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 couldn’t explain ionic bonding properly even if their life depended on it. And honestly? That would’ve been fine. You weren’t 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.
You visibly got annoyed when someone asked a question that had already been answered. Five minutes ago. Word for word. And you weren’t 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 didn’t click? When you didn’t 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 YouTube’s homepage and your will to academically succeed (read: suffer).
You typed “bond angles” into the search bar. Hit enter, and scrolled. Then a thumbnail caught your eye.
“Predicting Bond Angles – (VSEPR Theory but not boring)” 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 much—which he did—or didn’t 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 hybridization—when 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 weren’t 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 diagrams—clean 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 didn’t even care.
And then… there was that video.
A short one. Barely three minutes.
“Iodine Clock Reaction – Visual Chemistry in Real Time”
You clicked on it like you were possessed.
It was simple—two clear liquids, a few drops of starch, and a timer. You knew the experiment already. You’d seen it done a dozen times in lab. You’d even done it yourself. But somehow, when he did it, it was a cinematic masterpiece.
The camera was angled just right—focused 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 then—the clamps.
He adjusted the glassware with the same energy you imagined he’d use to unbutton his lab coat (which you have no idea why your thoughts immediately ran there)—methodical, focused, and totally unaware of the damage he was doing to your sanity. Forearms flexing, veins shifting, wrist angled just slightly—You 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 protest—but got stuck halfway out, sobbing.
You didn’t 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 wasn’t educational.
“This is fine. I’m still learning.” You whispered to yourself
You weren’t.
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 catchphrase— “this is exhilarating, get excited” he can’t help himself, its like second nature
While editing his experiment videos, he add little text boxes that say “*item* acquired” ( like in the anime)
That comes in handy later
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
At first, it was a side project. Something to kill time between lectures, experiments, and tutoring sessions with students who couldn’t 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 explanations—combustion, 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 who’d seen too many dead-eyed professors stumble through half-baked PowerPoints that they repurposed over the past 5 decades and somehow still made them boring.
He didn’t 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 won’t be a controlled reaction.
Anotherusername: i can literally get off to his voice rn bro omg…
He sighed, deeply. Then dragged a hand through his loosely tied-up hair, fingers threading through strands that refused to stay neat. He didn’t 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 couldn’t 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?
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
Now, Senku wasn’t exactly an avid social media user.
Sure, he had all the apps downloaded—after relentless badgering from Gen and Ryusui, who had both made it their mission to pressure him into being “normal” for once.
Senku used Instagram occasionally, mostly to lurk. To like Taiju’s blurry gym selfies. To comment “inaccurate” under Chrome’s chaotic science photo dumps—half of which somehow included a blurry photo of him.
Nothing on his own feed, though. His personal account was private, untouched, maxed out at like 26 followers—half of which were probably bots, and one was definitely just Ryusui’s 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 didn’t 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.
People tagging him in the same comment section. Spamming him.
Weird.
It wasn’t 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 that—a war crime in the form of buttercream—uneven icing, no symmetry, and piped text that looked like it was written mid-seizure. He could’ve 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 you’d spent time choosing each one. The video hadn’t 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: “I KNEW YOU’D PUT HIM FIRST OMFG”
Senku blinked. Then, almost reluctantly, pressed play.
“Okay, so this is my ‘Hear Me Out’ cake,” you said with a breathless little laugh, voice rich with amusement and just the right touch of self-deprecation. “Please don’t judge…”
You laughed nervously at the camera, your voice familiar in the way ambient noise becomes addictive. He knew you—kind of. You were popular, at least on campus. Friendly with everyone. Smart. You asked questions in class that weren’t dumb, which was rare. People actually listened when you talked.
But he never—not once—imagined you listened to him.
Until the moment your fingers—painted nails and all—planted 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.
“I don’t know what it is about him,” you went on, eyes wide and glittering like you couldn’t believe what you were admitting, “but I feel a carnal type of desire whenever I hear his voice.”
Silence.
Real, gut-wrenching silence.
Senku just stared at the screen. One brow lifted. Lips parted slightly. Blinking. Nothing.
“…What.”
It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard shit like that before. He had. The comments under his videos were riddled with deranged confessionals and late-night voice-induced breakdowns. He’d seen them. Sighed at them. Maybe rolled his eyes on occasion.
But something about hearing you say that—out loud—while staring directly into the camera, shoving his logo into a cake like it was the most natural thing in the world…Now he’s reading the rest of the comments, most of which you had liked.
“his voice scratches my brain in just the right spot i can’t explain it.”
“if he ever does a face reveal it’s over for all of us.”
“whoever he is irl i hope he’s single bc i’m mentally married to him already.”
“i can’t even watch his videos in public anymore istg.”
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 hair—half-loose from the shitty tie job he’d done earlier. He didn’t 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 didn’t 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 there—smiling at the camera, laughing like you hadn’t just shoved a stick into a cake bearing his logo and said you felt a “carnal desire” whenever you heard his voice.
He stared at the screen like it personally offended him. It didn’t. Not really. The offense was fake—just a weak cover for something worse, something much more humiliating.
You were attractive. That much had always been obvious.
He had eyes, didn’t he?
He wasn’t 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 couldn’t stop noticing.
Your face. Your voice. Your laugh.
And the worst part?
You were smart.
Not smart like “gets good grades.” That wasn’t hard. No—smart 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 were…
Fuck.
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands, groaning.
He didn’t do this. He didn’t get… distracted. He didn’t get flustered. Romance wasn’t even on the table. It was too messy. Too emotional. Too inefficient. He had research. He had goals. The last thing he needed was—
Another notification.
He glanced over. More tags. More people replying to your video.
More people joking, “@mecha.senku bro SAY SOMETHING!!! WE KNOW YOU SEE THIS.”
He hovered. His cursor blinking over the comment section.
He shouldn’t. There was no reason to. There was no benefit. No scientific purpose. No—He 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.
“OH MY GOD HE COMMENTED OH MY GOD OH MY—”
“HE KNOWS. HE FUCKING KNOWS.
“NAH??? THE MAN HIMSELF??? NO WAY”
“@y/n GIRL U NEED TO WAKE UP RN”
Every five seconds, your phone buzzes.
Buzz.
Buzz.
BuzzBuzzBuzz.
It starts slow—innocent. A like here. A tag there. Then, as if the universe pulled a lever, it turns into an avalanche. Your screen lights up like it’s 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?
You’re 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. Because—no. No way.
There’s 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 little—not in a dizzy way, more like the fabric of reality is reconfiguring around your phone screen. Like you’ve 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 how—by laughing. Not normal laughing. That kind of panicked, unhinged, screeching laugh that sounds like it’s 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.
“Wow,” you say out loud to your empty room, chest rising and falling, heart jackhammering somewhere behind your ribs. “No way. This is such a crazy-ass dream…” 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 supposed crush? Apparently omniscient.
Your life? Ruined. Maybe. Probably.
But your phone’s still vibrating under your thigh like it’s trying to combust.
And yeah. You’re never going to be normal about this again.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
It’s a few days later when you finally have biochem again.
Your professor had sent out an email at the end of last class—something about paying attention to the partner list for the next lab. You hadn’t 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, or—worse—turn into something more incriminating.
You didn’t 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 you’d 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, you’re 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 doesn’t look up at first—he’s 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.
“Hey,” he says, voice low, casual. A little rough around the edges, like he just got over a cold or hadn’t talked to anyone in hours.
Your spine locks. You blink. Hard.
“Hi,” you manage, but it comes out thinner than you mean it to—stretched at the edges, fraying like an old thread. “You’re… my partner?”
He glances at the roster sheet clipped to the bench as if just now confirming something he already knew. “Looks like it.” There’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—barely a smirk, more like a thought trying to become one. “Hope you’re decent with a microscope.”
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 isn’t currently short-circuiting every neuron in your academic-functioning brain.
You’ve 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 “excuse me” 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 professors—calm, surgical, relentless—and somehow still walked out of every debate not only correct, but respected.
You admired him from afar. Kinda academically. Kinda not. (mostly not.)
But you’re 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 don’t get distracted. Not by things like this. Not by people like him. Or at least you didn’t. Until now.
Because working with him shouldn’t be this bad. Shouldn’t 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 then—God. The way he adjusts the microscope. Methodical. Controlled. His fingers moving like he’s done this a thousand times and still treats the equipment like it’s breakable—which it is, so you have no idea why him treating it as such is doing something to you—it all starts to blur together in your head.
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 base—like 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 doesn’t 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 he’s composing something. You know those hands. You’ve seen them before. Over and over. In reaction videos. In slow motion clips, 0.25x speed. In the YouTube comments people timestamp for “scientific purposes.”
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 now—behind your eyes, in your fingertips.
Because you’re looking at him. Really looking.
And it hits you like a truck doing 90 in a 60.
That’s him.
That’s him.
Your biochem lab partner. Senku Ishigami.
Is Mecha Senku. The, Mecha Senku.
And he knows. Oh, he knows.
He’s not even looking at you right now, but you swear—swear—there’s the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth. A smirk barely there, as he slides a sample onto the tray like he didn’t just casually detonate your grasp on reality.
“Oh my god,” you breathe. Not loud. But not quiet, either.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t 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 then—still 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 session—he says,
“Something wrong?”
You want to bang your head on the table.
Instead, you choke, swallow whatever dignity you had left, and squeak out,
“No. Nope. All good. Just… thinking.”
He hums, low and amused, like he already knows what you’re thinking about.
You're going to die here. Right next to your science tutor YouTuber crush who is also your real-life lab partner crush—for completely unrelated reasons—who 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.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
It doesn’t happen right away.
In fact, it almost doesn’t happen at all.
Because after the Mecha Senku revelation, after the comment, after the lab, after the video—you basically short-circuit. You try to act normal in the days that follow. You show up to class. Try to pretend like it’s no big deal that your anonymous science tutor crush is also your lab partner who is also your mutual…acquaintence? Friend? You didn't know which term you fell under in this situation. You tell yourself it’s fine. It’s not weird. You’re being mature about this.
And then he likes one of your posts. One of your older ones. A video from 3 months ago where you’re 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.
That’s 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. He’s watching your content. On purpose. He’s scrolling. Deep enough to find something from weeks ago, which means he’s either curious, bored, or—God forbid—interested.
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 doesn’t bring up the video. Doesn’t mention the TikTok. Doesn’t 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 like… 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 doesn’t break until two weeks later.
You’re 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 they’d been waiting for the right second to align.
You glance over.
Senku.
Of course it’s 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 he’s here, walking beside you unprompted, is enough to make you question every single one of your life choices.
You’re 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 face—bored, maybe. Or focused. Or just better at masking than you are. He doesn’t say anything right away, and you’re half-preparing yourself for some comment about glycolysis pathways or the upcoming quiz that you’ve been dreading over.
But then he exhales through his nose and says, “I’ve been thinking.”
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 doesn’t stray but you raise an eyebrow. “About…?”
He pauses for a beat. A way too long beat. Long enough to make your stomach drop. Then, casually: “A collab.”
You blink. “What?”
“A video,” he clarifies, like this is something completely normal that happens all the time. “A joint one. On your account. Or mine, doesn't matter to me. Mutually beneficial, wider audience reach, strategic engagement—pick whatever reason you want.”
You stop walking. He doesn’t.
“Wait,” you say, catching up. “You mean, like… a TikTok?”
He shrugs. “Sure. That’s your area. Whatever gets views. I figure if everyone is already suspecting something, I might as well do a face reveal while I’m at it.”
