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matchavellichor · 7 months

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A Losing Game

A/N: was in the mood to write pure filth so here's some jealous sebastian smut lul. also i left the context intentionally vague so that i could maybe write a prequel sometime but i hope it's clear they absolutely hate each other loool

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC - NSFW - 4.4k words - ao3

Summary: Watching his long-time rival and dueling partner kiss someone else ignites feelings in Sebastian that has him questioning just how similar hate is to desire.

Tags: Yule Ball, Enemies to Lovers, Pining Sebastian, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Mild Prey/Predator, No Safeword

For the first time in their many years of friendship, Sebastian is the one being dragged to a social event he has no interest in being a part of. Ominis, taking no small amount of pleasure in this, leads them into the Great Hall with an amused smirk on his face, only biting his tongue because he’s respectful of present company. Sebastian frowns.

His robes are scratchy, his date is doused in a nausea-inducing amount of flowery perfume, and there’s not nearly enough firewhiskey in the spiked punch this year.

He tells himself pointedly, as if it’s a matter of public record, that he isn’t looking for her.

Even as his eyes comb over the crowd, and there’s a little pang of disappointment in his gut when he still doesn’t spot her after the third sweep.

“Stop sulking,” Ominis murmurs from beside him. “You look miserable.”

Sebastian proceeds to sulk even more. “How would you know how I look?”

“I’m blind, not oblivious.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, sitting down at the table the blonde had chosen and preparing himself for an entire night of brooding.

He’d have no qualms in remaining seated in their desolate little corner for the entirety of the evening, but his date—Bianca or Beatrice or, maybe something with a D—has other plans.

She titters something about dancing, and then she’s suddenly tugging on his arm and dragging him towards parquet floors. In no mood to protest, he lets himself get weaved through pairs of students who are doing anything but respecting Headmaster’s Black rule to maintain a Potions textbook length apart.

So much for leaving room for Merlin.

He manages a tight-lipped smile when they stop under a cloud charmed to sprinkle snowflakes, small flurries of white blending into a halo around them. It’s a truly beautiful sight, a winter wonderland of silver and gold englobing them, yet despite this, Sebastian’s demeanor is tight and forced, starkly unhappy.

He pretends he doesn’t understand the reasoning behind his sour mood. Pretends he isn’t thinking about someone else’s hands, someone else’s smell, someone else’s eyes, and the obvious absence of them.

Sebastian feels dreadfully pathetic clinging to the prospect of even simply seeing her as a motivator to suffer through the remainder of the night.

He wonders when he became such a pining, spineless idiot and deduces it must’ve been somewhere during the first dozen times she’d knocked him on his ass in a duel. Surely, a screw was knocked loose then. Or a couple.

Sebastian swallows his displeasure and takes hold of a hand that’s not the right size, that doesn’t have the calluses and rough edges in the places he’s already far too familiar with. It’s easy to fall into pace, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Hard to pretend he’s dancing with someone else.

It’s then, glancing over his date’s shoulder through the haze of floating candles and snowflakes, that he finally catches sight of what he has decidedly not been thinking about all evening.

From the way he stills and all his attention narrows in on one person, you’d think Salazar Slytherin himself just made an appearance butt-naked on a unicycle.

Breath-taking is an understatement. Asphyxiating might be a more valiant contender. Sebastian would be impressed with himself if he managed to get enough oxygen in his lungs to keep his brain functioning for an entire night of staring at her across dance floors.

His eyes comb over every inch of the blood red floor-length gown she has on, head-to-toe, gaze rising to dust over the blush high on her cheekbones, even further up to the gems crested in her hair.

He takes a deep, fortifying breath, though it doesn’t do him any good.

Then, his attention narrows in on the person accompanying her and it’s like his stomach immediately pitches, falls down six flights of stairs, and subsequently plummets into a dark abyss, landing at the bottom with a pathetic, defeated sort of sound.

Because her arm is tucked into the crook of someone else’s elbow, and she’s smiling at something someone else is whispering in her, and despite being only a few feet away at this point, she doesn’t even spare a glance at Sebastian.

Instead, she drapes an arm around her date’s neck, which he reciprocates with a hand at the small of her back, pulls their bodies closer and—

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut and refuses to look, turning away from what feels like betrayal, though he knows is the farthest thing from it.

Maybe that’s what feels the worst. What makes his mouth taste so bitter he could gag from it. It’s the realization that he has no right to feel so upset about any of it. That he can’t expect anything from her.

That she isn’t his.

His shoulders stiffen and he suddenly stops any movements, letting his hands drop from where they were rested at a chiffon-covered waist, stepping away.

His date calls his name, emitting some cross between a petulant whine and indignant scoff, but he doesn’t really hear her. He’s busy high-tailing towards the drink table and doing the mental math for how many teal-coloured glasses of spiked punch he’ll have to drink to self-induce a coma.

Ominis, with his hell-anointed sixth sense, meets him three-quarters of the way there, falling into step as they weave through pairs of students.

“This is your own doing, you know.”

He’s right, yet Sebastian would still throttle him if there weren’t so many witnesses around. He ignores him.

“Sebastian,” Ominis sighs. “You’re being childish.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Ominis says. “I thought I’d already made myself clear that I was on her side concerning this.”

Sebastian scowls. “Some friend you are.”

“All you had to do was ask her.”

“Asking her is admitting defeat,” Sebastian mutters over the rim of the glass he just poured himself. “She wouldn’t have ever let me live it down.”

“I don’t understand this game you two play,” Ominis frowns. “Would it have been so hard for you to humble yourself for just a moment?”

Sebastian takes a long drink. “Yes. In front of her, it would’ve been.”

“Then enjoy watching her dance with someone else for the remainder of the evening.”

Sebastian has just about decided to actually throttle Ominis, witnesses be damned, but he’s already making his way back into the crowd, out of reach.

Sebastian groans, yet doesn’t go after him. Refuses to.

From his position on the outskirts of the dance floor, he’s in blissful ignorance of whatever it is she’s doing at the moment. Despite the curiosity eating away at him from the inside, it’s some form of solace that at least he can’t see the smile he’d caught on her face. Can’t see the glow in her eyes, or her hands on her date’s robes, or all the affection he craves so ardently misdirected towards someone else.

Somehow, it’s worse.

And then, as if Fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, has decided Sebastian hasn’t endured enough for one pitiful night already, the steady crescendo of a waltz begins to build.

The crowd pulses and sways in tempo with the symphony, leaving breaches and eyelets, brief openings that he can’t tear his eyes away from, because even if it hurts, he needs to see her again.

