TW: Yandere, Classism, Degradation, Possessiveness, Obsessiveness, Blackmail

TW: yandere, classism, degradation, possessiveness, obsessiveness, blackmail

gn reader - feminine clothing (jewelry: earrings, necklace)

Thinking about your rich boyfriend…

Rich boyfriend – who buys you clothes and jewelry every time you have a date, even when you tell him you feel bad receiving them all – that you have nowhere to wear such nice things – that a simple date is really more than enough. 

Rich boyfriend – who ignores you with a smile and shake of his head, asking you how you expect him to stop when you’re just the absolute cutest? Looking at him with those moon-big eyes, humble crinkle between your brows, and your lip tucked nervously between your teeth to keep from gawking. 

Rich boyfriend – who orders for you at all the restaurants he takes you to because he knows you’ve never been anywhere like it. Looking so adorably lost in your seat, flushed when staring at the menu written in a language you can’t read – knowing even if you could, you still wouldn't know what any of it meant. You’re so, so, so precious – eyes peeled like you’re a pet who’s just been allowed at the table for the first time.

Rich boyfriend – who plays four instruments, speaks five languages, went to an Ivy League institution, and will inherit his entire family’s business being the spoiled only child that he is.

Rich boyfriend – who just loves the messy household you grew up in – loves how you and your siblings interact with each other, looking like a bundle of pups all crammed in the same cage at a pet store – how your childhood bedroom is the size of his closet – filled with all sorts of trinkets you’ve kept growing up – stuff that would usually wind up in the trash at his house – polaroids of you as a teenager, past boyfriends in kissing booths, prom pictures, concert tickets, and old rusty friendship lockets. 

It’s all so… He scoffs. The word for it escapes him.

Suppose he doesn’t quite recognize the pricelessness of sentimental value as opposed to something actually sellable – but he finds it cute that you do. 

Though, it bothers him to some degree as well… that you would value an old pair of earrings gifted you by your grandmother instead of the actual antique diamond pair he’d procured for you. After all, one was a real historic piece worth a fortune a Russian duchess had snuck into England during the war, and the other was old junk made by a noname jeweler.

Rich boyfriend – who chokes on his spit when you sit him down and tell him you want to break up – who thinks he’s misheard – that you’re joking, playing some uncultured game he’s never been exposed to, some ill-taste past-time only poor people do to escape their bitter reality. 

But you’re not joking… 

You’re breaking up with him…You.. You… broke trash of worker-class scum… you’re breaking up with him?

You give him back all his gifts in a cardboard box – telling him you’re grateful but that you truly don’t have any use for such things – that you think your worlds are too different to coincide. 

Of course, you refrain from telling him you think he’s a classist snob. You have a feeling it would have gone completely over his head if you’d tried anyway, so there really was no point to it.

Rich ex-boyfriend – who’s never been told no in his entire life…

Rich ex-boyfriend – who buys your street and plans on scrapping it to make brand new mansions in a project he dubs “cleaning up the slums” – evicting and putting you and your entire family out of the home you’d spent your entire life growing up in.

Rich ex-boyfriend – who thinks you’re crawling back to him when you schedule an appointment at his office – who thinks you’re going to come in with bleary wet eyes and grovel like the lowly peasant you are – let him save you from poverty and homelessness, make you his charity case – his pretty diamond in the rough who’s never quite able to wash all the coal off.

Rich ex-boyfriend – who trashes that same office when you leave after having given him the address to the pawnshop you sold the one pearl necklace you’d kept as a token of your relationship – telling him he should feel free to go down there and get it back – that you’re using the money to buy a better house and you just wanted to come and thank him for that. 

Of course, you wanted to slap him too – spit on his tie or maybe just take a piss on his desk – but you left it at that.

Rich ex-boyfriend – whose next move is to buy your family business, who hires a private eye to dig up dirt on you and all your family, burying you in fines from age-old petty crimes, gets you kicked from your scholarship.

Rich ex-boyfriend – who goes to that pawnshop and reports the pearl necklace as a stolen item and has the police arrest you. Spinning a story about how he thought you were this humble sweet thing, only for you to rob him behind his back.

Rich ex-boyfriend – who comes to visit you in the custody suite where you sit cooped up with all the other wretched mutts on the cold concrete floors – scolding you for making him come down to a dirty police precinct, for having him breathe the same air as all the lowlives held up there.

Rich ex-boyfriend – who tells you he’ll make it all go away.

He’ll drop the charges, let your family keep their house – or buy them an even better one, whichever you prefer – he’ll even promote your family business and pay for all your siblings' education – he’ll give you everything. 