Silence. Pure, deafening silence. You can’t even think of what to say. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Because it’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them. Like it’s no big deal. Like the internet hasn’t been begging for a glimpse of his face since his third viral video. Like he hasn’t been a literal science cryptid for the past three years and now he’s just… casually deciding to unmask like it’s just something to check off on his bucket list.
“Why now?” 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 he’s trying to suppress it.
“Felt like the right time,” he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, you’ve already done the hard part.”
You blink. “The hard part?”
He hums, nodding once. “Making me realize it’s not that deep.”
You blink again, brain buffering like it just hit a patch of missing code. “Wait… what?”
He shrugs again, like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t the culmination of literal years of silence and mystery and curated anonymity. “People’ve been asking for a face reveal since the beginning. I always told myself it wasn’t worth it. Kept saying it didn’t matter, that it’d just mess things up. But then you…” He pauses, and there’s this barely-there curve at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile—something quieter. More dangerous. “You made it feel kind of… harmless.”
Your pulse stutters. Your stomach flips. You don’t even have time to brace for what’s next.
“I mean, it’s not every day someone from your school logs online just to say she practically gets off to—”
You don’t let him finish. You physically can’t. Your hands are already flying up, face buried before your brain fully catches up, a sound of absolute mortification ripping out of your throat.
“Oh my God,” you groan, fingers pressing into your temples like you can massage the memory out of existence. “Please don’t say it like that. This is already, embarrassing enough as it is, The whole video was like a public humiliation ritual”
He lets out a chuckle at that. Way too satisfied with your reaction. Like he predicted it. When you don’t continue further he decides to speak up again.
“Think about it,” he says before splitting off toward his next class. “You pick the trend. I’ll show up.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
You kind of forget about the whole thing.
Not on purpose, of course. It’s 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 “never doing that” way, but more like… “I will emotionally process this after midterms or death, whichever comes first.” kind of way.
There’s just never a good moment to circle back and be like, “Hey… remember that video idea you volunteered for? Wanna hang out and pretend we’re not both chronically online and know what we’re doing?”
Yeah, no. No way.
But then the first break in your schedule opens up—a blessed, random Sunday with no looming assignments due at 11:59, no labs, no back-to-back lectures sucking the soul from your body—and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re typing a text.
It’s 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 it’d 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?
That’s it. That’s the whole text. Dry. Short. And so to the point it makes you start to question if he even wants to go, but you’ll take your chances. You send him the info—location, hours, all that—and hope for the best. Hope you don’t show up alone. Hope you don’t sit around pretending not to be stood up for a date that isn’t 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?
He’s already there when you arrive.
Not just there— but early. Waiting outside like it’s 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. He’s not dressed up, exactly, but there’s 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 neck—totally 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 didn’t also plan your outfit, and a tote bag that’s 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 weren’t just frozen in place two seconds ago. “We’re kind of matching.”
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 he’s gathering data. Like your outfit’s a puzzle he’s solving in real-time. His mouth twitches, just slightly, into something that toes the line between smug and genuinely amused.
“Yeah, I guess so…” He shifts his weight, pocketing his phone. “You look nice.”
You blink. Buffering. “You—uh. You too! I mean, not that I was—uh, yeah, thanks. You look good too.” You internally wince. Recover. “I hope you weren’t waiting out here long?”
He shakes his head, “Not really. Got here early on purpose.”
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 that’s not his facial structure or the way the light catches on the slope of his nose.
“Should we… go in?” 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.
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 earthy—maybe his shampoo? Maybe something herbal?—that drifts off of him every time he turns to speak. You try, in vain, to be normal.
The museum’s 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.
“Cretaceous, huh,” he says, voice low and a little warm, like he’s half-talking to himself. “Not exactly cutting edge, but still cool.”
You blink at him. “Are you—are you seriously judging the dinosaur bones right now?”
He glances at you. “Just saying, there’s been more interesting finds. I’d rather see a well-preserved stromatolite, personally.”
You snort. Actually snort, and he grins, which is possibly the worst thing he could do because now you’re staring at his lips and—
“God, you’re such a nerd,” you mutter, grinning before you can help it.
“And you’re not?” 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. “Yeah, okay, fair. But at least I pretend to be normal in public.”
“Mm. Is that what this is?” he says, and he doesn’t even try to hide the smile this time. It’s subtle, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, but it makes your stomach do a little flip anyway.
You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy trying not to combust.
You keep walking, slowly, drifting from case to case. The exhibits start to blur together after a while—early mammals, glacial imprints, fossilized flora—because 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. He’s not smug about it, nor cruel. Just quietly observant. Like he’s 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 phone—soft pans over the displays. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t shy away when the camera catches his shoulder or the back of his hand. Just lets you do your thing.
You’re halfway through the museum when your feet start to ache (your fault for wearing boots with no sole support) and your stomach lets out the saddest, weakest little growl. Senku hears it, of course. He doesn’t say anything—just jerks his chin toward the small, in-museum café tucked into the corner past the rotating exhibit, and heads that way without needing a response.
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. You’re pulling your phone out again before you can really think about it.
He raises an eyebrow when he sees you tying—and failing—to discretely smile at your phone.
“I know that face,” he says, stirring his coffee. “What are you scheming?”
You grin, wide and sweet and a little mischievous. “You said I could pick the trend.”
“Unfortunately,” he mutters, setting down his cup.
You show him the audio.
He watches the sample once. Then again. Then nods. “Got it.”
You give him a quick breakdown anyway—“Ok so basically we just shake hands. So you would film me first to ‘My name is Pink, and I’m really glad to meet you.’ Then you do ‘You’re recommended to me by some people.’ Then back to me: ‘Hey, ooh, is this illegal?’ And you finish it: ‘Hey, ooh, it feels illegal?’ You got that? ”
Senku just gives you that flat, unimpressed look, the one that makes it impossible to tell if he’s judging you or already planning your execution in terrifying detail.
“Simple enough,” he says. “Let’s get it over with.”
You record it in pieces. The lighting’s good, the cafe’s 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 it’s 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 that—talking more now. About the exhibit, about the parts you skipped, about other museums you like. The vibe’s different. It’s looser, comfortable in a way you didn’t fully expect to get this quickly. He’s 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 sun’s 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.
“You’re surprisingly tolerable company,” he says as you walk out together.
You scoff. “Wow. Thanks. I’ll be sure to put that in my LinkedIn endorsements.”
“I’m just saying,” he replies, glancing at you, “You’re not as obnoxious as most people.”
You bump your shoulder into his. “Aw, you like me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
He doesn’t 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: “You can’t put a price on revolutionizing orbital propulsion”), it hits you how easy this is.
And more dangerously—how fun. You can’t 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. He’s explaining something about a propulsion system prototype—specifically, fluid resistance and force ratios.
“It’s all about tension and release,” he says, absently adjusting his sleeves as he walks. “That’s how you maintain velocity without risking collapse.”
You glance at him sideways, smile sinisterly curling at the corners. “Mm. I’ve got some tension I’m sure you could release.”
He stops. Stops walking. Like his operating system just force-quit.
“…What?”
You keep walking a few paces before turning to look back at him, mock-innocent. “What? I’m just being honest. You should be more careful with that mouth of yours, Ishigami. You’ll feed into the online delusions.”
He blinks once. Twice. Visibly buffering. You can see it—like 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 pink—barely there, but enough to clock if you’re looking for it. Which, obviously, you are.
He clears his throat, and mutters something under his breath about “not being responsible for your interpretations.”
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 you’re already editing. But from him.
Because if there’s one thing that’s true about you—it’s 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 again… I physically cant think like that anymore
Anyway! Both your respective fans go crazy when the initial collab drops
Comments and dm’s begging you guys to post together more—and I mean, who are you to deny the fans?
You make appearances in all of his videos where he “needs” an extra pair of hands
And he’s always seen in your “what i do in a day” 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.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
After that, you two just… keep hanging out. Off campus, mostly. Call them dates, call them… whatever—no one’s 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 “oh really?” muttered under your breath every time he says something too smug. He always responds with a coy, “Don’t look at me like that unless you want something,” and you always raise a brow and say, “Maybe I do.”
You’re both like that.
Witty. Sharp. Teasing.
During stargazing, you’re 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, “Is this your way of seducing me? Because it’s working.”
He glances at you sideways. Doesn’t even pause. “You’re the one lying next to me under the stars. I’d say the seduction’s mutual.”
And at the beach? The energy’s dialed up even more.
You’re in a bikini under his oversized button-up, hair still damp from taking a dunk in the ocean, when you say something cheeky like, “You’ve been watching me all day. Just admit it.”
He doesn’t even blink, much less looks at you. “I’m studying gravitational pull in action.”
“Oh?” you hum sweetly. “Like, my body’s gravitational pull?”
“I meant the tide,” he deadpans. “But your ego has its own orbit, so sure.”
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.
There’s never been a conversation about what it is between you, but neither of you need one. You’ve both carved a little space into each other’s lives now—distinct, irreplaceable, and entirely yours. No one else quite fits the shape.
So it’s no surprise that you spend a lot of time in each other’s dorm—or in this case, Senku’s off-campus apartment. Sometimes for studying when the library’s full, but mostly just to hang out in the comfort of each other's presence.
You’re dressed in low-rise sweats and a tank top, now buried beneath one of Senku’s 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 collar’s stretched from years of wear. It smells like detergent and something vaguely medicinal—like tea tree or menthol or maybe him.
He’s at his desk, deep into some spreadsheet or CAD model, muttering to himself about air resistance. You’re 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 isn’t 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. It’s routine by now. Domestic, in a weird way.
He leans back in his chair eventually, spinning halfway to glance at you. “Hey,” he says, like he didn’t just finish modeling an entire turbine blade. “In class the other day—when Takahashi brought up reward pathways—you didn’t say anything. You disagree with the textbook stuff?”
You glance over your phone, one brow raised. “What, the dopamine bit?”
He nods. “And the serotonin model. You looked like you were biting your tongue.”
You shift onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. “I mean, yeah. Kinda. The textbook oversimplifies it. Dopamine’s not just a ‘pleasure’ chemical. It’s tied to motivation, reinforcement, emotional memory—like, the anticipation of reward, not just the reward itself.”
He’s still watching you. “Go on.”
And that’s all the permission you need. You sit up straighter, words spilling out like second nature. You talk with your hands, tangents spiraling into other tangents—sliding effortlessly into a topic you’ve 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.
Senku’s not even pretending to work anymore. His laptop’s still open, screen glowing against the side of his face, but his eyes are all on you—sharp, focused, borderline amused.
He hums. “So… theoretically,” he says, tapping his pen against his lip, “if someone were, say, stressed. Touch could help regulate that.”
“Yeah,” you nod, without hesitation. “That’s why hugging works. Holding hands, even brief skin contact; it’s all connected to emotional regulation. Even something like—”
You pause. Shouldn’t say it. But do anyway.
“—making out.”
There’s a pause. One beat. Two.
You glance at him. He’s still watching you, face unreadable. “Making out?” he repeats slowly.
You shrug, casual. “I’m just saying. High dopamine, high oxytocin, a little adrenaline from the novelty? Basically a neurochemical cocktail.”
His head tilts, expression unreadable. Then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world:
“Wanna try it?”
Your brain blanks. “What?”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” He says it flatly. Almost like he’s bored. But there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes haven’t moved from yours once. “For science. Of course.”
You stare at him. “You’re not serious.”
He shifts to stand, lazy and unbothered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
And then he’s walking over, bracing a knee on the mattress beside you. You stay frozen. Your heart is in your throat. Or maybe your stomach. It’s hard to tell with the way it’s pounding. He leans in just enough that you can feel his breath, hovering, giving you a chance to pull away.
You don’t.
And that’s 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.
