reomikagekin

[reomikagekin]

hey it's me.. again.. so I've lost my motivation again and I'm really sorry!! I'll be back once it comes again, and I'll release my inbox requests.. again I'm sorry!!

[reomikagekin]

Oh Shakespeare it’s time to take chrome to the basement with the others 😍

So I racked my brain for any ideas for chrome, which was kinda hard since I’m lowkey focused on the ones from the modern world + Moz, BUT THE LIGHT BULB LIT UP❗️❗️❗️

(Also sorry that all the requests I made are with a mc and reader from the modern world 😔🙏)

SO. Let’s say the primitive people have an odd way of courting people, or maybe it’s just only chrome who has an odd way of doing it. (We aren’t exactly sure what his type is cuz in the dr stone wiki it just says ‘Ruri’ 😭)

We’re Senku’s sister, instead of being a science dork, we’re more into gemology, so I guess technically are still are a science dork BUT WHATEVER

Chrome LOVES exploring places, he knows the area of the science kingdom like the back of his hand and is a natural at gathering resources. I have a feeling he’d find a cool gem he found while gathering things and excitedly show us, yapping about how cool it looked and asking us what it was.

Bro would probably ask us or Senku what our favorite gem is so he could secretly look for it and gift it to us 🤭 (personally I like rose quartz, idk why but it kinda just makes sense to me. What’s your favorite? 😋)

Remember the episode where he, Senku, and Magma went spelunking? He’d find a cool looking gemstone and be like “Woah this gem looks bad! I should get it for y/n!” out loud and Senku is just looking at home like this

Chrome would definitely ask the four other generals to help him confess. Senku would be a bit reluctant though, not only because he doesn’t really like romance crap, but also cuz THAT’S HIS SISTER 😟😡

But don’t worry he gives in anyway since he wants his dead sister, and only family member alive, to be happy 😋

The Rock That Says… Uh… Something?

It was a typical day in the Kingdom of Science — gears turning, furnaces blazing, half-built contraptions littered across the clearing.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you sat beneath a makeshift shade cloth, sleeves rolled up and polishing a chunk of raw amethyst with a worn scrap of fabric. You weren’t a “science dork” like your brother, Senku, not exactly — but your heart belonged to the shimmer of crystals, the luster of polished stones, the stories told by minerals forged in the depths of the Earth.

Gemology might not save the world, but it made you happy. And that was what you were good at.

“Oi, Y/N. You spacing out again?” Senku called lazily from where he was tinkering nearby, goggles pushed up on his forehead.

“I’m working,” you replied, not looking up. “Unlike someone.”

Before Senku could shoot back a sarcastic retort, a distant voice cut through the noise of the village:

“Y/N—!!!”

You looked up — and blinked.

A very familiar wild-haired figure came tearing through the clearing at full sprint, a cloud of dust trailing behind him. Chrome. Face flushed from exertion, breathing hard, clutching something close to his chest as if it were the most valuable thing in the world.

“Whoa, what happened—?” you started, rising halfway.

“NO TIME—HOLD ON—!!” Chrome skidded to a stop in front of you, panting heavily. “Y/N—I—!! I found something BAD!!!”

“…Bad?” you echoed, brows arching.

He grinned so wide it nearly split his face. “Like—cool bad!! Not bad bad!!”

You couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. “Alright then, show me.”

With a dramatic flourish, Chrome carefully opened his palms—and there, resting in his hands, was a cloudy pink stone, edges worn smooth from water, glowing faintly in the sunlight.

You sucked in a breath. “That’s—rose quartz.”

Chrome’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!! That’s what Senku called it!! Rosie quartz or—wait—rose quartz!! I—I found it by the river, while I was out looking for new minerals and stuff!! It was just sitting there, like—BOOM, right in the water! And I remembered that time I asked what your favorite gem was and you said rose quartz—so I was like, ‘WHOA, I gotta bring this back to Y/N!!’”

He babbled the whole thing out in one breath, cheeks flushing darker with every word. His excitement was infectious — and honestly, kind of adorable.

You reached out gently, taking the rose quartz from his hands to inspect it. The piece wasn’t perfect — slightly cloudy, a little chipped on one edge — but it was a natural beauty, its soft blush-pink color practically glowing in your palm.

“Chrome,” you said softly, “this is gorgeous. Thank you.”

He froze, eyes wide. “R-Really?! You think it’s cool?!”

“Absolutely,” you smiled. “One of the nicest pieces I’ve seen.”

If possible, his face went even redder. “BAD…!!! I mean—cool!! I mean—uh—great!!!”

You fought back a laugh. He was flustered. It was painfully obvious — not that he noticed.

“But—uh—also,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I-I kinda, um… asked Senku about… you know, how people do the whole, uh… courting thing…”

Your eyes twinkled. “Courting?”

He looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. “I didn’t get it!! They said flowers or chocolates or stuff like that—but none of that made sense ‘cause you like rocks!! And I’m good at finding rocks!! So I thought—‘Hey!! What if I gave Y/N a really good rock?!’”

He finished with a slightly desperate look, waiting for your reaction.

You tilted your head, smile growing. “Are you trying to court me, Chrome?”

His whole body locked up. “I—uh—I mean—not—uh—if that’s weird!! Or if you don’t want that!! I mean—! I thought it’d be BAD if you did wanna—!! But if not that’s okay too!! I just—!!”

At this point, you couldn’t help it — you laughed.

“Chrome,” you said warmly, “you’re very sweet. And I love the rose quartz. So… if this is your way of ‘courting’ me—” you gave him a wink— “I think it’s working.”

His jaw dropped.

“…BAD…!!” he gasped, pumping a fist in the air. “That’s—SO BAD—!!!”

You giggled, reaching out to brush a stray leaf from his hair. “Thank you, Chrome.”

At that exact moment—

“…Tch.”

Both of you turned.

Senku stood a few meters away, arms crossed, unimpressed. “Did you seriously just give my sister a rock as a love confession?”

Chrome flailed. “IT’S NOT A CONFESSION—!! I mean—maybe it is—?? But it’s just a COOL rock!!!”

Senku sighed heavily. “Unbelievable. This is why I don’t do romance crap.”

“Senku,” you scolded lightly. “Let him be.”

He gave you a long-suffering look. “Just don’t get yourself proposed to with a pebble. That’s all I’m saying.”

Chrome looked mildly panicked. “I—!! I wasn’t trying to propose!! I swear!!!”

You couldn’t stop laughing this time — the whole situation was so ridiculous, so perfectly Chrome.

But oh… you secretly hoped he’d keep bringing you “bad” rocks.

Later that day…

At some point, Chrome gathered the other generals in a whispered huddle behind the main lab hut.

“Okay listen,” he said urgently. “I need HELP. I-I gave Y/N the rose quartz and I think—maybe—she liked it!! But I dunno if it counted as a confession?? Or if I should… do more stuff???”

Gen smirked, one hand on his chin. “Oho~ A love confession via shiny rocks? How delightfully primitive~”

Ukyo blinked. “That sounds… oddly fitting for you.”

Ryusui frowned. “Are you sure this is wise? She is Senku’s sister…”

Chrome waved his arms. “No, no—Senku won’t vaporize me!! I think!! He just looked annoyed!! But he didn’t stop me, so it’s fine!!”

Kaseki (eavesdropping nearby) gave a hearty laugh. “If you’re gonna do it, do it with all your heart, boy!! Make her the best stone pendant this village has ever seen!!”

Chrome gasped. “THAT’S IT—!! A PENDANT!!! That’d be so BAD!!!”

He immediately sprinted off, shouting: “GOTTA FIND THE PERFECT STONE!!!”

Behind him, the others exchanged amused glances.

Gen chuckled. “Well… this is going to be fun.”

[reomikagekin]

What if Ryusui with a reader that just... doesn't really know how to express gratitude?

like. I do not process any emotions well, but I usually mask decently & am friendly. but one thing I CAN'T replicate well for some reason is gratitude for unexpected gifts. I appreciate all gifts i get, but I'm pretty sure I always just seem like "oh thanks... an avocado..."

I don't. purposefully try to be ungrateful or anything. I wear clothes people give me (as long as they're not Sensory Hell), jewelry goes in My Collection Of Shiny, I'll draw in sketchbooks, cuddle stuffed animals, etc, and I REFUSE to get rid of anything that was given to me as a gift lmao

i just think Ryusui trying to woo a reader who's default reaction is just a calm "oh- uhm- thanks-" would be a funny premise.

"I don't think reader likes my gifts :("

"... they hissed at me like a feral cat when I suggested using the jewelry for science-"

A Dragon’s Greatest Challenge

Ryusui Nanami was, in most things, a man of certainty.

Business, politics, exploration — all required clarity of vision, confidence, drive. And those were qualities he had in spades.

Wooing others? Please — effortless. He’d once made a career of it. Lavish gifts, charming words, the right timing — it was practically a science. An art form he had long since mastered.

But you…

You were a mystery wrapped in calm tones and polite smiles, and it drove him mad.

He’d noticed you early on in the Kingdom of Science’s growing community. You had a sharp eye, a steady presence — friendly enough, good at playing along, but something about you always felt… held back. Not distant, just controlled.

And Ryusui liked puzzles.

So naturally, he began his campaign: small, thoughtful gifts. To show you he was paying attention. A way to say “I see you.”

The First Gift It was a bracelet — handmade from golden threads, small beads and shells, woven with care. Light enough not to be irritating, elegant in a subtle way.

He presented it with a grand flourish, because of course he did.

“For the most intriguing one among us,” he said, flashing a grin. “A token of admiration.”

You blinked up at him, startled.

A beat of silence.

“Oh. Uhm— thanks.”

A quiet voice. No flush, no spark of surprise. Just that small, soft phrase — and then you tucked the bracelet carefully into your pocket.

Ryusui stood there for a long moment, brows lifting. That was… not the reaction he expected.

The Second Gift Maybe you didn’t like jewelry? He pivoted. This time: a rare fruit, sweet and juicy, one that took effort to find on the coastline.

