Jaime

𖤓

[yearnerandaloser]

Welcome to my blog!

yearner or jaime! she/they wlw

fandoms: hsr zzz genshin

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ˖᯽ ݁˖ ── .✦

taking suggestions or requests but it’s not guaranteed I will do them

English is not my first language, I’m Filipino who speaks dialect so please bear with me. 🙏

rules: don’t be an asshole

Masterlist jane playlist

[diluted-calico]

just to clear things up, do not follow me or interact with my content if you /yourself/ interact with loli accounts, shota accounts, proship, comships, or ANYTHING along those lines. i dont age up characters, and i most certainly will NOT allow that kind of thing on my page

idc abt censoring this shit bc it needs to be said 🫩

[yearnerandaloser]

dear god

[bitterbutblue]

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Merry Christmas, Please Do Call ☆ robin x fem!reader

so whenever you ask me again

how i feel

please remember,

my answer is you

You and Robin always find each other again, always.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Stelle finds you sitting in the hallway of the passenger cabins. Everyone else was in the party car, laughing away and clinking glasses but you found yourself overwhelmed. The dim lights shone too brightly against your eyes, the reflection of the candle light on the wine glass hit your eye in the wrong way. The music was too loud, the car (despite only holding around 10 people) was too crowded. You excused yourself to the bathroom, but the second you stepped out your knees had gone weak. It was lame- ridiculous, even. One of the members of the Astral Express, barely able to stand as they slide down against the wall, rock glass with whatever alcohol Himeko had poured for you in hand and phone in the other.

It was too much.

"Hey."

It takes everything in you to crane your head up to look at Stelle, and you can see how pathetic you look in the reflection of her golden eyes.

"Hi."

She doesn't ask if you want company. She makes herself comfortable next to you, , fiddling with her glass.

"How much did you have to drink?"

You laugh, shaking your head slightly.

"Not much, honestly."

The reverberations of music can be felt through the walls of the passenger cabin, and you lean into it. Each pulse through the wall you could feel against your back, a comforting wave. Consistent, calm. It feels like a liminal space that you're stuck in, not exactly existing but also not exactly dead. The elephant in the room is only growing larger with each beat of the music, Stelle shooting sideways glances at you as you take a sip of your drink.

"Put the phone away." She says finally, and you feel your heart sink.

"Don't tell me what to do." You say back, quiet and defeated.

Stelle lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leans her head against the wall.

"You can't stay friends with your ex. It's clearly making you miserable."

"I'm not miserable-"

"You're moping on Christmas Eve! You're miserable!"

You bite your tongue, not wanting to start a fight with Stelle. Stelle is just looking out for you, you remind yourself. You mustn't take it the wrong way.

"I'm fine."

Your phone buzzes, and you immediately look down with your heart doing that awful backflip off a building feeling.

IPC: Get your new-

You huff, turning your phone off. Stelle grabs your phone out of your hand, and you let out a yell.

"Give it back!"

"Only if you stop moping!" She gets on her feet, and you stumble after her. Maybe you did have a bit too much to drink.

"Stelle, seriously, give it back."

"Stop waiting for her to text you. Our friends are in the party car, just have a good time today, okay?" Stelle pleads, and you groan.

"You're making me sound like I'm dragging the mood down."

"Because you are!"

You freeze, feeling your heart sink and Stelle sighs.

"That came out harsh, I'm sorry. But you have been moping the entire party. I'm not asking you to be all over the top cheery; I'm asking you, as your fiend who is concerned about your wellbeing, to try and have some fun with us. For just one night, okay?"

You two stare at each other, muffled music filling the hallways. The sound of your phone ringing breaks the silence, and Stelle holds the phone over her head, waiting for you to answer. You look up at the phone, an unknown number. Probably some IPC ad, or some call from one of the people you've met on your journey with the express. You bite your bottom lip, before nodding.

"Fine. I'll come out after I answer that call." You jut your heat in your phone's direction. Stelle nods, satisfied. She tosses the phone back at you, and you flip her off with a small smile.

"I love you, dude."

"Love you too. Now hurry up, okay? March wants us to take a group photo."

You nod, picking up the call as Stelle exits the passenger cabin.

"Hello?"

Silence on the other end. You take a sip of your drink, flipping it onto speaker mode.

"Hellooooo? Is this Sampo again? Because it's not funny, it really costs me extra credits to accept your calls, Sampo, and last time I-"

"Y/n."

You choke on your own words when you hear the voice on the other side of the line. The sound of your own name weighs on you like a brick, sinking you deeper and deeper into the murky pit you tried so hard to claw out of.

"Robin?"