Anything you want, it’s yours.

But he owns you.

BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Naoya

HQ – Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

BLLK – Reo, Rin

HxH – Illumi

Intimacy

Xiao x Reader

Intimacy for Xiao is a hard thing to come by.

Intimacy with him is

when you gently slip off the glove from his hand.

Tenderly, softly, delicately holding your fingers against his.

He is reluctant, repulsed even. But not from the gesture, not from you.

Never from you.

It is his own hands that bear the darkness. Or rather the vessel of the darkness. It’s his hands he considered the root of his inner corruption, his hands that have killed and slayed down and diminished countless lives.

His scarred hands you now hold so delicately as if they were something incredibly divine in your eyes. Something worth appreciating. Something worth saving.

That was the way your eyes are constantly looking at him like he was something worthy of salvation.

And when Xiao looks up, instead of repulsion or sorrow he is met with a soft smile that makes something sing where his heart is supposed to beat.

𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 . .

Old account: @/cupids-chamber a/n: examples of personalized comfort letters <3

My dearest, Y/n.

A few days ago you told me you loved me, for the first time . . and yet for some reason I couldn't say the words back. It was as if a lump had formed in the bottom of my throat, the words were so hard to get out. And I'm aware that must've hurt you, when I remained silent.

I'm not sending this letter in an attempt to redeem myself, I've made a mistake and I'm doing my best to own up to it. . . but to be completely honest, I was scared.

I was afraid, that may sound pathetic—However, if I said those three words to you, at that moment . . I'd be vulnerable, I'd be admitting I . . Loved you, and that's hard, it's scary, all bit sad and pathetic, but it made me feel weak, the idea made me feel torn open, and . . I ran away . . But I don't want to do that anymore, because, I do . . I do love you and I want to say those words to you in person, I want to be vulnerable . .

I want to be vulnerable with you. Signed, AZUL ASHENGROTTO, Jamil Viper, Riddle Rosehearts, TREY CLOVER, Sebek Zigvolt, Jack Howl, ACE TRAPPOLA, Eula, Kaeya Alberich, CHILDE, Chiori, Scaramouche, XIAO, & etc . .

My dear, Y/n.

A couple days ago you asked me why I loved you . . but I didn't answer. After that you've been distant, and I truly understand that silence is an answer at times. However, this time it wasn't.

My love, I love you for a plethora of reasons that I can't explain, words cannot calculate the feelings which you make me feel, the colours you allow me to see. If I were to list them all, I'd be wasting pages on pages of ink and paper . . Well I suppose it wouldn't be an waste, if it was for you?

Well to be entirely honest, another, more selfish part of me doesn't wish to detangle the threads of my feelings and present it to you. You make me feel vulnerable my dear, which is not something I often allow myself to feel around others, but that's what I love about you. You make me feel adored, like everyone in this world loves me. You make me feel cherished, and when I look at your face, I feel weak.

What I feel about you isn't something that I can just purely write or explain, it's complex, it's pathetic, it's so unlike me, and . . I enjoy that, I enjoy that you love me, knots and all. You my dear make me someone I want to be, and . . these are just a few reasons as to why I love you.

Signed, VIL SCHOENHEIT, Malleus Draconia, Cater Diamond, JADE LEECH, Leona Kingscholar (kind of), Diluc Ravinger, LYNEY, Clorinde, Neuvillette, KAZUHA, & etc . .

@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

: ̗̀➛ NOT THE EXCEPTION . yan! isagi yoichi / gn! reader

you were the fool for thinking that he'd be the only sane one in a team full of batshít crazy athletes. now he has you cornered, and the look in his eyes tells you that you should have never underestimated a wólf in sheép's clothing.

+ happy happy belated birthday to the love of my life bbg (who shan't be named) AND happy new year to everyone!!

( HOW DO I WRITE KISSING SCENES????, forced kíssing, dúbcon, n/sfw mentions, mánipulation, hárem mentions [bc it's not yester without a hárem] )

You don't know why you thought he was the exception.

Maybe it's because, in a team full of egoists, Isagi seemed to be the only one to treat you like his equal. Shidou drapes himself all over you and leaves you icky with his séxual comments, Rin cooly glares at you and barely acknowledges your existence, you could nearly faint at the mere glare of Kunigami, and Bachira likes to play rough with your body as he clings and begs for your attention.

