delusional

❦ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 !

ᰔᩚ ➩ Hello! My name is Luvi. You can call me Luvi or author or dsierie. I prefer not to be referred to as “-san” “-chan” nor “-kun” or any other Japanese Honorifics. I am not Japanese, so please avoid it. This also applies to the Korean Honorifics. I’ll delete your request or comment if you do.

ᰔᩚ ➩ I also would like to not receive any questions regarding any next update or posts, it pressures me heavily. Rest assured, I’ll be updating for as long as I can. I only write yandere content, nothing else.

ᰔᩚ ➩ I can write yandere content for an OC(s) or a character from shows. I only write male x female reader.

# 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

ᰔᩚ ➩ I do NOT condone nor tolerate the themes I write. I, myself know that what I’m writing about is weird and immoral, and so should you.

ᰔᩚ ➩ Do NOT romanticize the themes I’m writing or else I will block you. It is very clear that it’s wrong and you know that very well yourself.

ᰔᩚ ➩ I merely write for fun, and I don’t have a clear schedule of updating because of constant writer’s block. Please do not beg for updates because it pressures me heavily, but rather comment and heart my posts because it can help with my writer’s block. ( thanks if you do! <3 )

# 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬

ᰔᩚ ➩ I can take on requests. Anything as long as it’s specific so that I can meet your standards. I’m taking my sweet time to make it so I hope you’ll have the patience.

ᰔᩚ ➩ I’ll accept hcs, drabbles, and oneshots

ᰔᩚ ➩ Requests are available right now.

𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖨 𝖶𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝖶𝖱𝖨𝖳𝖤 :

➢ Anything that is or connected to sexual intercourse

➢ Movie Characters, like ACTUAL people.

➢ K-pop idols or any artists and idols

➢ Pedophilia, incest, anything that I consider disgusting

# 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬

Lies, He Likes

yandere Hawks—he likes to keep lying to you.

pairing: yandere keigo takami (hawks) x farmer!reader

tw: gaslighting, victim-blaming, stalking

word count: 2.7k

    “Keigo? Ya ain’t supposed to be here ya know? daddy’ll get mad at you again. He doesn’t tolerate hardheaded boys like you.” you huffed. “C’mon. Sit down here.”

    You tapped on the wooden bench after swiping away the molecular debris bathing in the sun. Keigo followed, his wings closing as he walked up to you with a nonchalant nimbus.

    “Who cares? I can just quickly fly away from him. I’m the fastest birdie in this town in case you forgot!” A smug smile rests on his baby face as he puffs with confidence — showcasing the large pair of wings emerging from his back. Its bright red tint intensifies as the light from the sun refracts through its compacted feathers.

    His amiable nature was almost as intrinsic as it came like his wide, red wings. There was always that smile plastered on his face that you had gotten accustomed to for having to see him multiple times in a week for years after your family had moved into town. Keigo’s a very sweet child, you had no qualms about that.

    There was no help in getting you to erupt a laugh at his silly behavior; besides, even if it was his face, a smile would curve every time. He joins your laughing fit a little after being caught off-guard, blinking in a discombobulated manner like a kid when it comes to Mathematics.

    The union of laughs slowly dispersed, taken over by a dead silence. A swift shift in the ambience was all it took for you to become morbidly depressed once more, bereft from the sweet happiness from Keigo. It didn’t take for him to utilize his sharp senses to figure out your current feelings.

    His eyes travel down to your hands, sharpening as he takes note of your faint fiddling.  “Y’know. I’m almost turnin’ six. Daddy’s doubtin’ if I’ll ever get my quirk.”

    A frown enraptures your face. “All the doctors we’ve gone to have said the same thing too. I just have to wait for my quirk.”

    Leaning against the bench, your sight fell to the gorgeous sunset with its aureate shades. You feel yourself sinking deeper into your seat as the sun dipped further into the horizon. It would have been so good if you could just pull your quirk out from this stupid sunset.

    sigh. “But I don’t know. It’s so hard to keep myself from doubtin’. People always say I should believe.. it’s easy for’m to say that. They already got their quirks.”

    In a sudden movement, he grasps your hands into his. His grip has a tender sensation that subtly massages the stress out of you, leading your eyes from the tips of his fingers to the crease between his brows. The small twinkle in his eyes shouts his desperation, but his lingering emotions tell something else.

    “[name]. Trust me when I say this. I know you’ll manifest your quirk soon.” He says through locked eyes. “I’m holding your hands, aren’t I?”

