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#oh man
ivysoul · 9 months
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perv!simon has taken over my brain thank u.
simon riley who’s maybe a bit too friendly with you—his neighbour. always finding an excuse to touch you, whether it be his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he claimed to have seen a stray eyelash sitting there, or putting his hands on your waist to manoeuvre you to the side to let him pass. he always found some way to be touching you, and you, poor naive you, never took notice to why he would. you always just assumed he was friendly with you because you two were friends.
simon riley who snuck into your bedroom when he was over at your house. you had invited him over on a hot summer day to swim in your pool, figuring he might like to cool off. with the excuse of needing to use the bathroom, he left you in the backyard to float on your floaty in the pool as he ventured to your room, his eyes almost immediately landing on your laundry hamper in the corner. he let his thoughts race for a moment as he toyed with the idea in his mind.
simon riley who took one glance out the window at your relaxed body on the floaty, splayed out with sunglasses over your eyes, the purple bikini you wore didn’t leave much to the imagination. he felt his cock twitch in his swimming shorts. without much hesitation, he moved towards your laundry hamper and dug through. it didn’t take him long to find a pair of your thongs.
simon riley who knew he was a dirty little perv for pumping his cock slow and languid in your bathroom, your pretty panties in the hand wrapped around his cock and his swimming shorts around his ankles. he smoothed his thumb over his slit, letting out a shallow breath from the action. he moaned loud and threw his head back when he used his other hand to cup his heavy balls. he wished so badly he could fill you, both with his cock and his cum. he wanted to pump you full and watch you swell with his child. he wanted to stuff your throat with his cock and have you drool and gargle around the thickness. he wanted to claim you as his and ruin you for anyone else.
simon riley who came hard when he heard you call out for him from downstairs. his groans filling the space of the bathroom as he shot hot spurts of cum on his thighs and on your panties. his chest heaved and his eyes were shut tight, abs hurting slightly from tensing so hard during his orgasm. he didn’t hear the taps on the stairs, and he didn’t hear them get closer and closer to the bathroom door. but when your voice spoke from the other side of the door, he knew something was seriously wrong with him when his cock started getting hard again.
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soft-cryptids · 1 year
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They are just so father & daughter, your honor. 
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wasyago · 8 months
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ermmm yes?
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applestruda · 1 year
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Horn/antler gang
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inthelquvre · 3 months
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finnick being protective?
warnings: set in catching fire b4 quarter quell, tiny signs of panic attacks if you squint, mean peacekeeper (nothing new), very short but don’t fear at least one more part will be posted soon!
a/n: thanks for the request anon!! i hope i did this justice, if not lmk and id be happy to rewrite something similar: )
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when you were crowned victor of the 67th annual hunger games, the last thing you expected was to be thrown into the quarter quell.
it was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from, constantly stuck in a never ending state of fear and anxiety. it was slowly killing you from the inside out.
one thing, one person kept you grounded, though. finnick odair. finnick had been your mentor for your games. he taught you everything you knew about surviving. he taught you how to tie intricate fishing knots, which led you to survive off fishing during your games. every time a fish swam into the fishing net, you smiled up to the sky. and in the other side, finnick smiled back.
though survival wasn’t the only thing finnick taught you.
he taught you how to control your emotions, he taught you how to be strong, and most importantly, how to love.
love was a tough thing in your eyes. you never had any childhood crushes after river, a boy a year older than you, got pulled into the hunger games and died. to you, it felt like the universe was against you, so the idea of love never came easy. though, after finnick was in the picture, he took note of your hesitancy to his flirting and made it his mission to make you feel loved. he ultimately came up with the conclusion that you yourself hadn’t been loved on enough; and no one should live without love.
after you won your games, nightmares and panic attacks came often. but it wasn’t your mother or father you comforted you; it was finnick. he was the one you sat with you on endless nights, cradling you in the protection of his arms.
even now, as the two of you stood on the stage facing your district, you looked to finnick with tears in your eyes. even as ocean formed in your eyes and the crisp air began hard to breathe, finnick remained calm. once the two of you were directed backstage, your first instinct was to go to finnick. luckily, his was too.
