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trying on a metaphor
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shark vs the universe

blake kathryn
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year


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almost home


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@miehya
masterlist ă recs

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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who is your fav bsd character i will write for them
dazai . . . đ
who is yours ?? i hope you have better taste
these are all from the past two months, buuut here are some contrapuntal fandom poems i wrote :3
theyâre inspired by @two-bees-poetry âs works! i love doing these so much <3
you and me always forever
satoru gojo
horror? creepy entity gojo, grandma got possessed or traumatized ig, mentions of mold, blood
wc: 1.2k
i wrote this at night when they cut off the electricity so i was sweating bullets writing this hoping the monsters didn't come take me too đ„ i wrote this on a whim then got inspired by the pale visitor from ninah then the entity from (dont) open your eyes and uhh yeah. tokyo rev fic coming up next i think.
The distant ticking of the grandfather clock sounded all throughout the moldy house, making the lugubrious night ever more frightening. You nestled deeper into the thick blankets, insomnia preventing you from entering the awaited dreamland, and breathed in the musty air.
Your grandmotherâs house was full of ancient relics and gimmicks, objects that could be considered artifacts, and it was just your luck that she had called you to help her sort them out and maybe sell them. The money wasnât for her of course, she didnât have long to live â neither was it for any of her children or grandchildren â so you often wondered who she was doing all this pointless changing for. Or perhaps, what... she was doing this for.
You felt beads of sweat roll down your forehead, dripping to your neck. It was hot, that was true, but you suspected it had to do with fear as well. You werenât alone in that room, and as if fate read your thoughts, you heard a small scratching under your bed, as if taunting you about the fact that you knew.
What it was â or who it was â making that noise, you didnât know, but it wasnât the first time itâs done this. Only the fourth night in your grandmotherâs house, and you honestly felt as if you would bolt the second dawn broke. Three days left, but many things could happen in three days and you werenât sure you wanted to know them.
Uncomfortable in the stiff position youâd been stuck in, you shifted yourself, making the bed creak and the scratching stop. But just when you thought you would get a moment of peace, the scratching resumed, much louder this time.Â
You couldnât take it anymore. The heat, the mold, the scratching, and the damn ticking of the clock.
âStop,â you said out loud, staring at the damp ceiling, voice trembling a little with fear. âIâm trying to sleep and you're not helping.â
The scratching stopped once again, enveloping the room in a sort of thick silence filled with the despair of the unknown, of not knowing whatâs to come next, of this being perhaps your last night. What a lovely way to end your life, provoking an entity.
There was a sound of movement and floor boards creaking as whatever was under your bed did its best to get out of it and in the corner of your eyes, you could see something large and ghastly moving.
Letting out a little gasp, you closed your eyes shut, hoping that it would repel the scratching creature, but you knew it was for naught. The shuffling continued until it stopped abruptly. You could hear heavy breathing right next to your ear and you kept your eyes tightly shut.
âOpen⊠your eyesâŠâ a gravelly voice rasped directly into your ears, making you involuntarily shudder.
Neither of you did or said anything after that, and there was now an eerie silence present in the room, the ticking not even audible anymore.
âOpen...themâ the voice commanded again, insistent, dragging what seemed to be a sharp nail against your skin to the point where it drew blood.
Your eyes flew open and you felt the trickle of a small, crimson bead down your cheek, moving slowly to warn you of the horrors that were to come if you did not listen to the voice next to you.
âGood⊠now turn.â
You really didnât want to. You wanted to dash to your grandmotherâs room, seeking comfort in her warm arms as she lulled you to sleep with lullabies and reassurances that there was absolutely nothing under the bed. And sheâd double check to make sure. That was the grandma youâd grew up with. This one⊠was different, and not in a good way.
Shakily inhaling, you slowly turned your head only to meet the brightest, most illuminating ocean eyes you've ever seen. They were too blue to be true, like an undiscovered gem of lapis lazuli, fervently glowing the dark and inviting you to get lost in the swirls of blue ecstasy. The little light it provided allowed you to see the messy strands of white hair adorning his head, and if it wasnât for you knowing his true nature, you wouldâve thought he was a model.
