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I ship you with Ken Ryuguji/Draken.

When you first encountered Draken, it was his imposing presence that struck you - towering height, dragon tattoo, and that long blonde braid. But you weren't intimidated. Your own sharp tongue and tendency to call out bullshit meant you approached him without the fear others showed. Your bluntness caught him off guard, and that subtle quirk of his eyebrow told you everything - he was intrigued by someone who didn't cower.

Your relationship began with verbal sparring. He appreciated how you didn't filter yourself, even around Toman's vice-captain. Your sarcastic comments would occasionally pull a rare chuckle from him, especially when directed at Mikey's antics. Draken quickly recognized your intelligence beneath your casual exterior - the way you analyzed situations, solved problems with creative solutions. He found himself seeking your perspective on matters, valuing your logical approach that mirrored his own.

The first time you visited his room above the brothel, you showed no judgment. Instead, you were genuinely curious about the motorcycle parts scattered about, asking questions that revealed your interest in how things worked. He appreciated that you didn't press him about his background, understanding that trust takes time. As you lounged comfortably on his floor, engrossed in conversation about engine modifications, Draken realized how easily you fit into his unconventional life.

Your habit of disappearing when overwhelmed initially confused Draken. He'd find you missing from gatherings, only to discover you alone somewhere, lost in thought. Rather than forcing you to explain, he'd simply exist beside you in comfortable silence. Sometimes, he'd work on bike sketches while you read. Over time, you began to appreciate those quiet moments - how he respected your need for solitude without making you feel abandoned. It became your unspoken ritual: when the world became too much, Draken would be there, not demanding explanations, just offering steady companionship.

When you occasionally joined Toman gatherings, your playful teasing and hyping up of questionable ideas amused Draken endlessly. He'd watch with a half-smile as you encouraged ridiculous stunts, though he'd step in before things got truly dangerous. The others quickly learned that while Mikey had Draken as his voice of reason, Draken had you - the only person who could talk him down when his temper flared. You never backed down when he was wrong, matching his intensity with your own, until his anger dissipated into reluctant acknowledgment.

Your love of baking became Draken's secret delight. You'd appear at his place with experimental treats, insisting he try them first. "Too sweet," he'd often grumble, but he never refused. Eventually, you created cinnamon pastries with just enough sweetness to earn his approval. The women at the brothel would tease him mercilessly about "his baker," but they also looked forward to your visits, knowing you'd bring enough for everyone. Draken pretended annoyance at becoming your taste-tester, but the way he'd immediately reach for seconds betrayed him.

The protective streak in Draken intensified around you. Though you insisted you could handle yourself (and he'd seen enough evidence to believe it), he couldn't help shadowing you through certain neighborhoods. You'd roll your eyes dramatically but secretly appreciated his concern. When you caught a fever after getting caught in the rain, he appeared at your door with medicine and food, awkwardly insisting it was "just because Mikey would be annoying if you didn't recover." You let him maintain the pretense, hiding your smile as he clumsily arranged soup containers on your table.

Your tendency to bottle emotions didn't escape Draken's notice. He recognized the signs - your overly casual tone, increased sarcasm, the way you'd bite your lip more frequently. After one particularly rough day, when you deflected his questions with practiced ease, he simply handed you his favorite wrench and pointed to his half-dismantled bike. "Break something if you want," he offered, "I can fix it later." The unexpected permission to express frustration broke something in you, and you found yourself talking instead - not about everything, but more than you'd shared with anyone else. Draken just listened, without judgment or demands for more.

Neither of you used conventional expressions of affection. You showed care through practical gifts - a rare motorcycle part you'd tracked down, books on mechanical engineering. He expressed his feelings through actions - tuning your bicycle to perfection, teaching you self-defense moves beyond what you already knew. The first time he called you at dawn, gruffly asking if you wanted to see the sunrise from his favorite overlook, you understood the significance. These invitations into his private world meant more than any verbal declaration.

What solidified your bond was the understanding that neither of you needed to perform vulnerability to prove your connection. When Draken finally shared fragments of his childhood, it wasn't a dramatic confession but casual statements offered while working together on his bike. In return, you revealed small truths about yourself, pieces of the puzzle that made you who you are. There was no pressure to bare your soul all at once - just the comfortable knowledge that with enough time, you'd both eventually see the complete picture. And somehow, that patience, that acceptance of each other's guarded hearts, created something neither of you had experienced before: a relationship built on mutual respect, understanding, and the quiet certainty that you had each other's backs, no matter what Shibuya threw your way.

I ship you with Ciel Phantomhive.

You'd never imagined finding companionship in someone like Ciel Phantomhive. You, with your blunt honesty and casual demeanor, seemed worlds apart from the proper, calculating Earl. Yet somehow, beneath the masks you both wore, a connection formed that neither of you quite understood but couldn't deny.

Your first meeting wasn't exactly romantic. You'd called him out on some pretentious comment he'd made at a social gathering, completely unaware of his status. While others gasped in horror, you noticed something flash in his visible blue eye - not anger, but curiosity. Later, he confessed that your lack of deference was refreshing in a world where most people either feared him or wanted something from him. Your brutal honesty and disregard for social hierarchy intrigued him; his shrewd intelligence and hidden vulnerability fascinated you.

"You're entirely too reckless," Ciel would often scold you, trying to mask his concern with irritation. You'd just laugh, biting your lip in that habit of yours that always made his cheeks flush slightly. "And you're entirely too uptight," you'd counter, challenging him to loosen his grip on control. These verbal sparring matches became your love language - a dance of wits where you pushed each other's boundaries. Sebastian would observe these exchanges with a knowing smirk, much to Ciel's annoyance.

Your relationship evolved in quiet moments at the Phantomhive manor. Late nights in his study where you'd sprawl comfortably on his couch in your pajamas, reading mystery novels while he worked on business papers. You'd share theories about his cases, your creative mind offering perspectives he hadn't considered. Though he'd never admit it aloud, your insights proved valuable more than once. In return, he taught you chess, impressed by how quickly you grasped complex strategies despite your claimed disinterest in learning the game.

You became protective of each other in different ways. Ciel, despite his small stature, stood between you and danger without hesitation. You, meanwhile, became his fierce defender in social settings, your quick wit deflecting subtle insults aimed at the young Earl. When nightmares of his past plagued him, you'd sit beside his bed, not pushing him to share but simply being present until he could breathe again. In turn, when your mood darkened and you withdrew into isolation, he'd silently join you with tea and sweets, understanding the value of companionable silence.

The household staff adored you, especially since you didn't hesitate to join their chaotic schemes when boredom struck. Ciel would watch from his window as you encouraged Finny in some disastrous gardening experiment, or tested Baldroy's latest culinary invention despite the obvious fire hazard. "You're encouraging them," he'd complain later, but the slight upward curve of his lips betrayed his amusement. You'd stolen his favorite ring once out of petty revenge for a dismissive comment, and rather than punish you, he'd simply watched with that calculating gaze as you eventually returned it with an apology sweet you'd baked yourself.

"I don't understand you," Ciel confessed one evening as you both stood on the balcony, stargazing. You were wrapped in one of his coats you'd stolen, drowning in the expensive fabric. "You know what I am, what I've done, what I will become... yet you stay." You turned to him, unusually serious. "I stay because I choose to. Because beneath all your pride and vengeance, I see someone worth knowing. Someone who, despite everything, still cares deeply." His hand found yours in the darkness, a rare display of vulnerability. "I don't deserve your loyalty," he whispered. You squeezed his hand, biting your lip thoughtfully. "Good thing I've never cared much about what people deserve."