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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 1 year ago

Text

to leave the blood stay in the veins

monster!könig x f!rcursed!reader (no use of 'y/n') 6.6k words NSFW!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️CW: extremely NSFW, descriptions of gore, implied consumption of human flesh by a non-human monster, mention of necrotic curse, monsterfucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting (no omegaverse), outdoor sex, ambiguous ending, pre-established relationship, 0% proofread, könig and reader are both fucking unhinged.

Day 01 of the Haunted Hoedown Challenge by @/inklore

taboo au (monsterfucking) + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." + oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

There is a beast in the woods, and it leaves so little meat on the bone that not even carrion birds find value in the corpses it leaves behind.

It’s a strange town in the foothills of the Austrian Alps, full of little sicknesses hiding in the corners, and you learned them well when you moved here. No one goes past the treeline at night. Hardly anyone is outside of home if they can help it. Tourists are the beast’s fodder.

Your boyfriend thinks it’s funny.

König, under his ever-present hood–a not altogether uncommon sight in your town, people come here when they have something to hide, something they are uncomfortable with or find hideous in themselves, and he has given an unimaginable amount for you out of love–laughs, sharp in the tooth.

“Anyone dumb enough to head into the trees is dumb enough to die,” he teases, but there is an arrogance and a contempt swimming deep in his bloodshot blue eyes.

“That’s coldblooded, but not wrong,” you tell him, from behind your own mask. Plain thing, blank in expression, modeled from the one from Eyes Without A Face. It covers the ravages of a curse, numb necrosis slowly spreading up your face through the years. “I still want you to get me a gun.”

“What’s a gun going to do against a thing like that?” he asks, tilting his head, the hood bagging off the curled horns that start at his temples and sweep back over his ears. “Something like that, you need silver. I’ll get you a knife. Big one. Nice and fucking sharp, Schatzi.”

The knife isn’t a comfort when the beast begins to hunt in town. It stalks from house to house, preying on people in their beds, their living rooms, their bathtubs–there is no rhyme or reason, not a whit of discernable pattern.

Only teeth-gouged bones and viscera ground into wall, tile, and carpet alike. Your neighbor falls victim, and you watch the police from your window, flinching when a veteran officer stumbles out into the fall-frosted grass to vomit, sobbing and pulling his hair.

“It got Emil,” you say, still watching through your sheer curtains.

König nearly cackles from your bed, lounging as he visits. “Good. Emil was a piece of shit. Depperte Fut.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, over your shoulder, before returning back to the circus in the yard next door. “‘Stupid cunt’ is a pretty strong insult. He was an asshole, but I don’t think he deserved to die like that,” you mumble.

“You don’t know all that much about your neighbors, Schatzi.”

You begin to rock side-to-side on your hips, the enormous silver blade König gifted you turning over and over in your hands, the point digging lightly into your palm.

It’s insane, the way you begin to tell yourself that you’ve seen König’s face nearly everyday for the last two years—you can see it right now. He lies on your bed, pointed teeth gleaming under his split philtrum in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp and the red-blue flash of the cruisers. You know there is a man under the hood, however odd and satyr-seeming.

And yet. And yet.

The blade digs a little too deep, drawing a curse-blackened bead of blood. König’s eyes burn into the back of your neck, and you can only guess his horizontal pupils dilate into black holes.

Just quit your job. I’ll take care of you.

It’s a simple enough promise, and one you know König will keep, but not one you’re willing to make. You have few shreds of independence, hard-bought through years of fighting back against misfortunes and setbacks, and, no matter the depths with which you love him, you’re not willing to trade your shit wage on faith for love of a man. It doesn’t matter how helplessly besotted he is.

It’s this molar-cracking grit that delivers you right to the beast. Because you were forced to pick up an extra half shift at the hotel to fold towels behind the front desk, because you needed the money, because you wanted to pay back your beautiful, bloodthirsty boyfriend for the ridiculous blade he begat you.

The god forsaken thing lumbers down a deserted street, blocks from your little rental, and something fucking horrendous seizes you. It’s enormous, walking on cloven hooves and back-bent legs. Its arms are too fucking long, clawed, jagged. And worst is the skull, bleached white and glowing like a beacon in the dark, an enormous rack of brutally sharp horns dripping trinkets of bone and gold that glints in the street lamp it approaches.

A horrible fact hits you. It’s not lumbering, it’s wandering. Putting a massive, craggy hand on fences and peering into houses, taking its time, evaluating. You swear you can almost hear it humming.

You don’t know when your hand found the handle of the silver blade strapped to your belt under your coat, but the leather on the grip bites your palm with the force of your grip, a nauseous, cold sweat terror tearing apart your ability to think.

It’s a primal fear, one that makes you want to protect your soft, vulnerable neck, even if the blood that warms it runs venomous.

It’s a bad choice, but there are no good ones. When the beast lifts its head and scents the air, skull snapping your direction and shaking its grisly trophies, you run. You snap the huge blade off your hip and drop into a dead sprint, cutting between yards, trying to escape the horrendous bellow that reverberates through the bony chambers of the monster’s skull.

Choosing to run instead of freezing maybe bought you a few extra minutes before death decided it was time to seize your pulse in reclamation, and it hurts. The physical exertion it takes to bomb through the last stretches of suburbia before the forest closes in feels like you are breaking every bit of your body by forced choice, listening to that awful fucking thing chase after you.

Your blade makes a slicing sound cutting through the air at your side, the monster’s hooves pound the dirt as it digs in and chases after you, but, good god, it doesn’t sound like it’s even trying.

You don’t dare look back, pushing your body past agony, your lungs shredding in your chest. You’ve never moved this fast, you’ve never run this hard for this long. Your body is TV static—hissing, popping, distant—and, insanely, the urge to cry drills into your eye sockets.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to fucking die, stupidly and dumbly and pointlessly, because you wanted to pay your boyfriend a stupid sum of fucking money, for a stupid fucking knife that he bought you on a stupid fucking joke.

Two meters from the second worst decision of your life, the monster snaps out, rough hand between your shoulder blades, crashing you into the goddamned dirt. Your eyebrow splits on a tree root, your eyes roll in the back of your head, your hand stays manically tight on the blade, slicing your other arm.

“Schaaaatzi,” the miserable fucking thing hisses, pressing that same hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you into the freezing dirt.

Oh, god, no, it has König’s voice. It’s—it’s not him, but it has his voice, thin and washed out as low-hung fog, but you would know that voice. In hell, in high water, in the dirt with a massive, bark-rough hand grinding your skin raw through your coat—you - know - his - voice.

Furiously, you slash the blade over your head, behind your back, screaming and digging your feet in the dirt. For a brief second, as you hack at the wood of the monster’s hand and wrist, you’re even able to push yourself off the ground by mere inches. The beast growls and shoves you back down twice as hard, knocking the wind out of you, spasming your hand open. The knife drops, and you begin to blindly try digging and dragging yourself away.

“Stop…hurting…me,” the beast lows, still in your boyfriend’s voice, and you imagine a bathtub full of gnawed bones, a living room with scattered body parts, your kitchen smeared with blood like cave wall art, and you start to scream as loud as your lungs will allow, your mask filling with dirt in your horrendous and futile bid to escape. Bloody murder bellows, filled with rage, wanting to kill and consume and conflagrate.

If König is dead, you will take your pound of flesh. You will either die fighting, or win, and you will hack apart this freak-fuck’s corpse to burn in your woodstove to warm your home. You’ll mount its fucking skull on your front door, so anything else in these woods will know you won’t hesitate to make trophies of them either.

Bone, warm to the touch, presses against the back of your head. When it breathes, the air is as hot as exhaust, almost scalding your back. “Schatzi,” it bids you slowly once again.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” it rips your throat raw to shriek it, reaching back and almost dislocating your arms to rip at anything you can. Your hands fall on the dressings attached to its horns, you tear off a vertebra, and a gold wedding band, and a bracelet of rave kandi in plastic beads. “IF YOU HURT HIM, I’LL YOU FUCKING KILL YOU!”

The head presses harder, driving your face into the dirt. There is something desperate in the pressure. It spits all at once, grating and wide in a voice you know better than your own, “You pissed off a fucking witch, because you ran out of riddles to tell her, when she was ransoming you to your arshloch grandmother. She never paid. That’s why you were cursed—no one gave a fuck. But I gave her my face for you, to stop it halfway, better than fucking nothing.”

Your rage freezes immediately, your chest heaving under the weight it presses down on you.

No one knows that. Only König. He’s the only person who would know about his lonely and quiet climb up to the Scottish highlands. Besides you, and the witch, König is the only one who would know why his human face was distorted, malformed, made animalistic.

“Lee?” you pant, unleashing part of his first name, the only one he ever tolerates. And, fuck, instantly the pressure pulls away, the skull rubbing against your back to soothe it.

“It’s me, Schatzi,” the slow voice promises, nuzzling you. There’s rustling above you that you don’t dare turn to see. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A tinkling piece of jewelry lowers in front of your eyes, and you can see that it dangles from an enormous, ligneous finger. You’re being shown a sterling silver charm bracelet. You’re being shown your bracelet, the one you thought you had lost months ago.

Your hand shoots out, wrapping around the finger, the peeling bark shearing off under your grip. You find instantly that you can pull yourself up on your hip, sitting, caged and protected under the beast’s massive body—under König’s massive body.

He shifts back onto his digitagrade haunches, holding himself over you, still offering your bracelet. He shudders at your touch on his hand, and you imagine that he may’ve never been handled with kindness in this shape. Which makes a certain amount of sense. Because he fucking kills and eats people.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, staring dead into the hollow sockets of his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, turning his head. “Why—you have me so fucked up—what have you been thinking—?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you have to—”

“Yes, I have to, fucker.” It’s impossible to wrap your head around the magnitude of what a simple secret and a silver bracelet has done to your understanding of the world. A complete unraveling—upheaval, utterly.

You take the bracelet from his finger, on which it fits like a ring, and push it into your wrist, sitting up on your knees and grabbing him by the underside of his jaw. Though it puts you in his blind spot, staring dead center at the sinus dimples between his eyes, it feels like you have a mote of power over him.

(If he were asked, he would say the power you hold over him could corrupt, absolutely. He would badly like you to ask someday.)

“Why are you—what are you? Have you always been like this? Or was this new, with the fucking witch? Are—Jesus Christ—why are—the monster isn’t supposed to come into town, why are you in TOWN?” you run off at the mouth, words stalling and crashing and fusing together as your thoughts overwhelm just how quickly you can speak.

And up from that impossibly deep throat–simultaneously from the center of your brain, and from all around you all at once–crawls König’s pitchy hyena-laugh, edged, always, with cruelty. He butts the jagged end of his nasal cavities into your stomach, catching on the threads of your sweater.

“Leshy, Schatzi, say it for me.”

Your hands pull his jaw closer, digging the bone into your stomach, wondering if he can feel the pressure of your deep breathing. Oh, fuck, you could crack. This is your König. You start to wonder how many of his perverse buttons you can hit, the part of you that felt shame for your attraction to what the world discarded as ‘ugly’ long ago removed from your emotional bank.

“Leshy,” you say, really leaning into the word, saying it deep in your chest. One of your hands travels the long length to the hinge of his jaw, gripping tight, directing his head to turn so you can meet one of his empty eyes. “Answer my fucking questions.”

The laugh doesn’t come this time. In its place is a near-violent whole-body shudder that wracks through you.

“Old! Alwaaays been this way,” and even in the strange disconnect of his voice from his physical form, you can tell his arousal is eating away at him in big bites–clipping his speech, broiling his brain with body heat, “can’t remember ever being young, haa-haa. And why do you think I’m hunting in town?”

Another trap, a stupid pop quiz, wanting to test your knowledge of him, or a gotcha! to check your observations and what you had missed.

Your hands get tighter, and you pull his jaw open, marveling at the sharp grooves ground into his teeth, like nightmarish, ivory rook pieces, tall and straight in the dry sockets. His chest begins to heave, his breath fogging into steaming clouds over your hands, and, remarkably, it smells like nothing at all apart from pin needles and snow.

You’d thought you’d smell decaying flesh or rotten blood. The only blood you can smell comes from your own busted brow and sliced arm, crusting black on your skin and in the fabric of your sweater as it coagulates.

“If I was working on a hunter’s instincts, I would say that Schladming has become too good at keeping people out of the forests. Even during daylight hours. It cuts down on prey,” you say, ice cold and clean as a slit throat. Your eyes flick back up to the socket, surrounded by the feeling that those glass-blue eyes of his humanoid form are drilling into you. He’s waiting for you to hit the hook. “But I’m working on your logic.”

“Oh, yeeaah,” he drawls, his hips shifting, and you feel as if he would bite his lips in anticipation now, if he could.

“Oh, yeeaah,” you echo him, “the logic of a fucking crazy asshole.” He feels like a huge grin, hands on his muscular, bunched, and flexing thighs. That detail is not lost on you. “You’re hunting in town because you’re pissed off. You reached a limit, and you got tired of sitting on your fucking reaction.”

You swear to god he moans a little. Just softly. It could be a breath, but you know him too well to dismiss it out of hand.

“That’s good, Schatzi. I like that. I like that you figured that out,” he says, definitely panting in rhythm now, his fogging breath giving away the rhythm secondary. “People are looking at you too much. I don’t fucking like it when they look at you too much.”

That’s a sudden thought that had not occurred to you, and you lash yourself silently because it hadn’t. König has always been possessive of you. Jealous. Protective. And he held grudges in ways that could spark blood feuds and successive generations of death.

Like a curse.

It’s a testament to how fucking cracked and perfectly matched the two of you are that you start laughing, stroking his orbital bones in big, pleased pats, kissing the bridge of his nose.

“Schatzi, please,” he groans, pressing into you insistently. “Promise you won’t tell. Promise me.”