He grinned, revealing pearly white teeth, deeply unsettling you with their whiteness. Like his eyes, they glowed, allowing you to see a miniature reflection of yourself in them. Your eyes darted back to his but even looking at them made yours hurt.
âI have been⊠observing you.â
ââŠI can tell,â you whispered.
He chuckled a bit, if the noise he emitted from his mouth could even be considered such a term, but for the lack of words to describe the monstrous and inhuman noise, chuckling would be the equivalent.
"You intrigue me."
A pause.
"What even are you?"
"Human... of course."
"No, you're not."
"You are right. I am not."
Your blood ran ice cold at those words even if you already knew he wasn't normal.
"What did you do to my grandma? She's not the same."
"She doesn't have much longer to live so I..."
He trailed off, staring at you and you realized this was one of those questions you werenât sure you wanted the answer to.
âIâve dedicated... my love for you," he deflected, smile growing ever wider. "Would you like to see?â
No! Your body screamed at you to say, refuse! Turn around and pretend itâs all in your head!
But your fear of disappointing him eventually took over the commands, and you had no choice but to obey like a puppet to escape the consequences.
âS-sure?â
His face didnât change but his eyes flickered with satisfaction. Before you knew what was happening, you felt his arms wrap around you, hands ripping through the mattress to get a better hold of you as his nails pierced your skin as well. You felt yourself getting lifted up into the air before slowly descending⊠under the bed.
The gap between the bed and the floor was large enough for a small suitcase to fit in, so both you and him found it comfortably easy to slide in. You were trembling in fear but he paid no mind to it, took one of your hands and touched the carvings he made on the wood.
You were confused at first what you were tracing but you soon caught on.
SatoruâŠGojo? You assumed that was his name. Your finger traced some more and your heart fell to your stomach when you recognized your own name too. He guided you all throughout the wood of the bed, as it wasnât just in one place but rather everywhere, every inch, every corner; every free space he could find, he wrote on it.
Your names were always together paired with other words such as love, loyalty, or mine. It gave you the chills, but what could you do in the arms of an infatuated monster?
But you gasped in horror as you traced the forever written in capitals, your name and his written around it like small cupids hovering near an Aphrodite.
He giggled in your ear, the raspy sound making you flinch as it grated on your ears like nails on a chalkboard.
âYou and me, forever."
guyz, did i cook or not. should i stick to fluff and angst instead.
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
m.list
koi no yokan
a premonition of love ; the sense upon meeting for the first time that you will inevitably fall in love one day
a mini collection of long oneshots set in the same timeline ; modern au (no curses) ; each story involves grief and mourning ; fem!reader
the ruins during a starry night ă gojĆ satoru
cw. friends with benefits, obsessive behaviour
winter reminds me of you ă getĆ suguru
cw. angst, depression, emotional dependency
found in sunflowers ă higuruma hiromi
cw. single mother, slice of life
flowers for the graveyard ă kamo chĆsĆ
cw. substance abuse, depression, slice of life
note. this will take me a long time to write (slowest writer ever) ;; i suspect that each story will probably be around 10k â 20k words & content and characters may be changedïŒadded
no taglist !!

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growing sideways ă oikawa tĆru
â
The days leading up to the summer of your third year are covered by a veil of melancholy and youth. July, summer is slow, the air is thicker, and time continues to move around you, but not you.
Arriving at school late two days in a row, the third time this month alone, and the displeased results of you âforgettingâ to hand in your career plan once again had led the school counselor to say you arenât taking your future seriously, and while you argued â his words are undeniably true. The future after high school scares you; a blank canvas stares back at you. As result of your repeated carelessness, you get assigned to cleaning duty during the first week of summer break, while everyone is at the beach or training in their clubs. It is better than him calling home, though.
