acideathr

[acideathr]

Hello! This might seem a little strange and silly to request but can I request Akutagawa and Gender Neutral reader who has VPD (visual processing disorder). I have vpd really bad and its not talked about a lot when it comes to disabilities and learning disorders. Just a brief summarization of what vpd is its a condition where the brain struggles to interpret and make sense of visual information received from the eyes. It's not a problem with the eyes themselves, but rather with how the brain processes what the eyes see. It can affect when people do things like reading, writing hand-eye coordination and etc. Whenever I do those things it makes me have these really bad migraines and headaches that sometimes make me feel sick at least for me. I apologize if this is too much for you but thank you anyway! :)

-🐛 anon

maybe look at my "how to request post" on my pinned post, for what itypically write for. i have another account where i kept on getting "character and reader that has ___" and honestly i got sick of it since i always had to research what that is and apply it to a character and it was so time consuming. since it was supposed to be something to do for fun, doing all of that research really put me off writing in that account so i made this one.

sorry again, if you want to request something else i'm more than happy to do that

[acideathr]

⫘⫘ HE WHO WEARS THE MASK

🎧﹐ıllı hyoga akatsuki x reader ﹒ ♡ ʬ﹐dr. stone # ᶻz﹕ ＞＜﹐🔗 1.6k words @ :: ┆on the night he’s revived (for like, the third time), you and hyoga sit on the deck of the ship bound for america, wrapped in silence and starlight. as the sea rocks gently beneath you, talk drifts to the world you lost - warm showers, busy streets, quiet mornings. for a moment, hyoga lets the past fall away, and in the stillness, it’s just the two of you, learning how to be human again﹒♡ ✦. ⊹ ˚ . free him my man did nothing wrong, also ooc hyoga because today is the day i learnt that i can't write all hot anime man in history accurately, wanted this to be longer but didn't know how to make it :

the ship is calm at night; most of the crew has gone to bed. the low groan of wood shifting against the waves is the only sound, a quiet rhythm that carries across the deck. the air is cool, touched with sea salt, and you step out barefoot for some fresh air - sleep slipping further away the longer you lie still.

that’s when you see him.

hyoga is seated near the edge of the ship, legs crossed, one arm resting loosely across his knee. he’s gazing out over the dark ocean, where the sky folds into the sea so seamlessly it’s hard to tell one from the other. there’s no tension in his posture, just stillness. a quiet man in a quiet moment.

you hesitate for only a breath before walking over. he doesn’t look at you, but you know he’s noticed.

you sit down beside him without speaking at first. the wood is cool beneath you, and the sea stretches endlessly ahead, dark and deep. the only sounds are the slow creak of the ship and the hush of the water brushing against the hull. it’s peaceful in a way the old world rarely was - uncomplicated, unhurried.

hyoga doesn’t look at you right away, but after a quiet moment, his eyes shift toward you. just a glance - brief, but gentle, acknowledging your presence.

without saying anything, you reach over and take his hand. your fingers wrap around his slowly, loosely, not to hold but just to be there.

he doesn’t squeeze back at first. he never really has been the type to reach first, not physically. but then, just as your thumb brushes along the back of his hand, you feel it - a soft, almost imperceptible squeeze. quiet, like everything else about him. but it’s enough.

you gently squeeze his hand back, feeling the faint pressure of his return grip. after a moment, you break the silence.

“it seems like forever since i talked to you,” you say softly.

hyoga’s eyes meet yours, steady and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something almost like surprise - maybe relief - in his gaze. he doesn’t speak right away. 

“words are often wasted on noise. but with you...” he pauses, searching for the right way to say it. “it’s different.” he looks back out at the dark horizon, the vastness of the ocean mirroring the distance he often keeps between himself and others. “being a man of action leaves little to just talking,” 

you smile slightly, squeezing his hand again. “yeah, i know. we’ve been together for quite a while now, haven’t we?”

hyoga turns his head just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze calm and steady - always so measured, like he’s weighing every word before he speaks. “yes, we have,” he says quietly, the usual seriousness in his voice softened by the moment.

you nudge his shoulder gently with your own. “can’t believe you forgot our 2,000th anniversary,” you joke, teasing him with a light laugh.

for a moment, his expression remains unreadable, like a mask settling over his features. then, just a flicker - a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips, barely a smile, but it’s there. “maybe i’m saving it for the perfect celebration,” he replies, voice low but warm.

you laugh softly, the sound mingling with the gentle creak of the ship and the rhythm of the waves beneath you. “i guess i’ll hold you to that.”