“Why the fuck would I tell?” you laugh, losing track of your faculties, your very sense. What does it matter? What does it all even mean? You’ve found a man that loves you so deeply and truly and twistedly that he slaughters those who desire or deign you. You’ve found, and fallen in love with a man that would sell his face to save as much of yours as he could. “Who the fuck would I tell?”

The slope of his shoulders relaxes, and he moves closer to you, once again shielding you with the massive bulk of his body, warming you in the cold air. Tucked under his chin, you can study the soft suede-like material of his body, how the bark covering his arms gives way to a ruff of dense, double-layered fur around his shoulders and his long, muscular neck.

The rest of the muscle on him is horrendously hard, flexed like steel cabling under a layer of fat. There is something about this body that reminds you of the shape of the human one so well–long legs, a nipped waist, and flat hips built to strut and rock, all of it buttressing a broad set of shoulders.

You press your face into the ruff, pushing your fingers into it. Dear god, your hand goes deeper and deeper, and it just never seems to stop. His scent is–it’s almost familiar. He’s in there, somewhere–his musk, the metallic tang of blood seemingly sunken into his skin–but there’s so much more to it. Green, and earthy, almost like soil and moss.

A sound comes from his body, like a house settling. A deep, broad creak. The trophies on his horns rattle together, clinking like dull wind chimes. “More,” he says simply, leaving you to figure it out. Simple enough.

Your hand drops from the ruff, tracing over his convex chest, down to his stomach. Another shudder, and he pulls those big arms around your entire body, a fuller, more protective hug than you’ve ever felt.

“Schatzi–would you let me…” he breathes, a heaving sigh.

Another laugh cracks out of you, hysterical, constricted by your mask. Why not? Why shouldn’t you? You’ve always been a woman that loves monsters. You, yourself, are one. You can’t find a reason to halt your hands, nor your body, nor his desire.

In an odd show of tip-to-tail, you push the mask off your face, and kick off your boots, going for your zipper. “Yeah. Yeah, honey, come on. Show me,” you urge him, pawing at his massive waist as you struggle out of your jeans.

He groans and this obscene trill escapes his body–a low, rattling moan that travels miles through every cell of your body, his legs spreading wider. You laugh in delight and mania, watching rapt as his cock slides out of a sheath you hadn’t even caught sight of, his monstrous body a foreign land you hadn’t traveled yet, but, fuck, do you want to learn the lands well enough to call them home.

It’s heavy in your hands, a little slick, and, childishly, you almost giggle (holy shit, that is a sound that has never left your mouth in your living memory, and yet, here you are). It’s hot, hotter than you expected, and a vulnerable shade of pale, like a plant slip. Oh, and it’s elegant, almost spiraling. He huffs as you stroke the length of it, pushing your fingertips into his sheath at the base.

“I don’t think this is gonna fit,” you warn him, and it somehow feels as if you’re challenging yourself with the statement.

He takes it as a challenge for himself, though, and an aspiration to hold for you, “You are going to take all of it. I’m going to make sure.”

His massive hand comes to the back of your waist, finding your fulcrum without needing to search, pulling you off your knees to hold to beneath him. “You naked yet, or still fucking around?” he asks, breathing heavily, and you shove your jeans off the rest of the way.

“You’re being a little bitch,” you snipe, a dumb swipe at reclaiming dignity after you realize you’re so wet that it slicks your thighs, having darkened the crotch of your freshly abandoned jeans pathetically.

He throws another coarse laugh, haa-haa, shifting his massive body long, pulling you into place.

It’s on you, then, to figure out the logistics. Somehow, it just works, even through layers of physical translation. Under your hands, he reads König, loud and clear.

There’s a brief, flighty moment of terror as you rub the head of his cock between the lips of your cunt, rolling your hips to stimulate your clit against it. It is just fucking enormous, almost half again the size of his human cock. But then you grit your teeth, tipping your weight back so your shoulders rest against the dirt, bleak and unyielding ruthlessness seizing your mind.

You do not back down, you have never done it once in your life, and tonight is no different.

His head lifts, bottom jaw dropping, and he bays as you push yourself down on his length. The sound crashes into you, rocking your entire body, and the stretch burns, but you buckle down. What are the people in the houses just at the edge of suburbia thinking? Has the fucking abberation that has been slowly killing its way through their number taken to a different form of punishment? Has someone unlucky fallen to its new tastes?

It cuts your mouth into a horrid grin. If they only knew that you were no victim at all, if only they had an inkling of the fact that you are a victor. That you are the hand holding this nightmare’s collar, and he attacks for the sake of you.

Inch by inch, a slow journey, he fills you, pressing completely against your walls, body shaking with the effort it takes not to thrust fully into you. Oh, what destruction that would result in, what a wreckage that would make of your body, what lengths he would go to not ruin you in such a fashion.

“Fuck–fuck–Liebes,” he mutters, just for you, the moment he is as deep in you as he can go, most of his length still outside of what your body can handle, pleading, “I can’t–I. I have to move. Please, meine Liebes.”

“Go. Go-go-go,” you answer back, almost frantic, too full and occupied, needing motion or you might split apart into atoms. The way he answers is instant, undeniable, desperate, rocking into you as if testing waters, going faster as if he finds them warm and welcoming.

You lose yourselves to it, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your head, gripping onto the elbow of the arm suspending you, blood rushing to your head in an ache from the way you hang off him, forcing you lightheaded. Sap-like blood from where you’d hacked at him in rage drips down your arm, your waist, clinging to your skin in a way that feels permanent.

He tenses all around you, panting, clouds of steam fogging the air over your head from his pants. Words escape him, leaving nothing but animalistic grunts, the grinding of his dry, exposed teeth as your desperate pussy sucks him deeper and tighter.

You’d taught him as a human to find your g-spot, to destroy your brain with a steady climb, and he doesn’t even need to search now, every movement pressing every inch of his cock into it, and unrelenting onslaught that makes you shake and nearly drool, being fucked like a sacrifice.

König raps his other fist above your head and pulls out without warning, shaking his head and breathing roughly.

You imagine brutally grabbing him by the scruff and biting his ear–what kind of punishment would that even be, no worse than a bug bite to him, more likely than anything else–for the loss of his cock. Mostly just an impulsive fantasy, too barbaric and stupid to actually act upon, but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, and it feels like hell to be split open against him with nothing inside you.

Breathless–and naked, sweating, and trembling in the woods–you start to sit up on your elbows, cunt throbbing. "What is it? Are you okay?" you ask, your love for him–your fear for him–overwhelming even your damnation-worthy starvation.

König, massive and so dark he's almost indistinguishable from the night apart from his skull, shakes his head again and puts up a clawed hand. Fine, the gesture says, and you’re realizing he’s beyond words now, but trying his best to communicate. Then he curls it into a loose fist and pantomimes masturbating and finishing.

"Christ!" But you’re laughing, tugging at a tuft of fur on his chest, spun out in your giddiness. It’s still him, you’ve already known, but to see it. To find him through this–this utterly new reality. "They teach you that signal in the forces?"

In his hollow sockets, twisting his body to watch you closely, he looks pleased with himself, ducking forward, bracing on his free hand to one side of your head as he nuzzles into your neck and breathes deeply.

He huffs, rough fingers running over your back, claws trailing the parts of your spine he can reach as he holds you, before he taps the side of your thigh with his other hand. At your eye level, he turns his finger in a slow loop. Roll over, maybe? It's worth a shot.

"Okay. Alright," you sigh, relieved. When you try to roll in his palm, he shakes his head and sets you down, pressing down against your body, pushing his arm under your ribs. With his other hand, he gestures a flat line on the ground. You ask, "On my stomach?"

Two knocks against the ground next to your head. Yes.

You stretch out flat over the frost-crisp grass, too hot to even register the chill against your bare skin, and König lowers with you, sliding the arm under you down to your diaphragm. With his knuckles, he taps your outer-thighs until they're drawn back together, and your breathing hitches when you understand what he intends.

With his legs on the outside of yours, he uses his free hand to run his cock up the length of your seam to tease your pussy, but he takes his sweet time with it. Impatient, you slide onto your knees with near-perfect timing, driving your entrance against his head, snarling with indignation when he bows away. "Fucker!"

He rumbles something almost humanoid, between a laugh and a gruff, trilling ‘rrrr’ you recognize as cousin to a sharp, challenging hum he makes when faced with an idiot comment in his human shape.

"Stop teasing me. I can't stand it," you try instead, turning to give him big eyes over your shoulder because you know that it works well on him.

He bends down and barely-barely nips the top of your ear, a startling move that leaves you perfectly inflamed all over again again. Greedy brat, it says to you, so pleased in the fact he is so desperately wanted.

The feeling of him inside you is extraordinary. He lubricates in this state, but you hardly need it with the nearly absurd way you’re wet, slick down your thighs. You wonder if your cunt is glimmering under the dim moon and streetlamps, because he'd said that to you once. Heilige sheiße, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen, could just stare at how wet you get for me forever, he'd laughed during one delirious, marathon session of staying sunken between your legs.

He begins to rock his hips, growling quietly and pleased at the wet sounds of your of cunt squelching around him–another sound he enjoys, a marker of pride, how wet can I make my girl get–settling onto his forearm and pressing a little weight against your back.

He rests his head across your shoulders, burying his snout in your hair, breathing in hard-bought bursts of restraint.

"Yes, honey," you almost seethe, loosening your body, giving up a little of your own iron will to become just a little lost in the feeling of him. You relax your walls in a bid to take more of him, breathing tight, voice pitching up into a plea, "Yes, baby, that's perfect. That's so perfect, keep going. Just like that."

He rocks a little faster, thrusts a little deeper, breathes a little harder. The hand around your waist shifts up to your breast, but isn't dexterous enough to do more than give it an encompassing squeeze.

With your thighs pressed together, you feel as if your body can't stretch properly to take as much of him as you want (and you want all of him, every burning hot inch, fucking him so well that he cannot disappear into one of his miseries where he will not let you follow, because they all live in his head).

He ratchets back his speed, tries a new motion with his hips. He rolls instead of thrusting, a more fluid movement, brushing your insides in new ways that leave your swollen clit screaming for attention and your eyes watering. You breathe in ragged pants, fingers digging into the turf over your head, trying not to rip it with the force of your grip by the fistful.

You might cum. You might cum. You want to cum, and you might, and he's so much deeper now, panting hot as fire against your shoulders. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench and dance, his horns cutting the air in swipes of agitation above you, and he is so much this way. König: bigger, sometimes bloodier, but always so, so amplified.

"Honey, honey, honey," you whine in a chant under your breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to encourage him. You squeeze your thighs together for the extra stimulation, but you know you’re going to orgasm from him alone, no extra assistance needed. You’re just greedy, you just want it all, but you want him the worst.

When he pulls out this time, you snarl loud and gnash your teeth, digging your dirt-packed nails into his unyielding skin. You were full to the brim and on the wire-edge of climax, and he is so suddenly fucking gone it's almost as abrupt as violence.

"KÖNIG!" you shout, his callsign cutting from between your teeth like the desire to slit a throat, shattering the quiet around you both, reeling to find him with your burning eyes.

He collapses onto his side, cock jumping and leaking, and he whines deep in his throat, pulling at you with the flat of his hand. Your thigh, then his hip, your chest, then his–more hand signals, a story-told like a man with a sucking chest wound needing saving. He snakes his arm under you again, whining growing deeper, and you understand.

You roll, throwing your thigh over his hip, tucking tight against his chest. You give yourself one second of feeling cool air against your overheated pussy before you take him in hand and direct him home, and his deep, slick slide into you knocks the air out of your lungs like a punch to the solar plexus.

You’re only seconds away, and he can't be much farther, driving his head under yours to give you something to rest on that isn't the ground.

You don't utilize his offering, craning your neck as if you'll somehow get a glimpse of your connection from this angle–flat against him from belly to breast, resting your cheek and forehead against his heaving chest. His whine turns into a series of small, strangled howls and gasps as your voice crawls from whimpering to keening.

You’ve known you were going to cum, but you’re still somehow surprised with yourself at how quickly it's raced up, and how overwhelming it feels like it's going to be. You feel like you’re going insane.

His other arm wraps your ribs, too, squeezing you to him like you’re the only thing in the world worth keeping close, and damn him for it. You don't know why, but damn him.

"Cum, baby, cum," you instruct, gasping when you aren't clenching your teeth. You curl close to him, as close as your body will allow, spreading your legs as wide as you can. You drive back down into his thrusts, giving as much of yourself as you can, taking as much of him as you’re able.

You want it all–everything–every little bit of blood and bone that's built him into a home he offers only to you. "Cum in me. I'm ready, I want you to cum," you demand, finding it truer than true, finding yourself right on the razor-edge.

The command is all it takes. Three hard thrusts, and he's buried in you to the base, punching the wind out of your lungs, and filling you to the point of what feels like impossibility with his spend. It forces you to finish as well, lighting you up like a lightning storm, swallowing him deeper as you cum and cum like you'll never be able to stop, soaking the both of you.

You gasp a raw-throated howl, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you praise him as his cock kicks and kicks, emptying everything he's got to give into you.

A pressure builds inside you, beginning nearly unpleasant, until something just gives and his knot anchoring him to you feels right.

It feels special and dazzlingly intimate, and you’re boggled, again, with the knowledge you’re the only person in the world that he's ever shown himself to this way. It’s just a thing you know in your marrow, an immutable truth, like the sun setting in the west, or the cruelty of witches without their wants.

You wind down, sweating and panting and filthy in each other's arms, and you rock against him, holding him inside, clenching around him what little you can. You feel so wonderfully safe, so immaculately powerful, so stupidly, crazily, fantastically in love.

When your combined breathing evens, and the knot between you retreats, you groan when König shifts back into his human form, but only for the resituating you both have to endure.

The body against yours is familiar again, and you’re dreadfully sleepy, though you want to clean yourself and eat. You crave something raw, something bloody. You hunger the way an animal hungers after a hard fuck. His spend drips out of you now that his cock's returned to normal, and it forms a trail of cooling wet down the crease where your thigh meets your ass.

