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Thank you so much for sharing, @Froktime! And for meticulously indexing everything!

OMG IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS 🥹 THANK YOU SO MUCH! LOVE UU

thankyou for sharing

@rakira

Thank you so much I don't know how to thank you I'll cherish it

Thank you so much

awww awww awww arigatouuuuu

l am now able to purchase digital titles directly via Animate jp data sales (データ販売) using my credit card. I added the データ販売 cd l wanted to buy in my animate jp cart, and just filled in my credit card info during checkout to complete the purchase. I then received the serial code for my purchase via email, added the code to the pokedora site link (as explained here) and the cd was downloaded and updated to my linked pokedora account directly. Hope this works for you too, let me know how it goes!

Thx u 💜

Woah thanks so much!

Thank you for sharing

Please plaese

Wow, thank you so much!! @rakira❤🧡💛💚

Wow, thank you so much!!❤🧡💛

Wow, thank you so much!! I've been waiting for this!!! ❤🧡💛

really appreciate it

Thank you so much for sharing！Could you please re-upload！

Thank you so much for sharing

Ooooomg! Otsuka-san as a top!!! Thank you thank you thank you 😭💖💖💖💖💖💖

Can someone please re-upload it? I really want to read it😭

Sora stared at the closed door for a few seconds longer. The echo of Fang’s last words still hanging in the quiet apartment. His lips tugged up at the corners, where the smallest smile began to bloom as he leaned back in the chair. The cushion creaking just a bit under his weight as he exhaled slow. The plate in front of him was half-finished, but his appetite had mostly been replaced by that heavy-limbed warmth in his stomach. He felt full. Not just from the food or the still-lingering heat of tea, but from feeling like he and Fang just clicked on so many levels. Fang made Sora feel like he belonged in his life. Not because he had to. Fang had tried to push him away at first, but now. The affection he felt from Fang, wasn't the same cold pretend affection he got from his parents whenever he meet them. Instead of feeling like a burden. Sora felt like, he wanted to belive he was someone special to Fang. Sora ran a hand through his damp hair, ruffling it back into its usual disheveled mess. Fang’s fingers had left it worse, but he didn’t fix it. He liked the reminder. The apartment felt too still now. The hum of the fridge. The clink of silverware against ceramic as he absentmindedly picked at the last of the food. The room sighed with him, falling into that odd limbo between contentment and yearning, wishing they'd have more time together. Sora glanced toward the clock. Classes - Shelter - Store - Study. It was going to be a long day. And now, with Fang’s absence like a fingerprint pressed against his skin, it felt like it was gonna be even longer. He finally stood, and carried his plate to the sink. Water rushed, steaming and loud in the stillness. As he rinsed the dishes as his mind wandered. Back to this morning when he had woken up in Fang's bed with wild memories from last night. Then the way Fang had said [anything for you] like it cost him nothing but meant everything. -And the way he'd looked back before leaving, playful and protective all at once. [Don’t do anything stupid] he’d said. Sora rolled his eyes at the memory, but a laugh escaped him anyway. "Too late for that, wolfy" Because Sora had already done the dumbest, most reckless thing he could think of. He’d fallen in love with him. And the scariest part of it was that, it didn’t feel like a mistake. Not even a little. By the time Sora stepped onto campus, the morning haze had burned off and the sun cut across the courtyard in long golden lines. The hoodie he had borrowed after Fang had ripped his clothes yesterday, still held Fang's scent — the smell was plesant, and for once, Sora didn’t try to shake the thought away. He let the butterflies settle in his stomach as he went the the classroom. The quiet comfortable buzz of students chattering and hum of footsteps across along the hallway slowlybroughthis thoughts away from Fang. His first lecture was anatomy, a dense session packed with diagrams, charts, and a professor who spoke like punctuation was optional. Sora sat near the back, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, scribbling notes with the intent to focus. But was only half-listening, half-dreaming. Not just about Fang this time, but about his goals. Real ones. The kind that took years to build. He had wanted to study veterinarian medicine ever since he was a kid. Something in him had been drawn to animals instead of people. Dogs especially. The quiet and broken ones who flinched when touched, and expected for pain instead of kindness. They spoke to him in different ways. And Sora was good at reading animals, he even found them to be more easier to understand than most people at times. By noon, he was taking the bus to the shelter, earbuds in but with music barely playing. He sat slouched in his seat, half-asleep with his forehead against the window, mentally preparing for the afternoon ahead. Not that he dreaded it. It was the opposite, really. The shelter was loud when he arrived. A symphony of barking, whining, claws on tile. But the moment Sora stepped through the front gate, the chaos shifted. The dogs than noticed him all became stilled. Not completely. They were still regular dogs, after all. But there was a kind of hush that followed him in. Like they recognized some strange smell on him or something. “Back again, Sora?” called one of the volunteers from the front desk. “Every day, like a bad habit,” he muttered back with a small grin. He moved through the back gates where the harder cases were kept — the dogs no one else wanted to deal with. Most of them weren’t even listed for adoption. They were listed for evaluation. A slow, bureaucratic term that too often meant euthanasia if progress wasn’t made. Sora crouched by the first kennel — a massive pit bull mix named