that it looks elegant instead of overly powerful.

and then you stare at the mirror and you sigh. probably why you only got a minor role in the performance.

shaking your head, trying to push all those nonsensical thoughts out of your brain, you continue trying to turn, but you just can’t find the balance

yixing: balance baLanCe bALANCE

once again, your arms aren’t fully stretched out and it creates an imbalance, causing you to once again, fall backwards, out of turn

you shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact

but it doesn’t come

surprise surprise

eyelids fluttering open slowly, you realise just how close your are to zhengting, his ragged breath from his exhausting rehearsal fan across your face, inevitably making them the colour of cherries.

“you ok?” he softly asks, as he lowers you down.

“...yea im fine.” you mumble, head bowed.

“....do you need help with the turns?”

“....”

“you know, you’re almost there. its just the part at the 180 degree mark, where you have to pull in your hands. your arms don’t always cross, or are pulled in too fast, which breaks your flow and speed and causes you to fall out of turn.”

how does he know? bc he has been looking at you, dumbass

also i hve no idea how accurate this is i suck at body anatomy

you nod slowly. he makes sense. and its true, you always fall when you are just about to spin to the opposite side.

getting up, your arms are poised, ready to try again.

andddd they become frigid as hands land on your middle, firm and supportive.

“look, its not even straight here. you need it to be 90 degrees here, before you can even start turning.” he adjusts you accordingly.

“im going to spin you slowly, and we try to perfect each section, ok?”

he spins you slowly, your arms closing in in slow motion. he corrects you at certain parts, one hand leaving your waist as he repositions yr arm.

and now, ure facing him, head bowed as a flush colours your cheeks when u realise how close the two of u r. a slight movement will just allow yr lips to brush against his.

but of course his hand is steady as hell and he just turns you slowly and you face the other direction

which, makes ur stomach churn and disappointment flows thru u????

so skipskip next scene

its after class and ure packing up when u hear some commotion at the corridor

n u follow ur busybody classmates

u can barely see who is shouting bc u a cute shortie :)

but u recognise the voice

"NO i'm staying dad. this is what i want to do."

"No, no, no. teacher, im v sorry, but i will like to pull my son out of this dance class now. i will pay the rest of the fees, but he will not be performing that stupid recital-”

“i am performing, dad.” the voice is calm and collected and you try to tiptoe, just barely catching sight of the brown locks

“no u r not. zhu zhengting, u r a boy, u cannot do this kind of girly things! it makes u look v 娘* do you know that? a disgrace, an utter disgrace!”

the voice rings as everyone falls silent, heads turning towards zhengting, waiting for his response to the harsh comment.

“i will prove to you that there is nothing to be ashamed of.” he quietly says, bowing and turning his heel, head held high, with no sign of regret or disappointment

as you watch the figure go, everything falls together like pieces of a puzzle

why he works so hard

why when it already seems perfect enuf, he still practices, saying there is still space for improvement

why he was so desperate to get the main role

he wanted to b in the spotlight and give a flawless performance bc he wanted to prove to his father, that boys dont have to b restrained to a singular activity and stereotype. they can do whatever they want, so long as they like it

guilt washes over u as u watch his father storm after his son, realising that this man is a reflection of you

new found respect is the word u will use on zhengting.

everyone applauds him. an art form shld never be restricted to a gender.

ur heart opens up to him more, and admiration for him blooms as u watch him place high expectations on himself, doing a particular move over and over again, even tho in your eyes, it alr seems perfect enuf

just like how he is to you; perfect and flawless

its addicting to watch him. his pale arms, his clean movements, his strong legs, his silky brown locks, the way his eyes sparkle when he talks about dance, the way the edges crinkle when he laughs, the way he is so bubbly about everything.

and he starts to take notice of you too, helping you to readjust properly, telling you tricks and tips on how to keep perfect balance, how to put the correct about of strength into a movement.

for the next few weeks, you end up gg hme later than usual, staying bck with more than an hour just to spend time with him, and not gg to lie, you r falling for him

but... you kinda don’t rlly knw i mean

he’s nice to everyone

what makes you so special?

anywayyyyyyy

FINALLY RECITAL DAY WOOHOO

everyone’s pretty hyped about it

but u knw the main dancers will be extremely nervous and u decide to go find zhengting in his dressing room, just to give him assurance, if he needs any.

“zhengting?”

“hmmm?” he says (???) as he turns around and oMLORD JESUS CHRIST IS HE A BEAUT

the eyeshadow makes him look sultry, the foundation emphasising how his skin is flawless and hydrated, his eyebrows strong and dark, a true prince indeed

he snaps his fingers, pulling u out of yr trance. “did you want to say anything?” u hear a hint of hope and u almost smirk

“uh...you look good? and good luck.” you mumble, tripping over your words, unused to a god-like creature looking at u with such intensity in his dark eyes

“what did you say?” he teases, cheekiness flowing through his words

“i said,” you clear your throat. “you look good and good luck for your performance

how you wish to wipe that smirk off that face, if not for the fact that u secretly find it EXTREMELY HOT and your cheeks are flaring red at the sight of it.