That’s how he catches sight of her for the second time that evening. Like the seas parting to reveal a miracle, she finds herself right in his line of vision.

Sebastian conveys the tightening he feels in his chest into an ice-cold glower, features hardened. He prays she’ll just look. Even if it’s something fleeting, a split second of a glance.

Once again, her eyes never make their way anywhere near him.

It’s almost intentional, in a way that drives him insane. As if she knows where he is, and she’s skirting over him pointedly, antagonistically. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it were intentional, a gleaming testimony to all the other ways she manages to get under his skin.

The dancing body of students continues to shift, like a pendulum, back and forth, revealing and concealing. He clings to the momentary sight of her, and still, like a fool, hopes that at some instance she’ll look back. Acknowledge him.

Give him some form of recognition so he doesn’t have to admit defeat so quickly. So that he knows that they’re still playing their game, that he’s not just losing alone.

The composition nears its apex, surrounding gowns and robes reaching a swirling mass of glitter and silks, and something heavy sinks inside of him, an impending sense of foreboding.

He knows what’s coming, somehow.

The orchestra finally reaching its climax.

Her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of her date’s neck.

Her leaning forward, nose slotting against his, lips hovering over another’s and yet—

He doesn’t look away. Even if it feels like being split open, sternum cracked across the middle, until he’s left with a slick-red, yawning chest cavity.

He can’t look away, because her eyes are open and for the first time in the entire evening, they’re meeting his.

Like most instances involving her, he isn’t sure if he’s winning or losing anymore.

She doesn’t look away, and he can’t bring himself to either. It’s like he’s standing there, split from top to bottom, voluntarily exposed for her to prod at, to ruin. And yet, there’s a bittersweetness to it all.

Her lips aren’t on his, yet she’s looking at him as if she wishes they were.

There’s something taunting in her eyes. Something he might’ve mistaken as a threat if they were in their usual setting, mid-duel in the Undercroft.

A challenge.

It takes him a moment to realize that context shouldn’t matter. This is an invitation for battle, a glaring provocation. He stares.

The sight of her mouth on someone else’s makes bile rise in his throat, makes him so filled with rage and revulsion that he thinks he might suffocate on it all. Yet the sight of her eyes, the sheer amount of longing she’s able to convey in such a short glance, is enough to invigorate him, to channel all his rage and wanting into something else.

His legs move of their own accord.

Her reflexes are as sharp as they are in battle.

The second she sees him coming towards her, she reacts. Murmurs a hurried apology towards her date, who looks so confused Sebastian would almost feel bad for the bloke if he didn’t want to strangle him so violently.

She’s immediately cutting through the crowd towards the opposite direction, her eyes trained on one of the exits. He picks up his speed, but she’s quicker than him, smaller, able to duck through bunches of students with ease, even with her dress hindering her movements.

Adrenaline trickles up his spine. She throws him another glance over her shoulder and smirks, sly and knowing, a look that writhes under his skin in the way her glances always do.

Even if he’s the one chasing her, Sebastian feels awfully like the rodent in their little game of cat and mouse.

They both step into the quiet of the dimly-lit hallway, the sounds of the party bleeding away as the door shuts behind them, casting them in silence.

There’s a split moment where she spins around to look at him, chest heaving. The live-wire tension between them is pulled so taut it’s a miracle the air doesn’t crackle with static.

Neither of them move for a long moment, until her lips curl into a smile.

She breaks into a run and Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat.

He chases after her, his heart pounding with something primal, something instinctive. Like his self-control might slip away from him when he catches her, like he might just sink his teeth into soft flesh, dig his nails into supple skin. She runs as if she’s just as aware of this fact as he is.

He almost wants to punish her for it. Bite and scratch and mark as if in vengeance for her thinking she could ever get away from him. For her forgetting that she’s anything but his, as if she should simply know it by now.

She’s fast, but she’s nearly tripping over the dress she has fisted in her hands, and her heels don’t help. All it takes is for her to stumble around a corner and he’s on her, grabbing her gown, pulling her towards him.

He spins her around, and she grunts when he slams her against the wall. Teeth bared, strands of the elegant updo she’d had her hair in falling down over her shoulders, glittery makeup smeared down her cheeks — she looks like something savage.

For some reason, it makes something deep-set inside Sebastian ache.

“Let go,” she grits, struggling against the hold he has on her wrists, under the weight of his body that has her molded to the wall.

His grip only tightens, frustration simmering low in his gut. Sebastian has never known desire like this, shadowed by fury. Want and anger, love and hate, repulsion and obsession.

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses.

She stills her thrashing in favor of looking up at him through her lashes with an expression so innocent, it’s crucifying.

“Attending a dance?”

His jaw sets. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Why, are you having a hard time keeping up?”

He stares at her for a long moment, jaw working in tandem with his thoughts. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and she tilts her head, amused at how worked up he’s gotten.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says.

“And what’s that?”

“Thinking about how badly you want to kill me, probably,” she says. Her eyes fall to his lips and his breath stops in his throat. “Or kiss me. Haven’t quite worked out which one yet.”

“So certain that they’re mutually exclusive,” he murmurs, his gaze falling to mimic hers despite himself. “I think you forget that I’m very multi-faceted.”

“That I’m aware of,” she tilts her chin up, almost as if inviting him to press his mouth to hers, a siren’s call. “You manage to be mind-numbingly stupid and brilliantly obnoxious, all at the same time.”

He scoffs. “And you manage to be the most infuriating person on the planet.”

She seems starkly proud of the title. “What can I say, I invoke passion.”

“You invoke homicidal thoughts.”

“Not the only kinds of thoughts I invoke in you, is it, Sallow?”

He reddens. He’s spent too many showers hunched over his own fist with silencing charms plastered around the tiles for his response to be anything more than a blurted, evocative reaction.

“Anything you think I feel for you is precisely the opposite. I fucking despise you.”

He only notes a split second after that it’s not an outright denial.

Evidently, so does she. Because then, as if she were made to crawl under his skin, writhe underneath it until his nerves were a mess, she smiles.

What he truly despises is how pretty he finds it.

“You don’t hate me.”

He sneers. “Is that so?”

“Hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is,” she leans in. “And I’d hardly call chasing me through the castle simply because I kissed someone else…indifferent.”

He decides then — or more accurately, his too-horny, too-angry, too-impulsive brain decides for him — to wipe the pleased grin off her face the most effective way he knows how.

With a hand fisted in her hair and his mouth crashing against hers.

It isn’t tender or sweet, nor the remotest definition of kind, but it’s fitting and dreadfully familiar, because it’s not like they’ve ever been nice to one another.