You feel lovely.

König laughs, rough and spent, tucking hair out of your face and kissing your closed eyelids. "Holy fucking shit, Schatzi," he marvels, looking at you like you are the only god that has ever mattered.

Your smile cuts sharp, and your fingers find his pulse point, tracing it thoughtfully. “You hungry? I bet you're fucking starved,” is all you say in return, eyes trailing the way his hand finds the charm bracelet newly returned to your wrist, touching it like a token.

It’s late and dark when you both manage to stumble your way back to your rental. He stays close, needy and soft, his hand on your hip, tugging you into his body when he can, careful of not knocking into the big, silver knife you’d placed back in the scabbard on your belt.

The hood is back on his head, rolled up to his nose, and his split mouth kisses against your neck and behind your ear, his eyes closed like he endures a waking dream. You, in your own filthied mask again, allow it, craning your neck to give him more room, anchoring him with an arm around his waist in return.

It is late now, and the neighborhood is silent. Again, you wonder what the quiet lives inside must be thinking–whether they think the crimes have increased into a new field of brutality, if they are fearing and wondering what body parts they will find at the treeline come dawn.

You know they will not leave the safety of their homes to investigate. They would be stupid to do something like that.

“That shower is going to feel so goddamned good,” you mutter, unlocking your door, and he nods against your skin.

“Oh, yeeaah,” he says, and the familiarity of the phrase makes you hum a laugh, shutting your eyes as you push through the threshold. "Get that blood off your skin before it stains. Your poor face, your poor arm. Poor Schatzi."

He splits off from you with a facsimile of a kiss–your masks pressing together at the mouth–and he pinches your ass before he takes off to the kitchen, his stomach growling, not even bothering to take off his boots.

You, however, kick off your shoes, and pull together clean clothes, heading toward the bathroom in the hall, the one with the big shower, in case he decides to join you.

Sleepy and content, you listen to his boots move heavily over the kitchen tile, the sound of the fridge door hissing snickt as he pulls it open, and shoves things around in his search for food. You nearly sway up to the closed door–why is it closed, you barely manage to wonder–your eyelids lead-weighted.

It takes only one thing to make them snap open wide, your back going ramrod straight. A dark smear, curling around the knob, around the edge of the door where it seams to the jamb.

Cold grips your lungs, sending your heart galloping painfully in the cage of your ribs, wondering if it really is copper you smell, or if it is a trick of your mind. The hall is too dark to tell if the swipe on the white door is red or black–if it is blood, if it is König’s or yours.

There is a presence at your back, and enormous hands on the door on either side of your head, so fast you cannot tell if you were even able to blink before you saw his wide, scarred, and knuckle-broken limbs spreading wide across the wood.

Your hand finds the grip of the knife, looking at the brutal gouges you had hacked into his forearm earlier in the night, and you are thinking faster and harder than you ever have in your life, realizing in a terrible microsecond that you will have to make a decision–that you will have to choose what reality you are willing to live with, or that you are simply mistaken.

Either way, you are moments from learning.

“Something wrong, Schatzi?” your boyfriend’s familiar voice asks, low and raspy, hot against the nape of your neck.

The laugh in his tone is cruel, and you can’t tell whether it belongs to König, or something pretending to be him.

tag-list: @alittleposhtoad @bitchoftoji @dotcie @kastlequill @miyabilicious @moths569 @parttimeprophet @pssytrux <3

#hauntedhoedown #konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work

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thx-sunsxts-addrxss · 1 year ago

Note

ok i’ll ask. it you need to answer all of them

0: Height

1: Virgin?

2: Shoe size

3: Do you smoke?

4: Do you drink?

5: Do you take drugs?

6: Age you get mistaken for

7: Have tattoos?

8: Want any tattoos?

9: Got any piercings?

10: Want any piercings?

11: Best friend?

12: Relationship status

13: Biggest turn ons

14: Biggest turn offs

15: Favorite movie

16: I’ll love you if

17: Someone you miss

18: Most traumatic experience

19: A fact about your personality

20: What I hate most about myself

21: What I love most about myself

22: What I want to be when I get older

23: My relationship with my sibling(s)

24: My relationship with my parent(s)

25: My idea of a perfect date

26: My biggest pet peeves

27: A description of the girl/boy I like

28: A description of the person I dislike the most

29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend

30: What I hate the most about work/school

31: What your last text message says

32: What words upset me the most

33: What words make me feel the best about myself

34: What I find attractive in women

35: What I find attractive in men

36: Where I would like to live

37: One of my insecurities

38: My childhood career choice

39: My favorite ice cream flavor

40: Who wish I could be

41: Where I want to be right now

42: The last thing I ate

43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately

44: A random fact about anything

I need to know who asked me this. WHY WOULD YOU-

okay fine.

0: 5’2 (no don’t make fun of me, looking at you @aylin-hijabi)

1: I’m 14. Yes I’m a virgin.

2: I think it’s a 6? Idk

3: no I’m 14

4: no I’m 14, again.

5: no.

6: answered! it’s under the tag #loife answers

7: no

8: answered!

9: yep! just one pair of piercings tho

10: answered!

11: my bestest friend in the world is from third grade! she’s in us and I’m in India but the fact we haven’t broken apart-

we only had third and fourth together but we’re still best friends and I love her sm

12: single, but I hope that gets changed by one specific dude

13: uhhhhh pass bc idk I’m just a innocent teenager (kay maybe not that innocent)

14: pass again

15: answered!

16: answered (by accident)

17: answered again

18: pass

19: I despise loud noises so much

20: answered

21: I like that I can speak to a public audience well. It’s really improved from last year, and my friend said it sounds like I know what I’m talking about. And it’s funny she gave the example of this one time I talked really good about a topic (I only had 2 mins to think about it) and I didn’t know what I was talking about honestly. So yeah, that’s great ig.

22: answered

23: it’s amazing actually. I think it’s because we’re seven years apart, so there’s nothing really to fight over, just some things to talk about.

24: answered

25: answered

26: when people make a mess and don’t clean it up properly. Like just sweeping it to the side.

27: answered

28: answered

29: answered

30: that they think they’re encouraging us but they put us down a lot. Like, “ I thought you were better than this” they think it encourages us to better, but it makes us feel ashamed. Mental health, down the drain. Especially to teenagers.

31: it literally says. ‘lmfao. what the fuck’ (it’s from lemon dude guys)

32: the word ‘useless’ nothings useless, you’re just not using it properly. No one’s useless, they have their things they’re good at that you’re neglecting

33: answered

34: I’m not interested in women (I don’t think-) but probably confidence and extrovertism.

35: how thoughtful and attentive they are

36: around North Carolina, New Jersey or Georgia

37: answered

38: I wanted to be a teacher lmao

39: chocolate. Yeah, I’m basic

40: answered

41: answered (I’m pretty sure)

42: chocolate :D

43: uhhh. pass. I don’t find lemon dude sexy, I don’t think lmao

44: FINALLY THE LAST ONE! I THINK IVE ANSWERED THIS :D

all my answered questions are under the tag #loife answers !

anyways. time for me to kill the person who asked this /j

#loife answers #ask #anon ask #I hate you anon /j

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chrisevansredbelt · 2 years ago

Text

Love Thy Neighbour

pairing: neighbour!frank castle x reader,,, maybe a little bit of dbf!frank castle idk however you want to interpret it.

warnings: SMUT. piv sex. oral (f receiving). on the hood of a car :0. urmmm like getting caught kink? is that even a thing? it’s a close call. reader is kinda naive, kinda not? tit worship as well :P

summary: your father told you to ask your handy neighbour with your car. how ever can you repay him for his service?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

You end the phone call with your Dad after saying goodbye, before staring over at the house across the street. You didn’t even know if he was home.

You look back at your car then back to the house. Natasha’s party starts in a few hours and you were just going to get there early to help set up, so you weren’t in any rush… but you had to get there one way or another.

So, with a heavy sigh and one final look to your car, you began making your way over to the house.

It was really only a few metres but the walk felt like forever. Why were you so scared? What’s the worst thing that could happen? Well, he could say no. No to helping you. Then what?

You guessed you would just have to wait and see, seeing as you’re already on his front porch.

You looked for a doorbell, frowning when you couldn’t find one because that meant it took more than just a push of a button to get this over with.

So with a raised fist, you knocked on the wooden door 5 times before stepping back.

You listened intently, it was quiet. So quiet that for a second you were a little pleased he wasn’t home and you were going to run back across the street and just catch an uber or something.

Until you heard heavy footsteps. Before you could even react or prepare yourself, the door was swinging open and you had to crane your neck a little to look at the man who was your neighbour.

He looked a little confused to see you- you’re not sure he knew who you were but nevertheless Frank softly smiled at you as you blinked up at him.

“Hi,” You begin, words getting lost in your throat at the sheer size of him. But you’re quick to remember the pressing matter at hand, “I’m Y/N, Y/D/N’s daughter- um- my car won’t start and he said you could maybe help?” You point your thumb behind you, gesturing to the car across the street, tucked away in your open garage. Frank peeks over your head to glance at it, still not saying a word and you quickly add, “But if you’re busy, it’s no problem, I can just-“

He shakes his head. Oh God, he really is saying no. “Nah, I can take a look at it, sweetheart.” You don’t know what relived you more- him telling you he could help or him calling you sweetheart. You smile in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing as he exits the threshold of his door, shutting it behind him, “Don’t know how much help I’ll be but we can work it out.”

“Thank you.” You smile up at him gratefully before leading him across the street to your car.

“Check engine light wasn’t on, was it?” He asks with a light laugh, filling the small silence as you walk side by side now.

You shake your head, “No, and I filled it up the other day.”

He just nods comprehensively, before turning to you then as he continues to walk towards your car, “You need to go to work or something, I can give you a ride if you’re gonna be late?”

You’re a little taken aback at his kindness at first, not expecting him to be so generous, “Oh, no, I just needed to go to a friends house, but I can get there whenever.” You wave him off, finally reaching the garage, “Thank you, though. That’s so kind.”

He just smiles at you in response before rounding your car. You cross your arms over your chest to shield you from the cool breeze that sweeps through the open garage door, your skin-tight, thin dress doing little to provide you any warmth, despite it going down to your ankles and being long sleeved. [im picturing that one skims dress]

“Nice car.” Frank compliments, lifting up the hood and hooking it up so that it stays open, “Buy it yourself?”

“No, uh, my Dad bought it for me.” You answer coyly, knowing full well the kind of reaction you would get from your answer.

Frank raises his eyebrows as everyone else does, but his face isn’t as judgemental- if anything it’s more… expected as he takes in your current figure. Dressed up, hair and makeup done, acrylic nails and white toenails- of course Daddy paid for your car.

“Your Dad got any tools around here?” He asks, unaware of his surroundings. You look behind you before moving to the side to reveal the big red tool box you had bought for him for his birthday a few years ago.

“Have at it.”

Frank retrieves a flashlight, the small bulb hanging from the ceiling doing very little to provide any sufficient light for Frank to see down the engine of your car.

You helplessly stand to the side as he’s head deep in the hood of your car. Though you can’t say you’re not entertained.

You’d be lying through your teeth if you said Frank wasn’t attractive. He was extremely.

He just had that build to him. And he was tan, and tall. He had a darling smile. He was sweet. And those hands- those veins- dipping into every crevice of your engine.

“I think there might be a faulty fuse.” Frank says suddenly, breaking you out of your trance.

You uncross your legs from one another, not even noticing how you had tightly crossed them to relieve the ache in your core just from staring at the man’s godly hands. But he did.

“Oh,” You nod dumbly, looking up at him through your lashes and hesitating before asking, “Can you fix it?”

“I think so.” He nods, handing you the torch, “Hold this for me?” You take the torch from his hand, grazing his rough, calloused palm in the process- oh, that would feel so good in your p-

Frank moves to the driver door, opening it and sitting down on the seat before looking under the steering wheel. You shyly follow him, shining the torch aimlessly before he’s gesturing for the torch.

“Right there.” His hand clasps yours and forces you to point the torch in the exact spot he needs. “Might be better if you get down on your knees.” He suggests and you ignore the innuendo of his words- it’s totally innocent and you just have a dirty mind! Stop it!

You get down on your knees, now glad your Dad took so much pride in this man cave of his so that the floor wouldn’t be as dirty to kneel on and dirty your dress.

And Frank was right, it was comfy here. So you sat back on your ankles as you shined the torch at an assortment of coloured tabs under your steering wheel.

Frank then stands a little out of his seat, reaching over to the toolbox behind you. You don’t dare look up, because from the reflection of the metal torch in your hand, you already see that if you were to do so, your face would probably be in direct line with his crotch- not that you would be complaining much but you wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable- not when he’s doing such a huge favour for you.

He places a small collection of tools on the ground in front of you and you assume he just needs those for later. He then sits back down in the seat, bending down to look at the coloured tabs before pulling on a green one and bringing it closer to his eyesight.

“Alright, pass me the Phillips head screwdriver, sweet?” He asks you, an awaiting hand at your eye-level.

You look from him down to the collection of tools in front of you and furrow your brows, “Uh…”

Frank raises a questioning brow, but is quick to smile down at you and help you out, “The one with the red handle.”

You blush, embarrassed, before picking up the screwdriver with the red handle and handing it to him, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, sweetheart.” He assures you, unscrewing the cover off of the box, “Daddy never taught you how to be useful with your hands?” He asks curiously and you shake your head up at him, “C’mere then.”

You oblige, shuffling forward on your knees, closer to where he’s currently working on your car.

Frank has to contain himself from pulling you up on his lap and fucking you raw- your position below him and your scoop necked dress giving him the perfect view of your tits as they bounce with every move you make to move closer to him.

He clears his throat then, passing you back the screwdriver and using the plastic tweezers to pull out the green fuse once more.