You donât think you could stomach the disappointment on your motherâs face once again.
summer's lease hath all too short a date
submission for @madamechrissy's object!gojo event hehe - congrats on 50k followers & happiest of birthdays to one of the first jjk authors i became obsessed with (wdym we are mutuals!!!! I'M NOT WORTHYYY)
characters: yukata obi!gojo (emperor!gojo) x childhood friend/servant!fem reader
veiled secrets is by far one of my fave works by chrissy - if you have yet to read it, please do!!!!
tags(s): angst, mention of character death, reincarnation, crack, inanimate but sentient gojo, references to chrissy's emperor gojo, perspective switch, yearning&pining, asshole gojo (some redemption?), japanese legend, flower language
word count: 2.5k
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines... But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Emperor Gojo was transcendent. Ephemeral. A beast in battle, and an even more feral one in bed. His bright blue eyes always reminded you of summer â the glistening pond and the vast skies.
Compared to summer though, Emperor Gojo was far more beautiful, and by far more temperate.
Like a fleeting firework display. Burning bright and brilliant, but untouchable up close. Ever since his enthronement ceremony when he came of age, he was lost to you.
Yes, he had gained immense power, stepping into the role he had been destined for: the nationâs Weapon.
But he also finally recognised that you were far beneath his station.
Years of frolicking as bosom buddies, cheeky flirting just⊠gone.
You knew it was never going to go anywhere, but your traitorous heart loved that white-haired miscreant for years anyway.
Each time he stuck his tongue out at you, each time he skipped his lessons to play with you in the fields, each time he held your hand like he wasnât put off by your calluses and weathered skin⊠hope bloomed you in. Dangerous, treacherous hope.
You would have loved him no matter which lifetime, you thought. Even if he werenât Emperor. Perhaps especially so.
That title burned your tongue and clawed at your heart.
Emperor.
One of the many privileges of being Emperor was the honour of having concubines. Being slighted by the love of your life was already a difficult pill to swallow, but knowing that his gender granted his indiscretion legitimacy, while you were relegated to a life of perpetual servitude and shadowsâŠ
You could only bend and kiss the ground, watch the boy you loved grow into a god you resent. Resentment aside, he was still a god you worshipped devoutly.
But what choice did you have?
You've sworn yourself to him, at his altar. You were a willing participant, and a heartbroken one at that.
"Nah, I'd win," he boasted to his gaggle of concubines, as you prepared their teas and robes.Â
Steam from the opulent bath swirled and rosewater permeated the air. The scent from the oils was pleasantly saccharine, but it did little to tamp down the nausea from seeing Gojo entwined in a tangle of limbs and breasts.
Resolutely averting your eyes, you focused on the task at hand. Methodically folding robes and pouring sweet tea in delicate china while the most esteemed Emperor continued with his bravado.
The Gojo state, for all their folly, had decided to lead the charge against their longest enemy, the barbaric Ryomen clan, without waiting for allies or support. This foolhardy battle plan was spearheaded by the one and only Six Eyes, a revered war title bestowed upon Emperor Gojo after his legacy of going undefeated and unmatched for hundreds of battles.
Six Eyes, they called him â for his foresight, his vision, his ability to see through deception and stealth.
Of course, those piercing eyes never once saw your devotion, never saw you, youâd think bitterly.
In an ironic twist, Emperor Gojo had insisted that you were to be his personal servant, dishing up his nightly dessert. A great honour, he had claimed, which he could entrust to no one but you.Â
A younger version of yourself many moons ago would have swooned and sighed, relishing the task. After all, this was the only way two star-crossed lovers of different stations could ever be together â through stolen seconds and engineered moments alone.
You know now, or rather, finally could admit it to yourself, that it was because Gojo knew youâd never have the audacity or malice to poison him.Â
He never had to call for the poison checker if it were you. Heâd get his dessert much quicker that way.
It seemed that all you were to this man was what you could offer; what you could do for him.
The syrupy glaze would waft into your nose, but it did little to disguise the dry sand that filled your mouth each time you laid eyes on his Majesty and beloved concubine of the week.
You were never one to be bold or daring, so you never once dreamt of being awarded the title of a concubine. Someone of your background could never.
