#chainsawman oc

besties

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I genuinely dont know what possessed me to make this but only slightly normal video w this sound

NAWHH thank you so much! that's so sweet! Actually drew her recently again so this is a reason to post! MORE YIN! thanks for the love!

Reflections Don’t Flinch

Summary: Kuroko, the Mirror Fiend, appears calm and unreadable—elegant but unsettling. Once a human, her soul fractured in a pact with the Mirror Devil. Now a fiend in Special Division 4, she speaks in quiet, poetic riddles and rarely allows anyone close. She doesn’t lie, but rarely explains herself. Despite her haunting aura, she finds herself slowly drawn to the brash sincerity of Denji and the quiet yearning of Aki.

(Not my artwork and not my characters. Kuroko is an OC I made)

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, damp towels, and burnt cheap ramen. Aki’s apartment was too small for three people with this much blood history. I sat on the edge of the mattress before we all settled in—half-listening as Denji complained about the broken bed again.

“Aki, can I please sleep with you?”

His voice clung to the air like static. I didn’t look up. I knew what Aki would say before he did.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

He always relented when it mattered least. And this? This night? It would matter far more than any of us wanted to admit.

We laid down. Aki closest to the wall, already claiming sleep like a shield. I stayed in the middle, arms folded under the blanket, spine straight, unmoved. Denji was restless beside me. Breathing loud. Heart louder.He turned toward me. I didn’t need to see him. I could feel the tremble of thoughts in his breath.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You ever think… maybe we’re too messed up to feel normal things?”

A beautiful question. Broken in all the right places.

“I think… we feel them too sharply. That’s the real curse,” I murmured.

His breath hitched. I could tell he was looking at me now. Not just glancing—searching. Then, like it escaped without permission:

“I think I love you.”

The words made no noise in my chest. Not shock. Not joy. Just… recognition. Like a mirror showing something I’d known for years but never named. I turned my head to him. His eyes shimmered in the dark. Still a boy. Still a blade.

“Is that love, or are you just grateful I don’t flinch when you bleed?”

He looked away.

Then, softly: “Does it have to be one or the other?”

I let the silence stretch. I wanted to see if he could sit with it. He did. And so I moved. Just barely—my hand brushing the edge of his shirt, resting over the faint healing scar on his chest. My forehead met his, like glass against glass. Cool. Honest.

“I didn’t say I didn’t love you too,” I whispered.

“Only that I’m still deciding what that word means when it echoes.”

He didn’t move. I liked that. He waited. Held space “Stay very still,” I murmured. “Why?” he whispered back.

“I want to see if the reflection moves when I don’t.”

Aki shifted behind me. I felt the mattress dip, heard the soft hitch in his breath.

Still pretending to sleep. Still listening. Still aching.

We stayed like that—Denji and I—barely touching, barely breathing, suspended in something fragile and unspeakable. A truth half-seen in glass.

And for once… I wasn’t afraid of being seen.