mono

veeery inactive

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

MNA/Mono | 18+ | ISTP | DCST/writing blog

If you come from Ao3/Quotev/WP, I'd like to let you know first that I'm a lot more laidback here (like, a LOT) and I talk about NSFW content! If you are a minor, let's please keep our interactions civil and respectful.

Please proceed at your own risk, curate your experiences.

Tumblr writings

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

haven’t been in your inbox in a while so i’m dropping by!!!! hope you’ve been doing good mono 🥹miss you so so so so so so much. I hope you’re taking good care of yourself too 😠 make sure you’re not drinking too much coffee

🥲 finishing my last two weeks and im so excited to finally be free from this hell hole

anywayyyyyy love you much!! stay safe 😽

the feeling of finally having enough energy to answer my asks...

OH MY WIFE CHER... i missed you so much...

(i say, after setting aside a cup of coffee i was drinking a minute ago)

i can't really say i've been doing alright... it feels like university has stolen my clih and banished it to tartarus in a specialized cell unit beside cerberus itself so i had to comply for a few months </3

and HELLO,, it's been a while now... are u finally free from uni too ( ﾟ，_ゝ｀) i have so much to catch up on here! sometimes i visit, scroll for a while, but i just couldn't bring myself to post anything aside from the occasional comments... 🥲 not when i've been MIA in writing for so long! i have more free time now thankfully, but i've written so many academic papers i feel the need to drop in an in-text citation every now and then in my works LMAO

i hope you've been enjoying yourself (assuming the 2 weeks are now over :,0) to the fullest these days! ilysm!

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

Mono queen ru alive queen alive? Alive?

i'm alive! wifebot's getting an update a few days from now... hopefully... if life is kind enough to me... (ﾉ_；)ヾ(´ ∀ ` )

[chlorny]

I didn't like my previous attempt at portraying Senku in these lines from Hamilton, so here's a second try

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

mourning summer of 2025 like a mf…

the academia is trying to seperate us

DON'T REMIND ME PLEASE!! i'm already deep in emotional and academic turmoil as it is.... this might be the final nail in the coffin for me cher and it's making me sick <//3

mark my words... when i my leave of absence gets approved i'll be an insufferable person here on tumblr! AGAIN!

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

one-man epoch | ft. ishigami senku wc: 2.9k cw: gender-neutral reader, themes of grief and longing, he reallyy misses you, can be interpreted both platonic and romantic ao3 link

note: dedicated to @chericos! happy (early) birthday. i believe we were not made siblings irl because we would've been too powerful together. i hope you have a great day ahead!

pag-ibig ay kanibalismo by fitterkarma 'ibabalik kita nang buong-buo (i'll bring you back whole) pangako 'yon sa'yo (that's my promise to you) sa'yo lang ang puso ko (my heart is only yours) kahit kainin mo' (even if you eat it)

"You've got yourself a nice pile of rocks, Senku dear," Gen mutters aloud. "For an experiment, perhaps?"

Senku only gives the intuitive mentalist a small grin.

"You could say that."

The 'nice pile of rocks', as dubbed by Gen, sits obediently on the corner of the laboratory, just beside the wooden shelf housing a bunch of machines made from scrap metal and Kaseki's fine handiwork. There's almost something characteristic about the way they are arranged; very Zen garden-ish. It’s deliberate, almost suggestive of a figure.

It would've done lovely on a contemporary art museum as an installment, the mentalist supposes.

Senku's been busy like always. He heads from one place to another, never swayed by a moment of distraction, not even by the ruckus Ginro makes to protest. He never did like training. He never did like doing anything that made him even remotely useful in the village, for that matter.

On the rare occasion of rest and leisure—on a blustery night, or when he's done the initial work ahead of time—Senku allows himself to think about it. Ginro and never wanting to do anything.

It’s nearly unimaginable.

In the end, it is Ginro's shoes he strangely cannot put himself in. Not the resolute and headstrong Tsukasa, nor is it the sly and cunning Ibara and their ideals, but Ginro. Village guard Ginro. 

Twenty-four hours is minute to a scientist, but it must be a complete and utter drag for someone who complains about the one thing he's supposed to do. 

Is there nothing that compels him, interests him?

(Aside from women and being the Chief, of course.)

The next day, Senku returns to his nice pile of rocks. It is the first thing he does when he wakes up. He gets on one knee and dismantles the nice pile of rocks to his side—every hunk, eroded pebble, and sharp, chiseled chunk—steady and precise. There's no particular order, everyone thinks, and that it's just Senku being Senku, but there is, in fact, a method to his madness.

But there's no need to let anyone know; not everyone needs to. It's like trying to fit a camel's humps through a needle's eye.

He counts them so meticulously, his nice pile of rocks. People see how engrossed he is all the time, see the slight knit of his brows, and the odd, very odd gentleness he takes the time to be for it. For a nice pile of rocks.

Sometimes, Kohaku peeps in and says, "You're always moving all that rubble around, Senku. What's the big idea?"

Senku only gives the curious lioness a scoff.

