A/n: I had so much fun writing this, especially the last two scenes. I hope Senku isn't oc. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE READ IT WHILE LISTENING TO LOVE (wave to earth).
SYNOPSIS: For years, you’ve thought that Senku Ishigami’s actions were for efficiency, logic, and science. You dismissed any ideas that suggested otherwise. Because, for you, that was just how Senku was. Until one handmade lip stain forces you to question the gestures you grew to normalize. They were just acts of science, right?
TAGS: fluff, fluff, and more fluff.
WC: 4704
The first person to vocally point it out was Yuzuriha. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and bewilderment. You nearly laughed in disbelief.
Because from your perspective, what she was saying barely made any sense. This was the Senku Ishigami she was talking about. The science-obsessed boy who approached everything in life with logic.
“You're telling me that's…normal?” She gestured at the small milk carton in your hands that Senku gave you minutes ago.
You nodded casually while sipping. “Yeah, it's just milk.”
You said it so simply, as if you were ignoring the details of what happened earlier that clearly contradicted your “it's just milk”.
The moment the third period came to an end, Senku dragged you out of class without saying anything. You had grown used to it, hence you let him tug on your wrist softly without asking questions.
He guided you swiftly through the bustling hallway. The two of you reached his locker, and before you could peek to check what he was reaching out for, he handed you a small milk carton. It was still cold.
He clicked the roof of his tongue out of annoyance. “Your glucose levels crashed halfway through the third period. How many times do I have to tell you not to skip breakfast?”
You gave him a cheeky smile, already familiar with the gesture. “Thanks, Sen. I woke up late again, okay?”
Behind the two of you, Taiju and Yuzuriha watched the interaction. Both were clearly shocked, however, for two completely different reasons.
Taiju aggressively pointed at the milk carton in your hands, “Senku! How did you keep it cold?!”
“Insulated water bottle and ice. She won't drink it unless it's cold.” He said so casually while reading something on his phone.
Yuzuriha, however, wasn't curious about the science behind the cold milk carton. No, she was curious about the scientific explanation as to why you acted as if this was normal. How Senku acted as if this was normal.
“Was that really normal? I don't think it was…” she asked when it was just the two of you; her voice remained soft and polite.
Senku had made his way to the science laboratory while Taiju was eager to see another fascinating experiment of his.
You hummed, “Yeah, that's just how Senku has always been. I call it his acts of science. He says it's to keep me efficient.”
Senku always did things like that. He had a knack with his small gestures, weaving them into the fabric of your daily life.
It wasn't strange or new to you. Not really. Not when he's been consistently doing it for years.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
You constantly complain about headaches almost every afternoon, especially during study sessions. Muttered complaints fell from your lips easily, and rubbing your temples became a habit.
“You're dehydrated.” You heard him say from across you while working with a circuit board, one that was too complex for you to understand. It wasn't a question; it sounded like a statement from his observation.
You lift your head up, tired eyes meeting his striking red ones. With a weak smile, you muttered out, “Thanks for the diagnosis, doc.”
“Tch.”
He didn't say anything else as he pulled out a water bottle from his bag, followed by a pack of electrolyte powder.
He pushed the opened bottle forward, the bits of electrolyte powder already dissolving into the water. “You’re inefficient when your body is malfunctioning.”
You gave him a knowing smile before he continued to work on his circuit board. Senku's focus returned to it, or so you thought.
“And your caffeine intake is garbage. Stop consuming it like a lifeline.”
Your smile faltered. “Hey, you're acting like you don't drink coffee too, genius!” You retorted, frustration lacing your tone.
Without even glancing up from his circuit board, he shot back, “Unlike someone, I don't rely on it to function properly.”
You threw an eraser at him, to which he dodged effortlessly, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips.
Still, despite your banter, there was an undeniable truth. Senku always seemed to notice everything before you did.
Yet you never asked. That was just the way he was—always too observant. Always a step ahead.
Right?
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The science laboratory always smelled like chemicals, metals, and something burning whenever Senku felt like it.
It was enough to remind students passing by that Senku Ishigami was inside—most likely taking something apart or fixing it, mixing chemicals, or accidentally blowing something up.
The laboratory wasn't just occupied by him; there were multiple other students working on something. Though they were never as over-the-top as the ones Senku worked on.
In the middle of it all sat Senku, who had recently cleaned up after a chemical experiment. The sleeves of his lab coat were now rolled, revealing his forearms as he worked on the blueprint of his next rocket model.
The room around him hummed with conversation, though most people knew better than to interrupt him while he worked.
Which was why a question from another student caught everyone off guard.
“Hey, Senku.”
“What?” He replied flatly.
The student hesitated briefly before pointing at Senku's wrist. “What's with the hair tie?”
Every head in the science laboratory turned immediately because now that someone was brave enough to mention it, there really was a black hair tie looped around his wrist.
It wasn't unusual at first. Not until people started noticing months ago that Senku always had one on his wrist. They assumed it belonged to him, perhaps to tie his hair during experiments—but no, his hair defied the laws of physics.
And he never used it. Not even once.
The student leaned back against the table, a grin on his face as he asked, “You got a girlfriend or something?”
The room instantly erupted as the question flew out of the students’ mouths.
“No way! Senku? Seriously?”
“As if! You really think he has any time for romance?”