    “Well.. Yeah.”

    “So... don’t ever let that frown get the best of your pretty face, okay? It doesn’t suit you and never will.”

“You.. you think I’m pretty?”

    “Anybody on this planet would have thought so the moment they laid their eyes on you, [name].”

    The dim fire in your soul, for once after many months of being with him, was finally enlightened. You know it too. It was seeping into your blood circulation and raided your entire internal system, a conflict raised within the marrows of your bones when that very same fire had already filled your body and soul and was spreading over the hand sandwiching yours like a plague.

    It can be seen within his eyes, filled so much with hostility yet so much light. His black pupils dilate inconspicuously at that same moment you drown into the rocky layers of his dirt eyes. The way the edge of his lips faintly twitched up that slowly displayed his adorable smile lines.

    He was experiencing something so trite and unique coming from the source of his constant desire, and it was intensified by the sheer glee you felt at that moment.

    Your father often brings up how special you look to him as he dances with you in the living room, and that he’ll always fall in love with you every time because you were his special little baby. The neighbors coo at your soft features, that your face was definitely a carbon copy of your father. But whatever they said to you had yet to reach the level of happiness you felt when you heard the same boy your father was not fond of refer to you as pretty.

    It could never compare to it. The raw emotion swirling in your soul shows how much it wounded you.

    “Keigo?”

    “Yeah?”

    The two of you had separated and leaned against the bench, watching the sun float down to rest. A mixture of purple and orange hues painted the skies with an ethereal beauty an artist wished to capture its essence.

    “Thank you. You were so sweet to say it to me.”

    It was heavy in your chest when you ran that moment in your thoughts again. A blooming friendship killed in season for no concrete reason, just the absence of his presence that flashes in your mind every once in a while.

    Time passes in an instant and now it has been more than a decade since you’ve activated your quirk. Dead memories of him torment you more than his recent debut as a pro hero confidently fleeing with the serene clouds up in the skies.

    He might have achieved his dream already. Without you too. His empty promises stabbed you in the heart, and what twisted it was the fact that you were gullible to believe you would be there by his side always.

    You couldn’t.

    You remained in your father’s farm to help him handle it due to his old age. It was better than sulking for some stupid broken promises. Your quirk was rather useful in your father’s fields too—from the food down to the soil.

    After Hawks vanished as though he never existed in the first place, you and your daddy arranged an appointment with your doctor. Your quirk had manifested, and the doctor explained a rough idea of how it should work.

    Your quirk was magnify; it’s the ability to enhance a part of an object. For instance, if you touch the hand of somebody in love, their feelings will intensify. It does not work on quirks, unfortunately. Additionally, you’d develop migraines whenever you overexert it and might be bedridden for a day or two.

    Starting from that moment, you trained your quirk to its limits, brainstormed alternative ways to use it, and attempted those theories. Some were successful, while others—you tried your best.

    It proved itself to be useful in your daddy’s farm and you didn’t regret having to be in the safest place in the world. It was quiet and simple. Didn’t have any prerequisites to just survive and you were honestly thriving in your home.

    You sighed in the early rays of the cheeky sunrise. It was too early to see that old face in the television with an accomplished life and new dreams stemming from his milestones. His wings have brought him to the dusty clouds of your shared mountain, while your fists grasp onto whatever rock was there to push you above.

    A routine you looked up to was now soured. Around these hours, you’re supposed to check on the farm animals. The chickens were due to lay their eggs today, the pigs and horses supposed to be fed, and the sheep in your barn you first have to wake up so it would accompany you throughout your day.

    He wasn’t exactly a dog, but he’s got the spirit of one. Loyal and helpful, can also help relieve your anxiety and stress while being a comedic baldy when getting his wool sheared.

    You knelt on one knee before petting him and peppering him with morning kisses, a routine you slowly developed from nowhere.

    “The only handsome guy I’ll ever give a sweet kiss to.”

    He leaned closer to your touch. Your soul felt more light than before, and your tarnished mood was instantly built again. Sometimes, a girl’s best friend is just a dog under the disguise of a sheep who is sweet.

    “Okay now. I’ll give you more scratches after we do everythin’, alright? We need to start our mornin’ fresh and early, Shawn.”

    You could feel his internal whine through his short onomatopoeia, giggling at his silliness as he trails behind you.

    Upon marching your way to the chickens’ coop, you hear a rustle near the tall trees you passed by. Both you and Shawn looked at it suspiciously, but only one remains to keep eyeing it while the other brushes it off—believing it was some bird they disturbed.