“finn,” you sobbed into his shirt. he was quick to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace, holding you close to him, but not too tight; like you were a porcelain doll. it felt like you were, that a single wrong word would shatter you into a million shards of glass. “i don’t wanna go back.” you let out a long and shaky sigh, tightly shutting your eyes as if the world around you would melt away, leaving just you and finnick.
one of his big hands fell on your back, gently stroking the soft material of your light blue dress your mother made especially for reaping days. the other one cradled your head, holding you close to his chest. every so often he would press his soft lips to the top of your head, murmuring softly. “don’t worry, don’t worry about a thing. i’ll protect you. i won’t let anything happen to you.”
his words paired with his gentle touch almost calmed your nerves. but the immediate though of him flooded your brain. “oh, oh no finnick,” you pulled back, only slightly. finnick arms were still latched onto yours, grounding you to him. “what about you? what about us?” the quiver in your voice made finnick heart sink into his stomach.
while it wasn’t true, he continued to soothe you by whispering “it’ll be okay” and “we’ll be alright” into your ear while rocking your gently. he knew, when it came down to it, it wouldn’t be him walking out of that arena.
the quiet moment shared between you was cut off by a peacekeeper. the man dressed in white didn’t waste anytime, nor give any warnings before he ripped you out of finnick warm grasp. it was only to get you ready for the train, but finnick jaw ticked as your brow furrowed at the man’s tight grip. somehow, you were back in the area. just a teenager again as another tribute tried to pull you to your certain death.
“hey, hey, hey!” the blond boy rushed forward, taking hold on the peacekeepers white jacket and trying his best to keep you away from the government troop. he could see the fear in your eyes, he knew those eyes. the same eyes that he looked into countless nights when either of you had nightmares. “no need for all this, let her go.” it was so sincere, his tone. it was kind of how he talked to you, calm and gentle. but behind the sweetness there was a tang of venom, a underlying sense of tension hung over finnick head as the peacekeeper didn’t move a muscle.
and older woman (you couldn’t remember her name. diamond? sapphire? something stupid like that), another previous victor (and now your mentor) stepped forward. her hand fell of finnicks shoulder, she meant it in a motherly way but the boy in front of you frowned. “oh finnick, darling, don’t worry. he’s just trying to help.”
“she doesn’t need any help.” this time his words came out as rough and full of intention. and yet the peacekeeper didn’t budge. finnick was fed up. he lurched forward to harshly shove the man shoulder, causing him to stumble back and let go of you. “i got her from here.” he grumbled to the man now on the floor before turning to you. “you okay? anything hurt?” you shook your head and he smiled.
“thank you.” you smiled back at him. his efforts to make you feel better certainly went a long way considering the circumstances. “you didn’t have to do that.” you hated to admit, but you could feel a certain pink blush creeping across your cheeks. finnick must have also noticed, seeing he smirked and placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you away from the peacekeeper and mentor.
“i know,” he replied softly. “but they shouldn’t be doing all that to you. you’ve been through enough.” he gently nudged your shoulder. how he could go from being rough with the capitol people do being so very delicate with you was an odd thing, but beautiful nonetheless. “now cmon, let’s get you to bed.” he smiled with a kiss to your head.
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moyazaika · 1 year
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♯ yandere! rockstar x manager! reader ♪
— feroze gives up playing nice and finally gets what he really wants.
cw: possessive themes, blood and violence (kinda detailed, but not to reader) & implied noncon nsfw.
notes: this is so late. blame my depression LOL. was listening to greetings from califournia whilst writing!