He places it in the palm of his hand, bringing it closer to you now, “See this little thing here?” He asks and you grab his hand softly to keep it still and close. You nod, “It should be connected, there shouldn’t be a gap there. That means it’s blown.” He explains thoroughly and you just nod.

“Did I blow it?” You ask, concerned.

Frank has to hide his immediate smile and the way his pants tighten. “Maybe.” He just says, “Do you use the radio, the AC and your headlights all at the same time?”

You look up at him guiltily, “Am I not supposed to?”

“Not really.” He chuckles with a shake of his head and you frown, “You probably just overloaded the system.” He says before standing to reach the tool box again, “Not to worry, look, your Dad knew this would happen.” He holds up a plastic box filled with different coloured things.

You scoot a bit closer as he places the box in his lap and opens it up. These must be like… replacements? Replacement… fuses?

“So you get the same green coloured one that we took out,” He holds up a new one from the box and you follow it with your eyes as he holds it up in front of you, “And put it in its place.” He uses the plastic tweezers to slot it back in place.

You then watch as he looks over a few more fuses, pulling them out and inspecting whether they too were blown. Only one other had been blown and it was a pink one.

So he let you try and replace the fuse yourself.

“It’s not gonna electrocute me?” You ask nervously, clammy hands taking the plastic tweezers from him.

He just laughs a little, shaking his head, “The cars not on, sugar.”

You blush, embarrassed. Frank blushes too, but more so because he’s flustered. He remained seated in the drivers seat while you attempted to change the fuse yourself- which left you on your knees, sort of bent over the floor of your car to access the fuse box. You pay no mind to the close proximity of your breasts grazing Franks leg, or your hair that falls over his thighs, or your ass that’s poking so high up into the air that Frank has to contain himself from smacking it.

With careful, nimble hands, you replace the fuse- it being a lot easier than you thought as it slid right in. You let out a breath of relief before smiling up at Frank, “I did it!”

“Good girl,” He praises and the butterflies in your stomach literally swarm up to your throat. It’s evident in the way your smile falters and Frank keeps that in the back of his mind. “Alright, keys?” He asks and you hand him your set of keys that were haphazardly placed atop the tool box.

You get to your feet now, leaning against the car door as Frank slots the key into the ignition and starts it up just fine.

Your whole face lights up at the sound and Frank shuts off the engine.

“Oh, thank you, oh my God.” You place a hand over your heart. Deep down, you knew that if you needed a new car, your Dad could just buy you a new one. But, you actually really liked this car- it was cute and had a sun roof. You were attached to it, basically and for it to be replaced would honestly break your heart.

Frank screws the lid of the fuse box back on before getting out and shutting the hood, explaining to you how to maintain your fuses. “If you’re using the aux, just open a window,” He lists, “If it’s night time, I don’t know, opt for a silent drive.”

“I will, I promise.” You nod. As he places back the tools into your Dads tool box, you really cannot help yourself as you stare at his veiny, tan arms. You’ve always had a thing for arms. Bucking up the courage from God knows where (probably the heat of your core), you place a delicate hand over his tricep, “Thank you for all your help-“ Your words get lost in your throat as his heads whips around at the contact of your hand, the way his eyes bore into yours spurring you on however- “Uh, is there anyway I can repay you?” You find yourself literally caressing his arm a little and even you are surprised at your boldness, “Anyway at all?”

He swallows a seemingly thick breath, glancing down at your hand before staring you down. It’s silent for a few seconds and you’re scared. Scared of either rejection or what you’ve just got yourself into, “I think you know.”

It’s your turn to swallow thickly now. You honestly feel like you’re dreaming- or you’ve been set up by some kind of porn company- because this is straight out of your fantasy.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you glance up at the busted old clock hanging in the middle of your garage wall. It’s a little past 3, and you’re Dad should be well on his way home by now.

You nervously glance back up at Frank, “Well, we better hurry because my Dad’s already finished work.”

Frank smiles at that, tilting his head, “I like a challenge.”

In an instant, he’s chucking his utensils back into the tool box with a loud clang, but the noise did you more good than harm as it concealed the moan that escaped your lips as he lifted you onto the hood of your car.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hands flying to his shoulders in order to steady yourself.

His lips crashed against yours, so hard but so soft as he slowly eased his tongue into the kiss- so as not to scare you off. You could only return the kiss, albeit at a much slower pace as you tried to keep up with his own, very clearly experienced lips.

Lost in the kiss, though you were, the sound of bicycle bells ringing across the street broke you out of your daze momentarily, and it was then that you realized the garage door was still left wide open and if anyone looked hard enough- they would probably see you. You, the neighbourhoods favourite babysitter, on the hood of your car, kissing a man nearly twice your age.

You break away from the kiss then, grabbing onto Franks bicep as you peer behind you. His kisses don’t stop- instead resorting to your neck as you look away and grant him access to that area of your body, “The door.” You whimper as he suckles on that sweet spot of your neck.

Frank just laughs, hardly caring. He pulls away from your neck, grabbing your chin firmly with his rough hand and forcing you to look back at him as he softly pecks your lips, “Let ‘em see.” He mumbles against your lips and you furrow your brows up at him nervously, “Let ‘em know what a little whore you are.” You find yourself tightening your legs around his waist at his demeaning words, attempting to relieve the ache of your core and failing miserably.

As he trails his kisses the rest of the way down your neck and chest, he kneads the plumpness of your tits before all but exposing them out of the confines of your dress. He marvels at them for a few seconds and you gape down at the pure barity of yourself- but that feeling is long forgotten as he wraps his lips around your nipple.

You throw your head back, biting your lip to suppress the loud moan that would’ve escaped. Your hand then flies to the back of his head, fisting his short strands of hair.

When he removes himself, your short break doesn't last long as he goes straight for the other one- showing it the same amount of love. His hand caresses your thigh as he learns your left boob is much more sensitive then your right and it clearly showed from the way you let a small whimper escape your lips. He had smiled around your nipple when he heard the faint whine.

Once he's finished with your tits, his eyes fall to your clothed centre- that's been revealed by the way your dress hiked up around your waist. Your breath hitches in your throat as you prepare yourself.

As his hands slowly travel between your thighs, he goes back to kissing you to ease your nerves a little. Not that it helped much as you felt like jelly in his hold the closer he got to your pussy.

The moment his hand makes contact with your clit, despite the fabric of your panties still in the way, you still found it difficult to continue the kiss as he softly rubbed his fingers across the dampening cloth.

“So wet already.” He notes, “All for me?” He asks. You look up at him through your lashes, nodding weakly as he presses firmly against your swollen, begging bud. He seems satisfied at your answer, but there's something underlying under his gaze, “Am I the first one, sweetheart?” You tense up at his next question, avoiding his gaze for a few seconds before nervously looking up at him. He raises a brow at that, “No?” You shake your head to confirm your answer, his hand no longer pleasing your clit not going unnoticed, “So she’s not so innocent after all.” He hums and you whine at the loss of contact.

“Only twice.” You add, in hopes that it makes it any better.

It seems to, however, as he raises both his brows quizzically, “And did you cum?” He asks, resuming the soft stroke of his fingers against your clit.

You gasp softly, shaking your head, “Not as good as I do on my own.”

He chuckles heartily at that. His fingers then hook into the thin band of yoru panties, pulling them down your hips. You lift your ass up off the hood of the car to help him shed you of them as he pulls them the rest of the way down your legs.

He tucks them into the back pocket of his jeans before getting to his knees. Your heart picks up as he comes face to face with your heat. His own hands bring your legs around his shoulders and you find yourself leaning back against the hood of your car for a more comfortable position.

He kisses the innards of your thighs, exchanging between them the closer he gets. When he's close enough, he pulls back and kind of just stares down at your leaking entrance.

Wrapping his arms around your legs, he pulls your hips closer off the car. You stop breathing now, feeling his breath at your core with how close he is. He catches you by complete surprise as he licks one long stripe against your core and you’re shameless as you moan out loud.

He barely gives you any time to compose yourself as he wraps his lips around your bud, sucking harshly and slurping up your mixed juices that escape you. The sounds are unholy as he ravages your cunt- your back arches off of the hood of your car.

“Fuck, Frank-” You curse as he laps at you, spitting every so often as if you weren’t already dripping for him.

Without warning, he shoves two fingers inside your hole and you clench around him. He sets a fast pace from the beginning, the self-lubrication of your own cunt allowing him such.

You swear you see stars- or the gates of heaven as he finger fucks you and devours your pussy.

He curls his fingers at just the right angle, quickening his thrusts and flicking his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off with a moan as he sucks at your clit once more, “Fuck!” You come apart completely, body tensing as you cum all over his fingers. He eases you through your orgasm, slowing his fingers and kissing your clit once. He watches in awe as your cum seeps around his fingers and once you’ve passed your orgasm, he cautiously pulls them out of your weeping cunt.

He stands to his full height now and you cream even more as he towers over you. Just as he goes to bring his fingers to his mouth, you catch hold of his wrist. He stares down at you, momentarily confused before you’re bringing them down to your own mouth.

You practically suck his fingers clean of your own juices, moaning around his thick digits before releasing them with a pop and swallowing. The sheer pace of Frank’s hands undoing his own belt and pants were merely record breaking as his cock could no longer take not being buried deep inside you. Plus, your Dad’s arrival was still at the back of his mind.

You gape down at his cock and its size, the leaking tip making you extra nervous. But you’re barely given any time to prepare before hes shoving it deep inside you.

You both moan ceremoniously. His sheer size practically impaling you and your tightens suffocating him- both in the best way possible. He thrusts his hips into yours, your car moving with you as he fucks his cock into you.

You clench around him uncontrollably, still yet to fathom his size.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He grunts and all you can do is whimper in response.

He stops for a second to lift your leg and rest your foot over his shoulder, before resuming with an even more ruthless pace now that he can reach deeper inside you.

Pain turning into pleasure, you find the strength to bring your hand down to your clit and rub the little bud to further reach your peak. Frank can only smile down at your desperation, doing his best to fuck harder into you to get you there.

“You gonna cum again?” He asks and you nod, “Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?” You nod faster and clench around him.

That’s the only confirmation Frank needs to fuck you harder to reach his own orgasm. Pulling your leg of his shoulder and throwing it back around his waist, he pulls you up off the car, flush against his chest as he stands. You tighten your legs around his waist then, clutching his shoulders for dear life as he carries you.

He bounces you and up and down his cock before you take a bit of control, using your core strength to grind yourself on his cock. Your clit rubs against his abs, his shirt having hiked up his stomach enough for you to do so and you squeeze your eyes closed at the pleasure it gives you.

You feel Frank twitch inside you and before you can even react, you feel the warmth of his seed spilling inside you. He breathes heavily against your ear, lazily kissing underneath it as he comes undone inside you.

You guide him through his high just like he did you- except you’re a little selfish in that its mostly to get you to reach your own orgams. The only problem being, you’re getting a little tired, muscles aching from forcing yourself up and down his cock in mid air practically.

Luckily, Frank notices your slight struggle and quickly places you back down on the hood of your car where he fucks you until you’re creaming around his cock.

You sigh blissfully as he stills inside you. But the moment is very short-lived as you hear the familiar sound of your Dad’s car approaching.

Your wide eyes up at Frank tells him everything he needs to know before he’s painfully pulling out of you and stuffing himself back into his pants.

You pull your dress down over your legs and the top part back over your tits as you get off the hood of the car- uncaring to the cum that leaks down your thigh as you stand.

Frank quickly does his belt (almost as fast as he undid it) before he quickly tucks your panties deeper into his back pocket.

You both stand side by side as your Dad’s car comes into view up your driveway. He smiles at the sight of you and you and Frank both offer totally innocent waves.

“Hey!” Your Dad laughs, getting out of the car, “Not busted is it?” He asks Frank as you stand with your hands clasped together in front of you.

“Just a blown fuse.” Frank tells him.

“How much do I owe ya’?” Your Dad jokes and you have to refrain from rolling your eyes.

Frank just chuckles, eyeing you as your Dad takes a look at your fuse box, “That won’t be necessary.” He ‘jokes’ back, winking at you and you have to bite your lip and look to the floor to avoid exposing yourself.

Who knew having a neighbour who was good with his hands could be so useful?

And what is it they say in the bible? Love thy neighbour? Something like that? Don’t mind if I do.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

DGEIGDKBEDISUSJKS

anyways

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle fic #frank castle imagine #the punisher #the punisher smut #the punisher x reader #the punisher x y/n #Jon Bernthal

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flanklurker · 3 years ago

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Hear me out bae,, Chamber x GN! Agent! Reader where they have similar personalities / relationship is Vi and Caitlyn from Arcane? Just the Reader being super flirty and bold, where Chamber is more focused on the task at hand? The reader also refers to him as Angel (as a nickname!) The reader gets into a SUPER bad fight with a mirror agent and wins, but Reader is left practically bleeding out + crawling (Reader got stabbed pretty bad in the side of their stomach, and over all just beaten up ; Basically the Bar fight w/ Vi and Sevika) and Chamber has to step in and help Reader get back to base, and even though Reader is literally bleeding out, they still flirt with him and are like, "See.. I knew you were my Angel :')" and then Chamber FINALLY reciprocates / flirts back saying something like, "If I were truly an Angel, I would follow you to the deepest pit of hell if it meant being with you." (or something like that) and the reader is just 😳 because Chamber flirted back x10 ???

OML I love this concept!! Pls bear with me as I haven’t actually seen Arcane (I swear as soon as I remember the Netflix password im in cause there’s this really hot lady with the gold hair bands and I have a mighty need to simp) but hehehe always down for a bit of a scuffle…

I also fully believe your reader is the reason behind Chamber’s line “stay focused, eyes off me.”

Chamber x GN!Reader: My Angel

The flyover on the dropship is a bog-standard one. Kay/0 sits at the control panel, Reyna broods in the front seat, Viper is… somewhere, checking her chemicals.