You’re not sure when it stopped feeling like a joke. But it doesn’t 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 warm—calloused in the way only someone who spends too long with tools and lab equipment can be—sliding up beneath the hem of his own sweater draped over you. Fingers brushing your bare skin tentatively, like he’s 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.
You smile into the kiss—just a little. And he kisses you harder.
There’s something methodical in the way he touches you, like he’s studying even now. Testing reactions. Adjusting accordingly. But it’s not the detached, cold type of analyzing. It’s quiet intention, attentive hunger. The kind that says he doesn’t 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 it’s a path he’s memorizing. You’re already pulling him back down the moment he shifts to rise, needing more—needing him. He goes willingly. He always does.
His lips hover near your neck, and when he finally presses them there, it’s with purpose. A mark, claiming. You feel the heat it brings you all the way down to your core.
“You react so easily,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, like he’s more fascinated than surprised. “Like your body’s just waiting for me to touch it.”
You hate how right he is. Or maybe you don’t. Not when his hands are gliding down, lower and lower, caressing the skin of your ribs to your hips.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
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 marked—courtesy of him, of course—he’d probably apologize. But he has you exactly where he's been wanting you, and you’re definitely not complaining, if the way you're squeezing around his fingers have any say in the matter.
“Fuck… you're tightening up. Are you close already?” he’s 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.
Why did he have to be so good at this?
“You’re really that sensitive, huh?” he mummers, dragging his thumb just barely over your clit and he chuckles when your body jerks forward. Your thighs try to close but he’s already in between them, his other hand prying them open, keeping you exposed and needy under his touch.
He’s 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.
God, it turned him on in more ways than he possibly imagined.
Senku leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, just to watch the way you squirm. “C'mon,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, “don’t hide from me. I want to hear everything.”
You whimper at that—a soft, choked sound, and he feels it all the way down. His cock throbs in his pants, neglected, untouched, but he doesn’t care about that right now. Now when this is happening. Not when you’re this responsive, this wrecked just from his fingers. And so… 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.
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.
You’re close. So, so close.
So he gives it to you—just the right rhythm, the right amount of pressure, and that voice again, like a switch flipped inside of him:
“Go on, baby, it’s okay. Be a good girl and come for me.”
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.
“Fuck, that's it… just like that.” He’s 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 shake—like 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 wearing—ruined, flushed, lips parted, still trying to catch your breath.
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 first—your 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.
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 he’s 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.
Senku stares down at you, his lips pink and wet, eyes dark with an unmistakable desire. But you don’t 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 don’t even speak. You just stare down at him, eyes locked on his, and you let your palm glide over the front of his boxers—feel how hard he is. How long he’s 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,” you murmur, voice dipped in faux sweetness. "Bet I could make you come just like this—barely 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.
“it’s okay,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Come 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 whine—it’s with your name on his lips. And even after, when he's still trembling, breath ragged, forehead resting against yours, he kisses you again.
It’s softer now. Slower, more sensual. Like he’s 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 move—slow, subtle grind that makes both of you gasp.
“Is this okay?” you murmur, lips brushing his. “We don’t have to…”
His hands find your hips, tentative, but firm enough to tell you he doesn’t want you to stop. “Y-yeah,” he swallows hard. “Just—condom. They’re in the nightstand.” 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. “I kind of just want to feel you,” you say softly. “Just you.”
His breath catches, and his grip on your hips tighten. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, tone somewhere between a joke and the truth.
“I’m on the pill,” you say, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “And I haven’t been with anyone. Not since we started hanging out…”
His gaze locks with yours—surprised, a little shy. “Me neither.”
There’s a beat. Neither of you says it—what this means, or where it’s going—but you don’t 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 he’s been holding back, it’s not a fall. It’s 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. He’s still hard, heavy and warm in your hand, and the sound he makes when you stroke him again makes your head spin.
His hands tense on your thighs. "God," he whispers, barely holding on. "You-you don't have to—"
"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.
And when you start to sink down—inch by inch, taking your time—his 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. Just—don'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 hips—his hands come up to grip your waist like he's afraid he might actually fall apart under you.
At first, it’s easy to stay in control. You set the pace, savor the friction, chase the tension building in your belly.
But it doesn’t 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 limbs—but 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 there’s barely a sliver of red left. And he’s watching you. His gaze is steady, and intense—like he sees everything. Like he’s not the one unraveling here. You are.
And through the fog in your head, it hits you that he’s smiling.
Not mockingly, just this small, breathless grin, like you’re an experiment he doesn’t want to stop testing. And the way he says your name, low, and rough, like he’s 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 doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to.
He just says, “You're falling apart, aren’t you?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. 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 voice—God, his voice. It's low and thick and soaked in wonder, like he can’t believe this is real. Like he can’t believe it’s 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't—"
"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 pushing—never pushing. Just wanting. "You're already doing it.”
His voice dips again, breathless. “Look at you..."
It’s awe. Pure, undiluted pleasure. Every word that falls from his lips sounds like it’s unraveling him as much as it is you. And somehow, that’s 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. “Just give me one more…”
He's losing control fast. Your soft, whiny little sounds are killing him. Every breathy moan, every gasp, every whimper—you'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 so—fuck, you're perfect around me, I can't—"
He whines-actually whines—a 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're—you're making me crazy—how are you so fucking—tight—?”
You make another sound—desperate and broken—and 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 whine—God, you whine—and 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.
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 you—but it doesn't. He's still looking right at you, and God, he's still talking.
"Just like that... you're so—fuck, you're so perfect like this."
His voice is breathless, thick with disbelief and need. "I can feel you... every time you move, I-shit—"
And maybe you don't mean to do it. Maybe you're just grabbing onto something—anything—to 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. "Shit–do that again—" he gasps, voice cracking. "Please–fuck—!"
So you do.
You fist your hand in the mess of his pale strands and pull.
He falls apart.
"God—I'm–fuck, I'm coming—" 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.
You don’t 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. He’s 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 doesn’t speak right away either. He wraps his arms around you, his hold is loose at first—like he’s not sure he’s allowed—and then tighter, like he can’t help it. Like letting go now would undo him. His voice is hoarse when he finally whispers, “You okay?”
You nod into his neck, barely moving. “Yeah. You?”
He lets out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “I think I’m still alive.” He says. “But barely.”
You smile, eyes closed, cheek pressed to his skin. “Was that…?”
“Yes,” he says instantly, like you needing to ask the question is absurd. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”
You laugh softly and feel him grin against your temple. There’s a pause—comfortable, heavy with the weight of what just happened—and then he shifts, brushing your hair gently away from your face.
“I didn’t… hurt you, or anything?”
“No,” you murmur. “You were perfect. Seriously.”
You finally lift your head, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess, his cheeks are still flushed, and his eyes are glassy—but he’s smiling. Soft. Uncertain. Happy. And for a moment, he’s not the genius, not the scientist, not the voice behind a screen.
He’s just a boy, flushed and messy, still a little out of breath, and completely, irreversibly gone for you.
You lean down and kiss him once—just a press of lips. Nothing more. Then you collapse on top of him again with a soft groan.
“We should probably clean up,” you mumble into his chest.
He hums. “Eventually.”
Neither of you moves.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
Later, you do get up—clean up, change, all that boring post-mindblowing-sex routine—but it’s quiet. Natural. And once you're both back in bed, it’s like gravity pulls you together again without even trying.
The room’s 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.
Senku’s still. His hand hasn’t moved from your back, fingers lazily tracing the curve of your spine like he doesn’t know how to not be touching you now.
And then, without looking at you, he says quietly:
“…So is this the part where we pretend that never happened?”
You blink. “…Do you want to pretend that never happened?”
He’s silent for a moment too long.
“No,” he admits. “Not even a little.”
You shift just enough to look up at him. His hair’s 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.
“I’m not exactly…” He hesitates, frowning slightly. “Good at this stuff.”
You smile. “Sex?”
“No. Well—” His ears go red. “That too. But I meant… this. Whatever this is. Relationships. Wanting someone this much. Letting them in.”
You don’t say anything right away. Just reach up, gently brushing some of his hair out of his face.
“Senku,” you murmur, soft and certain, “you don’t have to be good at it. We’re figuring it out together.”
He swallows, throat tight. “…You’re not gonna run when you realize I’m not exactly the most conventional partner?”
You blink, lips twitching. “After what just happened? I’m definitely not running. I can barely walk.”
He huffs—almost a laugh. Then finally, finally, he meets your eyes again. Really meets them.
“And besides,” you add softly, “I knew how you were before all of this. I’m your friend first, always. I love you just the way you are.”
“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” he says, blunt in that way only Senku can be. You were just… there. Constant. Loud. Infuriatingly smart. Always messing with my things, always in my space.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re digging a really deep hole right now.”
He exhales—short, almost a laugh. “Yeah, well. Then one day I realized I didn’t want any of it to stop. I didn’t want you to stop. I think that scared me more than anything.”
Your lips twitch. “You call that romantic?”
“I’m a scientist,” he deadpans. “Not a poet.”
You grin, pushing up slightly so you can lean over him, your hands braced on either side of his head.
“Well,” you murmur, eyes soft, “guess I’ll have to be the romantic one.”
His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.
“You always were.”
You lean in and kiss him—slow, like it’s not a first or a second or a tenth, but something you’ve always had the right to do. He kisses back like he’s 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.
“…So,” you say softly. “What do we call this now?”
He hums thoughtfully. “An unplanned but highly successful chemical reaction?”
You snort. “Try again, scientist.”
His mouth quirks. “Girlfriend acquired?”
You blink. “Did you just say that like you unlocked an achievement?”
“I say that every time I make something new in the lab,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Why would this be any different?”
You roll your eyes, but your heart is doing dangerous things in your chest. “God, you’re such a dork.”He shrugs under you. “Yeah. But I’m your dork now. Apparently.”
Ignore the lowk OOC last line… 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 you’re posting like normal, sometimes popping up on each other's page, then just… radio silence.
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.”
“They eloped in the mountains. She’s pregnant. They’re living off the grid with goats.”
“She accidentally killed him during an experiment and is covering it up.”
All of these are objectively incorrect.
In reality? You’re working through your first relationship, and when you’re ready, you’ll both be back.
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.
cw ꕤ nsfw!!!!!! minors and ageless dni!!!!!!!!! body worship, begging, gn!reader (i think, i really tried my best), breeding-ish, shibari, biting (m!receiving), edging, overstimulation, riding, missionary, maybe etc im not sure my brain cells are gone
wc ꕤ 1717
SENKU
senku will take the entire night finding out what makes you feel good. he’ll make you cum until you’re spent, and then make you cum more after that. “just one or two more tests, you’re doing so good for me.” he speaks so softly and sweetly to you that you can’t help but keep going for him. he’s a huge liar though, because he won’t stop until he figures out what makes you squirm, or scream. he’ll fully ignore his hard-on, focused only on you and your orgasm(s). before he can pleasure himself, he wants to know where your sensitive spots are. he wants to make you moan his name until you can’t speak. for science. of course. “was it here, or… oh, that’s where it was.” he’ll try everything over and over again until it’s muscle memory. so that next time he fucks you, he can do it right. “next time,” he starts, right by your ear, watching your cum spill out for the nth time, “i’ll be able to hold you right over the edge until you break.”
TAIJU
he goes just so feral for you. he loves you and your body so much that he can’t help himself, he can’t even wait until you get to bed. he obviously waits until you’re in private but as soon as that door closes he’s ripping both of your clothes off, picking you up, and pushing you against the closest wall. you need to have some crazy stamina to handle him. “you’re so pretty, baby, i love feeling you against me.” he groans against you, leaving as many hickeys on your neck as possible. the hickeys aren’t for others to see, they’re more because he just wants you to feel exactly how much he loves you. he wants you to have physical proof of his love.