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everyone who was anyone was scheduled to attend tonight's party.
although, it was quite evident when the red carpet was rolled out and the limousines and sports cars parked, who the paparazzi were really here for.
because despite his undisguised disdain for the flashing cameras and curious reporters that surrounded him — from the moment he stepped out of his sleek black car (la voiture noir, one of the only two in existence) everyone’s eyes were on feroze khan.
and for good reason, you mused, as he turned around to help you out of the low car. tonight, you had made sure the stylist did her best, even offered her a raise. and god, when you looked at him, you realised that every second paid off.
red henna adorned his knuckles, decorating the golden rings he wore against traditional designs of gorgeous flowers and spirals that trailed up the muscles of his arms. his suit was a dark green velvet which contrasted his brown skin perfectly.
his crimson hair was done half up-half down, some stray waves falling across his thick eyebrows and dark eyes, lined with kajal. his silver nose piercing had been replaced by a larger, gold ring, its dainty chain extended from his nose ring to the upper lobes of his left ear.
he looks unfairly good - and every bit the man whose posters are hung up on every teenager’s walls and whose pictures take up half of the storage of your phone.
you're broken out of your reverie by a low chuckle, “it’s rude to stare, meri jaan.” feroze says, as he extends his hand out towards you.
a frown, “i wasn’t staring.” you try not to focus on how sweetly the words fall from his lips, my love — and take his hand as he helps you out the car,
“of course you weren’t.” followed by a knowing smile as his warm fingers are curl around yours, pulling you to his side, like you’ve never belonged more anywhere else.
the paparazzi are on you instantly, and the moment you take a step onto the red carpet that leads to the expensive venue before you, their attention is divided amongst the two of you, instead of being pinned on the rockstar entirely.
you can tell by the way the man besides you reaches his other arm around your shoulders, almost possessively, that he knows this too.
you lean in closer, lower your voice so only he can hear you. “remember to be good tonight, rosy. everyone’s going to be watching you really carefully after that stunt you pulled at the interview.”
“stay next to me, then.” is all the rockstar replies, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "it's the least you can do for dragging me to this stupid party."
he leans closer to you, lips against your helix and hand over it, as if he were telling you a secret. "though, you could always repay the favour in other ways."
you swat feroze’s hand away, and hope he can’t feel the warm flush on your skin, but you know it’s wishful thinking with the low laugh he lets out as he leads you through the grand double doors, wide open and inviting, as the two of you step in together, albeit a few hours late.
inside, the party is in full swing. a large chandelier overlooks gossiping guests with fur coats and expensive jewels draped over their polished skin. laughter and music waft through the large hall, and champagne flutes adorn everyone’s hands.
there’s something carefully careless about the air in the hall, but feroze’s presence besides you is a constant comfort as you lead him through the crowd and to the bar.
he raises an eyebrow, but follows you faithfully, fingers interlaced with yours and enjoying every moment of it, “we just arrived, and you want to share a drink with me already?”
“don’t get ahead of yourself, khan.” you roll your eyes but he doesn’t miss the sound of quiet laughter against your knuckles. “besides, we both know you’d be begging for attention and clinging to me in two drinks, anyways.” you tease, “lightweight.”
“i don’t need to beg for your attention.” he says, trying his best not to reach out and just pull you closer. “and don’t forget how most of the time it’s you doing the begging, meri jaan.”
“feroze!” you hiss, turning your back to him so he doesn’t see the smile you’re trying your hardest to keep hidden, lest it only encourage him. “can you not say things like that so carelessly in public?”
“is someone getting all shy?” the man teases, a lazy smile on his lips as he pokes your cheek from behind. “hmm. cute, but i prefer when you’re being all bratty and demanding.”
“first off, i’m not bratty, you’re just annoying.” you untangle your fingers from his with a frown, even though your heart feels undeniably full. “and secondly, has anyone ever told you you talk way too much?”
he hums absently., as if giving actual thought to the matter before responding, “no, actually. for some reason, i only ever hear that from you.”
curious stares follow the two of you, the worlds most prominent musician and his grumpy manager — but it isn’t enough for him, no. it isn’t anywhere near enough. he needs everyone to see that he’s yours, and you’re his.
and maybe they would have, if you hadn’t insisted on covering up the hickeys he’d left all over your neck, for the sake of being presentable and professional.
absently, he watches you speak to the bartender, hates the way the bartender passes you a friendly smile and hates it even more when you smile back. but he's willing to forget that the moment you turn back to him, looking so beautiful, always so fucking gorgeous.