“There's no way, are we talking about the same Senku Ishigami?”
“That's what a hair tie means, though!” The student argued defensively, pointing at Senku's wrist. “It's literally a thing, guys wear them when they're taken.”
Senku didn't even bother to look up from the blueprint he was working on, though an irritated look was evident on his face.
“Dumbest thing I've heard all day.”
“So that's a no, Senku?”
“Tch, idiots. Use your brains for once.”
That unfortunately didn't answer anything. However, everyone seemed to be too interested and eager in the conversation.
“So is it someone's?” A student from a corner asked.
Senku finally looked up from his blueprint, clicking the roof of his tongue. “Obviously. Why would I use one when my hair defies gravity and is never in the way?”
The room went silent before,
“OHHHH?”
“No way?!”
Senku looked far more annoyed after hearing their reactions, which, unfortunately, only encouraged everyone further.
“It's basic efficiency." He deadpanned. “Unlike you idiots, I account for predictable patterns to avoid unnecessary situations.”
Then, the doors of the science laboratory suddenly opened.
“Senku?” Your voice cut through the room of chaos, completely unaware of the chaos you've interrupted and caused.
Everyone turned to the door, not just Senku.
You blinked, feeling uncomfortable at the unexpected attention from everyone. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” half of the room replied in unison before pretending to focus on their work again.
You frowned suspiciously, eyes settled on Senku as your facial expression asked him questions. He didn't say anything, just stared back as you walked towards him.
You stopped next to him and allowed the suspicion to simmer down as you remembered the reason you were there. “Do you have a hair tie?”
Without saying a word, he lifted his wrist toward you, as if by muscle memory. Your fingers moved automatically and reached out for it.
“Lost another one? You're too careless, idiot.”
You ignored his remark, and with one smooth motion, you slid it off his wrist before tying your hair with practiced ease.
“Thanks, Sen.” You gave him a grin. “I'll see you after school.”
“Hm.”
Senku returned to his blueprint without saying anything else the moment you left.
The room stayed silent for three seconds after you closed the door behind you before erupting into chaos once more.
“What was that?!”
“I knew it was her!”
Senku ignored their loud chaos, his hand already reaching out for the pocket of his pants, and pulled out another hair tie, slipping it onto his wrist.
“Tch, you people are seriously annoying.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
You never questioned Senku's acts of science. Never. Not even when Yuzuriha’s teasing became a little too frequent.
It was normal; you were used to it for years. Why bother to question it now?
The sound of rain suddenly falling from the skies sliced through your reverie. You halted, staring at the building window next to the staircase, before a groan escaped from your lips.
“Great. Just great.” You had forgotten your umbrella. Although you always forget to bring it, this time was different. You had asked Senku to go home without waiting for you. The same guy who never forgets to bring an umbrella and checks the weather forecast.
You made your way down the stairs, and your mood was a perfect match with the gloomy weather outside.
“Took you long enough.”
Your head snapped up toward the familiar voice, and your gaze immediately landed on him, Senku. One hand in his pocket while leaning against a wall near the staircase.
Your mouth fell open in shock. “Sen—?! What are you doing here?!”
“I was waiting for you, what else?” He answered casually. Too casually, as if you didn't ask him not to wait for you.
He walked closer to you, his lab coat hanging on one shoulder while his bag hung on the other. An umbrella settled on one of his hands.
“I told you not to wait!”
“And?”
“It's raining, and it's late!”
“Yeah, no kidding. I'm not blind.”
Without waiting for your response, he threw the lab coat on your shoulder, catching you off guard again. “Wear it, you'll get cold if you don't.”
You frowned, yet slipped on his lab coat. “You should've gone home.”
“Yeah, and leave you here with a 10 billion percent chance of being stranded? You never bring an umbrella or check the weather forecast, idiot.” His tone was completely matter-of-fact, like the answer should've been obvious.
He watched as you struggled with the sleeves. He clicked the roof of his tongue before walking closer, hands already hovering over yours.
“You're hopeless.” He spoke with a tone that was softer than before. Then, with quick, efficient movements, his hands adjusted the sleeves and collar of his lab coat.
Your breath got caught in your throat for a brief moment because of the proximity. “You really didn't have to wait for me, y’know?” Your voice sounded small.
“You get sick too easily. You have the immune system of a Victorian child.” The tone of his voice remained soft as he buttoned the coat properly, ensuring it was secured around your body.
You laughed at the last part, eyes admiring the way his hands moved with the same precision he had when working on an experiment.
He took a step back after he was done. "Besides, Byakuya would never let me hear the end of it if he found out I left without you.”
You grinned, already hooking your arm with his. “Yeah, he would probably say he raised you better than that. Let's go home, Sen.”
That evening, the two of you walked home through the wet streets and drizzling rain. Yet you remained dry. Senku's lab coat protected you from the raindrops as well as the umbrella he held tightly above the two of you.
You never said anything regarding the proximity or the gesture. You were used to him acting like this. It was normal in your vocabulary.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Your mother's loud knocking on your bedroom door finally woke you up from your slumber.
“Aren't you hanging out with Senku today? Why are you still sleeping?” She asked as she entered your room, eyeing your sleepy figure, who had just woken up.
“Hang out with Senku…?”
Your eyes shot open in realization. You were supposed to help Senku purchase an engine component for his new rocket model today.