"Big projects need big ideas."

The 'rubble', as dubbed by Kohaku, gives her a strange, little feeling. It's her gut. Kohaku could tell, because if there's one thing surviving in the forest taught her, it's that there’s a reason for every little thing that happens. Birds fly south in V-shaped flocks when the air gets colder and drier. Strange fishes rise up to the surface before the earth moves.

There's something about the way Senku touches those rocks that gives her the idea that it's not just any other rubble. It's not rubble from a dug-up cavern. It's not rubble from what remains after a landslide.

It's…

A very Senku way to warm himself up for the day, the lioness supposes.

Come to think of it, when did he start collecting rubble?

Ah.

It is on his first spring at the Ishigami Village.

When the snow thaws, it's reminiscent of the truth. Like turning over a rock, peeling away the covers, or pushing a shelf out of a dark corner—there's always something underneath; if not purposefully, then by accumulation, and if not by accumulation, then by chance.

The end of winter is an uncovering.

Senku travels a great distance on the first few days of spring, when the air is slightly warmer, and it's the pleasant kind of breeze that kisses his cheeks rather than the sharp, biting howls. The grass has barely grown to hide the warming brooks, and rabbits no longer have to settle for twigs and barks to keep themselves full. He knows where to turn, where to duck, where to climb.

Chrome says he walks as if there's a compass in his stomach.

But there's no such thing. It's not electromagnetic force that's pulling his gut towards places. It has everything to do with his brain and the sinews of his memories and nothing to do with compasses.

Nobody really knows when and where he found the first piece. There was only nothing, nothing, nothing, until someone pointed it out. That he has a nice pile of rocks, that he moves around all that rubble.

Even Ryusui is intrigued by the nice pile of rocks, the rubble. He rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"You don't think those are precious stones, do you, Senku?"

Senku frowns at the loudmouthed sailor. "Ha? Of course not."

"What are they, then?"

"They're regular rocks."

That confuses him more than anything. The 'precious stones', as dubbed by Ryusui, are everywhere! As far as the eye could see! It's what they walk on, it's what they skip across lakes, it's what they toss and kick around!

So what, pray tell, makes them any different?

But Ryusui is not a stranger to this kind of sentiment.

He thinks about Sai—Sai and his brilliance. His discerning eye knows there's a bright, bright light behind him, but he is aloof, and he likes to run away and hide himself like even a strand of hair, as long as it's from his head, is something to be ashamed of.

Ryusui finds the string of numbers Sai made for him, many, many years ago, important. He can't get behind the logic of those numbers, or where exactly Sai reaches in his brain to get it, but they made his vessels move as though it was afloat across the sea, and that is the closest thing Ryusui considers to be magic.

It's a rare thing. A one-time thing. Sai only made his ships part the waters once before he disappeared, but that has only made the memory all the more precious.

Everyone has their own hobby, Ryusui supposes.

There are times when people almost guess what Senku is trying to do. They skirt around the truth of it, that it's not just a nice pile of rocks, not just rubble, not just precious stones. Nobody looks that sad and pensive and hopeful all at once when looking at a bunch of cold, dark things. Nobody even cares that much about a bunch of cold, dark things. Unless.

He's not hiding it, not really.

Sometimes, when sleep lulls him over and it's dark, it's quiet, and he can't tell if his ceiling is made of steel or straw, he's able to go to another world.

Here, he is a sheep (though not exclusively; sometimes he's a macaque, other times he's a horse. There was even one time he was a krill in the Pacific.) Gravity is… not the same, he figures quickly, and he can feel the wind against his furry snout and thin legs a bit longer with every prance. He's got a funny-looking wool than other sheeps; the cap of fluff perched atop his head's greener than anything the flock has ever seen.

"Baa, baa!" they say.

(You eat too much grass!)

They're an ignorant bunch. It's not like carrots—carrots turn you yellow if you eat enough. You can't possibly dye your wool green from excessive chloro—

He doesn't really care after all.

"Baa—baa," he says, and flips a clove of his hoof at them.

He begins to walk the vast, sunny fields until he sees nothing but green and blue and the straight line in between. There's nothing else ahead of him but the same thing—no barn, no shepherd, and thank god, no bossy herding dogs to contest his authority. A border collie would be a pain in the ass to deal with, he thinks.

Their angry bleats go in his ear and out the other. They can hate him and his green wool for all he cared.

…

There is this one sheep though.

See, this sheep doesn't care why his wool looks the way it does, doesn't probe why he knows things sheep shouldn't, like why the sky's blue, or why they can jump over fences when they're not supposed to.

He flops onto his side, a fair distance away from the other sheep.

"Baa," he once bleated.

(That's how dreams work. It's not mandatory to follow the rules of physics.)

Here, he feels the lightest he's ever been in his entire life despite the dense, curly wool around his body. He can see specks of gold past his long, thick lashes with every leisurely blink. It's a clear day today in his dream, which is good, because he can't procure a roof above their heads for some reason, and it was a little disappointing the first time around when it rained.

The clouds graze the skies above, just like how they do down below.