Duke. Scarred, aggressive, and previously labeled a “lost cause.” When Sora whistled low and soft, Duke’s ears perked. “Hey, big guy,” he murmured. No growl. But a bit of tension. He stared at Sora as he took his smell in. The scent of wolf told the dog 'Danger!' But Sora's own scent told it something completly driffrent. After a bit a tail thump and Duke cautious steps forward. Sora opened the gate and let the dog come to him. No sudden moves. No leash. Just building trust. And Duke, began to grow his trust in him. Slowly, awkwardly, like he didn’t know how. Within ten minutes, the snarling monster most handlers feared was rolling on his back, letting Sora scratch his belly while letting out pitiful little huffs that sounded almost like laughter. It was the same with every dog. A German shepherd who’d been used in illegal fights. A mangled husky who couldn’t stop pacing in tight circles. Even the skittish mutts that bit at anyone who came close — they all responded to him. Not out of fear or because he was dominant. But because he saw them and he understood. And because something in Sora’s presence told them they didn’t have to be afraid anymore. He spent the next few hours working one-on-one. Teaching commands. Walking the yard. Playing fetch like the world wasn’t watching. One of the newer volunteers, a girl named Hana, stood watching him from the fence, jaw slack. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?” she asked. Sora looked up from where he was crouched, rubbing behind the ears of a huge rottweiler that had once tried to maul a trainer. “What do you mean?” “They listen to you. All of them. Even the untrainables.” He just shrugged. “They just need someone who won’t give up on them.” But deep down, Sora knew it was more than that. He didn’t know why the dogs responded to him this way — why they clung to his scent like small helpless puppies, or why even the most broken of them softened under his touch — but it had always been like this. Some had teased him about it. Once jokingly asked if he was part dog. Sora never answered since they couldn't be serious. He wasn’t anyone magical. Not like Fang atleast. Just… different. By the time his shift ended, his hoodie was covered in fur and his limbs ached in that good, used-up kind of way. As he sat on the bus to the convenience store for his night shift, he glanced at his phone. No message from Fang yet. But he didn’t worry. Not this time. He smiled, just a little, and leaned his head against the window again. The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed faintly overhead as Sora slipped behind the register, tying on the plain green apron that still smelled like the box it came from. It was his fourth night here — still too new to be comfortable or familiar with everythingin the store if people asked for specific stuff. He exhaled and scanned the rows of perfectly aligned snacks and overpriced instant meals, the hum of the cooler at the back lulling in the background. There was a kind of peace in the monotony. A rhythm. And for now, nothing had exploded, caught fire, or been stolen mid-shift — which, by his usual standards, was a win. The manager, a bored guy in his thirties, barely looked up from his clipboard when Sora clocked in. “Delivery’s late again,” he said. “And the credit card reader’s been acting up. Just try not to break anything.” Sora gave a lazy two-finger salute. “I’ll try. No promises.” He hadn't mention how his last job ended had ended or any of the once before that . Once when a drunk customer tried to grope him and Sora had broken the guy’s nose. Or how the job before that was lost in a gas leak that somehow ended up being traced back to a faulty vent he’d been working under. Or the café before that, where a fight broke out in line and someone had thrown a coffee machine. Every time, it wasn’t his fault. But the outcome was always the same. Fired. Let go. Too much trouble. But this time, he wanted it to stick. He needed it to. His apartment — sleek, central, more spacious than anything a college student should afford — was a leftover from a life he didn’t really talk about. His father’s last-ditch attempt to play dad post-divorce. A sleek bribe wrapped in high ceilings and cold marble floors. Sora had taken the apartment. Of course he had. But he paid for everything else. Utilities, groceries, textbooks. Even the bus fare to the shelter. He refused to let his parents money crawl further into his life. So here he was. Bagging instant ramen for a pair of high schoolers too tired to cook. Scanning energy drinks for a man who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Cleaning up aisle six after someone knocked over a shelf of canned peaches. The hours ticked by. Around midnight, the store got quieter. More ghosts than customers now. Sora leaned against the counter, idly flipping through a study guide on his phone while a small radio played soft lo-fi from behind the register. Every so often, the door would chime. A drunk guy poped their head in for some water. A delivery driver. A couple whispering too close together, thinking no one could see them. He didn’t mind the quiet. It gave him space to breathe. To think. To check his phone. Still no text from Fang. But Sora wasn’t panicked. He knew the wolf worked odd hours. Still… he missed him. Sora rubbed the back of his neck and yawned, cracking his back against the support beam behind him. He caught his reflection in the security mirror — tired eyes, hoodie under his apron, hair even messier than this morning. He looked like someone who had five lives stitched together and no clue which one he was living at the moment. “Oi, you okay?” the manager called from the stockroom. Sora blinked, startled. “Yeah. Just… zoning.” The guy grunted. “Don’t fall asleep. You’ve still got another hour.” "Right." Sora pushed himself upright and started restocking the gum rack, hands moving on autopilot. His body ached from the longe day. His brain itched from trying to memorize terms from class. And his heart… well, that part just kind