He lets go of her wrists to give her some fighting chance, because he’s cruel, but he prides himself on being fair. Instead of pushing him away, or going for her wand, or doing anything to indicate she doesn’t want this, however, she pulls him in. As if she knows exactly how to bring him to his knees, in any and all contexts, and revels in any opportunity to destroy him.

He almost thinks it’s a trap, another one of her grating ploys, but when she tangles her fingers in his hair and drags her nails down his scalp and kisses him back with just as much fervor as he does, it’s hard to believe it’s simply a farce.

Her tongue finds his and Sebastian wonders if they’ll ever do anything together that doesn’t mimic a battle. She fights for dominance in every stroke of her tongue against his, and his stubbornness refuses to grant her it.

“Fuck,” he groans against her mouth, because he’s learning just how much she kisses the same way she duels.

Dirty, unfair, brutal. Like she’s never been afraid of blood, or getting messy, or breaking things.

She stokes a fire that’s been simmering inside him until it’s red-hot and all-consuming, flames licking at the inside of his throat. He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and bites until he tastes copper, finding some sick form of satisfaction at the pained little whine she lets out.

“You kissed him,” he pants, and there’s something raw in his voice. He rests his forehead against hers and stares at the crimson pooling on her lip. “You kissed him.”

She swallows. “I did.”

Sebastian despises how hurt he sounds. “I could kill him.”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

“I know,” she nods, chest heaving against his. Her voice grows suddenly soft, until it’s barely a whisper. “I wanted it to be you.”

He groans, almost pained. “Did you?”

She nods.

“Has he ever touched you?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell the truth,” he says, fingers threading through the tangled remains of her chignon, tilting her face up towards him so he can meet her eyes. “Did you let him touch you?” He presses a leg between her thighs, barely able to feel her through layers of tulle. “Here?”

“No,” she gasps from the contact, nails scrambling to drag down his forearm. “Never.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, and tips his head down to press against her throat, drags his lips over her jaw. “Only me, hm? Say it.”

She shakes her head and his gaze darkens, pulling back to tighten his fingers still tangled in her hair, to tear a whimper from the back of her throat.

“No? Who then?”

“No one,” she whispers, and despite the tight angle her neck is at, despite the fear dancing behind her eyes, she smiles up at him again. “You haven’t touched me yet, though, have you?”

She’s baiting him, and he’s aware of it, and still it manages to work.

He feels his self-restraint slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sand. There’s traces of scarlet on her teeth he wants to drag his tongue over. He wants to suck the marrow from her bones.

He spins her around, presses her cheek into the cool flagstone of the corridor they’re in, and molds his body to hers.

“S-shit,” she curses when his patience wears thin and he yanks at the fabric hiding her body away from his, pulling at the skirt of her gown until it rips. “Asshole.”

“Looks better this way.”

His fingers coast up her thighs to hook into her knickers, tugging them down before she can protest. She gasps and he smiles against her cheek, pushing her hand away when she tries to cover herself.

He nips at her ear, his hand reaching between her legs to cup her sex, reveling in the way she tries to squirm away from him.

“What’s wrong? Going to act shy now?”

“Someone could see,” she grits, though something in her tone tells him she’s not going to stop him.

“Wouldn’t they be lucky.”

His breath stutters when he finally dips his fingers between her folds and finds how soaked she is. Something about the revelation is dizzying, the notion that she could possibly want this as badly as he does. He grinds his hips into her arse so she’s just as aware of how gone he is.

Immediately, his hand is fumbling with his belt, the other pressing bruises into her hip to keep her still. He kicks her feet open wider, spreading her for him. His fingers flex on her hip in anticipation.

“You have full permission to use any Unforgivables you want on me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. He groans. “You’re not getting me off of you in any other way.”

When she doesn’t make any move for her wand he positions himself at her entrance, rubbing to coat himself in her fluids. Her breathing is heavy against the wall she’s pressed against, her gasps coming out in soft little pants. He revels in them for a long moment.

Then, he’s impaling her and all of her breathing stops. Replaced instead by a strangled sort of sound, as if he’d managed to knock out all of the air in her lungs with a single thrust. His jaw falls slack.

He manages to composure himself enough to murmur in her ear, voice hoarse. “Hurts?”

She chokes out a sob, nodding weakly. Her head falls against the wall, clenching around him as she tries to adjust to his size.

His hips snap forward again, even harsher this time, burying himself to the hilt and tearing a yelp out of her throat. “Good.”

“S–Sebastian—”

He pauses, so deep inside her he can feel every little pulse, hips flush against her arse. “Want me to stop?”

Miraculously, she shakes her head. It’s never like her to back down from a fight, after all.

“Of course,” he chuckles, though it sounds uncharacteristically strained, imprecise. Like he’s losing his grip. His head falls to her shoulder and he moans, grunting feverishly against her skin as he starts a brutal, unforgiving pace. “You can take it. Look so pretty taking it.”

“Please,” she whines. “Too much, I–I can’t,”

“You’re a tough girl,” he whispers, tone vicious despite his words. “You’re going to shut your fucking mouth and take my cock.”

She nods fervently, obediently, and Sebastian thinks he deserves a medal for not finishing right then. He yanks her hips back from the wall, shifting the angle and she gasps when he feels him push in even deeper.

“Oh my God,” she moans. “Good — feels s’good, yes, yes. Plea–please don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice sandpaper-rough. He snakes a hand to her front to rub tight little circles between her legs. “Look at you babbling. Dumb little cock-drunk slut. Can’t even think properly with me inside you like this, can you?”

Her response is too garbled for coherence, a mess of moans and pleas. He groans in a way that’s almost just as saturated with desperation, that tells her she’s not alone in her unraveling. He pulls her head back to smash his lips to her, stifling all kinds of confessions that threaten to escape him.

She breaks the kiss to gasp for air and his fingers swirl against her just right. She tightens. “Gonna — m‘gonna cum,”

“Yeah? Come for me, baby,” his voice breaks on the word, and he’s aware he’s practically begging. He’s too far gone to care, so he scrapes a kiss to her heat-flushed cheek and properly pleads.

“Please. So fucking beautiful. Let me see your pretty face when you come undone for me,” he stares down at her through half-lidded eyes and briefly contemplates the possibility that he’s died and gone to heaven when she looks back at him. “That’s it, look at me.”

He studies her as he sends her over the edge and pulls himself over along with her, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to keep her eyes on his.

The sight is enough to ruin him.

