#appled asks

GENERAL HEADCANONS:

Senku doesn't really care all too much about spicy food, but he can handle spice really well

He prefers salty/savory foods

In my heart (I'm projecting a little) hes autistic

Xeno has definitely bought Senku some of his science materials before the petrification

Has an amazing immune system but once he gets compromised he's down for a while

He talks to himself while working for sure

Despite popular belief, has an amazing sleep schedule– definitely not a normal one but probably gets 7 hours regardless of when he sleeps

ROMANTIC HEADCANONS:

He shows his love through acts of service 100%

Acts of science?

Isn't the most physically affectionate, but if you initiate it won't decline you

He wouldn't be the one to confess, I feel like he's the "they fell first, he fell harder" trope type of guy

At first when he does like you, you wouldn't even realize he likes you.

You didn't get special treatment

You still did the manual labor he made everyone do

The difference is that somehow, he always remembers the tiny details about you.

If you got sick, he'd become VERY attentive

For sure knew well before you even finished saying you didn't feel well, he'd already have a diagnosis list, treatment plan, etc

Physical affection would take time. A long time.

One of the biggest signs he trusts you is letting you see his exhaustion.

He's not possessive, the fact you chose him is enough for him.

He does get a little jealous though once in a blue moon

Gifts from Senku are incredibly specific to you and you alone

He'd hand it over like it was no big deal before immediately start pretending he wasn't waiting for your reaction.

Ik worlds shortest post EVER. Also, Senku does NOT deserve Luna, because I do. that's literally my wife. ALSO IF ANYONE HAS ANY REQUESTS OF HER PLS HMU

No taglist because this is shameful

Please DO NOT repurpose my work or feed into AI, I do not own any of my dividers besides my character ones.

The first sign you’ve been found isn’t the sound, It’s the shift in the air that makes your hair stand on end. And it's a presence you know all too well; the kind that prickles at the back of your neck and settles low in your spine like instinct whispering you’re in trouble now.

You grin anyway.

“Bit late,” you call out, not even turning around as you drag your weapon free from where it’s embedded in the wall. “Job’s already done.”

Silence answers you. It's not empty silence, she's there, it's just a lurking silence.

You sigh, rolling your shoulder as you swing the axe loosely at your side. “You know, most people say hello first.”

Still nothing.

You click your tongue. “Rude.”

Then you turn and barely manage to bring the axe up before she’s on you. Cthoni moves like she always does; fast, deliberate, inevitable.

Your weapon meets hers—no, not a weapon. It was her forearm braced and angled just right to deflect the blow rather then of absorbing it. The impact jolts up your arm, forcing you a step back.

“Oh, you’re in a mood today.”

“You disappeared,” she replies, voice flat and sharp as steel.

“And you found me,” you shoot back, pivoting, swinging again. You weren't trying to land a hit, but you were aiming to test her, and to feel her rhythm again. “Looks like everything worked out.”

She catches the handle of your axe this time, and it wasn't gently.

You attempt to tug back, but she doesn’t let go. For a moment, the two of you are locked there; hands gripping the same weapon, tension crackling between you like a live wire.

“You took a job alone,” she says.

You tilt your head, smiling. “You sound upset.”

“I told you not to do that.”

“And I told you I don’t take orders.”

Her eyes narrow. “And yet,” she says quietly, “you keep acting like you want to be handled.”

That sends a little thrill down your spine, and you grin wider. “Maybe I just like getting your attention.”

Her response is immediate. She yanks your axe toward her, using your grip against you— and when you stumble forward, she twists, hooks your leg, and sends you crashing to the ground hard. The air leaves your lungs in a sharp whoof, but you’re already laughing again as your weapon clatters away across the floor.

“Miss me that much?” you gasp.

Cthoni doesn’t answer. She just steps in, pins your wrist, and drops her weight down with her knee pressing into your abdomen anchoring you in place like she has every intention of keeping you there.

“Found you,” she says again, quieter this time as she shifted slightly closer.

You blink up at her, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. “…Hi.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

But her grip tightens.

“You ran.”

“I was working.”

“You vanished from out walk”

“I was busy.”

“You ignored me.”

You pause. Then with a softer albeit still teasing tone– “I figured you’d come looking.”

That does it. Her other hand snaps down, catching your free wrist before you can even think about moving. Now both your arms are pinned above your head, your shoulders pressed into the ground, her weight keeping you completely, utterly stuck.

“You think this is a game,” she says.

“Isn’t it?” you shoot back. “You chase, I run, we fight, you win—usually—”

“Always.”

You grin. “Confidence looks good on you.”

Her knee shifts slightly, pressing more firmly into you. It wasn't enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who’s in control here. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Oh, that’s new,” you murmur. “You trying to make a point?”

“Yes.”

“Bit aggressive for a conversation.”

“This isn’t a conversation.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She leans down then—slow, deliberate—until her face is just above yours. She was close enough that you can feel her breath. Close enough that if either of you moved just a little—

“You’re reckless,” she states “You could’ve been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“That’s not the point.”

You study her for a second. You saw the tension in her shoulders. The way her jaw is set just a little too tight. The fact that she hasn’t eased up at all, even though she absolutely could.

“You were worried,” you finally answer aloud. Her gaze flickers just for a moment before it steadied again.

“I was annoyed.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Sure.”

Her grip tightens again.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Call you out?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You raise a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“You provoke me,” she says. “You push. You disappear just long enough to make me come after you.”

Your grin sharpens. “And you always do.”

There was a heavy silence before you earned a sighed “Yes.” from her.

That knocks the breath out of you more effectively than the fall did.

Cthoni doesn’t look away. “I don’t like not knowing where you are,” she says. “I don’t like not knowing if you’re alive.”

Something in your chest twists.

You cover it the only way you know how.

“So you track me down and slam me into the ground?” you say lightly. “Real sweet of you.”

Her lips twitch—barely. “You respond better to force.”

“Do I?”

“You’re still here.”

You shift slightly beneath her, not to escape, just enough to test the space, the boundaries.

She adjusts instantly and presses you back down.

You laugh under your breath. “You like this.”

“This?” she repeats.

“Manhandling me.”

Her eyes flicker again– down, then back up– but she doesn't give you a reply. That does something dangerous to your heartbeat.

You tilt your head, still smiling, but slower now.

“You’re getting honest again.”

“You’re getting comfortable.”

“Hard not to,” you say, testing her grip again, just lightly. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

Her answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

You swallow and grin again, because you don’t know what else to do with that kind of intensity except meet it head-on.

“Careful,” you murmur. “You keep saying things like that, I might think you missed me.”

Her knee shifts again closer and your breath catches

“I did,” she says.

And for once— you don’t have a clever reply ready.

The silence stretches.

You break it first, because of course you do.

“…You gonna keep me pinned all day?” you ask.

“If necessary.”

“To stop me from working?”

“Yes.”

You tilt your head again, softer now, “What if I said I wasn’t running from you?”

“I know you weren’t.”

“Then what’s all this for?”

Her grip loosens— just a fraction. But she doesn’t move off you.

“This,” she says, “is because you don’t understand limits.”

You grin faintly. “I understand them.”

“Then you ignore them.”

“Same thing.”

“No.”

You shift again— this time more deliberately. She lets you move a little further before stopping you.

“…You like pushing until someone stops you,” she continues. “So I stop you.”

Your smile grows.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You do.”

There’s something in the way you say it that changes the air again. It felt oddly warm and heavy. Her hand slides slightly on your wrist not letting go, just adjusting. Her thumb presses briefly against your pulse.

You feel it spike, and so does she.

“…Still think this is a game?” she asks.

You meet her gaze.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Something like that.”

Something in her expression shifts, you didn't receive a reply but something close enough to a 'go on' in a look.

You tug lightly against her hold, and she lets you– although just barely.

“You chase me,” you say. “You pin me. You get all intense and territorial—”

“I’m not”

“—and then you act like you don’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” you cut in, smiling again. “You love this.”

She stills.

“And what makes you so sure?”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking briefly to where your bodies meet, where she’s still holding you down, still not letting you go.

Then back to her face.

“You’re still here,” you say.

Another pause.

Then her grip loosens slightly.