"Please don't hang up." Robin pleads, her oh-so-angelic voice reverberating through the halls and you quickly turn her off speaker mode. You feel your own blood rushing to your face, and your already alcohol-reddened cheeks grow hotter and hotter. "Just let me talk. Please."

"Don't do this." You whisper shakily, and you can feel the tears prick at your eyes when you hear what sounds like a sob on the other side.

"I miss you."

"Don't."

"Please." She cries, and the glass pieces that made up your heart have shattered once more, digging themselves between the muscles in your rib cage and piercing the lungs in your chest. "I want to talk things out with you, just once more."

You down the rest of your drink in one go, feeling the burn against the back of your throat but you need it. You really need it.

"What is there to talk about?" You say softly "How it would never work? We never see each other. I spent almost four thousand years on Amphoreous, worrying about you for four thousand years. And it was only what, several weeks for you? It doesn't work. We drive each other sick with worry."

"I worry because I love you-"

"Don't."

"I love you so much." She says it with such conviction, she says it with everything in her and you feel it. She says it as if it is one of the fundamental truths of the world, something undeniable. "I would choose the worry and missing you if it means still being able to love you over the stability of not having you."

Her words are jumbled, and you think you aren't the only one in this call who is slightly drunk. Each word she says makes the cavity in your chest deeper and deeper, you are sinking into the memoria of your past with her and you are drowning. You grip your phone tightly, feeling your hand begin to tremble from the force.

"I love you." Is all you could say back with a shaky exhale "I don't want to hurt you.'"

"You cannot experience love without hurting to an extent. It is just what comes with." Robin mumbles, you can hear the sound of a tap running and a dress ruffling in the background.

"Are you at an event?" You whisper with a soft laugh, and Robin lets out a defeated chuckle.

"Yeah. Penacony's Christmas party." Silence, then- "I wanted to invite you. So we can talk."

"We're talking now." You say

"No, like, in person."

You set your empty glass on the window sill, running a hand through your hair. Your heart aches for her, your body instinctively yearns for the sound of her voice and hearing it now feels so right. It feels like you've slid the key into the lock to the door back home, even if it is a home you haven't stepped foot in for a while.

"I want to work through this." Robin pleads again "I want to work through things with you. I can't give up, I can't give up on this knowing I could have made it work with you."

You don't say a word, only hearing the sound of her quiet cries on the other end of the phone.

"Only if you- only if you want to." Robin adds at the very end, a defeated whisper.

"I want to." You say too quickly, wiping away at the tears that falls. You lick your lips, tasting the salty tears on your tongue and you wonder how pathetic you look. "I wanted to, really. But I don't want to put you through more."

"You're not putting me through anything I don't want to go through."

Robin is not one to sound defeated. She has gone from planet to planet, showering people with endless hope through music and songs and she has never in your years of dating showed any sign of defeat. Even if her album does badly, even if her concerts don't sell well, even if there are rumours and controversies. She never lets it defeat her. This is the first time you hear the sound of defeat echo from Robin's lips and you cannot believe you are the cause for it.

"Please, can we try again?"

You hear the sound of the passenger cabin door opening and the music fills the once silent halls, and you turn around so that whoever had just opened the door cannot see the tears streaming down your face.

"Let's talk about this in person." You say quietly, and you hear Robin let out a sigh.

"Okay."

"Okay."

A brief moment of silence, you're running out of time. They will be walking over any time, they will ask you what's wrong.

"Merry Christmas, Robin."

You hear a stifled sob, and you have to take a deep breath in to distract yourself from the aching feeling in your chest because it threatens to tear you into pieces of who you once were.

"Merry Christmas. I love you."

You hang up the phone after that, but you know she knows. You can't dare to say it out loud with someone in the hallway with you. You quickly wipe the tears off your face, turning around to see Dan Heng standing in the hall with a concerned look.

"Are you alright?" He asks awkwardly, and you nod, a gentle smile on your face. A genuine, soft smile that he hasn't seen since you guys left Penacony.

"Yes. I promise. I just need to wash my face."

He nods, not wanting to press any further and you enter your own room quickly to wash off the tear stains and to hopefully get rid of the red, puffy eyes. Flicking on the light to the bathroom, you wince at the sight of yourself in the mirror. Anyone who looks your way can tell you've been crying. You turn on the tap, rinsing your face with ice cold water, missing the sound of your phone pinging as you douse your face over and over again in cold water. You finally turn off the tap, gasping as you reach for a towel to wipe the water off.

Ding.

You look down at your phone, opening the messages with a thudding heart.

Robin: I really mean every word I said on call

Robin: I love you

Robin: I'll be in Penacony but I can come find you?