So what were you expecting?
That your beloved Satoru would swear off other women, renounce his title, and run away with you to live happily ever after in a small cottage?
Scoffing, you shook your head lightly. Even as a child, Gojo was driven by ambition and power.Â
âIâm going to be the strongest!â His pitchy adolescent voice belied his skill and prowess. You never once doubted him. It was evident in the way he wielded his sword, and moved in combat. Watching with stars in your eyes, youâd gasp at the effortless way he dominated his trainers and challengers.
A true hero, you used to think. The saviour of our land.Â
There was no one on earth who would rival him as a teenager. What more when Gojo was crowned and at his prime?
GOJO SATORU HAS BEEN DEFEATED. HE HAS FALLEN IN BATTLE. SURRENDER NOW AND WE WILL SHOW YOUR WOMEN AND CHILDREN MERCY. GOJO SATORU HAS B-
Gojo was having a bad week. Not only did he have to fight Sukuna (ugh), but he was made to leave the castle before he could say goodbye to you in person.Â
Yes, you were probably busy with chores or whatever you had to finish before your lunch break, but he knew seeing his face would make your day. You were sweet like that.
Worst of all though, he freaking died.Â
That distinct, unforgettable moment of being severed â that was only second to his regret and guilt.Â
Third on the list of grievances was probably how his first and only true defeat was broadcast throughout his kingdom by enemy knights on horseback, trying to undermine his nation from within.Â
Could one feel such an intense turmoil of emotions even when dead?
Perhaps it was his punishment for his crimes while living. Whilst he was a fine leader and merciful fighter on the battlefield, he was ultimately just a cruel boy.Â
A boy who flirted unabashedly with a girl who kissed the ground he walked. A boy with no intentions of actually ever communicating maturely or being the bigger man.
A boy who let down the only real thing in his life time and time and time again.
You were the only thing on his mind at the end; fittingly so. After all the times he dismissed you or snubbed you⊠if anyone had the right to haunt him for all of time, it was you.
He loved you. In his own stupid, selfish way. He did really love you.
He loved the way your eyes crinkled, the way your hands were rough from use. Despite your flaming blush each time he grabbed them, he never let you pull away.
You saw him for him. As Satoru. Not a weapon, not the future Imperial leader. Just a boy who loved sweets and pranks.
You saw him. Could he say the same?
God, he was a fool. Propelled by some unknown drive, perhaps a part of him knew his end was imminent, he had attempted to make amends before his battle.
The right approach, the proper approach would be to actually speak to you, and begin his litany of apologies, and to try to rekindle whatever relationship he could salvage.
Of course Gojo Satoru wouldnât take the easy route. That would mean he wasnât a fool.
No, he decided to commission a yukata, with a blue obi (for no reason, definitely not to match his eyes), despite it being winter.
The royal tailor was momentarily perplexed by the odd request, but still familiar enough with Emperor Gojoâs whims that he compiled readily.
He had the garment wrapped pristinely in a heavy box, and ordered another servant to send it to your room when he left for battle.
Now, once again, the right and easy thing to do would have been to give it himself. To explain why he did it, and perhaps even extend an invitation to you for both of you to attend a summer festival together in said matching yukata.Â
That would have been the right thing to do.
But now Gojo found himself fucking sealed in that very box, awaiting summerâs arrival, praying that youâd decide to open his (first and) final gift.
Perhaps it was the fact that you filled his mind in his final moments, and that this was his divine retribution - but he found himself as the obi he had commissioned for you.
Cursed with sentience and reflection but unable to speak; to be reborn without a mouth though he was aching to scream.
In darkness over the next few months, he came to learn that his nation had prevailed from hushed whispers and gossip. That his student and distant relative, the prodigy Okkotsu Yuta, was able to defeat Sukuna and take control of the Gojo state.
The pride he felt for Yuta warred viciously with his own shame and guilt, though what emerged triumphantly was actually his sense of relief.
Tragically, it was only as an obi that he was finally free of his responsibilities and burdens.Â
At least, he still had you. His one consolation. He could finally be with you as just Satoru.