hyoga’s eyes flicker back out over the water, thoughtful. “i’ll admit that time feels strange now,” he murmurs. “during our time in tsukasa’s empire, it was all about surviving the moment - never thinking about anniversaries or quiet nights like this.”

you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady warmth there. “yeah… it’s weird. but i like that we have moments like this now.”

he nods slowly. “so do i.”

you stay leaning against his shoulder, the night air cool and steady around you. after a moment, you break the silence. “do you ever miss the old world?” you ask quietly, voice almost lost in the sound of waves.

hyoga’s eyes remain fixed on the horizon. “sometimes,” he says carefully. “not the chaos, or the pointless battles... but the order it had. the certainty.”

you nod, thinking of the old world’s comforts. “yeah. like warm baths. or the sound of crowds. music on our phones. even just the smell of shampoo.”

he shifts slightly, still quiet. “i never expected to miss silence,” he admits. “but silence like this... it feels empty. too much time to think.”

you glance at him. “you always seemed like someone who preferred action to words.”

he lets out a short breath. “i was raised to be strong, to survive. talking and feeling was a weakness i couldn’t afford. you know this,”

you squeeze his hand gently. “i do. but now? you’re here - with me. if you want i can do all of the talking and feeling for you.”

hyoga’s gaze softens, if only a little. “hmm, no. maybe the hardest part is learning what to do when strength isn’t enough.”

“maybe,” you rest your head a little closer, warmth spreading between you. “but we’ll figure it out.” he lets out a low, almost unheard sigh - a warrior’s relief in the still night. 

the steady rhythm of the ship rocking beneath you and the gentle hum of the waves creates a lullaby neither of you can resist.

hyoga’s gaze remains fixed on the horizon, but then he notices. the subtle change in your breathing - the way your body has relaxed completely against his. the slight rise and fall of your chest as sleep begins to claim you. you haven’t said a word for some time, and for the first time, he allows himself to truly observe you like this - not as a warrior or a soldier, but as the person he cares for most.

a soft breath escapes him, mingling with the night air, and he shifts just enough to support you better, careful not to disturb your rest. his hand curls gently around yours, reciprocating you for the second time, fingers threading together with a tenderness he rarely shows.

for a moment, hyoga lets the silence hold them both, the vastness of the ocean stretching endlessly before them, and the quiet intimacy of this small connection grounding him more than any battle ever could.

when it’s clear you’ve fallen into a peaceful sleep, he lifts you with surprising gentleness, cradling you against his chest. his movements are careful, practiced - protective. carrying you back inside the ship feels natural, like he’s guarding something precious.

hyoga moves carefully through the dimly lit corridors of the ship, cradling you gently in his arms. for once, hyoga isn’t the fierce warrior alone in the stone world - he’s simply a man with someone to protect, someone who trusts him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

the soft rhythm of your breathing against his chest steadies his own heartbeat. when he reaches his room, he pauses just a moment at the threshold, then steps inside quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that has settled over you.

he lowers you onto his bed with a tenderness that feels almost foreign to him, smoothing a stray lock of hair away from your face. watching you sleep, hyoga feels a quiet protectiveness settle deep in his chest - his small moment, this fragile trust, means more than any battle he’s fought.

for the first time in a long while, he removes his mask. the air touches his skin, and he breathes in slowly, revealing the calm but thoughtful expression beneath. there’s a softness in his eyes now, something almost vulnerable that he rarely shows to anyone.

hyoga slips beneath the covers and lies down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush together. his hand instinctively reaches out, fingers curling gently around yours. the simple connection grounds him more than any words could.

he lies still for a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breath beside him. slowly, almost hesitantly, he inches closer - every movement deliberate, careful not to rush or startle you.

his arm slides around your waist, pulling you gently toward him. the warmth of his body presses softly against yours, familiar and grounding. it’s a hold he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time, but one that feels natural - like coming home.

he holds you tightly, but never too tight; the kind of embrace that says i’m here without words, steady and unwavering. it’s just like how he used to hold you before the world changed, before the petrification, before everything was uncertain.

hyoga breathes you in - the quiet scent of you, the softness of your presence - and for the first time in years, he lets himself believe that some things don’t have to be lost forever.

he stays like that for a while, holding you close with steady, quiet strength. his arm around your waist, fingers lightly tracing small, soothing patterns on your back. after a few moments, he leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead - gentle and reverent.

his eyes close as if savoring the simple closeness, the warmth of you against him. for once, the weight of his usual guard slips away, leaving only quiet contentment.

then, in your sleep, you shift just slightly, nudging him. hyoga opens his eyes, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he murmurs, “always the sap, aren’t you?”

despite the words, his hold tightens just a little, and the warmth in his voice betrays the teasing fondness beneath the quiet exterior, “i love you.”