He found you near the workshop, set the fruit before you with a wink. “For you,” he said, tone playful. “A delicacy worthy of a discerning palate.”

Again — that blink. A pause.

“Oh. Thanks. I’ll eat it later.”

You picked it up and moved on, leaving Ryusui standing there again, dumbfounded.

The Third Gift Determined now, Ryusui crafted a beautiful leather-bound sketchbook, the cover embossed with a dragon — his signature motif.

He handed it to you with a note, a dramatic tilt of his head: “For the one whose eyes always see what others miss.”

And… the same reaction.

“Oh. Thanks.”

You took it gently and walked away.

By the fourth attempt, Ryusui was sprawled dramatically across a log in camp, arm slung over his face.

“They don’t like my gifts,” he moaned to Senku, Chrome, and Minami. “It’s tragic! No joy, no delight — nothing! Doomed, before I even begin!”

Senku didn’t even look up. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Chrome tilted his head. “I saw them using the sketchbook earlier.”

Ryusui shot upright. “What?!”

Chrome pointed: across camp, there you were, sitting beneath a tree, completely absorbed in your drawing — the dragon sketchbook open on your lap, bracelet glinting on your wrist.

Minami crossed her arms. “Maybe your ego’s too big to see it, but they like your gifts. They just don’t show it the way you expect.”

Ryusui stared at you for a long moment.

You weren’t faking. You weren’t being polite out of obligation. You were using the gifts, wearing them. Treating them with care.

A grin tugged at his mouth. “How fascinating…”

From then on, he adjusted his strategy. No more grand gestures, no big expectations. He would give quietly — and watch, and learn.

Weeks later, he left a delicate necklace in your work kit, with a simple note: “For no reason but my own greed — to see you shine.”

He didn’t approach you about it. Simply waited.

Later, he spotted you — the necklace around your neck, no fuss, no words.

That was better than any blushing thanks.

But the real breakthrough came soon after.

Ryusui was helping Senku test a new metallurgical process, in need of a conductor for the circuit. He happened to spot, neatly tucked in your box of personal things, a few of the necklaces and trinkets he’d given you.

“Mind if I borrow this for science?” he called lightly, reaching.

You froze mid-step. Your gaze sharpened. And then — you hissed.

An actual hiss. Shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping protectively around your collection.

Ryusui blinked. Then — he laughed. Loud and full of life.

“Oh-ho! So that’s how it is! A dragon guarding their hoard!” He beamed. “You do like them — you treasure them! I knew it!”

You flushed, but stubbornly didn’t deny it — simply gathering your things and tucking them safely away.

From that point on, it became a private game.

Ryusui still brought you gifts: small, thoughtful, useful. A rare stone for your collection. New cloth, smooth and soft. A book of pressed flowers.

He never pressed for thanks. But each time, he watched.

When he saw a bracelet appear on your wrist, or you used a tool he’d repaired for you, or found the fruit he’d left tucked in your bag eaten the next morning — it thrilled him.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t ungrateful.

You were simply… someone whose heart worked in quieter ways.

And that — to Ryusui — made you all the more fascinating. A new kind of treasure, one he had to learn how to read. And he would — gladly.

Months Later Sitting beneath the stars on the deck of Perseus, you glanced up at Ryusui where he leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching the sea.

“… You’re still giving me gifts,” you said softly.

He looked down at you, grin lazy but warm. “Of course. I’m greedy, remember? Greedy for everything beautiful.”

You fiddled with your bracelet — one of his first gifts. “I’m… not good at showing thanks. I do appreciate them. A lot.”

Ryusui’s grin softened. “I know.”

A pause. He reached out, gently flicking the dragon pendant at your throat.

“I see you wear them. Guard them like treasure. That says more than words, my dear.”

You blinked at him — then, for once, smiled. Small. Real.

“…Thanks.”

And for Ryusui Nanami — king of the new world, sailor of seas and hearts — that was worth more than all the riches in the world.

[reomikagekin]

similar to the “Stanley’s a man? Still hot” ask u got… I thought Gen was a girl first

Can I request basically the same idea with Stanley but with Gen instead? He’s so pretty

Wait… he’s a guy? Still hot.

Being revived into this strange, half-modern, half-primitive world was overwhelming, to say the least. You were still adjusting to everything — the stone world, the makeshift tech, the new faces — and yet one person had managed to catch your attention from the very beginning.

The moment you first spotted Gen Asagiri, you were… entranced.

He was perched gracefully atop a large rock at the edge of the village square, legs crossed, one elegant hand lazily tracing circles in the air as he spoke animatedly to a small crowd. His hair, two-toned and glossy, swayed gently in the breeze. Painted lips, slender fingers, that voice—smooth, almost sing-song, laced with theatrical flair. He practically glided when he walked, moving like a stage performer rather than a survivalist.

And gods, was he pretty.

You’d caught yourself staring more than once in those first few days, convinced Gen was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen. And the aura of playful confidence only added to the appeal—every flutter of his lashes, every sly smile, every dramatic little gesture seemed calculated to charm.

You’d even heard him refer to himself jokingly as “the smoothest talker in the world,” and frankly, you believed it. He could probably talk anyone into anything.

So naturally, you’d developed a bit of a… well. Crush.

Maybe more than a bit.

But you hadn’t dared approach. Not yet. Not when every time you were in the same vicinity as Gen, your brain seemed to short-circuit. Better to admire from afar and avoid making a complete fool of yourself.

Until the day you let your assumption slip — and the consequences came back to haunt you.

You were helping Suika gather herbs near the edge of the forest when Chrome strolled by, whistling.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, crouching to inspect some moss. “Gen’s back from scouting. He was looking for you earlier.”

“...For me?” you asked, heart giving an unbidden little flutter.

“Yeah. Probably wants help organizing supplies or something.” Chrome stood, wiping his hands. “Y’know how he gets.”

You smiled faintly, gaze dropping back to your basket. “She always seems so graceful... I don’t know how Gen stays so put-together out here.”

There was a beat of silence.

“...‘She’?” Chrome echoed, brow arching. “You mean Gen?”

“Yes?” you said slowly, glancing up. “...Wait, isn’t Gen a—?”

Chrome burst into sudden laughter, nearly doubling over. “Gen’s a guy!!”

The basket slipped from your hands, scattering leaves and herbs. “...WHAT?”

Suika giggled behind her mask. Chrome wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, grinning ear to ear. “Man, I can’t wait to tell him you thought that—”

“NO—don’t—!” you blurted, face burning. “Please, Chrome, don’t tell him!!”

Of course, fate was not on your side.

Later that afternoon, you were attempting to recover from your mortification when you heard light footsteps behind you.

“Well, well, well…” came that smooth, lilting voice you knew all too well. “Imagine my surprise… to learn that a certain someone thought I was a girl~”

You froze. Then turned, slowly.

And there was Gen — standing far too close, a teasing glint in his violet eyes, painted smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again: “I—I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—!”

Gen tsked softly, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “And here I thought you admired me for my brilliant mind, not just my stunning looks. But now I hear you’ve been staring at me like a love-struck maiden~?”

Your face might as well have caught fire. “T-that’s not—! I didn’t—!”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper:

“Still... flattered, truly. And I am rather fond of you as well.”

You blinked. “...You—what—?”

“Oh yes,” he said breezily, straightening up with a twirl of his wrist. “And really, darling... gender aside—if you find me ‘hot,’ as Chrome so delightfully quoted—well.” His lips curled in a mischievous grin. “Who am I to deny such affection?”

You covered your face with both hands, groaning. “...I’m going to die.”

Gen laughed, a low, velvety sound. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Or rather—leave the dramatics to me, hm?”

From that moment on, you were doomed.

Gen teased you mercilessly at every opportunity. A wink here, a sly compliment there. “Oh dear, do be careful — wouldn’t want you getting too distracted watching me work~.”

And yet, somehow… you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

Because the more you got to know the real Gen—not just the graceful facade, but the clever, loyal, genuinely kind person beneath—it only made your feelings grow stronger.

Even if your first impression had been wildly off-base. Even if he never let you live it down.

Gen was still hot. And now?

You were completely, hopelessly smitten.

[reomikagekin]

May I request small gen x reader where

Gen is teasing we know but what if reader who is usually veri shy one day gets back at him either a very smooth gesture/line or even dirty and hes just.. shock

Checkmate, Mentalist.

Gen had a hobby, and you were pretty sure it was called: fluster the living daylights out of you.

Every day like clockwork, Gen Asagiri—the self-proclaimed smoothest man on the planet—would find a way to swoop in with that fox-like grin, invade your personal space, and say something that turned your face into a tomato.

“Ohhh, what a cute reaction,” he’d cooed this morning, propping his chin in his palm and leaning across the makeshift breakfast table, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Honestly, it’s kind of criminal how easy it is to make you blush.”

You had choked on your rice. Again.

He pouted dramatically while patting your back. “You’ve gotta toughen up, sweetheart~ the big bad world of flirting’s gonna eat you alive if I don’t train you~!”

You wanted to melt into the ground and vanish.

Gen wasn’t cruel—never genuinely mean. His teasing always carried a strange warmth behind it, even when it made you feel like your heart would leap out of your chest. But still, it was exhausting being the subject of his constant antics. It was like being the mouse in a magician’s hat, always pulled out to gasp and squeak at his tricks.

So you decided: if Gen wanted a game, you’d give him one. Just once. One move.

And you would win.

You waited all day.

Waited through lunch, where Gen winked at you from across the table. Waited through the afternoon, when he snuck up behind you and whispered “Boo~” just to watch you jump and stammer. You didn’t react the way he wanted. Just smiled, sweet and mild.

His brow twitched. You could see the question forming behind his smirk.

And then came the perfect moment: nightfall. Campfire flickering low, casting golden light on his pale skin. Most of the others had gone to sleep or wandered off, leaving the two of you alone.

He was lounging nearby, reclining like a cat stretched across a throne made of logs and moss, one hand behind his head, the other lazily twirling a stick in the fire.