TSUKASA
if i had to use two words to describe the way this man fucks you it is raw and rough. he wants you to feel his cum deep inside. he’ll only pull out if he’s cum inside you once, and when he pulls out all his cum has to hit your body somewhere. his cum needs to be covering you by the time he’s done. he’ll use you like you’re a fucktoy, and he will treat you the same way. “i can feel you tightening around me. you like being my cumdump that bad, huh?” he loves making you ride him. “a real fucktoy wouldn’t get tired. should i get one?” he touches all your sensitive spots while you’re riding him, getting you even weaker so he can tease you for being tired.
CHROME
chrome fucking you would include a ton of giggling and romance on both ends. he’d kiss you passionately, but, “oh, shit, babe, did i bite your lip?” the two of you laugh it off, and move on. when it gets more serious… hickeys everywhere. he’s proud he’s yours, he wants both of you to be marked from top to bottom. he stretches his neck more than usual the day after, showing everybody your beautiful work. he gets so passionate he’ll be fucking you so fast he doesn’t even notice. he just needs to feel you around him. whenever it slips out (because it happens more than you’d think), he apologizes and goes right back to it. he’ll fuck you past the point of overstimulation. your legs will be shaking by the end of it. he’ll just grin innocently and take care of you as best as he can.
KINRO
he’ll usually let you take more control, whatever makes you happy. but if you give him control, his favorite position is missionary. he loves watching your expressions and he loves seeing your face when you’re moaning. he loves that you can see his. eye contact during orgasm drives this man insane. he teases a bit, just because he likes hearing you whine at him. he won’t make you beg though, he isn’t that cruel. “whenever you’re ready, baby, cum for me.” he speaks so soft and gentle. definitely the talk you through it type. and right after, he’s so sweet, cuddling you, holding you close, and never letting go.
GEN
gen sits you in his lap, back against his chest. he’ll blindfold you, and the first thing you’ll feel is his clothed hard-on against you. the next thing you’ll feel is his breath on your ear. “you feel it, right? how excited i am for you already?” the filthy things that will come out of this man’s mouth will actually not shock you. he’ll drag teasing touches, get your hopes up and then bring them right down. “you’ve been waiting so long for me, i’ll reward you.” but he’ll only touch the inside of your thigh. he’ll get dangerously close, just to remove his hands and go back up to your chest or waist. he’ll chuckle when you start groaning and getting frustrated. “you don’t know what you’re in for.” and you really don’t. when he finally starts touching you, he’ll get you so very close to finishing, and then stop. “i thought this is what you wanted?”
HYOGA
he’ll tie you up, proper shibari style. he’s very good at it, too, you can hardly move. he’ll start very slow. he teases you with gentle touches and soft kisses, making you perfectly needy for him. “you’re so wet down here, it’s embarrassing.” he talks down to you as he fingers you, watching your expressions change. “what? are you gonna cry?” he scoffs. “you’re pathetic. might as well beg me to fuck you.” if you pull at your ties even a little bit, he’ll stop. “how many times do i need to tell you?” he asks when you start whining for him to continue. he only keeps going if you beg. “fine, but do it again, and i’ll leave you alone all tied up. you’ll have to figure out how to cum on your own, because i won’t help you.” you know he’s serious. he takes his time teasing you and opening you up so he can finally fuck you. when he fucks you, he starts hard and fast, and he doesn’t stop until he cums, even if that means you cumming multiple times. he takes very good care of you when you’re done, untying you and pressing kisses wherever you were tied.
UKYO
he loves teasing you. “don’t make a sound,” he’ll say as he fingers you. you can’t hide a single hitch of your breath around this guy’s hearing. he chuckles when he notices you’re holding your breath. “don’t cheat, love.” he smirks at you, driving you insane until you finally let out the smallest moan. a normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but ukyo? he stops everything he’s doing, moving his hands and drawing gentle circles on your thighs. “aw, what happened, love? i thought you weren’t going to fail.” he has you tearing up at your third attempt before he kisses your tears away and says, “alright, i’ll go easy on you.” he gives you exactly what you want, but the catch is that you can’t cum until he does. you’ll be stuck there for an hour or more.
RYUSUI
he takes his timeeeee. he pays all his attention to you. he’ll drag his hands all up and down your body, saying you’re beautiful in between every kiss. “i love this body. i love that it’s mine.” he has you strip slowly for him, making sure you take your time. it gets him so hard. he’ll lay you down and kiss down your body, fingers teasing so close to that one spot you want him to touch. and if you think because he worships you so much that he won’t make you beg you’re mistaken. he wants to hear his sweet thing’s voice saying “please, ryusui” ‘til he’s satisfied. then he’ll do the same thing while he’s fucking you. he’ll start slow, pressing kisses down your chest while saying, “say please, baby, i can’t go faster ‘til you beg for me. it’s hurting me too, y’know. you don’t know how bad i want to fuck you until you can’t walk.” even when you finally say it though, he’ll go, “i need more, baby, just a little more.” when he gets what he wants, just know you’re definitely not walking the next day.
STANLEY
he loves seeing you on your knees sucking him off. it drives him wild. he will cum minutes after you start and impatiently pull you up, sitting on the bed and pulling you on his lap so you can ride him. “gotta stay quiet, xeno’ll kill us if he hears you.” you muffle your moans the only way you know how. you bite down on his shoulder, hard. he holds your waist still on him, staring at you. you stare back, and his lips crash into yours. he’s moving your hips back and forth against him, and moaning into your mouth. you pull away to bite him more, and suddenly he’s changing positions. he pushes you onto the bed in missionary, staying close to you, so it’s easier for you to bite him. he’s the one who can’t keep his moans to himself now. you still get in trouble with xeno, but neither of you care. the bite marks are out for everyone to see the next day.
XENO
xeno wants to know your most sensitive spots. as soon as he finds them, he will abuse them over and over and over again. he’ll have you begging him to stop. “i thought you liked it here?” he’ll question, moving on to an even more sensitive spot. “or was it here?” you protest, so he stops entirely. “so you don’t want me to touch you?” he’ll sit back and make you touch yourself in front of him. “you’re complaining so much, why don’t you show me how it’s done? or are you just being a brat?” it’ll be a while before he actually fucks you, and when he does it’s even worse than before. “why are you complaining now? just ride me, show me how it’s done.” you just want the man to stop teasing you, but he won’t. he’ll make you ride him with no help until you cum, and then edge you until he’s happy with your attitude.
a/n ⋆ i hope this is good i've never posted nsfw ! enjoy!!!!!
contains: fem!reader, fluff, getting married, falling in love, rain, idk what you want me to say just read it
wc: 5.6k
riea's comments: me and the other nine ryusui fans cheered and threw a party. everything i do is for my husband nanami ryusui. i love this man to heights i've never loved before. anyways i spent a whole five days on this (+ my pc was tweaking the fawk out while formatting this), ryusui HIMSELF better appear in my bed, naked and oiled up! need him so bad bro im already thinking of a new wip. anyways pt two, i don't hate this work i dont love this work. maybe smn will convince me that its peak
@chericos - 4sum [yummy]
@creatorbiaze - ryu for you
nanami ryusui was in a bit of a predicament, go through with the arrangement and marry the woman his father wants or choose his own bride.
"BE MY WIFE." he bellowed in the middle of a busy park, pointing at random women to hopefully coerce them to listen to what he had to say
however, it was only you who took the bait, the rest of the young women looking at the man like he had three heads. "what's this all about?" you asked, signaling to his poster that read WIFE APPLICATIONS OPEN. he was in attire that practically screamed i'm rich but i'm not trying to make it look like that: a pair of tan pants with a white button up shirt and a lavender sweater vest over it. it would've been the perfect commoner cosplay if it wasn't for the fact that he was drowning in gold. at least five rings on each hand, a three piece necklace stack, and one of those permanent bracelets, all in the most coveted metal known to man.
the rich boy before you dragged his eyes over your frame, nodding suspiciously, mutters of "yes" and "perfect" falling from his lips. about to question him, he exclaimed again, "UTTERLY PERFECT." what the fuck? maybe approaching the psycho looking for a spouse in the middle of the park wasn't the brightest idea. "YOU," he spoke again, snapping you out of your thoughts and grabbing your wrists when they snaked up to cover your ears in case he wanted to yell again, "YOU WILL BE MY WIFE."
maybe both of you were weird since your first thought wasn't get this man off of me.
"what's in it for me?"
"everything."
so here you were, bowing to nanami's parents in your overly formal dress. "do you really think this is going to work?" your fingers smoothed over your dress, trying to make yourself look even slightly more presentable. "of course it will," he started, looking at your features from the plush couch he relaxed on. no matter how sure of himself nanami sounded, you couldn't shake the doubt. he got up with a push, the sofa resuming its previous state before weight was placed on it. he slid behind you with a comfortable amount of space between you, fixing his hair in the gold framed mirror you stood in front of, "i'm the heir to the nanami conglomerate." you smiled softly as nanami introduced you as his bride to be, remembering his straightforward words that somehow managed to comfort you just a couple minutes prior to now.
there was a knock at your door. not a polite, rhythmic kind of knock, but a bold, rapid-fire i-have-no-respect-for-your-peace kind of knock. even though you weren't expecting anyone, you knew exactly who it was.
putting your pen down and walking over to the door, you cracked it open—not even bothering to look through the peephole—to find a grinning, newly familiar face casually leaning against the frame, hands in the pockets of a jacket that looked like it cost three times your monthly salary.
"good evening, darling!" he beamed, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
"how do you know where i live?"
he winked, tapping the side of his head. "HAHA! i know everything about you!"
you just stared at him, emotionless.
"okay. i asked francois," he sighed. "so…, are you going to let me in, orrrr…"
you sighed and stepped aside, letting the door swing open, "you're so annoying."
nanami's gaze swept the space like he was seeing a new world. your place was calm and airy, flooded with early evening light. soft throw blankets over the couch, a tidy kitchen in view, warm wood floors and just the right amount of clutter to make it feel lived-in—books, candles, a few unopened packages, and the faint scent of laundry detergent. nothing crazy, but clearly well cared for. "it may not be as big or extravagant as your mansion but that doesn't mean you should stare, you know."
he didn't answer you, just walked over to an open notebook on your kitchen island. you knew what he was looking at before he even read its contents aloud, "need to save a quarter of my paycheck every week to pay my rent for next month." nanami looked at you quizzically, like he knew something you didn't.
"no need to pay rent anymore if you'll be living with me."
"i don't want to do that yet?"
"i'll buy this apartment complex then!"
"that's not how it—" a sigh escaped your lips, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, "whatever."
he continued to analyze your book, commenting on the contents of the somewhat legible scribbles. you placed a glass of water on the island for him. "what are you—thank you— saving for?" nanami asked, pointing to a spot in the book that read SAVE MONEY $$$ quadruple circled when you hummed confusedly. "oh! my friend is a seamstress and i've been wanting to commission a piece from her."
nanami ohhed, taking another sip of water, "are you going to invite her?"
you reached for an opened bag of chips in the cupboard, pouring some in a bowl, "you mean over? like right now?"
"no, gorgeous. i mean to the wedding."
oh. oh. it suddenly hit you that you haven't informed anyone of what you got yourself into.
i'm mustard, these hoes gotta ketchup
you: hello my radiant, showstopping, stunning queens
kohaku: im scared
you: i (most likely) will be getting married. the groom is nanami ryusui, heir to the nanami conglomerate. i will be rich and we yes WE will never have to worry about finances ever again
kohaku: ??????
ruri: are you being serious?
yuzuriha: well that's great but uh, when did you meet this guy?
you set your phone down, ignoring the way it flashed with incoming text messages and calls, "i just told them."