You immediately got out of bed, nearly tripping over your blanket, and ran straight to the shower, one of your hands grabbing your towel on the way there.
“Be careful!” Your mother yelled out of concern.
After a shower, you scrambled to get ready. Your clothes were everywhere after you forgot to prepare an outfit the night before. After selecting one, you searched for a pair of socks before rushing downstairs.
“Senku's already outside.” Your mother said as she watched you hastily put on your socks, hands already reaching out for your sneakers.
You bid your mother goodbye, already making it past the front door. Your eyes spot Senku, who was waiting for you.
He turned right before your hands fell to your knees for support, panting and out of breath after you practically ran while getting ready.
“You should consider using an alarm.” His voice was laced with amusement as he knelt down, hands already reaching out to tie your shoelaces.
“You could've tripped over your shoelaces again.”
Your heart skipping a beat didn't help you at all. It was normal, you swore to yourself. He fixes your shoelaces all the time. It was just efficient.
Your breathing finally returned to normal. “I did, I slept through it.”
He chuckled before standing up, hand reaching out to flick your forehead. “Idiot, did you sleep late again?”
You raised a brow, hitting him playfully. “You're one to talk, genius.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Senku's experiments were a constant source of fascination. You were always interested and could hardly take your eyes away whenever he was mixing his colorful array of chemicals in the lab.
“You're too close,” he said, voice edged with concern.
“Huh?”You replied, momentarily distracted.
Before you could process his warning any further, you felt Senku's hand grab your wrist, pulling you behind him right before the Erlenmeyer flask erupted, bubbles frothing violently at the surface.
Your eyes widened in curiosity as you peeked from behind him. “Whoa,”
His grip never left yours, never loosened; it remained steady around your wrist. “Exactly why I told you not to stand too close.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, “You say that every single time, Sen.”
“And you're stubborn every single time.” He countered back, his grip tightening around your wrist, ensuring you wouldn’t inch any closer.
His grip felt firm, protective, and undeniably comforting. It felt like a silent assurance that you were safe in his presence. You didn't question it; after all, Senku always did things like that, didn't he?
⋆⭒˚.⋆
One of the perks of living near Senku meant you could always crash at his place, and Byakuya allowed you to do so. Especially whenever he's busy training to be an astronaut on the other side of the world.
The living room of the Ishigami household was lit by the television screen across you, as well as the faint light coming from the windows. Senku's presence was near and grounding as the two of you watched another move that you picked, of course.
You didn't realize you were crying—not at first. The dialogues bled with a soundtrack that was clearly designed to hurt you slowly.
Beside you, Senku exhaled through his nose. He couldn't comprehend why you kept choosing movies that clearly tugged at your heartstrings.
“Statistically speaking, you've chosen emotional damage 6 times in a row.” He spoke, voice flat as he stared at the screen with a look of boredom. He wouldn't be watching these movies if it weren't for you.
“Shut up, Sen.” You laughed through your flowing tears. Your voice was shaky as the soundtrack was starting to affect you harder.
That was when he finally looked at you, a frown appearing on his face as he saw the tears streaming down, your hands already hovering above your eyes to rub them.
You were crying again. Rubbing your eyes on top of that, too.
“Stop doing that.” He said immediately, tone firm.
You blinked, “Huh?”
“Tch,” his hands reached out, pulling yours away from your face before you could even process it. His grip was gentle, quick, and precise.
“You’re going to irritate your corneas if you keep rubbing your eyes,” he continued, as if a doctor was scolding their patient. “Damage delicate blood vessels, make the inflammation worse— do you want me to continue?”
He warned, and you shook your head. “I'm just—”
“Crying and rubbing your eyes.” He finished for you, clearly unimpressed.
His hands never released your wrists. With a sigh, he pulled them down gently. “Why do you always choose movies that do this to you? It's stupid.”
You opened your mouth, ready to argue and defend your choices. “It's part of the experience, Senku.”
“Yeah, right, I believe you,” he mocked softly.
He shifted closer, hands releasing your wrists. And with the same irritating precision he used for everything else, he reached out for your cheeks, gently wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumbs.
His touch was careful, almost too careful. As if it were another adjustment made to a system that had slightly fallen out of equilibrium.
“The movie wasn't even great,” he muttered, yet his thumb didn't stop. “Crying over a predictable plot outcome?”
You glared at him with angry tears, yet he smiled in return as you lunged to attack him.
“Stop watching them with me if you're only going to judge me, you menace!”
His chuckle filtered the dialogue from the movie, letting you tug at his hair all you want.
“Who will stop you from damaging your eyes if I stopped?” He countered casually—too casually, as if it was a natural response.
You halted, your hands frozen in his hair for a moment before he gently pried them away.
“What?” He asked, red eyes already staring into yours, the light from the window behind you reflecting on it. “You're acting like I don't do it often.”
Right. He does. He does it so often that it has always felt natural. And somewhere along the way, you stopped noticing it entirely. Perhaps you’ve noticed, yet dismissed the thoughts. Never allowing yourself to look further into what those actions actually meant.
Because it was Senku.
Senku Ishigami, the genius who treats inconveniences as problems to solve for the sake of efficiency. However, he was also the boy who remembered things nobody else did.