That leaves you, and him.

Chamber currently sits, back pressed against the metal and Headhunter in hand, examining the metal intently for any kind of imperfection. His eyes flicker quickly, methodically, rotating the weapon ever so slowly as he does so.

Naw, the opportunity’s too good to pass up.

“Chamber, darling, that weapon really is like its owner—you’re not going to find any imperfections there. Lost cause if you ask me.”

Without looking up, the man allows a small smile to tug the corner of his mouth.

“Oh believe me, mon canard, if I could be certain of that I would not be here. A person that cuts corners in this line of work is a corpse.”

“And yet, Phoenix and Yoru seem to be doing fine.”

“Touché.”

“Anyway, we’ve got your back, Angel. Not gonna give you up or let you down with hair so perfect it looks like it came straight from god.”

Chamber scoffs, and gives the gun a final appraisal, running his fingers along the barrel before he sets it back in the holster. “I trust you as much as I trust my tech. A healthy serve, but not the only thing on my plate.”

“Oh ye of little faith, Chamber.”

As he moves to quality check on his calling cards, you sigh and fiddle with your own pistol, idly spinning the fixings on the barrel and twiddling the ammo through your fingertips. He was always so focused when it came to missions… which was fine.

You don’t know why it wouldn’t be fine.

Why wouldn’t it be fine?

As the ship starts to land, it jolts you out of your thoughts as Kay/0 comes over the intercom.

“Sights set on Helipad R. Initial sweep from sensors indicates no hostiles on ground. Preparing to land.”

“Hear that pretty boy?” you turn to him. “Beach holiday has just moved up on the agenda.”

“Ahh, if only we had a free moment between all these gunfights to kick back. But alas, mon tresor, we do not.”

“Ugh. Guess I’ll put my bikini away then.” This one does get a mild chuckle from the man. “Now that would be an interesting mission.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t object to a bikini shotgun combo, Chamber? I thought it was kinda trashy but if you’re into that kind of thing…”

“All wild speculation, my dear,” he says, cutting you off and turning away. “I believe this is our cue to set up.”

“Well you’re no fun,” you pout. “Didn’t think Angels were supposed to be so dry and humourless.”

“Plenty of time for frivolities after the mission, ma puce.”

You swing your legs over the side, and land softly in the sand. Stretching and yawning, you take a moment to fully appreciate the ocean breeze and direct sunlight after hours cooped up. Nothing quite like having actual open space to stretch your legs—it was a novelty you could rarely indulge in in your covert lifestyle.

Maybe a beach trip would be nice sometimes.

Starting to move your way over to the bomb site with a massive pillar and old crumbling castle walls, you begin to scope out where you’ll need to put your util once the enemies arrive. You notice with satisfaction that there are a few cracks in the architecture which could be used to hide some shit if it came down to it.

A clean click lets you know that Chamber has started putting his trademarks around the entrances.

“Ah, the Angel returns from yonder, here to grace us with his presence and wisdom~ welcome great one.” You do an exaggerated bow to punctuate the bit.

“I believe Reyna said enemies were on their way, mon chou. I’m here to keep us alert and alive.”

“Have it your way, I’m trying to keep us dripped up and hot as fuc-“

You’re cut off by one of Chamber’s alarms pinging, and you whirl around to get an angle on the main entrance to site. Sure enough, recon bolt has lodged in the cobblestone and you can hear multiple footsteps hurtling around the corner.

“Fuck me. Viper we’ve got shit here, we’re gonna need you to cover.”

“Copy but it’s gonna take me a bit.”

You swear under your breath. “Chamber, where you at?”

The voice comes back through gritted teeth. “My apologies, mon bijou, we have a fair bit of company in elbow.”

You go to make a snarky remark along the lines of ‘where’s a good guardian angel when you need one’ before instinct takes over and you jerk back to avoid a slurry of bullets from the main entrance. Fuck.

A malevolent arcane hiss from around the corner tells you all you need to know—the mirror Reyna is fully on your ass right now.

Counting the three beats like your Reyna taught you, you prime your pistol and set up for an angle. You take your moment and peek the corner, firing your own spat of bullets. You hear a hiss of pain and grunt in satisfaction—probably clipped her shoulder.

You draw back, back pressed against the cold stone as you reload and gather your breath. About to take a step out to fire again, something screams in the back of your mind and you whirl around just in time to shift as Reyna’s knife embeds not in your chest, where it would have stuck, but into the top of your left shoulder.

You let out a hard grunt of pain as Reyna’s eyes pierce yours, whirling with bloodlust, hate and satisfaction. Fucking bitch.

“Fucking bitch,” you hiss out under your breath, and use the moment her gaze finds yours to get a left hook in against her jaw. She reels back, drawing her knife back. Using the momentum, you push through the pain to aim a sharp kick into her chest and send her off balance, lunging in.

Reyna’s quick on the recovery, quicker than you’d expected, and she grabs your bad shoulder and uses it to pivot you, slamming your back against the wall and pinning you there. Her thumb pushes into your open wound, eliciting a strangled gurgle for you as you fight the waves of pain.

You retaliate with a kick to the shins, and as the woman in front of you doubles down you bring your knee up to connect with her jaw. You allow yourself a small, petty grin hearing the crack and watching her stumble back, dazed.

As you do, a white-hot pain sears through your side and thuds out through the rest of your body. You look down to see her knife, this time jammed to the hilt in your lower abdomen. Oh, that’s not ideal.

You turn back to see her face contorted in a wild grin, wiping the smear of blood from the side of her mouth.

Something in you just snaps.

Biting the inside of your cheek to take the edge off the pain in your side, you lurch forward once more. With an uncanny surge of strength, you yank the knife from your side and in the same fluid movement, you arc your arm up and draw it across her clavicle.

Reyna barely has time to let out a raspy yelp before you’ve unholstered your pistol and fired three shots into her head.

The body crumples to the ground.

You stand there, numbly, blood roaring in your ears as your brain works to make sense of the bloody scene in front of you. And then the pain comes flooding back with a vengeance. You let out a strangled cry as a wave crashes over you, starting in your side and blossoming out to every nerve ending in your body.

You can feel your legs giving out and your vision growing dim, and so you make your best attempt to stumble back in an effort to get stable against a wall. Something. Anything.

Arms catch you.

Your back thuds against a chest, steady against your form as it starts to shake involuntarily. A voice comes through, warm in your ear like honey.

“Easy now mon tresor, I have you. Slowly now.”

Ugh, of course.

“I thought you were supposed to be the one falling from the sky, my angel…” you manage out with a wet chuckle.

“Falling is an interesting way of putting it, mon bebe. I wouldn’t let you fall alone. Save your voice now though, you need to be still so I can stop the bleeding, no?”

You go to respond but the pain hits you like a truck, so you opt to let Chamber gently settle you against the cobbled wall and start to check your injuries. He isn’t able to conceal a small huff of concern as he clocks the blood soaking rapidly through your shirt from your stomach and shoulder. In spite of everything, you still find yourself enjoying the closeness as his worried eyes flick over you.

God, you can’t help yourself.

“Hey now angel, don’t worry about me too much yeah? We’ve got healers and shit at base, and 50/50 Sage has the res online anyway.”

The last comment, your slightly ham-fisted attempt at dark humour, has his eyes flashing with something almost unplaceable.

“I am not, under any circumstances, going to let you go through that mon etoile. Not now, not ever. Please, stay still so I can stabilise you, I’m not losing you like this.” If your ears weren’t deceiving you, you could have sworn there was a scratch in his voice by the end of that last bit.

Fumbling through his med kit, Chamber stretches his role of gauze and pulls up your shirt for access.

“Deep breath, mon chouchou. This will likely not tickle.”

No shit sherlock. You grit your teeth and try to temper your strangled grunts of pain as Chamber applies pressure to the wound and begins to wrap. You’d never been hurt this bad before, but it was a point of pride at this point to keep up the stoic façade.

Chamber seals the first strip and gets to work on your shoulder. Your heart rate has abated enough that as he leans in, you manage to whisper;

“See? Knew you were my guardian angel.”

Chamber draws back, and that look in his eyes has returned. It’s fierce, and passionate, and holds a surprising amount of warmth for someone who is only ever professionally charming. When he speaks, it’s so quiet it’s almost to himself.

“Mon coeur, angels will only ever watch from above. I would rather be doomed to my mortality and die a horrible death than spend a single day in paradise without you next to me.”

Oh did he just.

OH.

Despite everything, you still have enough blood in circulation to feel it all flood to your cheeks, completely and utterly speechless for the first time in god knows how long.

“Chamber, yo- the—my angel y—”

Nope, words gone. He got you good.

Snapping back from his moment of intensity, Chamber seems to finally register the effect his words have on you. Despite the concern, he allows himself a small grin.

“Oh? I see mon amour is finally quiet for once. If you’ll allow me to share this moment with you?” He leans in, ever so gentle and careful to avoid your injuries, head cocked to the side in a silent question.

You close the distance, pressing your lips against his with a hunger that he returns tenfold. His lips are soft, his hands move to cup your cheek so gently and he’s all around you, beautiful and ethereal and overwhelming.

At long last, you draw back. As much as your injuries hurt, you can’t keep the smile from splitting across your face as you hold his warm brown eyes in your gaze.

“You have a little bit of blood dribbling down your chin, mon biquet.”

“Shut up Angel face.”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

#chamber x reader #valorant chamber #chamber #vincent fabron #valorant x reader #fight scenes lesgOOOO loz loves em #lozcanons #the inherent eroticism of getting injured in a fight #hnnng good shit

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raichett · 2 years ago

Note

if you're comfortable with it and still taking prompts i'd love for u to write abt scarian!! maybe an outsider's perspective on "Well It's Not Quite Narnia, But" :0? or a fun silly pre-dating thing w arm wrestling...or sumn..!! just ideas <3!

As requested, an outside POV of our beloved pair out on a date!

This flash fic can also be found as the second chapter of "Well It's Not Quite Narnia, But -" on AO3.

–

COFFEE DATE

Upon first sight of the pair coming in through the door, the bell ringing above as the wind sweeps in and chills her even on the other side of the room, Sheela thinks they’re cosplayers. Or ren-faire goers. Something like that.

It’s mid-afternoon, less than two hours ‘til closing, and the wind howling through the streets of the city has sent most inside, seeking shelter in shops and homes and places of work. It’s past the lunch hour, and the dim light of late autumn has had most already complete any outings already, so it’s pretty quiet in the café. Sheela’s feet ache a little, and the shift’s been dragging long, but she puts on a polite smile anyway and goes over to the table the pair claim, digging her pad and pen out of the pocket of her apron.

They look up at her approach. One looks fairly normal, all things considered: brown-blond hair, freckles, dark eyes, more cute than hot, and smiling politely. He’s wearing red, an almost military style jacket with gleaming gold buttons, over a white shirt and black trousers, a necklace shaped like wings encircling a blue gem hung around his neck; it looks a bit steampunk, and Sheela wonders if there’s a convention in the city she hasn’t heard about, busy as she’s been with her dissertation.

The other man is – not normal. He looks unnatural in some way, like a handsome model photoshopped onto a jpeg background picture of a café interior. His face, scarred though it is, is too smooth, too sculpted, his hair too shiny and rich in colour, his eyes bright enough to give the illusion of coloured contacts rather than a natural iris, and there’s just – something about the way he moves. It’s too fluid to feel human.

He smiles at her, though, his teeth bright white. Sheela flinches a moment, a shiver flashing down her spine: Predator! her hindbrain screams. She swallows, digs into her stubborn experience of having worked in food-related retail for two years, and brings back her polite smile. “Hello, what can I get for you?”

“Ah, yes, um… Grian?” the unnatural man says, eyes leaving her to focus on his companion, uncertainty suddenly humanising him enough for Sheela’s guts to unknot themselves. A tourist, perhaps? He seems unfamiliar with what he should order, relying on his friend to help him.

The other man flicks a moment through the menu on the table. “Two hot chocolates, please,” he says. “Both with cream and marshmallows – it’s sweet, Scar, don’t worry – and…” He flips the menu over to the other side. “One carrot cake and one millionaire shortbread, please.”

“Will that be everything?” Sheela asks as she pens down the order, the script coming to her lips easily.

“Yeah, that’s everything,” the man says. He looks over to his companion – a man likewise in steampunk-like wear, though his is green and gold rather than red and gold – “Don’t worry, you’ll like this. It’ll be sweet, like the honey-fizz you showed me, all right?”

Sheela leaves the table, walking back to behind the counter. It’s impossible not to overhear their conversation, despite the way she tries to focus on pulling out the correct cakes from the display.

“I know, I know,” the strange man – Scar? – replies. “I’ve just – not been in a huma- in a city. For a while. This is a bit new for me.”

Sheela wonders where he comes from, then. It’s not like cafés are an endangered species in little towns and villages, after all.

“And your marketplace was new to me,” the other man returns. “You showed me honey-fizz and I’ll show you hot chocolate. And cakes are cakes, I’ve got to tell you; we’ll split these two between us. And if you don’t like something, we can just order something else.”

“But then you’ll be paying more – and you said my currency won’t work here; I can’t pay you back.”

Definitely a tourist, Sheela thinks as she pops both cakes onto small plates and loads them onto a tray.

“This is my treat, and I’m not going to lose the roof over my head if I buy a couple of extra cakes at the café, I assure you.”

Sheela sprays whipped cream from the container into the tops of both mugs and sprinkles mini marshmallows on top. She puts them on the tray next to the cakes, lifts it up, and brings it over to the table the men are sitting at, by the window and overlooking the street. It’s still pretty grey outside, some loose newspaper flapping in the wind by the kerb. Not the best view, but they’re in a city centre, not a country garden.

“Here you go,” Sheela says as she places the tray down. She unloads the drinks first, and then the plates, not bothering to ask who wants which one if they’re just going to split each in half anyway. “Enjoy,” she smiles, taking the tray away after adding a small pile of napkins to the table.