“if u want to wish me good luck,” he leans forward. flirtatious. “how about a kiss on the cheek?”

you roll your eyes and try to push him away but he is quick to grab your hands and stop them midway, intertwining your cold, clammy ones with his own.

“please?”

“fine,” you try to sound nonchalant but the nervousness is so evident that u see the smirk creeping up his face again.

lips barely brush over the smooth skin and you pull away, blood surging upwards into the blood vessels of your face.

“bye,” you want nothing more than to dig a hole and hide your burning face

“see you afterwards?”

but u’ve already rushed out and he chuckles to himself, warmth oozing thru his being, and his cheeks flush as he thinks about the kiss you give him.

he will definitely have to find you later to give you a proper one ;)

you guys wld b cute buBS UWU

my endings suck dbhasdjbfhjdbkjf

#i gave up on the three parts #i just let this flow

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starrybambam · 6 years

Text

Abscond ↠ Kim Namjoon & Kim Seokjin [1]

P a i r i n g ; Namjoon x Reader

G e n r e ; fluff ☼

S u m m a r y ; Being a princess meant marriage. And for you, this meant being married to the one and only Kim Namjoon. Or so everyone thought.

W o r d C o u n t ; 1800+

A / N ; Hii, long time no see. Enjoy this first part to a little series I’ve written. - Snek

Your eyes lingered on the trees outside the window as their leaves danced in the wind. It was a beautiful day outside, the sun was shining and a breeze swept through the air. However, you were stuck inside, with your family. You glanced up as you heard the door open, your father waltzing in dressed head to toe in a fancy suit. His walk had an oddly cheery element to it, something that was uncommon for him.

You watched as your father had entered the dining room. You were sat at the table, with dinner ready on the table, waiting to be eaten. A range of different loaves of bread, fruit and meat were scattered across the long table. And you, you were sat directly in the middle with your parents on either end of the table, a whole world away. You were quiet as you waited for your father to begin eating as it was custom that the men in the household were to eat first. However tonight, your brother was attending to the fellow kingdom with his wife, leaving you and your parents behind.

“Sweetie, your mother and I decided that it was time for us to find you a husband,” Your father spoke up, breaking the silence that drifted throughout the air.

Your heart sunk at the words, trying to gulp down the fear your body was struck with. Your eyes avoided contact with your parents, staying connected to the plate in front of you.

“Do you remember that sweet boy from the Kim empire, Namjoon?” You mother smiled, as you were sure memories of the time the Kim family came to visit yours.

You despised him, he was a rude arrogant little boy who believed that everything he could see was his. But you couldn’t help deny that the boy was smart, he even tried to get you under his spell. He had this bad reputation throughout the kingdom and the man who likes to sleep around. You thought his intentions were disgusting and his games were impotent.

“I think that’s a great idea,” You lied, plastering your face with a bright smile.

Although you disagreed with their choices, you had no say in what was going to happen. And unfortunately for you, that meant marrying the holy lord Kim Namjoon.

“Oh, and Kim’s are visiting tomorrow,”

A soft knock came from your door as it cracked open to reveal the maid’s face. Luck came her way this morning as you were already awake by the time she had to come to wake you for the day. But for you, large bags lay home underneath your eyes as you had not had any sleep that previous night. And as the first crack of light has shone through the curtains, you were up and out of your bed.

“Good morning Miss, Seohee will be ready soon,” She gave you a warm smile as the door creaked shut.

Your room was in arguably the best position within the castle. Towards the back and away from everyone and everything. Your room was tucked away into one of the towers, however, it wasn’t the only room. There was another room hidden away next to yours, but no one used it. You wouldn’t allow them. The only other life that could be found around your tower was the cats that would often wander through the halls.

Seohee was your lady-in-waiting, or really a personal maid. She has the pleasure of helping you get dressed in your dresses in the morning. Fresh from being awoken from your nights' sleep, you despised the mornings. Therefore, you always had taken too grumpy attitude in the morning. But being the sweet lady Seohee was, she has the patience of dealing with your grumpiness. Your eyes drifted to the corset resting on a stool next to your mirror, you hated the thing. It was tight which constricted your breath, not to mention it was hard to walk in. Mixed in with the stupid heels you had to wear, it was all a disaster.

A bright cheery Seohee barged through the door of your room, with a coat hanger that held up your dress for the day. It was a deep red with various gold linings. Although it was pretty, it was big and extra. The worst. Hanging the dress on the door of the wardrobe, Seohee turned to you in dismay. You groaned at her, flopping back onto the comfiness of your bed.

