It was another warm night. The farm house was quiet, the only noise being the occasional gust of wind blowing outside. That and Leo's breathing.āØāØ You were close to drifting, it didn't sound shallow enough for him to be asleep. He was still playing with your hair, that was more than enough to give him away.āØāØ "You okay?" you asked, raspy and quiet from drowsiness. He felt you squeeze his arm and he reached for your hand.āØāØ "Can't sleep.."āØāØ With some willpower you got yourself to sit up and move to rest higher on the pillows.āØāØ "C'mere," you said, patting your chest. He turned over and wrapped his arms around your frame as he tucked his head underneath yours. You hummed, voice still laced with sleep but he could hear you smiling. He pressed his ear to your sternum, listening to your heartbeat. Your body was radiating warmth and he nuzzled closer.āØāØ With one arm draped over him, you used your hand to feel the little ridges on his shell. The other hand held his head gently before you let your fingers start to trace up and down the bridge of his snout and between his eyes.āØāØ He felt a smile creep up on him and break out across his face. He hummed a little.āØāØ "What're you doing?" he said, soft and lazy. You kissed his temple.āØāØ "Tryin to put you to sleep," you smiled, whispering close. "Works on dogs n cats, might work for a turtle.."āØāØ This made him laugh. He scratched your back while your digits ran along his face.āØāØ "Are you comparing me to a pet?"āØāØ "Mm," you giggled sleepily, "domesticated n' everything."āØāØ "Very flattering," he deadpanned, playfully annoyed. You moved to prop your head on your hand, looking down at him.āØāØ "I can stop if you want," you teased. He grabbed your hand from underneath you and moved it back to his face.āØāØ "I never said that.."āØāØ "Yeah," you laughed, resuming your gentle touches, "that's what I thought."āØāØ The monotonous movements of your fingers running over him was almost meditative, and he took solace in the touch as it gave him something else to focus on other than his own thoughts.āØāØ "Love you," he mumbled sleepily. You blushed and smiled before leaning down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.āØāØ "I love you too."
The Earth orbits the Sun. Michelangelo is your sun.
content: idw mikey // nsfw & angst // fem reader
There are a lot of things that you have messed up in your lifeāschool, friends, relationships, your career...
But you think you must have done something right when Mikey is hovering over you, the tails of his mask brushing against your face as he kisses you. Even when you break away for air, you're back to chasing each other's lips again, a sense of urgency in the way his hands sneak under your shirt while you tug at the belt around his waist. When his strong thigh grinds against where you're sensitive, you have to pull away from the kiss just to tip your head back.
"Fuck, Mikey." You whimper in a way you know he likesāyou've had enough time to figure out what gets him going and what doesn't. You're rewarded with a dazzling grin before his thigh is replaced by his large hand, fingers rubbing against your clothed cunt, your wet panties the only thing separating the two of you.
"Think you can cum for me like this?" He asks, his lips against your neck. You clutch onto his shoulder as he strokes harder and faster, feeling dizzy with growing pleasure. It barely takes him any effort until you're chanting his name in between broken pleas for him to be inside you.
"Not tonight." He coos, which strikes you as odd, because Mikey never misses the chance to rut into youāthis is usually a sign that something has happened, but before you can think more of it, Mikey has pulled aside your underwear so he can finally push a thick digit inside you. You jolt against the mattress, an erotic sound escaping your lips as he thrusts his finger rhythmically. You spare him a blurry glance, and you're given pause when you see an oddly sombre expression on his face, despite having you under him. However, when his brown eyes meet your concerned ones, he immediately ambushes you with a flurry of frantic kisses as he curls his finger in a way that has you keening.
You climax with a muffled wail as he pushes you through your orgasm. When you finally relax, flopping like a sack of potatoes against your sheets, Mikey is already reaching for the wipes and hand sanitiser you keep by your bedside table. Usually, he'd lie down beside you, lips brushing against your bare skin as he chatted about whatever came to mind. Now, he's practically racing to fasten the rest of his gear and straighten the loosened knot of his mask. Your heart clenches.
"Mikey?" You say quietly, and he freezes. He glances at you over his shoulder and gives you a thin smile.
"Yeah?" He asks, his eyes focused on your faceāagain, weird, because he would never hesitate to look you over with an appreciative eye when your bra strap slips off your shoulder, and you're gazing at him with unfettered want. You open your mouth, fingers digging into the plush of your blanket as you stumble over what to say.
"Do you... think you can stay?" You request with a hitched breath. Despite this unspoken arrangement between the two of you, Mikey is never cold to you even after he's had his fill. He talks, entertains, and lies beside you because, more than anything, he is your best friend and favourite person.
Even if you want to be more.
The corner of his lips dropsājust for a split second, but it doesn't escape your notice. Ice-cold fear washes over you, even as he shoots you a weak smile.
"Sorry, I, uh... gotta go." He stammers, and he never does that or gives you such half-assed answers. Your heart sinks as he turns away, raising the lift of your window so he can slip into the night. Yet, he abruptly pauses, as if contemplating something, before whipping around to face you. Faster than you can register, his hand cups your jaw, and he's drawing you into a kiss. It's chaste and gentleāunlike the ones you exchange while in the heat of the moment. Yet, before you can reciprocate, he pulls away. His breath dances with yours, and his eyes are set, though they soften at the corners as he gazes at you.
"You... mean a lot to me, you know that?" His thumb brushes against your skin, and it's too soft. "Take care of yourself."
Your eyes widen, questions sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he's already vaulting out of your window with adept speed. Somehow, only one thought sits in your mind.
He never kisses you before he leaves.
You do not see Mikey again. He's unreachable by phone. You take it exactly as one would expect from you.
You had tossed and broken any belongings he had left behind. You oscillated between two extremesāoverworking and barely moving a muscle. You even tried letting another stranger run their hands over you, until you had to stop them because you felt like throwing up if it wasn't Mikey in the bed with you.
It takes over a year before someone knocks at your door. That someone is not Mikey.
The man introduces himself as Casey Jones. He claims to be a mutual friend of Mikey. Upon his request, he came over to ask if you wanted to sneak into Mutant Town to meet the turtle again. For a full minute, you consider slamming the door in his face.
Mutant Town is dangerous. It's illegal to be there. You could be jailed. Mikey is not worth the effort, especially after what he did to you.
You say yes anyway.
The journey there is not one you can recall with a clear mind. You ducked and ran when told to, until eventually you slipped past the EPF's notice and into the walls of Mutant TownāMikey's new home. The one he built far away from you.
The house is run-down and in need of repair, just like everything that surrounds him. Turtles you vaguely recognise as his siblings greet you first, apprehension and curiosity lingering in their eyes as they allow you inside. You have to swallow down the bile that rises to your throat at the thought of Mikey never telling them about you until now.
You hate him.
You hate him, even when he turns the corner and sees you, his brown eyes brightening as if he were standing under the sun rather than a dinky ceiling light.
You hate him, even when he wraps you in a tight embrace and introduces you to his family.
You hate him, even when he takes you to his room and shows off his meagre possessions because, unlike you, Mikey can be grateful even with so, so little.
You hate him, even when he flashes you a grin, and you duck your head to kiss him. His hands fly to your shoulders, gently pushing you away. Despite his flushed face, itās concern that you find in his eyes. He says your name quietly, almost piteously, but you don't want to hear what he has to say. You kiss him again, leaning in till he's falling back onto his sheets. After a moment, he moves against you, reciprocating until you break for air. In that brief second you take to catch your breath, he's gazing up at you in silence. Slowly, his hands reach to cup your face, the corner of his lips quirking up into a small, rueful smile. He utters your name with too much sentimentāthe kind you can't handle.
"Are you lonely again?"
He says nothing as you stare at him vacantly, hoping to find the nonchalance he had when he left you behind. Yet, when you take in the sight of his vivid eyes, the cute sweater he dons, and the pudge of his cheeks, you choke upāyou miss him. You love him. You need him, even if he canāt feel the same for you. Your shoulders shudder as you drop onto him, your face pressing against his chest as wretched, muffled sobs escape your lips. He just wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you seek out whatever warmth you can from him.
i feel like he would probably be open to the idea of being a father especially since master splinter said he would be a good father
and now hes just like. fuck i gotta defy biology. i NEED to put a baby in you
I know this is a horny post, but I gotta add my two cents. Personally, I don't think he'd have a breeding kinkāor at least, the thought of getting you pregnant wouldn't actively get him worked up, but he does have thoughts about having a baby with you...
Leo was pretty neutral on the concept of having children. He knows it's never going to happen, so what's the point in entertaining the idea? He's already looking after a team, and despite most of his brothers having moved out or pursuing their independent lives, he is still the head of the family that they look towards when worst comes to worst.
Then, Raph tells the group that he and Mona are having a child, and the thought seeps into Leo's mind like an infestation. He'd sit with you as you chatter about where you can possibly get clothes for a turtle/salamander hybrid baby. He's nodding along and sharing quips until a sudden question crosses his mindāwhere would he get clothes for his child?
The impulsive thought causes him to choke on the soda he'd been sipping on, and he has to ignore your worried remarks just to fight back the flush rising to his face. What kind of thought was that?
He tries to ignore it, pretending it's a fluke. Yet, later, when he's got you whining against his sheets, his mind tracks back to something Donnie had mentioned a while ago when Raph had awkwardly inquired about the chances of them being able to get someone pregnantāOh, goddamn it, Raph had been planning this for ages, Leo just realises.
"Maybe one percent?" Donnie muses distractedly as he reads over some blueprints. "Could be even less."
When Leo finally cums inside you, he guiltily hopes that you both land on the one percent.
I got carried away again... this was supposed to be a stupid dumb drabble based on @yummyrevivalfluid 's YouTuber Senku post. but then I couldn't stop, and then I wanted to get some of my other senku ideas out of the way, and then it just spiraled into this long, semi-serious fic.... so yeah, enjoy!
cws: slow burn, strangers to partners to lovers, friends to lovers, mutual pining, nerds in love, social media stuff, reader is a flirt, eventual relationship, senku is lowk OOC, he's also down bad (#needthat), kinda cringe ngl...
nsfw cws: first times, emotional sex, switch dynamics, fingering, handjob, wrap it before you tap it (they do not...), hair pulling (giving), very implied voice kink,pillow talk, lmk if I missed anything major!
12.5k words
When you first stumbled across Mecha Senku, it was because your college chemistry professor couldnāt explain ionic bonding properly even if their life depended on it. And honestly? That wouldāve been fine. You werenāt failing or falling behind on anything. You were the kind of person who took the time to color-code your notes. With pretty pastel highlighters and calligraphy titles like your professor wasn't speaking at 60mph.Ā
You visibly got annoyed when someone asked a question that had already been answered. Five minutes ago. Word for word. And you werenāt subtle about it either. The eye twitches. The sigh. In fact, you studied chapters ahead for fun! Call it being a try-hard, but it was just how you functioned. So when something didnāt click? When you didnāt understand something?
You spiraled. Productively, of course.
So here you are. 1:34AM. Snuggled up in your bed, lights off, blackout curtains drawn, and laptop open at full brightness as you scrolled YouTube, bleary-eyed and annoyed. The only light in the room is the faint blue glow of YouTubeās homepage and your will to academically succeed (read: suffer).Ā
You typed ābond anglesā into the search bar. Hit enter, and scrolled. Then a thumbnail caught your eye.