"AHA! that's the spirit! i haven't told my friends either!"
"you have friends?"
it was bigger than you thought, the room i mean. white overhead lights illuminated the display cases below them. miniature versions of ships were encased, filling the displays from floor to ceiling and a much larger model ship in the center of the room. just how much did all of this cost? when francois gave you a tour of this mansion, the one ryusui lived in since birth and the one you'd end up calling your primary residence, they skipped over this room. your eyes fell upon a considerably large ship in one of the cases. "that one's the original h.m.s. royal sovereign of the seas from the 1600's," ryusui stood beside you, voice loud and booming, "a beauty, isn't she?" he admired the model with a glimmer in his eyes. you stared at it with him, "you built this?"
"not this one but," ryusui's voice rose with excitement, pointing at three columns of model ships on the other side of the room, "those ones over there!" you followed him as he practically skipped to the other side of the room, pointing at his handiwork and listing facts about each one of them. his words etched into your brain, somewhat understanding his explanations of each ship. ryusui disappeared to a hidden room for a moment before walking towards you with a generic model in his hands and you hadn't realized the sigh of relief you breathed was loud until he chuckled and said something about having a feeling that you were getting confused. he then proceeded to sit on the hardwood floor with you—his hair tied back with only a few face-framing strands, something you found he only did when he was truly focused—and break down the parts of the ship, describing their purposes and the variants that you might see in the models around you.
the boat rocked gently beneath your feet, unanchored in the still, glassy water of ryusui's private lake. you hadn't expected to say yes. when ryusui had asked—eyes bright, voice low and eager—if you wanted to try sailing, it had sounded like one of his usual whims. but something about the way he said it, half teasing, half hopeful, made you say the words before you even thought about it.
"why the hell not?"
the boat was one of many docked along the small, secluded marina tucked behind the mansion. this one, sleek and ivory, felt far too flamboyant for something as casual as a lake. but of course, ryusui wouldn't have anything less than flamboyant.
he showed you where to place your hands on the wheel, voice slipping into something smoother, quieter. "not too tight," he murmured from behind you, "she won't like it if you fight her. sailing's about feeling, not forcing."
you stood at the helm and he stepped in close. ryusui's arms came around you, his hands covering yours, guiding your grip. his chest brushed against your back, and suddenly you weren't thinking about sails or wind direction or the line of the horizon.
he spoke again, voice low near your ear. "good. now ease into the turn." you did as he told, your body following the gentle push of his hands—but your mind was on its own boat ride elsewhere. his fingers curled around yours like a secret. his touch wasn't rough, wasn't even trying to be flirtatious, but the worst part was that it felt like something you wouldn't mind getting used to.
"you're a natural," ryusui boasted after a long, quiet moment. you exhaled, turning your head to look at him all wide eyed and maybe to catch a glimpse of him as well. his face was close, closer than you meant it to be. the setting sun softened his features—blonde hair still tied, jawline sharp, lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. his eyes stayed trained on yours and he smiled.
"rule number one of captaintry, never—" ryusui grabbed your chin with an unreadable glint in his eye and brought your attention back to what mattered, "take your eyes off the water."
"you see treasure out there?" ryusui's voice called from behind you, his eyes trained on your form. it had been raining for a little over thirty minutes now, with no signs of stopping. the water beat at the window before you, a slight twinkle in your eye—it didn't rain often. "i would consider it treasure, yeah," you turned around, seeing him sitting on the arm of the couch, sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up and the shirt itself not even buttoned all the way. he's fine, and you hate that he knows that you know that. you damn near eye fuck him before smiling mischievously, "let's go claim it." the words came out quickly, your hand grabbing his and dragging him out of the mansion and into the downpour.
the rain greeted you like it had been waiting—gentle but persistent, soaking through your clothes almost immediately. you spun away from him, laughter spilling out of you in a breathless rush. "dance with me, good sir," you said, holding out your hand with a polite bow. ryusui mimicked your pose, doing it with the full renaissance dignity you meant to channel, "it would be my pleasure, fair lady." there was no music, but you two moved like there was. you were making your own beats and rhythms with every step, twirl, and sway, the mirth, the melody. you went on your tippy toes, your arm completely outstretched, ryusui's hand in yours. he twirled, hair whipping around him, his laughter doing the same. he's a man of stature who has the whole world at his fingertips but became a fool for you. this fool of yours looked so offended when your hands met his shirt soaked chest, pushing him away. he'd only realized you were joking when you gathered rainwater in your hands and threw it at him, flashing that smile that made him feel like the sun was no longer shrouded by storm clouds. ryusui kicked water at you, running as you chased him around the courtyard, "get back here!"
he abruptly paused, causing you to crash into his now see through shirt. "up we go," was the last thing he declared before hoisting you onto his back.
you yelped, instinctively wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he started to run. he sprinted through the garden paths with you on his back, leaping over puddles and spinning in wide arcs that made you cling tighter, giggling into the crook of his neck. his heart duplicated the thunder in the skies, and he wondered if you could feel it. if you knew what you were doing to him just with your proximity. and by the time he slowed to a walk, you were breathless and shaking from laughter-induced pain. ryusui let you slide off gently, his hands lingering at your waist, touch unhurried. you didn't let go of him, arms still looped around his neck as the rain came down softer now—like even the sky was trying to listen.
ryusui looked at you. really looked at you. his fingers moved up, brushing a few wet strands of hair from your face. you felt his gaze dip down, linger on your lips. you didn't know when your arms tightened around him, when you started swaying together like you were making music again. his forehead pressed against yours and he leaned in just enough to make your chest tighten—and instead of doing what felt the most right in the moment, ryusui exhaled shakily, resting his head against your shoulder.
"why are you doing this to me," he murmured with a groan filled with an emotion he couldnt pinpoint yet.
you smiled against his temple, voice hushed. "hm? doing what?"
he pulled away from you, an uncharacteristic pout on his face before that boisterous laughter of his rang out. his arms enclosed around your waist then suddenly swung you around, lifting you off your feet as you squealed and clung to him.
you were practically catapulted into the wedding preparations. one minute, you're having tea with his parents, talking about ryusui and your relationship with him, and the next, you're having dress consultations, struggling to pick out fabrics and the style for the mandatory custom-made one-of-a-kind bridal wear courtesy of a nanami conglomerate tradition.
the silk bedsheets cooled your body down as you sank into the bed, the buildup of exhaustion fully washing over you once your head hit the pillows. you felt the bed shift in weight but you were far too tired and far too close to being in a deep slumber to care, curling up against nothing while a comforter and complimentary blanket was pulled over your body. and so, you let the newfound warmth consume you.
once he was sure you were fully asleep, ryusui moved your body just enough to get your head off the pillows. he fluffed them thoroughly before resuming your original position, a small smile appearing on his face when he heard you exhale deeply at the better head support. ryusui then climbed into bed himself, laying on his side and lightly tracing over your facial features with his index finger, the bed of his own forgotten for the night
an alarm rang through the room, it was weird sounding and loud enough to wake the intended recipient up as well as you. even though you crashed pretty early last night, your internal clock still knew the sun might not have rose yet at this time. not my alarm, not my problem. the bed shifted again, the sound cutting a mere second later and you hugged closer to the second heat source, its arms wrapping around you. what a smart heated teddy bear this is! although you were clearly 95 percent asleep and 5 percent awake, you swore you could feel hesitation in the air for a moment. plump and warm lips pressed to your forehead, "good morning." the teddy bear spoke, before reluctantly getting out of the bed and moving elsewhere. upon hearing the shut of the oak door, your upper half shot up.
teddy bears don't do that.
the garden was golden with early-afternoon light, dappled through the leaves of overgrown hedges and tall daisies bending just slightly in the breeze. you had set the picnic blanket down underneath the wisteria trees, where the scent was strongest and the grass was dry. a soft cotton cloth was spread atop it, corners held down with polished river stones. your mini cakes sat on a ceramic plate you were a little too proud of—tiny tiers of sponge and whipped cream, topped with sugared petals and glossy jam, arranged like a patisserie window. you hadn't baked in a while, not with someone specific in mind.
ryusui appeared minutes later with a dish covered in linen and saran wrap, sleeves rolled, shirt half-unbuttoned and hair slightly tousled—probably from running his hands through it while "cooking."
"all this for me?" he grinned, boyish and bright.
you arched a brow. "and what did you bring to the table?"
he smirked before unveiling the dish and getting on both knees, the food well above his bowed head as if you were a goddess receiving offerings. and you gladly took it, staring at the pasta with a gaze that could only mean damn, this looks good.
you ate together under the long, delicate clusters of the recently bloomed tree, passing bites between each other, talking about whatever came to mind. "and then i told them the story of how we met and they're so scared for me no matter how much i try to tell them that you're not that bad of a guy." ryusui froze mid-bite, "that bad of a guy," he put down the plate in his hand, "i'll have you know i'm the most coveted man on the planet. i'm rich, funny, ambitious," he listed out, assigning a finger to each adjective. "handsome," he paused, reaching into the basket nearby. some thing adored with flowers was placed on your head and you couldn't even register it before he started rambling again. "kind, and—"
"ryu."
he paused, looking at you looking at the flower crown in your palms. "you made this?"
"HAHA! of course i did! ah! i'm also good with my hands too and by extension, my fingers as well! who wouldn't want—!"
"yes, nanami ryusui. you're the greatest man to ever live." you interrupted smiling, hands busy packing the items into the basket, flower crown back on your head. "i'm so happy i get to be with a full package like you." you continued, tone clearly sarcastic but for a guy like ryusui, the only thing that matters is what you actually say. "as long as you're aware." he chuckled, prying the handles out of your hands once everything was in so he could put it in the kitchen.
he's so… stupid.
when ryusui came back, he stretched out beside you on the blanket, eyes half-lidded, the breeze gentle against his skin. you watched him sigh, long and satisfied, and then roll onto his side, head finding your lap easily.
"ryusui…" you started, hand hovering near his hair, "we shouldn't sleep out here." your voice was soft and undemanding; you knew deep down that you had no intention to move.
"don't care, sweetheart," he murmured, already curling into you, arms looping around your waist. his words were mumbled into the fabric of your shirt. "feels too good. just… stay like this."
you sighed, but your fingers found his side, rubbing slow, absent-minded circles as if to lull him further. his breathing grew slower. heavy.
and even though you told yourself you wouldn't sleep here too, the weight of him against you, the peace in the air, and the comfort of that flower crown still resting light as a secret on your head brought you to sleep as well
the venue was nothing short of what one would expect from the nanami conglomerate—pure luxury, a true display of power masquerading as a celebration of love. one of the many castles in the family's possession had been hand-selected for this event, its towering spires and courtyards transformed into a breathtaking dreamscape. orchids, gardenias, and white hyacinths were threaded through a gold lattice that lined every hallway. chandeliers made of real crystal caught every ounce of light and shattered it across the polished floors and every inch of the ballroom gleamed, from the pearl-encrusted table decor to the heart ice sculpture floating in a champagne fountain at the center. the ceremony would be held in the castle's cathedral, where sunlight poured in through stained glass and reflected off marble cherubs holding bowls of flower petals.
but in the middle of all this, your bridal suite was a rare scene of stillness. quiet, warm, and softly lit, it sat at the end of the second floor overlooking some of the estate below. the room was tastefully decorated, up to par with the standards of someone born into extravagance. velvet couches lined the walls and the dressing table was carved from white oak, inlaid with mother-of-pearl vines that shimmered when hit by the incoming afternoon light. a tea set—porcelain and likely antique—sat untouched on the corner table.
you stood at the center, clutching a silk robe against your dress. your heart was hammering beneath the layers of fabric and corsetry, though you were trying not to show it. ruri was the first to notice. "you're wringing your hands again," she murmured gently, reaching over to still them. kohaku hovered beside you with crossed arms, eyes sharp and concerned despite her naturally stern face. yuzuriha, in contrast, was pacing—probably to burn off her own nerves more than yours.