Robin: Just let me know when it works best for you

Robin: I'll adjust my schedule

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. Of course she would offer to put everything on halt for you.

You: Don't be ridiculous.

You: I'll come find you, I know you're busy.

You pause, before typing out the next part.

You: I'll always love you.

Putting your phone away, you let a soft smile grace your features once more before stepping out into the passenger cabin, eyeing the door to the party car. It is about time you returned to the party, and the feeling of your phone buzzing with a text notification fills you with an odd sense of dull giddiness and excitement. It feels muffled, as if you are purposefully trying not to let yourself get too hopeful. But hope is what Robin was always best at, and maybe you should start hoping as well.

[yearnerandaloser]

Ruan Mei is apathetic, impassive, aloof, self-centered, and socially awkward despite appearing polite. So she struggles with emotional connections leading to indifference anddd manipulation. When I tell you she doesn’t gaf abt u, she really doesn’t 😭

“Only the word "Aeon" can stir her heart. Everything else in the universe is a mere distraction.” —From her character story 4

Thus being fwb is the most plausible choice of relationship with the reader 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[spirit-lanterns]

Thinking about Fox! Tingyun x Dog! Reader where Reader is a Dog Hybrid trained to protect the farm she lives on. Her sole duty is to chase off any Fox Hybrids/predators that try to attack the livestock, and she’s typically good at her job, except for this one strange Fox that likes to taunt her instead of running away.

Tingyun is simply amused when you bark at her nonstop and try to bite her, but your attacks lack actual power and drive to kill. Ah, a case of all bark and no bite, she just smiles and lounges on top of the chicken hut, watching you yap nonstop like a broken record. Eventually, you’ll tucker yourself out and Tingyun coos when you show signs of exhaustion, finally hopping down from the roof.

“You’re a lot cuter when you aren’t being such a loud mouth,” she uses her tail to sultrily caress it across your face. You aren’t sure if she’s flirting with you or mocking you, but you growl and try to yell at her. “Shhhh…” her fluffy tail acts like a gag and you feel yourself shiver from the sheer softness of it. “You’ll lose your voice at this rate. I take it you’re a screamer in bed?”

Before you could question what she was talking about, Tingyun climbs onto the fence surrounding the farm and scampers off. You aren’t sure what this fox wants from you, but she did leave the chickens alone…you consider it a job well done!

No thoughts, head empty. Just Tingyun x Reader with a Fox and the Hound kind of dynamic.

[yearnerandaloser]

hehe

[moonsglare]

they should have let her get away with it

[yearnerandaloser]

Masterlist

a/n: going to add more as I post new fics! The current characters listed here does not mean they are the only ones going to be written.

Jane doe

troubles from a thiren

aching and hurting

Himeko

sweet and sour

Mona

infinite stars

[yearnerandaloser]

wait is Jane’s eyes aqua, blue, gray or green grey 😭

[yearnerandaloser]

Jane doe and r but it’s Jennifer’s body

[yearnerandaloser]

infinite stars? | Mona x gn!reader

a/n: from the drafts, short and cheesy heh

You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling like it’s the night sky itself. Mona is beside you, already halfway under the blankets, her hair is freed from her usual twin tail. “How many stars do you think are in the sky?” you ask, voice drifting upward as though it might float past the ceiling. Mona let out a quiet, tired hum. one of those sounds that meant she heard you, but had no intention of using more effort than absolutely necessary to respond. “There’s infinite.” she mutters, sounding one breath away from sleep.

You turn your head and raise a brow. “…Infinite?” “Yes.” she sighs, shifting slightly, trying to coax herself into a comfortable angle. “Unending. Countless. Limitless. Must I explain everything at this hour?” But your mind is already moving, gears turning, sparks catching as you fold your arms across your chest. “But is there really such a thing as infinite?” you begin, words spilling like loose stars. “Everything we know has an end. Land stops. Oceans stop. Even stars burn out eventually, right? space might go on forever, but we can’t see forever. So how do we know infinite is real? What if it’s just something so big we can’t measure it yet?”

Mona groans. A small, exhausted sound that still somehow manages to be fond. She doesn’t interrupt you immediately. No, she listens. Because despite how exhausted she was, despite how her body wanted to be asleep ten minutes ago, she always listens when your mind starts wandering to strange places. Even when the subject was so big and nebulous it sounded like a philosophy lecture from that old woman…

Finally, she turns to face you, blanket slipping off her shoulder a little. Her eyes, though tired, held a mix if gentleness and exasperation that made your voice stall just a little. You stop mid sentence. “What?” you ask. Mona reaches out and taps your forehead lightly. “If you insist on questioning whether infinite things exist” her tone shifts, softens, deepens “then consider the only one I know for certain.” You blink, expecting a lecture on cosmology.