“Y’know,” he mused, eyes half-lidded and voice velvet-smooth, “I always figured you’d be the kind of person who couldn’t hurt a fly. So soft. So shy.” He glanced at you, then smirked. “But then again, shy ones usually hide the most delicious secrets, don’t they~?”

You tilted your head at him, lips curling. “Oh? Is that how you see me?”

Gen sat up slightly, interest piqued. “Oho? What's this? Are you talking back to me now, flower? Have I finally trained you well?”

You stood slowly, walking over to him—not hurriedly, but purposefully, like someone with nothing to lose.

Gen's grin widened as you approached. He expected you to stop a safe distance away.

You didn’t.

You stepped closer. Then closer.

He blinked, briefly taken aback. “Hey now, don’t tell me you’re about to faint on me from being this close, mm?”

Instead, you knelt by his side, leaning just enough that your breath brushed the shell of his ear.

And softly, so very softly, you whispered:

“Maybe I just wanted to see how good the world’s smoothest talker sounds when he moans.”

Silence.

You pulled back, just far enough to see the look on his face.

Gen was frozen.

Eyes wide.

Mouth parted slightly.

For the first time ever, he was completely and utterly speechless.

You tilted your head, acting as if you hadn’t just shattered his brain like glass.

“Did I… hit a nerve, magician?”

He cleared his throat, trying—and failing—to summon his usual theatrical flair.

“I—well—now, now—” He stammered, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been spending too much time around me, haven’t you?”

You smiled. “Is that a bad thing?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “...No. But if you keep talking like that, I might be the one turning red next time.”

“Then I guess we’re even,” you said, settling beside him, the warmth of the fire nothing compared to the heat pulsing between you.

For a moment, he just stared.

Then: laughter. Genuine, breathless, and rich. He threw his head back, still a bit stunned, but deeply amused.

“Well, well, well,” he said finally, voice low and tinged with something unfamiliar—admiration. “Look who just outplayed the mentalist. Touché, sweetheart. Touché.”

You leaned your shoulder gently against his. “Told you I had secrets.”

He chuckled, but this time, there was no teasing edge. Just that rare, quiet fondness he rarely showed unless you caught him off-guard.

“…You’re dangerous,” he murmured, smiling sideways at you.

You smiled right back. “Only when I want to be.”

He never underestimated you again after that.

[reomikagekin]

What if. Gen with an s/o that's like. Moderately affectionate with everyone, but VERY affectionate with him

like. will pat people's shoulders/heads, calmly compliment people, likes being around people, doesn't say no to hugs, but is always pretty calm about it (":pat pat: keep up the good work" "You want a hug, Suika? of course, come here" "you did your hair differently. it looks nice")

After getting w/ Gen, however? VERY affectionate and giggly with him

constantly pulling him into hugs, ruffling his hair, praising him every time he does something "cool" (... basically always), etc etc

yknow how cats' eyes get huge and their tail flick-flick-flicks when they're about to pounce? that's s/o about to tackle Gen, ruffle up his hair, and cover him in kisses

You’re My Favorite

To the average observer, you were like the calm warmth of a spring sun—gentle, reassuring, and quietly affectionate. You never shied away from human connection: patting shoulders with a smile, tucking a flower behind Suika’s ear, or complimenting someone’s hair in passing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were never overbearing. You didn’t gush or dramatize. You were just… kind.

Casually warm, consistently soft.

And Gen Asagiri, for all his theatrical flair, noticed this immediately. As someone who lived and breathed performance, he could tell your affection wasn’t a mask. It was just… you.

So when he finally got the honor (and burden, he’d say dramatically) of being the object of your exclusive romantic attention?

He thought he was ready.

Spoiler: He wasn’t.

It started small.

After a successful negotiation with a neighboring village, Gen was lounging by a fire, basking in his own cleverness, when you came up behind him, hands light on his shoulders.

“You were amazing out there,” you said, warm and casual.

Gen smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Naturally. But I’ll never tire of hearing it from you.”

And then you kissed the top of his head, ruffled his hair like he was a particularly clever cat, and whispered, “Smartest, prettiest boyfriend in the world.”

He choked.

“P-Pretty? I—!” He straightened, half-coughing, half-laughing. “I’m the epitome of elegance and seduction, my dear, not— not cute—”

“You’re very cute,” you interrupted, kissing his cheek now. “Especially when you get flustered like this.”

“I never get flustered.”

“Uh-huh.” You hugged him from behind, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

His eye twitched.

The thing was… you didn’t do this with anyone else.

Your casual affection remained the same for everyone else in the Kingdom of Science: supportive, kind, calm. You were dependable, even-toned, and encouraging—like a team mom who always knew what to say.

“Need a break? I’ll cover your shift.” “Nice forging work today, Kaseki.” “You want a hug, Suika? Of course you can have a hug, come here.”

And yet…

With Gen?

You’d walk up behind him, arms already half-open like you were preparing to tackle him. You'd grin when his eyes widened slightly. Like a cat twitching its tail before a pounce.

You’d ruffle his perfectly styled hair, giggle when he tried to smooth it back, then press a kiss to his jaw with a fond little hum.

He’d try to retort, to regain ground, to say something slick.

But your smile—your eyes—would do him in every time.

Because you didn’t just tease him.

You adored him.

“Do you know what I think?” you asked one evening, slipping into his lap while he read by the fire.

“I dread to ask,” he muttered, though his arms automatically wrapped around you.

“I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

He blinked. “You’re sweet, but darling, bravery is hardly—”

“I mean it.” You looked him dead in the eye. “You lie and trick and manipulate—sure. But you’re always doing it for someone else. You throw yourself into danger with that dumb smirk and act like it’s just another game, but I see right through you.”

“…I beg your pardon—?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, slowly. “You’re soft-hearted, Gen. A total sap underneath all the smoke and mirrors.”

He made a choked sound of protest.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

He didn’t speak for a full minute.

“…This is emotional terrorism,” he mumbled.

You kissed him again. “I know.”

It only got worse from there.

You were giddy with him. Touchy. Silly. A romantic menace.

If he looked tired? You’d sit him down in your lap and play with his hair until he dozed off.

If he made a clever remark in public? You’d cheer way too loudly and throw your arms around him like he just won the Nobel Prize.

He could flirt, sure. He could dish it out like a master.

But take it?

Absolutely not.

You would nuzzle your nose against his cheek in broad daylight, cooing about how “handsome and brilliant” he was, and Gen would short-circuit like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.

“Do you enjoy making me malfunction?” he asked once as you peppered his face with kisses in rapid-fire succession.

You didn’t even pause. “I love it.”

“And I suppose you want everyone to see me as a hopeless, blushing mess?”

You smirked. “Only me.”

He groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. “I’ve created a monster.”

And yet—when the tables turned?

When Gen tried to repay your affection in full?

He found himself hopelessly outmatched.

“Oh, love~” he purred one afternoon, sauntering over with his best “seductive bard” expression. “You’ve been working hard. Perhaps you deserve a little—mm—reward from your dearest?”

You looked up at him, all sparkle and delight, then immediately wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him down into a full-body cuddle.

“You’re so sweet,” you giggled, peppering kisses across his jaw. “Look at you! All cute and flirty. You’re so good at this.”

He froze. “Wait, no, that’s—!”

You kissed him on the nose. “I love you.”

He slumped against you like a defeated puppet.

“…This was supposed to be my moment,” he mumbled.

“Shh. You’re perfect.”

The Kingdom of Science eventually took notice.

“Why does Gen look like a lovestruck tomato whenever Y/N’s around?” Kohaku spoke.

“No idea. But I think it’s funny.” Chrome replied.

: “They’re always hugging him!! I want a Gen hug too!” Suika pouted.

Senku, watching Gen slowly melt under your attention: “Fascinating. He’s literally useless for the next hour.”

One night, when things had quieted and the stars blinked gently overhead, you and Gen lay curled together in a nest of blankets near the observatory. You were tracing small circles on his chest. He was watching you like you were something unreal.

“…You really don’t act like this with anyone else,” he said, voice soft.

You looked up. “Of course not.”

“But why me?”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his face. “Because I chose you. And I love making you feel loved.”

He stared at you.

You kissed him once. Then again.

“…You’re not real,” he whispered. “You can’t be. I must’ve hallucinated you after a particularly bad concussion.”

“Shh.” You buried your face in his neck. “Just accept the love.”

He sighed, arms wrapping tightly around you.

“…You’re my favorite,” he murmured.

“I know.”

[reomikagekin]

Oh my blonde sailor, YOUR ASS IS MINE 😈😈

Luna had to act as a spy to take out the other scientists, thankfully, she wants alone cuz we were there with her 😋

While Luna has the “cool gal” attitude, we’re with the “idgaf” attitude, except we actually don’t give a fuck. sunshine with moody type friendship 🤭

We’re literally like “Thats my problem because..? Oh ew Luna don’t tell me you’re actually falling for that—“

Senku in ‘charming’ mode just did NOT work with us, we genuinely cringed 😭🙏 senku noticed that so instead he had Ryusui try to charm us while he was busy with Luna. Tbh that didn’t work either, it actually backfired cuz we ended up charming Ryusui ourselves on accident

Cuz we’re just that hot 💪😍

anyways, while Luna was being Senku’s nurse cuz, he got shot shot, we had helped with repairing the plane. Apparently Ryusui is lowkey into us covered in motor oil and dust cuz he is just sitting next to us 24/7, not even doing anything to help besides snapping his fingers for Francois to get us some water and snacks

Like heart eyes type shit 🤭 I love Ryusui being a yearner

Oil, Dust, and Desire

The midday sun was relentless, pouring heat over the makeshift airfield. Sweat clung to your skin like second nature now, the acrid sting of motor oil staining your clothes and fingers. You knelt beside the half-assembled cockpit, wrench in hand, humming something tuneless and vulgar under your breath.

"God, you’re gross," Luna gagged playfully behind you. "Is that grease or actual blood on your shirt?"

You didn’t look up. "Dunno. Guess I’ll find out when it starts smelling weird."