You take advantage immediately. You twist away trying to roll, to flip the position and she lets you get halfway– Just enough to think you might win– Before she shifts her weight and sends you right back down again.

Harder this time.

You laugh, breathless. “Okay—okay, that one’s on me—”

“Dont add fleeing the scene to your list of crimes.”

“you’re unfair.”

“Mhm.”

“And mean.”

“And you’re pinned.”

You grin up at her. “Again.”

Her lips twitch. “yeah, again.”

You both go still after that.

The fight is still there, but it’s quieter now. It's less about winning and more about something else.

Your voice drops a little. “…You could just ask me to stay.”

“I did.”

“You threatened me.”

“That was me asking.”

You laugh again, softer this time. “You’re terrible at communication.”

“And you’re impossible.”

“Yet you keep me.”

Her gaze sharpens.

“Don’t twist that.”

“Why not?” you murmur. “You said it yourself. ‘What’s already mine,’ remember?”

She exhales slowly.

“…You’re not an object.”

“Didn’t say I was.”

“Then don’t—”

“But I am yours,” you interrupt, voice light but steady. “Aren’t I?”

"you were met with silence for a moment before you earned a "yes, you are."

It’s quieter this time, but much heavier. You feel it settle somewhere deep in your chest. You just look at her.

“Good,” you say.

Her grip loosens again, more this time. You could get free now, probably, but you don’t move, and neither does she.

“…Next time,” she says after a moment, “you don’t go without my knowledge"

You smile faintly. “Next time,” you reply, “you keep up.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Oh, I will.”

You grin as she shifts again, deliberately re-centering her weight, pinning you just as firmly as before.

You laugh. “Wow. Not even pretending to let me go, huh?”

“Not yet.”

“Youre greedy.”

“how careless.”

“And possessive.”

“and you're reckless.”

You grin wider.

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds about right.”

She watches you for a long moment.Then, finally she lets go of your wrists although not completely, just enough.

You flex your fingers, testing the freedom.

You don’t run; Instead, your hand lifts with a light, deliberate grip and catches against her arm.

“…I’ll come back,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

“You won’t have to chase me every time.”

“I know.”

“…But you probably will anyway.”

Her lips curve— just slightly. “perhaps so.”

You laugh under your breath. “Thought so.”

Another pause.

Then you earned another sigh. “Get up,” she says.

You raise a brow. “You sure? I might try to escape again.”

“You can try.”

“You’ll just pin me again?”

“Yes.”

You grin. “…Alright. Worth it.”

When you finally sit up and the distance between you shifts from forced to chosen– it doesn’t feel like the end of the fight. It was just the pause before the next one.

And you both know you’ll be right back here again.

I think this might be the worst thing I've ever written. But to get better I gotta fail sometimes😞 Also I never really got being possessive like as in I don't understand it bcs I've never felt it, so I made cthoni more protective

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS / LACE ARE NOT MINE!

Saying Amo is extremely protective would be an understatement. Amo loves you deeply and would infact fight for your love (bullying Enjin away from you even though he's just existing)

Amo is a bit insecure in any sort of relationship, romantic or platonic– and would seek out reassurance due to her past experiences

While Amo will cling onto you frequently, her affections are mainly emotional. She's very heartfelt in her affections, so she trusts you with her heart.

With you, Amo would say whatever is on her mind and enjoy listening to your thoughts on it.

Amo *loves* talking about your life and missions and what she thinks of the other cleaners.

Amo is a bit obsessive– but she's working on it! She absolutely just adores your smell, pretty much your everything, actually.

Early on in the relationship, it would be a bit rocky at times due to Amo 's past experiences with "love" but you guys always communicate!!

Once Amo trusts you 100%, you're her ride-or-die, and Amo would NEVER leave you!

–SCENARIO BELOW–

Today was important, because today was your first official date.

The first date was supposed to be perfect, as that's what Amo decided. And apparently, that meant dragging you somewhere "cute, sweet, and full of love!"

Amo sat across from you on a crooked little bench, legs swinging, her oversized boots tapping happily against the ground. The area was surprisingly pretty with decorated strings of salvaged lights, flowers growing out of cracked metal, and a tiny table she had very clearly assembled herself.

"Amo made this," she announced proudly, placing down two uneven cups.

You blinked. "Did you build an entire date spot?"

"Amo wanted first date to feel like romance story" she nodded. "So Amo made one– and it'll be a romantic story like none before!"

There was a pause.

"...You're incredible."

Amo froze then immediately covered her face. "Amo says don't say that so suddenly!!

You stood there for a moment, still in shock and looking around.

"Cmon, join Amo!" She said, patting the seat next to her excitedly.

You obeyed, mostly because you were still processing the fact she had built an entire date setting like some kind of love-driven architect.

She carefully placed a cup in front of you.

“This is tea,” she announced.

You eyed it.

“…Are you sure it’s tea?”

“Amo watched Zanka make it once.”

“Thats...”

"Amo improved it.” She shoved the cup slightly closer. “Drink.”

You sighed and took a sip. “…Wait. This is actually good.”

Amo blinked before she leaned forward, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, no, this is—this is really good.”

Her entire expression lit up in a way that was almost blinding.

“of course it is good,” she said quickly, turning her head away like she wasn’t suddenly flustered. “Amo is skilled.”

“You’re proud of yourself.”

“Amo is ALWAYS proud.”

“You practiced this, didn’t you?”

Amo simply turned her head away all flushed.

There was an empty space on your bench. It did not stay empty.

Amo slid over. Then slid closer. Then closer until your shoulders were pressed together and her knee bumped into yours.

You raised an eyebrow. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re in my personal space.”

“Amo says this is OUR space now.”

“…That’s not how that works.”

She ignored you completely,ml

Instead, she leaned in slightly, her head tilting as she studied your face with intense focus.

“Hm?” you asked.

“Amo is observing.”

“Observing what?”

“You.”

“That’s awfully vague.”

“Amo wants to remember everything.”

Your breath caught for a second, and you just turned away with a slight flush on your face.

After that, It started small– her hand brushing yours, then lingering, then pulling back like she wasn’t sure, then trying again.

You pretended not to notice as she seemed flustered about it.

Finally, after a solid minute of internal conflict you could practically see on her face she grabbed your hand.

Her grip was warm and her touch was gentle although a little tense.

“…Amo says this is normal for dates.”

You smiled softly. “Yeah. It is.”

She relaxed— although just slightly.

A pause.

“Amo is trying to do this correctly.”

“You’re doing great.”

“…Amo wants it to be more than great.”

You squeezed her hand.

“It already is.”

“Amo researched this,” she suddenly declared.

“Oh?"

“Amo says first dates require a romantic atmosphere, emotional connection, and physical closeness.”

“…Where did you learn that?”

“Tomme was telling Amo about it.”

“At least she's your source and not someone else,”

She ignored that.

“Amo also learned that compliments are important.” She turned to you, very serious. “…Your face is nice.”

You choked. “My—what?”

“Amo likes your face.”

“Thank you?”

“And your voice.”

“Mhm?"

“And your smell.”

You paused. “…We’re circling back to that one?”

“Its important!"

“Is it?”

“Yes!" After the laughter faded, things settled.

The lights above flickered softly, and the air was calm.

For once, there was no chaos, no danger, no noise, just her beside you, her hand intertwined with hers as Amo leaned slightly against you.

You didn’t move away, eo she leaned a little more.

“ is this good?” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

Her fingers tightened around yours again and nuzzled into you slightly.

“This feeling…” She hesitated for a moment, searching for the words. “Amo doesn't wanna lose it.”

Your chest tightened.

“You won’t.”

She looked at you as if trying to decide whether she believed that before she nodded. “…Then Amo will keep it"

You didn’t notice how close you’d gotten, not until she turned her head slightly. Not until her gaze dropped—just briefly—to your lips. And not until she froze completely.

“…Amo?” you whispered.

She didn’t answer, she looked vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before like she didn’t know what the “right” move was.

So you made it easy, you leaned in just a little and gav her the choice.

She closed her eyes for a moment to muster up the courage before she opted to press a gentle kiss to your cheek, right beneath your eye.

It wasn’t perfect, it was a little awkward, but soft and entirely hers.