"i need to talk to him."
three heads snapped in your direction.
"talk to who?" kohaku asked, though her expression said she already knew.
you set the robe down, looking at them with an unreadable expression. yuzuriha's mouth fell open, her pearl drop earrings shaking with the movement of her head. "you can't see him before the ceremony. it's bad luck, like, nuclear bad luck."
"i don't care," you said, voice rising. "i feel like i'm suffocating in here. i…," you trailed off, getting quieter, "i just need his presence right now. please." the last word got stuck in your throat, your voice cracking upon pushing it out. the room was silent for a moment and as much as you'd hate to admit it, it was clear you were on the verge of a panic attack. kohaku sighed first, her hands reaching for your own. "okay, but we're making him face the door."
she moved swiftly, dragging over one of the white chairs that sat around the tea table and propping it between the sitting area and the entrance before opening the door. senku, gen, chrome, and ukyo stood on the other side, seconds away from knocking. "what brings you guys here?" ruri asked, fluffing out your dress just one last time. "hi ruri," chrome waved excitedly, nearly swooning when she gave him a genuine smile. "uh, ryusui," senku started, nodding his head towards the man in question who was currently leaning against the wall, head hung low, half dressed, and looking like a bundle of nerves personified, "wanted to talk to his bride. is that alright." it was less of a question and more of a statement. after all, senku didn't really care about the outcome. he knew ryusui would be fine regardless.
your heart spoke the words before your head could process them, "yes! i would like to see him."
yuzuriha groaned, flipping ryusui to face away from you, pushing him backwards into your bridal suite and to the chair. "you better not turn around."
"i won't, i won't," ryusui said, lifting his hands in surrender as he took the seat obediently. he sat down with his back straight, the low back of the chair threatening to send him overboard if he leaned too much, and despite everything, that faint, easy grin slid onto his lips. "i may be greedy," he added, "but i wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for myself. even i have standards."
gen gasped, a hand atop his heart, "is that—humility i sense?"
chrome nudged him, whispering, "he's trying not to cry, be nice." senku gave ryusui one last glance before the four of them slipped out with ruri, kohaku, and yuzuriha following behind.
the room was quiet and you stood there for a moment, just watching his white suit-clad silhouette from behind, the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his hands gripping his knees, the controlled breathing of a man whose confidence had always seemed genuine, even when it wasn't.
you stepped forward, sinking behind him slowly, your petticoat and dress pooling around you as your arms slipped over his shoulders. your cheek pressed to the side of his neck, just under his jaw. "hey," you whispered.
"hey," he returned, voice softer than you expected, "you look beautiful—you are beautiful."
you slid your fingers into his hair, gently brushing through the golden strands at his nape, the motion slow and reverent, memorizing the feel of him.
and ryusui melted.
your giggle bounced off his skin, "you can't see me though?"
ryusui just sighed, leaning into your touch like he'd been parched for days and you were a desert oasis, his hands unclenching and the tension in his shoulders disappearing. for a man who wore arrogance as armor, he was remarkably fragile at this moment. and only for you.
"i don't have to," he hummed, feeling your fingers continue their ministrations, smoothing the hair back from his ears.
he leaned his head back slightly, not enough to see you, but enough to let you cradle him. the two of you stayed there in silence, breathing together. there was something so intimate about the way his shoulder rested against your heart. about the way one of your hands stayed at his chest, the other never ceasing its motions as it went to his hair, his temples, and down the line of his jaw. soothing him and calming you.
hands of his own lifted slowly, grasping where yours rested against his body. he turned his face just slightly toward your cheek connecting them as if you were his lifeline, and you could feel the tension trembling in him—like if the line between you didn't fade but completely vanished instead, so would all restraint.
the doors creaked open, slow and heavy, silencing the guests near immediately. the orchestra began to play, and it wasn't the loud, grand kind of music ryusui had once imagined for his wedding. this was something softer and unbearably tender. the strings rose in slow harmony, each note delicate and aching, pulling the moment wider and wider until there was nothing else but you. and when you stepped into view, when the first sliver of your dress caught the light filtering through the stained glass, ryusui forgot how to breathe.
the intricate embroidery of your gown shimmered and your veil trailed behind and practically floated with each step, catching the light in a way that made you look unreal, otherworldly. but your eyes found his across the length of the aisle, and that was what leveled him. that look. that nervous, determined flicker of a gaze that told him you were scared, but you were walking toward him anyway. and ryusui, the man who had always wanted everything, finally understood what it meant to need.
he'd wanted kingdoms. oceans. control. everything he could take, build, and conquer. but he didn't feel for those things anymore. not really. because nothing—nothing had ever made him feel the way he did right now, watching you walk through floraled church benches and music, a miracle made flesh. he didn't want to blink, afraid that if he did, he'd miss the moment your lips gave him a small smile, the way your shoulders lifted with each breath you tried to steady, how your fingers tightened around your bouquet.
by the time you reached the halfway point, he felt something collapse inside of him—a wall maybe, some last defense he didn't even know he was holding. his fingers itched to reach out. his mouth parted, but no words came. he just watched you, gazed at you, wondering how he got so lucky. you were still moving, still walking forward, and he had the unbearable thought that he could live a thousand lives and never feel like this again. that this moment was the most important thing he'd ever witness. ryusui didn't just want you in his life; he didn't want to possess you like some treasure. instead, he wanted to deserve you.
and when you reached the end of the aisle and took his hand, trembling and warm, ryusui didn't smile like he usually did. he looked at you the way a man does when he realizes he's just found the only thing that could bring him to his knees.
the vows came and went, pale shadows of what they were meant to be. written in a haze just days after ryusui's parents gave their blessing, they were polished, precise, and hollow. ryusui read his with that same gilded eloquence he always had, voice smooth, tone crisp, never once faltering. on paper, they said all the right things: respect, legacy, union, honor. but the words didn't have meaning. they didn't cling to your skin or settle in your ribs the way vows should. ryusui hadn't looked away from you once. not during the reading, not during the ring exchange, not even when you tripped up on a word and fought back a laugh.
"you may kiss the bride." it was a commonality in weddings but when he stepped forward, it didn't feel ceremonial. ryusui got closer to you and the air shifted, gravity had found its center in the space between you. he didn't rush, didn't hesitate. he just looked at you like the vows had meant nothing, like this breathless second between your name and his was the real truth of it all. his hands rose slowly, one brushing your cheek, the other finding your waist, his touch steady. ryusui's eyes searched yours like he wanted to burn the way you looked at him into his mind, brand it into his soul before he did the thing he'd been wanting to do since you walked through those doors.
it wasn't the kiss of a man dodging an unhappy marriage, it was the kiss of a man who had been starving. ryusui kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, like someone who had just realized that you were what he'd been searching for his entire life. the crowd faded and the orchestra blurred. even your breath caught in your throat, and for a split second, your knees nearly gave out under the weight of him.
there was no classic ryusui spectacle to it. it wasn't loud or grand or triumphant. it was truthful
his mouth met yours with intent, he knew exactly what he wanted from you and was done pretending otherwise. his lips were warm, firm, open just enough for a breath to escape—a breath that ghosted against your skin like a confession.
and you melted into it. into him. one of your hands fisted the lapel of his suit, the other drifting up to tangle in the soft blonde of his hair. he groaned, low and involuntary, at the feel of your fingers against his scalp, and the kiss deepened—hotter, hungrier, more real than anything either of you had said all day.
ryusui pressed closer, the hand at your waist tightening, pulling you flush against him. he kissed you like he'd been waiting forever, like every second leading up to this had been torture, and if he didn't touch you now he might not survive it. his lips parted from yours in a slow pull, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the space between your mouths and the fire blooming inside it.
the breath between you was still warm, lips tingling from the kiss that hadn't ended so much as paused. your heart drummed in your chest and ryusui looked at you with pure love. "how was that for our first kiss, huh?" he muttered, making sure his words only reached you.
"eh, it was alright…"
a single beat of silence was had before your laugh burst out, pure and unguarded, cutting through the haze that had fallen over the room. the orchestra hadn't quite started again. guests blinked, stunned and sighing, the air still thick with the heat of that kiss.
you grabbed his hand. "let's go," it came out as a whisper, your grin wide and eyes gleaming.
"now?"
"yes, now." you sassed, already tugging him down the aisle. he followed without hesitation, his fingers laced with yours as the two of you ran down the aisle that you'd walked so elegantly only minutes ago. your dress flowed behind you in a sweeping wave of satin, veil lifting in your wake. gasps and approving hums followed from the crowd, but none of it mattered. not the flash of photographers, not the careful arrangements or the decor.
just your laughter echoing through the hall. just the way his thumb stayed hooked over your knuckles, telling you that he never wanted to let go. the doors stood tall and wide, already open to the world beyond. ryusui turned to you, breathless and stunning in the afternoon light spilling through. his hand still in yours, he tugged you gently toward him, and before you could ask what now, he dipped you back in one smooth, dizzying motion—arms secure around your waist, hair slipping loose from the kiss-wrecked styling.
"let me try again then."
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A lot of these are gonna be (almost grotesquely) NSFW. I’m just typing what I’m thinking honestly. And I’m keeping it real around here. This is the most out there thing I’ve ever written. So since it’s not my usual, I felt the need for specific warnings this time.
[Warnings]: size kink (if you squint), penetration, HJ, BJ, sub/dom, use of toys, and a reluctantly added piss kink (won’t tell u for who, find out), infidelity, unprotected sex, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, BDSM
Characters: Ryusui, Kinro, Tsukasa, Senku, Gen, Hyoga, Mozu, and Ginro
Guess who my favorite character is… impossible edition (it’s so obvious, you’ll know when you see it)
Nanami Ryusui
His dick is actually like uncomfortably big. (I’m writing these hcs bc I needed to get this out of my head into writing) (also I know that’s subjective, I’ve seen the crazy dildos ppl buy)
I’m talking almost 9 whole inches. And he’s a shower, not a grower. Even soft it’s fucking huge.
I’m right. I can feel it in my BONES. Yall seen the way the other characters stare at him when they revived him? I’m right.
He’s so cocky and proud of his size, but he’s not mean. He’s not like crazy careful, but he’s definitely the type to talk you through it as he slowly pushes it in.
“You’re taking it so well, beautiful.” “C’mon, look at it. Look how pretty you look wrapped around me like this…”
His favorite position is cowgirl, but he still does all the work. He looks up at you with a huge smirk while moving your hips for you.
He’s not very noisy besides groans and talking.
He is loyal, but he’s a bit different from the average person. He genuinely thinks all women, and men, are beautiful. He can appreciate that. But he’s not the type to stare at or touch their bodies with or without a partner waiting for him at home. But especially not with a partner. He’s respectful towards them AND you.
If his usual nature is bothering you, he’d never turn down a respectful conversation about boundaries. He’s likely to make some effort towards changes to make you more comfortable with his behavior.
But I think if you’re dating him, you’d likely see just how genuine his affinity for appreciating everybody is, and how it’s not lustful in nature.
Kinro
He’s so oblivious to flirting unless it’s obvious.
He takes relationships incredibly slow.
He’s fiercely loyal. If another person flirts with him, and he catches on, he’s stiff as a board and firmly mentions he’s not interested and is happily committed to another.
He’s pretty big… 7 inches.