She sighed in that exaggerated way only she could, flipping her hair off her shoulder. "You’re disgusting. But like... in a hot way. Ugh, I hate that."

"Thanks, babe. That’s what I aim for," you said sweetly, finally glancing up — just in time to see him again.

Ryusui Nanami.

Blonde, brilliant, brooding in broad daylight with a glint in his eye and absolutely no reason to be here except, clearly, to watch you sweat.

He leaned casually against a crate of steel bolts, arms folded, white shirt half-unbuttoned like some pirate prince risen from the dirt. His gaze didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. Didn't even pretend to be subtle.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Do you plan on helping, or are you just here to pretend you’re not staring at my ass?"

A beat. Then—

"My dear, it’s far too late for pretending."

Luna choked on her water in the background. You didn't even blink.

"Cool. That’s your problem, not mine."

Ryusui grinned, but it had that desperate edge — the kind of smile someone makes when they’re trying to be charming, but internally they’re already spiraling. You returned to the engine, twisting the wrench with extra force just to make the muscles in your arms flex. You felt his gaze drop like a hammer.

God, this was almost too easy.

A few days earlier…

"You’re sure I can’t charm her?" Senku’s eyes narrowed as he sipped his coffee, voice coated in sarcastic doubt.

"I’m telling you, dude, she cringed when you winked," Luna hissed, sitting beside you and buffing her nails. "I thought she was gonna combust. Like, it physically hurt her."

"It did," you added dryly, flipping through blueprints. "Never do that again. You looked like an overconfident worm."

Senku huffed and walked off, muttering something about lost causes.

Enter Ryusui.

"Ah, so I’ve been sent in as backup," he declared with a grand flourish, cape trailing behind him despite the lack of wind.

You squinted. "Don’t you have, like, a thousand more important things to do?"

"I have one thing to do." He leaned in. Too close. "Win you over."

You stared. Slowly, dramatically, you cringed again — full-body flinch. "Oh god. Even worse than Senku."

"Impossible," Ryusui breathed. And then, despite himself — he laughed.

Not his rehearsed, dazzling-laugh-for-the-crowd kind. But a sharp, disbelieving chuckle that slipped out like something genuine. Something real. His eyes softened.

You didn’t notice. You were already gone.

Present

“You know,” Luna whispered later that night, perched beside the campfire with a mug of whatever passed for cocoa in the Stone World, “I think Ryusui has a thing for you.”

You snorted. "No shit. He's been watching me like I'm the last glass of champagne in a dry country."

"But like, it's... weirdly emotional. He's not being gross about it."

You shrugged, stirring the fire with a stick. “Maybe he likes suffering. I'm not exactly girlfriend material.”

“He doesn’t want a girlfriend.” She smirked. “He wants a goddess.”

“That’s his problem,” you muttered — but your heart skipped anyway.

Two weeks later…

You were elbow-deep in wiring when you felt it — the shift in the air. No footsteps, no noise. Just the smell of that expensive cologne he had Francois make out of wildflowers and whatever the hell smelled rich.

You didn’t look up. "If you're going to keep watching me like a tragic poet, at least pass me the torque wrench."

It was in your hand instantly.

"You should rest," Ryusui said softly, sitting beside you on the wing of the plane, cross-legged and pristine. "Francois can take over—"

"Francois would rather die than touch this mess mid-repair," you muttered. "Besides. I like fixing things."

"Even broken people?"

That made you pause.

"Only if they admit they’re broken."

Ryusui was quiet for a long time.

Then: “...Touché.”

You glanced over — and caught it. The way his gaze flicked to your face, then down to your hands, callused and dirty. The way he was gripping his knees a little tighter. The way he kept not saying something.

"Spit it out," you said, not unkindly.

He exhaled. “I think you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

"Gross."

"And I say that as someone who used to have women line up outside my penthouse."

"I bet they regretted it."

Ryusui laughed again. But this time it wasn’t charming. It was full-on feral. He buried his face in his hand and groaned.

“God, you’re infuriating.”

You smirked. “Hot, though.”

He looked up. "So hot," he whispered, like it hurt.

That night…

Ryusui couldn’t sleep.

He stared at the stars above, listening to the hum of generators and the occasional burst of laughter from where Chrome and Gen were probably playing dumb games.

Then he heard your laugh — muffled and low, near the tool shed.

He followed it like a man possessed.

You were sitting with Luna, sipping something cold, legs stretched out, face smeared with oil and dirt and looking like you’d been dragged through hell.

You’d never looked more divine.

Luna caught sight of him and whispered, “Stalker alert,” then dipped.

You didn’t look up when he sat beside you.

“I should be resting,” he said. “But I keep thinking about you.”

You raised a brow. “Dude. That’s not healthy.”

“I know,” he admitted, then turned to you. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. You’re fearless. Smart. Gorgeous. And you couldn’t care less about me — which makes me want you more.”

You stared at him for a long time.

Then: “You’re right.”

"...About?"

“All of it.”

Ryusui blinked. “Wait. You—?”

You leaned in. “You’re fun to tease. And you make good snacks. Also, watching you pine is... kinda hot.”

He looked like he might combust. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

You smirked. “That’s my problem because…?”

He whispered, “Because I’m falling in love with you.”

Silence. For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then you smiled.

“Gross.”

And kissed him anyway.

Later…

Francois found the two of you passed out near the plane the next morning — you snoring, Ryusui holding your grease-stained hand with literal hearts in his eyes.

“Disgusting,” Luna said. “But like. In a hot way.”

[reomikagekin]

So. so. i watched the anime before starting the manga. there is an ac unit right outside my door & my tv is always on a low volume, which means that I only actually hear character voices half the time.

Which means that until XENO INTRODUCED STANLEY, I had no idea he was a GUY.

Stanley takes off his weird metal headpiece-coat while walking into the lab & what follows is essentially "ohh shit pretty lady! maybe I am a lesbian. pretty lady pretty lady pre-" "this he/him manly man army guy dude bro is Stanley Snyder-" "oh fuck that's a guy. ... still hot"

so. this is probably the hardest to actually make into a fic prompt, but i think "OH FUCK YOU'RE A GUY. .... still hot" would be a halarious premise for a Stanley fic if possible 👉👈

Hot in the Worst Way

There were a lot of things you thought might break your spirit in the Stone World.

Lack of electricity? Sure. Primitive tools? Fine. Accidentally inhaling sulfur dioxide while trying to make sulfuric acid? Yeah, okay, that one got you good. But none of it — none of it — prepared you for the absolute life-altering catastrophe that was Stanley Snyder walking into the lab for the first time.

You were elbow-deep in wires, tweaking one of the hand-crank generators that had been stuttering for hours. You had grease on your forehead, a tool clenched between your teeth, and your brain tuned entirely to “don’t electrocute myself” mode.

Then you heard the door creak open behind you.

At first, you didn’t think anything of it. Could’ve been Senku. Could’ve been Chrome. Could’ve been some unfortunate soul bringing more scrap metal for your agony. But when you turned, just to peek, time stopped.

Someone stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, silhouetted against the sunlight.

They were wearing a long tactical cloak, some kind of visor pushed up on their forehead, and a gait like they’d walked through twenty battlefields and didn’t flinch once. Hair silver-blonde and tied loosely back. Stubble-free, jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds. And the aura — oh God, the aura — was that of someone who could snap your neck in five seconds but might also cradle you like a baby bird while blowing up a government facility.

Your heart stopped. Not figuratively. Literally. It missed a beat.

Who...?

Who was she?

Your first thought was something along the lines of: Oh wow. I didn’t know I was into this. This? Oh, I’m into this. So into this. Oh no.

The stranger walked in casually, boots heavy against the floor. A soldier’s walk. Muscles under the vest. A quiet confidence that screamed: I don’t need to speak to command the room.

You didn’t even notice your jaw had dropped until your goggles slid from your forehead and bounced off your face.

She looked at you — directly at you — eyes sharp, assessing. A flicker of something unreadable passed across her face. The moment hung like a spark in the air.

Then Xeno’s voice shattered it.

“Stanley. Took you long enough.”

Your brain did a hard reboot.

Stanley?

You blinked. And blinked again.

Stanley. As in Stanley Snyder?

The former military sniper? The ruthless tactician? Xeno’s personal bringer of doom?

No. No, there was no way.

Stanley was—

But now that you really looked…

Oh.

OH.

That wasn’t a woman.

That was just a man. A very hot man. With long hair. And a terrifying expression. And a body like an action movie protagonist they’d made out of bullets and leather.

You could feel your soul leave your body.

That wasn’t just some mystery femme fatale. That was Stanley Snyder, and you had stared at him like a lovestruck anime girl in a shoujo opening.

Oh my god.

Oh no.

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with you.

You felt the embarrassment physically punch you in the gut.

“…You good?” he asked, voice gravelly, the faintest ghost of amusement hiding behind his neutral tone.

Your mouth flapped like a fish. You were panicking. You couldn’t even blink. You had done a full mental striptease of this man the second he walked in thinking he was a woman, and now he was looking at you like you were a bug under a microscope.

Xeno, still scribbling notes on his clipboard, offered no sympathy. “That’s (Y/N). One of Senku’s. Functionally competent, but emotionally unstable. Pay no mind to the staring. They’re like that with every new variable.”

You snapped out of your paralysis long enough to blurt:

“I thought you were a woman!”

Silence fell.

You could’ve heard a tree fall in the next village over.

Stanley didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just looked at you like he was processing a war crime.

You clapped your hands over your mouth. “I mean—! Not that it matters! Not that you’re not hot! I mean—you are! Objectively! That’s—You’re—! Just—!”

Stanley’s expression didn’t change.

Xeno sighed, like this was a level of stupidity even he hadn’t predicted.

“I see we’re doing this now,” he muttered.

You tried again. “It’s just! You came in all mysterious and dramatic and beautiful and I—My brain just—! You’re very… symmetrical! I panicked!”

Stanley blinked once. Slowly.

Then, in the driest voice known to man, he said, “You panicked because I’m pretty.”

You wished lightning would strike you.

