this is just me being shameless and talking about all my favorite kinks with senku. lowk projecting but who cares!! literally just writing whatever filthy thought pops in my head. got really into it so its about 15 different scenarios lol… sorry! shoutouts to the lovey @baohan-1225 for the somno idea, and @mono-no-aware-stuff for the spanking one!
cockwarming is self-explanatory. he’s a busy man, always knee-deep in work, his mind running a mile a minute. so when you come up to him all needy while he’s working, of course the only solution is for you to sit in his lap!
your face is buried into his neck, teeth sinking into skin as you fight to smother the sounds clawing their way out of you. your walls clamp tight around his cock, pussy fluttering helplessly, clenching like it’s begging for friction he refuses to give. it’s fucking torturous—being this full, so close, and still so painfully denied.
Senku knows exactly what he’s doing.
he leans in just enough to whisper filthy little nothings into your ear, voice low and smug, describing how perfectly you’re squeezing him, how pretty your pussy looks split open on his cock, how easily he could thrust up into you and have you shaking, sobbing, squirting around him if he wanted. each word makes you throb harder, sobbing pathetically into him. your cunt clenching reflexively, desperate to coax even the slightest movement out of him.
your body betrays you, grinding down on instinct, chasing relief you know he won’t give.
His hand clamps down on your hip instantly, holding you firmly in place.
“Be good,” he murmurs against your ear, breath hot, tone darkly amused. “And don’t distract me.”
he’s into quickies for the same reason he does everything else: efficiency.
when his thoughts start to derail, when equations blur together and experiments stall, when frustration builds up—he knows exactly how to clear his head. burn it off. reset.
there’s always another project, another breakthrough waiting to happen, but he works better when his body isn’t screaming for release. and he’d rather fuck you senseless for ten desperate minutes than spend hours distracted and pent-up.
so quickies become the perfect solution.
most of the time, you’re shoved up against the wall of his lab, palms splayed uselessly against cold wood as he snaps his hips forward, crowding into your space. other times, he bends you over the nearest table, tools and papers rattling violently as he ruts into you without mercy.
his pace is brutal—overbearing, relentless—stealing the breath straight from your lungs. tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you bite down on your lip, your head knocking softly against the desk with each sharp thrust.
fuck.
the way his cock spears into your wet, aching hole is dizzying, stretching you open perfectly, dragging broken sounds from your throat no matter how hard you try to swallow them back. he barely gives you time to adjust, already chasing his release, movements precise and punishing.
and just as quickly as it starts, it’s over—his breath uneven against your ear, hands still tight on your hips, already murmuring about getting back to work.
but the lingering kiss he presses to your shoulder tells a different story.
outdoor sex
really, he only ever does this if you two already happen to be out there. there’s rarely a time he’d drag you outside just to fuck you—but that doesn’t stop it from being one of his favorites.
he likes the freedom of it. the open air. the lack of walls to trap your sounds.
Senku loves the noises you make—every whimper, every broken moan, every breathless cry of his name. he could listen to them for hours if he let himself. most of the time, he has to muffle those pretty little mewls, press them into his shoulder, against his chest, hand covering your mouth just to keep you quiet. but out here… you both can be as loud as you want. hearing you moan and whine so freely, so desperately, gets him off more than he’ll ever admit—it drives him insane.
whether he has you pinned back against a tree, legs wrapped tight around his waist, or sprawled beneath him in the grass, bare skin dusted with dirt and dew, he always murmurs the same thing against your ear—telling you not to hide it. not to hold back. to let him hear everything.
"c'mon... let me hear you" he growls, and you can’t stop it—can’t stop yourself from crying out.