However, sealed away in the gift box, he was utterly helpless when he heard your gentle weeping in the dead of night.
He did not deserve your love, much less your grief.Â
Each time you mourned him, Gojo was made to relive his death, and more painfully, his failure in life when it came to you.Â
It seemed so unfair that both of you would be punished for his folly and sin.
Stiffly, as best as he could as a starched piece of fabric, Gojo prayed for your release and freedom.
He prayed that youâd find peace, that you could let go of him, something he should have done for you when he was alive.
Time as an obi⊠felt neither here nor there. Eventually, Gojo surmised that it was indeed summer.
The air in the box felt especially musty and damp, though he need not concern himself with the high humidity levels anymore since he had no locks to maintain or sweat glands to perspire.
How many months has it been? Or had it been years?Â
You never once opened the box, and Gojo did not feel like he wanted to compel you to. His final act of what he deemed generosity, was probably just an additional burden weighing you down.Â
What good is an expensive gift when you would never come to learn of its significance and his intention? It was just like his past self to throw money at a problem, but never to actually open up and be vulnerable.
Being an obi seems to only further compound his long list of regrets, but that was probably the point of his reincarnation into this form. To learn, to grow, to change â even though it was too little too late.Â
Summer rolled around again. How many summers it had been since his death, he knew not.Â
The tedious doldrums of life as an obi was frankly, quite bearable. Routinely, heâd wait patiently, until you returned to your quarters after a dayâs work.
In the evening, he relished your quiet tears and companionable silence as you washed up, read, and got ready for bed.Â
In another life, this would be his nightly routine. Coming back to you after a long day of meetings with the higher-ups and council, after walks around town and polite smiles directed to his people.Â
Youâd be there, waiting for him at home. Would you have a pair of children together? A boy with his hair; a girl with your smile?
If he had a heart, itâd break a second, third, forth, fifth time over and over and over again. In the light of day when you left to perform your imperial duties, Gojo counted down the seconds for your return.
Was this what it was like for you when he was alive? Waiting tirelessly for someone who never spared a thought for you?
Fortunately, your grief mellowed with time. And in time, you stopped weeping at night. Gojo had once thought that the worst thing in life was to be forgotten, but he realised he didnât care if he was remembered anymore.Â
He just wanted you to stop hurting.
He supposes heâs finally got his wish as an obi.
Watching you get dressed, finally unboxing his gift now that enough time (years?) has passed.Â
Methodically, you slipped on the yukata, adjusting the front panels, before reaching for the obi.
Oddly, Gojo comes to find, being pulled and tugged and stretched did not hurt. Maybe it was the designated purpose of an obi, so being wrapped tautly and filled with tension felt surprisingly natural for him.
Or maybe it was because you were the one wearing him.
Unexpectedly, the pain came a little later, after you were done getting dressed.
It pierced him like a lance, an agony so sharp and so visceral. To his horror, it even paled in comparison to his actual death.
You were dolled up, and strolling around the local festival hand in hand with someone else. Increasingly sensitive to each movement and touch, Gojo became hyper aware of each time you leaned into the other manâs larger frame and wrapped your arm around his bicep.
Was this what it was like for you? Dying a thousand deaths each time wordlessly? Watching from the shadows, unable to interject?
At least, Gojo comforts himself, he would never truly forget you.Â
It was his turn to watch over you silently, steadily. Cling to you like second skin, literally. And there was no one to stop him this time round.
It seems, he tells himself, that you would never forget him either. The love and grief might have faded, but you care for Emperor Gojo still.Â
As the fireworks sizzle to an end, you and your lover take a detour before heading back to the servant quarters.Â
You stop by the royal mausoleum, leaving behind a bouquet of blue hydrangeas, as your fingers trace over the golden letters etched in smooth stone, äșæĄæ. Emperor Gojo Satoru.