    You looked back after noticing Shawn wasn’t catching up to you. “Shawn! What’re you doing there?”

    He doesn’t listen to you, but blankly gapes at a particular tree. It was eerie how he did it out of the blue, because usually he wouldn’t do this unless there was something lurking in the shadows.

    “Shawn..? C’mon, boy. There ain’t nothin’ in that tree.” you hear flaps and rustles from that tree again. “See? It’s goin’ away now.”

    The sheep advances slowly, while keeping an eye on the trees. He dismisses it anyways as he comes running into your arms.

    “Y’know, boy. You should stop freakin’ me out like that.” you leaned into his height and raked your fingers into his curls.

    Baaa.

    “I know, I know.” you stand, returning to the pathway leading to the chickens.

    Entering through the fenced gate, you locked it up again to prevent any chickens from escaping their home. They were already up and going, playing with each other or hooting on the roofs of their coop.

    They quickly trail after you as soon as they hear the familiar noise of their food being held. They gather around you, ready to devour the food you were about to give out.

    After you activated your quirk, you tossed it around the ground, moving from one spot to another. It was after you decided to check up on their hays to see if they had laid any eggs.

    To your luck, there were. You collected them on your little basket, whistling a tune your father used to do often.

    Unbeknownst to you, Shawn—which remained outside of the fence waiting for you—suddenly blurted another one of his shenanigans out of the blue, causing you to be alarmed and ran over to his spot.

    What you didn’t know is that your Shawn was actually the perpetrator no matter how quaint his sheep noise was. And your gullible self remained standing as the victim tried to push Shawn away with his enormous red wings.

    You doubted yourself. Should you help him or not? Maybe you should continue collectin’ the eggs.

    His voice was what broke you out of your abstract trance, and having to catch an eye contact with his scarred eyes. There was a lot that said about his eyes no matter how laid back it appears to be, something you couldn’t pinpoint.

    You’d always think about it too every time he’d be on one of the channels in the television. An insincere longing for something, someone. His eyes exploiting his thoughts even if it was hazy with his orange glasses, you could see it even in your dreams.

    An empty obsession, was it? or perhaps, his love?

    “[name]!! your sheep is so scary!”

    He hides behind your back, concealing himself from your man’s peripheral. Your violently harmless sheep walked away with an attitude though, as soon as he knew he couldn’t do anything to Hawks anymore.

    “Yeah, stop touchin’ me with ya filthy hands.” you yanked your arm from his fingertips. “Why’d you suddenly visit me, hm? After all these years?”

    You were in a safe distance from him, arms crossed and a brow raised. “Do you know how lonely I was? thinkin’ you died or somethin’ but no. You just went ahead and left me behind.”

    “I’m sor—”

    “I cried so much, Hawks. Your pitiful apologies won’t cut it. You’ve done damages way past your expectations.”

    “I know. But.. I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for your own good. I wanted you to be better, [name]. You were sick.”

    He advances, hands reaching out to touch yours like it was before.

    “But.. it’s fine now, right? Even when I was gone, I kept you safe all these years, [name]. I couldn’t bear to see my darling get hurt because of the world.”

    “How? You were never there to begin with.”

    “Oh, but you’re wrong. I left a feather near you. You remember my quirk, right? I trained it so hard so I could keep you safe, and that’s how we end up here. If you weren’t such a silly girl back then, I wouldn’t have left.”

    His arms engulfed you, pulling himself closer to your body. You allowed yourseld to melt in his embrace, and tears flood his attire.

    “You crying?”

    “Piss off, you traitor. Told ya to not touch me..”

    He chuckled, resting his hand atop of your head. His calloused hand gently rubbed your hair before he planted a kiss against it.

    “Okay, okay. But I have to tell you something, [name].” He pulled away from the hug.

    “What?” you wiped your tears, eyes still grazing his soul.

    “I’m a lil’ hungry, to be honest.”

    “I’ve got some eggs over there. We can cook them.” you pointed to the chickens, a small basket left on the floor sitting idly. “Let me pick them up and we can go back.”

    “M’kay. I’ll wait here.” He smiled at you. He couldn’t honestly believe that you were here again, in his arms. After all these years that he’d been waiting.

    Your stupid father was always preventing you from seeing him, threatening him with empty words as if some farmer in the middle of nowhere could do something against him. Heck, the police might even suspect your father instead with the way he looked.