“good girl,” he whispers. “don’t hide it from me.”
and god, it’s a sight.
your body laid out beneath the stars, flushed and trembling, lips parted, eyes glassy with want — framed by moonlight and the endless dark sky. it’s beautiful in a way that steals his breath, a kind of raw, natural art.
a living masterpiece, more stunning than any painting he’s ever seen.
he likes hair-pulling when you’re not paying attention, the little reflexive gasp you let out making his cock twitch in ways he can’t ignore. but he also loves it when you tug back, fingers weaving through his strands, nails scratching just enough to make him groan. it’s chemical, primal, a reaction neither of you can fight.
it happens naturally while he’s fucking you. hips snapping into yours, hands tangled in hair, bodies slick and trembling, moans and whines spilling from both of you.
he moans your name while you whine and shiver, tugging at him, clutching at his scalp, pulling him closer just to hear those pathetic little sounds he can’t stop from escaping. it feels too good. too fucking good. and you both know it.
sometimes you shove your face into the pillows while he pounds you from behind, and he tugs on your hair to tilt your head back, never letting you shy away from exactly what he’s doing to you.
other times it’s you tugging at his hair, nails grazing his scalp, watching his jaw tighten, hearing the broken little whines that slip out, your own grin slipping into a breathless moan. it’s messy. it’s playful. it’s filthy. and neither of you could stop if you wanted to.
he loves hickies. the feeling of your teeth on him, the way you dig into his flesh makes him hiss and shudder.
loves knowing you’re a little jealous and possessive—and that every little fit always ends with him getting exactly what he wants.
your favorite places to bite him are his neck and collarbones. such pale, blank canvas waiting to be littered with loving bruises. he likes it when you mark him there, but his favorite spot has to be your inner thigh.
especially when he’s teasing you. you’re already twitching and sensitive, waiting desperately for him to touch you. he leans down, teeth grazing your skin, nibbling, and the little whimpers you make are so fucking cute, they make him harder in an instant. 10/10.
he never really bothers to cover the marks up. he complains, joking about how obvious you make them—how sure he’ll be teased for it the next day—but there’s always that smirk on his face. he doesn’t give a single fuck. he loves it. he thrives on it.
every bite and bruise and sharp little pinch of teeth against your skin is both yours and his proof of possession, proof of lust, proof of how badly he wants you… and how badly he knows you want him.
mutual masturbation is filthy when it’s just slurred words and instructions, and that’s exactly what drives you and Senku wild. he’s stroking himself, slick fingers moving over his cock, and you’re fingering yourself, hips rocking, each of you watching and listening as the other moans, pants, and whines. the air is heavy with wet, squelching sounds, and the rhythm of your shared need is unbearable.
“faster,” you pant, biting your lip as you watch the way his hand slides over himself, squeezing the base, twisting at the tip just like you told him.
“yeah… rub it just like that,” he groans, voice low and rough, listening as your fingers drag over your clit, hearing your desperate little whines and gasps. “ngh… your pussy sounds so fucking good.”
you shiver at the sound, spreading your legs winder, giving him a better view of you curling your fingers deeper.
you moan, and he throws his head back, moaning your name, watching your cunt flex around your own fingers, slick and shiny, hearing every little squelch.
“keep going… harder,” you moan, and he huffs, knuckles whitening around his shaft, groaning in response to your whimpers.
every sound he makes makes you shiver, every wet, messy squelch from your cunt makes him groan louder, breath coming in ragged huffs. you edge each other, guiding, teasing, reacting to every twitch, every gasp, every desperate little noise spilling from the other.
it’s obscene, it’s messy, its perfect.
boob jobs are one of Senku’s favorite little filthy indulgences. he loves the feel of your tits in his hands — how soft and warm they are, how they squish and bounce under his touch, how your nipples harden at the slightest bit of attention. and he loves knowing he can make you gasp and whine with nothing more than a squeeze or a pinch.
he cups them roughly, thumbs brushing over your nipples, rolling and twisting them as he pulls you closer, cock already twitching from the sight and feel of you. the way you use your tits to stroke his cock, pressing them together, trapping him in that soft, warm space, makes his breath hitch every time. sometimes he ruts forward on his own, hips snapping, chasing friction as your skin drags over him. other times, you’re the one squeezing them together for him, watching his jaw tighten, listening to the low, broken sounds he can’t stop from making.
he loves cumming all over them. loves watching as it paints your skin, messily dripping from his tip down the curve of your chest. it’s a sight that makes his head spin every single time.