Her makeup a mess from the tear tracks running through them, the hair fisted in his hands in an even worse state, and somehow— she still manages a lopsided smile, as if beyond pleased with herself.

He’s faintly aware of the fact she’s won. He makes peace with the realization.

There’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing to fill the silence in the hallway as Sebastian tries to regain his bearings, still buried inside her. Neither of them move for a long moment, and Sebastian likens it to the peace following a war, a brief period of prosperity.

He’s conscious that it’s temporary.

She winces when he finally pulls out of her, their shared spend trickling down the insides of her thighs, her knees nearly giving out to the point he has to hold her up, even if his own legs feel dreadfully unstable.

It doesn’t take her long for her to detach her body from his own, to duck under his arm and slip away. Panic suddenly seizes his chest, dread trickling up his spine. For some reason, he can’t bear to watch her leave. He opens his mouth to say something—an apology, maybe—but she beats him to it.

“That was fun,” she says plainly, glancing back at him over her shoulder. It’s as if they’d just finished another duel. Hardly anything to bat an eye at. Sebastian is at a remarkable loss for words.

She hasn’t continued down the hallway, but she looks as if she’s prepared to.

He’s faintly aware of the fact he probably looks like a fish right now, jaw still slack.

When he doesn’t say anything, she turns her attention to righting her underthings and fixing the tattered remains of her gown. He watches her.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Suddenly sprung to life by the threat of her absence, he takes a step forward. “I’ll walk you back.”

She snorts. “Ever the gentleman.”

“Unless, you’d like to, uh,” he stares down at his shoes, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I could transfigure something for us in the Undercroft.”

She looks amused. “My god, you’re insatiable.”

He reddens. “I didn’t mean—oh, Salazar, to sleep…I meant to sleep.”

She turns to face him fully and raises her brows. “You’re asking me if I’d like to forego my own bed in order to spend the night with you in a dusty cellar?”

Mortification washes over him. Why would she? He should’ve kept his mouth shut and walked her to her dorm room instead of deluding himself with the notion that this could’ve been anything more than a quick fuck.

She stares at him expectantly and his fingers twitch at his side with the desire to grab his wand and promptly Avada himself.

It’s then that she decides to saunter over to him, taking her time, until she’s right beside him and can tuck her arm into his. She gestures forward, almost impatient.

“Go on then. I’m little spoon.”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #dark sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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mapoeggplant · 3 months

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skip to loafer chapter 58 analyze // spoilers

takamatsu-sensei continues with her beautiful and delicate writing, respecting her characters so that they themselves come into their own at the right moments — extending even to the secondary characters.

when i first opened the chapter and saw kazakami, i confess i was a little surprise. on one hand, exploring more of his character was something i was waiting for so long. on the other, it surprises me how she chose such moment to explore him a little further, but now I understand why she did it.

while we see the ending of the summer trip and mitsumi opening up to her friends as a closure to a long storyline, we do have to keep in mind that it only opened another door, way more tricky to explore. to dive deep into that right away would give her little to no time to explore the other characters that englobes the narrative and makes it function. it’s such an intelligent way to keep the plot flowing and adding more details to it.

well anyways, i digress. let’s focus on kazakami for now:

i’ve seen a lot of people often calling him a little selfish or self centered before, since the little scenes we had with him, his posture were always nonchalant. for me, it always felt like something was off, something he was hiding. not that i was sure about it, it just felt like “hm…this comes from a place of defense”. giving up soccer and focusing on being the president, for exemple, gave me an impression of him trying to find a distraction and a way to keep boosting his curriculum. and now, with more information, i have my doubts.

for kazakami’s backstory, sensei uses a plot she’s been using for a while: the “show not tell”, where she explicit give us a little of said character as a way to keep us going — for shima, the scandal; yasaka, her bedroom; now for kazakami, it was dive. opening the chapter with him pretending to be the main character was a very smart idea. that instantly broke the image we had of him, as this serious, ironical guy, specially after how ch 57 ended. now, we clearly see he’s just a boy with his own story and interests.

that brings the reader closer to kazakami (specially since us, the readers, also love anime and such lol). and she keeps on “showing, not telling” when she choses to show how kazakami is on school first to later expose his life at home.

that wall he build, that nonchalant attitude, it’s all a result of strict parents. it’s not that kazakami doesn’t want to be a normal teenager with interests: he was raised with the mindset of productive rather than pleasure. he was repressed into this box and feels guilty to break from it — by doing that, he’s afraid to sound ungrateful and selfish; that’s why he just swallows his food and accept his fate. the next day, a little more gasoline is added to the fuel. kanechika is the exact opposite of him, the perfect description of “freedom”.

but he also is someone who’s fighting for his dreams, someone who have his parents approval, someone who never let go of his interests and still have a bright future ahead of him. it’s frustrating for kazakami. he had to let go of everything in order to have the same future of the the “authentic” guy who never let go of anything. it’s a slap on the face, specially when kanechika holds dear the same thing as him: dive. the contrast between both characters is amazing and

i’m glad sensei chose to explore both at the same time. yes, we do focus more on kazakami, but we know a little about kanechika’s future and we also know a little more of his personality (i mean, he ran after kazakami just to talk about anime. he is observant, he can see that there is something more there). it’s a balance between narratives to maintain the equilibrium and use kanechika’s kindness as a way to tell more of kazakami’s backstory. but this is a conversation we will only continue when the next chapter is out…

thank you for reading it!! i’m sooo excited with what sensei have in store for us and can’t wait to discuss more with you guys

#i waited for this for so long #I'm so happy we're breaking his wall #also kanechika I love you sm #kanechika #kazakami #skip to loafer #skip and loafer #duckmetas

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nastythangzzz · 3 months

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BTS (OT7) X Female Reader :

You are from the biggest gg ever known to earth, adding to that, You have an innocent & nice personality whom everyone looks up too as a role model. But only YOU and the SEVEN members know what kind of a freak and nasty slut you are, and what goes underneath that innocent mask of you.

Like the usual, both STAR! & BTS have showed up to an award ceremony called “Seoul Music Awards” where every kpop act get congratulated and awarded for their great effort. It’s like a usual day for them, knowing both of them got the most awards & congratulations this night. BTS decided to celebrate by doing their favorite thing. As for STAR! and the rest of the idols, everyone left early except for You (and some of the staff) You were left alone with bts in their dressing room wearing only a thight dress with nothing underneath but only a bare pussy and a big butt plug.

The boys started making their way towards You, they were drunk as hell and so was You. While being drunk, You were sensually dancing and teasing the boys by groping their crotch. Jimin decided to stop the teasing by fully holding you and thus ur bare pussy and butt plug showed up.