That's not even the complete cast. Even people like Nagi, Reo, and Chigiri came with their own set of problems. But not Isagi. You had thought it would never be Isagi. Sure, he had a tongue and attitude on the field, parading around his victory with a smug smirk and spitting poíson at opponents and teammates alike. Yet that side of his seemed to completely disappear whenever he stepped out of the field, his prédatory gaze softening into a fond look whenever you bounded up to him to congratulate him on a well-earned victory. He never tried your boundaries or let his touch linger like the others did.

He was a gentleman through and through, and thinking that was your first mistake.

Your second mistake was being alone with him in your living room. He's still wearing that soft expression and kind smile, but his hands are gripping your wrists too tightly.

"[Your Name]." He says your name in a hushed whisper, bringing up your trembling wrist to his lips so he can press a kiss on a new bruíse. You watch with wide eyes as those plush lips touch your skin and permeate an icy feeling of doom through the veins. His gaze meets yours.

"Don't you think I did well today?"

Though your gut is telling you that something isn't right, you're still a fool smitten with the gentle image Isagi had portrayed himself to be. You find yourself slowly nodding, entranced by those blue eyes that never look away from you.

"Why do you think so?" He presses another kiss on your wrist, before loosening the bruising grip so he can trail kisses up your arm.

"... Your metavision is still as keen as ever," you whispered. The television screen is reflected in his eyes, news of Japan's newest victory flashing on the screen. You can't look away. "You expertly led the others to victory; you instigated all the right chemical reactions for the perfect shot." You lick your dry lips. "... You were amazing."

He huffs a laugh into your shoulder, massaging your bruised wrist like he wasn't the one who left that mark. "You're not echoing Ego's words, are you? I want to hear your own thoughts, not that slimy bastard's."

"M... Maybe," you admit, tense with his grip on your shoulder tightening. "I don't know much about soccer, but I meant every word. You were amazing, Isagi, you really were."

His grip softens, you're still tense, and he hums contentedly. "Right. I was amazing. I devoured every single bastard on that field and left them gasping." Your hair tickles your ear as he pushes them back. "So, don't you think it's a bit unfair?"

"... What is?"

"That I have to share my trophy with the others." His hand feels cold on your neck. "Can't I have one thing to myself? [Your Name], look at me."

You follow. He smiles that gentle smile again. He thumbs your lower lip like a lover.

"Kiss me."

You read romances all the time. They had always described it as hot, passionate, fiery. But maybe you took fiction too seriously. Real life is always different, and the ice in your veins is proof of that.

You draw closer, breath hitched, and mustering all the courage and swallowing down the unease in your heart, you press your lips on his.

There is no fire like the ones described in the books. There is a heavy pit in your stomach. Is this what they call butterflies? You tremble under the scrutinizing gaze of Isagi, eyes still open even with your lips on his. Soon, he closes his eyes too and you feel his lips smirk against yours.

Returning the kiss, he pulls you in closer and takes your everything in deeply. You can't pull away, you don't pull away. In this very moment, he's devouring everything you can offer— for now, physically; soon, mind and spirit. You wince when he bites down on your lip, not even trying to be gentle about it. You flinch backward from the pain, but his hand on the small of your back allows you no escape.

"Kiss me back, baby," he whispers between kisses. "You're my trophy for the night."

You kiss with less passion than him, too nervous about making him happy. You match the softness of his lips with yours, lapping at his tongue like how he does. He laughs when he pulls away, finding amusement in the blushy and nervous look on you.

"Gosh, you're so cute," he sighs, grinning at you. It's no longer friendly, those lips. A bit swollen from your kitten bites, the way he's smirking at you feels too... smug. "Too cute. Those bastards won't have any chance now that I've devoured you."

You gasp when his hand tightens on your hip, and you shoot him a nervous look. "I– Isagi, what are you...?"

"C'mon, [Your Name], how could you possibly not have seen it?" He chuckles. "Bargin' into the locker room every time we're half naked, in those cute shorts, and you think that not one man in that room would think about taking you on the fuckin' bench? Think, cutie. But you've always been wary of them, good thing. They think they can devour you by intimidating and belittling you? Those fuckers don't know shit."

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and laughs at their stupidity, vibrations buzzing your lip. "First, you gotta sweeten the trap with honey, you know?"

You are reflected in those captivating blue eyes, fluorescent lights illuminating your paling features. Taking you in again, he devours your lips once again, caring only for the taste of victory on his lips and your sweet sounds on his tongue.