Something rustles closer to him, and after a while, it lies down with a soft thud. He knows who it is. Of course he does.

"Baa?"

(You're not going to do anything today?)

The other sheep's voice stirs something in him. They've closed the distance. Their wool smells warm and homey, unlike his that smell like the dusty, metallic odor of ground up minerals and sour planks of wood.

"Baa. Baa, baa," he replies flatly.

(Nah. Just gonna lie around.)

There's a butterfly. He doesn't remember thinking about butterflies. Why can his dream have butterflies, but not a roof?

The butterfly lands right on his nose. It stares at him, but he cannot stare back at it.

"Baa!"

(There's a butterfly on your face!)

His ears twitch, and he flails a little. Sheep can't see what's directly on their nose, and he wishes he didn't have to comply with this evolutionary trait. Though having his eyes set in the front would probably only make him look weirder than he already is.

"Baa—"

(Take it off my—)

Their snouts knock together.

A soft bump. Warmer than he thought snouts could be.

The butterfly flits away, unnoticed.

(Typical of plot devices.)

The air in the dream goes still. The grass stops their singing. He blinks once, twice, turning his head to the side, just a little. Enough to get a look at them. The flecks of gold in the other sheep’s lashes catch the light just right, like tiny flecks of mica.

They're not moving away, and neither is he.

“… Baa,” Senku mumbles, a little quieter this time.

(… Ah.)

When Senku wakes up, the first thing he sees is the straw ceiling of the laboratory. The second thing he sees is that he no longer has dark, cloven hooves, but a pair of rough and worn hands. The third thing he sees is absence.

There is no other sheep.

Senku searches for another piece of the nice rock, the rubble, the precious stones, the pieces—when he can. He looks for them in certain areas only he seems to know just by plucking a few grass, or observing a tree's bark. He parts bushes, looks inside hollow logs, and digs every now and then like a hound dog following a trail.

There's a lot more of them out there, he's sure of it.

At times when the man, the lad, and the boy in him is closer to the front, he feels a distant, ghostlike ache somewhere beneath his sternum. Suddenly the air he breathes in feels incomplete—he could only take in so much—and his stomach picks up in ways it does when he eats something that doesn't sit right with him.

The feeling, he comes to know eventually, is dread.

But then—then the scientist, the visionary, and the dreamer in him—starts to bang against the walls in opposition. They kick, shout, and retaliate like a proud colony of ants when their hill is compromised, and it is mean, it is resilient.

It's ten billion percent unscientific, the three of them all say, the juries in court. You only conclude when there's enough evidence to support the hypothesis. And guess what?

He has them in the corner of his lab.

His nice pile of rock, his rubble, his precious stones, his pieces—and they haven't always been that many, have they? Before it was a pile, rubble, it was the vaguest, the most uncertain, and most importantly, the only of its kind. And then he finds another that, well, seems to look like there's a place for it someday, he hopes. And then he finds another. And another, and another—until he has a nice pile of rock, rubble. And everyone around him thinks it's precious to him, so they don't touch, don't assume it is shared to the rest of them.

Senku comes home empty-handed. No matter, he's seen plenty of those. He knows the feeling of a cold palm, a light pocket, a mouth dry from disappointment. It's part of the process.

He plops on the old wooden stools he nicked from Kaseki's hut. The old man made a new one for him, of course he would, but Senku likes this one. It's gentler on his arse when he sits for a long, long time.

There it is again. His nice pile of rocks, his rubble, his precious stones, his pieces. They begin to take shape.

Ah, there it is—

… the… shoulder?

The neck?

The chest?

He scratches his head.

What the hell am I looking at here?

Defeat is what he first feels. It's like there's a never-ending flight of stairs in front of him. The man, the lad, and the boy come out when he's alone and tired like this, perched on a worn, creaking stool, surrounded by his glass, specimens, and machines. They're an opportunistic bunch.

"Senku!"

It's Suika. She slips inside through the curtains. The sun's setting outside, he only realizes, but that doesn't matter for now. There's something, and she's hiding it behind her back.

Senku grins and rests his cheek on his palm. "Yo."

The leaf atop her shiny, watermelon helmet twitches a little. It takes her a while to muster the courage, but she eventually extends an arm, an open hand.

It's a rock.

A dull, chiseled chunk, but a chiseled chunk nonetheless. It's cold on his skin, heavy.

"Suika thought you might find it useful."

His eyes are on Suika and her lenses that make her eyes look twice as big. There's something in his throat, something in his head that clicks, like synapses reaching into the void, when he examines it up close.

“Huh. Erosion patterns from constant water flow. Surface’s been smoothed down with rounded edges where the original break was. No fresh fracture lines. This chunk’s been detached for a while."

And then—

"Where did you find this?"

Suika reflexively looks behind, past the closed curtains of the lab, where a figure had just retreated. Senku can tell. There's no wind, and poltergeists don't exist.

It's all up to her now, she thinks, and she gathers her courage.

"In the river!" she chirps with newfound confidence. "Suika was playing around and thought it looked different from the other rocks."