When she pulled back, her face was completely red but she still nodded, satisfied.

Then immediately leaned against you again like nothing had happened.

Except now— her hand didn’t hesitate at all.

Amo wasn’t chasing a feeling, she was just sitting in it. She was content beside your side, warm too as she gazed at you happily.

...well, before you both got interrupted, at least.

“Amo thinks this is perfect.” She said it quietly this time, all soft like she didn’t want to scare the moment away.

You smiled, leaning your head gently against hers. “Yeah. It is.”

Her fingers were laced with yours, her shoulder pressed to yours, her whole body warm and there.

It was calm.

It was soft.

It was—

“Yo, what are y'all doing?"

Slowly, you both turned your heads. And there, standing at the edge of the carefully crafted little date spot was the absolute worst possible timing imaginable.

“—There you are,” Rudo said, like he hadn’t just shattered the most delicate moment of your lives.

Behind him, Zanka stood, arms crossed, already scanning the setup with suspicion.

Riyo, who took one look at the scene and immediately lit up once she realized what it was. Oh, and… Enjin.

Amo’s grip on your hand tightened. “No,” she said flatly.

Riyo turned to Enjin "Looks like we interrupted a little date"

“Amo says STOP LOOKING,” Amo snapped instantly, half-hiding behind you now but still glaring like she was ready to throw hands.

Zanka tilted his head. “You built all this?”

“Yeah, BUT FOR HER EYES NOT YOURS”

“…Huh.” Rudo rubbed the back of his neck. “We were just looking for you. Didn’t know you were, uh… doing this.”

“This,” Riyo repeated, already crouching near the table, “is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Amo says to leave.”

Enjin stepped forward slightly, completely neutral. “…What’s with the lights?”

Amo stood up so fast your hand almost got yanked with her.

“Amo says you are not allowed to speak.”

“…Why?”

“Because Amo dislikes you.”

“Yeah that tracks,” Enjin said.

Rudo blinked. “You’re just accepting that?”

“She’s made it clear by now.” “I still don’t know why though,” Enjin added.

“You EXIST,” Amo shot back immediately.

Zanka only sighed "Can y'all please lock in?"

You stood up slowly, gently tugging Amo’s sleeve. “Hey… hey, it’s okay.”

“It is NOT okay,” she muttered, immediately clinging to your arm now. “They ruined it.”

Riyo popped up beside you. “Ruined what? You were literally glowing.”

“Amo says that is PRIVATE.”

“That’s not how that works y'know"

“It is now.”

“Wait,” Rudo said, glancing at the table. “Is that... tea?”

“No,” Amo said instantly.

“Yes,” you said at the same time.

Amo turned to you in betrayal.

You smiled sheepishly. “We can share?”

“…This was supposed to be just Amo and you.”

“It still is.”

“There are four extra people.”

“Just think of them as background characters.”

“I CAN HEAR YOU,” Zanka said.

Five minutes later— No one had left.

Zanka had taken a seat like he belonged there, Rudo was standing awkwardly off to the side, clearly debating his life choices, and Riyo was beside Zanka yapping at him.

And Enjin was just standing there.

“…Why are you still here,” Amo said flatly.

“They’re still here too,” Enjin replied.

“Thats not the same and you know it.”

“How?”

"Because Amo allows them.”

“…You didn’t allow me?”

“No.”

Rudo leaned over to you. “Does she always do this?”

Enjin just sighed “Yeah.”

At some point, the chaos stopped feeling like chaos.

Riyo was laughing, Zanka was arguing with Rudo about something completely unrelated, and even Enjin had sat down, but it was carefully like he wasn’t sure he was permitted to exist in the space.

And Amo… Amo was still glued to your side. Her arms wrapped around yours now and her cheek pressed against your shoulder.

You glanced down at her. “Hey.”

“…Hm?”

“You okay?”

A pause.

She shifted slightly, her grip tightening just a little. “…This is not what Amo planned.”

“Yeah.”

“…But…” She hesitated as she looked at the group– At the lights, at the space she made, then back at you.

“Youre still here, so it's okay.”

You smiled softly, leaning your head against hers again.

“It is.”

Riyo raised a cup. “To Amo’s first date!”

“Amo says TO STOP ANNOUNCING IT.”

Rudo sighed. “We should probably leave them alone.”

“Exactly,” Amo said immediately.

“…After we have some of the tea,” Riyo added.

“No—”

“After we finish the tea,” Rudo agreed.

Amo looked like she was about to combust.

You squeezed her hand, and she paused and looked at you before she slowly relaxed.

“…Next time,” she muttered, leaning into you again, “Amo will pick a more hidden location.”

“Good idea.”

“…With no Enjin. Amo says ESPECIALLY no Enjin.”

But even as she complained, she didn’t let go of your hand.

This time, she didn’t need perfect because she already had something better.

Something real.

And even with the noise, the interruptions, the chaos— Amo stayed right there beside you. Warm, content and happy.

The amount of medicine the doctors are giving me should be illegal I HATE BEING SICK I HATE IT I HATE IT.

Taglist: @neluvias , @n4tsukis , @i-heartdinos

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS / LACE ARE NOT MINE!

It starts with paint, as it always did with Remlin.

“Stay still.”

“I am!”

“You wiggled.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It is when I’m trying to fix your hair.”

They huff like this is a grave injustice, but they do go still again; sitting cross-legged, hands planted on their knees, eyes staring very intensely at absolutely nothing... For about three seconds. Then, “How much longer?”

“If you keep talking, longer.”

“Okayyy, I’ll be quiet." A pause. “…Are you almost done?”

“Remlin.”

“I’m just asking!”

A quiet sigh escapes you, but your hands never stop moving. You were carefully working through the paint-stiffened strands, untangling knots with more patience than Remlin has ever seen you show anyone else.

Remlin huffs dramatically but freezes in place anyway, sitting cross-legged on the ground while gentle fingers work through their bratty hair. There’s a lot of paint. Like, way too much paint.

“…What did you even do,” you mutter mostly to yourself, carefully separating a stubborn knot.

“Art, obviously"

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is if you respect the process.”

“Not if it involves two hours of untangling your hair.”

Remlin gasps, scandalized. “You’re so mean to me.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

“Because you need me,” Remlin says instantly.

“For what exactly"

“Moral support.”

A pause. “Are you aware you’re facing the wrong way to provide that.”

“I support you spiritually.”

A quiet exhale that almost sounded like a laugh, but not quite. Your hands keep working, slower now and more careful. There’s dried paint near the ends, a streak of something you didn't know bright along one side, and somehow pen ink, too. “You got this everywhere.”

“It’s part of the vision.”

“It’s part of the problem, you'd mean.”

Remlin grins, even though they’re facing away.

“You like it though.”

“No.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“You’re still fixing it for someone who doesn’t like it.”

You pause just for a second, then you simply continue just as carefully. “…It’ll pull if I don’t.”

A few more minutes pass– and this time, Remlin actually stays still mostly. They sway a little and lean back slightly at one point.

“Sit up.”

“I’m sitting though”

“You’re leaning.”

“I’m relaxing.”

"You’re making this harder.”

And despite the facade of frustration, remlin had earned another almost-laugh barely there.

Finally, their hair was done. “There.”

You finally said as you got to tie off the last section, letting your hands fall away. Remlin immediately reaches up, fingers brushing over the newly fixed strands, eyes lighting up.

“Oh! wait, wait, this is actually—” They scramble to their feet and spin around. "This is NICE.”

“It’s just functional.”

“IT'S SO COOL,” Remlin repeats, beaming. “I look cool, don’t I?” They glance at them overjoyed. Their hair was still messy, but more intentional now. The hair was out of their face clipped back in some areas but overall done up nicely enough.

“…It’ll do.”

Remlin gasps like they’ve just been knighted. “I knew it! I’m your best work.”

“You’re my only work.”

“Exactly why I'm your best”

You turn to leave, and Remlin is already right behind them.

“Don’t wander off,” you say automatically, starting out the door and down the street.

“I won’t,” Remlin replies.

There’s a brief hesitation, but then you feel a small hand grabbing yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It was warm, paint-smudged, but gentle.

