#drst x reader

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.

ok that's it, until next time!

taglist: @lovingyeet

Senku reeled back like you’d electrocuted him. “That is NOT how science OR ownership works, you primitive ape!!”

“Too late, I called it!” You crossed your arms, smirking. “Ishigami Senku is officially mine. No take-backs.”

He wiped his cheek aggressively, looking more scandalized than you’d ever seen him. “First of all, that’s completely unscientific. Second, that’s disgusting! Third—” He scrubbed his cheek harder. “WHY WOULD YOU LICK ME?!”

You giggled. “Because you’re mine, duh.”

Senku’s face burned bright red, and for the first time ever, he had no comeback. He just grumbled something under his breath, turned on his heel, and stomped away—probably to disinfect his face a hundred times.

You picked up your shiny rock and grinned.

It had been three hours since ‘The Incident.’

Senku had spent the remainder of recess scrubbing his cheek with the intensity of someone trying to remove radioactive contamination. He had also, to your mild amusement, been uncharacteristically quiet since then. No rambling about physics, no smug comments about how he was the smartest person on the playground. Just red ears, wide eyes, and the occasional distant stare into the void.

Not that you noticed.

The school bell rang, and as always, you waited outside the gate for Senku so you could walk home together. He was taking a suspiciously long time to emerge, and when he finally did, he kept two feet of distance between you, eyes darting anywhere but in your direction.

You tilted your head. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly.

You blinked. Shrugged. And then—as always—grabbed his wrist and started dragging him home.

This was routine. Senku, being Senku, would get so lost in his thoughts that he’d walk directly into traffic if left unsupervised, so it had become your personal responsibility to make sure he actually got home in one piece. Usually, he just let you do it. Today, however—

The moment your fingers curled around his wrist, Senku jolted like you’d electrocuted him.

“W-WHAT NOW?!”

You glanced back at him, confused. “…What?”

“Y-You’re—” He clamped his mouth shut, face burning even redder. You’d never seen him so visibly malfunctioning.

You raised an eyebrow. “Senku, you’re always lost in your head when we walk home. Do you wanna end up in a ditch?”

That seemed to shake him out of it, because he scowled and grumbled, “Tch, fine, whatever,” before reluctantly letting you drag him along.

Again—not that you noticed his existential crisis.

By the time you reached Senku’s house, his entire mood had not recovered. His dad, Byakuya, was already home, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” Byakuya said, arms crossed. “You’re later than usual. Let me guess—Senku got caught up in another experiment?”

“Nope!” you chirped. “Senku’s just being weird.”

Byakuya blinked. “Oh?”

Senku visibly tensed. “I’m not being weird.”

You squinted at him. “You spent the whole walk home redder than a tomato.”

Byakuya’s eyes lit up. Oh, he was already having too much fun. “Wait a second… Did something happen today?”

Senku froze.

You, however, nodded enthusiastically. “Yup! I licked him.”

The pregnant silence that followed could have had her baby before one of you spoke.

Byakuya blinked very slowly. “You… licked him?”

Senku looked like he was praying for a spontaneous meteor impact.

“Yup!” You grinned. “Because I licked him, he’s mine now.”

Byakuya immediately lost it. His booming laughter echoed through the street while Senku visibly died inside.

“PFFT—AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Byakuya wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, I knew someone would get you one day, but this is beyond my expectations!”

Senku buried his face in his hands. “Kill me.”

“Nope, no can do, my boy,” Byakuya grinned, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’ve already been claimed.”

Senku made a noise like a dying cat.

Meanwhile, you just smiled, completely oblivious to your best friend’s utter suffering.

Senku was not flustered.

Flustered was an illogical state of mind. It served no scientific purpose. There was absolutely no reason why his brain kept replaying ‘The Incident’ over and over again like a glitched-out record player.

Unfortunately for him, Byakuya wasn’t letting it go.

The entire evening had been filled with teasing. Every time Senku walked into the room, Byakuya wiggled his eyebrows at him. When they sat down for dinner, Byakuya stuck his tongue out just to watch Senku choke on his rice.

It was absolute hell.