“Yes!” you cried. “I mean, no! I mean, yes—but in a confused, ‘I might need to sit down and reevaluate my sexuality’ way, not in a—I don’t know! I didn’t know I could feel this much shame in one second!”

Stanley made a small sound.

It was a laugh.

A short, rough, half-huffed sound that might’ve been a wheeze or the sound of his emotional walls cracking.

“I’ve been called a lot of things,” he said. “Hot lady sniper’s a new one.”

You whimpered.

He walked over, unbothered, and leaned against the worktable. “You’ve got a real honest mouth, huh?”

“Please,” you said, near tears, “let me disappear into the Earth.”

“No can do,” he replied. “This is way too fun.”

You wanted to collapse. Your knees weren’t just weak — they were plotting against you.

And then, like the devil summoned from your suffering, Gen sauntered in from the other room.

“Well, well, well,” he cooed, instantly picking up the tension like a shark smelling blood. “Did I miss something deliciously awkward?”

You made a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a sob. “Go away.”

Gen leaned over the counter with predatory delight. “Did you just publicly thirst over Stanley Snyder in front of God and Xeno?”

“I didn’t mean to—!”

“Oh, honey, you said it out loud. I heard it from outside. 'I thought you were a woman!’” He mimicked your voice with unsettling accuracy. “Then ‘you’re still hot though!’ Classic!”

Stanley smirked again, just faintly. “It’s flattering.”

“No it’s not!” you cried. “I made it weird! I made it weird forever!”

“Too late,” Xeno said flatly.

“I want to go home.”

“You live in a mud hut,” Gen said. “There is no home. Just the crushing weight of your own confusion.”

Stanley looked down at you, tilting his head slightly. “If it helps, you’re not the first person to get it wrong.”

“…Really?” you asked, desperate for any shred of relief.

He gave a slow shrug. “Long hair, quiet. I don’t talk much. I wear gear. People assume. But no one’s ever yelled it in front of me.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate everything.”

Stanley chuckled again. And then he said it.

“You’ve got good taste, though.”

You peeked through your fingers. “Excuse me?”

He gave you another look — that slow, calm, quiet once-over — and you genuinely considered whether you needed to start digging a hole and live in it forever.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he added, like he hadn’t just wrecked your entire existence with a sentence.

Gen was practically vibrating.

Xeno just looked exhausted.

You were too gay and too tired to function.

Later That Night…

You sat by the fire, huddled in your jacket, still mortified.

Gen plopped down next to you, sipping a cup of dubious tea. “So… Stanley, huh?”

You groaned. “Please.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Gen said cheerfully. “You’ve just established yourself as the village bisexual. Congratulations. I expect your ‘I like scary people’ support group to start next week.”

You stared at the flames.

Across the fire, Stanley caught your eye.

He gave you the smallest nod.

And the faintest smirk.

Your brain shut off again.

Gen leaned in and whispered, “Oh, he’s so going to tease you about this forever.”

You whimpered.

And maybe… just maybe… you didn’t entirely mind.

[reomikagekin]

OH NO I FORGOT TO ADD THIS TO THE THINGY

what’s your favorite bread? Mine are conchas and marranitos

theres some pretzel breads that i LOVEEE, IT JS TASTES SO GOOD LOOK

i would die for this bread

[reomikagekin]

UKYO YOURE NEXT 😈😈😋

Ukyo’s favorite food is bread. He loves it. Hell he was shedding actual tears when he ate the bread Francois made.

SO HOW ABOUT THIS HEAR ME OUT SHAKESPEARE

We’re a baker a crush on him, like a HUGE crush on him, Ukyo probably already knows cuz of his stupidly good hearing and is probably like “😳🤭”

So hearing that he likes bread, and know that we have wheat farms, we got to work immediately 💪

We made a bunch of bread, even bread from other cultures thanks to the help of Francois (we love Francois the crowd shouts)

Ukyo is probably nearby though and definitely heard of the plan, so he’s just excitedly waiting with red ears for his favorite food AND his soon to be girlfriend 🤭🤭

(Bonus points if we made him cookies shaped like a submarine)

IM HEARING YOU OUT AND I LOVE ITTTT!!!! i love ukyo so so much, he's my nr.1 favorite character.. so you've blessed me..

Submarines and Sweethearts

The first glow of sunrise shimmered across the wheat fields as you knelt beside your wooden dough-trough. Your hands were coated in cool, sticky dough, fingers folding with practiced ease as steam curled upward from the warm interior. The scent of freshly milled grain mingled with the earthy dew—it was the kind of smell that spoke of life, of warmth, of starting again.

And hope… was Ukyo Saionji.

You blinked against the haze of dawn and thought of him—the gentle precision of his movements, the faint rustle of his uniform when he turned his head, the way his hair swayed with the breeze. You could almost hear him already, the soft padding of his boots, the way he adjusted his gloves in perfect rhythm. There was power in his quiet presence. Kindness too. Your heart squeezed.

Another loaf wouldn’t be enough. You needed more. You needed… everything. You wiped sweat from your brow, rolled your shoulders, and pushed yourself harder.

You’d heard it from Gen, from Chrome, from Francois themselves: Ukyo cried when he ate Francois’s bread. Cried. It wasn’t just a favorite food—it was love in the form of crust and warmth. And if that was how he felt about bread, then you knew what you had to do.

Over the next three weeks, the Kingdom of Science watched as your small plan turned into a full-scale bakery movement.

You woke at dawn with the birds to harvest wheat, cut stalks by hand with Chrome under a blinding sun, testing their dryness between your fingertips. You learned to thresh and winnow the kernels, grind them with water wheels, and sift flour finer than sand. Francois took you under their wing—taught you not just to bake, but to bake from your soul.

You explored breads from every corner of the old world. Sweet Japanese melon pan, soft with sugary crusts. Herbed focaccia dotted with rosemary. Taro coconut rolls wrapped in banana leaves. Dense pumpernickel with cracked rye. You even tried your hand at sourdough, coaxing life from a starter you guarded like treasure.

In your quietest moments, as you kneaded dough with trembling hands, you whispered: “He’s going to love this. He has to.” Your cheeks would heat up every time you imagined Ukyo catching wind of your plan—his hyper-sensitive hearing tuning in to your breathless admissions. You were sure of it. He’d heard. He always did.

“Are you making this for anyone special?” Francois teased one afternoon, as you carefully iced a cookie shaped like a tiny submarine.

Your heart stopped. “No! I mean—what? Why would I—?”

Francois only smiled. “Mm. Be sure to shape the periscope properly. He’ll notice the detail.”

You didn’t ask how they knew.

You made thirty submarine cookies in total. Each one had its own style: a tiny porthole here, a little icing flag there. One had the letters “USS Saionji” written in your smallest possible script. Another said “Loaf you.”

You worked until your hands were raw, until your arms burned, until your whole body ached and smelled of flour and salt. But you didn’t stop. Because this was for Ukyo. Your crush—your full-blown, heart-melting, hopelessly massive crush—and you were going to confess the only way you knew how.

By the time you finished, you had an entire table laid out in the central square: a sprawling feast of golden-brown crusts, soft pillowy buns, braided rolls glistening with egg wash, baguettes with perfectly scored ridges. The submarine cookies sat on a handmade plate at the center, arranged like a little fleet ready to sail.

You had barely caught your breath when you heard the familiar footsteps.

Ukyo moved through the field with practiced calm, bow strapped to his back, pale blond hair tied loosely. His eyes landed on you first, then the table. He blinked once. Then again.

He approached silently, and for a moment, the world around you slowed.

“This is…” he began, voice a hushed breath, “all bread?”

You laughed nervously. “Yeah. I mean, not just any bread. I tried to cover a bunch of styles, you know? Some you might not have had yet. I got help from Francois. They were incredible. I thought… maybe you’d like—”

You didn’t get to finish. Ukyo picked up a boule, tearing it open gently. Steam billowed out, sweet and nutty. He tasted a piece. And then, quietly, his lashes fluttered.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

You stood there, speechless, as Ukyo—kind, pacifist Ukyo—closed his eyes and smiled.

He wiped his face quickly, almost shyly. “Sorry. I just… This is amazing. You made all of this?”

You nodded, your voice catching. “It’s all for you.”

His ears—already pink—flushed red. He reached for a cookie next. One of the submarines. His thumb brushed over the iced writing. “Loaf you,” he read aloud, with the tiniest smile.

He turned to look at you directly, something soft and knowing in his gaze. “You really… you like me, don’t you?”

You laughed nervously, your heart thudding. “You probably heard me talking about it from, like, a mile away.”

“Only every morning,” he admitted, chuckling quietly. “You mumble when you knead dough. It’s kind of adorable.”

Your face burned. “I can’t believe this is happening. You’re—”

Ukyo stepped closer, eyes warm, posture still gentle. “I never said I didn’t like it. Or you.”

You swallowed hard. “So… you don’t mind that I made a hundred submarine cookies for you?”

“Mind?” he echoed, smiling again. “They’re the best thing I’ve ever been given.”

He took your flour-dusted hand in his own. The touch was warm. Steady. Honest.

“You didn’t have to do all of this to impress me,” he said softly. “But I’m really, really glad you did.”

Your breath hitched. “So… does this mean—”

Ukyo leaned forward, forehead resting gently against yours.

“Yes,” he said. “Whatever you’re asking, the answer is yes.”

And for a while, neither of you moved. The wind rustled the fields, the lanterns above the square swayed. Laughter echoed in the distance. But in that moment, there was only bread, and the warmth between your hands, and a heart that beat a little faster when he smiled.

Later that night, you shared a warm roll under the stars, sitting side by side on a bench near the river. Ukyo broke off half of his cookie and gave it to you wordlessly, his ears still red.

You bit into the little submarine with a giggle.

“You know,” you murmured, “I can make more.”

Ukyo chuckled, nudging your arm. “Then I guess I’m yours for life.”

You blushed furiously, but the smile that bloomed on your lips could’ve lit up all of Ishigami Village.

Bread had never meant so much.

[reomikagekin]

hi!! i just wanted to say i will be more focused on dr stone requests currently. Alien stage will get its focus back soon!!