You glance down, and Remlin doesn’t even look embarrassed. They looked content just swinging their joined hands slightly as they walk humming under their breath.

“Are you going to make a habit of not asking permission?”

“You didn’t say no.”

“That’s not the same"

“You would’ve pulled away.”

…They don’t. So, they keep walking. And Remlin talks the entire time.

About everything– a mural they want to make, how their hair feels “like, at least 30% cooler now”, how they’re definitely getting stronger, how they’re almost as cool now.

“…You’re not.”

“Yet,” Remlin corrects immediately.

At some point, Remlin swings their arm harder pulling them slightly off balance.

“Quit it”

“I’m adding energy to the walk.”

“You’re being annoying.”

Remlin grins.

The two of you pass through a busier stretch of the street. There were a lot of voices, movement, and plenty of people brushing past.

Remlin instinctively moves closer and their grip tightens.

You don’t comment on it, but your thumb shifts slightly pressing against the back of Remlin’s hand.

You slow down a little after that, too, but just a little.

“…Hey.” No response. “heyyyyy,” Remlin tries again, tugging your hand.

“Hm.”

“I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It’s a you problem now.”

“Now how would that be mine.”

Remlin already has something out, their marker of course.

Then they pause, flicking their eyes between looking at it then at them before making a choice.

“Can I draw on you?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“I’ll make it cool.”

“No.”

“I’ll make you cool.”

“I’m already—” They stop as Remlin is staring at them expectantly.

“…No.”

There was a short pause before Remlin very slowly reaches toward your wrist anyway.

“Remlin.”

“I’m just testing.”

“You’re not testing anything.”

“I’m testing your patience.”

“Trust me I can tell.”

But you didn't pull away, and remlin grins as they start doodling.

It’s light at first, very careful like they expect to be stopped at any second. It was small lines, a few shapes, nothing much.

But, something that starts abstract then slowly turns into something recognizable.

You glance down. “…What is that.”

“It’s you.”

"me?”

“It’s you being cool.”

“It looks...”

“It’s stylized, duh”

But you don’t stop them. Remlin’s focus sharpens as they draw— tongue slightly poking out, brows furrowed, completely absorbed as they add more details, more exaggerated lines, more everything.

They add more.

“…Done,” Remlin announces proudly, holding their wrist up like a masterpiece.

“See? That’s you.”

You look at it, it's definitely abstract but you noticed something.

“You gave me a cape?"

“You deserve one.”

“…I don’t wear a cape.”

“You do now.”

There was a pause before remlin mumbled “…It’ll wash off.”

But what remlin didn't expect to see was when they looked up to see you smiling down at it.

Remlin lights up again. It was immediate and bright. And withhout warning, they throw their arms around you.

It’s sudden with full force.

“…What are you doing,” you say, stiff for half a second.

“Celebrating.”

“That’s not—”

Remlin squeezes tighter.

Their face pressed into your side.

“…You’re weird,” you sighed but it had no bite to it "You’re getting paint on me.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re not letting go, are you.”

“Nope.”

There was a pause, but then slowly your arm comes up and rests across Remlin’s shoulders. It was careful and light, but it was there. Remlin goes very still for a second, but then they just hug tighter.

“You’re staying, right?” they mumble.

you look down at them, at the way they’re holding on like they expect to be let go too.

“For now,” you say.

Remlin nods against you like that’s enough and like that’s everything.

Eventually, Remlin loosens their grip— but doesn’t let go completely. Instead, they grab your hand again like before.

“I’m gonna draw more later,” Remlin says, cheerful again. “Maybe both arms.”

“Don’t push it.”

“No promises.”

The two of you start walking again, although this time it was closer. Their shoulder brushing against your arm, and your hand still firmly held.

“…Hey.”

"hm.”

“You’re my favorite person.”

"And you're troublesome"

Remlin beams like that was the best answer they could’ve gotten.

you both pass a few people. Most don’t pay attention, but one does oddly enough.

“Hey.”

You stop and slowly turned

The stranger gestures between them and Remlin.

“…That your kid or what?”

Remlin goes very still, and their grip tightens just a little.

“…And what of it,” they say flatly.

The stranger snorts. “Just askin’.” And then they move on.

Silence lingers for a second. Then— “…Did you hear that?” Remlin whispers.

“Mhm”

“They thought I was your kid.”

“They were mistaken is all”

“Yeah,” Remlin says a bit too quickly.

You guys start walking again, still holding hands.

A few steps later, Remlim leans slightly against your arm staring up at you.

“You didn’t say no,” they mumble.

You opened your mouth to speak, but just shook your head “Keep up,” you managed to say instead, adjusting your grip just slightly tighter.

Remlin beams. “Got it,” they chirp. “I won’t let go.”

They walk a little slower after that. Just enough so Remlin doesn’t have to keep up so they can stay right there Hand in hand like they’ve been doing it forever.

I have such a migraine rn so I hope this makes sense bcs thinking was low-key difficult

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. – ALL BESIDES CHARACTER DIVIDERS ARE NOT MINE!

–MISS CTHONI–

She doesn't really understand you at first. She's not one for brightness, and yours just feels illogical to her.

You're one of the only people who talks to her without being intimidated– and she notices immediately.

Another yapper × listener trope, except she doesn't really respond much, but she always listens. Always. Even if it seems like she's ignoring you, she's not.

You earn her respect through her watching how you treat people when no one else is around through her manhole cover.

She likes to suddenly appear beside you without warning or context, but won't leave without at least waving goodbye to you.

She's more of a "acts of service" type of gal. She loves doing things for you without warning and usually doesn't let you thank her either

She's fairly possessive, and tends to just snatch you up and disappear if she doesn't like who you're talking to.

She doesn't tolerate people trying to dull your brightness, and usually takes care of it or makes sure they'll never be able to again

She enjoys holding your hand, but usually just has an arm around your waist.

The relationship wasn't really ever established if you didn't make the first move, just one day she decided you were hers.

–SCENARIO BELOW–

Mornings with Cthoni don’t begin gently in the slightest, they usually begin with resistance.

You wake up before her. It's never intentional, but considering as Cthoni tends to sleeps like someone nocturnal, and someone with no trust in humanity– like she'll roll her eyes at the very first thing she wakes up to. Even at rest, there’s tension in her shoulders, and faint tightness in her expression like she’s braced for something even in dreams. Right now, though, she’s still. Her breathing is slow and steady with one arm draped loosely across your waist as she sleep on top of you. That part still surprises you sometimes. Cthoni isn’t naturally affectionate. She doesn’t reach out often, she doesn’t cling, and she doesn’t seek softness for its own sake. But in sleep she holds on like she forgets to guard herself

You decide to shift slightly, testing it only to be met with her grip tightening immediately. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to stop you from going anywhere.

You smile to yourself. “Okay,” you whisper. “I see how it is.”

No response.

You decided to give it a few minutes before trying again.

Carefully this time.

“Cthoni,” you murmur, nudging her shoulder lightly. “You’re crushing me.”

A pause.

A low, barely-there sound like something between a hum and a complaint escapes her. Her face turns slightly into your chest to block out the light, her brows knitting together.

“No.”

You blink. “No?”

“…Stay.” Her voice is rough with sleep, quieter than usual but still firm in that unmistakable way she has.

You laugh softly. “I wasn’t leaving, I just— okay, wow, grip’s definitely getting tighter—”

Her arm squeeze you closer without opening her eyes. Already it was the end of the discussion.

So, a while later you try to deploy a different tactic.

“Cthoni,” you say again, a little brighter this time. “It’s morning.”

Silence.

“…That’s unfortunate.”

You snort. “You have to get up eventually.”

“No.”

“You literally do.”

“…Later.”

You tilt your head, studying her.

She looks softer like this. Not in a dramatic way, shes just less sharp around the edges. Her usual composure is still there, but dulled by sleep, like a blade not yet drawn.

And seeing her weakness in the moment makes you bold enough to tease her.

You lean in slightly, voice teasing. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

One eye cracks open and a slow, unimpressed stare meets yours.

“You’re observant.”

“Thank you.”

Her eye closes again.

“Stop talking.”