Senku loves eating you out. it’s his favorite pastime. after a long day, he wants to do nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs and drink from you like a fountain.
he loses himself when he’s there—eyes closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, a soft flush spreading across his face as he licks and slurps and sucks at your clit like it’s the only thing that matters.
his tongue drags along your slit, flattening and slow, nose bumping against your clit before he moves up to swirl careful circles around the sensitive nub, over and over, until your thighs start to tremble.
he murmurs about how good you taste, how he could live between your legs forever if you’d let him, voice muffled and breathless against your skin.
he loves when your hands tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling in some desperate attempt to get him to back off—and he loves it even more when your thighs squeeze tight around his head, nearly choking him out as he keeps lapping you up.
especially loves the way they shake after he’s made you cum.
face fucking is his way of getting you to shut up—though, honestly, you seem to like it more than he does. you’re already sinking down onto your knees before he even has to say a word, lidded eyes flicking up to him, breath shallow with anticipation. his hand tangles in your hair, grip tightening, fingers curling hard at your scalp as he lines himself up with your mouth and pushes forward.
he uses you without hesitation, thrusts snapping and relentless, each drive of his hips forcing a broken, garbled sound from your throat. your lips stretch around him, jaw aching, spit dribbling down your chin as his tip hits the back of your throat over and over and over again. he doesn’t slow—only picks up the pace, chasing the way your body reacts, the way you choke and whine around him.
your hands claw weakly at his thighs, fingers trembling as your eyes water, tears clinging to your lashes. your lungs burn, chest heaving, but he barely gives you time to think about it. he pulls out just long enough for you to gasp in a sharp, desperate breath, barely a second of air before he’s pushing back in, filling your mouth all over again.
your mouth is warm, wet, obscene around him, sucking him in perfectly, and the way it makes him groan low in his chest only drives him harder. his grip tightens, holding you in place, controlling the rhythm, the depth, the pace, until your head is spinning and your thighs are trembling against the floor.
he likes slapping his cock against your face—once, twice—a silent command that makes you open your mouth without thinking, lips parting on instinct. and after, once he’s spent, he drags it over your pretty, flushed skin, spreading the residual across your cheeks and lips, glossing them up, leaving you messy, breathless, and shaking beneath his touch.
he spanks you to teach you a lesson, pulling you close and tipping you forward over his lap, your bottom bare and propped against his thigh, leaving you helplessly exposed. your body twitches the moment you’re settled there, nerves already buzzing, breath stuttering as you instinctively try to squirm away.
at first, his hands are gentle—caressing your skin, kneading and massaging your leg and thigh, thumbs pressing in slow, deliberate circles that make your muscles loosen despite yourself. it almost feels kind—lulling you into a false sense of security. then, he asks you a question:
"Do you know what you did?"
you don't answer.
his hand strikes down against your ass.
you yelp, and your entire body jerks in his lap. his grip tightens instantly, steadying you, keeping you right where he wants you as your pulse spikes and heat blooms across your skin. the sting fades fast, melting into a deep, spreading burn that leaves you hypersensitive.
you twitch and squirm, thighs trembling, toes curling as you try to hide your face, your moans coming out muffled and broken against the pillows.
you don’t make the same mistake twice. every question he asks, you answer, quick and breathless, voice shaking—though it doesn’t stop him from spanking you anyway.
“such a pretty reaction,” Senku murmurs, amusement thick in his voice. you can practically hear the smirk on his face.
the next strike lands harder, and this time you can’t hold back the sound you make, a needy, wrecked moan spilling out as your body betrays you completely, pussy practically drooling all over his thigh.
he laughs softly at that, clearly entertained, his hand squeezing and groping at your ass as if to feel how sensitive you’ve gotten, how warm and pliant your skin is beneath his fingers. already, faint red marks are blooming where he’s struck you, darkening by the second, each new slap adding to the messy pattern painted across your cheeks.
he tells you to count, warning that every time you mess up, he’ll have to start over.