And still, despite everything, you never called it anything else. It was just Senku's acts of science. You chose to dismiss the feeling of your chest tightening painfully as the realization was coming closer.
No, it was just his acts of science, right?
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Wrong.
You were wrong, utterly wrong. Or at least you thought so, as the realization refused to be dismissed any further after being buried from years of excuses, the familiarity of routines, and the comfort that you understood Senku's nature.
Because that was easier. It was easier than confronting the terrifying realization that maybe everyone else had been right all along.
Perhaps it was never purely about science. Maybe it wasn't just about efficiency, logic, or the fact that Senku disliked being unable to solve inconveniences.
Maybe—
Your breath got caught in your throat again, between your tempting realization and the reflex to push it down. The thought settled painfully; it felt almost impossible to make it go away.
Your memories weren't much help either, as they replayed endlessly without permission, refusing to stay harmless.
The reminders, the way he noticed things before you did, the way he was always prepared for your inconveniences as if he had already calculated them, the way he always remembered.
The realization was everywhere, taunting you dangerously. You could see it in everything you dismissed as his acts of science.
Which was why the sight of the small metal tube of lip stain on your hands felt almost unbearable as it weighed and catalyzed your realization.
“Try it already,” Senku spoke from his desk chair across from you, who sat on his bed, your usual spot. He sounded mildly annoyed at your silence.
You couldn't really blame him. You've been silent for too long, buried in your thoughts that refused to go quiet.
It was almost funny, really. A lip stain was all it took to catalyze your realization. However, it wasn't just any lip stain. It was a replica of the one that you've been searching for endlessly for the past few weeks.
The same lip stain you cried over with embarrassing levels of devastation after losing it, especially since it was discontinued everywhere. You could recall the countless times you brought it up whenever you were with Senku. How the shade was your favorite since it suited you so well, and how you couldn't find any alternatives.
“You…made this?” You spoke out softly, finally finding your voice again.
He clicked the roof of his tongue. “Yeah? Why are you acting so surprised as if I hadn't made things before?”
Your eyes refused to leave the lip stain in your hands. The metal surface felt cool against your fingers. You noticed the engraving of your name on the packaging, which wasn't like the packaging of your previous lip stain with stickers that wore out easily after a few uses.
You heard the wheels of his desk chair roll closer towards you. “I changed the packaging since you always complained about the lettering wearing off easily.”
“How did you remember the shade?” You looked up at him, and your eyes immediately met his again. He was already looking at you.
He gave you his signature laugh. “That was the hard part. Learning cosmetology was 10 billion percent easier. I had to rely on information and pictures online, as well as yours.”
“I would've finished it within a week if you had tested out the shade samples yourself.” He smirked, “Byakuya kept whining that it'd ruin the surprise.”
You tilted your head, “Byakuya knew about this?”
“Of course. He caught me watching a cosmetology crash course at 2 AM.”
You found yourself laughing at his response. Your grin was wide, so wide that it made your cheeks hurt. You were genuinely so happy.
You kept smiling even when you were no longer laughing. Senku raised a brow, mirroring the previous tilt of your head. “What?”
“You're—” your grin appeared again, your cheeks were really starting to hurt. “You're so sweet, Sen.”
He paused in disbelief. “Hah? What are you talking about—”
Your sudden hug caught him off guard, and your added weight pushed the desk chair backward slightly. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, one hand still gripping the lip stain tightly.
“Thank you, Sen. Seriously, I don't know how to thank you enough.”
He clicked the roof of his tongue again, acting annoyed, yet the smile on his face said otherwise. As well as his hand that steadied you against him, returning the hug.
“You can thank me by actually trying it. How else am I supposed to know I got the shade right?”
The grin on your face remained as you pulled away. “Okay,” your voice became strangely soft.
You were about to use your phone screen as a mirror when Senku reached out to grab the lip stain from you. “It has a built-in mirror. Less hassle.”
You stared at him in awe. “Oh my gosh, you really considered the design of the packaging.”
He shrugged, handing the lip stain back to you. “The original design was inefficient. You would need a separate mirror each time.”
He didn't say anything else as he watched you apply it to your lips. A satisfied smile formed on your face, and Senku nearly exhaled in relief. He didn't fail; he succeeded in reviving your favorite lip stain.
Your eyes shifted to meet his again, your smile refusing to leave your face. “How do I look, Sen?”
He paused for a second, “The same but with a different shade of lip color.”
You gasped and hit him playfully. “How rude! You learned cosmetology but not about how to compliment a girl?”
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Why would I waste my time with the latter?”
You rolled your eyes before admiring the shade with the built-in mirror. “You could at least say I look prettier.”
“You always do,” he responded too quickly, without any hesitation in the tone of his voice. It was too straightforward, as if he were reciting a fact.
You short-circuit for a few seconds, cheeks burning up slightly as you look away.
“You're really amazing, Sen...” You mumbled, admiring his creation while trying to ignore the warmth from your cheeks.
“Yeah?” A quiet chuckle escaped from him.
“I've built rockets, and this is what impressed you the most?” He added, a teasing grin on his face.
“Well, this one is the most unexpected thing you would do, y’know?”
He shook his head with another chuckle. “You're welcome.” He moved himself using his chair, a hand reaching for a notebook on his desk. “I haven't tested the transfer resistance yet, but it stains better than the original.”