“you look wonderful today, so put together.” he says, words tinged with a teasing tone, accompanied by a lighthearted smile. “i can barely believe you’re the same person i made such a mess of just last night.”
“one more word,” you take two flutes from the bartender, and fix him with the deadliest glare you can muster. “and i’m leaving you here all alone, khan.”
“no more rosy?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. you shake your head and feroze can’t help but think about how beautiful you are, even when you’re annoyed with him. even when he refuses to listen to you, despite your role as his manager.
“only when you behave.” you respond, setting your flute down to beckon him closer. “now stay still, and let me fix your hair.”
he hates your role as his manager most in moments like these, when you gently brush stray strands of his dark red waves from his face, and he watches the way you run your fingers through his hair, wanting to see if the curl will hold, with a certain fondness he reserves for you only.
in moments where he wants nothing more than to kiss you until he can't breathe and and your mellifluous voice can’t say anything except his name. he needs to show you, time and time again, what exactly you mean to him. but, as you never fail to remind him, professionalism.
“one more thing, feroze—” you're about to say something, presumably to remind him again, to be on his best behaviour, or to stop staring at his lips so intently.
either way, he doesn't get to find out, because just as you hand him a champagne flute, you’re cut off by a tap on his shoulder, accompanied by a familiar voice, and a fake smile.
“hello, khan.” a smooth voice greets, “haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you at once of these for a while.”
at the sound of his name, feroze turns, doesn't bother to smile when he greets the man behind him. you notice the musician recognises him instantly, albeit his complete disinterest he outwardly expresses in indulging in any conversation.
"vuong, always such a joy to meet you." the rockstar drawls, in a voice which indicates the exact opposite.
it’s only when the star says his name do you realise who this is, and can’t help but wonder how your troublemaking musician seems to be so well acquainted with the ceo of the most reputable celebrity management company in this country.
"you doing good, khan?” michael asks. he looks the epitome of this party’s high class audience. “heard you topped the charts seventh time in a row, hm?” a charming man donned in an expensive suit and diamond earrings, silky hair slicked back, and a pretty smile that doesn’t entirely reach his dull eyes.
“whilst it’s sweet of you to ask about my career, michael, how about we skip the formalities and you tell me what you’re really here for?” feroze says plainly, and you notice that michael’s eyes wander from the musician and over to you.
“very well,” michael’s rolex glints under the chandelier’s lights as he vaguely gestures to you, “i’ve been meaning to hire a competent, experienced, and resilient assistant for one of my more difficult clients.” he begins, in a polite accent you can’t quite place. “my brother, actually.”
“so your little brother needs a babysitter and you want my manager for the job?”
“when you put it like that, it sounds bad.” michael sighs wearily, no longer pretending to keep up the friendly facade he had donned only a moment prior. “but i assure you that your manager would be in capable hands, and compensated very handsomely for their efforts. i know how much of a headache valentine can be.”
feroze is about to say something, but michael holds up a pale hand to keep him quiet, and you instantly hate him for it. “i saw your disastrous interview, before your manager worked so relentlessly to have it removed from the internet.” you blink, caught off guard by his words. “their skills would be better suited working for someone like me.”
feroze raises an eyebrow. “is that so? well, i’m sorry, really.” his tone is shamelessly unapologetic when he speaks, “but they’re going to have to say no. my manager has no interest working for someone like you; besides, valentine’s a big boy, i’m sure he can take care of himself.”
but feroze’s words are entirely ignored. instead, the ceo turns to you, “surely you don’t let him speak for you?” michael asks, and his lips curl into a strange smile — “i’ll pay you double, and you’ll have half the workload you do now. my brother is much more low maintenance compared to your darling rockstar, over here.”
you cross your arms, meet michael’s narrowed eyes with your own and tilt your head to the side. “i’m sorry, did you not hear rosy?” you ask, “i have absolutely no interest working with somebody like you. besides, i’m perfectly happy with my current job, and with my, what did you call him? oh — darling rockstar.”
it’s this moment where feroze is eternally grateful for his brown skin, which completely hides the furious blush that warms his entire body.