[reomikagekin]

Hello my dearest Shakespeare, it’s Gen’s turn 🤭

We know that Gen knows flower language. So what if he gifts flowers to us EVERY SINGLE DAY and we have no idea what the meaning of the flower is. Gen is just thriving at the fact that we have no idea what each flower means, so he can just say what ever he wants without feeling embarrassed

But we secretly know flower language as well, so we just are happily accepting each and every flower he gives us with a smile, waiting for the perfect time to surprise him with his own bouquet of flowers (because men deserves to be gifted flowers too 😤)

hello, tis i.. shakespear..

A Bouquet of Secrets

Every morning, without fail, Gen would come bearing a flower. The ritual had become a quiet cornerstone of your days—a delicate tradition in the chaos of rebuilding the world.

At first, you thought it was just his quirky way of showing affection, a part of his charismatic, theatrical personality. But over time, it became clear that each flower was carefully chosen. The bright yellow marigold one day, the fragile baby’s breath the next, or a mysterious blue gentian plucked from the wildflower patches near the village edge.

He’d approach with that signature sly grin, eyes sparkling with mischief and confidence. “Ah, my dear! Today’s bloom carries a message as profound as the very science we wield!” He would bow dramatically, extending the flower toward you like a magician revealing his greatest trick.

“Marigolds today,” he announced once, “symbols of grief and despair. A reminder that even in darkness, we find strength to bloom.” You blinked, uncertain how to respond to such a contradictory sentiment.

Another time, he handed you a sprig of lavender, claiming, “It means caution, a warning from nature herself.” You humored him, smiling politely as you tucked the fragrant stem behind your ear.

The truth? You knew better. You knew that marigolds spoke of creativity and passion, lavender of devotion and calm, baby’s breath of everlasting love and purity. You knew the language of flowers—its hidden vocabulary, its unspoken confessions.

Gen knew you knew, too.

He was the world’s smoothest talker, a master manipulator who could weave lies and truth into a tapestry so seamless no one could tell where one ended and the other began. And he reveled in the game — slipping you flowers with faux meanings, spinning stories to keep you guessing, all while watching you accept each bloom with that quiet, knowing smile.

It was his favorite performance.

You, on the other hand, were preparing your own secret act.

Each day, as you received his gifts, you carefully collected wildflowers, weaving your own bouquets filled with true meanings only he would understand. You were waiting for the perfect moment — the right occasion to surprise him with a message of your own.

One afternoon, while he entertained the village children with his usual flamboyant tales and clever antics, you quietly arranged a bouquet behind the wooden shed where the villagers stored their tools.

Lavender for calm and devotion. Scarlet roses for courage and passion. Sunflowers for loyalty and admiration. Forget-me-nots for true love and remembrance.

The colors bloomed vibrantly in your hands, and your heart fluttered with anticipation.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the campfire cast flickering shadows on the faces of your friends, you found Gen by the fire, animatedly recounting an elaborate story about a “mad scientist” who tamed lightning with nothing but a grin and a flask.

He looked up, catching your gaze as you stepped forward with the bouquet carefully wrapped in a scrap of cloth.

“For you,” you said simply, offering the flowers.

Gen’s usual confident smirk softened into something rarer — genuine surprise. “For me?” he asked, voice low and a little unsure.

You nodded, heart pounding as you watched his expression shift.

He took the bouquet slowly, inhaling the scent as if savoring a secret.

“Well played,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with newfound respect. “You’ve managed to outwit the world’s smoothest talker.”

He looked up at you, a spark of vulnerability shining through the mask he wore so well. “I suppose this means I’ll have to step up my game.”

The next morning, Gen arrived earlier than usual, a small flower tucked behind his ear and an expectant glint in his eye. “A challenge, then,” he declared, “to decode the meaning behind this mysterious bouquet you’ve gifted me.”

He held the flowers close, turning them over thoughtfully. “Lavender—calm, yes. And roses—passion, perhaps? But the sunflowers… and these tiny blue forget-me-nots? Hmm.” He paused, biting his lip in mock concentration, eyes dancing with amusement.

“You’ve woven quite the tale here,” he said finally, “but I’ll admit, I’m stumped.”

You chuckled, enjoying the rare moment of humility in the man who rarely let his guard down.

“That’s because the meanings aren’t just for your mind to solve,” you teased gently. “They’re for your heart.”

Gen’s eyes flickered with something like warmth. “Well, in that case, consider me thoroughly touched.”

From then on, the daily ritual transformed into a delicate dance between two players who understood the language of unspoken feelings.

Sometimes, as Gen handed you his carefully chosen flower with a mischievous tale, you’d slip a secret bloom into his belongings when he wasn’t looking. A single violet pressed between the pages of his notebook, symbolizing modesty and faithfulness. A sprig of rosemary tied to his belt, for remembrance and loyalty.

You caught him once, staring at a tiny sprig of thyme you’d hidden in his satchel, the meaning unmistakably clear: courage and strength.

“Careful,” he warned with a crooked smile, “if I keep accepting these gifts, I might just start believing there’s something real behind your pretty little tricks.”

“And if I keep accepting yours,” you replied softly, “maybe we’ll both have to admit the truth.”

Kaseki noticed the new tradition, grinning knowingly as he watched Gen’s antics. “You know,” he said one day, “you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Or should I say, wrapped around your bouquet.”

Suika giggled, bouncing nearby. “Yeah! Gen’s all flustered every time you get flowers.”

Gen only pretended to scowl, but you caught the faintest blush coloring his cheeks.

Despite the harsh world around you—the struggle to survive, the constant fight for the future—the two of you found moments of lightness. In flowers and whispered meanings, in playful deception and sincere affection.

Because even a master manipulator like Gen deserved to feel seen, to be surprised, to be cared for.

And you, well, you loved being the one who could do just that.

[reomikagekin]

Tsukasa x reader??

The two are like childhood friends, dating type shit pre-petrification.

So a couple of months pass by, like after hyoga and ukyo revived, tsukasa like "yo we goin somewhere" and they nod or something and follow him to some place and they see a petrified person covered in vines like a statue

tsukasa pours the revival fluid and BAM revive, before tsukasa could even tell reader hwat is going on reader just starts yapping about shit(prolly mid sentence bro just love dumps on tsukasa) this catches the two offguard but not tsukasa who's used to it.

so basically silly, energetic reader x tsukasa (reader is intelligent and observant, could be famous for smth idk, twofaced)

would love to see interactions w other tsukasa empire mems and possibly kingdom of science!!!(>_<)

mb ive been really freaky about tsukasa lately

its okay i understand the freak in you..

Statues and Sunlight

You’d been holding Tsukasa’s hand when the sky turned to stone.

Your fingers were laced in his, like they always had been since you were thirteen and confident enough to swing his arm while walking home from school. You were the firework, the sparkler, the bright-eyed chaos. He was the calm night sky holding it all. And even when things got rough—like the time he came home bloody-knuckled from a fight with his father—you always found a way to make him laugh, even if it was just a twitch of his lips.

That day, you'd been ranting about something—probably some dumb TV show, or how annoying your classmates were. He was listening, as he always did, face soft but eyes focused.

And then it happened. The flash. The light. The silence.

“You’re being weird,” you chirped as you trailed behind Tsukasa, weaving through the vines and rubble like it was your own backyard.

“I’m always like this,” he replied without turning. His voice was smooth as stone, warm in a way that never showed on his face.

“Okay, technically true,” you said, nearly tripping on a root, “but like... weird-weird. The weird-weird you get when you're about to do something Important with a capital ‘I’.”

He said nothing.

You narrowed your eyes. “Tsukasa. My boyfriend. My one and only. My glorious jungle himbo. If you are leading me into a murder trap, I will scream.”

“I’m not,” he said calmly.

“Good. Because I haven’t done my makeup today and I refuse to die ugly.”

That finally earned you a breath of amusement. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, lips twitching slightly. “You look beautiful.”

“Obvious, but appreciated,” you said with a wink.

Then your gaze drifted forward, and you saw it—nestled between moss and roots and nature’s slow reclaiming, a stone figure. Arms curled like it had been trying to shield itself from the sky. Its face was soft, eyes closed. Whoever they were, they looked like they had been dreaming for a thousand years.

You blinked. “...This one’s new.”

Tsukasa knelt by the statue and pulled the vial from the pouch at his side.

You crouched beside him, elbow nudging gently against his. “You sure about this one?”

“I am.”

No hesitation. As always.

Tsukasa poured the revival fluid.

The crackling sound of stone shattering into life rang through the clearing. The figure gasped—airless and desperate—collapsing into the dirt with the grace of a felled tree.

And you?

You exploded.

“OHMYGODTSUKASA—TSUKASA DID YOU SEE THAT? THEY JUST—THEY WERE STONE AND NOW THEY’RE PEOPLE—you seriously never get tired of doing this?? Like the way you just—like whoosh! Statue? Nope! Human again! You’re literally the hottest necromancer I've ever met—”

“Necromancer?” the person on the ground wheezed.

“Oh, sorry, don’t mind me,” you said quickly, waving a hand as you dropped to your knees to help. “You’re okay! You were stone! You're back! Welcome to the apocalypse! Also that’s Tsukasa—he’s very tall, very strong, and very much mine, so no funny business.”

The person coughed, bewildered and weak, and you helped prop them up.

Tsukasa didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to.

He just watched you—like he always did—with that quiet reverence he never put into words.

“You confessed again,” Ukyo said, sipping from a carved wooden cup like he was watching a soap opera.

Hyoga raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t she do that yesterday?”

“I do it like three times a week,” you said cheerfully, perched sideways on a rock with your legs crossed and a fruit in your hand. “Keeps him on his toes.”

Gen leaned over with a smirk. “But does it work?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Tsukasa walked past just then, laid a hand on your head gently, and said, “You’re being loud again.”

“Which means you were listening,” you said smugly.

He didn’t deny it.

Hyoga shook his head. “Love makes people soft.”

“I think it’s endearing,” Ukyo said. “In a disturbing, clingy sort of way.”