    But, it was fine honestly. He didn’t regret choosing to hospitalize that bastard. Although, he does regret not doing it earlier. Otherwise, he would have swept you away like the princess you were. He pushed that illiterate fool down the stairs with only a single feather and it costed him a broken leg.

    What’s better was that after being admitted to the hospital, the doctor had figured out he actually had a chronic disease growing inside him. He couldn’t go back home for some time which was enough for Hawks to gain your trust again.

    Even after all these years, you remain gullible. Always chewing his lies and swallowing them as if his words would do you good.

    His feathers usually followed you around when he was free, checking you out every once in a while. Perhaps, saving some candid pictures for his business later in the late evenings where he yearns for your company.

    His silly obsession first began more than a decade ago, when he holds your hands as children with innocent intentions. Back then, you didn’t know that you were actually activating your quirk on him. He already knew though, and he’s grateful for what you’ve done to him.

    His sweet darling, unaware of what you’ve done to him. You were at fault here too, using him as a tool for your quirk. He got hurt by it, but it was fine. It was you, after all.

    Someone who was better off without him. But, he can’t stand it, can he? No man other than him deserves a lady like you. A smile so sweet and contagious, it sends cavities in his wide grin.

Thinking About...

Pro basketball player Rukawa being interviewed by someone regarding him and his life after winning a critical match with him as the MVP. His messy hair was all soaked from his sweat during the game—he was heaving for air to the point where it was audible enough to be heard on the microphone being passed on to him.

Rukawa would be forced into this interview by both his coach and teammates. He was someone who gave very little explicit information and details in his life (and being a man of a few words), he would obviously answer curtly.

The interview would somehow wound up to his wife—you—and ask something similar to: “How do you think your wife will react to this amazing milestone of yours?”

His blue eyes would instantly lighten and the very dim ambience around him quickly turns into bright and rosy. He’d snatch the microphone from the interviewer’s hand then proceed to pull it close to him before he would answer in a very prim manner: “My wife will love me even more and let me love her,”

Then, afterwards, he will dump the interview because it seemed too privy into his personal life once he answered that particular question too quickly and expressed so much emotion that it broke his enigmatic facade.

Yandere Rukawa Kaede—he’s convinced you’re his soulmate

An aloof teenager with an extreme talent in basketball, a star player who received accolades from different people from his school. He was someone capable of playing different positions in basketball and never lacks in his plays—he gave it his all for improvement, disciplining himself for the better. To achieve his aspirations and to have fun as he enters the court.

Set aside his capabilities, he also had the looks. In the past two years of middle school, he always had the most chocolates out of all the male students during Valentine’s Day. It was because of his nonchalant attitude and chiselled features—an acne-free skin, long lashes and soft hair that sways as he plays, it all compliments him as a pretty yet handsome guy.

He’s tall, and even has a built body—albeit not too prominent—from his constant training he spends on basketball. He was basically the dream guy almost all teenagers wish was their soulmate, including yourself.

Unlike him, you weren’t blessed in the world of sportsmanship nor the beauty. You were someone many people were convinced was the epitome of mediocre. Average grades, average skills, and average looks. You were neither shabby nor special, just an average joe on the pavements wandering around.

You couldn’t get why he was completely smitten by you. You admit—the two of you were childhood sweethearts, but that was in the past! you didn’t wanna linger by his side any longer, people would assume the two of you are lovers and then proceed to assassinate you in the name of their obsession with your best friend.

Ever since the two of you started middle school, both of you were told that during those times, you’ll feel the symptoms of something corny called Soulmate Syndrome. A mental diagnosis which completely shuts down all your sexual and other romantic feelings for anybody—regardless of gender.

At that time, he suddenly blurted it out when the two of you went to his favorite spot of playing basketball. He sat down on the bench, right beside you—drowning in his sweat as he was playing with his ball, practicing his 3-pointers while you accompanied him. You were stuck with him after he dragged you out of your household.

“Did you bring an extra tee?” You asked, not peeling your eyes away from the novel you’re reading. You flipped a page, his answer late to your question.

“..no.” He meekly replied. You closed your book, and immediately he turned his gaze away, admiring the flourishing flowers near the dewy grass. “And you brought a ball but not a spare t-shirt?”

Rukawa could feel your side-eye impaling his sweaty body. He was heaving so much that his chest could be seen moving up and down as he was heavily breathing in air to maintain equilibrium. His arms lay flat on his thighs, his ball cuddling close in between his arm and side of his chest.

“I’m about to go home.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re lucky I brought one of your shirts you left behind in our house.” You handed him the shirt in your hand. “I’m not gonna look at you change, but hurry up.”