“rosy?” michael echoes, curiously.
you ignore his question and take a sip of sparkling golden champagne, leaning over to feroze, “you take care of this entitled piece of shit, and i’m gonna go find us a place to sit.” you whisper, before turning away without so much as a backwards glance at the ceo.
“well, that’s settled. i think you should leave, vuong.” feroze says, watches the bubbles in his champagne as he gently tips the glass back and forth. “i’d say it’s obvious you’re not going to find your brother’s babysitter here, yes?”
michael watches you leave, before turning back to the rockstar with a knowing look in his dark brown eyes. “how unprofessional.” he remarks, “sleeping with your manager, khan?”
“excuse me?” feroze looks up at the ceo through dark lashes. “i don’t think that has anything to do with you, vuong.” he attempts nonchalance, but michael doesn’t miss the way feroze’s grip on his flute tightens, and instantly he knows he’s right.
“doesn’t it?” michael asks, “isn’t that the only reason they’re still working for you? because you make them feel good?” the ceo lowers his voice, the words that leave his lips a stark contrast from the amiable smile painted on his lips. “you think they’d take me up on my offer if i could make them feel even better? i bet i could fuck your little manager even better than you, khan. come into that big mouth and destroy that attitude of th—fuck!”
unfortunately for him, michael doesn’t get to finish speaking. probably due to the fact that feroze smashes his champagne flute against michael’s head. the sight is sickening, as the glass shatters into hundreds of small fragments, littering michael’s skin with violent cuts that pierce his pale skin.
screams erupt in the fancy venue, echoing off the intricately carved walls as feroze roughly pushes michael down onto the polished floors before he kneels down himself, straddling the ceo with absolute indifference on his face as he curls his hand into a tight fist before slamming it into michael’s face, with all of the force he can muster.
once, twice, thrice. he loses count, can’t think of anything but the ceo’s taunting words, the way that fucking bastard had the nerve to speak about you — if feroze has his way, michael won’t be speaking ever again.
the man’s hair is wet from the champagne, sticky from the blood, not unlike the rest of his body. his sloped nose is crooked, sticking out unnaturally. his teeth are painted red, and his eyes are puffy and bruised, something ugly lurking beneath his skin.
but feroze is not done yet. no, this isn’t anywhere near enough.
michael coughs heavily, and it turns into something more painful which causes blood to spurt from his lips, to paint the rockstar’s knuckles in red, leave them absolutely wet, he pulls his hands away and michael laughs, a strangled sound which is painful to listen to, “well done, khan.” he wheezes, “you j-just ruined your… yourself.”
he has the decency to finally shut up when feroze picks up the largest shard of glass he can find, uncaring that holding it leaves a large gash in his palms, as he lines it up against michael’s adams apple.
feroze smiles, but there is something dangerous behind it as he takes in the mess he’s made. “i’m going to kill you, vuong.”
“y-you can’t kill me! we-were at a… in public! you’ll g-go to jail, you…! y-your manager won’t—” the ceo’s eyes widen as he trips over his words, stuttering profusely when he realises that the man above him is not done yet.
but the musician merely tunes him out, presses the sharp shard down and draws a droplet of crimson blood which he watches, with satisfaction, as it seeps down his pale throat — before someone forcibly pulls his arms behind his back.
it is only then that feroze notices men and women much bigger than him and dressed in all black, tasers by their sides. he closes his eyes as they harshly pull him off the shaking ceo and disarm him, someone’s knees brutally pressing against his back as they shove his head and body down and wait for the police to arrive.
it is only when feroze opens his dark eyes does he see you standing across the hall, unmoving — even as people ruthlessly push past you to the exits, in a desperate attempt to get out, you stay very, very, still.
feroze does not feel remorse.
that much is evident from the splatters of dark blood which stain his brown skin, and the low laugh that spills past his lips and echoes off the walls.
"you assaulted the ceo of one of the most influential companies in this industry, khan."
you ignore the hundreds of demanding emails and texts and phone calls that flood in every few seconds.
you turn your phone off, and it takes everything within you not to hurl it at the man who stands before you, entirely silent in your presence for the first time.