Senku gets up on his feet. The piece is in between his thumb and pointer, and he holds it up against the makeshift, pendant light. It's the one with the tungsten filament—a fond memory he thinks of every now and then when the odds seem to be against him. 

A little rotate here, a turn there.

Suika fiddles with a thumb as she watches restlessly. She only got about half of what he's said, and there was nothing that indicated if he's happy about it or not. There's not a single deepening wrinkle on his sunbathed face.

"Did Suika get a random rock after all?" she asks eventually.

Senku chuckles and pats the top of her helmet.

"Give your little patrol crew more credit, Suika," he says, voice softening just a bit. "No, it's not a random rock. Far from it, actually."

Somewhere outside the lab, someone lets out a triumphant, Yes! and someone hisses, Be quiet! right after.

There's a reason why it's only Gen he can trust for cons; they're not fooling anybody, at any rate.

Senku stoops down to the nice pile of rocks, the rubble, the precious stones, the pieces—and hovers the fragment at an angle, moving up, down, left, and right. Like an artist with a pencil. His eyes skitter and dart, on the search for a perfect place to slot it in, a piece to the puzzle. He thinks, A cheek? A nose bridge? A lip? And more frustratedly: Why doesn't this thing come with a damn manual?

He hums for a long, long time.

"But… you don’t look happy.” Suika tilts her head. The longer he moves it around, the less faith she has in their work. “It's no good, is it?" 

The scientist sighs, but it’s the good kind of sigh. Suika and the rest of them outside can tell, because they've known what a bad sigh sounds like for a while, although they are far and few in between.

Senku sets the piece on top of another. It's no match for what he has yet, but someday, all those pieces will amount to a leg, and then a hip, a back, an arm, and a head. 

Someone.

"Let's just say it's ten billion percent incompatible," he mutters, the corner of his lips curling just so, "For now."

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: 以他为名的纪元 by CoCo_finland! (/▽＼*)｡o○♡

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

Size and height diff with Senku? 👀

yes please 🤤

apparently senku is 5'7 which would be considered short by a lot of people! unfortunately i never grew past 5'1 so he's still so so plenty tall for me 🧎🏻‍♀️ im not complaining though

i do feel like he has very big hands and feet... enough to hold someone's neck comfortably

i mean

[baohan-1225]

CIGARETTES AFTER SEX SONGS I DEDICATE TO SENKU (MILD NSFW)

It's raining this morning, which lowkey sets the mood and inspires me to write this ( ᴗ ᴗ ✿ Special thanks to my fellow cas enjoyer @mono-no-aware-stuff for the idea!! This is in no particular order!

This is non-CAS-listener-friendly btw (ᱹ ̫ ᱹ)⸝ި ʕᦏ⌎you can read even though you don't listen to the band!

WC: 987 words

Tejano Blue:

Do I need to explain this? Sex with Senku is so very soft and intimate, and surely it never starts with lust. He seeks your embrace after a long, stressful week on his business trip because who is he to turn down such an inviting suggestion of having kisses all over him after being abused by the world of work?

We wanted to fuck with real love

Wanted it sweet, so pure and warm

Never only sleepin' over

We wanted to fuck like all the time

And when you got back from your flight

It was the first thing we did

Silver Sable:

I actually discussed this idea before with Yummy in this post, and I would love to share it over here. Senku, being a dorky otaku, likes you because you look like his favorite character. Just Senku admiring you in general. He would be such a yearning schoolboy.

Stay with me now, I don’t wanna be lonely

Know how you feel by the way that you hold me

& when we kiss

We don’t need to close our eyes in the dark at all

John Wayne:

Senku who doesn't know what to do with his feelings, Senku who chases after you, Senku who loves a reckless, passionate, unrequited love. John Wayne is an actor who, obviously, acts. Senku, too, is acting tough and hiding his insecurity about a love which might not be reciprocated. It's a mask for his feelings, hiding deep internal confusion and affection.

He's got so much in his heart

But he doesn't know what to do

All he wants is her

Lying inside his room

Dreams From Bunker Hill:

Senku, after a break-up with you, would be questioning it. Of course, limerence isn't his style, but it would be impossible for him to feel regret after losing you. He loved you and took lots of time to finally strip down to his bare self in front of you, and surely he didn't want to do it all over again for someone else. Questions overcast his mind, thinking of how it should've been. Who wouldn't yearn for a future with someone they love sincerely?

Do you wanna make it forever?

Do you wanna be my only one?

'Cause now I really miss the way it was

When everything was beautiful with us

Baby Blue Movie:

"Baby Blue" is slang for soft-core porn, so I imagine this song as yearning for love with a slight bit of sexual tension. Senku, who doesn't like rushing into a relationship, might sometimes want you to shower him with all the love that you have. He yearns to have that passionate affection of yours, wants you to pour your heart out, and bomb him with everything you have. Then, he will love you the same. Love-bombing sounds like an overwhelming thing to him, but to know how much desire you have for him surely eases the storm in his mind. Occasional love-bomb isn't so bad.