āPredicting Bond Angles ā (VSEPR Theory but not boring)ā Channel: Mecha Senku Runtime: 5:28
And then you heard it.
That voice. you practically drooled at your screen. It was soft and deep, yet raspy, like he talked too muchāwhich he didāor didnāt care if he wore out his throat explaining the same concept fifteen times. And when he rambled? Oh god. When he got caught up on a tangent about orbital hybridizationāwhen his voice cracked just slightly because his brain was going faster than his mouth?
Yeah, you were soaked.
Kidding.
...Maybe.
You pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders like that would protect you. Like you werenāt voluntarily listening to this man monologue about VSEPR models like it was foreplay.
You tried to focus on the science. Really, you did. He even had good diagramsāclean visuals, clear examples, actual accuracy. It was kind of annoying how helpful it was, actually. Like, did he have to sound hot while also being smart?
You watched the entire thing.
Then another.
Then another.
Before you knew it, you were five videos deep. At 2:11AM.
Your poor, old, worn-down laptop was probably overheating from the sheer amount of your spiraling. You didnāt even care.
And thenā¦ there was that video.
A short one. Barely three minutes.
āIodine Clock Reaction ā Visual Chemistry in Real Timeā
You clicked on it like you were possessed.
It was simpleātwo clear liquids, a few drops of starch, and a timer. You knew the experiment already. Youād seen it done a dozen times in lab. Youād even done it yourself. But somehow, when he did it, it was a cinematic masterpiece.
The camera was angled just rightāfocused tight on his gloved hands, the faint clink of glass, the gentle pour of the liquid. His voice low, casual, like he was walking you through a magic trick instead of an actual chemical reaction.
And thenāthe clamps.
He adjusted the glassware with the same energy you imagined heād use to unbutton his lab coat (which you have no idea why your thoughts immediately ran there)āmethodical, focused, and totally unaware of the damage he was doing to your sanity. Forearms flexing, veins shifting, wrist angled just slightlyāYou blinked. Rewound ten seconds. Then watched it again.
Something dark and sinister bloomed in your chest. Something carnal. Unholy. You buried half your face in your pillow and made a sound that can only be described as a blowdryer on max output immediately followed by a deep, guttural moan. Like your soul was trying to evacuate your body in protestābut got stuck halfway out, sobbing.
You didnāt even know you had a thing for forearms.
Yet here you are. You were a mess. A high-functioning, academically driven, chemically confused mess, replaying a three-minute video about reaction rates like it was an award winning movie. Like it wasnāt educational.
āThis is fine. Iām still learning.ā You whispered to yourself
You werenāt.
At least, not about chemistry.
Extra notes about mecha senku!
Certified yapper; it gets so bad he just add timestamps to when he gets back on topic
Always says that stupid little catchphraseā āthis is exhilarating, get excitedā he canāt help himself, its like second nature
While editing his experiment videos, he add little text boxes that say ā*item* acquiredā ( like in the anime)
That comes in handy later
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
At first, it was a side project. Something to kill time between lectures, experiments, and tutoring sessions with students who couldnāt tell a mole from a molecule if their GPA depended on it. He kept the uploads short. Clean. No face, no fluff. Just experiments and explanationsācombustion, osmosis, acid-base reactions. The basic building blocks of chemistry and physics, broken down in that signature tone of his: concise, confident, and just slightly condescending.
Naturally, people loved it.
Especially college students. Especially the ones whoād seen too many dead-eyed professors stumble through half-baked PowerPointsĀ that they repurposed over the past 5 decades and somehow still made them boring.
He didnāt need gimmicks. Just science.
And, apparently, his voice.
The comments were... something. He ignored them, mostly. Or at least, tried to.
But even he had limits.
@lo1itado11: FLASH US!!!
@freakwy: ong WE all cracking
Username: i will combust and it wonāt be a controlled reaction.
Anotherusername: i can literally get off to his voice rn bro omgā¦
He sighed, deeply. Then dragged a hand through his loosely tied-up hair, fingers threading through strands that refused to stay neat. He didnāt even bother hiding the twitch in his left eye.
Degenerates. All of them.
Still, every new upload got thousands of views in under an hour. Every deep dive request was more unhinged than the last. And while he could ignore the thirst comments, he couldnāt deny the numbers.
His channel was growing. Fast. And if someone asked him to demonstrate a specific experiment?
Well.
He was a scientist.
And who was he to deny a request in the name of scientific curiosity?
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
Now, Senku wasnāt exactly an avid social media user.
Sure, he had all the apps downloadedāafter relentless badgering from Gen and Ryusui, who had both made it their mission to pressure him into being ānormalā for once.
Senku used Instagram occasionally, mostly to lurk. To like Taijuās blurry gym selfies. To comment āinaccurateā under Chromeās chaotic science photo dumpsāhalf of which somehow included a blurry photo of him.Ā
Nothing on his own feed, though. His personal account was private, untouched, maxed out at like 26 followersāhalf of which were probably bots, and one was definitely just Ryusuiās alt.
However, he was used to getting notifications on his side account. His real one. The one that mattered.
@/mecha.senku.
So when he got a ping from TikTok, he didnāt think much of it. Just a red-and-white flash in the corner of his screen as he walked past a group of undergrads in the quad, huddled around a phone, laughing. Loudly.
Then it happened again. Another ping. Then another.Ā
People tagging him in the same comment section. Spamming him.
Weird.
It wasnāt until after his lecture, holed up in the farthest corner of the campus library, headphones in, laptop open, coffee cooling rapidly at his elbow, half-forgotten.
The notification trail led to a single video.
At first glance, it was just a cake.
A badly decorated one at thatāa war crime in the form of buttercreamāuneven icing, no symmetry, and piped text that looked like it was written mid-seizure. He couldāve done better blindfolded. He was about to swipe away.
Until he saw the video thumbnail again.
He squinted. Froze. Looked closer.
It was you.
Holding a handful of what looked like paper-taped sticks. Your fingers curled delicately around them, like youād spent time choosing each one. The video hadnāt even started yet and it was already climbing in views, the likes ticking like a metronome. The top comment had nearly eighty thousand likes.
@/semioli: āI KNEW YOUāD PUT HIM FIRST OMFGā
Senku blinked. Then, almost reluctantly, pressed play.
āOkay, so this is my āHear Me Outā cake,ā you said with a breathless little laugh, voice rich with amusement and just the right touch of self-deprecation. āPlease donāt judgeā¦ā
You laughed nervously at the camera, your voice familiar in the way ambient noise becomes addictive. He knew youākind of. You were popular, at least on campus. Friendly with everyone. Smart. You asked questions in class that werenāt dumb, which was rare. People actually listened when you talked.
But he neverānot onceāimagined you listened to him.
Until the moment your fingersāpainted nails and allāplanted the first stick dead center into the cake. His channel logo. Bright. Unmistakable. Front and center.
Senku sat still. Very still. His breath caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
āI donāt know what it is about him,ā you went on, eyes wide and glittering like you couldnāt believe what you were admitting, ābut I feel a carnal type of desire whenever I hear his voice.ā
Silence.
Real, gut-wrenching silence.
Senku just stared at the screen. One brow lifted. Lips parted slightly. Blinking. Nothing.
āā¦What.ā
It wasnāt like he hadnāt heard shit like that before. He had. The comments under his videos were riddled with deranged confessionals and late-night voice-induced breakdowns. Heād seen them. Sighed at them. Maybe rolled his eyes on occasion.
But something about hearing you say thatāout loudāwhile staring directly into the camera, shoving his logo into a cake like it was the most natural thing in the worldā¦Now heās reading the rest of the comments, most of which you had liked.
āhis voice scratches my brain in just the right spot i canāt explain it.ā
āif he ever does a face reveal itās over for all of us.ā
āwhoever he is irl i hope heās single bc iām mentally married to him already.ā
āi canāt even watch his videos in public anymore istg.ā
A laugh, airy and sharp, passed out through his nose.
It was barely even a sound, just air. His head tilted back slowly against the chair, bones creaking lazily. One hand reached up, dragging through his hairāhalf-loose from the shitty tie job heād done earlier. He didnāt even realize he was smirking. Eyes narrowed. Lashes lowered. Something wicked curled across his face, subtle but steeped in ego.
So.
You were into him.
And you didnāt even know that he sat two rows behind you in lecture. That the guy scribbling thermodynamic equations while you twirled your pen and tapped your knee was the same voice that apparently haunted your dreams.
Interesting.
Very, very interesting.
Senku closed the tab. Then reopened it not even ten seconds later, still somehow thinking his sleep deprivation was finally catching up to him. Big mistake.
You were still thereāsmiling at the camera, laughing like you hadnāt just shoved a stick into a cake bearing his logo and said you felt a ācarnal desireā whenever you heard his voice.Ā
He stared at the screen like it personally offended him. It didnāt. Not really. The offense was fakeājust a weak cover for something worse, something much more humiliating.
You were attractive. That much had always been obvious.
He had eyes, didnāt he?
He wasnāt blind. He noticed things. Like the way you always had some elaborate doodle in the margins of your notebook that changed depending on your current hyperfixation. Like how you spoke with your hands, too fast sometimes, expressive. Like how your voice always had a bit of a lilt when you were excited about something, like you were trying not to talk over yourself. Like how you liked sitting near the window in lecture, even if it made it harder to see the board.
He noticed everything.
Which was the problem.
Because now he couldnāt stop noticing.
Your face. Your voice. Your laugh.Ā
And the worst part?
You were smart.
Not smart like āgets good grades.ā That wasnāt hard. Noāsmart like engaged. Curious. Your own brand of chaotic genius that showed up in how you argued with professors and picked at theories like they were complex puzzles meant for your hands alone.
You were confident. Passionate. Sharp.
You wereā¦
Fuck.
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands, groaning.
He didnāt do this. He didnāt getā¦ distracted. He didnāt get flustered. Romance wasnāt even on the table. It was too messy. Too emotional. Too inefficient. He had research. He had goals. The last thing he needed wasā
Another notification.
He glanced over. More tags. More people replying to your video.
More people joking, ā@mecha.senku bro SAY SOMETHING!!! WE KNOW YOU SEE THIS.ā
He hovered. His cursor blinking over the comment section.
He shouldnāt. There was no reason to. There was no benefit. No scientific purpose. NoāHe cracked his knuckles once. Took a slow breath. And typed.
@mecha.senku: Just a hear me out huh?
He pressed enter, then shut the laptop.
And immediately regretted everything.
Because within 30 seconds, the comment had over 2 thousand likes. The reply threads birthing entire romance novels in real time.Ā
āOH MY GOD HE COMMENTED OH MY GOD OH MYāā
āHE KNOWS. HE FUCKING KNOWS.
āNAH??? THE MAN HIMSELF??? NO WAYā
ā@y/n GIRL U NEED TO WAKE UP RNā
Every five seconds, your phone buzzes.
Buzz.
Buzz.
BuzzBuzzBuzz.
It starts slowāinnocent. A like here. A tag there. Then, as if the universe pulled a lever, it turns into an avalanche. Your screen lights up like itās trying to melt in your hand. TikTok. Twitter. Instagram. Even people from your group project in history are texting you like girl what the actual fuck did you DO?
Youāre sitting cross-legged on your bed, charger barely keeping up, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like it can protect you from the moment. Your face is hot. Your jaw is slack. Your soul? Practically nonexistent.
You stare at the screen in disbelief.