“Thank you, we will,” probably-Scar answers, the first direct words he’s said to her.

Sheela nods and retreats behind the counter again, busying herself with wiping down the surface there. In the corner of her eye, she sees maybe-Scar poke at the whipped cream and scoop a bit into his mouth from his finger. The other – Grain? Grayson? – rolls his eyes but hides a smile behind his mug.

“Oh! Oh wow, Gri, I love this – what plant does this come from, can we grow it over in Vex?”

“Maybe. I’ll look it up.”

They’re kinda cute together, Sheela thinks as possibly-Scar becomes animated, biting into his half of the millionaire shortbread and gesturing enthusiastically – though wordlessly, manners keeping his mouth closed while he eats – to his companion. The put-upon sigh of the other man is so old-married-couple, as is the fondness softening his eyes, visible even from the other side of the room.

I hope one day I get a partner who looks at me like that, Sheela decides. That would be nice.

#my writing #flash fic #scarian #hermitshipping #ask

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you.

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members.

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him.

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear. Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight.

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively.

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane.

“If you think so, go confess or something then.”

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain. Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs.

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody.

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself.

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable.

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be.

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down.

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you.

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way.

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection.

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add.

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.”

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you, you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head.

Liar.

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face.

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened.

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you.

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy.

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder.

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise.

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching.

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you.

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out.

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away.

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones.

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head.

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad.

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them.

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you.

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after.

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less.

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly.

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately.

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.”

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence.

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena.

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima crack #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima angst #tsukisima series #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack

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sleepyowlwrites · 3 years ago

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find the word tag CCLXI

I had forgotten one - ONE - word from a poem and I tried to remember it all day only to give up by the time I got home and it turns out it was ELBOWS. now I have that poem memorized. hooray. @sleepy-night-child (I stole this tag back, and I'm also giving reverse uno-ing you) @vellichor-virgo (you too, if you want)

deep (ghost turned gold with time, 2021 - this is the poem)

you were the gold around my fingers and the tempest of my heart. you wound around my elbows and dug deep into my scars. you were gilded with the silver that I kept from younger days. you slither into cavities and set old things ablaze. you were the aching and the agony from dusk until the dawn. I wanted always to despise you; it's harder when you're gone.

time (from: unsweetened tea has its place but I was talking about trees, 2021)

I like the steam rising from this liquid in my mug, from the acid in the aftertaste and the burn along my tongue. I like the punch, the sweet headache when night is actually morning but when the dark comes so soon after sunset there’s no measure for time, for a bed when it’s empty after I lie down.

This lemonade has no sugar and it sweeps past my teeth like a tidal wave I never wanted to meet.

That’s alright. Just throw it away. It’s apple season, anyway.

sea (from: the other colors might have been, but I didn't see them, 2021)

My shoes were once lined up neatly beside the door - only once, because I can do this right just the one time - now they lie all on their sides like defeated things. I lay back on sweaters that need mending and poke holes in the ceiling and when it starts raining I think maybe I’ll just drown now. Maybe there are new worlds at the bottom of the sea. My house is underwater when the sun comes back outside and I’ve grown roots.

long (from: half-hewn, smoky blue, edges, 2021)

Our edges share no roughness, our growth together is at an end. I wish always to be with you - unfinished - and shine brighter when I’m dead. I, of course, long to be beautiful, but I long much more to be loved.

pull (youth story d0 - R, you dumbass beanpole)

“You want me to cry? Here? In front of you?” R stared at him. “That’s your least favorite thing in the world. You hate people crying more than you hate peanut butter and needless arguments.”

“You already gave me a needless argument right here, so it’s not like crying would be drastically worse."

R considered him with that inscrutable expression he could just pull out of his pockets at a moment’s notice. “Do you want to cry?”

“I want to stop having this discussion. And I want to eat. I’m starving.” Mark looked everywhere around the room before he met R’s eyes.

“Alright.” R let out his breath in a loud whoosh. “Sorry, buddy. Do you want to have a cookie while we’re waiting for the others?”

pity (summon story d0 0 - I keep sharing this but the juxtaposition of Zan dying and that being very awful and then being mocked by his companions is just too funny to me)

He opened the eyes he once again possessed to find the people he was starting to think were not actually his friends looking down at him with not nearly the right amount of pity. Zan glared, the action pulling at his skin like a rope burn.

"The first time is the worst," Wryn said without a trace of an apology.

"Shidha, Wryn," Erin said, looking at Zan's body and the blood coating the floor. "Now we have to clean that up."

Wryn shrugged, nudging at Zan with one foot. "It's better if he gets his first death out of the way, like you said."

"I don't agree." Zan's voice was reedy, like he was just figuring out how to use it, because he was. "I think you're a terrible friend and I would like to stab you now."

point (youth story d0)

"Upside-down trees."

Cal paused with his arm outstretched, fingers still grasping at a pencil. "You wanna elaborate on that?"

"Their roots go up into the sky and drink from the clouds. Some roots go so deep and so high that they make point out whole constellations. Their leaves cover the ground like feathery grass, fading in and out with the seasons. Climbing trees means climbing through rather than up. There are entire secret villages in the branches of trees."

Retrieving his pencil slowly, Cal tried to think of something to say to that. "Okay. I meant elaborate like, what made you think of that?"

pass (youth story d0 - I guess I could've joined these together)

Nyks shrugged. "Evie was trying to teach R how to do a handstand."

Cal tapped his pencil against the table. "Yeah, okay. That tracks."

"Thank you! What do you think?"

"About upside-down trees?"

Nyks nodded.

"Cool." He returned to his notes and Nyks let him, so apparently that's all the conversation he'd wanted. "Pass me a cookie."

gold, wound, scar, younger, agony. BONUS: tempest, despise. @akindofmagictoo I guess I have to, right? @mp-golfin @ink-fireplace-coffee @artbyeloquent @writing-with-melon @livvywrites OR ANYBODY or nobody

#find the word tag #tag game #searching circle #unsleeping club

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sunaswife · 4 years ago

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A Suna Rintarou Series |

Summary: Suna was the best boyfriend you could ask for, after fighting with your inner demons that screamed you were ugly, worthless, and annoying. You finally decided to go the next step with your boyfriend, only to find out it was all a game.

AN: PART 6 lol after the last chspter i knew I had to give you some suna vs tsumu content

Warnings: underaged drinking, smut, guys talking badly about women, heartbreak, messed up shit that you shouldn’t do and a bit of fluff if you squint

Disc three-slide two: Miya Atsumu 🏐

The two second years silently watched as Y/N walked away and was bombarded by her best friend. “What are you doing, ‘Tsumu?” Suna asked, “Well I mean, Jamie did say that I had a better chance at getting with her than you.” He had a mischievous smirk on his face. “You think treating her with kindness is gonna get you somewhere and I think the complete opposite. I’ll seduce her and eventually she’ll fall for me.” He shrugged. This definitely pissed off Suna. You were his, not Atsumu’s.

Suna to a step near Atsumu, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and brought him close. “I’m only going to tell you this once. Stay away. She’s mine already, you lost. Eventually she’ll come crawling to me.” He said lowly and shoved the twin away. Suna turned and walked to class and never looked back.

Atsumu chuckled and then quickly apologized to the people around him who saw the whole encounter. His fangirls came up and asked if he was okay but he shrugged them off and said he was fine.

Atsumu went to his locker to grab his stuff and headed to class. He couldn’t stop thinking about your chubby cheeks and your flushed face. Suna was right, you did seem like a goody two shoes, and you didn’t seem so uptight like Suna hypothesized. It was obvious how innocent you were because any little thing made your face turn into a darker shade and Atsumu felt something in his chest. It wasn’t love he knew that for a fact. It felt a little bit like lust and desire. An infatuation if you will.

If only I saw you first

He was pretty annoyed you were in Suna’s class and not in his or else Atsumu would have sweeped you off your feet already. He wanted to see what was under your uniform, what sounds you made, how inexperienced you were so Atsumu could play with you. But you “weren’t” his. You belonged to Suna.

But if Atsumu could convince you to leave pussy bangs for him then he’ll make sure you’ll get treated right. Like how a proper princess should. Atsumu could fake being your Prince Charming if that’s what you wanted. All he wanted to see was you in his jersey with cute white panties and probably some thigh high socks.

He wondered how you would look with your hair down since it was up in a ponytail and how it would feel between his fingers. Whether that be pulling it while pounding you or brushing it out of your face during aftercare.

“I swear you could cut the tension with a knife in here.” Osamu pointed out as he walked in between his brother and his best friend. “Not my fault Suna is the jealous type.” Atsumu muttered. “Bold of you to assume I’m jealous, I just don’t want you touching and eye fucking what’s mine.” Suna shot back. “So you’re finally dating her?” Osamu asked as they stepped into the club room. “Yeah on the date I made a bet with her, she lost. I won, like always. And now she’s my girlfriend.” Suna emphasized on the my and glanced at Atsumu. “I honestly wasn’t going to say anything until I saw how freaking cute she is. Now I’m down to see who will win.” Atsumu declared.

“You’re both lame.” Osamu muttered and left them behind after he finished changing, just so he can get another glance of Suna’s cute little girlfriend.

The three second years saw how you got along with the coach and how you helped him and Kita out with little things here and there during their practice. Right now you were collecting some scattered balls, they were warming up for their practice match today and Atsumu saw you on the opposite side of the court as he practiced his serves.

He wanted to scare you to see your cute reaction. So while you were talking to Kita who was at a distance with a ball in your hands and a smile grazing your face. He tossed the ball up, and jumped but at that moment you took a few steps back right where he was about to hit. And before he could do anything he accidentally hit the ball directly at you. Everything was almost like in slow motion.

This wasn’t part of the plan, he didn’t want to hurt you at all. He knew he was gonna get an earful and he’d have to apologize for hurting you.

“Y/N watch out—“ You heard and turned your head to see the ball coming your way. Before you could even think you dropped the ball in your hands and slightly did a split step back to receive it.

Growing up you and your cousin were both in love with volleyball. It definitely had something to do with your grandfather. He had taught you and Tobio how to play since before you both could even walk. Photos of a one year old you and a few month old Tobio trying to eat a volleyball was always something your grandpa used to tease you both about. (He kept a picture in his wallet)

You and Tobio both became setters in elementary and middle school but when your grandpa suddenly passed away you lost that passion to play and decided it would be best to quit then bring the team down. Tobio became angry very quickly when things didn’t go his way and both of your personalities turned 180. Everything went even more down hill when your parents suddenly moved Hyōgo and you went to Inarizaki instead of Shiratorizawa in Miyagi like how you and Tobio planned on going.

And since you were used to not running from the ball, the most logical thing to do was to receive it. “DID YOU SEE THAT?!” You turned excitedly to Kita. “I haven’t played in almost two years and I still did an amazing receive!” Your face lit up and the twins as well as Suna had the pikachu meme face. “I didn’t know you knew how to play.” Ojiro told you. “My grandpa showed me when I was younger but I decided not to join when I started highschool so I could focus more on my education.” You half lied.

Atsumu was pleased to see your excited face and decided it was better than seeing a scared reaction.

Miya | 0

Kageyama | 1

Previously

Next part

Series Masterlist

AN: Imagine the twins and Suna fighting over you CuZ i cAnT 😫😫

Taglist: @therealwalmartjesus @differentballooncollection @aaesuki @compromised-rodent @atsunflower @kagsh0e @dope-squish @prettysetterboiss @june-phantom @tomo-uwu @woshimai @austriasmariazelle @xrnia @chichi-chanischibi @changkyunslovespot @katsulia @aprettyfruit @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @tvbiio @sun-daddy-yoriichi @kamenoyaki @ppangiiroo @loeyprivvv @kmskj92 @sarahvvictoria @tris-does-stuff @lovinnoya

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caerulea-divilu · 4 years ago

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FYI: Spoilers ahead.

So, I know people are praising this weeks episode because they decided to give us fodder for the king. Yay he showed up. He was on screen. We've finally seen him. He's talking to Ahsoka at the end. He's helping start the rebel alliance. Big whoop dee do.

But we seem to be overlooking what everyone's been saying they wanted in exchange for yet again glorifying the deus ex machina on the show.

I read comment after comment about we want to see Echo and Rex on screen, we want them to talk about Fives, we want discussion between them.

Fun fact: they speak what one passing line to each other in regards to Fives and then it's back to Oh-hell-no.

This show is centered on that twerp. Don't believe me? Hunter literally says to Rex "its not about us anymore". As if this show was ever anything more than recyclable plots where Oh-shut-up goes against what Hunter says and then saves them anyway. Which is interesting for a special force team who's gone on so many missions Hunter's lost count and had a 100 percent success rate, yet now they can't figure out which end of the blaster is up. And people will argue that they've never dealt with the Empire, but we forget the Seppies are the Empire and so far were batting just about 0-7 on how well the team can handle things. (While Oh-my-Gawd has a perfect 7-0) But I digress.

My point is, I read so many posts about Rex and Echo's reunion and what people wanted. Now people are wearing rose colored glasses because Rex shows up in ONE episode and we've forgotten we wanted all these other things.

Where is Crosshair? Do the creators even know he exists? I do. I remember. I'm still looking for you, Crosshair. I want your story. I want to know what you're up to. I want to see your redemption arc. And if they kill you off as part of that shame on them.

Why did Rex and Echo act like they pretty much didn't know each other? Sure, Wrecker gave Rex a big hug, but Echo? Echo who he spent countless hours with? Echo who he created strategies with? The same Echo he watched grow from shiny to ARC trooper? Echo who he went on a crazy mission just to save because only HE believed Echo has to be alive? THAT ECHO???

And then we just sweep Fives under the rug. How much does Filoni hate him to keep doing him so dirty?