You don’t, of course. Instead, you shift just enough to face her more fully, your hand lightly brushing her arm– the one still keeping you firmly in place.

“You know,” you say, softer now, “most people say good morning to their girlfriend.”

There’s a long pause along with a sigh “…Good morning, my love.” It’s flat. It's half asleep. And it's completely unenthusiastic.

You grin. “Wow. So heartfelt.”

“…You asked.”

“I implied.”

You were only met with her hiding her face in your chest in reply. Eventually, she starts waking up but it’s slow, it was more akin to something settling into place piece by piece like a puzzle than anything else really.

Her grip loosens slightly, and her breathing shifts. Her eyes open again– both this time although still heavy-lidded.

She doesn’t move right away, she just looks at you all quiet and focused like shes trying to memorize your sleep kissed face.

“…You’re still here,” she says.

You blink. “Yeah? Where would I go?”

A beat.

“…Nowhere.”

Still, there’s something in the way she says it, it's like she needed to confirm it anyway.

You stretch carefully. “Okay, seriously, we should get up.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

“No.”

You laugh. “You can’t just refuse to do your job"

“mn.”

“You can’t.”

She simply closes her eyes again as you stare at her agast.

“Incredible. Truly inspiring.”

No response.

You nudge her again.

Nothing.

“…Cthoni.”

A pause.

“…What.”

“If I have to get up, you have to get up.”

“…That sounds like your problem.”

You sigh dramatically, shifting enough that her arm finally slips from around you.

That gets a reaction. Her eyes open immediately, sharper now. Her hand catches your wrist before you can fully pull away.

“…Where are you going.”

“To get up?”

“Why.”

You blink at her. “Because it’s morning.”

“thats unnecessary.”

“You’re impossible.”

“mn"

But she’s awake now– albeit reluctantly. She sits up slowly, movements controlled but heavy with lingering sleep. Her hair’s a mess, her expression slightly more irritated than usual but not at you, just at the concept of being awake.

You watch her, amused. And unfortunately she notices.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“…Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s funny.”

You grin. “It is funny.”

She exhales sharply through her nose, somewhere between annoyance and resignation.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

The rest of the morning is a bit of an uneven blur. You’re energy— movement, chatter, brightness. She’s more resistant, slow, quiet and deliberate.

But she follows you, and you're always within her reach.

At some point, you drift near her again without thinking. Your shoulder brushes hers, and she doesn't flinch but a second later, she adjusts just ever so slightly so the contact stays.

“You’re in a better mood now,” you say.

“I’m awake.”

“Barely.”

“Enough.”

You smile. “You didn’t tell me to stop talking.”

“I considered it.”

“Wow.”

“But... I decided against it.”

You glance at her. “That’s basically a love confession for you, isn’t it?”

A pause.

“Think of it how you would.”

You choke on a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re still here.” It’s said in quiet matter-of-fact tone, but it lands heavier than anything else she’s said.

Before you leave, there’s always that same pause.

Unspoken. Familiar.

You step closer, and she doesn’t move away.

Your hand finds hers, and she grips it immediately.

“…You’re coming back,” she says.

You squeeze her hand, smiling softly. “Yeah. I am.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke once more and her thumb shifts slightly against yours. “…Good.” She lets go first this time, but only after holding on long enough to make sure you felt it.

–MISS MOMOA–

I think she's drawn to you because you're the opposite of her usual "quiet isolation" because you fill space, and she's used to empty ones.

It's probably a yapper × listener trope. You talk, she listens- but unlike others, she's actually absorbing everything without the use of asyl.

She finds your voice comforting in the same way she finds music comforting.

I think for her, physical touch would be a bit complex for her due to her vital instrument. so when she chooses to touch you without having asyl near, it's so very intimately intentional and vulnerable.

You're probably the first person you she actually wants to experience in real time, instead of through memories.

She lowkey studies how you laugh, how you react, and like she's learning how to feel more openly.

When she's overwhelmed, she gravitates toward you and usually just hides near you until you guys can leave.

She'll sit beside you or lay her head on your lap in silence while you ramble, and it becomes her favorite kind of noise after a while.

She doesn't say "I love you" easily or very often but she'll let you rest your head on her shoulder beside asyl.

Even with how her vital instrument works, she chooses you over the escape she usually does.

She prefers hovering around you or holding onto your sleeve instead of holding hands

–SCENARIO BELOW–

Mornings with Momoa Rukel don’t really start. You wake up slowly and half-aware, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The world feels quiet, heavy in that soft, early way where nothing has fully settled yet. The first thing you notice is warmth, and the second is weight.

Momoa is pressed against you, and not loosely either. She’s latched on.

Her arm is wrapped around your waist, her face tucked into the space just beneath your collarbone, breath warm and steady against your skin. One of your legs is half-trapped between hers, and at some point in the night, she’s pulled you so close there’s no space left between you at all.

You blink down at her, still groggy.

“…Momoa?”

No response.

You shift slightly, testing the hold.

Bad idea.

Her grip tightens immediately, pulling you closer—like she’s reacting on instinct alone. A quiet sound leaves her, something soft and muffled as she nuzzles a little deeper into you. You freeze.

“…Okay,” you whisper, barely holding back a smile. “Didn’t realize I was your pillow.”

Another small noise— half sigh, half hum.

She was still asleep, and still holding on. You try to move again, slower this time.

“Momoa,” you murmur, voice gentle. “We should probably—”

Her hand presses more firmly into your side. It wasn't forceful, just extremely insistent like she’s trying to anchor you there.

“Mhm... No,” she mumbles, barely audible.

You blink. Was that—? You glance down again. Her eyes are still closed. Expression soft, unfocused.

“…Did you just say no?”

A pause.

Then, quieter— “Its early still, we don't have any tasks. Stay.”

It’s slurred with sleep. Not fully conscious– but it’s clear what she wants.

You soften immediately.

“…Okay,” you whisper.

You settle back into place, letting your body relax under hers instead of resisting. One of your hands comes up almost instinctively, resting lightly against her back.

She exhales. And then somehow she manages to relax more like that was all she needed.

Momoa is always quiet. Reserved. Distant in ways that make it hard to read her sometimes. But like this?

She’s different.

There’s no space between you for her to hide in. No distance for her to retreat into. She’s all instinct– seeking warmth and holding onto it without thinking about it.

Her fingers curl slightly in your shirt with her head shifting just enough to get comfortable against you as her breathing evens out again.

You can’t help but smile.

“…You’re clingy when you’re sleepy,” you murmur softly.

No response, but her leg hooks a little more securely around yours.

The message was clearly received.

Time passes; you’re not sure how long. But it was long enough for the outside world to start creeping in— light filtering in, distant noise, the slow pull of responsibility reminding you that you should get up.

You still don’t because every time you even think about moving, she reacts. A small shift? Her grip tightens. A breath that hints at waking? She presses closer. At one point, you almost manage to slide your arm out from under her—

“…Don’t.” Her voice is barely there. Sleep-heavy and quiet but it stops you instantly.

You glance down only to see that her eyes are still closed.

“…You’re awake?” you whisper.

A pause.

“No.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Liar.”

She doesn’t respond, but her face presses more firmly into you, like she’s avoiding the conversation entirely.

“Momoa,” you try again, softer this time. “We should get up.”

Silence.

Then you felt a faint shake of her head against you.

“…Later.”

You smile, even though she can’t see it.

“You said that yesterday too.”

“it worked.”

“You’re impossible.”

“…Mm.”

Eventually, you give up. Your hand moves slowly against her back, gentle and absentminded—tracing small patterns without thinking about it. Her reaction is immediate though, she melts.

There’s no other word for it.

The tension you didn’t even realize was there fades completely, her body settling more fully into yours, like she’s sinking into something safe.

A soft exhale leaves her, deeper this time.

She was completely content, and you feel it; and something in your chest softens in response.

“…You’re pretty cold,” you murmur.

A pause.

Then, quietly, “…You're warm.”

You blink.

“You’re definitely awake.”

“…A little.”

Her voice is clearer now, but still soft and still slow. She doesn’t move, though. Doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in more.

“Do you ever plan on letting me go?” you ask, teasing.

A small pause.

“Not a chance, pretty.”

You laugh under your breath. “At least you’re honest.”