Right there, in the comments, bolded like the laws of physics decided to write you a personalized romance book:
@/mecha.senku: just a hear me out huh
You blinked once. Then twice. Rubbed your eyes. Becauseāno. No way.
Thereās absolutely no way that the literal voice of your academic downfall and emotional spiral just casually acknowledged the fact that you want to climb him like a fucking molecular structure.
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. You double-tap your phone by accident. Scroll. Scroll again. Scroll back. It's still there. You suck in a breath like it's going to help. It doesn't.
Your room spins a littleānot in a dizzy way, more like the fabric of reality is reconfiguring around your phone screen. Like youāve accidentally made a deal with a god and now the god is texting you back. Casually. In lowercase.
Your body chooses to react the only way it knows howāby laughing. Not normal laughing. That kind of panicked, unhinged, screeching laugh that sounds like itās being wrung out of you like a wet rag. A noise clawing its way up your throat as you slowly tip sideways, dramatic as hell, into the mattress.
āWow,ā you say out loud to your empty room, chest rising and falling, heart jackhammering somewhere behind your ribs. āNo way. This is such a crazy-ass dreamā¦ā Your voice cracks at the end. You sound borderline delirious.
But the comment is still there. Pinned by the original creator. Which is you.
You just close your eyes. Face-down into your pillow.
Your dignity? Gone.
Your supposedĀ crush? Apparently omniscient.
Your life? Ruined. Maybe. Probably.
But your phoneās still vibrating under your thigh like itās trying to combust.
And yeah. Youāre never going to be normal about this again.
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
Itās a few days later when you finally have biochem again.
Your professor had sent out an email at the end of last classāsomething about paying attention to the partner list for the next lab. You hadnāt even looked. Too busy hyperventilating over the Mecha Senku situation. Too busy swiping through your phone at 1 a.m., rereading that comment like it might suddenly disappear, orāworseāturn into something more incriminating.
You didnāt sleep much. Or at all. You just kinda laid there, vibrating at a frequency only dogs could decipher, while mentally reviewing every second of that video and every stupid thing youād ever said about his voice.
So when your professor calls out your name and tells you to head to the back bench to meet your assigned partner, youāre still in a daze. You adjust your lab coat, swipe lip balm on with hands that are definitely not still shaking, and make your way to the station with the dull dread of someone walking to their own execution.
And then you see him.
Senku Ishigami.
Hair pulled into that slightly messy half-up style he always wears. Safety goggles already on, sleeves rolled up, already gloved. He doesnāt look up at firstāheās swabbing the inside of a petri dish with a level of focus you reserve only for exams and existential dissociations. Then he glances at you, just a quick flick of the eyes.
āHey,ā he says, voice low, casual. A little rough around the edges, like he just got over a cold or hadnāt talked to anyone in hours.
Your spine locks. You blink. Hard.
āHi,ā you manage, but it comes out thinner than you mean it toāstretched at the edges, fraying like an old thread. āYouāreā¦ my partner?ā
He glances at the roster sheet clipped to the bench as if just now confirming something he already knew. āLooks like it.ā Thereās the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouthābarely a smirk, more like a thought trying to become one. āHope youāre decent with a microscope.ā
You nod. Too fast. Too eager. Like your neck forgot how to move naturally. You try to smile like this is fine. Like this is normal. Like this isnāt currently short-circuiting every neuron in your academic-functioning brain.
Youāve never really spoken to Senku Ishigami before. Not really. Maybe a passing nod in the hallway. A blink-and-you-miss-it smile between lecture shifts. A polite āexcuse meā when your bags bumped in the lab supply room once. But that was it. That was the whole sum of your direct interactions.
Everything else was observation. Safe distance admiration. Seeing him carry entire study groups with nothing but a half-dry marker and that ever-focused look in his eye. Taking note of how he argued with professorsācalm, surgical, relentlessāand somehow still walked out of every debate not only correct, but respected.
You admired him from afar. Kinda academically. Kinda not. (mostly not.)
But youāre a girl dedicated to her degree. A girl with goals, with caffeine basically in your bloodstream and deadlines stitched into the fabric of your week. You donāt get distracted. Not by things like this. Not by people like him. Or at least you didnāt. Until now.
Because working with him shouldnāt be this bad. Shouldnāt feel like the center of gravity shifted slightly under your feet, like the air got thinner and thicker all at once.
Except he rolls his sleeves up higher. Forearms peaking out. The lean muscle dusted in faint freckles, veins running like undercurrents
And thenāGod. The way he adjusts the microscope. Methodical. Controlled. His fingers moving like heās done this a thousand times and still treats the equipment like itās breakableāwhich it is, so you have no idea why him treating it as such is doing something to youāit all starts to blur together in your head.Ā
You blink again. Swallow hard. And then you start to think back.
His voice.
That same voice. The cadence is exact. Steady and sharp with a rasp that scrapes along your spine in the worst/best way. A quiet breathless ramble as he explains the agar baseālike the information is too much to simply stay in his head, like he forgets other people are listening. That subtle catch on certain consonants. That dry, low huff of amusement when your glove doesnāt go on right and you curse under your breath.
And then his hands.
Long fingers. Familiar motions. The way he handles the petri dish with practiced ease, adjusts the swabs like heās composing something. You know those hands. Youāve seen them before. Over and over. In reaction videos. In slow motion clips, 0.25x speed. In the YouTube comments people timestamp for āscientific purposes.ā
You freeze.
Fully. Completely paralyzed in real time like someone hit pause on your central nervous system. The classroom noise goes muffled. Muted. The hum of fluorescent lights above you turns sharp and migraine inducing bright. Your pulse is in your mouth nowābehind your eyes, in your fingertips.
Because youāre looking at him. Really looking.
And it hits you like a truck doing 90 in a 60.
Thatās him.
Thatās him.
Your biochem lab partner. Senku Ishigami.
Is Mecha Senku. The, Mecha Senku.
And he knows. Oh, he knows.
Heās not even looking at you right now, but you swearāswearāthereās the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth. A smirk barely there, as he slides a sample onto the tray like he didnāt just casually detonate your grasp on reality.
āOh my god,ā you breathe. Not loud. But not quiet, either.
He doesnāt say anything. Doesnāt react. Doesnāt so much as flinch. But you feel it. The moment it registers. The moment he knows that you know. Because the corner of his mouth twitches higher. Just a little. Just enough to catch onto. And thenāstill not looking at you, still pretending to be invested in his perfectly aligned swab placement, voice smooth and clinical like this is just another lab sessionāhe says,
āSomething wrong?ā
You want to bang your head on the table.Ā
Instead, you choke, swallow whatever dignity you had left, and squeak out,
āNo. Nope. All good. Justā¦ thinking.ā
He hums, low and amused, like he already knows what youāre thinking about.
You're going to die here. Right next to your science tutor YouTuber crush who is also your real-life lab partner crushāfor completely unrelated reasonsāwho has definitely, 1000% seen the video where you said hearing his voice makes you feel like your guts are being spiritually rearranged.
God.
You are so unbelievably, irreparably screwed.
Ā ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
It doesnāt happen right away.
In fact, it almost doesnāt happen at all.
Because after the Mecha Senku revelation, after the comment, after the lab, after the videoāyou basically short-circuit. You try to act normal in the days that follow. You show up to class. Try to pretend like itās no big deal that your anonymous science tutor crush is also your lab partner who is also your mutualā¦acquaintence? Friend? You didn't know which term you fell under in this situation. You tell yourself itās fine. Itās not weird. Youāre being mature about this.
And then he likes one of your posts. One of your older ones. A video from 3 months ago where youāre ranting about a series that you were into at the time while getting ready for the day. It was a stupid, pointless video. One which he had no reason to like. But he did.Ā
Thatās when you panic.
Not in public. But you lie in bed again at 2AM, staring at your screen like it might suddenly catch on fire. Heās watching your content. On purpose. Heās scrolling. Deep enough to find something from weeks ago, which means heās either curious, bored, orāGod forbidāinterested.
You stop posting for three days.
Not out of pride. Not even out of posting strategy. Just fear. Raw, buzzing fear that anything you say or do will somehow make this whole situation worse. You delete a draft. Then another. Then six more. Your camera roll becomes a graveyard of half-filmed attempts at being funny or cute or sweet or not on the verge of a breakdown. But nothing feels right.
And meanwhile, Senku is being maddeningly normal.
He shows up to lab on time. Speaks when necessary. Makes the occasional snide remark when a burner malfunctions or a pH test fails. He doesnāt bring up the video. Doesnāt mention the TikTok. Doesnāt acknowledge the fact that you both know that this is like some weird fucked up romcom scenario that immediately got put on Tubi for its low budget. He just acts likeā¦ himself. Detached, sharp-tongued, observant, and unbothered. You, on the other hand, are barely holding it together every time he passes you a report sheet.
The dam doesnāt break until two weeks later.
Youāre walking out of lecture, halfway through stuffing your notes into your bag with a granola bar half-eaten in your mouth when you hear someone fall into step beside you. Quietly synced with your rhythm, like theyād been waiting for the right second to align.
You glance over.
Senku.
Of course itās Senku. His sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Satchel strap slung lazy across his chest, and a half drunk energy drink swished in his hand. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between tired and calculating, but the fact that heās here, walking beside you unprompted, is enough to make you question every single one of your life choices.
Youāre not sure if you should say something first. Or if you should pretend not to notice the way your posture stiffens whenever he's in your general vicinity. You take another glance at him through your peripheral vision.
He still has that same unreadable expression on his faceābored, maybe. Or focused. Or just better at masking than you are. He doesnāt say anything right away, and youāre half-preparing yourself for some comment about glycolysis pathways or the upcoming quiz that youāve been dreading over.
But then he exhales through his nose and says, āIāve been thinking.ā
Which is a terrifying sentence coming from someone who does more thinking in one day than most people do in an entire semester.
Your gaze doesnāt stray but you raise an eyebrow. āAboutā¦?ā
He pauses for a beat. A way too long beat. Long enough to make your stomach drop. Then, casually: āA collab.ā
You blink. āWhat?ā
āA video,ā he clarifies, like this is something completely normal that happens all the time. āA joint one. On your account. Or mine, doesn't matter to me. Mutually beneficial, wider audience reach, strategic engagementāpick whatever reason you want.ā
You stop walking. He doesnāt.
āWait,ā you say, catching up. āYou mean, likeā¦ a TikTok?ā
He shrugs. āSure. Thatās your area. Whatever gets views. I figure if everyone is already suspecting something, I might as well do a face reveal while Iām at it.ā
Silence. Pure, deafening silence. You canāt even think of what to say. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Because itās not just the wordsāitās the way he says them. Like itās no big deal. Like the internet hasnāt been begging for a glimpse of his face since his third viral video. Like he hasnāt been a literal science cryptid for the past three years and now heās justā¦ casually deciding to unmask like itās just something to check off on his bucket list.
āWhy now?ā you ask, finally. Your voice sounds weird in your own throat.
Senku lifts a shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth like heās trying to suppress it.
āFelt like the right time,ā he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. āBesides, youāve already done the hard part.ā
You blink. āThe hard part?ā
He hums, nodding once. āMaking me realize itās not that deep.ā
You blink again, brain buffering like it just hit a patch of missing code. āWaitā¦ what?ā
He shrugs again, like itās nothing. Like this isnāt the culmination of literal years of silence and mystery and curated anonymity. āPeopleāve been asking for a face reveal since the beginning. I always told myself it wasnāt worth it. Kept saying it didnāt matter, that itād just mess things up. But then youā¦ā He pauses, and thereās this barely-there curve at the corner of his mouth. Not a smileāsomething quieter. More dangerous. āYou made it feel kind ofā¦ harmless.ā
Your pulse stutters. Your stomach flips. You donāt even have time to brace for whatās next.