Gave me all you had,

Gave me all the love that you want,

All the love that you needed

Don't Let Me Go:

This might work with young Senku, who has you as his childhood crush. He thought the world of you, because the world of a child isn't so big as his father and his three-people circle of friends. You are one of the puzzle pieces that built the world in his small, young mind; an irreplaceable, inevitable piece. The Moon orbits the Earth, it rises and draws his tides of love, it shines upon him the light of its pleasant presence. When the Moon is gone, would the Earth miss it?

Don’t let me go

Stay with me still

I’ve missed you so

Kiss It Off Me:

Again with unrequited love. Senku, who yearns to have you, can't reach you because of your eye-sore boyfriends. He knows he leaves a lot to be desired for a person like you. Who would choose the tireless thinker, wedded to his work and silence, over the gilded rogue who has nothing for you but time, money, and undivided attention? But would you give him a try? He'd let you, even if in the end he would be left with a bleeding heart and all your kisses abandoned on his cheek.

Could you love me instead of all the boyfriends you get?

Know I’d make you forget about all of those rich fuckboys

Kiss it off me,

If you’re gonna break my heart this is a good start

Sunsetz:

The song conveys the feeling of missing someone whom you never see again, or you might, but it won't feel the same. One day, you'll be the faceless figure in the corner of his mind, the "last" person he would think about, the "last" image he would pull out of his drawers of memories. Sometimes, he looks back, just to know that you aren't there anymore, but only the sunlight with no face to kiss.

& when you go away I still see you

With sunlight on your face in my rear-view

Pistol:

Wasting his time thinking of you instead of working, wasting his time yearning for the love he has lost. Maybe if he thinks of you for long enough, he will no longer be stuck in the form of forgotten pictures and gifts, he will no longer be discarded on the cold floor of your heart, and he will no longer be the desert of memories you'd like to forget.

You’ve been on my mind

& I’ll waste my time until you lift me off the floor & love me again

UHH THAT WAS A LONG POST! I got carried away ૮ . ̫ .｡ ა՞ ՞ i just love Senku and CAS very much and I'm also in the mood so....

Psst- my fav CAS song is Silver Sable!

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

hello fairest mono, hope you’re doing well!!

if there is ever a timeline in which we meet we must partake in this activity together

(p.s. i was doing my little account stalk and saw you talking about senku fucking you after a lobotomy [you’re so incredibly real… i think we share the same genes] and it reminded me of sister sage from the boys… wanted to know if you ever watched it. that’s all—stay safe queen!)

HELLO LOVELY CHER!!

i felt my soul get cleansed seeing this... several weeks of community service HELL evaporating from my blackened heart...

i watched the video and 🤭 THIS IS ACTUALLY SOMETHING I LIKE TO DO IN BOOKSTORES!! especially secondhand ones at malls! you won't believe how many freaky passages i've come across skimming through random books (the worst one i saw was a MMW threesome with 2 brothers and there was... a gun involved 😔 do what you will with that information) they scold me a lot when i'm there (T_T) i think it'd be a life-changing experience to do this with you and everyone else....

AND YES THE LOBOTOMY 😼 my friend (the asker) wanted someone brave enough to write something like that and i just had to agree with her 😔 and i haven't heard of sister sage before!! the premise seemed interesting when i searched and saw a GORGEOUS GORGEOUS woman before me... 👀 i wonder what it's about

i hope you're doing alright these days my dear cher 😔 mentally i'm still stuck on august 2025... replaying those days....

[baohan-1225]

Happy International Women's day.

May all the extraordinary women have the confidence of a mediocre man.

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

hey, mono!, since you’re a senku enthusiast, I just wanted to ask…(๑･̑◡･̑๑) how likely is it for senku to use/perform/go against trepanation? considering the setting of the 1st season. I’m aware he’s not much into med/surg (except the chemistry part) related stuff…but I think he’ll be hot in a hospital unit setting (^^;;

hey my nursing bae......

okay so by my understanding... trepanation is basically a more primitive craniotomy, with both medical and superstitious benefits practiced some thousand years ago? i hope i understood that correctly (ง ื▿ ื)ว

honestly i think he'd go for it if:

a) a situation that calls for trepanning occurs (e.g. hematoma release or smt); b) the situation happens before they're in possession of the medusa; and c) there's qualified medics/doctors around to do the procedure, because it's a massive risk doing neurosurgery unless it's at the hands of someone who knows what they're doing... him excluded

and ur absolutely onto something i'd pay for him to give me a lobotomy iykwim... ( ◡‿◡ *) i'll leave the fate of my body to the hot man with his ominous-looking tools

[chericos]

senku masturbation hcs

me: everyone say thank you @baohan-1225!

everyone: "thank you baohan!!!" (/≧▽≦)/

cws: its just me rambling about senku masturbating so if it doesnt blend/make sense all the time... shhhhhh ignore it. panty thief senku, senku crying, scolding, gagging, restraints, creampies (cause i cant help myself) (no established relationship.. he's just a pervert), vv rushed ending/aftercare, let me know if I missed anything!