Another victory snatched.

oh, my love

💌 mikage reo x female reader

special valentines event

oh, my love, please don’t cry… i’ll wash my bloody hands and we’ll start a new life.

notes: ayyy here’s the valentines special!! i wanna make perhaps one or two more smaller pieces, but um… yes. :] please enjoy, n dont forget to leave love if u did!! and happy valentines, babes ♡ this one took me a while haha… apologies if its a bit late! (or if theres typos. jmb™️ i need to get back in the flow of writing. im rusty 🥲)

tw: noncon, stalking, reo is awful here, violence, minor character death, nsfw, reader is a virgin

all hearts & reblogs are very appreciated! ♡

There’s few things in this world that capture Reo’s attention— even less that can utterly enamor him.

Football, winning the world cup- that’s been all he’s wanted for some time, filling up his head around the clock, his already-busy schedule occupied with practice and studying every little thing he’s ever loved about the sport. The things that make his heart tick- bubble up and explode.

But he has to admit, that pretty ass, all tempting and perky in that short school-issued skirt of yours, has grown on him considerably in these past few years.

Can’t say he’s complaining.

Valentines is just around the corner, Reo knows he’ll be no less popular than he was the last time, and he’s aware he’s got the better of the schoolgirls’ hearts on a leash. But he never really… cared about all the ‘love is in the air’ bullshit, either nose-deep in the studies his father shouldered on him or trying to discover a way to get out of them.

‘Course, that’s not to say he’s never hit on a few cuties or fucked a few girls in his down time- just that whenever one came blushing, pink card in hand with a stammering confession, he never returned it.

…That’s also not to say that he’s had no one in mind this February, that he hasn’t indulged in the sweet fantasy- even if just for a moment- that it was you skipping up to him instead of some stupid bimbo…

Reo does materialism, he does feel-good and beneficial. He, contrary to common belief around the halls, however, doesn’t typically do love.

That’s not what he grew up on, and he’s never had much of an issue with it. He knows he’s spoiled rotten, knows some kids would kill to stand in his shoes for a day— he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and Reo’s painfully aware of that. That he was sooner born a thing than a living, breathing boy who needed love and nurturing like any other child in the world— rich or not.

But you— Fuck, baby, if you keep runnin’ from him, making it difficult with that infuriatingly-hot hard-to-get act, he’ll have no choice but to try his hand at it.

♡♡♡

Sat at his desk, a hint of a boyish grin curling at his lips, Reo tucks a sleek card in the pocket of an envelope.

He’s sure you’ll be getting lots of them- confessions and shameless requests to get in your pants disguised as I Love You’s- so he puts an effort in to make his look at least a little bit special.

And he wonders what it’d take to finally nab you- you’re sweet enough, fuck, sweeter than cherry pie, but your eyes are always anywhere but him. Your parents obviously must be pretty well off considering your enrollment, but oddly, you don’t seem all that interested in money- Not like all the other braindead students traipsing the halls, parading off of daddy’s cash- still not satisfied with it, doing anything in their power to further line their pockets…

He’s got a feeling you won’t fold for his spare change. But Reo supposes stinginess isn’t really the main issue he has with his fellow classmates now, because being selfish isn’t truly a crime if you actually own it, right?

He’s more inclined to believe putting your ass on the line for someone else- gripping onto them with everything you’ve got and not looking back- is more selfless than anything else.

It’s stupid, maybe, but it’s love, so it makes sense. And all’s fair in that department, ain’t it? (It is.)

So Reo thinks about you, and how your name would sound with Mikage following before it, and he imagines the cute expression you’d make if he stuck his cock in you or whispered a dirty word in your ear, mottled his kisses over your neck and stained you.

Wonders how hard you’d cum when he sets you on his bed and plays with your pussy, spoils you to no end. Made the two of you a thing.

A thing.

The whole world would know, he’s fucking sure of that, and eventually, after graduation, he’d buy you a ring- nothing less befitting of a queen, of course- maybe knock you up, and you’d build the perfect family. And everybody’d see it— his mom and dad, the nosebleeds watching afar from the stands, all the people who essentially spat in his face and told him he could never be what he fucking needed to be.

Fuck, he’d give you all the love he has, you know?

…All you gotta do is accept his card tomorrow, smile that breathtaking little smile you always do that makes his heart thud, and take his arm in yours.

Don’t make this hard on him.

♡♡♡

It’s not that you have anything against him, plastering a wobbly smile over your face, fiddling with the wholesome note in your hands.

It’s not that you hate him, or think he’s indubitably unattractive- but it’s not easy, either, turning the auspicious man down for the third time in a row.