āI mean, itās not every day someone from your school logs online just to say she practically gets off toāā
You donāt let him finish. You physically canāt. Your hands are already flying up, face buried before your brain fully catches up, a sound of absolute mortification ripping out of your throat.
āOh my God,ā you groan, fingers pressing into your temples like you can massage the memory out of existence. āPlease donāt say it like that. This is already, embarrassing enough as it is, The whole video was like a public humiliation ritualā
He lets out a chuckle at that. Way too satisfied with your reaction. Like he predicted it. When you donāt continue further he decides to speak up again.
āThink about it,ā he says before splitting off toward his next class. āYou pick the trend. Iāll show up.ā
And just like that, heās gone.
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
You kind of forget about the whole thing.
Not on purpose, of course. Itās just that coursework piles up, assignments stack on top of quizzes that stack on top of projects, and somewhere between stressing over due dates and wanting to evaporate from existence after another surprise pop lab, the entire conversation with Senku slips to the back burner. Not in a ānever doing thatā way, but more likeā¦ āI will emotionally process this after midterms or death, whichever comes first.ā kind of way.
Thereās just never a good moment to circle back and be like, āHeyā¦ remember that video idea you volunteered for? Wanna hang out and pretend weāre not both chronically online and know what weāre doing?ā
Yeah, no. No way.
But then the first break in your schedule opens upāa blessed, random Sunday with no looming assignments due at 11:59, no labs, no back-to-back lectures sucking the soul from your bodyāand before you can talk yourself out of it, youāre typing a text.
Itās short, simple, and only took you about seven drafts before you finally sent it.
hey, i got a day off and i saw this new exhibit at the museum. thought itād be nice.
You follow it up fast, like too fast:
for the collab that is!
Smooth. Very smooth.
He replies six minutes later.
sure. what day?
Thatās it. Thatās the whole text. Dry. Short. And so to the point it makes you start to question if he even wants to go, but youāll take your chances. You send him the infoālocation, hours, all thatāand hope for the best. Hope you donāt show up alone. Hope you donāt sit around pretending not to be stood up for a date that isnāt a date but still kind of feels like one.
But of course, who would Senku Ishigami be if not maddeningly consistent? If not a man ruthlessly punctual, stubbornly dependable, and irritatingly true to his word?
Heās already there when you arrive.
Not just thereā but early. Waiting outside like itās the most natural thing in the world, casually leaned against a concrete planter with one hand in his pocket and the other scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Heās not dressed up, exactly, but thereās something about his fit that feels intentional. Dark gray-beige slacks. Cream button-up shirt, top button undone. Black cardigan layered over it. Loose tie slung around his neckātotally optional, probably just for the aesthetic. Hair half-up in that signature man-bun style, the front strands framing his face.
You stop short a few paces away, your brain stalling mid-thought as your gaze continues to flicker up and down his form.
Because you? You are wearing a plaid skirt, a ruffled cream blouse, stockings, and boots that are way too tall to pretend you didnāt also plan your outfit, and a tote bag thatās got absolutely nothing useful inside besides your phone, wallet, lip gloss, and an emotional support water bottle.
Which is exactly when you notice it.
The colors. The textures. The vibe.
Oh my god.
You blurt it out before you can stop yourself, stepping the last few feet toward him like you werenāt just frozen in place two seconds ago. āWeāre kind of matching.ā
Senku glances up, and there it is. That thing he does. The slow, calculated glance from the hem of your skirt to your blouse to the edge of your bag and back up again, all while maintaining that unreadable expression. Like heās gathering data. Like your outfitās a puzzle heās solving in real-time. His mouth twitches, just slightly, into something that toes the line between smug and genuinely amused.
āYeah, I guess soā¦ā He shifts his weight, pocketing his phone. āYou look nice.ā
You blink. Buffering. āYouāuh. You too! I mean, not that I wasāuh, yeah, thanks. You look good too.ā You internally wince. Recover. āI hope you werenāt waiting out here long?ā
He shakes his head, āNot really. Got here early on purpose.ā
You nod, awkward and a little breathless, trying desperately not to read too much into it. You glance toward the entrance, mostly just to distract yourself in something thatās not his facial structure or the way the light catches on the slope of his nose.
āShould weā¦ go in?ā you ask, gesturing toward the doors. He hums, a quiet sound, like he's still mildly amused, and nods, stepping in beside you. Not ahead. Not behind. Right beside.Ā
You scan your tickets at the entrance, hands just barely steady, and try not to overanalyze the exact distance between your shoulders. You try not to notice the faint smell of something clean and earthyāmaybe his shampoo? Maybe something herbal?āthat drifts off of him every time he turns to speak. You try, in vain, to be normal.
The museumās quiet. Dim lighting. Cool air. Echoes of hushed conversations and soft-soled shoes against the polished floors. The first exhibit is drowned in amber lighting and filled with fossils in glass cases. You both drift to the same one without speaking, reading the plaque in tandem, standing so close your elbows almost brush.
He speaks first.Ā
āCretaceous, huh,ā he says, voice low and a little warm, like heās half-talking to himself. āNot exactly cutting edge, but still cool.ā
You blink at him. āAre youāare you seriously judging the dinosaur bones right now?ā
He glances at you. āJust saying, thereās been more interesting finds. Iād rather see a well-preserved stromatolite, personally.ā
You snort. Actually snort, and he grins, which is possibly the worst thing he could do because now youāre staring at his lips andā
āGod, youāre such a nerd,ā you mutter, grinning before you can help it.
āAnd youāre not?ā He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to lie.
You scoff, turning back to the plaque like you can hide behind a block of educational text. āYeah, okay, fair. But at least I pretend to be normal in public.ā
āMm. Is that what this is?ā he says, and he doesnāt even try to hide the smile this time. Itās subtle, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, but it makes your stomach do a little flip anyway.
You donāt answer. Not right away. Youāre too busy trying not to combust.
You keep walking, slowly, drifting from case to case. The exhibits start to blur together after a whileāearly mammals, glacial imprints, fossilized floraābecause your brain is short-circuiting every time his voice dips a little lower to point something out, or his hand lifts to gesture near your shoulder, or his sleeve brushes your arm.
You can tell he knows it, too. Maybe not the full extent of your internal spiral, but enough to sadistically enjoy how flustered you get. Heās not smug about it, nor cruel. Just quietly observant. Like heās keeping a mental note every time your breath hitches a little or you laugh a beat too fast.
Somewhere between the meteorite collection and the preserved taxidermy wing (which he naturally had opinions about), you start filming. Nothing extravagant. Just quick clips on your phoneāsoft pans over the displays. He doesnāt comment, doesnāt shy away when the camera catches his shoulder or the back of his hand. Just lets you do your thing.
You order something simple. He does the same, and somehow, magically beats you to pulling out your wallet and paying. And then you both end up at a tiny table tucked near the window, warm afternoon light refracting through the glass and shining just right. Youāre pulling your phone out again before you can really think about it.
He raises an eyebrow when he sees you tyingāand failingāto discretely smile at your phone.
āI know that face,ā he says, stirring his coffee. āWhat are you scheming?ā
You grin, wide and sweet and a little mischievous. āYou said I could pick the trend.ā
āUnfortunately,ā he mutters, setting down his cup.
You show him the audio.
He watches the sample once. Then again. Then nods. āGot it.ā
You give him a quick breakdown anywayāāOk so basically we just shake hands. So you would film me first to āMy name is Pink, and Iām really glad to meet you.ā Then you do āYouāre recommended to me by some people.ā Then back to me: āHey, ooh, is this illegal?ā And you finish it: āHey, ooh, it feels illegal?ā You got that? ā
Senku just gives you that flat, unimpressed look, the one that makes it impossible to tell if heās judging you or already planning your execution in terrifying detail.
āSimple enough,ā he says. āLetās get it over with.ā
You record it in pieces. The lightingās good, the cafeās not too crowded, and somehow, despite the secondhand embarrassment threatening to combust your entire being, you pull it off. You film each other, trade off holding the phone, and try your hardest not to start laughing as you record Senku's deadpan face. By the time itās done, your face hurts from holding back a smile, and Senku looks a little too smug for someone who just debuted on the internet via meme format.
You save the clips to your phone, already planning how to edit it later.
You both take your time finishing your drinks after thatātalking more now. About the exhibit, about the parts you skipped, about other museums you like. The vibeās different. Itās looser, comfortable in a way you didnāt fully expect to get this quickly. Heās still sarcastic, still has that flat tone and know-it-all quips, but now he says your name a little softer. Looks at you a little longer when you talk.
Eventually, you both stand, a little reluctant but you both know you should leave before it gets too dark. The sunās setting once you step outside the museum, casting everything in that amber-gold glow again, and it makes his profile look unfairly cinematic as he stretches.
āYouāre surprisingly tolerable company,ā he says as you walk out together.
You scoff. āWow. Thanks. Iāll be sure to put that in my LinkedIn endorsements.ā
āIām just saying,ā he replies, glancing at you, āYouāre not as obnoxious as most people.ā
You bump your shoulder into his. āAw, you like me.ā
āI didnāt say that.ā
āYou implied it.ā
He doesnāt argue with that, which might be worse.
The walk back is slow. Neither of you really rushing, just sort of drifting through the early evening like you're trying to stretch out the time you have together. Somewhere between chatting about your favorite childhood shows and bickering over whose major has more long-term debt attached to it (his argument: āYou canāt put a price on revolutionizing orbital propulsionā), it hits you how easy this is.
And more dangerouslyāhow fun. You canāt remember the last time someone made you feel this keyed-in without even trying. Like your brains are constantly sparking against each other like flint and steel.
Then he says something offhanded. Something completely innocent. Heās explaining something about a propulsion system prototypeāspecifically, fluid resistance and force ratios.
āItās all about tension and release,ā he says, absently adjusting his sleeves as he walks. āThatās how you maintain velocity without risking collapse.ā
You glance at him sideways, smile sinisterly curling at the corners. āMm. Iāve got some tension Iām sure you could release.ā
He stops. Stops walking. Like his operating system just force-quit.
āā¦What?āĀ
You keep walking a few paces before turning to look back at him, mock-innocent. āWhat? Iām just being honest. You should be more careful with that mouth of yours, Ishigami. Youāll feed into the online delusions.ā
He blinks once. Twice. Visibly buffering. You can see itālike the gears in his big science brain just misfired, unable to reconcile engineering terminology with whatever the hell that was. His ears go a little pinkābarely there, but enough to clock if youāre looking for it. Which, obviously, you are.
He clears his throat, and mutters something under his breath about ānot being responsible for your interpretations.ā
But he keeps talking after that. He can't help it now. Neither of you can. The conversation never drops again, not even as you split off at the corner of campus, your fingers still curled around your phone like it's holding the rest of the evening in its little glowing blue-light screen.
You go home buzzing. Not from the caffeine. Not even from the TikTok youāre already editing. But from him.
Because if thereās one thing thatās true about youāitās that once you start liking someone?
Oh, they never get to rest.