Itâd be funny, if it werenât so damn tragic.Â
The tale of the Ajisai, 玫éœè±, had been passed down from generations: the story of an emperor who gave his neglected lover a bouquet of blue hydrangeas as a sign of contrition and remorse.Â
It ought to have been him who offered these flowers to you, not the other way round, Gojo thinks desperately. Overwhelmed with the need to speak, to say something, anything, Gojo would be driven to tears if he could cry.
Worst of all, he notices that they match his eyes, and your obi.
He supposes the flowers have to do all the talking for him now. All he can do now is feel how you intertwine your fingers with another manâs, walking hand in hand, leaving his gilded tomb behind.
Until another lifetime.
big shoutout to @madamechrissy once again!!! big love & lots of kisses to u angel
this was also not the usual object!crack fic but i hope you like it! i'd love to try my hand at sillier fics in the future hehe but the angst bug got me this round
gojo art is official gege akutami, edited on canva by me // others are stock image/free use on procreate // divider by the lovely @/saradika-graphics
Reblogs, comments, likes would be greatly appreciated! (*áŽÍËŹáŽÍ)ê€*.ïŸthank you taking the time to read!
Please do not translate, copy, or feed my work to AI. Basic DNI rules apply for minors; please be kind in the comments! Hate speech or intolerance of any kind will not be accepted.
speechless: unable to be expressed in words
suna x reader 3.1k wc
a/n: soo i really didnât think id ever write things like this? but then i did? and im sorry in advance! <3
tw: mentions of mental health, alcohol, heavy angst
it was never meant to go like this. you were supposed to say yes, supposed to know how to express your feelings. how to tell him it wasnât him, it was you, it was always you.
the funny thing about life is that it will never, go how you want it to.
suna sits alone on the last train of the night, funnily enough, just how you had met. years ago, riding the train back after sitting in the university library for as long as they would allow you. you stumbled into the train car past twelve in the morning, dropping all of your posters in the process. shoving them into your bag and praying the train moves quick enough for everyone to forget seeing you in such a state,
Everyone stand for the flag
â⊠why have you forsaken me ?
( geto suguru x fem! reader )
⊠a/n â i love system of a down sorry not sorry
⊠word count â 1.5k
⊠content â geto suguru x fem! reader, cult leader! geto, cult leader! geto x follower! reader, no like explicit relationship, but it is hinted at, slight violence, maybe ooc geto?, lmk if i missed anything !
⊠synopsis â For the first time ever, youâre not sure if the world Geto Suguru gave you is the one you want anymore. And for the first time you think he knows it too.
ââ ⊠father, into your hands, i commend my spirit
The first time you leave the compound alone, it isnât rebellion.
It's a curiosity.
The kind that starts smallâ quiet, almost harmless. A lingering thought at the edge of your mind, something youâd always brushed away before because you trusted him. Because everything you needed was here. Because he had given you purpose, given you belonging, given you a world that made sense.
Still, that day, you step past the gates.
And no one stops you.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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masterlist
collections
koi no yokan
ăă«ăŒăăăŻ
kaiser : cauchemar
yukimiya : babyâs breath
ćȘèĄć»»æŠ
gojĆ & getĆ : euthanised dogs (iâm still in mourning)
æ±äșŹćăȘăăłăžăŁăŒăș
sanzu : safe in your skin
misc.
dazai : smile separation
oikawa : turning pages (flying high) ăgrowing sideways
babyâs breath ă yukimiya kenyĆ« x blind!reader
for the only yukimiya fan i know : @kenyudotcom
â
youth [yoĆth]
noun.
1. an early period of development or existence
2. life as yet untouched by tragedy
.
.
.
Youth is not always comprised of golden days, and the carefree summer nights spent running underneath a blue horizon. Days meant for freedom and happiness [childhood innocence] destroyed before the taste of dreaming hit your lips. Learning of the cruelty of living before you learned how to swim.