“The love that I hold for you is infinite,” she says. “will you deny that?” The room goes very still. Your thoughts break apart like glass hitting the floor and the only thing you could think of reply was an “...oh.” Your cheeks warming, the heat blooming slowly down your neck. Mona moves closer, looping an arm around your waist. Slow and unhurried like shes moving in a dream she didn’t want to wake up from. Her forehead pressing against your shoulder. You react without thought, a reflex as you pull her in, hands fitting around her as naturally as breathing. “Go to sleep.” she murmurs, lips brushing your collarbone. “After what you said? No fair.” You feel rather than see the smile she tries to hide “Then think about it in the morning.” Well that was easier said than done.

[yearnerandaloser]

Completely a stranger anon here but just finished reading Troubles from a thiren was, It.Is.So good T^T, I was so invested with every sentence, your writing is so peak ✊TvT

Hello stranger, thank you so much! I thought people wouldn’t love it because I kept reworking it until I lost the meaning of the words but I’m sooooo glad you like it, like really!! Your words mean a lot to me. 😭

[crguang]

hmm maybe her personality or character in general? Anything, actually. I just like to read your thoughts. and I’m quite happy that you wrote a drabble in my ask, dw!

mmmm i suppose the most intriguing thing about jane to me is her relationship with her name. i think about it often because it’s such a core aspect of her character but mostly, i want to know how she feels about it because “jane doe” isn’t a name. it’s no one’s name. it’s temporary and basically means “unknown”. she’s had to erase a deeply personal and grounding part of herself and her identity to turn into what is essentially a ghost, someone malleable, not grounded to anyone or anything, barely a person at all. her work requires that level of discretion and she was ready to make that exchange which is very intriguing to me. jane has very strong morals, despite what she has to do sometimes and how she deals with people at work, jane is a good person to me and what she stands are is pretty clear. her choice to erase herself in order to do her job… it’s insane like there has to be more to it. she struggles with her sense of self/identity a lot because of it so i’m interested in delving deeper into what “jane doe” means to her. everyone calls her that. a name encompasses a person, no? it’s given to you or chosen for yourself— you get to decide that who you are corresponds to this specific name, there’s so much attachment and feeling behind choosing a name for someone or for yourself. people often say “he looks like a [name]”, associating faces with names is the most basic, natural thing ever. but jane doe is owned by nobody, everybody can be a jane doe provided they are unknown by others. it literally just means “anonymous”. how do you find meaning in that? it’s very different from having a common name because that’s still a name and it’s still yours. i don’t think that jane would respond to whatever her name was before anymore. it wouldn’t fit anymore, whoever she thought she was back then isn’t who she is now, and who she is now is so blurry in her mind. understandably so, she has to embody so many roles and when she comes home she’s “jane doe”. that’s so fucked up😭 actors dont get lost in roles because they have a life outside of their job with families and friends and whatnots to remind them of who they are. they can separate who they are from their roles even though said roles may resonate deeply with them or melt into their lives for a short period of time. jane has trouble differentiating herself from who she embodies, but on top of that, when she gets out of that role she’s still anonymous to her colleagues and friends. as humans we’re social creatures, we learn who we are through social interactions/influence, identity is constructed through context/connection and jane has had so many people in her life, has been so many people, how is she supposed to know around whom her true self shines? such an unstable way to live i dont know how she does it lmao

when you think about it, outside of being undercover, before the managers, she only had her colleagues and she doesn’t even hang out with them in public. there probably isn’t a hundred different ways she’s heard her name be uttered. what i mean by that is that there’s a natural distance between a person and their coworkers, they may see each other often enough but they’re not part of each other’s private lives. the pubsec squad is clearly not part of jane’s. so her name probably doesn’t mean anything to her as of right now but she’s starting to be someone that isn’t “pubsec agent jane doe” or “undercover persona X”, as she’s hanging out with the managers because they’re actual friends. they don’t only see each other for work. jane finds herself comforted just at the sight of their store. she’s seen in a light that’s different from anything she’s known so far because she’s being genuine and so are they. she’s feeling all these emotions when she’s with them. her name means something she hasn’t considered before, at least to someone else. i find it very beautiful and interesting to explore

i remember when she released, i wasn’t into zzz back then and people on twitter were mostly mocking her trailer and zzz’s general fan service aspect— but i remember seeing her name and raising an eyebrow because no one’s named “jane doe”. now that i know her character it hurts a little to think about how she navigates her life borrowing from fake personalities in order to stitch a collage of who she may be, and it still doesn’t feel right. my rat </3333

[yearnerandaloser]

Sweet and sour | Himeko x reader

cw: gn reader, biting, slight scratching,

a/n: The second! I was actually writing this at the same time with the Jane fic (please do not attempt) and had a hard time thinking. Luckily, my friend helped me writing this! Thank you, Harvey! Actually, fun fact, I sent this as an anonymous to one of my favorite writer like months ago I think, try to guess who. Saw the draft of it and decided to rewrite bc wtf I don’t remember writing it like that 😭

“You don’t hate me.”