Very shy first few times having sex with you. But he thinks very traditionally sometimes, especially if you’re a woman, and will nervously take the lead.
The lead goes basically nowhere and you have to slyly guide him towards the next action, but let him take over. Not for control, but because he wants to be the one taking care of you.
He’s very sensitive.
He loves when you run your hand down his chest… abs… and his face scrunches up and he bucks his hips up if you run that hand over the front is his pants too…
He prefers a handjob over a blow job because he loves getting to kiss you still or let you suck on his neck or chest…
Shishio Tsukasa
Soft dom. Soft dom. Soft dom.
He’s always in control. And unlike Kinro, it’s actually because he likes having some control over you. It turns him on. But he also doesn’t like to hurt or be mean, exactly.
He teases with a cocky grin, but it’s all because he knows even if you whine, you like it. Everything he does is for mutual pleasure because yes he gets off on your whines and pleads, but he’s getting off on knowing you want him and like what he does.
Foreplay takes forever with him. He’s got patience. I’m talking slow, passionate kisses and soft touches in places you didn’t know would turn you on until him.
More of a giver than a receiver.
Hot take? But he makes noise. Idc. This man lets a few whimpers slip if you do suck his dick for him.
Oh and ride him just right? Nobody would ever believe that THE Shishio Tsukasa becomes a weak, whimpering mess under you.
Trust me guys, I’m right. I found this all out from Tsukasa himself.
I didn’t wanna make everybody have dick hcs, but…. It’s abnormally big. Idk. I’m taking frighteningly girthy AND long. 10 inches probably. Likely never getting it all in. I feel like dude could probably like lift weights with it. His entire body is like he’s on steroids without the steroids in my eyes.
Ishigami Senku
Romance is not really on brand for him, especially at the moment.
But when he does fall? He falls harder than he’ll ever admit.
Now he knows to be logical and reasonable, you shouldn’t get absurdly special treatment just because he feels some type of way about you. He doesn’t need to invent a helpful machine or device that only benefits you.
So he’ll make something to make everybody’s day easier, but deep down, he knows he made it after seeing you frustrated with the long, hands on process you had to do for something that used to be so simple in the 21st century.
Along with that, he doesn’t have a super high sex drive. Not to mention, he’s busy.
So if you’re dating him, he’s probably made some sort of toy for you. Maybe a silicone mold of his dick… maybe a vibrator… something. For when he’s busy, away, or whatever.
When he can though, he takes his time. Not one for quickies at all.
He’s not always annoyingly scientific, at least out loud, to spare you. But he does view sex sort of like an experiment. When he touches there, it elicits a positive response. And he commits that to memory.
I think he’s autistic (as an autistic person myself) so I think almost everything comes back to his incredibly useful special interest, science.
He’s not very affectionate. Public or not. You usually have to initiate, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it. He longs for your embrace if he’s gotta go somewhere for a while without you.
He says he’s not the type to cry about something when he knows he’ll see you again soon, but some times the pain of losing his dad abruptly bleeds into worry about losing you or his friends. And when he’s completely alone, it gets to him.
Asagiri Gen
Kinky.
Sex with him often involves some sort of kink he’s into. Yet he’s rather soft with it in a way that’s like usually spiritually vanilla.
I’m getting the feeling he would want to blindfold you then whisper in your ear and ghost his fingers along your body.
He will find a way to be a bit annoying tho. He will stick his tongue in your ear. However, it’s not all to be annoying, he knows it’s an erogenous zone.
He loves denying you orgasms or ruining them. Especially ruining them. He loves not working you through it and watching you whine because you came, but it wasn’t the entirely satisfying kind.
His dick jumps a little watching you squirm and whine because you’re so sensitive after a ruined orgasm.
I accidentally read a fan-fiction once bc it was late and I missed a tag on Ao3 and well… Gen had a piss kink. And I reluctantly must admit… it’s a little gross and usually against my brand here, but I can kinda see it. I think he would like trying not to pee while you give him a hand job, but he refuses to be inside you in any way. And vice versa, he likes when you’re trying not to pee on his hand.
The type to set the mood. Candles, music, foreplay.
He’s a switch.
I can see him being into being on the receiving end on most of his kinks.
Akatsuki Hyoga
It’s usually rough. His favorite position is doggy, but he’s pulling at your hair as he bullies his long cock into you.
And it’s long. About 7 and half inches.
The type to make you cum multiple times before he cums, but necessarily out of the goodness of his heart, it just happens. He takes a bit to finish, but the efforts to get to his end are enough to drive you crazy.
With him, he’s so good with his dick, he doesn’t need to help you out by touching you anywhere else. Penetration is enough. Though sometimes he’ll tell you to touch yourself for him.
He’s very trusting of you in a way he will NOT control how you interact with others or go out, but he’s controlling a dominant way.
He doesn’t like it if you touch yourself without permission.
100% into BDSM. Especially if he catches you breaking a rule he set, you’re getting tied up and fucked until you’re crying. And he’s such a sadist, he loves when you cry.
You have to have a safe word with him. He’s mean.
But even Hyoga has his moments. He values those soft moments too. There are rare times when you come home and there’s candles lit, soft music playing. And he’ll sneak up behind you and wrap himself around you from behind, taking off your clothes slowly.
He’ll kiss your jaw, your neck, your shoulder, your back, meanwhile his hands are on your chest.
On another note, he’s not into PDA. Nor he is ever really much of an affectionate boyfriend beyond small things.
He may brush your hair out of your face or briefly place a hand on the small of your back when he’s talking to you, but it’s not ever much else.
But he cares a lot in his own way. He stays close. Like your shadow; a very threatening, intimidating shadow.
More than likely, you can take care of yourself. He knows that very well. He’s not one to make a lover of somebody who can’t take care of themself, one way or another. However, none of that matters too much in this instance when to him it’s more so about his loyalty and respect for you than you needing his help.
He takes him a long time to actually get into a relationship. For months on months, it’s just him making small comments and compliments on what you’re doing that send you into a spiral wondering what he means.
He’s extremely loyal to you, though he’s not the type to go around telling people unprovoked.
Most people have a suspicion that you’re together by the way he’s this looming presence somewhere in the area.
He trusts you to handle situations, but sometimes a person takes things too far, and he’ll step in. He makes it clear you have a boyfriend, one who won’t be so merciful if the person has the nerve to continue on.
If you break his trust, there is no second chance.
Mozu
He’s not loyal in the least of ways, but if you cheat? He’s pissed. Yet, not enough to leave you.
The relationship would be toxic. TOXIC.
A manipulative bastard.
“Oh come on. At the end of the day, I’m coming home to you. You’re more important than those girls… it’s just fun.”
He swears there is nothing emotional or deep with the girls you catch him with, nor does it say anything about his love for you.
Obviously, if you’re gonna withstand him, you gotta be the type to be equally as awful. He hates it, but that fuels hate sex so…
If he catches you sleeping with another man or gets the suspicion something is going on? He’ll fuck you so good you forget all about why you told yourself to leave him…
Sex is competitive at that point, with both of you making sure the other knows who can fuck them the best.
“Cmon… I know he doesn’t have you screaming like this… mm…” he’ll groan as he shoves himself in as far as he can go and cums deep.
With you, he always wants it raw.
If you’re lucky, he’ll admit you’re his #1.
“She didn’t take it as well as you always do… none of them do.” “They’re not as fun…”
He’s always in control.
Ginro
Contrary to possibly popular belief and my previous beliefs, he’s mostly loyal. I wanna start this off by saying that.
I also really like Ginro for some reason.
But anyways, he’s not perfect dream boy type of loyal tho… he’s a bit lustful. He would probably occasionally look at another woman.
He’d be the type to get distracted, but never cross the line past a brief glance or thought. He’d cut off a girl as soon as he came to his senses.
He wants to be in control during sex, but he never is. He’s always a mess, crying and whimpering as you ride him.
His dick is small. And he honestly isn’t great at using it. He tries though.
Realistically, you’ll probably have to teach him how to touch you and how to make you feel good.
He cums quickly. Like 10 thrusts and busts… but he’ll apologize over and over again.
He works hard to impress you. Kinro and the others appreciate your presence because Ginro will work so much faster.
A positive about him? I could see him being like madly in love with you. Like talking about you to Kinro while they guard the bridge, stars in his eyes.
You’ll have to be a saint to deal with him, honestly. He’s not the best boyfriend in a lot of ways, but he tries.
Gods, I love pathetic men.
FEEL FREE TO SEND REQUESTS FOR DR STONE CHARACTERS!! I’d love to be asked to expand on anything specific about any of these characters!!
Not just in bed but in general. He loves picking you up, pinning you, carrying you. He does not care if there are others around, he'll still do it. Ya'll arrive home and he picks you up, carries you to the bedroom all while your parents watch.
One time you guys were going on a walk and you were starting to get tired. You say "Baby I'm too tired. Carry me pout" jokingly but then he actually does. He carried you all the way back home, all while people were watching. He didn't care. You're his baby.
He's just so playful with you. He thinks you're so cute and adorable he can't help but pick you up and baby you. After dinner the first thing he'd do is carry you out of your chair and sit you on the counter next to the sink, and then he'll get the plates so he can wash them while you watch.
You'd be modeling some of the cute clothes you bought yourself and on the last one he'll get up and start feeling the fabric on your hips then slowly trace his hands upwards, bringing your arms up and just like that your wrists end up in his grip. And with a smirk, he goes to kiss your neck.
Playfights are always you going at it and him barely even trying and still winning. You'd either be laying on your back pinned by him or laying on your tummy with him caging you. Either way, playfights always lead to him seriously manhandling you.
Warnings: sfw but Senku and Moz is a little suggestive.
Assuming you guys are together romantically. (Preferably married.)
Senku Ishigami
Took it as a joke. He’s slightly offended but he knows you didn’t mean it.
Reminds you of an embarrassing moment between you two that proves that you love him. It can be either sexual or non-sexual moments.
“That’s funny. I remember you begging me not to leave in bed last night.” Or “Guess you weren’t the one who insisted I make you a nonstick lipstick so that you could kiss me in public more often?”
Taiju Oki
“WHAT???”
He’s shocked and takes you a little too seriously. How could this small argument make you hate him?
He’s apologizing and offering to buy you your favourite food to make you forgive him.
You have to tell him that you didn’t mean it for him to relax.
Chrome
“That’s not funny.”
He is serious about it. You definitely offended him.
“Just because I upset you it doesn’t give you the right to say that Y/N. I’m your husband.”
Senku will ask you about what happened later since he will see Chrome talking to himself while drawing in sand with a stick.
You’ll have to apologize for things go back to normal.
Gen Asagiri
The smile that will appear on his face will send shivers down your spine.
He’s making you feel as bad as possible. He will pretend to wipe tears from his eyes and all. Even if you try to comfort him he will only make you feel worse.
This will go on for days too. You’ll ask him what he’s doing and he’ll say something like “Oh I’m just rethinking my life. After all my wife told me she doesn’t love me.”
You can do a thousand things for him and he will still twist it to make you feel worse.
He will only stop when he’s had his fun.
Ginro
Shocked
“Y/N take it backkkk” he will whine.
Depending on the argument he might be the first to apologize but not without putting some blame on you for saying you hate him.
If you don’t take it back he will pout. He’ll say something equally as offensive. “Ruri would never tell me she hates me after an argument.” If you get mad at him for taking it too far, he’ll try to defend himself but will eventually apologize though you will have to apologize as well if you don’t want tension between you two.
Kinro
Silent.
Honestly your argument was one-sided. You were yelling at him about something and he was silently listening. Eventually you say you hate him and you can see his body visibly stiffen. He’ll inhale deeply but won’t say anything. He thinks it’s better to let you take out your frustrations now than it will be for you guys to argue.