Extra notes time again! || Sorry I really didn't feel like writing out the trend and like the comments and stuff againā¦ I physically cant think like that anymore
Anyway! Both your respective fans go crazy when the initial collab drops
Comments and dmās begging you guys to post together moreāand I mean, who are you to deny the fans?
You make appearances in all of his videos where he āneedsā an extra pair of hands
And heās always seen in your āwhat i do in a dayā videos or weekly vlogs
The tension on camera is undeniable and everyone is always asking if there's something going on, but neither of you ever respond.
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
After that, you two justā¦ keep hanging out. Off campus, mostly. Call them dates, call themā¦ whateverāno oneās really labeling it, but they keep happening. Even in a group, you and Senku have your own orbit. It starts with subtle things. Shared glances, half-smirks, a sarcastic āoh really?ā muttered under your breath every time he says something too smug. He always responds with a coy, āDonāt look at me like that unless you want something,ā and you always raise a brow and say, āMaybe I do.ā
Youāre both like that.
Witty. Sharp. Teasing.
During stargazing, youāre lying side-by-side on a scratchy old blanket, staring up at the sky when he starts pointing out constellations, spouting off facts like an open textbook. You interrupt mid-sentence with, āIs this your way of seducing me? Because itās working.āĀ
He glances at you sideways. Doesnāt even pause. āYouāre the one lying next to me under the stars. Iād say the seductionās mutual.ā
And at the beach? The energyās dialed up even more.
Youāre in a bikini under his oversized button-up, hair still damp from taking a dunk in the ocean, when you say something cheeky like, āYouāve been watching me all day. Just admit it.ā
He doesnāt even blink, much less looks at you. āIām studying gravitational pull in action.ā
āOh?ā you hum sweetly. āLike, my bodyās gravitational pull?ā
āI meant the tide,ā he deadpans. āBut your ego has its own orbit, so sure.ā
You throw a handful of sand at him. He dodges. Barely. And then throws a precise, infuriatingly accurate clump right at your ankle.
Even when your schedules are packed, you somehow always find time to circle back to each other.
Thereās never been a conversation about what it is between you, but neither of you need one. Youāve both carved a little space into each otherās lives nowādistinct, irreplaceable, and entirely yours. No one else quite fits the shape.
So itās no surprise that you spend a lot of time in each otherās dormāor in this case, Senkuās off-campus apartment. Sometimes for studying when the libraryās full, but mostly just to hang out in the comfort of each other's presence.
Youāre dressed in low-rise sweats and a tank top, now buried beneath one of Senkuās old sweaters. The one he threw at your head earlier after you started loudly complaining about the cold. The sleeves cover your hands, and the collarās stretched from years of wear. It smells like detergent and something vaguely medicinalālike tea tree or menthol or maybe him.
Heās at his desk, deep into some spreadsheet or CAD model, muttering to himself about air resistance. Youāre flat on his bed, legs swinging, phone held above your face as you scroll through TikTok with the sound barely audible. Every now and then you giggle. Sometimes you send him one. Sometimes he looks away from his screen to actually watch it.
The silence isnāt awkward. It never is with him. Just the quiet clack of his keyboard, the soft hum of his laptop fan, and whatever sound bytes your phone decides to throw at you next. Itās routine by now. Domestic, in a weird way.
He leans back in his chair eventually, spinning halfway to glance at you. āHey,ā he says, like he didnāt just finish modeling an entire turbine blade. āIn class the other dayāwhen Takahashi brought up reward pathwaysāyou didnāt say anything. You disagree with the textbook stuff?ā
You glance over your phone, one brow raised. āWhat, the dopamine bit?ā
He nods. āAnd the serotonin model. You looked like you were biting your tongue.ā
You shift onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. āI mean, yeah. Kinda. The textbook oversimplifies it. Dopamineās not just a āpleasureā chemical. Itās tied to motivation, reinforcement, emotional memoryālike, the anticipation of reward, not just the reward itself.ā
Heās still watching you. āGo on.ā
And thatās all the permission you need. You sit up straighter, words spilling out like second nature. You talk with your hands, tangents spiraling into other tangentsāsliding effortlessly into a topic youāve buried yourself in for years. Limbic circuitry, behavioral loops, cortisol inhibition. You explain how physical touch spikes oxytocin and drops heart rate variability, how endorphins are natural painkillers, how the brain is wired to crave proximity.
Senkuās not even pretending to work anymore. His laptopās still open, screen glowing against the side of his face, but his eyes are all on youāsharp, focused, borderline amused.
He hums. āSoā¦ theoretically,ā he says, tapping his pen against his lip, āif someone were, say, stressed. Touch could help regulate that.ā
āYeah,ā you nod, without hesitation. āThatās why hugging works. Holding hands, even brief skin contact; itās all connected to emotional regulation. Even something likeāā
You pause. Shouldnāt say it. But do anyway.
āāmaking out.ā
Thereās a pause. One beat. Two.
You glance at him. Heās still watching you, face unreadable. āMaking out?ā he repeats slowly.
You shrug, casual. āIām just saying. High dopamine, high oxytocin, a little adrenaline from the novelty? Basically a neurochemical cocktail.ā
His head tilts, expression unreadable. Then, like itās the most normal thing in the world:
āWanna try it?ā
Your brain blanks. āWhat?ā
āYouāre the one who brought it up.ā He says it flatly. AlmostĀ like heās bored. But thereās a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes havenāt moved from yours once. āFor science. Of course.ā
You stare at him. āYouāre not serious.ā
He shifts to stand, lazy and unbothered. āWhy wouldnāt I be?ā
And then heās walking over, bracing a knee on the mattress beside you. You stay frozen. Your heart is in your throat. Or maybe your stomach. Itās hard to tell with the way itās pounding. He leans in just enough that you can feel his breath, hovering, giving you a chance to pull away.
You donāt.
And thatās all it takes.
The kiss is warm. Careful at first. Testing. You breathe out against his mouth, one hand finding the front of his hoodie and fisting it without thinking. He shifts, deeper into it, his weight pressing into the mattress as he moves over you. Still careful, but less hesitant now. Focused. Like he's calculating every angle, and still surprised by the result.
His hand finds your waist. Yours slide up to his neck.
Youāre not sure when it stopped feeling like a joke. But it doesnāt feel like one now.
He shifts again, weight fully settling over you, a knee anchoring beside your hip as he deepens the kiss. His hands are warmācalloused in the way only someone who spends too long with tools and lab equipment can beāsliding up beneath the hem of his own sweater draped over you. Fingers brushing your bare skin tentatively, like heās cataloging each reaction, each hitch in your breath.
Your arms move to curl up around his neck, pulling him closer, and your fingers find his hair. Tugging gently, then a little harder. He exhales into your mouth like it startled him.Ā
You smile into the kissājust a little. And he kisses you harder.
Thereās something methodical in the way he touches you, like heās studying even now. Testing reactions. Adjusting accordingly. But itās not the detached, cold type of analyzing. Itās quiet intention, attentive hunger. The kind that says he doesnāt let himself want things often. But he wants this.
Wants you.
The sweater slips slightly off your shoulder. His palm follows the curve of your spine like itās a path heās memorizing. Youāre already pulling him back down the moment he shifts to rise, needing moreāneeding him. He goes willingly. He always does.
His lips hover near your neck, and when he finally presses them there, itās with purpose. A mark, claiming. You feel the heat it brings you all the way down to your core.
āYou react so easily,ā he murmurs, voice low and smooth, like heās more fascinated than surprised. āLike your bodyās just waiting for me to touch it.ā
You hate how right he is. Or maybe you donāt. Not when his hands are gliding down, lower and lower, caressing the skin of your ribs to your hips.
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
Senku almost feels bad for baiting you with that question earlier. Almost. If it weren't for the way you were staring up at him, all teary eyed, lips swollen and neck markedācourtesy of him, of courseāheād probably apologize. But he has you exactly where he's been wanting you, and youāre definitely not complaining, if the way you're squeezing around his fingers have any say in the matter.Ā
āFuckā¦ you're tightening up. Are you close already?ā heās cooing down at you, eyes gleaming with a sort of sadistic look, his lips curled into a smirk.
You can't even respond, it's pathetic really, your brain is already turned to mush and he's barely even touched you. You tear your gaze away from him. Your legs are shaking, twitching uselessly at your sides, and you can feel just how wet you are, can hear it every time his fingers sink deeper into you.Ā
Why did he have to be so good at this?
āYouāre really that sensitive, huh?ā he mummers, dragging his thumb just barely over your clit and he chuckles when your body jerks forward. Your thighs try to close but heās already in between them, his other hand prying them open, keeping you exposed and needy under his touch.
Heās transfixed on the sight of you. Watching every twitch of your hips, every spasm in your thighs, every time your walls clench around his fingers, the way your eyes roll back when his fingers prod at a particularly sensitive spot. And, of course, the way you bite down on the back of your hand in an attempt to muffle the sounds spilling out of your mouth.Ā
God, it turned him on in more ways than he possibly imagined.Ā
Senku leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, just to watch the way you squirm. āC'mon,ā he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, ādonāt hide from me. I want to hear everything.āĀ
You whimper at thatāa soft, choked sound, and he feels it all the way down. His cock throbs in his pants, neglected, untouched, but he doesnāt care about that right now. Now when this is happening. Not when youāre this responsive, this wrecked just from his fingers. And soā¦ Senku moans. Deep and guttural like your reaction does something to him. Like watching you get off is more satisfying than touching himself could ever be.Ā
The way your body moves against his hand is erratic now, your hips shifting up to match the pace of his thrusts, trembling on the edge. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around him, can see it in the way your lashes are soaked with tears, the way you jerk with each slow curl of his fingers.
Youāre close. So, so close.
So he gives it to youājust the right rhythm, the right amount of pressure, and that voice again, like a switch flipped inside of him:
āGo on, baby, itās okay. Be a good girl and come for me.ā
And you do. Practically sobbing into the sheets as your body shudders around him. Your muscles tighten,back arching off the bed, and breath hitching in your throat before it spills out in a loud, desperate moan. And Senku swears he almost loses it just watching you. Watching what he did to you.
āFuck, that's itā¦ just like that.ā Heās a little breathless now, still working you through it, fingers moving gently as you shake and throb beneath him, blissed-out and absolutely ruined. Even as he pulls his digits out, and licks them clean, your body still hasn't stopped twitching.
You're sprawled out beneath him, brain soft and heavy, your thighs sticky, your chest heaving. There's a buzz under your skin you can't seem to shakeālike your body hasn't figured out the comedown yet. Like you're still coiled tight, waiting to snap again.
Senku's still above you, propped on one elbow, eyes dragging slowly over your face like he's trying to memorize the exact expression you're wearingāruined, flushed, lips parted, still trying to catch your breath.Ā
And when he speaks again, his voice is low and rough, the edge of smugness barely masking the heat beneath it. "You should see yourself right now." He leans closer, nose brushing yours, lips just barely hovering. "You came so hard, baby."
You should roll your eyes. Should say something back. But instead, you kiss him. It's clumsy at firstāyour hands reaching for him, fisting into the front of his shirt, dragging him down with more desperation than you meant to show. But he goes down willingly, groaning into your mouth like he's been waiting for it, like he's starving for you.Ā
His lips are warm and soft, and when his tongue brushes against yours, something in you snaps. You moan into it, tugging him down even closer, legs shifting to wrap around him until heās fully on top of you, pressed chest to chest.