Last Valentines was embarrassing for the both of you- lavender eyes shimmering with an unmistakable flicker of hope, your own darting every which way besides his. And the one before that was almost just as bad, the beginning of the whole seemingly endless ordeal of satin-wrapped chocolates and vermilion bouquets at your locker.

But this year, he’s showing you he’s nothing if not determined, his gaze a steady burn of ambition and ticking patience the longer you nibble on your bottom lip, swaying from heel to heel, still yet to say a word.

And there’s no trace of hesitance there anymore, you think- all inhibition from last time nowhere to be found in that confident posture of his.

And you vaguely wonder if you’re fueling his ego, the way you can’t muster up a swift reply before him (but he seems.. inexplicably different- intimidating, even) his cheeks dusted a pale pink as you drag the silence out.

Reo stands taller, orchid hues somehow more strong and resilient- and you suppose it makes sense, because his inability to take no for an answer is just as impressive as it is infuriating.

His poem was cute enough- free form, somewhat sappy, yes, but undoubtedly not as bad as the last two (you’re thankful, really)- paired with a box of expensive-looking sweets and the undying question of can’t you be my girlfriend?

At first it was flattering- having the richest, possibly most studious guy in school approach you after the bell all red-faced and butterfly-eyed. And then it became awkward, rather quickly may you add, somehow knowing he was still tailing after you, as if your polite rejection was more of a challenge than a rebuttal— feeling his prying gaze at your back and catching purple everywhere.

But there comes a point- now, you realize, is probably said point- where it becomes a little… unnerving.

There’s no easy way to say it- not then and not now-

“I-I’m sorry.”

So you say what you can, with a stammering tongue and a feeble grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes this time. Perhaps you deserve some credit, though, managing to look up for half a second and give him an apologetic dip of your head.

Waiting for a sheepish laugh on his part or another murmur of acknowledgment.

Waiting… And waiting…

You glance up. Something icy- foreign- creeping through your veins at the oddly dull expression on his face.

Not that it’s to be entirely unexpected- it’s not weird that your adamant suitor would frown at your third consecutive letdown. Just that you don’t think you’ve ever seen that look on him before, lavender hues a bored gleam as they flit down at you, picking you apart like a specimen, quiet with something you can’t fully place there- vaguely disastrous.

And you’re backtracking now, swallowing down a lump as you fidget with the ends of your skirt- something Reo doesn’t miss- awkwardly proffering out the gifts he’d given you.

“Um, I- I don’t think it’d be right of me to take this,” you blurt out like an idiot, “Please,” you say, deciding to spare you both the mortification as you bow politely.

And there’s a beat of stiffness, a thick nothingness- awfully heavy- hanging over your head (and you don’t dare lift it up, in fear of the heated gaze you’ll meet there).

“Nah,” comes his simple response, and when you finally grow the balls to look up he’s shrugging, tossing a haphazard glance to the studded watch on his wrist (you don’t want to know the price, how much money he blows like it’s nothing).

“You keep it,” he nods casually at the organized pink mess in your arms, and you’re almost convinced that it’s all water under the bridge, that that odd little twinkle in his eye isn’t really there- that the hint of a curl at his lips is entirely your traitorous imagination.

“It’s my bad, really,” and he does smile, then, a polite, semi-pleasant smile that doesn’t feel entirely sincere.

Then Reo turns on his back, before you can add in a word or counter to his easy defeat, tucking his hands in his pockets as he calls over his shoulder—

“It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Witnessing him disappear down the hall with a grating, nervous laugh on your part, you get the insidious feeling that this won’t be the last of him.

♡♡♡

It’s almost two hours before the last bell when you slip out of class to use the restroom.

That, and to extricate yourself from the burning, orchid gaze at your backside.

If it’s possible to count each individual hair on a human’s head, you’re certain Reo has done it. Probably stashed the number away with all the proverbial voodoo dolls he has of you.

And it’s annoying, you think, this endless cat and mouse game- it can’t feel much better on his part, to be rejected three times by the same ditzy girl from fifth period, but he must understand you’re just not interested… He’ll get the hint eventually, right?

He’ll let up?

…For closer to a year, you’ve been hiding the vague thought away, but it’s a niggling, awful idea. Sends gross chills down your spine. That Reo may not be all he’s chalked up to be- not as reasonable and good as his face-value may first suggest.

Your friends’ve been calling him a creep for years, and you’ve always brushed it off, hushed them before anyone else could hear them slander the promising Mikage.

…You think you’re starting to see the light.

But what are you even supposed to—

A buzz of your cellphone has you jerking. Promptly digging the electronic from your bag as the screen alights with a familiar contact.