Himeko’s voice is breathless, the words come out between gasps, tangled in the heat of your mouths and the press of her body beneath yours. It isn’t a question, not really. It’s something fragile that slips out before she can stop it, carried on the trembling edge of her exhale. Her lipstick is smudged, a streak of crimson fading against the corner of her mouth, and her hair fans across the pillow like wildfire.

She’s still warm. Still looking at you with those golden eyes, steady and bright even as her chest heaves, even as your lips are swollen from the way they’ve clashed again and again like you’re trying to consume each other. You can taste her on your tongue: Her wine, her sighs and the faint bitterness of something that isn’t quite forgiveness but something close.

Your teeth find her throat. The skin there is hot, delicate, flushed with blood that thrums to your pulse. You bite down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her arch, enough to feel the tremor in her voice when she breathes your name.

“I still do.” you growl against her skin. The words come out muffled, roughened by the heat of her throat and the sweet, almost sickening scent of her perfume that clings to your mouth like smoke. It fills your lungs, coats your thoughts. You don’t know whether you’re choking on her or on yourself.

Himeko doesn’t pull away. Her fingers slide into your hair, her nails grazing your scalp in something dangerously close to affection. She could shove you off but instead, she holds you there, her touch firm and steady. Her breath catches, and for a moment she closes her eyes as though savoring the pain.

“From the heavens above,” you murmur, each word trembling with the effort to hold yourself together. “to the depths and corners of hell…” Your lips trail lower, to the place where her pulse beats strong beneath her skin. “I will always hate you.”

She exhales softly, as if she’s been waiting years to finally hear something that sounds like truth. The sound is almost a sigh of relief, like she’s been holding her breath through every silence between you, through every glance that lingered too long.

“I do wonder why,” she whispers, almost to herself. The faintest curve of a smile plays at her lips, shaky but real. “why it feels so much like something else.”

Her voice cuts through you. You wish she’d stop, wish she’d cry, yell, anything other than speak like she understands you. Damn her for reading the tremor in your hands, for knowing the difference between hate and longing, for catching the way your voice cracked on still.

She’s too kind. Even now, when you want her to hate you back, to spit the same venom you give her, she just looks at you with the same warm gaze.

You want to ruin her. You want to mark that gentleness, to carve your confusion into her skin until she can’t smile at you like that anymore. You want her to feel the chaos she stirs in you. Your nails drag faintly down her side, leaving red crescents that fade too quickly, not enough to satisfy the ache in your chest.

But she doesn’t resist. She takes it, absorbs it like sunlight through glass, until every touch feels like it’s melting into her, like she’s turning every ounce of anger into warmth.

You kiss her again. Harsher, messier. It’s a collision, all breath and teeth and desperation. Her head tilts to meet you, and her hand grips your jaw, anchoring you there, grounding you when you wish she wouldn’t. It feels like drowning and breathing at once.

You tell yourself it’s punishment, that if you kiss her hard enough, deep enough, maybe you can convince yourself it’s still hate. But it’s everything you’ve been running from: the hunger, the ache, the terrifying tenderness that crawls beneath your skin every time she looks at you like this.

if it were love, you would’ve been gentle. You would’ve kissed her softly. But you’re not ready for that.

[yearnerandaloser]

Troubles from a thiren | Jane doe x florist!reader

cw: gn reader, florist knife (?)

a/n: honestly, I’ve been hesitating to post this for a while now bc while writing I didn’t like how it flowed nor the sound of it :( But! I did say that I was going to post 2 fics so I had to push through and rework almost everything until it was kinda good :0 Anyways, I’ll revisit this in the future and re write it! (Also, if there’s wrong grammar or misspelling please tell me, I’m trying to learn English as I write! 🙏)

Jane see’s the sun dipping low over Lumina Square painting the glass and skyline in warm shades of copper and rose, the evening air is cold, turning her breath into puff of smoke. A similar scene of cigarettes after missions, she remembers. Jane walks through the square with a quiet weariness clinging to her shoulders. The mission had been long, grueling even by her standards, and though she hides it well behind her calm expression, her body aches in subtle protest.