“Fuck, you are so hot” Jimin said while parting your legs and letting everyone see ur pussy and ass. Jhope came next to you and started playing with ur butt plug, while pulling it out and putting it back, while Jin came by ur side and started slapping ur pussy and spreading ur folds, everyone was amazed by your pussy all while whispering dirty words to you and you knew she was for in a long ride this night. You were then put in front of one of the boys’ makeup desk with a mirror, your pussy was spread open and so many makeup tools were being showed in your pussy. You can’t get enough of it, you loves having different sensations in ur pussy. Jin started by shoving a long & thick brush in ur pussy while playing with ur clit. Another member was playing with ur butt plug and another one was holding ur face and slapping it all while saying profanities.

“Fucken Slut!! You like that hmm?” Hobi said while repeatedly slapping and spitting on your face.

Namjoon noticed his microphone laying next to the table and immediately got it and shoved it right through Your pussy, it was a new sensation for you to have a microphone inside of you and you were so smitten n happy about it.

He spent a minute playing with his microphone inside your pussy until you started squirting while letting obscene & loud moans. At the same time, hobi left out your butt plug long ago and was fisting your ass with his full hand. A white liquid came out ur pussy at the same time and englobed namjoon’s microphone, the boys couldn’t get enough of this sight as Jin pulled his phone out and took a video of him spreading and playing with your messy wet pussy and gaped asshole.

“Fuck, this is so good… I want MOREEE” You shouted as namjoon pulled the microphone out ur pussy roughly and shoved it down ur asshole.

"Get down on your knees whore” Taehyung demanded.

You gets down on her knees with the microphone still on your ass as they all form a circle around you unbuttoning their pants and letting out their hard throbbing cocks. All of them stands in front of you slapping their cocks in ur face at the same time.

“You fuckin whore..” Namjoon said as he slams his cock down your throat.

You were being roughly fucked on your face gagging on namjoon’s cock, holding yoongi’s & jungkook’s cocks in your hands, jacking them off while jimin and taehyung were pinching n sucking on your nipples and hobi being the last one was playing behind your back with the microphone inside your asshole. You stopped jacking off yoongi’s cock with your right hand and immediately went down your pussy and started rubbing it, you started slapping it repeatedly then shoved four fingers inside and started fucking yourself while at the same time hobi was fucking your asshole with the microphone filled and encircled with your thick cum and squirting.

"Mmmm Fuck. Fuck me like the dirty slut I am” You said while continuing jacking and sucking the boys off.

“You like that bitch hmm? You can never get enough even if both of your slutty gaped pussy and ass are full with different things? “

“Now open your mouth bitch” Jin said while holding your face, slapping it and spitting inside and outside your mouth. Then the rest of the boys made it their mission to spray you also with their spit and smearing it along your face until your whole make up came out cakey and slippery.

Taehyung dragged you unexpectedly by the hair, held you on the air and immediately shoved his cock towards you pussy. you let out a loud moan in the second you got filled with his cock, he started brutally fucking and thrusting into you as you bounce back on his cock repeatedly. He stopped for a second as Jimin went behind your back and immediately shoved his cock into your ass. You were being completely sandwiched between the boys, both of them started fucking into you harder, harder and at the same time.

The other boys were standing next to you, jacking their cocks off all while at the same time they were repeatedly kissing your face, leaving hickeys, screaming profanities into your ears and slapping your face multiple times.

You let out loud & sexy moans as you were close to cum. The boys were not helping as they were also pinching and rubbing your clit as you felt like you were gonna squirt.

“please….. im so fuckin close” You moaned softly

You collapsed on jimin breathing heavily as he still hold you on his arms, your head laying on him. Taehyung pulled out of you, long tail of white cum following him while jimin was still inside your ass. Your legs were being spread then yoongi harshly and roughly fingered your pussy until you started squirting. Him and taehyung both ran the tip of their cocks over your folds as squirt continued to splash them both in their faces. As if it wasn’t enough, Jungkook shoved his whole fist into your pussy, fucking his whole fist back and forth into you as again squirt continued to splash everyone and everything.

You didn’t get to have their cum inside you but them fingering and fisting the squirt outta you also made you see stars. You was then thrown like a rag doll into namjoon arms as he quickly sat on the ground with you on the top, and positioned his cock on your asshole while you are facing him back, spreading your back and letting everyone see the state of your pussy and face. Jungkook came and sat also on the ground next to joon and quickly trusted his dick on your asshole. Now you had two cocks inside your ass while your pussy was being left alone and wide open for the rest of the boys to see and jack off about.

“FUCK” you scream loud from the pain and impact of having two cocks inside your ass at the same time but it quickly switched to pleasure, intense and loud moaning as you close your eyes and let the boys take care of you.

As you close your eyes, the boys suddenly stopped thrusting into your ass, you quickly opened it just to find yoongi kneeling to your face and kissing it as he shoved his cock into your pussy. Yoongi pushed himself deeper into you slowly till he bottomed you up. They started thrusting in and out slowly, gently at first letting you get adjusted to the feeling of three cocks in your slutty holes.

Now the three of them get to fuck you at the same time, they were thrusting and fucking you at the same time. You started moaning loudly as they began to fuck you roughly and brutally all while yelling profanities and insults at you.

The room was filled with heavy breathings, loud moans, slapping and dirty talk. It’s sure that some of the staff outside heard your moans and the sound of skin slapping but hey you like it you love being the slut of those 7 boys.

You were about to cum hard, panting and breathing heavily while feeling your orgasm starting to build up. And so you cummed while panting and bitting your lips. You collapsed on the ground, the three cocks left your holes long ago as squirt & cum rushed out of your holes like a waterfall. But you still hadn’t have enough of them and their cocks.

All was left are jin and jhope. They held you in the air and quickly shoved their cocks into you. Jin inside your pussy and jhope inside your ass. They spent some minutes thrusting and fucking into you harder and harder. Both of your pussy and ass were letting obscene and divine sounds, with so much cum oozing out your pussy while being fucked by Jin. They were all about to cum hard.

“Let’s all cum on her face!! on your knees BITCH” Jhope yelled as he took you by your hair and made you roughly sit on the ground. All the boys encircled you, pumping their cocks off aggressively to your face. Not only that but Jungkook held you on his arms, spread your legs and let everyone cum to your pussy. Both of your face and pussy were sticky from their cum and you loved it so much. You took a bunch of it with your fingers and shoved it to both your face & pussy like a dirty slut.