The kiss turns filthy fast. Sloppy. Hungry. You taste yourself on his tongue, feel his teeth graze your bottom lip, and when you break apart for air, there's a thin string of saliva still connecting the two of you.Ā
Senku stares down at you, his lips pink and wet, eyes dark with an unmistakable desire. But you donāt say anything. You just drag him back down and kiss him again. And this time, you take control.
You find the strength to gently shove his shoulder. A silent request for him to switch positions, this time with you on top. Your hands slip between your bodies, fingers tugging at his waistband, undoing buttons and zippers with trembling precision. You don't rush it, you donāt even speak. You just stare down at him, eyes locked on his, and you let your palm glide over the front of his boxersāfeel how hard he is. How long heās been holding back.
"You didn't touch yourself," you whispered against his jaw, lips ghosting down to his neck. You kiss the column of his throat. You can feel his adam's apple bob under your mouth. "You just... watched me."
Senku shudders, eyes fluttering shut as he hisses through his teeth. "Of course I did," he says, voice low, breath hitching when your hand dips beneath the fabric and wraps around him. "You think I could look away from you like that?"
You smile into his skin, lips dragging over his pulse point, before licking a small stripe against it, warm and possessive. "Then you're gonna let me return the favor."
He tries to say something, probably a snarky comment, or some teasing remark, but it dies in his throat the second you stroke him. Thumb pressing over the tip, spreading the pre-cum, watching his face go soft and slack and honest. His cock twitches in your hand, and he groans-deep and low, like he's trying to keep quiet and failing.
"You're so responsive,ā you murmur, voice dipped in faux sweetness. "Bet I could make you come just like thisābarely even touching you."
His head rolls back as he nods.
"You'd let me?"
"F-fuck," he breathes, biting down on a groan as your pace picks up, "I'd let you do anything right now."
And there it is-that crack in his composure. The unraveling. You've got him now, pinned under you. Your hands, your voice, your mouth ghosting back up to kiss him again while you work him with steady, torturous strokes. And you swear he looks like he's about to lose it just from that.
"You're close," you whisper, forehead pressed to his, your hand never stopping. "Aren't you?"
He nods again, faster this time, eyes wide, and dazed. You find him beautiful like this.Ā
āitās okay,ā you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, āCome for me, and don't look away."
He doesn't.
You watch each other the whole time-while his body tenses, his breath catches, and he spills into your hand with a whineāitās with your name on his lips. And even after, when he's still trembling, breath ragged, forehead resting against yours, he kisses you again.
Itās softer now. Slower, more sensual. Like heās trying to catch up to everything that just happened.
You climb up to adjust your position, shifting in his lap to properly straddle him, and feel him twitch beneath you. The air thickens again. You start to moveāslow, subtle grind that makes both of you gasp.
āIs this okay?ā you murmur, lips brushing his. āWe donāt have toā¦ā
His hands find your hips, tentative, but firm enough to tell you he doesnāt want you to stop. āY-yeah,ā he swallows hard. āJustācondom. Theyāre in the nightstand.ā he adds, voice barely above a rasp.
You pause, looking down at him, your hair falling into his face as your lips curl in a slow, nervous smile. āI kind of just want to feel you,ā you say softly. āJust you.ā
His breath catches, and his grip on your hips tighten. āYouāre gonna ruin me,ā he mutters, tone somewhere between a joke and the truth.
āIām on the pill,ā you say, brushing your thumb along his cheek. āAnd I havenāt been with anyone. Not since we started hanging outā¦ā
His gaze locks with yoursāsurprised, a little shy. āMe neither.ā
Thereās a beat. Neither of you says itāwhat this means, or where itās goingābut you donāt need to. Not right now.
You lean in and kiss him again, deeper this time, while he lets you settle over him fully. And when he finally lets go of whatever heās been holding back, itās not a fall. Itās a full body surrender.
You shift your hips, sliding your hand between your bodies. Senku watches you, wide eyed and panting, as your fingers wrap around him once more. Heās still hard, heavy and warm in your hand, and the sound he makes when you stroke him again makes your head spin.Ā
His hands tense on your thighs. "God," he whispers, barely holding on. "You-you don't have toā"
"I know," you say softly, guiding him to where you want him. "I want to."
You angle yourself, breath catching as you line him up. He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes locked on where your bodies meet, like he can't believe this is happening.Ā
And when you start to sink downāinch by inch, taking your timeāhis head falls back against the pillow, lips parted, throat working like he's trying to remember how to breathe.
You stop halfway, adjusting your hips, one hand braced against his chest. He feels so good stretching you open like this. You look down at him.
He nods, frantic, his voice almost breaking.
"Yeah. Justādon't stop. Please."
You don't.
You ease down the rest of the way, and when you're fully seated, hips flush to his, both of you just stay there for a second, gasping, trembling, overwhelmed. And when you finally start to move; the slow, steady rolls of your hipsāhis hands come up to grip your waist like he's afraid he might actually fall apart under you.
At first, itās easy to stay in control. You set the pace, savor the friction, chase the tension building in your belly.
But it doesnāt last.
Your thighs start to burn, trembling with the effort, barely cooperating anymore. Every bounce turns sluggish, your movements dragged down by the growing heat in your limbsābut you're still moving. Still trying. Because he's looking at you like that.
Senku's laid out beneath you, hair a mess, lips kiss-bitten, and pupils blown so wide thereās barely a sliver of red left. And heās watching you. His gaze is steady, and intenseālike he sees everything. Like heās not the one unraveling here. You are.
And through the fog in your head, it hits you that heās smiling.
Not mockingly, just this small, breathless grin, like youāre an experiment he doesnāt want to stop testing. And the way he says your name, low, and rough, like heās been holding in his mouth for months, sends heat crashing right through your core.
You try to keep moving, but your body stutters. Your breath shudders.
He doesnāt move. He doesnāt have to.
He just says, āYou're falling apart, arenāt you?ā
You donāt answer. You canāt. And then he speaks again, a little more sure this time.
"That's it, baby. You're doing so good for me... just like that."
His voiceāGod, his voice. It's low and thick and soaked in wonder, like he canāt believe this is real. Like he canāt believe itās you. You nearly fold right there.
The noise you make is somewhere between a sob and a moan, your hands scrambling against his chest like you need something to anchor you, or maybe just him. Your whole body pulses at his words like they hit deeper than anything else, heat unraveling inside you faster than you can hold it together.
"F-Fuck, Senku..." you whimper, blinking through tears, hips faltering as you try to keep the rhythm. "I c-can'tā"
"Yes, you can," he murmurs, fingers tightening just a little on your thighs, just enough to remind you he's there, guiding you, grounding. Not pushingānever pushing. Just wanting. "You're already doing it.ā
His voice dips again, breathless. āLook at you..."
Itās awe. Pure, undiluted pleasure. Every word that falls from his lips sounds like itās unraveling him as much as it is you. And somehow, thatās what undoes you more than anything
You bury your face into his neck, because if you look at him again you'll crumble-and maybe that's the point. Maybe that's what he wants. To break you down, piece by piece, until you're too far gone to think about anything but how good he makes you feel.
And God, he is breaking you.
He drags one hand up your back, fingers threading through your hair, just to keep you close. He needs you close. Needs you to feel how much he's coming apart beneath you. He's grounding you, ruining you, worshipping you with every tremble in his touch.
"Just one more," he whispers, lips brushing your ear. His voice is strained, like he's barely holding on. āJust give me one moreā¦ā
He's losing control fast. Your soft, whiny little sounds are killing him. Every breathy moan, every gasp, every whimperāyou're driving him insane, and maybe, just maybe, that's what gives him away.
The way his voice breaks when he speaks again.
"God-you feel so good," he chokes out, hips stuttering beneath you. "You're soāfuck, you're perfect around me, I can'tā"
He whines-actually whinesāa raw, desperate sound ripped straight from his throat, like he doesn't know how to hold it back anymore.
"I c-can't stop," he breathes, hips twitching up into you without rhythm now. "You'reāyou're making me crazyāhow are you so fuckingātightā?ā
You make another soundādesperate and brokenāand he feels it. The way you clench around him, the way your whole body answers before your mind can even catch up.
And then, softer-almost pleading:
"Let me hear you when you come, yeah?"
You whineāGod, you whineāand he groans, like the sound physically does something to him. His hands are shaking now, trying to hold you steady while everything inside him unravels.Ā
The way you look, the way you sound, the way you're still trying to ride it out, still trying to give him what he wants even as you fall apart on top of him. It's too much.
And he wants more.
Your name falls from his lips again-raw, reverent, broken at the edges-and it hits you deeper than anything else has all night.
You try to keep moving, but your body betrays you. Your hips falter, your thighs tremble, and your forehead presses against his collarbone, like hiding might save youābut it doesn't. He's still looking right at you, and God, he's still talking.
"Just like that... you're soāfuck, you're so perfect like this."
His voice is breathless, thick with disbelief and need. "I can feel you... every time you move, I-shitā"
And maybe you don't mean to do it. Maybe you're just grabbing onto somethingāanythingāto stay grounded. But your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just a little. And he moans.
Full-bodied. High-pitched, desperate, absolutely shameless. His eyes slam shut. His hips jerk up into you with no rhythm, just want. "Shitādo that againā" he gasps, voice cracking. "Pleaseāfuckā!"
So you do.
You fist your hand in the mess of his pale strands and pull.
He falls apart.
"GodāI'māfuck, I'm comingā" The words are slurred, ruined, his face pressed into your hair as he bucks into you once, twice, and then spills inside you with a choked-off moan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping tight, like he's trying to keep you locked to him, like if he lets go for even a second he'll die.
You're already shaking, breath stolen out of your lungs, your own release crashing through you. You sob into his hair, overwhelmed, while he trembles beneath you, hands still gripping, body still twitching.
When you finally still, everything is quiet. Just your breathing, his heartbeat, frantic against your chest. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair. And he hasn't stopped shaking.Ā
You donāt move for a long moment. You just melt into him, limp and boneless, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your chest rising and falling against his. Heās still inside you, still warm, still twitching faintly with aftershocks. And even though your muscles are shaking and your skin is flushed and sticky, all you can do is breathe.
Senku doesnāt speak right away either. He wraps his arms around you, his hold is loose at firstālike heās not sure heās allowedāand then tighter, like he canāt help it. Like letting go now would undo him. His voice is hoarse when he finally whispers, āYou okay?ā
You nod into his neck, barely moving. āYeah. You?ā
He lets out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. āI think Iām still alive.ā He says. āBut barely.ā
You smile, eyes closed, cheek pressed to his skin. āWas thatā¦?ā
āYes,ā he says instantly, like you needing to ask the question is absurd. āDonāt even finish that sentence.ā
You laugh softly and feel him grin against your temple. Thereās a pauseācomfortable, heavy with the weight of what just happenedāand then he shifts, brushing your hair gently away from your face.
āI didnātā¦ hurt you, or anything?ā
āNo,ā you murmur. āYou were perfect. Seriously.ā
You finally lift your head, just enough to look at him. His hairās a mess, his cheeks are still flushed, and his eyes are glassyābut heās smiling. Soft. Uncertain. Happy. And for a moment, heās not the genius, not the scientist, not the voice behind a screen.Ā
Heās just a boy, flushed and messy, still a little out of breath, and completely, irreversibly gone for you.
You lean down and kiss him onceājust a press of lips. Nothing more. Then you collapse on top of him again with a soft groan.