“Thank you.” He took it from your hand. You turned around to prevent invading his privacy, you could care less about the passersby having a glance at a random boy changing.

“Ya done?” You inquired. He hummed in confirmation. As you turned around, he was using his already drenched shirt to clean his face and dry his hair. You were probably looking way more than you were supposed to, but you were too enamoured with his captivating pulchritude.

He was maturing. Both of you were. He was no longer that big doe-eyed kid from elementary, his eyes were becoming more vile and sharper under his whorls of hair. His cheeks held less fat than when he was a kid, and his nose was becoming more prominent too. Even when he’s playing basketball, he maintains a surreal and delicate face.

“[name]..you’re staring.” You pop out of your bubble—gazing directly back at Rukawa. He’d turn into a tomato at this rate with how red his cheeks and ears were. He turned away in a way that conceived him shy—that was the most emotion you’ve seen from him aside from that flat, blank expression he holds.

“Oopsies.. sorry,” a sheepish grin on your lips as you scratched the back of your head. It was still cold, and the breeze from last night remains stagnant in the atmosphere—nipping against your skin. You had forgotten to bring a hoodie or sweater with you.

“[name].. My parents were talking about it the other day and I can’t help but assume that you’re my soulmate.”

You can’t decide whether you should be astonished by the fact that he has spoken more than five words or reciprocate his feelings for you. Instead, you burst out a big laugh. “That’s a funny joke, Kaede.”

“I’m not joking. You’re my soulmate.” He confirms with his brief yet prim words. You knew he was not someone who was good with jokes, but right now, you made an absolute mockery of yourself because you believed that it was a joke.

Big sweats now dripped your forehead, you were becoming nervous and anxious by each second. It was unlikely that you’d be his soulmate even if the two of you were childhood friends. “Uh—well, isn’t it a bit too early? I mean, we’re still in our second year of middle school. You might find someone better than me, plus—” your words were cut short when he interrupted you.

“Nobody’s better than you. You’re the best in my eyes.” He says, hunching over you. He was bigger than before, way bigger than you. Before he’ll enter high school, he might just be over six foot by that time as it did not seem to you that he’ll stop nurturing.

“Maybe now because you’ll find your actual soulmate somewhere in high school.” You notice he was now petting you, laying his hand on your hair to ruffle it gently. “Yeah.”

For once, he finally said something you can agree to. “I’ll find you after classes in our high school.” Or maybe not. He was fully convinced that you were his soulmate, there was no denying that. However, it doesn’t seem lucid to you.

For the past school years, you successfully dodged Rukawa most of the time he made contact with you. Of course—it wasn’t successful every time because he’d find you and force you to hang out with him. He’s just that convinced that you’re his soulmate.

TW: fantasies of cannibalism, violence, and use of profanities.

Yandere Rukawa Kaede drabble—what if he just went impulsive?

On a Tuesday practice, you decided to check out the school’s basketball team and your sister as well—the manager of the team. It was unfortunate you weren’t classmates, but you concealed your disappointment successfully.

Your sister and yourself made an agreement to meet up at the basketball gym after practice so that she’d have accompaniment on the way home. It was seldom she asked, particularly when they would end practice really really late. You never idolized going home past five o’ clock nor did you once go out without having a specific reason to.

Moreover, you agreed this time partially because a certain ginger was there. In your mind, you pictured him running with sweat around the court with a tight tank top squeezing his waist. In his big hands, the ball he’d dribble would look small next to him, a six foot giant. His hair, his beautiful ginger hair drenched by his sweat as he maintains momentum on the court. You heard he had shaved his hair to a buzz cut by your sister yesterday, snickering from the memory of him being profoundly embarrassed.

He must look like a clown with that hairstyle, or perhaps towards your sister. As you near the entrance of the gym, you hear shoes spiking and the heavy dribbling of the ball against the floor—reverberating throughout the halls of the school. They seem to be in the middle of having a game, if you’re not mistaken.

Pushing one of the two doors open, you entered the gym with haste before closing it. You didn’t really wanna catch attention, thus you were nimble on your feet and went to your sister by the bench. You placed down your bag, then looked at your sister.

“Glad you could make it! I was worried you’d go home directly after classes.” She said, exchanging smiles with you.

“I would have if you didn’t say Sakuragi was here,” you avowed, shrugging it off even when your sister gave a teasing grin to you. “he doesn’t look half as bad as you told me. I think he looks cute with it.”