“Why not?”
“Do you expect me to wear it?”
You laughed out loud, “Wouldn't you do it for science?”
“Nice joke.” He deadpanned. “I did it for you, not for science, idiot.”
Somehow, that confession hit harder than anything else.
“The Senku Ishigami is doing something that isn't for science? Is the world meeting its doom soon?” you joked mockingly.
“That's worse than the previous one.” He deadpanned again.
You giggled, hands reaching out to pull his chair closer to you, a mischievous idea had already appeared in your head just seconds ago.
“What are you doing?”
You didn't answer. Instead, you tugged his head down, closer to your face. With a swift motion, you pressed a quick kiss on his cheek.
You pulled away, satisfied with your results. There was a clear mark from the gloss, yet no pigment. The only pigment you found was the burning ears of Senku, dusted with a faint red.
“Results concluded, it's transfer proof.” You grinned at his frozen state. “You can log the results in your notebook now.”
A teasing smirk formed on your face as you eyed his silent and flustered figure. “You good, Sen?”
“Yeah…” he muttered out after snapping out of his frozen state, voice low as he turned away from you to reach for a pen.
Oh, you were savoring every moment. That was your payback after he made you spiral over his acts of science.
Perhaps the two of you wouldn't talk about it further for now. However, you were—as Senku would say it—10 billion percent sure there's time for that in the future.
For now, you'll mainly appreciate his acts of science, or his way of showing that he cared far more than you thought.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Bonus:
“Where did you learn how to make cosmetics, Senku-chan?” Gen’s curious question hung in the air, capturing Senku's attention.
The scene unfolded in front of the two of them, along with Suika and Soyuz, who were gathered around Amaryllis and you. Together, you were meticulously applying makeup on Kohaku’s face in preparation for the selection.
“It's chemistry, mentalist.” His gaze briefly flickered towards Gen and deadpanned.
Gen sweat dropped. “Yes, but I never expected you to touch that part of chemistry, Senku-chan…”
The scientist shrugged, dismissing the comment. And before Gen could question him further, you suddenly walked to Senku with a bright grin on your face.
“Sen, can you make my lip stain again? I've been missing it lately.” Your eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, something Senku could never say no to.
‘Ah.’ Gen's question had been answered the moment the words fell from your lips. The mentalist wasn't even surprised anymore. ‘So this is the so-called acts of science Yuzuriha-chan was talking about.’
a/n: I had so much fun writing this in one sitting. It was way longer than I initially planned because of the last scene. Thank you for reading, I hope you guys enjoyed this one <3.
koro-sensei deserves so many fics omg! and i really wish i could write for senku, but he's is so fucking smart, how am i ever supposed to capture his character! shikamaru is an underrated king.
2. THE MAGICIANS
need i say anything? look at their eyes ughhhhhhhhhhh need more.
3. THE GOOFBALLS
i am still shocked by how few Luffy-centric fics we have. it's just not fair! jiraya is a genuine hear me out, but i think people can relate...right? and for naruto, i mean exclusively adult naruto, i've seen barely a handful :(
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.
Now we know how Dr. Stone men are in love, how about when their courting/pursuing and to being a husband? 🤭
masterlist
˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ RAE'S NOTE. it took time but here you've it, my dear. i hope you enjoy the read as i've enjoyed writing it (^^).
˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ pairing. senku × gn! reader, gen × gn! reader, tsukasa × gn! reader, xeno × gn! reader, stanley × gn! reader
˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ summary. how they'd flirt with you, plus a brief example of their confessing.
courting headcanons
—Senku Ishigami is in denial (again). He absolutely denies he’s “courting” anyone, yet he’s inventing things that just happen to make your daily life easier. He calls it “optimization,” but his ears go red when you thank him. Not at all subtle.
—Your life is soon filled with more details about science than before. His explanations of scientific concepts come in an oddly intimate manner, with metaphors tailores too your own interests. Then, he decides to make little experiments for just the two of you, such as stargazing sessions where he quietly watches your reactions more than the sky.
—Senku starts to remember everything, and when I say everuything I mean it, you say. Offhand comments become projects. Do you like a certain scent? He’ll recreate it. Say you miss a food? He’ll reverse‑engineer it. If you ask him? It's for the advancement of civilization, 10 billion percent sure.
—His version of a confession is undeniable his in style, indirect but unmistakable. He'll invite you to join a long‑term project, something that will take months or years.
❝Don't make a big deal about it… I want you in my future when we rescue humanity.❞
—Would you believe me if I told you it started as a joke? Gen Asagiri flirted with you as he had done with many others before, but with you, something's different. He starts sizing up your reactions more closely after every interaction. His jokes become gentler, more intimate. His compliments stop being generic and become specific, almost vulnerable.
—Then, he starts bringing you things that seem casual… But that everyone knows is not. A pretty feather, a perfect leaf, a polished stone, all small tokens which he hands you theatrically. And once you turn around with his gift already in your hands, he stares at your back with a tenderness that he doesn't allow himself to show face-to-face.
—Gen can be a showman in public, in a way. But in private, his act tones down, revealing a softer side of him. He likes to sit with you at sunset, when the world turns golden and still. And when the conversation becomes intimate, he looks at you with an expression he doesn't use with anyone else: a mixture of longing, desire, and fear.