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı ryunosuke akutagawa comforting you when you're upset request by: anon

akutagawa doesn't understand emotions - but he recognizes pain. he may not have the softest touch, but he knows what it’s like to carry something heavy inside and feel like you’ll collapse if you show it. so when he senses you’re hurting (even if you try to hide it), his voice turns quieter - edged with concern, not judgment: "you’re… not alright. say what you need."

affection is foreign to him, especially emotional tenderness. he might stiffly sit beside you, hands clenched in his coat, expression unreadable - but he stays. not out of obligation, but out of choice. because even if he doesn’t know the right words, he knows he wants to be here for you.

he has no idea how to comfort someone with words, so he offers presence instead. a quiet room. him by your side, his coughing noticeably silent for once. occasionally, he’ll glance at you with furrowed brows - like he’s trying to will the pain out of your body himself.

he would never mock you for vulnerability. never. if anything, he almost looks pained when he sees you upset, because emotions were always used against him - so for you to trust him enough to break a little in front of him? he doesn’t take it lightly. “you’re… strong. even now."

if you do cry in front of him, he panics - internally. outside, he’s rigid. inside, full emotional meltdown. he might blurt out something like, “stop crying. not because i mind. i just- i don’t know what to do.” still, he offers his sleeve (with mild horror) when you don’t have tissues.

he tries to offer practical help - poorly, but with sincerity. he’ll offer to remove whatever hurt you (in very mafia terms). or offer to take you somewhere quiet - a rooftop, a port mafia safehouse, wherever you’ll feel safe. "tell me what needs to be done. i’ll do it. no hesitation."

he gives comfort not through coddling, but protection. you’ll feel rashomon quietly wrap around the perimeter of your space. not menacing - protective. like he’s shielding you from the world, even if he doesn’t know how to soften his words.

if you ask for physical comfort (like holding hands or sitting close), he’s stunned - but agrees. it might take him a second to understand what you mean. but once he does, he’s careful - almost delicate. his touch is tentative, and his eyes constantly check your face for any sign of discomfort.

his version of reassurance is blunt, but deeply loyal. "i’m not leaving. even if you shut down. even if you hate yourself. i’ll stay." he’s not poetic. but his loyalty is unwavering, and when he says he’ll stay, he means it - the kind of loyalty built from hardship and a need to be needed.

when it’s over, he doesn’t treat you differently - he respects your strength even more. akutagawa doesn’t see emotion as weakness. he sees it as terrifying and courageous. so when you let yourself unravel in front of him, he watches you with more reverence than pity. he won’t say it aloud, but: "you survived again. i admire that more than you know."

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı chuuya nakahara comforting you when you're upset request by: anon

chuuya doesn’t push - but he notices everything. even if you say “i’m fine,” the stiffness in your shoulders, the way your voice dips, how you avoid his gaze - it all sets off quiet alarm bells. he doesn’t corner you. he lets you keep your walls up, but makes it clear: “i’m not buyin’ it, sweetheart. you don’t have to talk, but i’m stayin’ right here.”

chuuya knows what it’s like to hate feeling weak - especially in front of someone you care about. that’s why he never treats your pain like a problem. he just stays close. a warm, steady presence beside you on the couch or the edge of the bed, shoulder brushing yours. no pressure - just there.

when you do speak, he listens like it matters. he’s not distracted. he’s not checking his phone. his whole attention is on you, eyes narrowed just slightly - not in judgment, but focus. chuuya listens with the kind of intensity that says, “you’re safe now. talk to me.”

he doesn’t try to “fix” your emotions - he just validates them. “you don’t have to act tough all the damn time,” he’ll say gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “you’re allowed to have bad days, y’know. doesn’t make you any less strong.”

he swears a little - not at you, but for you. chuuya doesn’t know how to handle seeing you cry or holding back tears, so sometimes his protectiveness slips into low, angry mutters: “who the hell made you feel like you can’t talk to anyone? i’ll kill ’em. just say the word.” he doesn’t mean it literally (…probably), but it helps to know someone’s that fired up on your behalf.

if you’re touch-averse when upset, he gives you space - but never leaves. chuuya has tact, especially with someone emotionally guarded. if you flinch away or tense up, he pulls back - gently - and says something like: “alright. i get it. i’m not going anywhere, though. take all the time you need.”

if you do let him touch you, he holds you carefully. like he’s holding something fragile but so important. one arm around your back, other hand splayed protectively against your side, chin resting on your shoulder. no words for a while - just soft breathing and the quiet strength of a man who won’t let the world reach you tonight.