āWe should probably clean up,ā you mumble into his chest.
He hums. āEventually.ā
Neither of you moves.
ā.ā¬ Ėš ā
Later, you do get upāclean up, change, all that boring post-mindblowing-sex routineābut itās quiet. Natural. And once you're both back in bed, itās like gravity pulls you together again without even trying.
The roomās quiet, warm, filled with the soft hum of your joined breathing. Your legs are tangled beneath the sheets, and your head is tucked under his chin, chest rising and falling against his.
Senkuās still. His hand hasnāt moved from your back, fingers lazily tracing the curve of your spine like he doesnāt know how to not be touching you now.
And then, without looking at you, he says quietly:
āā¦So is this the part where we pretend that never happened?ā
You blink. āā¦Do you want to pretend that never happened?ā
Heās silent for a moment too long.
āNo,ā he admits. āNot even a little.ā
You shift just enough to look up at him. His hairās still messy, cheeks still faintly pink,and there's a light trace of sweat on his temple, but his eyes are sharp, focused on you now in a way that makes your breath hitch.
āIām not exactlyā¦ā He hesitates, frowning slightly. āGood at this stuff.ā
You smile. āSex?ā
āNo. Wellāā His ears go red. āThat too. But I meantā¦ this. Whatever this is. Relationships. Wanting someone this much. Letting them in.ā
You donāt say anything right away. Just reach up, gently brushing some of his hair out of his face.
āSenku,ā you murmur, soft and certain, āyou donāt have to be good at it. Weāre figuring it out together.ā
He swallows, throat tight. āā¦Youāre not gonna run when you realize Iām not exactly the most conventional partner?ā
You blink, lips twitching. āAfter what just happened? Iām definitely not running. I can barely walk.ā
He huffsāalmost a laugh. Then finally, finally, he meets your eyes again. Really meets them.
āAnd besides,ā you add softly, āI knew how you were before all of this. Iām your friend first, always. I love you just the way you are.ā
āI didnāt mean to fall for you,ā he says, blunt in that way only Senku can be. You were justā¦ there. Constant. Loud. Infuriatingly smart. Always messing with my things, always in my space.ā
You raise an eyebrow. āYouāre digging a really deep hole right now.ā
He exhalesāshort, almost a laugh. āYeah, well. Then one day I realized I didnāt want any of it to stop. I didnāt want you to stop. I think that scared me more than anything.ā
Your lips twitch. āYou call that romantic?ā
āIām a scientist,ā he deadpans. āNot a poet.ā
You grin, pushing up slightly so you can lean over him, your hands braced on either side of his head.
āWell,ā you murmur, eyes soft, āguess Iāll have to be the romantic one.ā
His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.
āYou always were.āĀ
You lean in and kiss himāslow, like itās not a first or a second or a tenth, but something youāve always had the right to do. He kisses back like heās finally letting himself want you out loud. When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his again, noses brushing. His hands drift to your waist under the blanket, not trying anything, just holding.
āā¦So,ā you say softly. āWhat do we call this now?ā
He hums thoughtfully. āAn unplanned but highly successful chemical reaction?ā
You snort. āTry again, scientist.ā
His mouth quirks. āGirlfriend acquired?ā
You blink. āDid you just say that like you unlocked an achievement?ā
āI say that every time I make something new in the lab,ā he says, matter-of-factly. āWhy would this be any different?ā
You roll your eyes, but your heart is doing dangerous things in your chest. āGod, youāre such a dork.āHe shrugs under you. āYeah. But Iām your dork now. Apparently.ā
Ignore the lowk OOC last lineā¦ genuinely couldn't find another way to end this quickly
ANYWAY BACK TO THE EXTRA NOTES!
You guys both go kind of MIA for a while; one second youāre posting like normal, sometimes popping up on each other's page, then justā¦ radio silence.Ā
Fans lost their minds, and during your time away, they start making these crazy long theories trying to explain what they think happened to the both of you to fill the void.
Literally ranging from, "He's secretly a serial killer and she was the last victim so he deleted his digital footprint to evade capture.ā
āThey eloped in the mountains. Sheās pregnant. Theyāre living off the grid with goats.ā
āShe accidentally killed him during an experiment and is covering it up.ā
All of these are objectively incorrect.
In reality? Youāre working through your first relationship, and when youāre ready, youāll both be back.Ā
an: can't blame anyone but yk I gotta be rude to my kitten whiskers bella... already tagged her though so sigh... anyways this was supposed be DAYS ago but I kept adding more stuff. this is the cycle of my life , I can not shut up for the life of me.
I also haven't written smut in a while (can you tell?) so if its bad.. yeah, I tried my best fr. lowk a closeted freak ONG do not leave me in a room with Senku he WILL end up pregnant.
last ask reminded me of magic fleshlight with leo, everytime he uses his fleshlight you feel it etc etc iām a pervert that knows ball i think
I WANT YOU ALL OVER ME
I can see the vision, my fellow pervert.
content: 2012!leo // drabble // nsfw // fem reader
The fleshlight is an alien toy you bought for Leo as a gag gift while in space, though it was practically abandoned, since he doesn't like getting off without being able to hold you.
It's not until all of you are back on Earth that the fleshlight makes an unlikely return on a random Friday night. You're in the common area pit, working on a personal project. He's in his room, sulking since you've refused to pay him any attention while you're focused on your workāit's not like you even have a deadline or anything! He knows that you can't ignore when inspiration calls, and usually, he is understanding, but it's been a long while since the two of you had any alone time. Tonight is the perfect opportunity, with his brothers out doing their own thing, leaving both of you alone in the lair.
He decides he might as well just kill time by tidying up his room when he stumbles upon the fleshlight again. Despite not being particularly fond of this toy, temptation rises anyway. He knows that if he uses it, you're going to feel it too, and you've already given him prior consentāit was some kink you really wanted to indulge in, but Leo had a more lacklustre attitude towards it. After a long moment of consideration, he slips off his gear, lying on his bed as he strokes his wet slit. It's not long after that he drops, blearily reaching for the fleshlight.
From where you are seated, typing away on your laptop, you're given an abrupt pause when you feel something prod you below. Before you can recover, it pushes inside you, causing a sudden, loud noise to escape you. You jolt, nearly dropping your laptop in the process, your stomach coiling as something thick brushes deliciously against your tight walls. You clamp a hand over your mouth, fighting back your moan, as you dizzily put together what's going on. You struggle to stay on your feet as you march over to Leo's room, almost falling over on the way when the pace quickens, hitting a spot that has your eyes rolling back. You almost consider just stopping there and taking whatever he's giving you, but you need to confront your impatient boyfriend.
Swinging open the door, a string of insults sits on the tip of your tongue until you finally process the sight in front of youāLeo, lying on his bed with his sheets strewn around him. He's halfway deep into the fleshlight in his hand and looks utterly dazed. His blue eyes are glazed over, visibly flushed as he gazes up at you with barely contained desperation. Suddenly, all your complaints fly out the window, replaced with desire and yearning.
The corners of his lips quirk up when you join him on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you hurriedly tug off your shirt and unclip your bra. Before he can say a word, you lean in, kissing him urgently while his spare hand reaches up to cup your breast. When you pull away, panting, Leo can see from the gleam in your eyes that you've taken this as a challenge.
"Keep going. If you cum before me, you won't get to fuck me until my project is over."
Your lips brush against his neck as you grab his hand, directing him back to his earlier stroking motions, refusing to even flinch while Leo lets out a breathy groan. You really know how to torture him, don't you?
Okay I've never really done an ask before but could you do something that's like Senku x Fem Celebrity! reader?
Like she was really popular back in the prestone days for maybe singing or acting, kind of like an opposites attract scenario Senku who doesn't gaf about appearances and her being a popular celebrity who constantly needs to keep up appearances and feels the need to constantly look good maybe even had her own cosmetics brand. I kind of imagine like a primadonna stage persona, but in person shes low-key chill af.
I don't really have a plot here just a concept, the rest is up to you if you do decide to do something with it, no pressure lol
A/n: Sorry I took so long to finally write this! This sat in my drafts for a year bc I had no clue what to do with it (and I had a baby, but I digress). I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I donāt think I did that great of a job making her act like a primadonna, but I think the point gets across? Also, I tried to imply reader is Lillianās student/apprentice, but I think it gets lost so-
Madonna, Primadonna (Ishigami Senku x Fem!Celebrity!Reader)
Warnings: Takes place in the weird space between Stone Wars and Treasure Island (with refs to post Treasure Island shsjshsj), Minamiās a little judgy (but we still love her), Senkuās a little shit (bc he does nothing to help with everyoneās assumptions), Genās also a little shit (bc heās pushing the assumptions), language use
To any unassuming person, the very idea of Senku entertaining the ridiculous behaviors of a world-renowned, infamously spoiled star would seem preposterous. Sure, Ryusui is his own can of spoiled, greedy worms, but he at least contributes to the workload enough that the masses can understand why Senku keeps him close. Same for a lot of other unlikely allies that have popped up around the Kingdom of Scienceās ranks, from Hyougaās murderous intentions to Mozās lust for strength and power.
Those, at least, make a semblance of sense when you take a step back to glare at the bigger picture.
You, however, stick out like a sore thumb among the leading crew to any unpetrified individual from the old world. You, Minami decides on a rainy day as she watches old fans scramble to bask in your presence, donāt make sense in the fray at all. Regardless of claims you, somehow, knew the lead scientist before petrification. The pieces donāt fit.
Minami assumes Senkuās using you as a pawn, a means to an end. Like Gen, like Ryusui. Youāre a piece in the bigger science puzzle to get everyone into gear. You have to be, itās the only thing that makes sense!
In the crowds, youāre loud and dramatic. Everythingās a show. And Gen flaunts you like a shiny toy. The masses eat it up and she really, really canāt blame them. Youāre a living legend now, outliving your only competition (mentor) simply by not boarding a ship to the moon. You perform when requested, give self-centered speeches of encouragement, and give out the closest thing to autographs in this stone world. All with Gen at your side with his signature, conniving smile and plotting hands tucked into his sleeves.
Itās something remnant of the past. Minami has distinct memories of when she had interviewed you those few times and thereād be a ridiculous crowd surrounding the building. Youād fill a venue just by having your name mentioned.
Youāre the buttered bread of the last meal, and Tsukasaās citizens eat it up like moths to a flame. Itās been even worse since currencyās been reintroduced to the fray.
āThis really doesnāt feel okay,ā Minami finally comments next to Senku. Sheās watching as you flaunt around before a crowd, snatching skins to sign and tossing them back into the group like it barely means anything. They scramble for a hint of anything, bumping and threatening each other just to have some form of acknowledgment from you, āShouldnāt we put a stop to it? Theyāre wasting those dracos like itās nothingā¦ā
āHeh, nah! Theyāre all just doing their part to make our little economy flow!ā Heās got a shit-eating grin, tainted with a deeper maliciousness she canāt describe. Senku would scare her if she didnāt know she could outrun him, āPlus, itās helping keep up morale. If she doesnāt see a problem, then Iām perfectly fine letting them eat from her palms like rabid dogs.ā
He throws his head back as a deep cackle climbs out of his throat. His body shakes under the force of it, seemingly emphasizing the grimy evilness. Minami takes a step away, putting her head down with a disappointed sigh.
Tsukasa would hate all of this.