"he deserved it." feroze says nonchalantly, and you try to ignore the fresh scar on his palm.
“i just don’t understand, i was never going to accept his job offer, anyways. and we handled it so well! we got him to back off, and i was so proud you didn’t do anything stupid and excited to spend the rest of the night with you — and then you… you fucked it all up.”
“what i did,” feroze says, “was for your sake.”
"okay," you say. disappointed, but not surprised at his response, and evident apathy towards the ceo, who you heard was in a medically induced coma. if anything, his answer should make this easier, but the words are still every bit as difficult to say as you'd thought they would be.
"then… this is also for my sake: i quit."
for a moment, silence fills your office, and a certain weight shifts the air, renders it much heavier than it was only seconds ago.
“what,” feroze demands, in a voice he's never used with you before. his jaw is tense, arms taut, and you realise, as your heart sinks — coiled with restraint. when feroze speaks, his voice is low, and trepidation looms over you at the tone of his words and the way he narrows his dark eyes. “did you just say?”
"i said, i quit. i don't want to work with you anymore, and i called you here to tell you that your career is done for." you repeat, trying to ignore the wry laugh that slips past his lips, until it becomes disbelieving laughter so loud that it fills the room and suffocates you and he's doubled over.
"i'm not going to be your manager, anymore." you tell him, watch as he looks up at you through curled lashes, wiping a tear from his eye, the kajal smudging his skin. “i feel like i don’t even know you anymore, after what you did to vuong.”
"meri jaan," feroze smiles, and it's all mocking. "surely, you don't think i'm just going to let you leave, after everything we've been through?" it's the type of smile you've seen him use at events he doesn't care to attend, deems insignificant and dismisses.
he doesn't care about his career, you might believe he has nothing going for him anymore, but if there's one thing he loves about this lifestyle — it's that he's untouchable.
that’s how the police allowed to him to leave, off the hook even after almost murdering a man.
sure, he'll be the cause of outrage for a while, and michael will definitely press charges when he comes to — but all feroze has to do is pay off some journalist looking for their next big story to write an article about michael’s affinity for messing around with underaged boys — and then the tables will turn, like they always do.
it's a matter of waiting he thinks, and finally getting what he really wants.
you stand up, storm towards the door which leads out of your office, absolutely done with this conversation and ready to leave — but feroze is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, and unmoving.
unfortunately, he had overestimated himself, as it seems that even his patience towards you has a limit.
“you said you loved me, but you lied, because if you loved me, you wouldn’t act like this.” you tell him, your momentary confusion giving way to absolute anger, when he refuses to move out of your way. “let me leave, khan. i'm done, and i won't work with someone so violent.”
“let you leave?” he raises an eyebrow. feroze’s stygian eyes grow impossibly darker when he lets his gaze wander, lingering on the places you know he loves most.
“didn’t i tell you, from the beginning, that this was something more than love? i said you were my majbuuri, called it ishq — i've never lied to you, so believe me when i say,” he tilts his head to the side. “you don’t get to leave.”
“like hell i don’t,” you scoff, you glare at him with all the authority you can muster, which is none, considering you’re not actually his manager anymore. “move,” you demand. and when he doesn’t, you use all of your energy to shove him to the side and turn the handle.
it doesn’t open — why won’t it open?
you try again.
and again.
and again.
the door is locked, you realise, and your heart sinks when you hear that laughter again, turn to meet eyes lined in smudged kajal and hands, adorned with golden rings you yourself had picked out only hours prior, now gently holding your face.
you can feel all of his cold rings against your jaw, feel his pulse thundering from beneath his wrists even though his expression is carved with careful consideration and a soft smile, real emotions betrayed by his hungry, black gaze — trained solely on you.
“feroze,” you try one more time, to see past the manic glint in his eyes, his racing heartbeat, and ignore his words. you trusted him, you loved him, despite the headache he could be, you knew it was wrong and hypocritical but you had loved him. and that was the worst part about this. “please don't ruin this more than you already have."
but your words fall on deaf ears, and feroze is indifferent to the tears of hopelessness that well up in your wide eyes. “you don't get to leave, meri jaan. i love you too much for that, i love you entirely and i love you desperately, but most of all,” he says the words softly, and they sound like your favourite song, played too many times by a broken record. "i love you selfishly."