“Stay.”

It’s more deliberate this time, less sleepy instinct.

So, you do. You stay.

You shift just enough to get comfortable again, your arms wrapping around her properly now instead of just accommodating her hold. Your fingers slip into her hair, smoothing it back gently.

She hums—soft, barely audible and settles.

The morning passes like that.

Nothing wrong this time, just warm silence shared between you, stretching time into something slow and quiet and enough.

Eventually, you’ll have to get up. Eventually, the day will start. But not yet.

Right now— Momoa is half-asleep in your arms, holding onto you like you’re the only thing tethering her to the moment.

And for once, she doesn’t seem to want to be anywhere else.

I'm deadass about to pay (or beg) someone to write a comfort fic, if ANY writer who has even a little bit of like in their heart for me sees this; PLEASE BRO PLEASEEEE🙏

Taglist: @neluvias , @n4tsukis , @i-heartdinos

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS ARE NOT MINE!

The kettle hadn’t even started to simmer before Kyouka was already watching you like it was life or death. Her arms were crossed, her posture straight, and her navy eyes sharp.

“You said this was simple.”

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly as you set a small mortar and pestle on the counter. “It is simple, you’re just treating it like a mission.”

“I'm not. I'm simply paying attention."

You huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s chai, Kyouka. Not a job.”

Still– she didn’t look away. If anything, she looked even closer.

You opened the spice tin slowly, letting the scent drift into the air.

“First step,” you said, softer now. “We start with whole spices.”

You placed them one by one into her palm. “we have cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, and a little black pepper.”

Her fingers curled instinctively, holding them like something important. “…Why whole?”

“Because we crush them fresh, so it releases more flavor.”

Kyouka nodded once, committing it to memory.

You guided her hand down to the mortar.

“Now, press. Don’t just hit it.”

She tried. At first, it was too controlled– too careful to even crush anything.

You moved behind her, reaching around, gently adjusting her grip.

“Like this.”

Your hands covered hers again, steadying her hands as you guided her into it.

The spices cracked softly beneath the pressure.

Kyouka paused. “…I felt that.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

Once the spices were crushed rough and fragrant and imperfect, you stepped back just enough to reach for the pot.

“Next,” you said, “water."

You poured about a cup and a half into the saucepan, the quiet splash filling the space between you.

“Add the spices.”

Kyouka did so immediately. There wasn't any hesitation in her movements, but this time she looked at you afterward waiting for your approval.

You smiled in response. “Perfect.” It was subtle, but her shoulders eased.

“Now tea leaves.” You measured them loosely into her hand to which she frowned.

“You arent measuring precisely.”

“I am, just not with tools.”

“How inefficient.”

“It’s experience,” you corrected gently.

She hesitated for a moment, then added them anyway.

You turned the heat on.

“Now we let it come to a boil,” you explained. “Medium-high.”

Kyouka leaned slightly closer to the pot, watching the surface like she expected it to react on command.

“…How long?”

“Until it rolls.”

“How vague.”

“You’ll see it when it happens.”

She didn’t like that answer, but she stayed and watched. And once the water finally began to shift into small bubbles turning into a rolling boil— her eyes sharpened.

“Now?.”

You smiled. “Yeah, now we have to lower it.”

She reached for the dial before you even finished speaking.

“Let it simmer for about two to three minutes,” you said.

“For what purpose.”

“So the spices and tea actually infuse,” you explained. “You’re pulling flavor out of them.”

Kyouka nodded slowly.

You stood beside her while it simmered, it was quiet and warm as the scent filled the space between you both– and without thinking, your hand found hers again.

This time, she didn’t freeze. Her fingers slid into yours like it was something she’d learned.

“this step seems to require patience,” she murmured.

“mhm,” You hummed softly. “You’re doing great.”

After a couple more moments, you nodded toward the pot.

“Okay. Now sugar.”

She added it carefully.

“How much?”

“As much as you like.”

“Thats not an answer.”

“It’s a preference.”

Kyouka paused before she added a moderate amount.

“is this an acceptable baseline?”

You grinned. “Sure, Commander.”

“And now—milk.” You handed her the carton, and she hesitated. “You said timing matters.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “We add milk after the tea and ginger have boiled. Otherwise it can curdle.”

She nodded once—and poured.

The color shifted instantly from a dark hue to warm brown soft and comforting.

“it changed,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, that’s the best part.”

“Now we bring it back to a boil,” you continued. “Then let it simmer again for a couple minutes.”

She watched like she was memorizing every second.

And when the tea finally began to rise with foam forming, threatening to spill— she reacted instantly, lowering the heat before you could say anything.

You blinked. “Nice catch.”

She glanced at you, and you could tell from the slight smirk she was pleased with herself.

“Last step,” you said quietly.

She looked at you immediately.

“you don't have to– but it's a step nonetheless.” You spoke as you picked up a ladle. “We aerate it.”

“Explain.”

You dipped the ladle, then lifted the tea and poured it back from a slight height, letting it stream.

“it helps break the cream layer; makes it smoother.”

She watched closely before she reached for the ladle herself. Her movements were precise though slower.

You stayed close behind her, one hand lightly steadying her wrist.

“Relax,” you murmured.

“I am relaxed.”

“you look like you're trying to command the tea.” You laughed under your breath, leaning just slightly closer.

“Try again.”

This time, she poured more fluidly. The stream was smooth. It was controlled, but not rigid this time.

“is this improved,” she noted.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It is.”

You turned off the heat.

“Now we strain it.”

She did— carefully, making sure not to spill even a drop.

Two cups were now evenly filled– and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The kitchen was warm and quiet and filled with the scent of spice and milk and something softer beneath it.

You handed her a cup and kyouka studied it before she took a sip.

There was a pause for a moment “…This is—”

She stopped. “…its good.”

You tilted your head. “Just good?”

She frowned slightly.

“…Its balanced. The spice levels are appropriate, and the sweetness is controlled.”

You stepped closer.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“…I like it,” she said quietly.

Your smile softened instantly.

“There we go”

You reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned just slightly into the touch.

“…This process,” she said slowly, “is inefficient.”

You raised a brow.

“But,” she continued, “it produces a result that cannot be replicated through shortcuts.”

You blinked.

“That’s… surprisingly poetic.”

“Im being accurate.”

You laughed and then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It was warm and gentle, lingering just a second longer than before.

Kyouka froze only for a moment before her hand came up, resting against your waist, steady and certain.

When you pulled back, she was still close still looking at you like she was learning something new.

“…That step,” she said quietly, “was not in the instructions.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb lightly over her knuckles.

“It’s a part of my version.”

She considered that as leaned in just slightly. “…Then your version is preferable.”

And when your lips met again softer this time– there was no hesitation at all.

Also I done fucking got pneumonia again so y'all will be getting more fics since I can't work💔 ALSO I HAVE NEVER MADE CHAI A DAY IN MY LIFE IM FOLLOWING AN ONLINE RECIPE IM SORRY IF THIS IS INACCURATE

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS / LACE ARE NOT MINE!

Nobody knew what to call whatever existed between you and Kyouka Nijiku.

Not even the two of you.

You weren't lovers.

The idea would've made both of you immediately deny it.

But friends? That wasn't right either.

Friends didn't stare at one another across rooms with enough tension to make everyone nearby uncomfortable.

Friends didn't seek each other out after every mission just to argue.

Friends didn't remember exactly how the other took their tea.

The truth sat somewhere in the middle.

Undefined.

Uncomfortable.

Dangerously important.

You were a Cleaner, Kyouka was Hell Guard.

That fact alone was enough to start most of your arguments.

The first few had been harmless.

Differences in procedure.

Differences in priorities.

The sort of disagreements that naturally happened when two organizations worked toward the same goal through entirely different methods.

But over time, Kyouka developed a habit. A frustrating habit. Every conversation somehow circled back to the same topic.

"You should join the Hell Guard."

At first you'd laughed.

Then you ignored it.

Then you started expecting it.

Now it just irritated you.

The suggestion came often enough that some people had begun placing bets on how long it would take her to bring it up whenever the two of you were together.

Sometimes, she lasted ten minutes. Sometimes five. One memorable occasion lasted less than thirty seconds.