he reassures without drama. chuuya doesn’t drown you in flowery words - he grounds you with sincerity. “look at me. whatever’s eatin’ at you, we’ll deal with it. together, alright?” his voice is low, gravelly, but there’s so much steadiness in it. like no matter what storms’s in your chest, he’s already anchoring you.

he gets it - more than you think. chuuya spent years being called a monster, doubting himself, holding back emotions so he wouldn’t spiral. he knows what it means to fake a smile and pretend you’re bulletproof. that’s why he never asks you to be open before you’re ready - just reminds you he can handle it, when you are.

after everything calms down, he treats you the same - no weird pity, no eggshells. you’re still his equal, his partner, the person who makes his cigarette break better just by showing up. he might ruffle your hair. say something smug. offer you a drink. but his eyes linger longer, softer. because even if you don’t say it, he knows: letting him see that side of you means something.

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı wanting to get ranpo edogawa's attention by making a puzzle request by: @poorwhayfairingstranger

you know better than to try and trick ranpo - so you don’t. you don’t fake a crime. you don’t commit one either. instead, you carefully craft an ARG: hidden messages, coded letters, riddles left across yokohama, all wrapped in layers of logic, creativity, and harmless misdirection. because ranpo doesn’t need danger to be interested - he just needs to be challenged.

you make sure the first clue finds him at the agency. a note tucked between his snack bags, written in a different style. nothing threatening - just something that starts with: "if you’re as good as they say, you’ll find me before sunset." he grins like a child and says, “finally. something fun.”

ranpo solves the first five puzzles instantly - but he doesn’t stop. he could probably guess where it’s going. but he doesn’t skip to the end. he follows the path anyway, amused, intrigued, and just a little delighted that someone bothered to think this through for him.

the puzzles reflect things he likes - obscure detective trivia, favorite sweets, even an entire stage play reenacted with paper dolls. each layer of your arg is personalized. you’re not trying to outsmart him. you’re trying to connect with him. and he notices.

he talks about the “mystery stranger” constantly. to kunikida. to atsushi. to the air. “they’re clever,” he says, popping a snack into his mouth. “not as clever as me, of course, but they’re trying.” he’s clearly intrigued - and maybe a little flattered.

when he realizes no one’s in danger, he doesn’t mind. most people try to impress ranpo by faking danger or playing victim - but you? you respected his mind without manipulating his empathy. that alone makes him smile in a way that’s almost soft.

the final puzzle leads him to a quiet rooftop café you reserved. there’s a drink waiting for him. a final riddle on the napkin. and you - nervously pacing nearby, hoping you weren’t being too weird. he gets it in three seconds flat, then turns and smiles knowingly. “so you’re the culprit.”

he doesn’t tease you the way you expect. oh, there’s banter - “was all this just so you could spend time with me? you could’ve just asked~” - but there’s also warmth. ranpo’s used to people faking things around him. he’s not used to people creating something for him just because they wanted to see him happy.

he insists you do it again. not because he couldn’t solve it - but because he loved the game. he wants more puzzles. more riddles. more excuses to chase your thoughts and see where they lead. also, he really liked the snacks you hid at clue 6.

after that, he starts hanging around you more - and not just because of the puzzles. ranpo isn’t subtle. he’s always honest. so when he suddenly flops down next to you during lunch and asks, “working on your next mystery yet?” what he really means is: “can we do that again? can i spend more time with you?”

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı reuniting with dazai osamu after a mission gone wrong request by: anon

he knew something felt off before the mission even started. dazai doesn’t trust intel blindly, no matter how official it looks - and the tension in his shoulders as you descended into the underground base wasn’t just paranoia. it was instinct. but he let you go ahead. that’s what still kills him.

the second the explosion goes off, he doesn't scream - he acts. you pushed him out of the blast, and the cave-in split the two of you apart. everyone expected him to wait for a tactical team, but dazai? he’s digging through rubble with his bare hands like a man possessed. all calm, all charm - gone.

the silence you leave behind terrifies him more than he admits. he’s lived with death for years, but the idea of your body buried in stone while he’s still breathing? it gnaws at the part of him that pretends he doesn't care. the one that secretly hoped loving you might fix something.

when he finds you, injured but alive, his relief is violent. not loud. not dramatic. just a single, ragged breath and a hand that shakes as he brushes hair from your face. you barely open your eyes, and he’s already scanning for injuries like he's afraid touching you too hard will break you further.

he’s uncharacteristically quiet as he helps you out. no jokes. no half-flirting. just focused care - an arm around your waist, voice low and steady as he murmurs reassurances. his grip on you is too tight, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear again.