I really only see Senku masturbating very infrequently. Partially because he lacks a sex drive, but also because he is extremely disciplined about where his time and energy go. Most physical impulses get filed away as background noise. If they become inconvenient, he ignores them. If they become distracting, he suppresses them. It takes a significant build up of tension before he finally decides dealing with it is more efficient than continuing to work through it.

Usually this happens after months of continuous focus.

Three or four months is not unrealistic. Senku is the type of person who can bury himself in his work so completely that his own body becomes secondary. Hunger, fatigue, and physical discomfort are already things he routinely pushes aside. Sexual tension falls into the same category—another biological process to be tolerated until it starts interfering with his ability to think clearly.

When that point arrives, the decision becomes purely practical.

A factory reset for his brain.

It almost always happens late at night.

Senku is lying on his back staring at the ceiling, mind moving too fast for sleep to catch up with it. Ideas keep colliding with each other—unfinished formulas, chemical ratios, plans for the next day...

But beneath all of that there is a persistent physical tension he can’t ignore anymore.

Once he acknowledges it, the conclusion is immediate.

Deal with it quickly. Go to sleep. Return to work.

He doesn’t romanticize the act at all. There is no ceremony to it, no drawn-out anticipation. One hand slips under the blanket and wraps around his cock with the same detached focus he would apply to adjusting a piece of equipment. His grip is firm but impatient, strokes short and functional because the goal is simply to finish as quickly as possible.

Efficiency governs everything he does, even here.

At first the only indication of what he’s doing is the subtle shift in his breathing. Slow inhales turning slightly heavier. His jaw tightens. His brows pull together in concentration. Sweat eventually gathers along his temple, damp strands of hair sticking against his forehead as his body gradually reacts to the stimulation.

He's not all too vocal.

Occasionally a soft grunt escapes him, or a muttered curse when his hips twitch involuntarily into his hand. But he’s careful. The last thing he wants is someone waking up and asking questions he has absolutely no interest in answering.

The closer he gets, the more his initial mechanical rhythm gives way to urgency.

His strokes grow faster. Less controlled. His breathing breaks into uneven bursts as the pressure in his abdomen tightens. His body responds before his mind fully catches up, muscles tensing as the sensation builds rapidly toward release.

When he cums, it hits him all at once.

Afterward he lies still, staring up at the ceiling while he catches his breath. His mind goes blank for a moment, like everything inside his head has finally gone quiet. His cock still twitches faintly in his hand, sensitive and warm, but the tension that had been building in his body is gone now. What’s left behind is a heavy, relaxed tranquility.

He gives himself a minute, maybe two, before cleaning himself up and moving on with whatever he was doing before. Most of the time, that’s the end of it.

But things change slightly once someone starts occupying his thoughts.

The difference is subtle. He still ignores the urge most of the time. He still treats the act as something purely functional when he finally gives in to it. Yet once there is a specific person attached to those impulses, the situation becomes more complicated in ways he does not particularly appreciate.

Your image starts appearing in his mind at the most inconvenient times.

What used to be something he did purely to kill the urge slowly shifts into something else entirely. Something he actually enjoys. And the first time he realizes that difference, it throws him off more than he'd like to admit.

He finishes harder—faster.

And afterward he just sits there for a moment, staring down at his own hand like he’s trying to analyze what exactly just happened.

He knows what happened, of course.

He just doesn’t like the implications.

Because once that connection is made—once his brain links that feeling to you—it becomes difficult to separate the two again.

And despite himself, he gets hooked on it.

You become the muse for his decidedly unscientific desires.

The first time he takes your panties, he genuinely doesn’t mean to.

It’s one of those impulses you act on without thinking, only realizing what you’ve done a second too late. The kind of mistake that immediately makes you go: I probably shouldn’t have done that.

But by that point it’s already too awkward to undo.

Returning them would raise questions. Keeping them feels just as questionable. And somehow the situation becomes worse the longer he stands there holding them.

So he keeps them.

At first he tells himself it was just a lapse in judgment.

But when the moment comes later—when he’s alone, tense, and the familiar pressure has started building again—he realizes he doesn’t regret taking them nearly as much as he thought he would.

The fabric ends up wrapped around his cock before he can really think about what he’s doing.

His hand closes over both at once, fingers tightening as he gives an experimental stroke. The material drags differently against him, softer, thinner, and the sensation makes his hips twitch forward instinctively.

He exhales sharply.

Then his hips start moving.

Slow at first, testing the friction as he thrusts into his own grip, the panties twisted around his cock while his hand works over them. It doesn’t take long before the image slips into his mind—of you instead. Your body wrapped around him, your warmth, the way your pussy would squeeze him every time he pushed forward.

The thought makes him far more sensitive than usual.

His rhythm falls apart almost immediately.

His hips start thrusting erratically, short uneven motions as he fucks into his own fist, trying to keep quiet while small whimpers and breathy sounds slip past his lips anyway. His grip tightens around himself, cock twitching hard every time his mind drifts back to the thought of you.