Gen leaned over to Hyoga. “I give it a week before she proposes again.”

“She already did that last month,” Ukyo replied.

“I WAS JOKING,” you shouted. “Mostly!”

You were sitting by the fire, legs tucked up to your chest. Tsukasa sat nearby, quietly sharpening his spear. The other members of the camp had drifted off, laughter replaced by soft nighttime chirping and crackling flames.

You nudged his foot with yours.

He looked up.

“Thanks for bringing me,” you said.

“You’d have followed me anyway.”

“True. But it still means something that you wanted me there.”

He paused. His dark eyes softened.

You continued, voice quieter now, laced with something more serious than your usual brightness.

“I used to think... when we woke up, that maybe you wouldn’t still want me around. Like maybe the world had changed and you wouldn’t need someone who just talks too much and knows too much and annoys the hell out of everyone.”

He set his spear down. “You don’t annoy me.”

You gave a breathless laugh. “Liar.”

“I’m not.”

Silence settled for a moment. Then—

“You were the last person I saw before it all went dark,” he said. “Your voice was the last thing I heard.”

You blinked.

“You were always loud,” he added, fondly. “But... you made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

You leaned into him, just enough to rest your temple against his arm.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “So much.”

His hand rose slowly, gently brushing your hair back from your face.

“I found you first,” he said. “That’s how I knew I wasn’t dreaming.”

BONUS: Kingdom of Science Meets You

Senku looked at you like you were a living migraine.

“So you’re her,” he muttered.

“Guilty,” you said, twirling a strand of your hair. “You’re that science guy who Tsukasa once tried to kill.”

Gen winced.

Senku folded his arms. “I see your type. Over-affectionate, mildly unhinged, too observant for comfort.”

“Oh please,” you beamed. “That’s exactly what makes me perfect.”

Chrome leaned over to Kohaku. “Are they dating on purpose?”

“I can’t tell if she’s insane or a genius,” Kohaku muttered.

“Both,” Tsukasa answered from behind you.

You beamed at him.

Senku sighed. “Well, if she helps keep him from smashing skulls again, I guess I’ll allow it.”

“I’m also good at math!” you said brightly.

“...Huh.”

“AND espionage.”

Gen actually choked on his drink.

Tsukasa just looked proud.

THE NEXT NIGHT.

You sat beside Tsukasa in the quiet of dusk, watching the wind brush through the trees.

“Do you still want to build a new world?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the way his jaw tensed. “I want to build a better one.”

You nodded.

“I just...” you hesitated. “Hope I’m still in it. Your better world.”

Tsukasa turned to you fully then, eyes gentle. “You always were.”

You bit your lip to stop from smiling too hard. “Damn it. You’re really gonna make me fall in love with you again.”

“You never stopped.”

And when he kissed you—careful, reverent, with the weight of years in his hands—you kissed him back like you'd been waiting 3,700 years.

Because maybe, in a way, you had.

[reomikagekin]

I’m finna request Senku lshigami this time 🤭

We were famous/strong enough for Minami to get Tsukasa to revive us to join him and yada yada yada you know how the rest of the story goes. So after all that, we had joined the ‘gorilla’ team.

Senku never really paid any attention to us, mainly just assigning jobs and walking past each other, at least that’s what we thought. OH HOW WRONG WE WERE

I like to imagine Senku having absolutely NO idea of how to handle his first ever crush since he had always thought of romantic feelings being illogical and a waste of time. So while he appears to be indifferent, he’s actually panicking and screaming in the inside every time he gets a single ounce of attention from us, even just a graze of skin gets him spiraling. Like his hand starts shaking if it’s near our hand, one time we noticed him shaking and was GENUINELY CONCERNED like bro are you ok? 😭

Bro tries so hard to be nonchalant, but nothing gets past Gen when it comes to romance. Mf would be teasing Senku so much 😭

So once Yuzuriha decides to host a fashion show to advertise her clothing brand, Gen convinces her to let us walk the stage as well.

We’re walking the stage looking all hot in our outfit 🤭😍 (I personally like grunge style, I think it’s so cool)

And once Senku sees us he’s just can’t take his eyes off of us. All red in the face that you can see steam rising cartoonishly up from his head

What comes after is up to you oh dear Shakespeare

i like being called shakespear.. this is an honor..

Critical Reaction

The world had changed drastically since the day you were revived.

Stone cracked from your skin like ash on a windy day, your breath came ragged and new, and your name—a name spoken by Minami and presented to Tsukasa like a golden ticket—echoed in the stone age like a song from another life.

You were no ordinary person. Known once in the world before the light, your strength, influence, and tactical mind had earned you a place at Tsukasa’s side. But the world had shifted beneath your feet again, and somehow, through war and survival and science, you ended up among the so-called “Gorilla Team,” throwing your lot in with Senku Ishigami and his scientific crusade.

Senku. The boy genius with the celery-stalk hair and eyes like cracked jade under pressure. From the moment you joined his ranks, he treated you with the same indifferent professionalism he gave everyone else. Names became assignments. Faces turned into moving variables in his perpetual equation of survival. You barely exchanged more than a few words a week with him. Sometimes a curt nod. A scientific directive. The occasional dry quip.

You thought nothing of it.

And oh, how wrong you were.

From the outside, Senku looked like the model of composure. Focused. Sharp. Intellect blazing with every new invention. But inside?

Pandemonium.

You. Were. His. First. Crush.

The realization had snuck up on him like a virus—slow, insidious, and utterly disruptive to his mental processes.

It started with a touch. Just a brush of your hand against his when passing him a beaker, and suddenly his neurons were lighting up like fireflies in a vacuum chamber. His hand had trembled, barely noticeable, but your perceptive gaze caught it.

“Hey, you good?” you had asked, brows furrowed. “You’re shaking.”

“Probably a minor tremor. Could be dehydration. Maybe I'm just dying. Who knows.” He’d blurted it without thinking, voice slightly higher than usual, before turning and walking away at speeds that did not befit a man who called emotions "illogical."

The moment he got back to his lab bench, he slammed a hand on the table, face flushed so red he looked like a dying star.

“What the hell is happening to me,” he whispered to no one.

But Gen heard. Gen always heard.

The mentalist materialized like a fox smelling blood in the snow, eyes gleaming with mischief and the type of knowledge Senku desperately wished he could erase from existence.

“Ohhh? Could it be that our stoic little scientist has a cruuuush~?” Gen sang, flopping onto a nearby stool like he had all the time in the world.

“Shut up, Gen.”

“You can’t even look at them without turning into a human bunsen burner. That’s adorable.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, this could be the start of a beautiful scientific experiment. Hypothesis: You’re screwed.”

Senku didn’t dignify that with a response. He just scribbled furious calculations that didn’t actually solve anything and tried to think about the chemical makeup of soap instead of the way your voice sent electric currents up his spine.

And then came the fashion show.

Yuzuriha, ever industrious and inventive, had crafted a full line of clothing as a soft launch of her brand. Light materials. Strong stitching. A beautiful mix of traditional and modern.

Gen, never missing an opportunity to stir the pot, casually suggested that you should walk the makeshift runway they were building in the middle of the village square.

“Oh please, Yuzuriha, you’d be insane not to let them model. That grunge aesthetic? The walk? The attitude? Instant sell-out, darling.”

You’d agreed with a smirk and a shrug. It sounded fun.

Senku, meanwhile, had been suspiciously quiet for the entire planning session. So quiet that Kohaku had nudged him and whispered, “Are you calculating something? You look like you’re in pain.”

He was in pain. His brain was short-circuiting from just the idea of seeing you all dressed up, striding down the runway like a meteor of cool, composed confidence.

And when the day came, when the makeshift spotlight caught you in that outfit—

Senku nearly died.

You were a walking contradiction: raw strength wrapped in jagged, elegant chaos. Ripped black layers clung to your form just right, belts and chains clinking softly with every step. Fingerless gloves. Combat boots. Dark eyeliner and wind-tousled hair. You looked like you stepped out of a post-apocalyptic concert and into his central nervous system.

His jaw actually dropped.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

Steam might as well have been billowing from his head. Gen was cackling in the background like a gremlin who had just witnessed the second coming of comedy.

You locked eyes with Senku for half a second.

He looked like someone had just hit him with a physics textbook and stolen his ability to speak. His whole body froze, pupils dilated like a deer in scientific headlights.

You gave him a little wink. A wink.

He walked straight into a bamboo pole.

Later that evening, you found him sitting alone on a boulder outside the village, staring at the stars like he was trying to science away the red still dusting his cheeks.

You dropped down beside him, close enough that your knees brushed.

“You alright, genius? You looked like you were about to combust back there.”

He stiffened slightly. “…I’m perfectly functional.”

“Uh huh. Is that why you walked into a pole like a confused bird?”

“Data suggests the pole was placed at a hazardous angle.”

You laughed. A low, genuine sound that wrapped around his thoughts and dragged them down like gravity wells. He hated how much he liked it. Hated how his heart felt like it was doing backflips in a centrifuge.

You leaned in, eyes catching the starlight just right.

“You don’t have to be so robotic all the time, Senku.”

He swallowed. Loudly. His voice was quieter when he answered.

“I don’t… know how to be anything else.”

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Then let me help.”

And something short-circuited in his chest all over again.

This was illogical. Dangerous. Ridiculous.

And yet…

For the first time in his life, Senku Ishigami didn’t want to understand something.

He just wanted to feel it.

And maybe—just maybe—with you beside him, that wouldn’t be so impossible after all.

[reomikagekin]

Can you make a fic about a reader that has very bad mental strength and she is going through alien stage (basicly just her interacting with all the characters and their dynamics) also just a little detail shes probably like the little sister because shes the youngest

Alien Stage — Little Sibling with a Fragile Heart

You’re the youngest among the group — barely out of your teens, eyes always a little too wide, shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Your mental strength is fragile, and the pressures of Alien Stage only make everything feel heavier. Sometimes you can barely get out of bed, and other times you try to smile and be “normal” for the others, but it’s exhausting.