Ginro will notice he’s extra rough with his hunting that day.
They’ll be an awkward tension even if you apologize. You’ll have to reassure him even if he insists that he doesn’t need you to. Only then will his mind be at ease.
Magma
“B****” he’ll mutter under his breath. He thinks you’re acting unreasonable. Arguments with him are annoying since he thinks you should agree with him no matter what.
Will vent to Mantle about it later and Mantle will hype him up even if Magma is clearly in the wrong.
If you guys go days without making up then Magma will throw flowers or a gift on your table. “ I got you ___. Are you happy now? Now stop sulking.”
Don’t expect him to apologize first. You’d have to be in tears or the brink of a divorce for him to apologize first.
Ukyo Saionji
He’s pissed. Even if you’re upset you have no right to say that. With how good his ears are your words are probably ringing in his ears.
“Y/N.” his voice would be stern pulling you back to Earth.
Your mouth would go dry and he’d grab your wrist. Not in a painful way but in a way that makes it clear you’re not leaving this conversation until you guys are done.
“You have no right to say that to me.” Honestly his gaze alone would probably be enough to make you apologize. Even if you’re stubborn, you’re apologizing within the next half hour. You aren’t leaving the conversation until you do and he will make sure of that.
Even after you apologize he’ll still be mad. You need to apologize again hours later or the following day for things to go back to normal.
Ryusui Nanami
He’s not too pleased. After everything he’s done for you then you dare say you hate him? After everything he’s bought you (not that he’s holding what he’s bought you above your head) and all the things you’ve done together.
If he was smiling before you can see his face drop into this tight irritated expression. He will cross his arms lacking any of the joy he usually feels with you.
Honestly I think he’ll argue a bit back but he will NEVER insult you during the argument. If you guys are having a dumb argument then all his frustration will go into the dumb argument. He’ll never put in on you or your personality.
Even if you go as far as to start insulting him at most he’ll call you stubborn and even with that he’ll apologize for it later.
I don’t think either of you will apologize immediately. He will probably leave the house to go do something. When his friends ask him when he’s going home he’ll brush it off or go silent which they find weird since he’d usually jump at the opportunity to go home and see his beloved.
He won’t tell anyone what happened. I think he’s the type to keep relationship struggles private.
If it’s during modern time you’ll probably have to text him an apology before he comes home. If it’s during the stone world you’ll have to find him and apologize.
I truly don’t think he’ll apologize to keep the peace. If you’re wrong I think he’ll just try his best to vent out his frustrations in other ways but no matter what he does he won’t be able to fully relax until he gets an apology from you.
A few days after the apology this incident is probably forgotten by him.
Matsukaze
It’s already beneath him to argue with a woman. He’s a gentleman so he tries to avoid offending women.
Again I feel like this was a one-sided argument. You were arguing with him and he was silent for the most part but unlike Kinro he was apologizing for everything you were screaming at him at.
Matsukaze will sit in front of you with his head down silently, hands on his lap as he repeats apologies no matter how ridiculous you’re being.
Once you say you hate him I don’t think he’ll say anything about it. At most he’ll flinch a little while still apologizing. He’ll tell you he will do better as to not make you angry again.
I don’t think he will hold it against you. If you apologize then great, he’ll accept your apology. If you don’t then it’s fine. He won’t bring it up and you guys will act normal as soon as you guys calm down.
Moz
Being his wife was probably just a title anyway. He’s probably doing all the things he was when he was single. Only difference is he was a women living his house now.
Whatever you’re screaming at him for is probably valid. He’s barely paying attention to what you’re saying. He doesn’t even react at all to you saying you hate him. At most you’ll get a “sure you do, sweetheart.”
If you don’t apologize it’s whatever. If you do then he might take it as an invitation. “If you really want me to forgive you then you already know what you need to do.”
Tsukasa Shishio
You guys don’t argue often so you guys arguing now is already out of the norm. When you say you hate him his expression becomes unreadable. All you can assume is that he isn’t particularly pleased.
Will most likely ask to continue this conversation later but in certain cases you guys might talk about it right away.
He tries his best to never raise his voice at you so he needs some time to work through his emotions. Once he does he’ll ask you if you’re ready to talk.
He’ll first ask you why you said that you hated him then he will make it clear how unhappy those words made him. His voice is calm but stern.
He’ll expect an apology but he’ll forgive you, though during your next argument he’s watching you intently to make sure you don’t say you hate him again.
You telling him you hate him is a one time thing. If you ever say it again your relationship might be over or on very rocky terms. He does not take your words lightly.
Hyoga
“The nerve.” You guys are definitely sleeping separately that night. He will end the conversation with a snarky remark.
Will lowkey give you the silent treatment or will be rude when he does talk. Anything he was doing for you before will temporarily stop. He used to bring you trinkets when he came home but he won’t do that anymore.
You have to apologize several times and at least once with tears for you guys to go back to normal but I don’t think he will ever fully forget this conversation.
Joel Gear
One sided argument but more or less because he doesn’t have the words to defend himself. He finds it hard to argue back with you.
When you tell him you hate him you see his face cycle through 5 different emotions. He’s feeling so many things at once.
Does he apologize? No, he should be the one upset. Does he wait for an apology? No, what if that makes you hate him more? He’s so confused right now.
If you press him to say something he’ll apologize. If you leave the conversation for later then he will be extra rude to any guy he talks to later. While working his mind will be solely on you.
Eventually he might give you a small gift as an apology for whatever he did.
If you apologize first he’ll nod and tell you it’s fine but either way no matter who apologizes first you’ll need to reassure him a lot. Preferably through actions. You’ll need to extra affectionate to ensure he won’t feel insecure.
Byakuya Ishigami
“What? But darling-” He’s a clingy man. If you’re overstimulated then you’ll just need to hope for the best because he’s about to make it way worse.
He honestly didn’t think your argument was that serious but still he didn’t like you saying you hated him.
He’s holding you by your arms and blabbering about how he can’t believe you said that. This was worse than Senku using him for his credit card!
He’s kissing you randomly now which might overstimulate you more. You’ll need to apologize if you want him to relax on the affection.
Even after the argument is over he might bring it up before you guys go to bed. “Maybe I shouldn’t cuddle you since you hate me so much.” Or on a random Thursday night. “Remember when you said you didn’t love me and you hated me?” He’ll exaggerate. It’ll drive you crazy enough to never say it again.
Dr Stone men vs periods? How would they react to their partner on their period? Would they know what to do or would they panic? Would they comfort their partner or avoid talking about it all together??
Dr. Stone Men x Reader on Period
Senku
He knew it was coming before you did.
Forget counting for 3700 years, HE IS YOUR LIVING PERIOD TRACKER
Literally tracks and analyzes your cycle
Would probably take advantage of ovulation LMAO
Surprisingly prepared. He doesn't have any pads or tampons, but you can trust him to get you what you ask for. He will also come back with goodies he thinks will help. Pain killers, heating pad, chocolate.
He's not super caring or lovey dovey. He takes care of you for sure, but he's not going to dote on you in a traditional way.
HOWEVER, he will do something he normally wouldn't do and that is spend even more time cuddled up with you.
He will let you lie on his chest for as long as you like, but he's reading new research papers on his phone(it may or may not be related to how he can help you)
Does not handle the emotional side well. He does his best, but often doesn't know what to say
Yell at him and he just freezes. Will do whatever you say. He's not hurt, just a little lost.
Is not fazed
Ryusui
omg my mannnn
Has Francois on it immediately. You don't even tell them what you need. They just know
Ryusui is with you as much as possible
He doesn't actually know what is happening with the menstrual cycle. He knows basics but that's it
He will do everything in his power to educate himself on how to better help you
Suggests meals or snacks for Francois to make based on what he learned
SHOWERS you in comfy clothes, blankets, and pillows. You will not be uncomfortable
He is soooo affectionate
Doesn't really get offended easily, so he's not too hurt if you get irritated. He encourages you to talk through it with him
Imports some fancy ahh European chocolates
Ryusui gets you an emotional support stuffed animal EVERY TIME
You end up with a whole collection(completely necessary according to him)
Does not care if you stain the bed. Free bleed for all you like, he has too many sheets as it is
Gen
This man either had sisters or important women at some point in his life
He's not freaked out at all, just kinda takes it as it comes
Lowkey?..... he's rage-baiting you
LOVESSS seeing you get all flustered and irritated omggg(let's you take it out on him if you know what I mean)
If Gen notices you pouting, he will approach you in his sweetest form
THIS MAN KNOWS WHAT TO SAY
Is ready to hand himself over to you. Want to bed rot? He's ready! Need to talk? He's listening! Want to watch a comfort show? He'll get some snacks!
In all seriousness, Gen knows what he's doing. Beyond the rage baiting, he genuinely cares soo much
He either has what you need or will get exactly what you want. Gen knows how to take care of you and what to say.
Gen is like a warm blanket when you're on your period. He knows exactly what to say or do to make you melt
Ukyo
Most patient man alive
Ukyo will cuddle with you for HOURS. He will just lie there, playing with your hair, so content
He's a little nervous. It's not that he hasn't handled this before or doesn't know what to do, he just wants to do it right.
King of "period dates"
If you have something planned, he will cancel anything he needs to and start scheming
Imagine coming home to a fresh sweat set, your favorite meal, and jazz or some kind of music on the speaker
He somehow makes even small moments feel so romantic. He's definitely a domestic partner, so you're no stranger to romantic dates from home
He buys you fresh flowers(Whatever is your fav bc he pays attention)
He will show you as much or as little affection as you need. He's very observant, so he doesn't NEED you to tell him what you like, but he appreciates the confirmation
Tsukasa
He has a sister. He knows the struggle
He definitely needs(but is also open to) direction. Please help him, he is so lost in the feminine hygiene section
Literally will buy you one of everything
He's a "pads should be free" guy. Can you imagine him getting huffy and all pressed about paying for pads? Like, he buys them for you, that's not the issue. He's just mad about it
Lowkey funny to see him get all passionate about free pads. It feels like performative male behavior, but he means it
TSUKASA GIVES FIRE MASSAGES
Just say the word and he's rubbing, and pressing, and soothing whatever muscle is bothering you
He'll gently rub your belly, but omg, his lower back massages are life-changing
He's also very patient and a great listener
Will do whatever you ask of him
Sai
Sai is so NERVYYY
He will not talk about it.
Looks a little sick when he sees blood on the sheets. He leaves the room without saying a word
You get really nervous(and a little insecure), but trust, he comes back with new sheets, a pack of pads or tampons, and offers you his sweats
He is silently acknowledging you. He doesn't want to speak it out loud, but he is def an actions>words kind of guy
He is lowkey desperate to please, but he's not great with words so he just avoids them
Like Senku, he also tracks your period, but he has a program that analyzes it for him. He made it just for you! All he has to do is put in the dates and some of your symptoms for each cycle, and it spits out notifications when your phase is changing and what he can do to accommodate
He is well prepared for your period. Soon after you started dating, he bought some pads, tampons, and ibuprofen just in case.
When he brings you his offerings, like a cat bringing you a bird, you notice something curious
"Is that a vibrator?"
"HUH?!"
He turns bright red. He is literally steaming.
He just went through the feminine hygiene aisle, just grabbing what looked especially different than the rest. He's not too educated on the subject, so he kind of just guessed based on his basic knowledge
He will try and hide from you. You will have to coax him out of his embarrassment
Author's Note: I'M DOING IT!! I'M WORKING ON REQUESTS!! Finals had me DOWN BAD!! Good luck to all my fellow students...still have to study over the break bc I'm taking the mcat in January(someone save me)