“Come on sweetheart, you need to get out of bed,” she spoke softly as she tried to get you to leave your bed.

You rolled onto your back, facing the ceiling. As the conversation that happened yesterday filled your mind, another load groan left your lips.

“Please don’t make me do it Seohee, he’s an arrogant asshole who can die for all I care,” You rolled your eyes as a surge of energy ran through your body.

You sprang up from the bed, as you instant started to pace around the large room.

“But seriously, he gave me a lecture on this book that he read on how ladies are meant to act when he saw me trip! It wasn’t my fault that I tripped, it was gravity,” You rave on about his actions.

“Let’s get you dressed first, then we can have a conversation about this,” Seohee reassured you, as she motioned towards the dress that she brought in. You sighed as you gave into her, walking to where she stood.

You followed the long hallways of the palace to the dining hall. Smells of different foods filled the air, as you travelled through the rooms. To your dismay, you had to attend lunch with the Kim’s, a rich family who ruled over quite a large empire.

Your eyes lay on the two large doors, the door frame painted a shimmery gold. A butler who you didn’t know the name of wrapped his hands around the large doorknob, pulling them open for you. You gave him a little nod before you entered the room. A large table lay down the middle of the room, fitted with an elegant themed red decorative items. Large candles were lit across the table as they illuminating light throughout the room. Silverware lined the table, one for each person that was attending the dinner. However these spots were filled, your mother and father sat in their respective seats, your little brother sat in his. They were joined by four other people, an older man and women, a boy about your age and a younger girl who looked around your brothers' age. You plastered your face with a fake smile as you took your seat next to your brother and across from the older boy. You couldn't deny he was handsome, however, you had a lingering feeling of hatred for him. He was here to take away the dream you had of finding someone and falling in love with them.

“Hello,” You gave your guests a large toothy grin, putting on a cheery act as your mother had taught you.

You were returned with smiles and a wave of greetings. You glanced to your right where your father sat at the head of the table, a small scowl was hidden behind his equally fake smile. You knew he was mad at you for being late as it gave the guests a bad idea of you. However you shrugged it off, it was the last of your problems right now. You were more concerned about waiting for this night to end.

And thankfully it did, quickly. The night flew by very quickly. Nothing exciting happened, just a lot of fake laughter and talk about the upcoming marriage. Or so they thought, throughout the night you planned your escape. When the lights would go out for the night, you were to make your escape. Taking the small bag with the supplies you would need until you could comfortably support yourself, you would escape through the window. Using your bedsheets you would climb into the bushes below your window, and then run out of the grounds, attempting to dodge the guards.

So when you were allowed back to your room at the end of the night, you set right into action. The first thing you did was change clothes, from the annoyingly puffy dress into a simple white cotton t-shirt and some khaki slacks that you stole from the laundry. You picked one of the handmade leather bags that mother had made for you, along with a collection of others. You stuffed the bag full of your necessities, including clothes and money. Ready for your escape. You placed the bag on the floor, out of the way for now. Your fingers gripped on the sheets on your bed, pulling them off your elegant bed. You twisted the sheets into a rope shape, perfect for climbing. You brought it to your open window, tying it onto the metal bar that helped stabilise the planter boxes. You turned back around, picking up your bag. You slung it onto your back, ready to leave. You glanced back at the planter boxes, really they only got in your way, so you decided to move them. You wrapped your fingers around the corners of the boxes, lifting them out of their holders, placing them against the wall. You moved again, lifting your body on top of the window sill, allowing your legs to dangle off.

A quiet sigh escaped your mouth as your turned your head to take one last glance at your room. You have to admit, being the princess had its perks, and it came with the riches, allowing you to get the best of the best. Such as these big beds and ridiculous dresses. However, it also had its downsides and forced marriage was one of them. And eventually, the downsides weigh out the good. A tear escaped your watery eyes, rolling down your cheek. Although it sucked here, it was still your home. Your home filled with your family and friends, and now you were throwing that all away. But it was worth it, for your happiness.

You took your eyes off your room, looking out into the night sky. It was a clear night, the stars were shining brightly in the dark sky. And it was peaceful, with only the faint sounds of the crickets in the air. That was until a bang radiated through the air. You glanced to your left where you heard the noise, to see a figure jump out of another window in the castle. You gasped as you saw an identical set up to yours. Curious as to who this mysterious figure was, you too made your escape, clinging onto the bed sheet as you made your descent down the wall.

Your feet hit the luscious green grass just as the strangers did. You glanced up at them, taking a step closer to them. They too edged closer to you, until you were merely a foot apart and you could see their face. A frown plastered on your face at the sight, the one and only Kim Namjoon.

#fluff #kim #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts #kim namjoon fluff #knj #seokjin #kim seokjin #jin #bts jin #rm #bts rm #kim seokjin fluff #ksj

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