She exhales deeply and rolls her shoulder, the motion accompanied by the curling of her half mechanical tail around her leg. Her bomber jacket shifts slightly as she moves, and the dying sunlight catches the glint of her ear piercings. The square isn’t too crowded, just a few late shoppers, a couple walking hand in hand, and street vendors starting to pack up their wares.

Then, without warning, something rolls across her path. It’s a small clay pot, wobbling to a stop right in front of her boots. Jane blinks down at it, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly in bemusement. “Huh.” She crouches, picking it up delicately with one fingerless gloved hand. A faint crack lined the rim, but it was otherwise intact. She might’ve set it aside if not for the voice that followed, breathless and worried. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You didn’t trip on it, did you?”

She turns her head, spotting you, a florist struggling to balance a tower of boxes, each filled with more pots than flowers. Your hair is a little messy, clothes dusted with bits of soil. Jane’s ear flicks once, her tail uncurling from her leg as she straightens to her full height.

“No, I’m fine.” she replies smoothly, her voice soft yet firm. Her eyes study you for a moment, a quick habitual scan that speaks of years of instinctive caution. But there’s no threat here, only a small shop owner on the verge of dropping everything they’re carrying. She relaxes her shoulders a little. “Maybe I should be the one asking if you’re alright? You look like you need some help.”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, laughing awkwardly. “I think it’s quite rude of me to ask help from a stranger—”

Before you could finish, she steps closer. Jane lifts the box of pots from your arms with ease, as if it weighs nothing at all. Then, with a faint smile, she places the pot she found back into the box. “Well? Where should I put these?”

Her smile is disarming, effortlessly confident. She has an aura of a charmer and face of a beauty that could overthrow anyone if she suddenly talks to them. You freeze for a beat too long, clearly caught off guard. “I— In the back! I’ll, uh, lead you there.” Your voice comes out a little too high and Jane hums lightly in amusement, following you as you scramble to lead the way.

Inside, the air changes. it’s warmer, humid with the scent of soil and blooming flowers. Sunlight filters through the greenhouse glass ceiling, casting golden ribbons of light across rows of ferns, hydrangeas, and lilies. The shop is not small neither can it be called large, but it is full of life. Not quite the environment she’s used to but the beauty in the quiet chaos of nature around her is comforting somewhat.

Jane kneels and sets the box down gently on the floor, the sound of ceramic filled box clinking softly against cement. “Thank you so much… er…” you begin, brushing your hands nervously on your apron. “You can call me Jane.”

You smile, still flustered but undeniably grateful. “Thank you, Jane.” “You’re welcome.” she answers simply, her tone steady but kind.

The quiet that followed was filled only by the faint hum of a cooling fan and the whisper of petals shifting in the front room, you’re unsure how to move the conversation forward. Jane doesn’t even mind the silence as she glances around idly: neat shelves, tiny labeled pots, a radio resting by the window. Domestic and peaceful. It makes her tail go still for a moment.

You shift your weight, noting how Jane is looking around your flowers, you look around as well, then back to her as if an idea popped up. “Would you like anything here? You can consider it as a ‘thank you’ gift. It’s free, of course!”

Jane looks at you with her aqua colored eyes, “Well,” Her gaze wonders around the shop once more, pausing at different colors and shapes until she asks, almost offhandedly. “Do you have lilacs?”

Your face brightens with surprise. “Every flower you like, we have it here.” You say with a chuckle. “Do you want it potted or as a bouquet?” Jane matches your smile and nods, “Potted would be good.”

“Then follow me.” You reply, motioning toward the back where the rows of lilacs wait in soft lavender hues. As you walk, Jane’s tail sways lazily behind her, brushing the flowers and leaves. The air grows sweeter the deeper they go, filled with that delicate floral scent that clings to the skin and refuses to let go.

She pauses by the lilac display. The flowers are small and fragile, clustered together in quiet harmony. For a woman who lives in the dark, it seems an odd choice but her expression softens as she leans closer, brushing a finger just above the petals without touching them. “You like them?” You ask, watching her curiously.

“Yes.” Jane glances over her shoulder, her usual smirk tempered by something softer, more wistful. “I like any flowers.” she murmurs. There’s silence again but this time it’s gentle and lingering. She straightens and turns back toward them, her voice light once more. “How much do I owe you for this one?”

You shake your head quickly. “Nothing! It’s a gift, remember?” Jane tilts her head, amused. “You sure? You might regret saying that.” “Not at all.” You laugh, shaking your head. “You helped me when I needed it. That’s enough.”

She studies you for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. There’s this mixed feeling of fondness and fascination hiding behind her chest. She waves it off for now, planning to search the meaning once she leaves. Jane picks up the small pot of lilacs, holding it carefully in both hands. “Then I’ll take good care of it.” she says, voice low but sincere.