if you try to downplay your injuries, he snaps. not cruelly - but sharp. "don’t do that," he says. "don’t pretend almost dying for me isn’t a big deal." you see the crack in him then. not anger - guilt. because he knows what you gave up in that moment, and he hates himself for it.

when you're finally in a safe place, he stays beside your hospital bed like it’s penance. he lounges like he always does, coat draped, feet up - but he never leaves. not for food. not for sleep. and when you wake in the middle of the night, you’ll find his hand still loosely holding yours.

he pretends to be annoyed when you tease him about being worried. “oh please, i only stayed because the cafeteria pudding is better here.” but the way he watches your every move, tracks your breathing, and leans in when you whisper his name says otherwise.

he doesn’t say “i love you” - he says “you scared the hell out of me.” and that’s how dazai speaks love: sideways, painfully honest. his hands tremble when he cups your cheek. his smile is thin. but his eyes - for once - don’t run from yours.

later, when you’re healing, he asks you quietly not to do it again. not because he doesn’t understand why you did it - but because the thought of losing you before he could deserve you terrifies him more than dying ever did.

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı your first date with chuuya nakahara request by: anon

he’d never call it a “first date” outright - but you both know that’s what it is. chuuya’s too prideful (and a little too shy) to label it so plainly. instead, it’s “just a night out, don’t overthink it”, followed by him showing up to your door in a pressed suit and tie, smelling like red wine and leather. he definitely put more thought into it than he lets on.

he takes you somewhere that feels private, expensive, and quiet. a rooftop restaurant with a view of yokohama. low lighting. not too crowded. he’s someone who values elegance and atmosphere - not just to impress you, but because he doesn’t do well with noise and chaos outside of a mission.

the conversation is easy, even when he's stiff at first. he might joke or flirt to cover his nerves in the beginning, but he listens closely. when you talk, he tilts his head just slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s studying the shape of your thoughts. he may glance away when you compliment him, cheeks pink but pretending he’s totally unfazed.

he doesn’t bring up the port mafia unless you do. even though it’s a huge part of his life, he doesn't want you to think he's dragging you into anything dark. he tries to show you chuuya, not just the executive. that means lots of talk about wine, books, horseback riding, and “how shitty dazai used to be.”

when he walks you home, he keeps his hand near yours - never quite touching. he doesn’t want to assume too much. but if you reach for him first? he grips your hand with an almost uncharacteristic softness. not possessive. not cocky. just grateful.

the first confession doesn’t come with fanfare - it comes with sincerity. maybe it’s a few dates in. maybe it’s a cold night, and you’re both walking home again, talking about nonsense. and then - out of nowhere - he says it. “you know, i’ve had my fair share of flings (he hasn’t) ... but you- you make me want something real.” then, quieter: “i think i’m falling for you.”

he looks away the second he says it, like he regrets being so open. you can practically feel the tension in his jaw. his voice is a little hoarse - not from fear, but from the weight of letting you in. he doesn’t confess easily. he doesn’t trust easily.

if you tell him you feel the same, he’ll laugh - and it’s the softest one you’ve ever heard. his whole body relaxes. he brushes a hand through his hair and says something sarcastic like, “tch. took you long enough.” but he’s blushing. and his thumb is stroking your hand. and his heart’s beating so fast.

the kiss afterwards is brief but intense - like he’s trying not to let everything he’s feeling crash down all at once. he pulls you close with a hand on your waist, and it’s the kind of kiss that leaves no room for questions. just promise.

from that moment on, you’re not just someone he dates - you’re his person. he doesn’t say “i love you” every day, but he shows it, always. for you.

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı telling chuuya nakahara you love him for the first time request by: anon

chuuya isn’t the type to fish for a confession - but he notices. he knows you haven’t said those words yet. and he doesn’t press. but every time you kiss him goodnight or squeeze his hand in passing, he thinks about it. wonders what it’ll sound like coming from you.

he carries love in actions, not words. chuuya’s the one who brings you food after a rough day, who pays attention to your favourite coffee order, who wraps a scarf around your neck before you go out. but when it comes to hearing love spoken back? it leaves him vulnerable - and that’s not something he’s used to.

the moment you tell him, it catches him off guard - completely. you say it softly, naturally. no dramatic buildup. you’re in his apartment, maybe after a quiet night in, and it just slips out: “i love you.”

at first, he freezes. like physically. wine glass mid-air, eyes wide, breath stalled in his chest. for a second, he thinks he misheard you - or that maybe it was one of those “in the moment” things people say.

his first instinct? downplay it. “you’re sayin’ that like you’re talkin’ about the weather.” it’s half a joke. half a defence mechanism. but there’s something nervous in the way he runs a hand through his hair, or shifts his weight.