Happy Valentines baby! Still on for 6? ;)

Your chest bubbles up, warmth burgeoning there, and all qualms fly out the window as you open the familiar contact and type out a response, thumbs jittery as you think of all the possibilities the simple text may hold.

You know it :)

And for once in the whole day, breathing becomes easier.

♡♡♡

Raining on Valentines.

An uncalled-for storm— thunder clapping along the streets of the city, the outskirts of town fissured with lightning and torrential downpour.

Tomorrow, he’d promised, your date a soaking mess, strands of hair plastered to his forehead as he proffered his only umbrella out to you (you didn’t bring your own- because you’re never prepared for anything, clumsy and ditzy yet his eyes are soft when he looks at you).

Tomorrow, when the sun was out and the storm passed, he’d take you out to eat at your favorite place- you’d order whatever you wanted, he’d allow it, and then you’d drive around for a while, and he’d finally ask you to be his girlfriend.

Make things official.

It’d be a blatant lie to say the idea didn’t excite you.

The two of you’d been sneaking around after school for months now, going on little rendezvouses whenever it was safe under the crippling fear that your parents wouldn’t approve of him (or any boy, for that matter), his own not harboring a far off opinion.

You’re a good girl, but you’re not good enough, there’s nothing about you that inherently screams grossly-wealthy and they’ve already lined up potential suitors for their son long ago.

But this was your chance— to show them you could be even gooder, you could and would be Isamu’s girlfriend, and you’d be the best one he’s ever fucking had. (The confidence is almost that of a liquor’s— the words come straight from your lover, his throat dry as he sings himself hoarse of your praises. And it’s rubbed off on you some, you suppose, the faith he’s put in you.)

So it stung a little, having your plans called off. And maybe they were somewhat glorified in your dreamy pink-tinted lens, but you can’t help but feel disheartened, lying in bed on your tummy, scrolling through your phone.

You think about calling Isamu, about shooting him a simple text saying you miss him tonight- a wholesome reminder that you’re his and he’s so loved by you. You think about picnics and drinking strawberry milkshakes with him, snagging his cherry with a playful laugh before he can even hope to stop you.

And— Admittedly, with a quiet, burning shame, you think about him between your legs, too.

Takin’ your virginity, letting him snatch your dignity right from your chest. Steal whatever’s left of your honor after all the heated make-out sessions and butterfly kisses to the sensitive plush of your legs.

If splitting your hymen was what he was intending, Valentines would’ve been as good a time as any.

But there’s no point moping about it now, you decide, shutting off your phone and burrowing your face in the mess of pillows.

Tomorrow’ll come, and Isamu will take you out on a joyride through the city, and you’ll be so good for him- you’ll show them all- should the stars align just right.

…So caught up in your schoolgirl daydreams and the leftover exhaustion from desperately skirting around Mikage’s shadow all day- dozing off, you miss the flurry of calls your soon-to-be boyfriend sends you.

♡♡♡

Despite it all, the awkward tension between you and the promising athlete Mikage, the inexplicable sensation of dirtiness he brought upon you- for the first class of the day, you wear a smile.

Hopeful, faint but there, mind full of the vowing words of your soon-to-be boyfriend.

If things went right- and there’s no good reason they shouldn’t- you’d be Isamu’s girlfriend by the end of tonight. Just like he swore. And maybe he’d fuck you like you’ve always dreamt of, lie you down on his bed and bruise you like you’ve wanted for months now, but never felt bold enough to admit. (You’ll never know that his lack of action is due to just that.)

A smile that, as the hours drag on, slowly ebbs.

You expect to bump into him in the halls, to share a bubbly laugh, pepper a discreet kiss or two to his cheek- but Isamu’s nowhere to be found.

“Nope,” your friend denies for the second time, wedged between you and her sister on the cafeteria bench.

She glances up at you while prodding at her lunch tray- admittedly not as appetizing as you’d thought it’d be today (but then again, the whole day’s felt weird, like something’s off, and you wonder if it’s Isamu’s unexplainable absence or just the steady build of nausea in your tummy).

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Rika says, before shooting you a semi-reassuring smile and stuffing her face. “Don’t worry, he’s probably just… sick or something… maybe went on that trip with his parents?”

An uneasy hum on your part has her quickly adding- “You’re still on for tonight, right?”

You nibble on the insides of your cheeks, suddenly finding the tabletop very interesting as a bad idea forms in your head— A sad thing, an unbearable thing- is Isamu… avoiding you, maybe? Maybe he doesn’t want you after all, or maybe he got cold feet and decided he’d swerve school entirely, even if just to shrug you off.