—In case it wasn't clear, he's afraid of what he feels. He's insecure about his own feelings because of their profound nature. However, one day he blurted it out as if it were a joke, despite the slight tremor in his voice.
❝You know… I like you more than is strategically sensible.❞
—As I've said before, Tsukasa Shishio shows affection through protection. He doesn't see you as weak, if you're wondering it, yet he doesn't hesitate to position himself between you and any possible threat without making a show of it.
—Tsukasa is an avid listener at that. When you speak, he gives you his full attention, as if your words are something sacred. He doesn't talk much about himself. Nevertheless, it's your trust in him that makes him lower his walls, sharing personal details that no one else knows.
—Another quiet show of his interest comes in the form of small rituals he has started to form with you: He leaves wildflowers where he knows you'll find them, he prepares the best piece of meat without saying a word, he covers you with his coat while you sleep, he watches you tenderly when you think he can't see you. They're not that grandiose, but they're enough to make you warm on the inside.
—Then, one day, the imminent arrived. It was in the way he looked at you, really at you, and admitted wanting to give you a future, one which he's willing to protect with his own life if it meant you would be happy.
❝I want to build a world where you can live without fear.❞
—I hope you're ready, because Xeno Wingfield finds your mind stimulating enough, which translates to a new attraction to debating with you about anything and everything. If he starts seeking you out to debate, to listen to your ideas, to ask your opinion on complex issues… Oh, he’s already halfway gone.
—Similar to Senku, he finds it intimate the prospect of sharing knowledge, especially the one he holds dear. For such, he'll offer to teach you anything you may ask him about, whether it's the intricate works of space, or why his gloves have those metal claws attached.
—Intense emotions aren't Xeno's strength, which seems pretty clear, so he lets them escape through small cracks during your moments together. Funnily enough, if you make him laugh, really laugh, he stares at you as if he doesn't understand what just happened to him.
—When he finally decides to say something, he does so with precision and a deep vulnerability. Despite the firmness present in his voice, his hands trembled just the slightest. For him, admitting his affection is a leap of faith.
❝You have become… Important to me. More than I anticipated.❞
—We're already aware that Stanley Snyder is a man focused on actions; that is, his affection is shown through various actions that demonstrate his attention to you. He fixes things for you, sharpens your tools, stands guard nearby without being asked…
—Those eyes of his will be set on you, whether you're aware of their constant presence or not. He watches you from a distance at first, almost like a soldier assessing a battlefield. Based on what he learns from his curious and respectful observation, he adjusts his behavior accordingly. His attention is constant, silent, and almost devotional in nature.
—His teasing is… He teases you dryly, to be honest. Yet if someone else does it, he shuts them down with a single look. He's the only one with the right to fluster you, and everyone should know that.
—Stanley isn't the most open about himself at first, taking his due time to open up for you. His life comes to your knowledge in fragments: a story from his past, a scar explained, a rare laugh shared. He doesn't talk about himself. Not out of pride, but because he doesn't know how. But with you… Things just slip out.
—And, when he finally gains the courage, his confession comes bluntly, directly, and devastatingly sincere, just like him.
synopsis: in which the kingdom of science was not prepared to meet someone as crazy — scratch that, even crazier than senku himself. 2.4k words
pairing: senku x maomao!reader (can be read as platonic, but written with romantic interests in mind)
tags: canon-divergent, fluff, crack, reader is inspired by maomao from apothecary diaries, soft!senku, gn reader, tw: self-poisoning, suicide jokes
(prequel is out now!)
When Senku said that he would be reviving someone crucial to their plan of bringing back all humans from stone, everyone from the Kingdom of Science developed their own image in their head.
Chrome imagined another genius like Senku, someone who can help create things that seemed like magic.
Kohaku expected an athlete, meant to do the heavy lifting that she normally found herself doing for Senku and his experiments.
Ginro shook at the thought of a leader, commanding and terrifying and ready to rule over the Kingdom of Science with an iron fist.
Obviously, Senku thought it was unnecessary to explain who he was actually planning on reviving and what they were like, because no one expected him to emerge from the thickness of the forest with someone like... you.
You, who looked as normal as could be, save for the cracks etched upon your skin from the de-petrification process.
"Senku... who is this?" Kohaku asked. Typical of her, one of the only ones who had the guts to openly question the scientist's judgement.
Senku grinned like he had just uncovered diamonds (and to him, maybe he did). "This, ladies and gentlemen of the stone world, is the capable apothecary back from the modern world."
You had smiled and nodded at them, introducing yourself. "Nice to meet you all. I look forward to working with you."
Gen was the only one who was actually wary of you — you, who did not seem fazed at all when you came out of the petrification to find yourself in a world that has descended into over three thousand years without a single human soul from the modern world.
From his experience, the only ones who had that kind of reaction to this new age were the ones that had a couple of screws loose in their brains, much like Senku.
If only he had followed his gut.
After you had explained to the rest of the Kingdom of Science what an apothecary was, little Suika was eager to learn form you as you wandered through the forest together in search for herbs. Senku had your own clinic constructed beside his lab, where you kept various leaves and plants that you thought would be useful.
It took a few weeks for you to properly settle in and get used to the difficult simplicity of things, but once you did, Senku knew that he had to keep a tighter leash on you.