Feeling your panties wrapped around him quickly becomes one of his favorite sensations.

But that isn’t the only thing he does with them.

Sometimes he presses them against his face instead. He buries his nose right against the gusset of the worn fabric, inhaling deeply while his other hand palms himself. His strokes turn quick and desperate, dragging his hand over himself while his tongue presses against the spot where your scent is strongest.

The smell of you is overwhelming.

Warm, intimate, and completely intoxicating.

It fills his lungs until it feels like it’s suffocating him, and the effect it has on him is immediate. His head tips back slightly, jaw falling open as a silent moan escapes him, eyebrows knitting together while his eyes squeeze shut.

It makes his head spin.

So much so that he sometimes finds himself hesitating, unable to decide what he wants more—keeping them wrapped in his palm while he jerks himself off, or shoving them back against his face and breathing you in until his thoughts go hazy.

Eventually he solves the problem in the most practical way possible.

The next time the opportunity arises, he steals two pairs instead.

That way he doesn’t have to choose.

One stays wrapped around his cock while his hand works over it, the fabric catching every movement as his hips start thrusting into his grip again. The other he presses against his face, breathing you in while his strokes grow faster and sloppier.

It’s embarrassing how quickly it becomes routine. The way his body responds almost immediately the moment he has them in his hands.

At some point he even starts using them to muffle the sounds he can’t quite hold back, pushing the fabric between his teeth while his hand squeezes tight around his cock. The taste of your scent mixes with his saliva, making his head feel light, eyes watering as he breathes through his nose, the smell of you flooding his senses.

He looks completely wrecked like this.

Jaw slack, lips parted as soft sounds slip past them. His brows pull together, eyes squeezed shut while color spreads across his cheeks. There’s a pretty flush blooming across his face and down his neck as his hand works harder, grip tightening while he imagines the way your pussy would squeeze around him instead.

The thought alone nearly makes his hips stutter.

There are moments—brief ones—where guilt creeps in.

Especially when you come to him one day looking worried, talking about how some of your things have gone missing. Wondering out loud if there might be some kind of pervert lurking around the village.

He listens quietly while you talk.

Because technically, you’re not wrong.

There is a pervert.

Just probably not the one you’re expecting.

And despite the small flickers of guilt that surface every now and then, it never actually stops him.

Because he’s grown far too fond of it by now.

He likes the way your panties feel wrapped around his cock. Likes the way they smell. Likes the way the thought of you makes his hand move faster until he’s spilling sticky cum all over the fabric.

And then one day—

you catch him.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?”

Your voice cuts through the room like a blade.

Senku freezes instantly.

For a moment he just stares at you, eyes wide, brain struggling to process the situation he’s just been caught in. Your panties are still in his hand. His cock still half-hard where he’d been jerking himself off seconds ago.

“…Are you serious right now?” you continue.

There’s a strange tone to your voice. Not quite angry, nor amused.

Just… disbelieving.

Your eyes flicker between him, the fabric clutched in his hand, and the obvious mess he’s made of himself.

“So you’re the one stealing my stuff, huh?” you say slowly.

His brain short-circuits.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to explain. About to come up with something logical. But nothing comes out.

The embarrassment hits him all at once.

Heat floods his face, shame curling tight in his chest as he suddenly becomes very aware of how pathetic he must look right now. Your panties in his hand. His cock still twitching. The evidence of exactly what he’d been doing impossible to ignore.

You step closer, standing in front of him now.

And instead of sounding angry—you start teasing him.

You’re not actually mad—far from it, actually. If anything, the sight of Senku using your things like that does something strange to you. But you want to make him squirm a little first. Make him worry. Maybe watch him get a little flustered.

What you don’t expect is how hard it hits him.

“Oh wow,” you mutter, looking him up and down. “Didn’t realize you were that much of a pervert.”

The words hit harder than he expects.

Not because they’re cruel.

But because they’re true.

Senku has never really been scolded like this before. Not like this. Not when he’s already worked up, exposed, and caught red-handed.

His throat tightens, breath catching as something twists in his chest. He’s already wound up from moments ago, emotions running high, and now you’re standing there pointing it out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It becomes too much.

His eyes start to sting.

A few tears slip out before he can stop them.

You didn’t mean to make him cry that much. Maybe a couple stray tears, sure—but not this.

Still… the sight does wonders for your ego.

His eyes are a little bloodshot now, his nose slightly snotty, breath still shaky as he looks up at you. And instead of backing off, you find yourself kneeling instead—cooing gently as you start sliding your panties off your hips.

Your hand snake between you to wrap around his soft cock. It hardens instantly at your touch, a broken, helpless whimper escaping him as you stroke him, eyes still glossed with tears.

as you straddle his hips. Your bare pussy, slick and wet, presses against him, grinding slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of you, every drip of your slick, every small twitch of his hips beneath you. His tip nudges just perfectly against your clit, drawing another strangled whimper from him, and every so often you sink almost all the way down, only to pull back with a wet, satisfying pop. His groans and little whines fill the space, ragged and desperate, and you can feel him quivering beneath you.