Oh, that idea stings you in a way you never knew.

As if reading your thoughts, or perhaps noticing your thick silence- Rena perks up next with a worried brow, the more thoughtful of the two, and gives you a smile a touch more convincing than her sister’s.

“Seriously, Y/n- Rika’s right, if he’s not sick or whatever, something definitely came up.”

Whether she’s scrounging out a cute outfit from her closet for you, making the shrewd decision to paint your nails pink for Valentines, or even just telling you which boys to steer positively clear of, you’ve always trusted Rena’s judgement.

Now, you feel oddly detached from it all. A flicker of unease settling in.

She leans over though, hovering her arm over yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. When your doubtful eyes finally shift up to hers, she’s hardly holding onto a smile, as if she too was worried your first sweetheart decided to make a last-minute ditch.

“Hey- it’s nothing, really,” she murmurs softly. From between you, Rika refuses to pry her gaze from her tray. Out of genuine unawareness or second-hand embarrassment, you’re not so sure.

“You’ll get fucked tonight- totally.”

When you snort with an undignified blush, she giggles, bright and bubbly, settling back into her seat.

Your phone doesn’t go off for the rest of the afternoon- not even once.

♡♡♡

Pink suits Valentines. It just does, and everyone knows it- a universal truth, sort of thing.

You wore it today, as a cute little clip in your hair- Reo knows you probably sell him short often, even though he’s too clever for his own good, but he didn’t fail to notice the small accessories you hooked on this morning.

He’s been seeing it everywhere this past month- fuck, if he’s being entirely honest, he’s sort of glad the 14th is nearly over.

Shades of white and soft rose, hearts and pastel on the streamers strung around the doorways at school. And the cheesy posters- it’s awful, really, how he can’t walk anywhere without getting his nose stuck in one.

Love is overrated, (that is- ‘til you get a taste of it yourself) and pink is fine until it gets old and it’s not.

But then again… there’s always red. Red suits Valentines too, Reo decides- better than its pale counterpart, even.

He’s made a mess of your boyfriend, you know. Painted him in it.

Left him lying in a flower bed of his own blood, red petals dappled all over the place. The silky covers, the pillows- even flecked onto the lampshade on the nightstand. The headboard and walls.

Reo thinks, spitting a bitter glob of tinted saliva on your dear boyfriend’s battered, swollen face, that he’s never going back to pink ever again.

And soon- after he sloughs the murder off his clothes and stops by your place- you won’t either, if he has any say in the matter.

Red’s always looked hotter on you, anyway.

♡♡♡

A thud at your window.

Featherlight at first- quiet enough to be your imagination, the weary hours of night really sinking its teeth into you, and the distinct sense of dejection surely doesn’t help (Isamu didn’t return any of your calls)- but it’s… there all the same.

You’re tired. Isamu ghosted you. You don’t want to be awake anymore. Sleep, just sleep, brush the noise off and go to sleep.

Tap. Tap.

Lashes flutter open over puffy eyes, and you’re met with the window across of you, the curtains slivered just so to see a glimpse of the moon peeking through.

That, and a fair, deft hand working beneath the pane.

A flash of orchid, paired with an instantaneous flood of panic on your part.

Terror is ethereal in a way, biting into you and never letting go, fire and fear pumping through your veins. You feel heavy and awful, yet Reo thinks you’re anything but- glowing in the pale light of the moon as you sit there stiffly in a pool of blankets, eyes rimmed red and wide.

You’re a beauty, if he’s ever known one. It’s why he can’t stop himself, inevitably popping open a latch and sliding the first-floor window up, hooking a long leg over the ledge and into your room.

It smells of you, something floral and shapeless and soft. Permeates the air and nuzzles into his very being.

He lets it.

You were a bitch to him earlier (he gets it, he does, you don’t love him right away, but you will soon, and that’s all that really matters), making him down another bottle of rejection, turning him away with a weak grin and a pathetic sorry. But you make it easy for him now, half-lying there in your pretty bedsheets, a teddy clutched loosely in your right arm.

Materialistic or not, the first thing Reo notices after the evident shock on your face, the sheer terror there, is how good you look. Perfection wrapped up in a cute little nightgown, tits spilling out from the side of it, shoulder-blades dusted white in the haze of the moon as you gape like a doe in the headlights. (You’re a dream, you’re such a dream, he knew you would be.)

Your first movement is of your lips, breath a meager tremble in the brisk night air.

“…Reo?”