With a brief goodbye to the stranger, she leaves the shop, the sun finally sinks below the horizon, and the lights of Lumina Square bathe her in a soft glow. The emotions she felt earlier… perhaps she should visit again.

The lilacs sway gently with her every step, their faint scent following her down the quiet street. Somehow, something delicate and kind can still find its way to her hands.

It had been a few weeks since Jane first walked into your flower shop that evening with the runaway pot, and somehow, she had made herself a quiet fixture in your life ever since. Every day, without fail, she appeared around closing hours, always with that same confident stride and a new gift in hand. Sometimes it was a box of premium chocolates imported from who knows where. Other times, a heavy book about flowers, or imported teas that smelled earthy.

You’d tried to protest once. Twice. But every time, she only waved it off with an amused flick of her tail or a lazy smirk that told you it was pointless. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, did she ever check the prices on these things? Each one looked expensive, almost unnecessarily so. It left you wondering how much she even made at her ‘secret’ job, though you’d long realized Jane was the kind of woman who didn’t measure affection in practicality.

The little bell above your shop door jingled, pulling you out of your thoughts. You straightened instinctively, brushing stray soil off your hands before glancing toward the entrance. “Good Evening.” Jane says smoothly, already half way to you. She carries a paper bag in her hand and you already know who it’s for. “You really should stop spending your money on me.” you sigh, even though the corner of your mouth betrays a smile.

Jane’s left ear flicks, a habit you’ve noticed she does whenever she hears your voice. The gesture feels unconsciously tender, as if her body reacts before her mind can. “Do you hate me that much?” she teases, a faux pout plastered on her lips as she places the paper bag on the counter. You roll your eyes, the movement exaggerated enough to make her chuckle. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Her chuckle is low and musical, brushing the edges of the air like smoke. She leaned a little on the counter, studying you through half lidded eyes. “Are you closing early?”

“Yeah.” you say, glancing down at your wristwatch. “There haven’t been many customers today. Why?” “Let’s get dinner,” she says without hesitation. “My treat.”

You blink at her, momentarily thrown off by the casual invitation. “If I didn’t know any better,” you start, feigning suspicion, “I’d say you’re asking me out.” Something flickers across her face, her smile twitches, her tail pausing mid sway. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by that same nonchalant smirk.

“You’re free to interpret it however you like.” she simply says. Oblivious to the storm beneath her calm, you laugh softly and shrug. “Then I guess I’ll go with you.”

That small smile you give her makes something in Jane’s chest clench. You don’t notice the subtle shift in her posture, the way her shoulders seem to ease, or how her eyes linger a heartbeat too long on your face. She watches as you turn off the shop lights one by one, slip your coat over your shoulders, and carefully lift the paper bag from the counter.

By the time you reach the door, she’s already waiting, tail swaying lazily, her silhouette haloed by the flickering neon outside. The night air is cool, fresh from a recent drizzle. The smell of damp earth mingles with the faint perfume of flowers still clinging to your clothes. The two of you walk side by side beneath the soft hum of Lumina Square’s evening lights, neither speaking much but neither needing to.

The ramen shop you end up in is tucked away at the corner of a narrow street, the kind of place with fogged windows and heat that seeps straight into your bones. The owner greets you both with a nod and quickly ushers you to a booth. Jane takes the seat across from you, resting her chin in her palm, eyes following every movement you make as you reach into the bag she brought.

Inside, you find a set of florist knife, beautifully crafted, its handle carved from dark polished wood, the blades curved elegantly with razor precision. “Jane,” you breathe, a mixture of disbelief and amusement coloring your tone. “There’s… these are too many! You could’ve just given me one.” You counted silently, there were atleast a dozen of them. No wonder it was a bit heavy. She shrugs, the motion so casual it borders on careless. “So you don’t run out.”

You laugh softly, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I don’t think anyone can run out of knives.”

“Then keep it.”

“Already planning to.” You were about to say more but stop yourself, realizing you haven’t spoken your gratitude yet. “Thank you, Jane.” She smiles, her gaze drifts to the side, to the condensation rolling down her untouched glass of water. “You don’t have to.”

You look up at her, half tempted to argue but it’s the same as always with her, always waving it off. Then you see something different in her gaze. The usual sharpness in her eyes is still there, yes, but underneath it lies a warmth that’s hard to ignore. A tenderness that she doesn’t bother hiding.

You don’t realize it, but Jane watches you in quiet fascination, the way your face lights up when you laugh, the way you speak with your hands when explaining something trivial. You don’t know that she memorizes every detail: your voice, your scent, the rhythm of your breathing.