And why is Echo yet AGAIN getting sidelined? Every single week. I've read how people are upset because he's disabled, etc. Totally support. We also forget that Echo is an ARC trooper. He's capable of so much more than they've currently reduced him to. Funny how Pixar could show Nemo with his fin doing great things, or Hiro was allowed to be a smart kid but also grieve over Tadashi. Echo, on the other hand or socket, seems to be worthless to the writing team (and I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up dead in order to save the brat). Clearly there's no regard for him and never was.

Wrecker, who laughed when the LAAT/i was going down in s7e1, was suddenly terrified of crashing in an earlier episode, which brings me to another side note that the writing and characterization is SOOOO inconsistent. Like, they can't remember anything they've done.

Case in point Rex is suddenly a generation 1 clone? There's evidence to prove otherwise, but okay.

Tech is shoved off to being some stereotypical asshat who finally remembered to finish the chip machine this week because the plot suddenly needed it. Usually, he's just short and snippy. A far cry from his character setup in season 7 where he was intelligent and adorably nerdy.

Hunter is...dad. That's it. He's not a leader. The only time he shows off his skills is when Oh-kill-joy is gone. I mean, I really have never seen him use the enhancement they said he has. God forbid I see the awesome knife throw maniac this man is and fully see how his enhancement works.

Again, all the boys have to be shoved into the background to let the Mary Sue shine since week after week comes to the rescue of boys who are supposed to be an elite squad.

What was marketed, is not what was given. We were told it would be about The Bad Batch and you might argue that it is, but again, Hunter says this week it's not about them. When a character is telling you something like that, it's best to listen to the writers. They're letting us know god-sue will continue to save them week after week and I wouldn't be surprised if the others died to spare her.

She is no Grogu, but they're pretending like she's that loveable and important.

I might reorganize these thoughts later. Might add. I like pictures, they make things pretty, but currently, I'm so irritated over what happened between Rex and Echo and how they did my boys dirty I could spit. I'll probably rewatch stupid for my boys and say something later about that.

Anyway, what a pity.

At least there's fanfiction...

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nooneactuallyasked · 4 years ago

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Diner Gal - Reggie x Reader Part 5

Requested: It’s a series, there are no requests here!

Word count: 1,512

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Julie and the Phantoms ( + Flynn ) go to a musical diner/café/restaurant for inspiration and hopefully a future gig but they end up meeting a very special waitress.

Note: I promised more Reggie and I deliver, sis! You’re welcome! (This is basically just Reggie moments because yes please, once again you’re welcome). This is a slight filler chapter but I also needed to flesh out and establish a connection between you and Reggie (also because I need more Reggie so-) Also, yes we’re doing Breaking Free, I used the HSMTMTS ver. because it just fits better, starting at 0:42 :)

Part 1 here Part 2 here

Part 3 here Part 4 here

---

Y/N was nervous, like “I’m gonna have a panic attack but not actually, I’m just being kinda dramatic but-“ sort of nervous. The kind of nervous you get when you see a random car driving slowly and your brain goes “They’re waiting to kidnap you and then chop up your body and sell it on the black market” even though they’re just trying to find a relative’s new house. It was 11:00 pm and Y/N had to lock up after staying behind to clean and get everything ready for the next day, the practice room for performers, the display cabinets, putting the chairs up, you name it she did it. Even though she had done the auditions with Cal she still had a shift after that left her here, cleaning and terrified until she could leave.

Y/N always hated having the final shift and having to lock up, usually, they did it in pairs for safety reasons but Noelle had to go home early that day and no one was that eager to stay behind so it ended in Y/N offering to stay behind alone.

Was she an idiot? Probably. Was she going to die or get kidnapped? Highly likely. But was she going to stay because she told Cal she would in order not to be a bother? Obviously.

BANG!

Y/N whipped her head around, bringing her arms up in a defensive stance. Her eyes darted from side to side but caught nothing. She grabbed a glass vase from the centre of a nearby table, it was a shit weapon but a weapon nonetheless. She held it up defensively, “If there’s someone over there I hope you don’t mind having me smash glass over your head.” Okay, well that threat could’ve been better but it’ll make do, Y/N started walking towards where she heard the noise.

Nothing. She looked around, standing on her tiptoes to see over tables, bending her knees to look under them too. Still nothing. Y/N sighed and brought the raised glass down to her side, “Well done, Y/N. You’re so paranoid you’re hearing things.” She mumbled to herself, collapsing on a nearby chair.

“What things are you hearing? I might be able to hear them too!”

Y/N bolted out of the chair, clutching the glass to her chest. She turned around, holding out her glass like a weapon. She sees a figure pop into her vision, standing just shy of the light. She screams and throws the glass at the figure, her brain screaming at her for throwing away her weapon away, smashing it in the process. And it didn’t even hit the person.

“Well that wasn’t very nice, you would’ve hit me if I wasn’t a ghost!”

Y/N did a double-take when a cheerful-looking Reggie stepped into the light, she sighed before looking at the glass in disdain, now she had to clean that up. “You can’t do that! I was about to have a heart attack, and I wanted to at least get somewhere in life before that happens.” She jokes, trying to ease her still rapid heart rate.

“You are already are somewhere in life! Your voice reaches people here and touches their hearts, that song you did the other day had everyone in tears.” Reggie walks toward her, his arm gestures increasing as he tries to explain his point, Y/N was surprised and more than a little flattered that he seemed to have so much passion toward her talents. Or maybe he was just like that in general, she didn’t know him all that well. It had only been a day or so since they had met, it was small but it meant the world to her for an almost stranger to see that in her.

“Oh! And I’m sorry for scaring you, I keep forgetting that we’re not invisible to you and also that we are invisible to everyone, it’s kinda weird. I mean, no that I’m not grateful, because I am, but I just wonder what is happening sometimes. I’m only able to follow a train of thought for so long before I get distracted and start going on and on…and on…and on about it for ages.”

Y/N blinked at him in slight surprise, he sure could talk. “And now there’s an awkward silence and when that happens I just jeep talking more, kinda hoping that someone else will speak too. It might be a coping mechanism, not sure, never had the time to think or ask about it. Maybe I should…”

Y/N smiled, it was kinda funny and very sweet how he filled the silence in, she liked his company. “It’s fine, I’ll just get a dustpan and brush for the, you know, glass pieces. So, uh, wait here and I’ll be right back.” She turned slightly before looking back and sending him a smile, he returned it and she quickly walked away into the kitchen.

Y/N later came back, dustpan and brush in one hand and a torch in the other since it was now after hours the lights were meant to be off as much as possible. She walked over to the smashes glass, turned on her torch and placed it on the ground. She kneeled beside and started sweeping the glass into the pan.

Reggie stood there looking at her, a small smile on his face. If he had been back at his parent's house there definitely would’ve been an attempted scolding which would somehow turn into a screaming match between the parents. He had always liked the peacefulness of silence, despite being in a rock band when he was alive and now being in a band with Julie. Despite his himbo demeanour he had more to him, he liked to just sit and think, maybe write a song if he felt like it. Silence gave him the chance to just be without the pressure or stress of anything else attached.

“Have you caught up on anything since you died? Like, movies or-“

Reggie caught the girls awkward attempt at conversation and pushed down a chuckle, “Yeah, by the way, what’s a Jar Jar? Why did they add that? No one will tell me what it is!” Y/N burst out laughing, fishing her phone out of her apron pocket. She pulls up her browser and searches for a picture, “Here,” She shows him her phones as she scrolls through the pictures, “This is Jar Jar.” She glanced up at his horrified expression and had to bite back her giggles.

“What is that!” Reggie whined and pouted, like a little kid and it just made Y/N want to laugh even more. “Oh! Julie showed us High School Musical! Alex won’t stop quoting Sharpay…”

Y/N smiled softly, “I wouldn’t stop watching those movies when I was younger.”

Y/N stands up with the dustpan in her hand and walks over to the bin, singing quietly, remembering the tune and smiling.

You know the world can see us

In a way that’s different than who we are

Creating space between us

‘Til we’re separate hearts

Reggie looks at her, a smile breaking out on his face. He walks towards here, joining in making her turn around and watch him, still singing.

But your faith, it gives me strength

Strength to believe

We’re breaking free!

Y/N sets the dustpan down on a nearby table as she skips around a table, smiling and looking into his eyes as they sing to each other.

We’re soaring

Flying

There’s not a star in heaven that we can't reach

If we’re trying

Yeah, we’re breaking free

Oh, we’re breaking free

Ooh

Y/N danced around the tables in a circle around Reggie as he watched her, a large, bright smile on both of their faces. A childish glee igniting in both of them.

More than hope

More than faith

This is true

This is fate

And together we see it coming

More than you

More than me

Not a want, but a need

Both of us, breaking free

They both struck poses on their respective lines, before breaking into giggles whilst still trying to sing. The light bounced off of their dancing figures, silhouettes behind curtains to the rest of the world or any who were watching.

Soaring

Flying

There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach

If we’re trying, yeah, we’re breaking free

We're running, ooh climbing

To get to the place to be all that we can be (Be)

Now's the time (Now's the time)

So we're breakin' free (Oh, we're breaking free)

Their joyful dancing slowing down as their singing and they came closer together, staring into each other’s eyes, their smiles turning softer,

You know the world can see us

In a way that’s different than who we are.

Y/N looked up into his eyes as he looks down into hers. Reggie reaches out his hand to hold hers but it just goes through, sending a not so pleasant shiver down her spine. He panicked and poofed out leaving a confused and slightly hurt Y/N behind.

What the hell just happened?

---

Taglist:

@hereforthejatp @slutforjjmaybank

@morganayennefertyrell @dxestars

@dcnerd98

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thesedangeroustemptations · 4 years ago

Text

Decided to post one of my OC’s on here, so I hope y’all like her

( the devil's match ) ┊ ❛ ya know, being a dick will not make yours any bigger, so can we skip that step and get to the part where I break your neck? ❜

character name . . kyomi tausa'afia ka'uhane.

title / ring name . . ms. ka'uhane / 'the goddess of volcanoes and destruction, pele!'

meaning of names . .

kyomi: "pure and beautiful, to cleanse." named after her paternal grandmother, it was one handed down every few generations to those who seemed to shine bright with purity from birth, which was exactly what she appeared to have done. as she grew, she always had a shining glint in her eye, though many would say it's one of mischief while others see differently.

tausa'afia: " pleasant, lovable " in the first few days of her life, she didn't have a middle name as their family reserved it for when their personality began to shine through, that way they had a name that fit them that emerged later on. kyomi was a sweet and adorable baby, capturing the hearts of anyone who held or even looked at her, hence why her middle names meaning reflects just that.

ka'uhane : " soul, spirit " the surname is from her father's family line, having been derived 1500 years ago to distinguish his family's martial arts as users of spirit and soul, versus just muscle and occasional mind.

nicknames . .

" i can't believe you'd put yourself in danger like this, kyo, do you thrive on getting your head kicked in that badly? " — wakatsuki takeshi, seething, after winning her battle against saw paing but sustaining major injuries.

" pele, you'd better not fucking lose, fuck him up! " — adam dudley and cosmo imai yelling at her from the stands during her match.

" the strength of your spirit never ceases to amaze me, tausa, but remember, even the strong need to rest sometimes, and you need to realize that doesn't make you weak. rest now, get your revenge when you're healed. " — sawada keizaburo, attempting to comfort his best friend after being unsure of whether her unborn child will survive due to being forced to fight in the kengan annihilation matches despite her condition.

" you still haven't figured it out yet, 'omi? you cannot love both of us and act like it's fine and dandy. fucking pick or i'll kill him right now. " — ohma tokita confronting kyomi after finding out that she's been sharing a bed with Ichiro Nakata as well as him, ready to kill the supposed 'superman'.

age . . kyomi is is twenty years of age

gender . . she was born of the female gender.

height/weight . . she stands at 5'2'' while weighing 155lbs of pure muscle.

appearance . . " oh, but that's the irony, broken people like her are not fragile. "

kengan match records . . 46 wins, 0 loses.

physical scent . . kyomi's natural scent is one of the saltwater and sandalwood, with hints of plumeria flower.

sexual orientation . . she is bisexual, biromantic.

marital status . . currently not married.

" i can't believe your sweet-tempered father was reincarnated into that girl. she's tough as nails. "

occupation . . kengan fighter, personal body guard / assassin, head of the ka'uhane clan with the inherited abilities of her ancestors. *

personality type . . enfj-t — the protagonist.