“I did not say he looked ugly with it!” she exclaims, exaggeration all over her pretty face as she fakes a gasp.

You giggled softly, amused by her antics. Looking back at the court—immediately spotting the odd hair amongst deep shades of jet black—you can’t help but be enamored with him. He’s so.. oddly attractive. It’s been months since you found out about him—and it was mediocre. These fleeting feelings you have conjured up for him are nothing more than an infatuation. In addition to that, you’re a year older than him. Boys don’t like it if their lover is older than them, which is one of the reasons you have tried to avoid Sakuragi.

Which was inevitable because your sister had always forced you to watch their games after finding out about this small revelation about you. She didn’t care if you were older than him, even supporting you. You remarked with a scornful expression: “Shut up. You’re lucky Miyagi is the same year as us.”

Somehow, you were unable to peel your eyes away from the ginger. His new hair absolutely enhances his gangster look; captivating the scowl that rests on his face. You highly believe that people mock someone with a buzz cut merely because it wasn’t often they would come across one and usually that individual does not suit the hairstyle. In spite of the slander, he’s even more attractive with a buzz cut.

He was soaking in his sweat, with the way his tank top hugs his body tightly—illustrating the flexed muscles behind the fabrics. His biceps were clenching visibly to the point where your eyes just lay on the same thing before turning away shyly. You feel like a pervert peeping on somebody pissing—damn this infatuation of yours.

Amidst the sweats and heavy breathing, there was somebody piercing through your soul, impaling it with his mere eyes. Peeling you naked, enrapturing the flesh from your skin. It was beautiful, he pictured it.

Without that bastard having to cloak your figure, he would have already taken a bite on your succulent flesh, fresh with blood. The exact blood he’d drink the same way with water, one of the two things that could hydrate his body. One day, he may bathe in a pool of your blood with your corpse mindlessly floating around. He might take one of your eyeballs, maybe two if you dare to look at another person aside from him. Then, maybe then he would use your finger to stir his bloody cocktail with a slice of your eye on the glass.

He would take a sip as his never-ending gaze stares deeply into your decapitated body—scrutinizing all of it. A sight for sore eyes. Your head..it would be beside him. Whereas he sits on a chair, enjoying the view of your body, your head would be placed on a table near him so you could hear his small mumbles and rambles. The reason you had been in this way and how you could have evaded this outcome.

He didn’t like the way your gaze lingers on his face. It makes him sick, acid boiling in his throat. Something that would make him regurgitate heavily, but he just stared at you as you interacted with that no good genius or whatever he claims to be.

He knows you have a crush on Sakuragi. It was conspicuous—well, at least to him. You were smiling adorably, hiding your hair behind your ear as you discoursed with him in a very meek manner. It made him so sick, so constipated by the circulating questions spiraling in his thoughts.

Why did you bother that and not him? Did he lack something in his plays? Was he not enough? Were you trying to invoke him? Make him jealous? No.. that’s not it.

Whatever it was, stays there. It was unnecessary now anyways. He walks his languid steps towards you and the thing. It was adorable how you were frightened and surprised by him—although, it deeply injured his soul. You feared him more than that fucking gangster? A delusional loser?

“He–hey?” you asked, voice quivering. A player you’re definitely sure that is one of Sakuragi’s teammates just went up to you with such an oppressing aura that it startled you. Something you’re sure is not directed towards you, but to Sakuragi himself. Even he noticed it and became alarmed—pushing you away from the two of them.

“What’re you doing here, yo—” a fist rammed into his face, causing him to lose balance and fall on his posterior. He shook his head—trying to shake away the sudden pang of pain in his head from the impact. A metallic taste on his tongue slowly arises within his mouth. He spat it out, red painted the gym’s recently mopped floor.

That was sudden. Sakuragi and him used to fight often, but it was never like this. No, not once. It was only playful fights with them exchanging blows of each other’s earned points. Never was it in this way—the last he remembered it was like this was when they were on the rooftop as he was talking with Haruko.

Pushing himself up, he returned the favor against his pretty face. The same face he hated because of the fact he collects girls left and right without even batting his long lashes. The same hatred smoldering in his own very eyes, the taste of the same animosity that was once in his tongue.

That smoking abhorrence was his jealousy. He knew it as it was strangely familiar with each hit he had given him, a feeling that only arises when he sees someone, a girl admiring someone else.

Would they have spoken about it now? The reason they had fought over such a redundant issue? Maybe. If they were not separated by their captain.