You take your time. His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, hands twitching, eyes screwed shut, little whimpers and choked noises spilling from his throat. Each sloppy, needy grind, each sloppy bounce of your hips drives him higher, and the room is full of the scent of him, of you, of the mess you’ve already made together.

The moment you finally sink fully onto him, he lets out the most obscene, pornographic moan you’ve ever heard in your life.

A sound you genuinely didn’t think he was capable of making.

Your hand flies to his mouth, pressing firmly, muffling the rest of his sounds, while you ball up the panties you threw aside and use them as a gag. Drool slips from the corners of his mouth, soaking the fabric. His tiny, garbled noises tumble out, desperate and broken:

“Mmff… ahh… p-pwease… mngh!”

He cries quietly, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks, as you continue to ride him. Bouncing up and down, up and down on his cock, he can do nothing but take it.

His body convulses, little whimpers and muffled sounds still slipping out around the gag, while he feels you clenching tightly around him.

Afterward, you slide off gently, cradling his face in your hands. His eyes are red, a few tears still clinging, nose damp, and he curls instinctively into your chest. You kiss each tear away, gently wiping his face, whispering soft words into his ear—how amazing he is, how much you love him, how proud you are of him. He shivers, body relaxing into yours, and for the first time in a long while, he feels completely safe and cared for.

an: I am so insane for this man it needs to be studied... lord save me or I have sinned.

probably couldve done better on this one but its late and my brain is fried.

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

HIII MONO ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

Saw this video and thought of you!

BAIII

BAOHAN HII 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

the way i already had this video saved, reposted, downloaded, and bookmarked 😔💔 i'm honored this reminded u of me.. my bunny agenda is working, one step at a time

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

do you have any favourite writers in the drst writing tumblr specifically?

OUGHEJEWJDH i always feared the day i'd get asked this because i LOVE to keep the things i go insane about to myself,,, but i think i must get this out of my system

i'm such a sucker for the most breathtaking, jawdropping, earth-shattering prose. it's like watching someone paint something one brushstroke at a time. i can guarantee you these people absolutely have a way with words! 😼

@chericos - my wife. OF COURSE SHE'S HERE!!! there are times i read her stuff, finish an exquisitely-written paragraph, and just take the time to look at a blank wall... like how could someone procure such a gorgeous sequence of words

@lysaisland - you can't ever go wrong w ANY of her works i tell you. i can't explain it very well but her style very much makes me feel like i'm reading a "THE" fandom fic every damn time... 🤤 always so rewarding

@porcelanasword - i don't think i've ever come across a dcst writer with so many authentic and unique ideas before. her works are always always a breath of fresh air to me, and i ADORE the enigmatic feeling it gives me every time! sometimes i feel like i should be reading their works in an intricate leatherbound tome

anyways... i feel very embarrassed posting this & tagging them. toodles! 🏃🏻‍♀️

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

how are u my lovely cher... 😔

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

monooooo i noticed you're a little inactive again these days, and i just wanted to drop by and say that i hope you're okay 🫶 take care of yourself diva

aw thank you anon 🫂

actually, i haven't been opening tumblr much again for several reasons. aside from being busy with uni in hopes i could transfer majors, there's a few things here on tumblr that i've been fed up with and would rather not pay attention to 🥲

also, i'm just really out of social battery; i'm not a talker at all irl and really enjoy being alone and doing things alone... including writing. it just dawned on me that i actually enjoy how solitary writing is. i started this blog to try something new and realized that as much as i love how i could easily connect with people with similar interests, it just doesn't work out well with how i prefer to approach the art 😔 though i might check in from time to time just to see how my mutuals are doing bc i still love them (/100% not affectionate)

but hey! you'll hear from me when you hear from me 🩷 think of me as that one well-meaning aunt who lives somewhere unreachable, and the only way of contact with her are through letters, occasionally sending you manuscripts of what she's been writing

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

this doesnt mean i stopped being in love with senku btw. matter of fact we crack on a daily basis

[mono-no-aware-stuff]

monooooo i noticed you're a little inactive again these days, and i just wanted to drop by and say that i hope you're okay 🫶 take care of yourself diva

aw thank you anon 🫂

actually, i haven't been opening tumblr much again for several reasons. aside from being busy with uni in hopes i could transfer majors, there's a few things here on tumblr that i've been fed up with and would rather not pay attention to 🥲

also, i'm just really out of social battery; i'm not a talker at all irl and really enjoy being alone and doing things alone... including writing. it just dawned on me that i actually enjoy how solitary writing is. i started this blog to try something new and realized that as much as i love how i could easily connect with people with similar interests, it just doesn't work out well with how i prefer to approach the art 😔 though i might check in from time to time just to see how my mutuals are doing bc i still love them (/100% not affectionate)

but hey! you'll hear from me when you hear from me 🩷 think of me as that one well-meaning aunt who lives somewhere unreachable, and the only way of contact with her are through letters, occasionally sending you manuscripts of what she's been writing