But eventually, time passed. Senku convinced himself that it was a one-time thing. A weird, impulsive moment that you’d already forgotten about.

…Until the next day.

It was recess again, and you were crouched on the pavement, examining another rock. Senku sat nearby, scribbling formulas in a notebook. Things had finally returned to normal.

And then—

“Hold still,” you said.

Before Senku could process those words, you leaned over and—

LICK.

Except this time, you weren’t licking him.

You were licking Taiju.

Senku’s entire body short-circuited.

“W-WHAT?!” Taiju yelped, nearly falling over.

“There,” you declared proudly. “You’re mine now.”

Taiju jumped back up. “FOR REAL?!” You were unphased by his demeanor, courtesy of knowing the guy since diapers. “I HAVE TO LICK YOU BACK TOO!”

Senku stared. His brain refused to compute.

He knew it was stupid, unscientific, completely irrational—but for some reason, something in his chest clenched.

He scowled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You turned to him, tilting your head. Taiju’s mouth was obnoxiously close to your own pretty cheek. “What?”

“You—you already did that to me.” His voice came out more accusing than intended.

You blinked. “Yeah, but Taiju’s my friend too.” Said boy had some drool fall to the ground from how big his mouth was, still propped open in mid air. The big oaf.

Despite the warmth he normally felt for your antics today it was dulled. Senku felt something ugly twist in his stomach.

“Yeah, but you licked me first,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, crossing his arms.

Taiju, meanwhile, was still reeling. At least he had the decency to close his mouth.“Wait, so, uh… does this mean I belong to you now?”

You nodded firmly.

Senku’s eye twitched.

“No,” he blurted.

You and Taiju blinked at him. “No?”

“No.” Senku scowled, pointing at Taiju like he was an incorrect math equation. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just—just collect people.”

“…Why not?”

“Because,” Senku snapped, voice sharper than usual. “I thought you picked me.”

The words escaped before he could stop them.

Silence.

Taiju blinked. You blinked. Senku, realizing what he had just admitted, suddenly wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

You tilted your head. “Oh. You wanted to be special?”

“N-No, that’s not—” He stopped. Because that’s exactly what he had meant.

You grinned. “Okay.”

Senku frowned. “Okay, what?”

You leaned in—too close—and licked his cheek again.

Senku froze.

“There,” you said smugly. “You get double licks, so you’re extra mine.”

Taiju burst out laughing.

Senku made a noise like a dying computer. “I—that’s—” He stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his notebook. “THAT’S NOT—WHATEVER! I’M GOING HOME.”

And then, he fled.

Taiju wiped a tear from his eye. “Man, you really broke him, huh?”

You just grinned.

Back in the modern world, Senku would most of the time not make his own blueprints. After all, that's why he had [Name] with him. She didn't complain, happy that her drawing skills would at least help him with his learning passion of science.

The two are childhood friends, Senku had practical dragged [Name] in his goal of making a spacecraft, seeing the girl doodle in her notebook during lunch time, taking this to his advantage, the trio was born, before Yuzuriha joined a couple years later.

Up until the purification, she was always by his side, equally showing his excitement in Science because that meant being useful to him by making blueprints and getting his praise!

Drinking his energy drink, Senku looks over at the girl for a brief moment as she happily draws out his idea.

"[Name]!" She looks up confused, hearing his voice only to see a bright light coming straight to her.

"Ah shit." She says, dropping her sketch book.

—

It had been 3700+ years since the world was turned to stone, Senku had tried to look for [Name]'s statue when he had free time but no luck. After Gen had found him wandering around the forest, he knew that Senku quietly looking for someone must mean that they're very important to him.

So, with a little convincing, gathered some of the villagers look for the statue.

When they did actually find said statue, Senku had stood before all the broken pieces of the broken stone. He didn't say anything at first before quietly thanking everyone for their help with the search.

Bending down to gather the broken stones, Gen noticed his shoulder slightly shaking.

After winning the war with Tsukasa, he handed the broken pieces to Yuzuriha before quietly telling her to fix this statue inside the small hut besides the laboratory. Yuzuriha agreed to do so, a little confused with how serious he was. Even stating that fixing this statue would be her first priority with the other ones.