And youth, or yours, was spent tip-toeing through a familiar, yet unfamiliar hall, unending and compressing â between hushed whispers and eyes crawling up your skin. Your motherâs grip had only tightened.
tw for sh & suicide themes . please reach out if you or someone you know is struggling.
thereâs a certain misery that comes with crying after a long day of keeping yourself together.
and fuck, michael kaiser did not mean to be your breaking point.
god, the more he thinks about it, the more ashamed he feels. you were tired when he picked you up from work. hell, that alone shouldâve been a sign. you never ask him to pick you up, especially on days he has practice.
as he drove you home, the car was filled with a tense silence. unlike your usual ride homesârare, but not unheard ofâ, it wasnât the comfortable kind of silence. it didnât linger between the two of you, making itself known with the gentleness of a kiss.
no, it plagued you both. it felt like a ticking time bomb; one wrong move, and the whole thing blows up.
well, shit. michaelâs never been too good with keeping his mouth shut.
and youâve never been too good with social cues.
it starts as a joke. or sarcasm. you canât really tell. to be fair, you only found out it was a âjokeâ once he told you. it was a stupid thing to get upset over. hell, it was a stupid thing for him to even say.
âare you serious?â you canât quite understand the feeling thatâs scratching the inside of your throat.
âyes, schatz, why wouldnât i be?â heâs monotonous; god youâre too tired for this.
âoh,â it feels like every function of your body is manual. blinking, twitching, breathingâfuck! your breath hitches in your throat, a few coughs clearing it out.
âwhatâs the matter?â heâs unreadable.
âi, um,â you gulp hard. was it always this difficult to talk? to swallow? to breathe? âi really needed to do that tonight.â
he laughs. it feels mocking. it rings through your ears; an alarm thatâs off button is broken. a record with a broken player holding it hostage. a cd with irreparable scratches tainting it.
the tears that welled up in your eyes dripped down your chin, without you even realising it.
slowly, painfully, embarrassingly. a scene being replayed from a hundred different angles in a movie. a song that would be perfect without the next verse. a fountain that recycles the water, from the top to the bottom, and repeat.
your tears itch your skin as they begin drying, and you roughly wipe them away.
âany excuse to cry, huh,â he murmurs to himself, and the ride falls back to silence.
not even a tense silence anymore. it hurts.
it hurts almost as much as the coarse fabric of your sweaterâs sleeve cuff that you frantically wiped your tears away with. it stings.
unlike any other.
maybe it was a joke to him, but to you?
crying has never felt worse.
coming home after a long day has never felt worse. waving goodbye to michael as if everything is okay when its not has never felt worse. flopping onto your couch without locking the front door has never felt worse. letting the hours pass and rotting on the floor has never felt worse. dragging yourself to your bathroom and opening your drawers has never felt worse. pulling out miscellaneous items until you find what youâre looking for has never felt worse.
dragging that purple eyebrow razor across your skin has never felt more rewarding.
but all good things, even illusions, come to an end.
it feels horrible, once again. worse than before. worse than ever.
crying alone on the cold tiles of your bathroomâŠ
when will it end? all of it?
you donât recall when you passed out, nor when you woke up. all you know is that you woke up in someoneâs arms.
warmth. a stinging, almost painful warmth.
but a hug is a hug, you know.
a wild rose is still wild, no matter how much you think youâve tamed it. its beautiful and free, but its thorns still prick you if you try to take it away from its home.
you used to think that michael was that wild rose. youâve changed him a little, sure, but he still belongs with people that understand and can provide his freedom.
and maybe your freedom is⊠well, you get the gist.
you stir in your sleep, eyes opening to blonde and blue hair hovering just above your face.
and speaking of faces, what a beautiful face, the one that looks down at you. its a shame, though, since the expression is contorted into one of worry and guilt. shame, maybe.
âmihya?â the name slips out of your lips before you register it.
no answer. the warmth disappears. the stinging pain persists, and the almost miserably ethereal face fades away.
this illusion⊠it withers away. you knew it would, you just didnât think the thorns would prick you so harshly. with beauty comes the burden of being wild; unfortunately, michael could not tame yours.
he couldnât tame you. and he couldnât do anything but sit and watch with you in his arms, as you withered away.