[ positive ]

‣ motivational, inspirational; bring out the best in others

‣ very perceptive about people's thoughts and motives

‣ fun to be with - lively sense of humor, dramatic, energetic, optimistic

‣ strive for "win-win" situation

‣ loyal and committed

‣ warmly affectionate and affirming

[ negative ]

‣ tendency to be smothering and over-protective/manipulative and controlling

‣ doesn't pay enough attention to her own needs

‣ critical of opinions and attitudes which don't match her own/sometimes unaware of social appropriateness or protocol

‣ extremely sensitive to conflict, with a tendency to sweep things under the rug as an avoidance tactic/blames herself when things go wrong, and not give themselves credit when things go right

‣ her sharply defined value systems make her unbending in some areas/she may be so attuned to what is socially accepted or expected that she's unable to assess whether something is "right" or "wrong" outside of what her social circle expects

personality description . . ❛ part of her mystery is how she is calm in the storm and anxious in the quiet. ❜

‣ kyomi is a typically bright, energetic and friendly individual, radiating warmth and acceptance to all those who come in contact with her. her kindness is talked of in abundance with her people, as well as her humor that can at times have the entire tribe rolling about with laughter. exceptionally considerate of others feelings, she will often force hers down to where she no longer has to deal with them so she can focus on the tasks/needs of others at hand. despite all of this, she is a skilled warrior who’s talents outshine those who are double her age and trained every moment of the time, leading to her confidence in her abilities to border on cocky. with these abilities however, she is able to defend her tribe and grow an ever expanding bodyguard service from those she’s trained, hiring them out to the highest bidder with these skills. her intelligence is what helped her launch the idea, her mistrust and misjudgement will end up being her downfall; getting her into situations where she’s forced to be the compeditor for Omni Air International, who threatened to level her village if she didn’t comply. over her family and fellow villagers she is fiercely protective and thoughtful, willing to lay down her life if need be for them so they could continue to live in peace. aside from that, she at times can be extremely angry and resentful of the hand she had been dealt, knowing that it was beyond her control and that was what bothered her the most. in competition, she is a blood thirsty and calculating competitor, who would rather break necks than ask or answer any questions directed at her. when pushed to it, she will shut down the side that everyone knows and loves entirely, revealing a murdeous monster who would tear down anyone in her path.

likes . . relaxing in the sun, training, eating exotic and new foods, spending time with her twin children.

dislikes . . being told what to do/forced into situations where she has no control, arrogant people, disloyalty, early mornings.

skills . . healing by meditation, knive throwing, rock/ice climbing, cooking, drawing/painting, ballet, hula dance.

any flaws . . she can be very critical of others with no real cause, her jealousy is out of control, she’s got a large scar on her back, left hip and left thigh from when she was attacked by a shark at the age of 12.

personal phobias . . deep bodies of water, dark spaces, being alone,

habits . . nail biting, smoking, constantly triple checking her surroundings, self isolation when feeling vulnerable.

weapons . . seismic senescing through her hands and feet, pressure point and medical knowledge, garrote, knive throwing, judo, kenpo, jujitsu, grappling, wrestling.

family or blood relatives . . — akela ka’uhane | father, 39 years old | alive | intermediate chief along side his wife in his daughters absence/guardian of his grandchildren.

— makani ka’uhane | mother, 37 years old | alive | intermediate chieftess alongside her husband in her daughters absence/guardian of her granddaughter/healer

— noe olina ka’uhane | daughter, 3 years old | alive | living with her grandparents while her mother is away, training in meditation and energy control with her grandfather.

—- kanoa haikili ka’uhane | son, 3 years old | alive | living with his grandparents while his mother is away, training in meditation and energy control with his grandfather.

affiliated company / empoleeyer . . omni air international

friends . . — miyuki dotokayashi | best friend | alive | daughter of naga dotokayashi, ceo of Omni air international

— sawada keizaburo | best friend/unofficial bodyguard & uncle to her children | alive | kengan fighter/employed by murder music.

— wakatsuki takashi | best friend/father figure | alive | kengan fighter/empoyed by furumi pharmaceuticals.

— saw paing yoroizuka | close friend | alive | kengan fighter/employed by village of the dawn.

— adam dudley | close friend | alive | kengan fighter/employed by boss burger.

— imai cosmo | close friend/brother figure | alive | kengan fighter / employed by nishihonji security services.

— okubo naoya | close friend/ex-lover | alive | kengan fighter.

— himuro ryo | close friend | alive | kengan fighter.

— kaneda suekichi | close friend | alive | kengan fighter.

— gaolang wongsawat | close friend | alive | kengan fighter.

romantic interest(s) . . ohma tokita & ichiro 'lihito' nakata — ❛ you’re selfish, is what you are. making us both love you and then refusing to choose, what the fuck is your game? ❜

— ohma 'the ashura' tokita : my, oh my. the relationship between ohma and kyomi began when they first encountered each other during her first trip to japan 2 years prior, representing Omni Air International and winning 27 consecutive matches before the annihilation tournament took place. they met in a coffee shop, he decided to stop in and devour whatever pastries they had on display for the day, and due to his large, intimidating frame, most people were afraid of him and kept his distance; not kyomi. she found his seemingly brooding and potentially aggressive nature comical in contrast to the sweet treats he was eating, so she being the outgoing individual she was, went up to him and asked him how the desserts tasted now that he'd robbed everyone else of the chance. her boldness and confidence in the way she carried herself was enough to catch his attention and intrigue, so he invited her to sit with him and try the remains of what he hadn't inhaled just yet. it was in that sit down, taste testing the different assortments that laid in front of them, that a bond was formed and only grew with the more time they spent together, finding more commonalities than initially suspected. as close as they got, there was still a wall put up between the two of them, set up unintentionally by both parties to refrain from either getting hurt. this didn't stop jealousy and possessiveness to overwhelm the 'relationship' that they had developed, resulting in it's momentary end in an explosive way. now, two months later, they met once again at the kengan annihilation tournament representing their respective companies, which was a shock to them both, especially on her end. the greatest shock for ohma was when the new 'superhuman' he had been introduced to a little while prior to this, was now following around his woman like a puppy, only sparking the killer instinct within him that lie just beneath the surface. that, and the hickies and love marks that covered her body in the most obvious and infuriating places. now aggressive and hostile toward the woman who somehow held a vice grip on his heart, he couldn't help but blame himself at the same time for allowing her to slip through his fingers, however he will be damned if he lets 'lihito' steal what's his. with kyomi seeming to decide that she was fine with loving the both of them, fucking the both of the, that was when he snapped and would become a much more outwardly angry person than his usual calm demeanor, lashing out at any person who happened to make the wrong comment in his presence. despite his feelings of rage and hostility toward the situation, he couldn't help the fact that he loved her, and he would continue to love her even if he hated the choices that she was making, and the fact that even though he knew her for two years time now, it still felt as though she was hiding a part of herself from him, which was frustrating for the fighter, because in their long nights together, he had spilled his guts to her, given her every part of him, and he was met with this.

— ichiro ‘lihito’ nakata : meeting this goddess was a complete accident, one that ichiro was more grateful for than he cared to admit out loud- scratch that, he'd happily yell it from whatever roof top she requested. having met after he was observing his competition for the next few matches, he quickly took notice of the seemingly unbeatable 'pele', swiftly deciding two things: that she would soon be his, and he did not want to fight her in any upcoming matches, because he knew he would get his ass handed to him, and that wasn't something the self proclaimed superhuman could afford to his ego or image. after she mopped the floor with her opponent, he approached her and asked if she would like to get something to eat, explaining he knew just how strenuous and appetite increasing these matches could be, it didn't take much pressure to get her to agree. the two went to an authentic japanese ramen shop, as she had never been before and had only been in japan for a few days, which was mostly spent fighting or training, this being the first time she actually had a moment to herself to breath. they ate bowl after bowl, stacking the piles high as they could go before ichiro realized that this woman had not only stolen his heart, but emptied his wallet as well, not that he minded. her smile and full belly was all he cared about at that moment. over the next few months, the two became closer and closer, though there was weeks where she would pull away and disappear, for reasons he did not know of; come to find out much later, she was spending the other parts of her time with the infamous ohma tokita, his self decided rival in the kengan matches. this discovery once they had arrived at the tournament only fueled ichiro's rage and desire to win, to prove that he was the better man, the stronger man, the one for her. though the two decided amongst themselves that they would compete for her heart, they were infuriated to see that she decided that it was fine to simply love them both, which wouldn't have been too terrible for him if it wasn't for the fact that ohma made it abundantly clear that he wasn't okay with that, and would repeatedly threaten ichiro's life, which was met with the response of 'try it' every single time. the relationship that they have is a rather lax and easy going one, though at times he can be a bit smothering and over-protective, that's only because he doesn't want to lose out on what he sees as his one chance at happiness.

backstory . . kyomi was born the only child to a long line of renowned martial artists, one that had developed it's own style that included many aspects that weren't included in the traditional way of teaching. over 1500 years ago, her ancestors figured out how to manipulate matter and atoms, giving them partial manipulation over their surroundings as well as a physical power up. they also figured out the ability to heal themselves faster through the power of meditation, which came in handy for those who chose to be warriors, such as kyo. the longer the line, the more ancestors that could be called upon for assistance in a fight, using their knowledge and own distinct styles of fighting, the stronger the power up, making kyomi at the time, the strongest ever of her line, surpassing that of her past life and previous tribal chief by what seemed like miles. from a young age, she displayed strong discipline and technique, mastering things thrown at her within a few days time and leaving her teachers in absolute awe, as well as her parents, though they also beamed with happiness. the ancestral spirit didn't manifest in every generation, it only happened when the current host dies, so it can be passed to the new one, which so happened to be a feisty, strong-willed and opinionated young woman who was more than willing to kill for her goals and those she cares for. at the age of 16, she made the mistake of getting too attached to a tourist visiting one of the vacation spots on the main parts of her island, resulting in her losing her virginity and discovering she was pregnant a few months later. with the support of her family and village, she had her children and would not have been able to handle it without the backing that she had. as chieftess in training, her father and mother handled most things for her while she focused on her own children, but also growing up still given she had them so young. it was during this time that it became apparent that she was suffering from post-partum-rage, which was honed and harnessed into a deadly weapon to add precision and greater force behind her strikes. at the age of 18, she was brought to omni air international headquarters by her best friend, being told that her father wanted someone strong to represent his company in what was known as the kengan matches in japan. this didn't appeal to her too much, initially she refused, but when her home and tribe were threatened with extinction, her own children who were innocent, she had no choice but to comply. her best friend had no knowledge of this, and was unable to stop her father from forcing her companions hand, but it was no use, he would not budge on his decision. she was the strongest by far that he had come across, and he wouldn't let her slip through his fingers when he had the power to bend her to his will, no matter the rage and resentment he was building within his fighter. after saying her goodbyes to her one and a half year olds, her parents and her village, she set off to japan, where she found it hard to adjust to the culture and the language, resulting in many fights and brawls due to misunderstandings. it was during this time that she met several people who would become close friends and mentors to her, the relationships forming due to their close proximity from the kengan matches, as they were all participants in some way or another. the romantic relationships she did not plan for, and being the privileged person that she was, assumed that she would just be able to have both of the people who had captured her heart, not taking their feelings into consideration whatsoever. this was a result of no one taking hers into consideration for bringing her there in the first place, forcing her to fight for the lives of her people and not being allowed to lose no matter what. she cared very little for what people viewed as 'fair', even if she did love them.

extra . . — kyomi is ambidextrous, though the punches from her left hand hurt far more than the ones from her right, she believes most of her past lives were prodominantly left handed, which she finds awesome as hell.

— even after two years, the people closest to her, aside from sawada and wakatsuki, known nothing about her life back in hawaii, which is something that she prefers to keep due to her not knowing who she can truly trust anymore.

— though both ohma tokita and ichiro nakata have perminent places in her heart, if she was forced to choose, she would have to drop them both because she couldn't bear hurting one by choosing the other

— sawada interestingly enough knew kyomi before she came to japan, having met her a few times when he and his employer made trips to hawaii to open new stores there for murder music, as he was her body guard as well as fighter. the two clicked while she was pregnant, he was very kind and thoughtful when interacting with her, never once judged her and was there when her twins were born. he's a brother that she never had, acting as her protector and best friend all at the same time; the relationship she has with lihito makes him sick to his stomach but it's her life, and he refuses to say anything for fear of getting his face kicked in.

— she and raian have an unspoken rivalry, due to them both having destructive power, and her being referred to as 'the devil's match'. kyomi finds his blood lust entertaining and would love to fight him, him feeling the same with her, but having a bordering obsession with her as well, having to keep constant tabs on her and be aware of where she is at all times, something he does his best to keep hidden from everyone, including those in the kure clan. If anyone is going to beat her for good it would be him.

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #kenganverse

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ladyonfire28 · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

An interview of Adèle in Cannes in 2017 for 120 battements par minute.

A couple of people have asked me to translate it so I did it. Besides, what Adèle says about the violence that oppressed people experience and how it’s necessary to protest and be violent sometimes to be heard feels very relevant today...

0:01

Interviewer : “Hello Adèle Haenel - Hello - Happy to see you again for this very beautiful film 120 BPM. I was born in 1980 so I was little during the Act Up period but I watched it on TV and my mom would complain and say « another violent thing ». There was that bad reputation that didn’t correspond to the real purpose and activism of Act Up, which is something that I realized when I watched the film. And I wanted to know if you also had a bad image of it because of the media.”

Adèle : “Well first of all I think it’s very upsetting that we would call « violent » people that are oppressed. Because we can’t see the violence of the powerful people but it’s always there, through the barriers they’re putting. So it bothers me when we blame people who can only express themselves and be heard this way. So when we tell them « there’s other ways to say this ». Well no actually. Because there are things, if we just talk about it and we tell each other « see you in a month » well in the meantime people are dying, and have their lives destroyed.”

“So the violence of Act Up is a symbolic violence. And yes we can discuss it and it’s discussed in general meetings, we see it in the film. But it’s a symbolic violence against real violence that is done to people that are dying without knowing from what. So it's completely legitimate. And same gores for other issues.”

*noise in the back ground*

“I’m just waiting for this to be over”

“yes I hear”

“It’s not an ideal place”

“Not it’s not. But anyway, I think it’s also because of the way it’s received. It’s just like when we talk about strikes, we always say « ugh they’re on strike again » , but from what I see and think, 90% of the time strikes are justified. If people are striking, there’s a reason, their life conditions are getting worse. Going on strike is a commitment, it’s not just people saying « well let’s in bed, I don’t care I don’t wanna work, I’m lazy. » That’s what media try to send as a message, that people who are politically committed are either violent or lazy because they’re rail workers who don’t wanna go to work”

“But we’re talking about a social fight, it’s very important for things to be spelled out. Because this is also a weapon: to divide all the people who could unite because we have a common interest; 90% of people have a common interest. Of course there are differences inside the group but there’s a shared interest for more equality. And there’s an interest that is not shared at all but that exists and it’s to divide to dissipate all the energy : « they have more of that, you have less of that, he’s a lazy person » etc. Those adjectives are very annoying.”

« So anyway, I think Act Up’s operating modes at the time were completely justified and thought through. It’s not a violence that is useless. And even if it was the case, it wouldn’t matter. »