“Now comes the time to humiliate you more..” namjoon said while putting you on your knees.

You had namjoon’s belt put around your neck and you were being walked like a dog following their masters in a park. You were naked and filled with their sticky and delicious cum. The boys made it their mission to walk you naked outside their dressing room. Luckily, the staff was on the other leg of the arena so no one saw you but still it was an exciting moment that made you more horny and wet.

#bts ot7 smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #taehyung smut #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jhope smut #jin smut #jimin smut #bts reader

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zaewriteshere · 8 months

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Need a Tentacle ?

AO3 Link

Eddie was horny.

It’s been a while since he had time to take care of himself, much less hook-up with anyone, since he and venom became a thing.

To say that he was reaching his limit would be pretty on point.

… He could have some alone time.

He seriously doubted the symbiote would mind, or even partake in the activity.

Speaking of which, they were dormant.

Had been all morning.

He figured it would be the best moment to relieve himself of his need, he thought as he was getting comfortable in the bed.

Taking his pants and boxers down, he freed his semi hardened cock as he took his phone out to watch some porn to get him going.

Immediately going to the “gay porn” category, he immediately saw a male threesome video.

The way his dick twitched and hardened at the image didn’t escape him.

Pressing play, he started to slowly jerk off at the slow build up of the media, his limb hardening with every stroke and moan.

He started groaning himself, his sensitive cock begging to pick up the pace, but he resisted.

He wanted to take his time.

It was only when the actors started to get rougher themselves, that Eddie allowed himself to go faster, moaning loudly while doing so.

“Need some help ?” The voice resonated in his skull, making him freeze mid stroke. “Aw, don’t stop now, we were just getting to the fun part,” the symbiote whined, a black tendril getting dangerously close to his dick.

“What are you doing ?” Whispered aggressively Eddie.

“Helping each other out ~” Chimed Venom, small tentacle wrapping itself around the limb, and thickening to englobe the entirety of it.

He expected it to be cold and sticky.

Instead, the feeling around his length was warm and moist, as if being inside a vagina.

A small moan escaped his lips when the symbiote started moving slowly, as if testing his reaction.

They seemed to like that noise, so they repeated the movement, more confident, more intense.

He moaned louder, his hips subconsciously trusting upwards.

Too focused on the tentacle around his girth, he didn’t notice the one snaking around his neck or his wrists.

Dropping the phone out of surprise when he saw the latter, Venom took this opportunity to bind both of his hands firmly above his head.

Opening his mouth to ask what they were thinking, the tentacle around his throat tightened its grip, not too much as to not restrict airflow, but enough for Eddie to feel it.

At the same time, the tentacle around his cock started stroking it faster and harder, making him moan louder and louder.

“You’re doing so well, Eddie,” Praised Venom, barely above a whisper, but the words just echoed in his brain.

His dick twitched at the praise.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“You like that, don’t you ? Being taken care of like the good boy you are ?” There was a smile in their voice.

He was growing lightheaded, but he nodded, the movement making everything spin around him.

The symbiote released the tension around his neck, and slowly, blood came back to feed his brain.

He was getting closer to cumming, with the rapid movement.

He could tell they knew, too, with how much more intense the jerking became.

It didn’t take him much longer to cum hard in the tentacle, and he threw his head back as he arched his spine.

Eddie thought that would be it.

In his dazed mind, he barely noticed the grip around his wrist tightening, and his legs being spread apart.

He did notice however, the thick tendril previously around his cock nearing his entrance and forcing its now phallic shape into his hole.

“W-wait,” He started, but didn’t get much more of a chance to speak more as the head entered him.

He noticed it was significantly smaller than he remembered.

Then the shape grew thicker with every inch getting into his body.

The slow build up, the warm and the moisture…

The fact that he was at Venom’s mercy…

He was ashamed of how turned on he was, even right after cumming.

“You’re taking me so well, Eddie,” The voice mused, slowly thrusting in and out of him, getting thicker each thrust.

He felt like he was being stretched beyond his limits.

But it felt so good.

“Ha-harder,” He asked, thrusting his hips, allowing himself to be as needy as he wanted.

Venom complied, immediately railing him as he screamed and moaned.

He felt another tendril, much like the one inside of him, coil around his twitching cock.

It started to jerk him off, much like previously, which only made him grow louder.

He felt the tentacle around his neck tighten once again in a similar manner.

Then, the limb inside of him thrusted hard into his prostate.

Arching his back, he begged Venom to keep hitting him there.

The alien complied, going to an inhumane pace for both stimuli.

Eddie came, just as much as before, but much more intensely.

They didn’t stop, however.

When he tried to beg them to slow down, the tendril newly filled with his cum went right into his mouth, as a third one continued to jerk him off.

Sucking and licking the tendril in his mouth, he could only show his appreciation with muffled moans and whimpers.

He was spasming, being stimulated - and overstimulated in some places - in ways he never thought possible, and he was taking great pleasure in that.

Though the pace of the tentacle in his mouth was soon to be too fast for him to keep up, so he just gave up sucking and let the symbiote do whatever they saw fit to him and his body.

“You’re doing so good, I’m so proud of you,” They praised, which sent a wave of pleasure down his spine.

The tentacle inside of him grew somehow thicker while the one inside his mouth grew longer, having it deep inside of his throat with each thrust.

Venom’s pace grew erratic, uneven and desperate.

He had been with enough partners to know what this meant.

He was getting close, too, the newfound speed helping him getting closer to bliss.

“Be a good boy and cum for me,” Gently ordered the symbiote as he hammered into his sensitive prostate.

He scream got muffled by the tentacle in his mouth as he came for a third time.

Venom didn’t immediately stop, though.

Somehow getting more erratic and quick, they maintained this pace for a few more minutes before releasing Eddie’s own cum inside of him, on his torso and his mouth.

He was forced to swallow.

He was a whimpering mess, each touch giving him full body spasm.

“You did well… We should definitely do that again,” They stated.

Eddie could only nod in agreement.

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #venom symbiote #eddie brock #venom x eddie #smut #venom smut #eddie brock smut

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thebusylilbee · 5 days

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"Un café crème et une minute, voire deux, de réflexion. Nawel (1) est à la recherche des mots pour décrire ses sentiments. La trentenaire est «chargée de sécurité en ligne» pour un média social. Elle a «galéré» pour se faire embaucher. La faute à quoi ? Son nom, son prénom et sa religion, dit-elle dans une brasserie parisienne proche de la place de la République. «Je fais attention à ne pas tomber dans la colère parce qu’on nous refuse le droit à la colère. Elle est per��ue comme une forme de violence alors que nous la subissons au quotidien.» Le «nous» englobe de nombreux Français musulmans diplômés. Ils dénoncent une atmosphère «pesante» dans le monde du travail, les médias et l’espace public. Ils ne supportent plus les regards de travers les jours qui suivent les attentats, la «suspicion» et les débats politiques. Une vie avec la «boule au ventre», disent-ils.