once you reassure him, something in him breaks open - gently. you tell him you meant it. that it’s not about what he does or how strong he is. you love him. and that’s when his eyes lower. his voice gets quiet. he crouches in front of you, resting a hand on your leg like he needs grounding.

it takes him a second to process - but when he does, he melts. he leans into your hand when you touch him. let's you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. and when he finally speaks again, it’s soft: “say it again. please.”

when you repeat it, he kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. not rushed. not lustful. just full. like you’ve undone something that’s been locked up inside him for years. like you’ve chosen him - not as a weapon, not as a port mafia executive, but as chuuya.

he doesn’t say “i love you” back immediately - but he does say it that night. maybe when you’re curled up in bed. maybe when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. it slips out, hushed and a little choked: “…i love you too.”

from then on, he doesn’t say it often - but when he does, it means everything. he says it when you’re half-asleep on his chest. when he sees you wearing his clothes. when you laugh too hard at his expense. and every time, it’s like a vow.

[acideathr]

𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓼

↻ EARNED IT / rin itoshi - blue lock (@peaktora collab)

⫘⫘ HE WHO WEARS THE MASK / hyoga akatsuki - dr. stone

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı men who get possessive in quiet ways

nanami, geto, megumi (jujutsu kaisen), chuuya, fyodor, kunikida (bungou stray dogs), levi, erwin, zeke (attack on titan), chrollo, illumi, kurapika (hunter x hunter), sanemi, obanai (demon slayer), sae, kaiser, ness, rin (blue lock)

they don't interrupt - they insert themselves. when someone gets too close, they don’t snap or shout. they just appear. a hand on your waist. a sudden arm slung across your shoulders. a calm voice murmuring, “you need something?” and just like that, the tension shifts.

they watch everything. from across the room, they track every interaction you have. not paranoid, not overbearing - just... aware. one glance is enough to have a stranger backing off, especially when that look says, “i don’t like sharing.”

they use your name like a claim. not in public declarations, but in subtle ways. they say your name when you’re laughing with someone else. when you're distracted. when they need to pull your attention back - gently. intimately. “hey... look at me.”

their touches aren’t obvious - but intentional. a hand on the small of your back as you pass through a crowd. brushing their fingers over yours under the table. straightening your collar when there's nothing wrong with it. every gesture is a quiet tether.

they don’t start fights. they end them - silently. someone flirts? they don’t argue. they just step between. one word. one warning look. the kind that says: "don’t make me say it again."

they remember what’s yours. and what’s theirs. you lend someone your pen, they notice. you mention a gift from someone, they store it away. the next day, they’re offering something better, saying “you don’t need that - take this instead.”

they’re polite... to a point. their tone never changes. even when they're being territorial. “mind giving us a minute?” sounds soft - but the weight behind it clears rooms.

they bring you home without asking. someone keeps calling you? your phone “happens” to go missing. a place makes you uncomfortable? you’re guided away without a word. no drama. just decision.

they rarely admit jealousy - but you feel it. his grip tightens just a little. his jaw clenches. he doesn’t say “i’m jealous.” he says: “was that guy bothering you?” and you know what it means.

you’re theirs, and everyone knows it - without them needing to say it. the way they look at you, touch you, stand beside you - no one has to be told. they don't need to shout. you're claimed, quietly. completely.

[acideathr]

︴↯ ❝ zєηℓєѕѕ zσηє zєяσ ¡ ❞

ılıılı komano manato and his tiddies

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı komano manato and his tiddies request by: me because your honor they're huge

manato quietly grows protective of his chest - even when you tease him. you bop him on the pecs playfully: “hey, stop jiggling.” he rolls his eyes but grabs your hands gently. “these are heavy-duty, okay?” then wraps his arm over your shoulder with that familiar warm confidence.

morning cuddles are pillows + pecs. you sleep sprawled across him and his chest feels like your own built-in pillow. he snores softly, arm draped over you, and you remark: “should we register this as furniture?” he just smirks, “only if you’re happy being sat on.”

he pretends to hate shirtless moments - but lets them linger. after a mission, you catch him stripping off his undershirt to air out. you gasp: “what a sight!” he blushes, mutters, “for your eyes only,” and tugs that shirt back on - though you secretly sliver your sketchbook open and take notes.

pec massage, komano-style. one evening, sore from armor, he asks: “can you rub these suckers for me?” you do, giggling. he hums. “told you they’re sensitive.” and you let your fingers trace that broad chest, marveling at how jelly-on-a-train actually jiggles like pudding in motion.