“o-one…”
your voice wobbles, barely audible, and you flinch when his hand hovers, waiting.
he doesn’t care for your useless whining or the tears gathering in your eyes. he only coos mockingly down at you, laughing softly at your pathetic form, at the way you tremble and cling to the pillows like they’re the only thing keeping you together.
too bad he’s going to have to start all over again.
you forgot to say two.
Senku loses his mind when you praise and degrade him simultaneously.
you dig your nails into his back, arching up into him, letting every inch of him stretch you open. “fuck… you feel so good, Sen… just like that…” you moan, letting every tilt of your hips speak for you.
his hips stutter at your words, a shiver running through him, head dropping forward until his face presses into the crook of your neck. the sound he makes—a low, trembling groan—is almost embarrassing, even though you know he’s loving every second of it.
“you feel so good inside me,” you continue, fingers digging a little harder, nails scratching over his shoulder blades. you hear the whimpers, the shaky breaths, and can’t help but grin.
“pathetic,” you murmur, voice low and teasing. “look at you… can’t even hold it together, can you? needy little fuck…”
his hands grip at the sheets, knuckles white, hips stuttering faster. he’s desperate, shaking, lost in how good he feels and how easily your words undo him. every gasp, every twitch, every whimper has him unraveling right in front of you, and you can’t stop grinning at how messy he’s getting.
“so good… just like that…” you praise, thrusting your hips up and tandem to his. “but look at you… such a fucking mess.”
he whines, almost a sob, hips jerking against you, body trembling, completely overstimulated. he spills inside you almost instantly, body shuddering, hips jerking, head still pressed to your neck as he rides out every second. the mixture of your words—the way you tell him he’s amazing but also so pathetic—keeps him lost in the feeling, trapped in your praise and your degradation all at once.
dumbification is just an ego trip for him. he gets off knowing he can take someone usually so witty and composed and turn them into a drooling, babbling mess with nothing more than his cock.
he pounds into you from behind, slow at first, letting you feel the weight and size of him, the way every inch stretches you open. then he starts fucking you harder, tipping you over the edge every time his tip hits that sweet spot inside. he pulls almost all the way out, tip barely inside your cunt, then thrusts all the way in, slamming into you
your face is pressed into the pillows, drool spilling down your chin, muffling your whining, your hips twitching uncontrollably with every thrust. your speech is gone, scrambled and slurred, thoughts dissolving, and the only thing that comes out of your lips is his name, over and over, a broken, needy mantra that makes him grin like a predator.
he’s so big and veiny, every stroke brushing against every spot that makes you lose yourself, making you whimper, making you shiver, making your body coil around him like it’s trying to cling to every sensation at once. your thighs clamp against him, hips lifting into every brutal, perfect thrust, but it’s no use—he’s too big, too fast, too relentless.
he shifts, changing the angle just enough to hit new spots, each one sending sparks through your brain, scattering your thoughts until you’re nothing but a whining, babbling wreck. your body quivers with every slam, pussy clenching, mind wiped clean except for the mess he’s made of you.
every desperate, broken sound you make makes him thrust harder, faster, like he can’t get enough of seeing you crumble, hearing your voice collapse into a slurry of whines and his name. your body is a mess of overstimulation, trembling, drooling, twitching, hips rutting back into him without control, and he revels in it, soaking in the chaos, the proof that he can undo you completely with nothing more than himself.
you’re his little mess, broken and babbling, completely scrambled, and he loves every filthy, desperate second of it, driving into you until all your body can do is twitch, all you can let out are needy whines, and repeated, slurred pleas for more.
Senku’s urge to breed you isn’t planned—it hits him on a whim. really, it’s more that you beg him, desperate, whining for him to fill you up, and he can’t say no to your precious pleas. the first time he does, the moment he spills inside you, he’s hit with this strange, overwhelming sensation—how warm and full you feel with him still buried inside, the wet, creamy sounds you make with every move. it flips a switch in his mind.
suddenly, all he can think about is fucking you senseless, filling you over and over again until you’re stuffed and its spilling out with every thrust, and even then, he keeps going, wanting to make up for every drop that escapes.