Aïcha (1) qui enseigne la littérature dans le Val-de-Marne garde encore en elle la souffrance lorsqu’un collègue lui a posé une question après l’attaque du Hamas en Israël le 7 octobre. Elle était installée en train de boire son café en pianotant sur son téléphone dans la salle des professeurs. Tout était calme. Puis : «Et toi Aïcha, tu es bien silencieuse, ça ne te fait rien ce qui vient de se passer ?» Elle a fondu en larmes dans sa voiture sur le chemin du retour. En arrivant à son domicile, Aïcha a demandé à son compagnon : «Pourquoi on reste encore ici alors qu’on pourrait être respectés ailleurs ?»

«On se bat pour se faire embaucher»

Le ressenti est documenté. Trois sociologues ont mené une enquête. Olivier Esteves, Alice Picard et Julien Talpin ont interrogé une partie de cette «élite minoritaire» – appuyée sur un échantillon quantitatif de plus de 1 000 personnes et sur 140 entretiens approfondis – qui a décidé de quitter la France pour s’installer à Londres, Dubaï, New York, Casablanca, Montréal. Ils ont en fait un livre, La France, tu l’aimes mais tu la quittes (Seuil). Les interrogés racontent les raisons de l’exil : discrimination, stigmatisation et difficultés à grimper dans le fameux ascenseur social. Libération a rencontré une dizaine de jeunes diplômés musulmans – pratiquants ou non – qui travaillent actuellement en France mais qui pensent chaque jour un peu plus à l’exil. Nous en avons également croisé qui ont passé le cap ; celui de vivre ailleurs.

Le recteur de la grande mosquée de Bordeaux, le médiatique Tareq Oubrou, perçoit le phénomène. «Le malaise est profond chez les musulmans et ne l’a jamais autant été. Il y a de grandes interrogations, une angoisse même face à l’avenir politique et social d’une France qui se crispe», explique cette figure de l’islam de France. Combien ont passé la frontière ? Les chiffres n’existent pas.

Salim est ingénieur dans la téléphonie. «J’en parle presque tous les jours avec des copains, dit-il en introduction. Nous sommes nombreux à ressentir la même chose. On se bat pour se faire embaucher et on galère pour être promu. Récemment, mon collègue qui a été nommé chef d’équipe a été gêné. Il n’arrive même plus à me regarder dans les yeux. Je suis arrivé avant lui et j’ai fait de meilleures écoles que lui. Je suis vu comme le mec sympa qui fait des blagues, qui devrait remercier chaque matin ses patrons d’être là.» Le trentenaire est en train de se laisser convaincre par son cousin à Londres. Il gagne le double de son salaire mais pas seulement. Salim regarde le plafond, s’évade et revient parmi nous : «Personne ne lui fait de réflexions pendant le ramadan ou après une attaque terroriste. Il n’est pas vu comme un arabe ou un musulman mais comme un ingénieur français.»

«Je me suis sentie entièrement française»

Dans la brasserie parisienne, Nawel commande un second café crème et déroule le câble de sa trajectoire. C’est la petite dernière des huit enfants de la famille. Ses parents ont quitté le Maroc à la fin des années 60 pour s’installer dans l’Yonne. Le daron à l’usine et la daronne avec la marmaille. La famille déménage un peu plus tard dans un petit village du Loir-et-Cher. «Mon père est devenu bûcheron. Les premiers temps étaient compliqués dans le village. Il y avait beaucoup de racisme, nous étions la seule famille arabe du coin. Mais notre famille nombreuse a sauvé l’équipe de foot, la fanfare et l’école du village.» Après un bac littéraire, la petite dernière se lance dans la sociologie. Elle se retrouve à Londres grâce au programme Erasmus. Tout change. «Je rencontre des gens du monde entier et plus personne ne me méprise, dit-elle. Je n’avais plus besoin de me justifier ou d’avoir honte de ce que je suis. Et, pour la première fois de ma vie, je me suis sentie entièrement française.» Cette dernière phrase reviendra souvent tout au long de nos rencontres avec les expatriés.

Nawel se cherche à son retour. Elle se lance dans le journalisme, un milieu où l’entre-soi est roi et la diversité (surtout dans les postes à responsabilité) un songe. Elle galère, enchaîne les petits jobs pour payer les factures. Elle décide de partir pour Dublin, en Irlande, où elle se retrouve – après avoir vendu des sandwichs – modératrice de contenus pour Facebook. Elle gravit les échelons en interne et change de boîte. Airbnb puis Twitter (devenu X). La vie est belle. Un bon salaire et des responsabilités. Nawel décide de rentrer en France après sept années en Irlande. «Je pensais que ça allait bien se passer. J’avais fait mes preuves dans de grosses boîtes, mais non. Je postule à un tas de trucs mais je n’ai aucune réponse. Je galère aussi pour trouver un appartement à Paris. J’avais des offres d’emploi toutes les semaines en Irlande et pas une depuis mon retour en France.» Elle ne lâche pas l’affaire. La «chargée de sécurité en ligne» décroche deux entretiens. Deux réponses positives. Elle ne croit pas au hasard : «J’ai eu un entretien avec un directeur des ressources humaines maghrébin et le second, c’était en visioconférence avec un Afro-Américain parce que c’est une entreprise américaine.»

Pour Amara, 24 ans, la religion en France reste un «tabou», surtout dans le cadre professionnel. (Dorian Prost/Libération )

La jeunesse diplômée qui pense à l’exil se ressemble dans le regard de ceux qui mettent dans le même sac les enfants d’immigrés nés en France. «Nous sommes différents. Tous les Arabes ne sont pas musulmans et tous les musulmans ne sont pas Arabes, explique Salim. Et chez les croyants, les degrés de pratique varient mais de nombreuses personnes ne cherchent pas à comprendre.» Les pratiquants, notamment les femmes voilées, sont nombreux à se projeter loin de la France ; pas forcément dans des pays musulmans.