© kenyudotcom 2026 feeding to ai, plagiarism and claiming as own are strictly forbidden. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
if thereâs one thing thatâs an overthinkerâs nightmare, its getting an impulse to do something and not being able to do it immediately. or being too anxious to ask for help if its a two-person task, so you spiral and canât do it.
thinking about kenyu yukimiya growing accustomed to your anxiety and overthinking. he doesnât fully understand itâi mean, what does he know about remembering something you stressed about, reigniting the anxiety and not being able to do it, all in the span of one minute?
you bite your nails, your throat growing dry and painfully tight. your eyes gloss over in hot, thick tears. donât cry. donât cry, donât cryâitâs not a big deal.
donât cry, you can handle this like the mature person you are.
maybe its rooted in being an anxious, overthinking child. this fear of burdening others. just like being a kid; how no one listens to you. not even you listen to yourself.
so the tears drip down your puffed cheeksâyour lips quiver into a frown. if only your mind, tears and mouth moved in coordination.
âhey,â kenyuâs soft voice breaks through your zoned-out state. âwhat happened?â
when he asks a question while youâre crying, he knows that itâll take some time before you respond. so he opens his arms, offering you a hugâto hold you, but you donât know it yet.
you hesitantly sink into his embrace, not noticing as he lifts you up carefully and wraps your legs around his waist. he distracts you by whispering sweet nothings beside your ears, pressing chaste kisses to your cheeks as he sits down on the couch.
âcry it out, dear,â he murmurs, adjusting your body so you can comfortably sit on his lap. he wraps his arms around you again, gently leaning your head into the crook of his neck.
your tears felt cold against his shirt and skin for a second, before you really melt into his embrace. like youâre letting yourself be vulnerable, but also safe, in his arms. after that, your tears feel warm against his skin.
after what feels like forever in his embrace, a sound other than sobbing and breath hitching croaks out of your throat.
he listens closelyâbetween the rerun of sobs and tears, hiccups and sniffles between words, stuttering and pausing over your feelingsâ, to what was bothering you. he waits for you to finish talking, with a few moments of silence afterwards, in case you wanted to talk more.
âthank you for telling me, love,â he helps you sit up on his lap, fixing your hair and wiping the tears off of your face. he wipes under your eyes with the pad of his thumb, planting a delicate kiss to your slightly salty skin.
thereâs not much he can say in response to you venting in itself, and he doesnât jump straight into giving you advice, either. you seem content in just having talked about it, and that alone is enough for him.
you two share a comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making eye contact and hastily averting your gaze. thereâs nothing to really be embarrassed aboutâheâs just so grateful that you could open up to him.
maybe its a little too obvious, with the way you start laughing to yourself. he slightly raises his eyebrow, confused.
âyouâve got my tears and snot on your shirt, yet youâre grinning like a lovesick idiot,â you canât stop laughing, and now he really has a reason to be embarrassed. but he canât bring himself to look away from yourâabsolutely beautifulâface, even as you light heartedly mock him.
âi donât really mind,â he laughs with you, stamping an exaggerated, sloppy kiss to your cheek. âthere, now weâre even.â
© kenyudotcom 2026 feeding to ai, plagiarism and claiming as own are strictly forbidden. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
i decided to like hugo now,, only because vivien is such a cutesy name

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Wait are u writing more for tokrev now? I loved ur sanzu fic and ur characterization of him
hiii, thank you so, so much. i am glad you enjoyed reading it ^^
i used to write for tr (mainly ran) back then & i have a lot of pieces and wips written ;;; ran is still my muse
i might write for it again in the future if i come to like my characterisation of the characters TT . . but maybe on their birthdays i will post something c:
I WA SLOOKING AT YOUR PROFILE EARLIER AND WAS LIKE/. WAHT A COOL PERSON. THEN I SAW U IN MY NOTIGS AND REALISED WE'RE MOOTS??? IM FUCKING?????? STUPID???? HELP
LMAOO not you thinking someone with a kaiser pfp is cool đ«©đ«© i hope youâre getting enough rest these days, angel <33
also, the timing of you sending this ask while i was in the middle of stalking your fics is so crazy