You'd walked into a room.

She'd looked up.

And immediately said it.

"Join the Hell Guard." As if she'd been waiting all day.

You never understood why she was so determined.

There were plenty of capable people among the Cleaners.

Plenty of fighters, and plenty of individuals worthy of recruitment.

Yet Kyouka seemed fixated on you specifically. It would've been flattering if it wasn't so infuriating.

"You're wasting your talents." That was one of her favorites.

Another was: "You'd have more opportunities."

And then there was: "You'd be safer."

That one always made you laugh.

Safer.

As if becoming Hell Guard suddenly made someone immortal.

As if danger magically disappeared because you wore a different uniform.

Every time she brought it up, you shut her down.

Every time.

And every time she tried again.

The stubbornness would've been impressive if it wasn't directed at you.

The argument that finally broke things apart started like every other one.

With a simple conversation.

The two of you had crossed paths after a long day.

Both exhausted, both irritable, both already in bad moods.

A dangerous combination— You should've walked away immediately.

Instead, you stayed.

And Kyouka made the mistake of bringing it up again.

"You should transfer."

You didn't even look at her. "No."

Her expression immediately darkened.

The response had become automatic.

She could practically hear it before you said it.

"You didn't even think about it."

"I've thought about it every time you've asked."

"Then your answer should've changed by now."

You rolled your eyes. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"The reason I don't listen to you."

Her eyebrows lowered. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You don't ask me things," You finally looked at her,

"You decide." The air between you immediately became heavier. "You've already decided what's best for me."

"Because it's obvious."

"No it isn't."

"It is."

"No, Kyouka." Your voice sharpened, "No, it isn't."

People nearby had started leaving.

Neither of you noticed– or cared for that matter.

Kyouka crossed her arms.

"You spend your days hunting Trash Beasts."

"I'm a Cleaner."

"You constantly throw yourself into dangerous situations."

"I'm a Cleaner."

"You nearly died three weeks ago."

"I'm still alive."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

Her jaw tightened.

The answer sat right there, close enough to reach.

But she didn't say it.

Instead she fell back on the same argument she'd always used.

"The Hell Guard would make better use of you."

You laughed though it was a short humorless sound. "There it is."

"What?"

"You keep talking about what's useful." The irritation you'd been carrying for months finally surfaced. "You ever stop to think maybe I don't want what you want? You don't know what I want."

"Then tell me."

The words came out harder than intended.

The moment they left your mouth, something shifted.

Kyouka froze, though only briefly it was long enough for you to notice.

Tell me– what simple words.

Yet neither of you seemed capable of answering them.

The silence stretched.

Then shattered.

"You have a future."

You blinked. "What?"

"You have a future." Her voice was firm. "You shouldn't throw it away."

The anger inside you cooled slightly, instead replaced by confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No I dont."

"You take unnecessary risks."

"I do my job."

"You make reckless decisions."

"I do my job."

"You'll get yourself killed."

The words landed like a slap.

For a second neither of you moved, then something ugly twisted in your chest.

Because she sounded afraid.

Not annoyed.

Not angry.

Afraid.

And somehow that made everything worse.

You laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because you didn't know what else to do.

"You're unbelievable."

Kyouka's expression darkened.

"And you're impossible."

"Maybe." You stepped back. "But at least I don't spend every conversation trying to change who you are."

The words hit harder than intended.

You saw it happen, that tiny flicker. A tiny crack in her composure before she buried it.

But it had been there.

For just a second.

And suddenly you couldn't stay.

The argument felt too personal.

Too raw.

Too close to something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

So you turned, and you walked away.

Kyouka called your name.

You ignored her.

She called it again.

You kept walking.

The last thing you heard before disappearing around the corner was her voice.

Frustrated, angry, and worried.

And for the first time, you didn't turn back.

The further you walked, the worse your mood became.

You replayed the conversation over and over.

Every word.

Every look.

Every pause.

The things said.

The things left unsaid.

You hated it.

Hated how easily she got under your skin.

Hated how much her opinion mattered.

Most of all, you hated that she'd sounded genuinely scared.

Because if you thought about that too long, you'd start asking questions.

Questions neither of you seemed willing to answer.

So instead, you did what you always did when frustration became unbearable.

You looked for something to hit.

A mission would've been ideal. Unfortunately, Semiu said there weren't any nearby.

So your feet carried you elsewhere.

Toward the outskirts.

Toward the abandoned regions.

Toward danger.

Toward the place everyone knew to avoid.

No Man's Land.

The boundary appeared gradually.

The landscape changed.

The atmosphere shifted.

The feeling of wrongness grew heavier with every step.

Normal people avoided these regions entirely.

Even experienced fighters approached them carefully.

The polluted zones housed stronger Trash Beasts and greater risks.

Everyone knew that. You knew that.

But anger had a way of making people stupid.

And you were very angry.

"Just one." You said it aloud, as if hearing it made the decision smarter.

It didn't.

The first Trash Beast died quickly.

The second took slightly longer.

The third actually managed to injure you.

By then, common sense should've prevailed.

You should've turned around. Gone home. Gotten some sleep. Forgotten the argument.

Instead, like a fool, you kept moving deeper.

Further.

Further.

Further.

Until the realization finally hit.

You'd gone too far.

The silence changed first.

Then the air.

Then the feeling.

Something massive was nearby.

Your instincts screamed.

Every survival lesson you'd ever learned screamed.

Leave now.

Unfortunately, realization came too late.

The creature emerged from the haze, far larger than anything you'd expected to encounter alone.

For a brief moment, everything stopped.

The world.

Your breathing.

Your thoughts.

Then the Trash Beast moved.

And the fight began.

Nobody witnessed what happened.

Nobody survived to report it.

Nobody knew exactly how long you fought.

Only the aftermath remained.

The destruction.

The ruined terrain.

The blood.

The evidence of a battle that had ended badly. Very badly.

You fought.

You survived.

You pushed yourself further than you should've.

But eventually strength ran out as it always did.

One mistake became another. One injury became several. And somewhere in that hopeless struggle, the inevitable happened.

The Cleaner who never backed down, the Cleaner Kyouka had spent months trying to drag into a safer position, the Cleaner she'd argued with countless times had died.

You had died all alone in No Man's Land, with people only finding what remained of you days after the fact.

At first, nobody realized you were missing.

Cleaners disappeared for a day or two all the time.

Missions ran long.

Assignments changed.

Schedules shifted.

It happened.

Then one day became two.

Two became three.

Concern slowly replaced assumption.

People started asking questions.

Looking.

Searching.

Kyouka heard about it almost by accident, it was just a passing conversation.

A casual remark.

A missing Cleaner.

Your name.

The moment she heard it, something felt wrong.

You weren't the type to vanish.

You weren't the type to disappear without warning.

She immediately began searching.

Officially, there was no reason. Unofficially, she couldn't stop herself.

She checked headquarters.

Asked questions.

Tracked reports.

Followed every lead she could find.

With each dead end, the feeling in her chest worsened.

By the fourth day, frustration had become worry.

By the fifth day, worry had become fear.

By the sixth, she finally learned where you'd gone– No Man's Land.

The words hit like a physical blow. For a long moment, Kyouka simply stared.

Waiting for someone to correct themselves.

Nobody did.

The silence told her everything.

"No."

The word escaped before she could stop it.

The room went quiet.

No Man's Land.

Alone.

After an argument.

After she'd told you not to throw your life away.

After she'd warned you.

After she'd watched you walk away.

Someone continued speaking, explaining that a cleaners team traveling there for a mission had found you.

Kyouka didn't hear any of it, her thoughts had become a roar.

A desperate refusal.

You couldn't be dead.

You were too stubborn.

Too reckless.

Too difficult.

Too alive.

But reality didn't care what she believed.

The search team found enough evidence.

There was no mistake, and certainly no misunderstanding.

No miracle waiting around the corner.

You were gone.

For the first time in years, Kyouka didn't know what to do.

She stood there in complete silence as the information settled slowly.

The last conversation she'd ever have with you had been an argument.

The last thing she'd done was try to force you into a future you didn't want.

The last thing she'd heard was your footsteps walking away.