he spills his thick load inside you until he’s spent every last bit of himself. when he finally pulls out, he’s entranced by the way it dribbles down your ass, captivated by the mess he’s made.
he’s never really thought about somnophilia before, not seriously, but when you bring it up—admitting, a little embarrassed, that you’ve fantasized about being woken by him—something in him shifts. the idea of sliding into you while you’re asleep, feeling your body react before your mind even catches up, has him tenting in his pants before you can even finish the thought.
later, curled up in bed, you’re deep asleep, chest rising and falling softly, and he leans over you, cock twitching. he slides in slow at first, letting your body stir instinctively. your hips arch, thighs clench, soft muffled whimpers escaping as drool slips down your chin, pussy gripping him tight around every deliberate thrust.
“fuck… you’re so wet,” he murmurs low, voice rough, hearing the tiny, half-conscious whines that escape your lips. your body jerks, twitching instinctively, legs squeezing around him, chest heaving, and your mind is still fuzzy, half-lost in sleep.
“sen… mmm—” you murmur, half-delirious, voice soft and slurred, calling out to him in your sleep. your hips jerk instinctively, clenching around his cock, and before your words can form, a low groan from him cuts you off. he starts rutting harder, pounding into you, thrust after filthy thrust. relentless, punishing, filthy, he drives into you with stuttering hips, letting every twitch, gasp, and slick clench of your half-asleep body guide him. your moans, drool, and trembling clench mix together in a messy rhythm, and he pounds you until your legs shake, your chest heaves, and your body is utterly overtaken by sensation.
then he goes even harder, rutting and slamming, cock driving deep and fast, pushing your sleepy, messy body back under the sheets. your hips jerk, thighs clench, drool and moans spilling together, twitching instinctively around him as your half-conscious mind melts into a haze of pure sensation. he keeps thrusting, relentless and filthy, until your body gives in completely, shivering, sticky, trembling, and finally drifting back into a deep, exhausted, messy sleep with him still buried inside.
extra random blurb cause i'm not sure what this would be called... just petty banter??? (testing out @myloveforhergoeson 's request.... sorry it took me so long)
“are you seriously talking about work right now?” he growls, hips stuttering as he pounds into you, cock sliding deep, dragging against your walls.
you roll your eyes, cheeks warm, even though he can’t see them from this angle. “don’t act like you don’t do it too,” you snap, voice soft but teasing, “and it was a good—fuck!” he slams back into you mid-sentence, hands gripping your ass, spreading you wide so he can feel and see every inch of how desperately you take him.
your pussy clamps around him, every sloppy, desperate motion pulling him deeper. he hums low, almost noncommittal, completely entranced by the way your body swallows him, by the sight of his cock dragging through your walls, by every twitch and shiver you give him.
but it doesn’t take long before his rhythm falters, hips losing their edge, breath breaking in uneven gasps, cock still buried deep but his stamina giving out. you feel it instantly—the hitch, the hesitation—and a wicked grin curls across your lips as you twist beneath him, flipping him onto his back in one smooth motion.
you straddle his waist without hesitation, sinking back down onto his cock in one slow, deliberate roll of your hips before you start riding him hard. bouncing, grinding, rutting against him, using his body like it’s yours to play with.
“fuck—” he gasps, head falling back into the pillows, hands scrambling for your hips. “you’re—”
“what?” you taunt breathlessly, slamming back down onto him, cutting him off. “isn't this what you wanted?”
his reply dissolves into a broken groan as you ride him mercilessly, your pussy clenching and milking him with every bounce. his hips jerk up into yours in helpless reflex, thighs shaking, breath coming in ragged pulls, eyes glassy with overstimulation.
you roll your hips slow just to feel him twitch, then snapping back into a brutal rhythm that has him choking on a sob.
he can barely form words anymore—just broken whines and shaky gasps—head thrown back, tears pricking at his lashes as you work him apart, riding him until he’s trembling, ruined, and completely undone beneath you.
an: yes i spent all day being a whore and gooning over senku instead of actually being productive, how did you know? probably have wayyy more that i forgot about but its getting kinda long lol.
would love to hear if you guys have any different ideas or scenarios!