āOhhhh, Senkie~,ā A voice coos. Itās sickeningly sweet, wrapped in venom only Gen can carry. Heās got a hand covering your face from the crowd, but it does little to cover the tears streaking down your face in a nearly comical manner, āI think our sweet star needs a teensy break! Just look at her, sheās overwhelmed!ā
And they do take a look at you. Your hands have covered the upper parts of your face, but the tears still slip past, āMy fans are too kind! ITāS TOO MUCH!ā
āSheās too much,ā But Minami doesnāt outwardly vocalize it as the duo bounds their way. She doesnāt fight down the slight grimace from her lips.
āSheās so amazing!ā
āSheās so kind, wasting her energy on us!ā
ā(Y/n)-chan is so CUTE!ā
They scream your name like itās sweet ambrosia.
Itās exhausting.
You sneeze and they lose their minds.
Itās annoying.
And Senku remainsā¦ amused?! The corners of his lips are tugged into a smug semblance of a smile as he watches the two walk their way, hands resting just above his hips.
Genās practically shaking from the bliss of it all. He holds out a fat stack of dracos, enough to make anyone seeing it excited. His pupils have practically morphed into stars and Senkuās shine just as bright.
Slowly, the crowd disperses to their own devices. A few of them comment on doing more work to save up for even more of your time.
Minami canāt deny how effective it is, even if it is so annoying.
Once the coast is clear, Gen releases what semblance of a hold he has on you. Your hands move from where theyāve covered your eyes, but no tears seem to remain. You wipe away whatās left on your cheeks.
Gen claps his hands together happily, nuzzling his cheek against them as he praises your performance, āRuly-Tay, sweet (Y/n)-chan, that was absolutely marvelous! Your acting is sickening!ā
āI donāt think I ever missed that portion,ā You sigh out, slouching into yourself a little once youāre sure most of the attention has faded away. The star-sona is gone, leaving an unrecognizable but nearly identical you in its place.
Minami watches as Senku reaches a hand to your head and pats at the area, something sweltering in those red eyes outside of the usual plotting and curiosity sheās grown used to seeing, āYou did do good. Ten billion points for you!ā Minami thinks she watches your head swelter a little, āJust a few more turnouts like that and weāll have Ryusui right where we want him.ā
āFame sucks, but Iām happy Iām able to help!ā The exhaustion in your eyes lifts a little at his praise. Your smileās a little nervous, āI really want to just sit down somewhere and relax no-,ā
ā(Y/N)-CHAN!ā And, as if the call is a button, your demeanor shifts back as though youād never changed at all. Your eyes grow puffy like youāve been crying and tears well up. You innocently turn just in time for the rando to drop to their knees in front of you, āI didnāt make it in time for your meet and greet!ā He bows down, forehead touching the tips of your shoes, āIām such a big fan and I failed you terribly. IāM SO SORRY!ā
Your head tilts and Minami fights down her exasperation at sight. Senku and Gen donāt hide their growing excitement. A soft, āOh?ā sounds from the three, but each holds a different connotation. And yet, thereās a plotting tension in the airā¦
Iām oh, so sure youāll be able to make the next one, Mr. Super-fan!ā Gen hums in his sweetest tone, āItās going to be our biggest one yet, after all!ā
āYeah, I hear sheās giving out all kinds of things at this one,ā Senku adds on, gripping your shoulders like youāre a prize. He canāt quite take on the manipulative sweetness of Gen, but the nearly demeaning tone seems to do its own semblance of trickery, āIsnāt that right, (Y/n)-chan?ā
The title doesnāt sound right, doesnāt feel right, coming from him of all people. Something twitches in the performance Minami assumes youāve perfected, but she doubts the poor guyās even picked up on it. Heās too enamored with you, with the idea of being so close to you, with the information heās being fed so willingly.
When you do move, bending to grip the fanās hands and maneuvering him to his feet, itās with a poise you hadnāt carried in you a few moments ago. Youāre the star-sona Minami had been acquainted with in the past, who takes up attention simply by breathing. The fan sputters before you can speak, practically on the verge of fainting.
āPromise me youāll be there?ā Your voice even sounds different. Itās scary. Itād be unbelievable if Minami hadnāt witnessed all of this with her own eyes and ears.
āY-YES MAāAM!ā He salutes just as you let him go and, in a burst of flustered excitement, runs off before anymore could be said. Heās bound to spread the word and make the rest of the process so, so easy.
Itād be impressive if it didnāt feel so scummy.
The persona falls almost instantly, again. It leaves you in its place, just a little more exhausted but still sporting the soft smile youād had before the fan had interrupted.
One of Senkuās hands rests squarely on your head, this time ruffling your hair a little more roughly as opposed to the simple headpats heād spared earlier. It draws a puff of a delightful sigh from you, almost like itās the true reward for all of this, āTen billion more points!ā
Minamiās seen enough to pinpoint the real problem here. This really is their new world, āYou two are cruelā¦ā
āItās a simple business venture,ā Gen defends, āAnd weāve got a willing participant!ā
āA little crueltyās okay if itās in the name of science,ā Senku deflects, face neutral as he lets you tug him in the direction towards town.
Minami almost feels a little helpless, watching you walk off with Senku like you arenāt being used as a means to an end. Sure, sheās just put together that, maybe, sheād had the wrong idea about you. And You know, itās obvious itās not a secret, but it doesnāt feel right for you to seem so uncaring when youāre being used as a toolā¦
Gen watches them leave, too, but thereās a hint of a different kind of smug wrapped into his smirk, āIt was her idea, you know? Senku actually protested,ā Itās a simple statement, but thereās a twinge of a deeper knowing, āShe was so insistent heād relentedā¦ But heās probably reprimanding her as we speak. Itās actually pretty funny to witness,ā Those grey eyes bore into Minami, but thereās a hint of humor infused threat, āYou didnāt hear it from me, though.ā
When heās gone, Minami deeply inhales. The air feels new and her chest feels a little lighter on her feelings surrounding you.
You and Senku, however, seems to leave her a little more confusedā¦
Hii this is my first time requesting anything and tbh i have no idea what im doingš„¹But could i request a senku x reader angsty fic?If u have the time ofcš„¹
āā
A/n: A Senku piece? In 2026? Thatās kinda crazy,,, JK! Mamas has been going through some things, so I had to revisit my fave Leek! Thank you for being patient with me and I hope you enjoy!
Fair (Ishigami Senku x Reader)
Warnings: language use, hurt and comfort, spoilers for 4D Science, further exploration of Why-Manās emotional switch (kinda), readerās a little caught up in Why-Man using Byakuya to trick everyone, no gendered language for reader
An emotional switchā¦ Itās convenient, itās an excuse, itās stupid. It can switch it on and off like a dishwasher.
God, itās so fucking stupid.
But itās simple, efficient.
Itās unfair. Youāre not sure to who.
Images of Byakuya flash for a moment. A familiar grin and excitable eyes, memorably corny jokes that hang in the air. Your eyes happen a glance next to you, to the object of your affections. The object of your despair.
Heās understanding, always so understanding of the tiny foreigner. He claims things make sense for someone like the Why-Man, for such advanced machinations of an A.I., of an alien like it. An emotional switch just has to make sense. Speaking with intonations of misunderstanding the languages around him to feign ignorance has to make sense. Thinking petrifying humanity as a fair exchange for energy usage has to make sense.
Using the image of a dead man, of Byakuya of all people, to push a progressive ideal after processing an understanding of familial relationshipsā¦
And, despite it all, despite growing so excited to plausibly see his father again and despite feeding his childhood desire to build a time machine and despite watching that hope crumble into millions of pieces at the sight of a stone-encased mosquitoā¦ Senku remains as understanding and patient, so understanding and patient, as the day theyād adopted discovered the extraterrestrial scientific progression. They all were, like the betrayal meant nothing after a simple explanation of supposedly being missed by an immortal being.
But not youā¦ you feel insignificant and belittled. Sure, this is bigger than you. Scientifically, methodically, universallyā¦
And you can see it, dancing in those crimson orbs and hidden behind his instructing grin. Theyāve grown wild, his eyes, at the potential prospect of moving forward, moving beyond. Itās about the breakthrough, itās about progress-
His old man is long gone, has been for decades and centuries and everything inbetween. The village is representative of that, everyone here, together on Treasure Island, is representative of that. The promise of his body, possibly entrapped in stone in his tomb, is meant to be representative of that. But that doesnāt erase the pain, the cognitive tug that he should be here.
Physically be here. Emotionally be here.
Byakuya shouldāve watched them graduate, waved them off to whatever adult prospects they wanted, walked through their first homes with bottles of wine and promises of good fortune-
āHey,ā Senkuās voice cuts through the buzzing of your brain, soft and embedded with that tone he gets when heās opening up for you, to you. Heās staring forward, beyond the excavation team in front of you and beyond the mountainous gravesite, āI think those oafs have it handled for a while,ā Thereās a hint of a teasing bite, but his arms are crossed. Heās thinking, āLetās talkā¦ā
Talk? You huff at the concept. You follow him off to the side all the same.
You know what heās trying to do. Itās what he does each time your emotions attempt to override the logical answer, when you try to feel something beyond the excitement of potential success. Heās always analytical, mistakenly interpreted as cold due to his logical reasoning.
But you know. You know in the way his hand grips your wrist, tight with the feelings he represses. Heās putting on another facade, but itās not for you. Itās never for youā¦
He uses his grip to tug you closer, gentle but firm with intention. His thumb wipes at the underside of your eyes. You realize tears have welled enough to pour over. Theyāve begun to stain your cheeks, but he flicks them away like theyāre inconvenient.
Something twinges in his gaze. Soft, patientā¦
So understandingā¦
āSenku, itāsā¦ itās not-,ā
āI know,ā He reassures, letting you fall into his chest. Of course he knows. Heād already accepted it in the hall, when the petrified mosquito confirmed the sneaking suspicion tickling the back of his mind. A hand rests on your head, thumb grazing soft circles as he comforts you about the cruelties of the world. He teases, āYouāre crying for both of us, you crybaby,ā but thereās no ire.
Your lips part to respond, maybe a āI canāt help itā or a āSomebody has toā wants to crack through. Instead, you shudder a sob, and he pulls you closer.
āItās all those fairytales you read, puts silly ideas in your head of happy endings and far off fantasies,ā A chuckle rumbles in his chest and warms your cheeks. You sniffle, he continues, āThe only truth you can trust is science-,ā
āYou donāt even believe that!ā Tumbles out, slightly garbled as you shove away.
Your teeth grit, ready to push back and argue how fantastical a Time Machine is regardless of scientific backing, remind him how debatable the existence of aliens were before the Whymen, point out the eccentricity of the population all turning to stone.
But ruby eyes shimmer, simmering with their own built up dread of existentialism. His face tries to remain neutral, but you know heād crumble if you push too hard
Youāre not being fair, āYeah, I guess youāre right,ā Not to him and not to yourself, āI am trying to dig the old man outta the ground, huh? Thatās 10 billion percent illogical, too.ā
āItās hope,ā You correct, just as the resolution settles in your mind.
He grins, turning away to check their excavation teamās tempering progress. They work fast, but theyāre still just barely chipping away at built up clay and hardened rock. The excited gleam seems to spark back to life, āOr something like thatā¦ā
Obligated to mention that you do NAWT want to see a lot of his old stuff bc it is icky from what I remember! If you do go searching, please heed the tags omgggg