And now there would never be another conversation.

Never another argument, never another chance.

Kyouka lowered her head.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

The commander who never bent stood perfectly still.

And for the first time since she'd met you, she had absolutely no idea where to find you.

Because there was nowhere left to look.

The seasons changed after a while.

Life didn't stop simply because someone died.

Kyouka learned that lesson quickly though it was one she hated.

The sun still rose every morning, people still filled the streets, the Hell Guard still had reports to file, criminals to apprehend, duties to fulfill, and the Cleaners still hunted Trash Beasts.

The world continued moving forward with cruel indifference.

And somehow that felt wrong, because you weren't there.

The first few weeks had been the hardest.

Everywhere she looked, there was something that reminded her of you.

A stupid comment someone made.

A chair left empty during a meeting.

A familiar route through the city.

Every reminder arrived unexpectedly, and every reminder hurt.

Kyouka never spoke about it, she wasn't the type. But the people under her command knew something had changed.

They could see it.

She spoke less, didn't bother with people like how she did before, worked longer hours too.

But nobody dared ask why. Not when her gaze had become so distant. Not when she looked tired in ways sleep couldn't fix. Not when she carried grief like armor.

Some wounds weren't meant to be discussed.

So everyone pretended not to notice, and Kyouka pretended she was fine.

Months passed, then more.

The sharp pain dulled.

It became quieter like a constant aching presence she carried everywhere.

It was something she learned to live beside.

Not overcome.

On a cool afternoon, she found herself standing before your grave again.

She visited more often than she'd ever admit.

Always alone, usually in silence.

Today was different.

Today she carried a small wooden tray.

Upon it sat a teapot and two cups.

The tea had been prepared carefully.

A habit she had developed more after your death. You always teased her for preferring tea when conversations stretched too long.

You'd say she's much to formal, and Kyouka had always insisted that made no sense.

You'd laughed at her and sometimes she even found herself laughing alongside you.

Now she found herself remembering that conversation in embarrassing detail.

The memory almost made her smile.

Almost.

The cemetery was quiet.

The wind moved gently through the grass.

Clouds drifted overhead.

Everything felt peaceful.

The sort of peace people searched their entire lives for.

Kyouka hated it, because you never got to see it. You'd spent your life running toward danger. And now the world suddenly wanted to be gentle.

It felt unfair.

She approached your grave slowly.

The stone was familiar, far too familiar.

There had been a time when seeing your name written there made her feel sick.

Now it simply hurt.

She could live with that.

Kyouka lowered herself onto the ground, the movement was careful and measured.

She set the tray beside her, and then poured tea into both cups.

Steam rose from the surface.

Thin white tendrils drifting upward into the afternoon air

For a few moments she simply watched it. Then she reached for the second cup.

The one that wasn't hers.

And placed it carefully atop the gravestone.

Right in front of your name.

The gesture had become tradition.

A pointless tradition.

A foolish tradition.

But one she continued anyway.

"You still owe me for all the tea you've stolen."

Her voice broke the silence. It was soft, the sort of voice nobody else ever heard from her.

Kyouka stared at the cup.

Waiting.

Knowing nothing would happen.

Still waiting.

The silence that followed felt familiar.

Almost comfortable.

"You always said it tasted better when it belonged to someone else."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"You were an idiot."

The smile faded almost immediately.

The cemetery remained quiet.

Only the wind answered.

Kyouka wrapped both hands around her own cup.

The warmth seeped into her fingers.

Not enough.

"I saw a Cleaner the other day. From your team"

Her gaze remained fixed on the gravestone.

"He reminded me of you."

The confession came easier than expected. Perhaps because there was nobody left to hear it.

"He was reckless."

A pause.

"Annoying."

Another pause.

"He argued with everything he was told."

A tiny laugh escaped her.

"I almost arrested him."

The laugh faded.

"I think you would've liked him."

The silence returned.

Kyouka took a sip of tea.

The warmth settled in her chest.

Briefly.

Then disappeared.

The wind shifted, and a few loose leaves drifted across the cemetery.

Kyouka watched them travel.

Then looked back at your name.

The words escaped before she could stop them.

"I miss you." She whispered like a prayer.

The truth rarely needed decoration.

Her grip tightened around the cup. Not enough to break it anymore like before, just enough to remind herself she was still holding something.

Still here.

Still alive.

Unlike you.

The thought hurt.

Even now.

Especially now.

Because time hadn't changed anything.

It had only given her more opportunities to realize how much was missing.

You should've been here.

Arguing with her.

Talking to her.

Existing.

Instead, there was only stone and memory.

Kyouka lowered her eyes.

"I keep expecting to see you." The admission came quietly. "I know it's stupid."

She laughed softly.

"Every time I pass Cleaner headquarters."

Another laugh.

Smaller this time.

"Every time I hear someone yelling."

The smile faded.

"Every time someone does something reckless."

The words slowed.

"I still look."

Her throat tightened.

"And for a second..."

The sentence trailed off.

Because she couldn't finish it.

For a second she forgot.

For a second she expected you to be there.

Then reality returned.

Every time.

Without fail.

The disappointment never became easier.

Kyouka stared at the tea resting atop your gravestone.

Steam still curled from its surface.

But not as much as before.

The warmth was fading.

Slowly and inevitably.

She found herself watching it mesmerized as though the tea represented something important.

Perhaps it did.

The last remnants of warmth.

The final traces of something alive.

Gone little by little.

Until nothing remained.

"You know..." She exhaled quietly. "There was a time when I thought I'd convince you."

The memory surfaced unexpectedly.

Countless arguments.

Countless conversations.

Countless attempts to recruit you.

At the time she'd convinced herself it was practical.

Logical.

Professional.

Now she knew better.

Now there was nobody left to lie to.

"I wasn't trying to recruit you."

Her eyes remained on the gravestone.

The confession emerged in pieces.

Slowly.

Painfully.

"I told myself I was."

A bitter smile appeared.

"But that wasn't it."

The realization had taken months.

Months of sleepless nights.

Months of staring at ceilings.

Months of reliving conversations.

Eventually she'd understood.

She'd wanted you close. That was all.

Not because of your abilities, not because of your potential. Just because you were you.

And she had wanted more time.

More conversations.

More arguments.

More days.

More years.

She swallowed.

Hard.

"I was selfish."

The words sounded strange.

Kyouka rarely admitted fault.

Especially not aloud.

Yet here she was, speaking to a gravestone. Confessing things she'd never managed to say while you were alive.

"I wanted to keep you where I could see you." The wind brushed against her hair, making her appear almost gentle. "I thought if you joined the Hell Guard..."

Her smile became sad.

"...then maybe I'd stop worrying."

The laugh that followed held no amusement.

As though that would've changed anything.

As though she'd ever stop worrying about you.

The thought was absurd.

She would've worried forever.

And now she would never get the chance.

The tea continued cooling.

The steam was almost gone.

Kyouka watched it disappear.

Then she spoke again, this time quieter.

More vulnerable.

"I think about impossible things." A long silence followed "I think about another life."

The words felt ridiculous.

She wasn't someone who believed in fantasies, she never had been.

But grief had a way of creating strange hopes.

Tiny impossible hopes.

The kind people clung to when reality wasn't enough.

Kyouka stared at the horizon.

At the sunlight spilling across the cemetery.

At the peaceful afternoon neither of you had earned.

And she imagined it.

Another world.

Another life.

One where neither of you carried weapons.

One where neither of you wore uniforms.

One where there were no Trash Beasts.

No Hell Guard.

No Cleaners.

No No Man's Land.

No final arguments.

No graves.

Just life.

An ordinary life.

The kind most people ignored, the kind she'd once considered boring.

Now it sounded perfect.

In her mind, she could almost see it.

A small house.

Nothing extravagant.

A kitchen, a table, a window that let sunlight inside, you standing there.

Complaining about something insignificant.

Probably her.

Definitely her.

The thought made her smile.

A real smile this time.

Small.

Fragile.

Beau

I had an atrocious day at work, so y'all gotta suffer with me. Gotta get group bonding in somehow

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis , @tsillyy

Please DO NOT repurpose my work or feed into AI, I do not own any of my dividers besides my character ones.