he challenges you to chest pillow fights. “bet my pecs can ward off your pillow,” he teases. you take the other pillow, and he throws… the softest, slowest punch, chest wobbling theatrically. you laugh so hard you lose. he catches you mid-collapse with a snarl-smile, victorious.

he gets possessive if others stare too long. when people in feilume heights turn double takes at his physique, he narrows his red eyes dangerously. but if you rest your head on him, he shifts, body turning into a shield - even his chest. protective thiren mode: activated.

he leans into the fanservice - sometimes. after you compliment how “well-defined” he looks, he flexes once - too soft, too earnest - and pats his pec with genuine pride. “don’t get used to it,” he grumbles - but you know it's for you.

unexpected chest-nap interruptions. you fall asleep on his chest during a quiet night. his heart thumps steady underneath. he strokes your hair. “bet they never said chest naps were part of proxy perks,” he whispers. and you sleep deeper.

he wears chokers that draw focus… he teases you about fluffy collars and necklaces. but for your birthday, you gifted him a scarf-length choker that accentuates his broad chest. he flushed, pretended it was dumb - then wore it around new eridu proudly. loves showing it with the chest.

secret admirer vibes with pecs. one day you sketch him, shirt off, chest curves perfect on paper. he sees and leans over, lips brushing your ear: “that’s… impressive work. just like the real thing.” you snap- “impressive work?!” he smirks. “yeah. yours.”

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı men who kiss your scars like a vow

gojo, nanami, choso (jujutsu kaisen), aki (chainsaw man), dazai, chuuya, fyodor (bungou stray dogs), levi, eren - season 4 (attack on titan), chrollo, illumi (hunter x hunter), sanemi, giyuu (demon slayer), zhongli (genshin impact), jing yuan (honkai: star rail), sae, kaiser (blue lock)

they don't ask how you got them right away. these men notice the scars, but they wait - until you're ready. they never flinch, never look away. there's no pity in their eyes - only something quiet and intense, like they want to earn the right to be close to those parts of you.

when they do touch them, it’s careful. rough hands suddenly go soft. fingers that can crush or kill barely brush the skin. it’s a contrast that breaks your heart a little - how someone so dangerous to the world treats you like glass.

they kiss the worst ones first. not out of fascination, but recognition. they start with the ones that scare you - the ones you’re sure will make them pull away. but they don’t. they kiss them slowly, like they’re saying “this didn’t make you any less lovable.”

they get quietly protective. after seeing them, they carry the knowledge like a secret weapon. anyone who hurt you? anyone who dares mock those marks? you’ll never see them again - and he’ll never admit he had anything to do with it.

each scar is like a story only he gets to read. sometimes, during quiet nights, he traces them with his fingertips as you fall asleep. not to fix them. not to change them. but to let you know that he knows - and he’s still here.

he kisses them like a ritual. before bed. after a fight. in the middle of making love. his lips brush over your scars like it’s second nature - like he’s grounding you. or maybe grounding himself, reminding you both that you're still alive, and still together.

you catch him looking at them with that look. that look he gets when he’s thinking too much. eyes soft. brows slightly furrowed. you ask if something’s wrong. he always answers with a kiss - and something like “no. just thinking how beautiful you are.”

he never lets you talk about them like they ruined you. call yourself broken and you’ll see his expression darken - not in anger at you, but at the idea that someone made you feel like that. his voice is sharp, serious: “you’re still whole to me. always will be.”

he lets you touch his scars too. whether they’re physical or emotional, he’s not afraid to show them to you. there’s an unspoken agreement: you love the ruined parts of each other, and that’s what makes it real.

the first time you cry in front of him over them, he holds you. no words. just strong arms, steady hands, warm lips on ruined skin. you feel him shake, just a little. not out of fear - but because he’s furious that anyone hurt something he now calls his.

[acideathr]

꒰ ♱ ꒱ ，''𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃'' ！﹒𝐳ᶻ

ılıılı celebrating the birth of leona kingscholar

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı celebrating the birth of leona kingscholar request by: me because it's my glorious king leona's birthday

“you better not throw me a party.” leona says this the day before his birthday, giving you that signature lazy glare from under his bangs. of course, you already planned a very low-effort "non-party" - snacks, a blanket pile, and a playlist of ambient savanna sounds. he shows up grumbling but stays the whole night, curled next to you with his tail twitching contentedly.

you wake him up with a birthday kiss… which he grumbles about until you threaten to withhold your morning affection. he squints at you like how dare you but eventually pulls you back into bed with a mumbled, “tch… do it again.”