"Kinro, Ginro," he had told them one day when you were holed up in your clinic. "While you're guarding the village, make sure that the apothecary doesn't leave the area."
Ginro had tilted his head, confused. You kept to yourself most of the time, sure, but you seemed harmless to him. "Why?"
Senku shook his head. "Trust me, you do not want to see what would happen if they're left unsupervised."
Nonetheless, Kinro and Ginro nodded. It was part of the rules to be wary of outsiders anyway, so Kinro had no problem keeping an eye on you.
But of course, even the strict Kinro could sometimes slip, especially with someone as sneaky as you under their watch.
They didn't even notice you were gone until Gen went into the clinic one day to bother you, only to find it empty.
He thought that bringing it up with Senku would be no big deal, and that he would probably know where you were.
Until his news of your sudden disappearance caused Senku to look up from his messy science-y notes so fast Gen knew that man had to have gotten whiplash.
"Get Suika, Kohaku, and Chrome and tell them to search the forest," he barked, storming out of his lab like a man on a mission.
Gen stumbled to keep up with him, eyebrows pinching together. Why was Senku, the normally logical, overall detached scientist, act like you not being here was a war crime?
Gen began to question how much you really meant to the scientist. Obviously you were something to him, seeing as you didn't have extraordinary skills, and yet you were still one of the very few people that Senku decided to revive.
Either way, this level of overprotectiveness is crazy! Gen thought.
"Wha — What are you gonna do?!" The mentalist sputtered.
"I'm gonna have a word with the bodyguards," Senku grumbled, and he didn't wait to see if Gen left to do what he was told (he did leave — no way did he want to deal with an angry Senku) before he approached Kinro and Ginro at the end of the bridge.
"I thought I told you to watch the apothecary!" He said, his voice shaky and maniacal, the way it always sounded when he was stressed about something. "They're gone!"
Kinro was the first to speak up this time. "I apologize for losing sight of them, but guarding the village is our number one priority. If they leave the Kingdom of Science, which is not technically part of the village, then it is not really our concern."
"They could be anywhere doing gods know what!" Senku threw his hands up, one raking through his hair.
"They — They couldn't have gone that far," Ginro reassured, but his hands were shaking the spear that he held. "They're probably still around the area, gathering their herbs or something!"
The statement was meant to reassure Senku.
It did not.
"Shit, what if they come across...?" Senku began mumbling to himself, walking away as he dived deep into his thoughts.
In the end, it was Kohaku that found you.
In a not so good condition.
"They're unconscious!" Kohaku called out as she came out into the clearing of the Kingdom of Science with you in her arms. "There are weird, soapy things coming out of their mouth."
Senku almost tripped over himself to get a better look at you. There was foam on the corners of your purple lips. Your skin was deathly pale, and your chest was barely rising.
But you were alive, that was the good thing. Keeping you alive would be a different challenge.
"You stupid apothecary," Senku laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.
Despite his... less superior strength, he took you out of Kohaku's arms and brought you to your clinic, laying you on the stretcher on the ground as he rummaged through your shelves of remedies and herbs.
"This is why you can never leave my sight," he said, more to himself than you. "Who knows what you find in this forest? The plants are different from how they were three thousand years ago, of course you'd be curious of its properties. Of course you'd test it on yourself."
He found a bottle you had labeled "generic antidote" and snatched that one.
He pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought the lid of the bottle to your lips.
"No."
He paused his movements when he heard you. Your words were more air than voice, but he had heard you nonetheless due to your proximity.
"Your lips are purple, you're foaming at the mouth, you're deathly pale, and you're barely breathing," Senku listed down. "That's the generic effects of poison. What's wrong with the generic antidote?"
Your eyes cracked open, and Senku almost recoiled in shock.
"Your eyes are black."
Sure enough, even the part of your eyes that were supposed to be white were almost fully coated in black, like you had put on contacts.
"Different... poison..." you muttered, like speaking was the hardest thing you ever did in your life. "White petals, salt... the green paste in the small bottle. Grind 'n boil 'em 'until 'til they bubble."
"Is there enough time for that?" Senku asked, but he was already reaching for the ingredients. His hands moved with lightning speed, determined to give you the antidote.
"Yeah... got lots of time..." you had started to fade into unconsciousness, but Senku was quick to lightly slap your cheek.
"Oi, stay awake, stupid apothecary," he commanded.
"Yessir," you slurred slightly, a weak grin on your face.
The preparation took forever, when in reality it only took around twenty minutes until he had a strange concoction in a bowl, ready for consumption.
He knelt beside you, pushing you up into a sitting position so the antidote would travel around your body faster.
With one hand behind your back and the other holding the bowl, he brought the antidote to your lips. "Open up."
You drank obediently, your face faintly scrunching up at the expectedly awful taste, but you had finished everything in the bowl.
"Good." Senku laid you back down. "Now you can rest."
He didn't even need to tell you that; you were already knocked out the moment you had drank the last of the antidote.
—————
Throughout the rest of the day, various people came to check in on you, asking Senku how you were doing and if you were alive.
He was quick to snap at all of them, telling them that you would recover faster if it was quiet. Obviously that wouldn't really change anything, but they don't need to know that.
You woke up late at night, your head feeling like a balloon and your body feeling like lead.
Senku perked up from his seat on the side of the clinic when he heard you groan, immediately standing up and kneeling by your side.