"you don't know how patient i have been when it comes to you, because of your fucking professionalism. you don't know how much i need you, how it only gets worse every time you're all bossy. so fucking gorgeous even when you’re mad at me, telling me off.”
“you thought i was trouble then?" feroze asks in a voice impossibly quiet as he lowers his lips to your jaw, "that was me on my best behaviour."
"i've had enough of biding my time and pretending to give a fuck about anything that isn't you," the star says with such finality to his low words, that you're compelled to believe him. "to hell with being patient and playing nice, because now i've got you all to myself, and fuck, you aren't going anywhere, meri jaan."
who cares if good things come to those who wait?
at that, he laughs, one hand curling around your waist to hold you in place as the other slips under the fabric of your clothes, fingers skimming your bare skin, "it's not like you'd really be able to," feroze hums, pressing kisses over the hickeys which already decorate your neck, "by the time i'm done with you.”
better things come to those willing to take them.
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new-ronantics · 1 year
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so will byers canonically wants to go on DATES with mike wheeler?? will byers canonically wants to hold mike wheeler’s hand and call himself mike wheeler’s BOYFRIEND??? will byers canonically wants to KISS mike wheeler on the MOUTH???? will byers is canonically in LOVE with mike wheeler????? this is sooo crazy!!
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goddidntdothis · 5 months
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[ DAY NINETEEN : IN THE DARKNESS ]
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mochiwrites · 9 months
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sometimes I can’t help but wonder why grian is the way he is, especially with scar. scar offers him unconditional love and compassion, no matter the world. third life they were partners. last life scar clearly wanted a team with grian in the beginning. double life was… very convoluted but there was still that love there. and teaming with grian in limited life seemed to be all that scar wanted.
and yet grian pushes and pulls. he pulls scar close, reaches for him. but just before scar can get too close, grian pushes him away.
he kills him. he steals from him. he does things that really, scar should hate him for.
and it makes me wonder why. I mean, grian has unconditional love being offered to him. but he never takes it. not fully at least. there’s always a surface level acceptance. he gives just enough but takes so much more.
and we all know “grian is scared of killing scar again after third life”, but I can’t help but think it goes so much deeper than that. because on some level, grian does reciprocate scar’s feelings. he does love scar. his actions say that much.
but he’s always pushing scar away. maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to believe that scar’s love isn’t just something that scar is going to take away; like pulling the rug out from under him. maybe it’s because grian is afraid of giving scar an opportunity to betray him first.
or maybe he’s scared of the vulnerability that comes with loving and being loved. so he hurts scar before scar can hurt him, and it’s a way of keeping himself self (while also breaking himself down without realizing it).
and scar? I think scar sees all of that. grian’s fears and his defense mechanisms. yet he loves him in despite of it all. he continues to offer grian love and kindness, even as grian stabs him in the back. even as grian pushes him away to protect both scar and himself.
it’s like scar is trying to coax a wounded animal out from the corner. he’s patient. he’s kind. he’s loving. and he tries to show grian that he can be dangerous too, so that maybe grian won’t feel as scared. he tries to show grian that his love really is unconditional, that it isn’t a trick.
but grian is so buried in his fears that he doesn’t see it.
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nuclearbummer · 1 year
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ilottthepilot · 6 days
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iotnonii · 4 months
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happy squilf to keep me sane after failing my physics final
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arthursfuckinghat · 10 days
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Nothing is quite like enjoying the early days of chapter three, then hearing Arthur's first cough to snap you right back to the reality of his fate
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krestkxi · 1 month
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Oh man~, oh man~
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I'll do one with Raph and Mikey later.
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applestruda · 1 year
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The two remaining
Its ok guys, after this they went and rebuilt the sand castle and lived happily,,
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sillycosmicrabbit · 18 days
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Tbe icon changed????????
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