«On est obligés de cacher un peu notre identité»

Cap au Nord. Ils ont tous les deux un parcours brillant : étudiante en M1 dans une grande école lilloise pour l’une ; en dernière année de Centrale-Lille, cursus ingénieur en développement applications mobiles et web, pour l’autre. Fatima (1), 22 ans, a grandi à Roubaix, immigration de troisième génération. Ses grands-parents, habitants de l’Algérie française, sont arrivés en métropole dans les années 50. Amara, 24 ans, originaire de banlieue parisienne, a des parents venant d’Afrique subsaharienne : Côte-d’Ivoire pour le père, Guinée pour la mère. Tous les deux, si différents dans leur histoire, partagent le même désir d’ailleurs. «Rester reviendrait à vivre dans un pays où on ne se sent pas à 100 % acceptés», résume Fatima, voile kaki accordé à sa chemise vintage, chinée en friperie, et jeans blanc. Amara approuve : «Je voudrais trouver un pays où je peux pratiquer ma religion dans des conditions plus propices.» Il dit qu’en France, la religion reste un «tabou», surtout dans le cadre professionnel. Un regret ? «On est dans le pays où on a grandi, on fait la culture de ce pays, mais on est obligés de cacher un peu notre identité.»

Fatima souffre, elle, de l’image des musulmans issus des quartiers populaires. «On les associe dans l’imaginaire collectif à délinquance et à communautarisme. Et on nous confond avec des terroristes», soupire-t-elle. Le retour de Berlin, après un séjour Erasmus, a été dur. «Deux jours après, c’était l’annonce de l’interdiction de l’abaya. Je ne me sens pas vraiment concernée, je n’aime pas porter des robes, mais après Berlin, où tout le monde se respecte…» Elle porte le voile depuis trois ans. Dans son école lilloise, elle n’a subi aucune discrimination, de la part des profs comme des élèves. Juste parfois des étonnements maladroits quand on constate qu’elle ne parle pas arabe ou que ses parents sont français. Elle flippe pour les entretiens d’embauche. Elle a une autre peur, que l’extrême droite arrive au pouvoir. Pour ces raisons, elle prévoit de chercher du travail au Canada ou en Grande-Bretagne. «Soit on reste et on aide au développement de sa ville, soupire-t-elle. Soit on part, avec un sentiment de culpabilité. La France a investi sur moi, mais cela ne lui profitera peut-être pas. Je n’ai pas l’impression qu’elle se rende compte de cette perte.»

Amel a une phobie : l’avion. Elle traverse les mers et les océans pour rejoindre les différents continents. Elle a vécu un temps au Brésil. Puis un long moment à Dubaï. Elle raconte toujours un tas d’histoires. Ses traversées en cargo ou en voiliers. «J’ai toujours su que je quitterais la France après mes études, explique l’ancienne étudiante en école de commerce. Je n’ai jamais été une victime directe de racisme mais je sentais que j’aurais moins de barrières ailleurs et qu’on ne me jugerait pas.» Amel a créé plusieurs entreprises à Dubaï dans la cosmétique. Elle travaille aussi dans la finance. Dans un café du IIe arrondissement de Paris, la trentenaire pose une question qui paraît banale : «Pourquoi les choses ne changent pas ?» Elle ne cherche pas la réponse. Elle refuse de parler de «regrets» ou de «gâchis». Elle préfère dire «tant pis» pour la France. Son retour à Dubaï est programmé pour les prochaines semaines. Elle cherche un voilier pour embarquer.

Du racisme ordinaire devenu «monnaie courante»

Omar est ingénieur en informatique. Il a tout quitté du jour au lendemain pour la Californie. Une décision «difficile mais réfléchie», «contrainte aussi». Le trentenaire, fils de Marocains, est musulman pratiquant. Il y a six mois, il était encore «bien installé». Omar a traversé le monde pour s’établir à Los Angeles avec sa femme Nadia, 30 ans, chercheuse en biologie, et leurs deux enfants de 3 et 8 ans. La réponse à «une atmosphère islamophobe» devenue trop pesante. «Nos proches nous manquent, mais on ne veut plus se cacher par peur d’être jugés», dit-il. La réalité ? Un «incident» leur a fait franchir le pas l’an dernier. «Nadia a été dénoncée par des collègues car elle portait le voile dans son laboratoire.» Des questions de sécurité ont été mises en avant. Une «fausse excuse», selon Omar, qui insiste pour dire que sa femme travaille désormais dans l’un des plus grands hôpitaux de Californie «sans que cela ne leur pose de problème». Dans son entourage, leur cas n’est pas isolé, ses deux sœurs, dont il préfère taire la profession, sont parties en Angleterre pour les mêmes raisons.

La trentenaire Amel a préféré dire «tant pis» à la France et partir vivre à Dubaï. (Marie Rouge/Libération)

Facky, lui, raconte un tas d’anecdotes. Diplômé d’école d’ingénieur l’an dernier, il a sauté le pas il y a quatre mois pour rejoindre le Japon. Une parenthèse pour le moment. Il compte y apprendre la langue, pendant un an, et, s’il s’y plaît, s’y installer définitivement. Ici ou ailleurs mais pas en France. «J’aime mon pays mais malheureusement je n’ai plus vraiment l’espoir de vivre sereinement quand on te répète tous les jours que tu n’es pas chez toi en France.» Il raconte des expériences. Du racisme ordinaire devenu «monnaie courante». Cette fois, lors d’un contrôle d’identité alors qu’il attend sa mère, où quatre policiers le mettent en joue par crainte de ce qu’il peut avoir dans son sac. Un flingue pointé sur sa tête. Ou alors, «moins grave», mais tout aussi «fatiguant», lorsqu’un caissier de supermarché refuse de passer ses articles. Dernier épisode en date, il y a un mois, dans l’avion le ramenant en France pendant le ramadan. Il explique au personnel de bord qu’il jeûne. Une femme, assise à portée de la conversation, juge bon de donner son avis : «On est au Japon ou à Kaboul là ?»

Dans la brasserie parisienne, Nawel regarde l’heure. Elle doit retourner travailler. La pause est terminée. Une ultime question : partir ou rester en France ? «Je parle cinq langues et j’ai fait mes preuves mais mon pays a du mal à reconnaître mes compétences. C’est triste. Nos parents sont venus ici pour travailler sans faire de vagues. Ils ont accepté beaucoup de choses que je ne pourrais jamais accepter.» Nouvelle hésitation. Nouveau silence. Puis : «Je n’ai pas envie de faire semblant ou de jouer à la meuf sympa pour me faire une place. C’est terminé cette époque. Peut-être que demain j’aurai des enfants et je ne veux pas qu’ils grandissent dans une ambiance ou il faut toujours montrer patte blanche ou se justifier.» "

(1) Les prénoms ont été modifiés.

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