"You good, apothecary?" He hated how worried his voice sounded; a scientist like him shouldn't be chained down by emotions.
But you literally just poisoned yourself, so could you really blame him?
"I..." It took you so long to finish your answer that Senku was convinced that you had fallen asleep again, until you bolted upright with the widest grin on your mouth. The contrast of your bright smile with your pale face and bloodshot eyes made you look like a character straight out of a horror game. "I feel great!"
Senku blinked. "Huh?"
"Did you get the flower that I ate?" You started rambling, pulling at your sleeves to examine your skin, as if looking for residual poison. "I knew that there would be new kinds of natural poison around here since it's been a couple hundred years, but wow! That flower was unlike anything I've ever tested —"
Your eyes suddenly snapped to Senku's. "Did you record how long it took for me to pass out? How long it took for the antidote to take effect? My symptoms? How close I was to death?"
Senku was in disbelief, to put it lightly. He knew from the moment that he met you that you were as passionate about poisons as he was about science, but he forgot how actually insane you were.
"It took you eight hours to recover, but that doesn't include the time from when the poison started to take effect to the time that Kohaku found you," Senku replied, not to answer your question, but to scold you. "What have I told you about trying poisons out without telling anyone?! What would have happened if I didn't tell the Kingdom of Science to look for you?!"
You waved his concern away like it was unnecessary (it was very much necessary). "My heartbeat would have been slow enough to not even be detected by a machine, my chest would barely rise, but I was confident that I wouldn't die. I'm immune to most poisons."
"Well, obviously not this one!" Senku groaned. He felt like pulling his hair out. "You could have died!"
You put your hand to your chin, suddenly deep in thought. "What if the flower gives you the effects of death, but in reality, it doesn't actually kill you? Or what if it does kill you, but giving an antidote can basically revive you?" You muttered.
It was like Senku wasn't even there!
He slapped the back of your head, hard enough to pull you out of your brain but not hard enough to actually hurt you. "Stop that! Stop plotting ways to commit suicide! You're grounded until further notice!"
"But Senku!" You whined, clutching the front of his shirt like you were begging for your life rather than freedom to roam through the forest and find more lethal poisons. "This is the pinnacle of poison discovery! I'm the only one alive that has true experience with poison, and I could find new ones that'll be named after me and carry my legacy for generations!"
"I understand that discovery comes with risk, but this is neither necessary nor calculated risk on your part!" Senku retorted, flicking your hand away. "Kohaku was already caught off guard when you were surrounded by strange, purple flowers!"
The silence made Senku sweat. He should not have said that.
Before he could react, you were already out of the cot, dashing out of the clinic. The fire in front of Chrome's storage facility was still alive, which meant that there were still people awake in the Kingdom of Science.
You spotted a familiar head of blonde hair. "Kohaku!" You called, dragging her name out as you ran towards her, your smile as maniacal as your laugh as you evaded Senku, who was shouting at you to get back to bed.
You slid on the ground, stopping right beside Kohaku. You grabbed her shoulders and made you face her. "Do you remember where you found me? Did you get any of the flowers that you found me with? Do you —"
"Do not answer any of their questions!" Senku interrupted, wrapping his arms around your waist and hauling you up. "It'll only encourage them to test stuff on themself!"
The rest of the people surrounding the campfire — old man Kaseki, Chrome, and Gen — stared at you in horror. You thrashed around in Senku's arms, but ultimately gave up when his hold on you never faltered. For a scientist who normally lacked physical strength, he sure was good at keeping you in place.
"I knew there was something wrong with you," Gen muttered, a scared smile spreading on his lips.
"This is bad," Chrome moaned, clutching the sides of his head like he just found a live bomb. "I thought the apothecary was tamer and more mature than Senku. Turns out they're just as bad!"
"No," Kohaku shook her head, watching Senku drag you back to the clinic where he would undoubtedly imprison you until you were fully recovered and properly confined within the Kingdom grounds. "They're worse."
Kaseki sighed, tending to the fire. "At least young Senku is there to keep them in line. It seems he cares about them very much."
Gen nodded. He may have missed you being a complete suicidal maniac, but that's one thing he was sure of: despite your tendencies, Senku was always there to make sure you never actually "step into the light", so to speak.
And he's pretty certain that will not change any time soon, not even in the stone world.
notes: i finished apothecary diaries before i started dr stone, which is where i got the idea to combine the two, in a way. hope you enjoyed reading! <33
If you had any form of parental bond with Suika, and since you knew her several years before Senku arrived in the village, she started referring to you as mama. Senku is definitely the type to refer to you in third person as mommy when talking to Suika just to see you flush because he's bored at the moment and wants to be the cause of your grey hairs coming in earlier.
"Suika, could you tell mommy she cannot be prescribing antibiotics to everyone because we are low on stock?"
"asshole I'm- I'm not gonna play doctor for your stupid team if I'm not gettin paid from now"
"Such strong language. Suika, I think mommy doesn't know children are present here."
Suika, being the sweet summer child always in your support
"Senku, mama doesn't like you. stop"
"I know"
A/n: JUST TO BE CLEAR, READER AND SENKU WERE CLOSE PRE-PETRIF, AND READER JUST SO HAPPENED TO WAKE UP WAY EARLIER THAN SENKU