of felt full and heavy at the same time. Eventually, the shift ended without disaster. No angry customers or weird supernatural incidents — a miracle, honestly. As he locked the front door and stepped out into the cool night air, Sora shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back, exhaling toward the sky. No stars in the city. Just that low orange glow and the hum of traffic in the distance. Sora walked along on the sidewalk, hoodie pulled tight and smiling soft despite feeling the fatigue. Maybe things were still a mess. Maybe he wasn’t meant to live a normal life. But right now. Now he had someone making him smile even after a long rough day, and that was enough. --- --- --- Sora’s key slipped into the lock with a metallic click, the heavy door pushing open to the faint smell of lavender detergent and leftover takeout. The kind of mix that meant: yes, this is home. His muscles protested every step as he kicked off his shoes and let his bag fall by the entryway with a soft thud. The apartment was dark, but not cold. Still warm with traces of morning sunlight that had filtered through the tall windows hours ago. The hoodie he’d worn all day wasn’t too warm, so he didn't bother to take it off before dragging his feet toward the kitchen. He moved on autopilot. Fridge opened and he retrieved a water bottle. The cold plastic shocking against his palm. He didn’t even drink it right away — just stood there, forehead against the fridge door, letting the chilled metal cool the heat behind his eyes, just to wake him abit. He took the water bottle and wandered over to his small desk tucked into the corner of the room. A nest of highlighters, sticky notes, and hand-drawn diagrams waited for him like a guilt trip. His laptop screen blinked back to life when he flipped it open, notes from today’s anatomy lecture still on display. He sat down, stretching his arms behind his back until his shoulders popped. “All right. Thirty minutes,” he muttered. “Just enough to review blood flow through the heart…” He managed five. Sora’s eyes tracked the sentence about pulmonary circulation halfway through before the words began to drift off the screen. His head dipped forward, chin nearly hitting his chest, and he jerked back up with a startled blink. He blinked again. Re-read the same line. Then a second one. Then he just… stopped. The next thing he knew, he was slumped in the chair, head pillowed awkwardly on his folded arms. The screen dimmed on its own, casting only a faint glow over the quiet room. His breathing had evened out. Muscles finally relaxing. For once, he didn’t dream of anything. Just warm fur under his hands. A quiet laugh that smelled like musk and pine. Strong arms around him and a heartbeat pressing into his back. And that familiar voice, teasingly whispering in his ear, “Told you not to do anything stupid.” The city kept moving outside. Traffic lights blinking red and green. People going on with their own lives like ghosts through the night. But in his quiet apartment, Sora slept peacefully. Tomorrow would be another marathon of everything starting all over again. ------------------- ["I...I lo-love you,"] Those words didn’t land gently in his chest—they slammed into him. Like a full-body on blow. He didn’t pause to think. His body had already moved. Leon crashed his lips into the kiss like a man underwater, starved for air. His hands flew to Asta’s waist, gripping tight, dragging him closer until there wasn’t a breath of space left between them. Every piece of self-control he'd clung to shattered with that one fragile, perfect confession. His lips moved fast, rough, desperate—but not careless. No, every kiss landed with purpose, need and love. Like he had to make up for every second they’d been apart. “Say it again,” he breathed against Asta’s lips, already diving back in, barely giving him the chance. “God—say it again, Asta.” Leon groaned into his mouth. Loved how tightly Asta was clinging to him. Leon deepened the kiss, mouth parting and his tongue slipping past Asta’s lips, drawing out another sound from deep in his throat—one that had Leon’s entire body tightening. His hands were everywhere now—sliding up Asta’s back, over his chest, fingers threading into his hair and tugging. “You have no idea what you do to me,” Leon whispered raggedly, lips trailing down Asta’s jaw, his neck. His hand slid under Asta’s shirt, dragging fingertips across his stomach—slow at first, but trembling with anticipation. His other hand found Asta’s thigh, gripping it, as he pressed himself futher between Asta’s legs. He needed him to feel what he was doing to him. How his sweet moans was making Leon’s member as stiff as steel “Don’t stop me,” Leon said, his voice low, rough, and unsteady. “Unless you want me to. Because I swear, Asta, I don't want to stop. I want you.” Their mouths found each other again in a rough kiss. The kisses opened and hot breath mix, rhythm completely lost to instinct. It wasn’t gently nor innocent. It was hungry and needy. Asta clutched at him like he was scared to let go and it only encouraged Leon to go on. One hand braced on the counter beside him, the other resting against Asta’s thigh. His fingers moved up to the hem of Asta’s shirt, brushing over warm skin, and pulled the shirt over his head, letting it fall behind them without care in the world. After Leon leaning back just enough to work on his own shirt. He moved with much less grace, but still made it feel like every motion was deliberate. The shirt lifted, baring the gentle rise of his abdomen first. Showing off lean muscle beneath smooth skin, the fine shadows of his torso. His arms flexed as he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing the soft curve of his collarbones and the defined line of his chest. His hair spilled forward, brushing over his cheeks, clinging for a moment to his skin before he pushed it back with one graceful hand. The shirt now gone. Ending on the floor alongside Asta's.

pls reupload

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