Because Jane Doe, who lives in shadows and survives by instinct, has found something entirely new in you. And she knows it without denial, without shame. She is in love with you without hesitation. Her way of showing it may be strange: through gifts too expensive, through teasing remarks and lingering glances. But they are real, and they are hers.

As you sit across from her in that quiet ramen shop, your laughter mingling with the warmth of the night, Jane finds herself thinking that this, this small, unremarkable moment is something she would fight a thousand missions for. And though she doesn’t say it aloud, her heart knows the truth. You’ve already become her peace in a world that’s never known gentleness.

Months has passed since then. Now, her visits have become more natural as the dawn, a rhythm that neither of you question: Morning dew on petals, the first hum of the neon signs outside, the door chime announcing her arrival. Every time, you’re there behind the counter, soft smile waiting for her, and Jane’s mind, that steady and controlled thing she’s trained to keep in check, falters just a little more.

She tells herself that she only visits because the company helps her think, because your tea always tastes better than hers, because you always know when to speak and when to stay silent. The heart of a human or a thiren, she realizes, is fragile all the same. Once it’s touched by warmth, it begins to ache. And in Jane’s case, it aches for you.

Each day she spends near you makes it worse. She tells herself it’s nothing. But nothing shouldn’t ache this much. It grows quietly, insistently, until it becomes unbearable. Every laugh, every fleeting touch of your hand when you pass her a flowerpot, every innocent glance in her direction feels like a hook pulling her deeper. She doesn’t know when it stopped being about comfort and started becoming something else, but now it’s too late to untangle the two.

Later on a saturday evening, the sky burns with fading amber. The shop smells of earth and fresh floral, the faint traces of rain still clinging to the pavement outside. You’re humming to yourself as you tidy up. Cutting stems, putting new flowers into vases, flipping the sign to closed. The air is peaceful, just like how it usually is. You now stand behind the counter, letting yourself relax for just a moment.

You don’t hear the door open. You only realize you’re not alone when you feel arms slip around your waist, firm but careful. Something hard and cool winds around your leg. You inhale sharply, startled. “Jane?” you whisper, looking down to look at the arms wrapping around you before turning in her hold. “Is something wrong?”

She doesn’t answer right away. You can feel her breathing against your shoulder, slow but uneven. When you finally look up at her, her eyes are darker than usual, pupils dilated under the dim light. “Jane?” you try again, softer this time.

Her thumb moves along the hem of your shirt like she’s trying to memorize the feel of you through fabric. Her tail tightens even more, making your balance waver. Instinctively, a tiny sound escapes you. half sigh, half plea. You press your palms against the table behind you for support, the wood cold under your hands. Your heart begins to pound, its rhythm so loud it drowns out the ticking of the clock on the wall. The heat crawling up your neck only worsens when she moves her head closer, her breath brushing your cheek.

Her face tilts toward yours, close enough that you can see the lipstick on her lips, close enough that her perfume lingers heavy in the air between you. Her expression is unreadable, making you confused, but you part your lips and shut your eyes tightly. Anticipating the one thing you unconsciously want.

But it never comes. Instead, Jane stops just short, her gaze flickering between your lips and your face. She studies you, how your lashes tremble, how your fingers clutch the table’s edge, how you look utterly defenseless before her. It should be easy to give in, to take what she wants but the thought of crossing that invisible line, of dragging you into the same hesitation that’s eating her alive, feels too cruel. Even more so when you haven’t even understood the feelings stirred within yourself yet.

So, she leans in just enough to let her lips brush your cheek. A faint, deliberate press of warmth that lingers longer than it should. “Goodnight.” she whispers, the word a thread of smoke against your ear. You open your eyes, confused.

And then she pulls away. Her tail slips from your leg, her arms releasing you, and she steps back quickly, as though distance will help her regain the composure she nearly lost. Before you can say anything, she’s already halfway to the door, the sound of her boots fading with each step. You stand there, motionless, the scent of her still clinging to you, your heart refusing to calm down.

You try to finish closing the shop without thinking too much but it’s no use, this sudden ache in your chest is hurting like hell and your thoughts are all mangled up. Press a hand to the spot on your cheek where her lips touched doesn’t seem to calm these emotions down. It still tingles, you note.

That night, you can’t even sleep. Every time you close your eyes, you feel her breath ghosting across your skin again, hear the low murmur of her voice, see the way her eyes had softened when she looked at you. ‘Goodnight’ she says, but you don’t have good night.

[yearnerandaloser]

chat I might post two posts

[yearnerandaloser]

I hate writing bc everytime I try to lock in i immediately close the notes app and open TikTok instead