They all notice, in their own ways.

Mizi — The Gentle Anchor

Mizi sees the flicker of pain behind your smiles. The way you sometimes drift off during group talks or retreat to corners. She’s always gentle, her kindness quiet but steady.

One afternoon, she finds you sitting on the floor backstage, knees pulled to your chest, staring at your hands. She kneels beside you and offers her sketchbook without a word.

“I’m drawing,” she says softly. “Want to try?”

You hesitate, the lump in your throat heavy, but she doesn’t rush you. Slowly, you take the pencil. The lines you make are shaky at first, but Mizi’s presence calms the frantic noise inside your head.

As you draw together, she hums quietly, a melody that settles your racing thoughts.

Sua — The Possessive Protector

Sua rarely talks to anyone except Mizi — but with you, her walls crack a little.

At first, she’s distant, watching you with narrowed eyes, wary and untrusting. But she notices your fragility, how you shrink away when people crowd you, how your voice trembles even when you try to be strong.

One day, she finds you flinching when someone bumps into you in the hallway. Without a word, she steps in between you and the others.

“Don’t let them bother you,” she says, voice low and fierce.

She’s bold, surprising even you, fiercely protective like a sister.

When Ivan tries to get close, Sua’s irritation flashes, but with you, she’s different — softer, quieter.

“You’re… okay,” she admits once, eyes flickering with something almost like warmth.

And though she rarely opens up, when you’re around, her cold exterior melts into delicate kindness.

Till — The Calm Comforter

Till is quiet and observant, never pushing but always there.

During rehearsals, when your anxiety flares, he doesn’t bombard you with words or pressure.

Instead, he offers you a water bottle or a quiet smile from across the room.

One evening, when the panic in your chest feels unbearable, he sits beside you on the bench, just breathing calmly.

“No rush,” he says gently. “You don’t have to keep up with anyone but yourself.”

His calm presence soothes the storm inside you, reminding you that it’s okay to slow down.

Ivan — The Relatable Ally

Ivan respects your honesty — even if it’s quiet, hesitant, or awkward.

You don’t try to hide your fears or pretend to be invincible.

Sometimes, he shares stories of his own struggles — how he masks his pain with smiles, how he’s been broken too.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he tells you once, voice soft but sure. “You don’t have to pretend.”

His words carry weight. For the first time, you believe maybe you’re not alone in this.

Hyuna — The Energetic Shield

Hyuna’s bubbly energy fills the room, but she senses when to dial it back for you.

When your nerves spike, she doesn’t flood you with words or questions.

Instead, she hums softly or squeezes your hand gently.

Once, when she catches you trying to force a smile, she shakes her head and says, “Stop pretending, okay? You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Her fierce kindness becomes your shield — a safe place to rest your weary heart.

Luka — The Quiet Guardian

Luka is distant to most, but not to you.

He sees the vulnerability you try to hide and respects your silence.

Sometimes, when everything feels too much, he pulls you aside.

“You don’t have to hide here,” he says quietly. “We’re not just performers. We’re family.”

His words surprise you, but they make something inside you soften.

With Luka, you know you belong somewhere — with them.

----------------------------------------------------

Your Place in the Family

You’re their little sibling — fragile but loved, scared but brave in your own way.

They don’t expect you to be perfect. They don’t want you to pretend.

With every shaky breath, every quiet tear, every awkward smile, they’re there.

Because family isn’t about being the strongest.

It’s about holding each other up when the world feels too heavy.

[reomikagekin]

Hey!!! I love your work :D ! This may be a little bit of a goofy request, and I'm not entirely sure if you know this character, but could I have alnst characters (main 6) x a Xie Lian - like reader? Thank you so much in advance. :)

Alien Stage x Xie Lian–Like Reader

Mizi She’s drawn instantly to your quiet kindness. You don’t flaunt your talents or your kindness — it just naturally radiates. When she’s feeling overwhelmed or down, you offer support with soft words and patient listening, never pushing, but always there. Mizi finds herself smiling a lot more around you. Sometimes you get caught up in awkward or embarrassing moments, and instead of laughing at yourself, you just let out a breathy laugh and shrug it off — it makes her heart ache in the best way. She admires your loyalty and how you never forget those who have helped you, no matter the pain or hardship. To her, you’re like a quiet anchor in the chaos.

Sua Sua is fascinated by your gentle spirit and how you treat everyone equally, no matter who they are. You don’t care about status or power, and that humbles him, even if he tries not to show it. He loves how you don’t let past grievances poison your heart — if someone wronged you, you might be wary, but you’re still willing to help or forgive. It confuses him, but it’s also beautiful. Sometimes, Sua teases you playfully, seeing how you get adorably flustered, but he knows you’re strong inside — even when the world’s pressure makes you feel small, you’re brave and steady. He respects that deeply.

Till Till’s naturally reserved, but around you, he feels an unusual warmth. Your kindness is quiet, but it speaks volumes. You don’t expect praise or gratitude, you just want to help where you can. He notices how sometimes you get embarrassed in small social moments, and he secretly finds it endearing — a softness that contrasts your calm strength. Till trusts you quickly, drawn to your unwavering loyalty and compassion. He doesn’t say it often, but he’s glad you’re in his life — like a steady hand guiding him when things get rough.

Ivan Ivan is intrigued by your humility. You don’t wear your abilities like a crown, and you treat him like an equal, never condescending. That feels rare and precious. He sometimes watches you deal with awkward situations — the small blushes, the gentle laughs, the way you stumble over your words but keep going — and he wants to protect that part of you. Ivan respects your strategic mind, how you stay calm even in the worst situations. But he also loves the moments you’re just… you — quietly hopeful, loyal, and unaware of how deeply people like him care for you.

Hyuna Hyuna loves your gentle warmth. You’re not loud or flashy, but you hold a quiet strength that makes people want to be near you. She often notices how you handle embarrassment with such grace, never bitter or angry, just a shy smile and a shake of the head. It makes her want to tease you, but also protect you fiercely. Hyuna feels lucky to be someone you trust — your loyalty and kindness to everyone, including her, make her heart flutter. She knows you’re rare, and she’s not letting go anytime soon.

Luka Luka is usually cool and guarded, but with you, there’s a softness he can’t hide. Your kindness is sincere, but never overbearing — you understand the weight of the world without letting it crush you. He admires how you’re willing to forgive and help even those who have hurt you. It’s something he struggles to do, and he finds himself wanting to be better because of you. When you get shy or awkward around him, his expression softens — he wants you to know you’re safe with him, no matter what. Your quiet strength and gentle heart are a light in his darker world.

Optional Romantic Flavor Whenever someone flirts or teases you (maybe like Sua’s subtle teasing), you get adorably flustered, cheeks turning pink and words stumbling out. They find this innocent bashfulness irresistible, and it only deepens their feelings for you. You might not always catch their romantic hints, but that only makes them want to be closer, to care for you more.

[reomikagekin]

au till (modern) catching reader doing something bad to themselves and then with him comforting reader?? i'm sorry if that's a too much •́｡•̀

Quiet Comfort

The city was hushed at night, the distant hum of traffic the only sound beneath the muted glow of streetlights. You sat on the edge of your bed, fingers trembling as they traced faint scars on your skin you’d hoped no one would ever notice. The weight inside your chest pressed down like an unbearable silence — heavy, suffocating, and utterly lonely.

You thought you were alone.

But the soft creak of the door startled you — a hesitant, familiar presence. Till.

He wasn’t supposed to be home yet, but something had pulled him back. Maybe it was a whisper in his gut, a feeling he couldn’t shake. When he opened the door just a crack and saw you, he froze.

The sight of your arm, the quiet shake of your hands — it tore at him in a way he hadn’t expected. His sensitive nature trembled, but his timid heart pushed him forward, toward you, not away.

He stepped inside slowly, not wanting to scare you. His voice was soft, barely above a breath, “Hey... I’m here. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, eyes burning with the secret pain you’d kept hidden so long. But the truth was out now. Till saw. And something inside you cracked — a fragile thread of trust forming in the quiet space he made just for you.

Without asking, he sat beside you on the bed, careful not to crowd you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His presence was calm — steady like a lighthouse in the storm.

His hand reached out, shaking slightly. You tensed at first, unused to touch. But when his fingers brushed lightly against yours, gentle and unhurried, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself lean into the soft pressure, his thumb tracing tiny circles over your knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Till whispered, voice thick with emotion you hadn’t heard from him before. “You don’t have to be alone with this. Ever.”

His words felt like a lifeline. You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding as you finally allowed the tears to spill — silent and slow, but cleansing.

Till didn’t say anything else. He just held your hand, keeping his other arm loosely around your back. His touch was careful, like he was afraid you might break, but also strong enough to carry you through this moment.

Minutes passed. The silence wasn’t empty — it was full of understanding, patience, and a quiet promise that you weren’t invisible anymore.

At one point, you whispered, voice barely audible, “I don’t know how to stop.”

Till’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t have all the answers, but he had a heart wide enough to hold your pain.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said gently. “Step by step. You’re not alone in this.”

You looked at him then — really looked — and saw the raw kindness in his eyes, the way he was willing to be vulnerable for you. It made something inside loosen.

He pulled a blanket over both of you, wrapping you in warmth. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady beneath you. His hair was soft against your cheek, his scent familiar and comforting.

Till reached over and pulled his sketchbook from the nightstand. With delicate strokes, he began to draw. The pencil whispered against the paper, filling the quiet with soft movement. He sketched shapes and patterns, nothing complicated, just the gentle flow of his creativity calming his restless mind — and yours.

Every now and then, his eyes met yours, sharing silent encouragement. No pressure, no expectations, just the space to breathe.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. You felt the sharp edges of your pain soften, dulled by Till’s quiet companionship.

When your tears dried, he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face and murmured, “You’re stronger than you think. And I’ll be here, every step.”

You clung to those words like a lifeline.

As dawn crept in through the curtains, the first soft light caught Till’s face — peaceful and vulnerable, just like you felt.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and whispered, “We’ll get through this. Together.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.