His chest billows at that, spine racking with a pleased little shiver. Reo sighs, “That’s it, baby. It’s me.”

“What—“ you gulp, a lump caught in your throat as you start anew. “What’re you… doing here?”

For one thick moment, he says nothing, taking a measured step forward, shrugging off his thin jacket and letting it fall to your floor. You watch it happen, glossy eyes flitting to the carpet- the shoes he toes off before he nears the foot of your bed.

His fair cheeks are mottled a boyish shade of pink, a hint of a smile at his lips as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. But it’s only when his left knee sinks into the mattress, the bed dipping beneath you, that common sense kicks in and you scream—

He’s dangerously fast, snatching your jaw in his hands, fingers chafing against the bone beneath the fat of your cheeks.

“Uh-uh, pretty,” his smooth voice is edged with bitterness, his eyes a burning void of amethyst as he slowly lowers himself over you. And it’s sort of manic, the way he regards you. Crazy and sick and so possessive it scares you.

“You’re smarter than that,” he murmurs, his free hand taking the initiative to explore some of the curves he’d been dreaming of for years now. “…You won’t ruin this for me, not tonight.”

And then, a buckle of his belt, a devious flash of a toothy grin and his cold palms scrabbling for your cotton panties.

As much as you want to, you know better than to scream- the sober warning in his eyes going entirely unspoken.

The tiny specks of red on his neck and jaw tell you Reo’s lost all inhibition anyway, and you have a niggling feeling that nothing in the world you could possibly say could change his mind.

“Reo, please-“ you whisper tearfully, lashes dewy in the haze of night as he tugs down his pants and sits himself over your bare thighs.

Caressing the soft skin there with a tenderness that hurts, his hues flicker up to meet yours.

Wide, half heartbroken, entirely terrified.

You supposed something like this was inevitable- your burgeoning love story with Isamu seemed too good to be true and Reo didn’t show any signs of quitting his hot pursuit of you- but how in the hell were you supposed to predict something like this?

“Please, Reo- I don’t understand, I- my parents are-“

He just shakes his head, though, folding over you to place a smattering of sloppy, needy kisses between the valley of your breasts, unceremoniously palming at your tits as he rucks up your nightgown.

“No tears, baby, you gotta be quiet for me. We’ll tell your parents later, yeah?”

Nausea burrows into the pit of your tummy; Reo’s always been clever, and if the smug little look on his face is the least bit credible, he knew his gross allusion would shut you right up.

And he gives you a soft laugh then, leaning back on his knees as he spreads your legs- ignoring the brief resistance he meets there (all futile anyway)- rendering you utterly naked and his with one final yank of your panties. Pockets ‘em for later, a little souvenir to remember his sweet Valentine.

“Reo- I’m not- I’m a virgin.” You admit with humiliation- yet somehow the fear snuffs everything else out as his fingers sink into your thighs.

His eyes twinkle, and you think you see mirth there, golden thrill swelling inside them- trapping you completely, like a bird with its wings clipped.

“Sure,” he whispers, like it’s all water under the bridge. “And I’ll make you feel good, I swear it.”

The beat of silence is thunderous. Cold realization blitzes through you- you can’t escape him this time.

“It won’t hurt too bad at first,” he sighs. “But, if we’re being honest here, babe…”

Reo gapes down at you, closing the gap once more to rest his forehead against yours. Pupils blown-out, strands of orchid plastered to his brow-line from the waning storm outside, a persistent bulge teasing against your clit- and that awful, cloying smile—

“I kinda fucking hope it does.”

all hearts & reblogs are very appreciated! ♡

Thinking about self hatred and how it's such a plague in Blue Lock. Thinking about how Rin can't look in the mirror because of how much he reminds himself of Sae, but how he tells Isagi to look at him. How even characters who think of themselves as filth get angry, how Kenyu has bursts of it, how Kaiser chokes himself. How deep down every single character in Blue Lock is begging to be loved and understood. The light in their eyes when someone believes in them and the deep pit of depression they fall into when no one does.

How Reo and Ness are hated by parts of the fandom probably BECAUSE their self hatred is so viceral and so obvious you can fucking feel it. Yet characters like Barou and Kunigami are seen as edgy because they hide their self hatred behind an equally destructive facade, a mask of controlled apathy for those around them. The way the coaches have to cradle the fragile, fragile souls of these boys while still pushing them to be better. Begging them to believe they are capable and picking them up after they pass out, stopping them from falling into the same imposter syndrome they've witnessed again and again (that even they are not immune to).

Thinking about how even Ego Jinpachi doesn't take care of himself.