his idea of a perfect birthday? doing nothing. literally nothing. laying on your lap, you feeding him snacks. maybe a nap mid-snuggle. “celebrating my birth shouldn't require me to stand up,” he mutters as he drapes himself across your legs like a lion-sized housecat.

you got him a mug that says “#1 grumpy prince.” he clicks his tongue and calls it stupid. but now it's mysteriously his most used mug and the only one he’ll drink chamomile out of. if anyone else tries to touch it, he snarls like a beast (cause he is one).

he pretends to hate surprises, but secretly adores your efforts. you stitched a little plush of a sleepy lion with his braid and earrings for him. leona stared at it for a solid 5 minutes, mumbled “you’ve got too much time on your hands…”, then tucked it under his pillow like it wasn’t a big deal.

his dormmates tried to crash your alone time. ruggie brought cake, jack offered his awkward best wishes - and leona kicked them out within ten minutes. “i said i wanted peace. this one’s enough of a celebration.” (he meant you. you’re the celebration.)

you made him wear a birthday crown. he whined like a child. refused for a whole hour. eventually you bribed him with kisses - and now there’s photographic evidence of leona kingscholar, second prince of the sunset savannah, sulking with glitter on his head.

leona won’t say it, but birthdays make him a little moody. he’s used to being overlooked, second to falena - even on the day he was born. but when you hug him tightly and say “happy birthday, my king,” there’s this brief flicker of something in his eyes. something soft. something raw. and he holds you a little closer that night.

he says he hates cake… yet somehow half of it is mysteriously gone by the time you come back from the kitchen. crumbs on his mouth. “ruggie probably ate it.” sure dude.

you curl up beside him, tracing lazy circles on his chest, whispering that you’re glad he was born. he scoffs, calls you sappy - but his hand finds yours under the blankets. and just before sleep takes him, you hear: “yeah… guess i’m glad too, herbivore.”

[acideathr]

︴↯ ❝ αттα¢к ση тιтαη ¡ ❞

ılıılı having a muse like levi ackerman

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı having a muse like satoru gojo request by: anon

you never set out to make gojo your muse - he just refused to not be. he's beauty, chaos, light, presence. the kind of man who walks into a room and warps gravity. how could your artist brain not obsess over him? the lines of his jaw, the tilt of his smile, the way light reflects in that impossible white hair - it was inevitable.

he loves that you draw him. satoru gojo is, undeniably, vain - but it’s more complex than that. when you sketch him, he watches over your shoulder, grinning like a kid: “daaaamn, i look good from that angle too?” but the first time you draw him seriously, not the showman but the man, he falls uncharacteristically silent.

you catch him in a quiet moment once - blindfold off, hair down, tired eyes looking out the window. you sketch it fast, almost without thinking. that drawing haunts him. because you didn’t just draw gojo the sorcerer. you drew satoru - the lonely kid who grew up too fast, lost too much, and still smiles like nothing can touch him.

“i like how you see me,” he says one night. it’s soft. vulnerable. you look up from your sketchpad and he’s watching you like he’s trying to memorize you, too. “not many people do,” he adds. you don’t reply. you just keep drawing - because you do see him. and that scares him more than any curse.

he flirts constantly when you draw him. poses dramatically. makes dumb faces. “bet michelangelo couldn’t handle this kind of beauty,” he teases. you smack him with a pencil. he laughs - but deep down? he loves being the centre of your attention. because it’s the one time someone’s looking at him not for power, not for status, but for him.

gojo has scars. not the obvious kind - but you notice the small lines. the tired heaviness in his shoulders when he thinks you’re not looking. so you draw those too. not to diminish him - but to honour everything he carries. he jokes about it, but you can tell it means something that someone finally sees the cracks in the glass.

he keeps your art like it's sacred. your first full portrait of him? he scanned it. printed it. carries it in his phone like a background. it’s embarrassing. but he also keeps the original locked in a drawer at jujutsu high. one of the few things he guards like treasure.

he’s terrifying in battle, but you draw him like he’s human. when others paint him in legend, you paint him in stillness. holding a student’s hand. leaning against a wall after a mission. eating sweets with one eye open. you give him humanity in a world that strips it away. and gojo… doesn’t know how to handle that.

one time, you ask to draw him without the blindfold. he hesitates. long enough that you almost retract the question. but he nods. slowly. those eyes - limitless, devastating - lock onto yours while you sketch. you can barely breathe. because you realize: satoru gojo is still capable of awe… and he’s looking at you.

you show him the final portrait, eyes and all. he stares for a long time. “…i don’t deserve to look that gentle,” he says. but you just shake your head and whisper, “you do.” and for once - just once - he kisses you like someone who wants to believe that.