The girl spent days working on it, and Senku wouldn't dare come inside until Yuzuriha was almost done. Stepping back to see if the pieces matched, she almost dropped the pot filled with the substance she used to glue the stones back together, eyes wide with disbelief.

"[Name]?" She says in agony, hands shaking. Sure, she fixed a lot of statues in the past, but to fix one of her best friends makes her want to vomit. Especially knowing that Tsukasa had taken part in her destruction since she was found near the Tsukasa empire.

After crying a bit, she was determined to fix [Name] now, fired up, spending three days without resting.

And soon enough, her best friend was fixed up.

Upon Yuzuriha telling Senku that she finally finished fixing [Name] up, he went over and dumped the revival fluid, a bottle of it he had hidden away when the three had left to escape Tsukasa in the beginning.

For the sole purpose of using it on [Name].

Yuzuriha squeal, clearly shocked on how he didn't hesitate, "Wait, Senku! She's not waring any-"

The [H/C] haired girl fell into his arms, unconscious, her hair barely covering her chest as Senku held her. A genuine smile on his lips as the girl slowly opened her eyes, eyes unfocused before looking up at Senku.

".." She blinks slowly, only to be met with a sight that she would never think she would ever see from Senku. The boy was trying to suppress his tears from rolling down his face but failing as the tears hit her face.

Ignoring the fact that she was completely naked, she comforted him first before Yuzuriha gave her clothes. While helping her face in them, Senku had his back facing them, rubbing his eyes, and ears flushed red.

Its been a couple weeks since [Name] was back, Senku would regular check her over, stating he wanted to make sure there wasn't an lingering side effects of the purification since she was put back together.

She was happily working on blue prints, Senku had made her a sketch book and pencils for her to work with. When he had mentioned building a ship, she went straight to work, laying down on the floor near to the telescope, completely in her work when she feels a hand on her legs, holding them down. Confused, she looks up to see it was Ssnku, looking a little annoyed.

"Oi, you're not wearing pants, so stop kicking your legs in the air. Someone can walk in and see under your dress." He says as she lets out a grumble since she's been interrupted.

Sitting down beside her, he looks over her designs. "Are these blueprints for the ship?" He asked. She nods, looking up at him as she rolls over on her back, legs pressed together and bent.

Her eyes stay on him as he flops the pages only to givgle quietly, "What's so funny?" He asked looking down at her.

"Oh, nothing. I just realized that nothing has really changed since the world changed. We always did this in your room, remember?" Smiling happily, she says

"...i guess you're right." He says, pushing the sketchbook onto her face as she complains about it, completely unaware of the way Senku's face is red. He's just glad that these moments stayed the same even if the world changed drastically.

The Ishigami village goes oddly quiet, another companion before the stone world, perhaps? Senku had mentioned Taiju and Yuzuriha in passing quite a few times, but on the other hand, what made you so different that the founder had said your name specifically?

While the descendants ruminate in their own wonder and curiosity, there’s a heavy ache thumping against Senku’s chest, despite the laughter coming from his father.

Sorrow and grief line his veins, loneliness pumps his heart, and the burden of humanity rests upon his brittle shoulders.

(“To be drowning in loneliness despite being surrounded by others is quite the unfortunate fate, no?” You were sat atop a table, swinging your feet while watching Senku mix some chemicals that you’ve forgotten the names of. “I can’t imagine you being able to function without my ever so benevolent company.”)

As if that wasn’t enough, just to top all of it off, he has yet to find your petrified body.

Trust him when he says that he’s tried and tried, tirelessly in fact, in between the breaks he gave himself during the first months of post-petrification solitude and the rare moments away from the Ishigami village.

As lack of luck would have it, you were just nowhere to be found.

(Senku hands you a beaker, a quiet gesture to drink whatever’s in it, and you take a sip without hesitation. While onlookers that aren’t from the science club would assume he handed you an unknown concoction to drink, it’s just tea that he brewed with his equipment. You claim that he makes it best.)

With how much you occupy his mind, he can hear your voice going into a spiel about nothing but nonsense of the current situation that somehow turns poetic.

Byakuya says your name again with a chuckle. “Keep him on his toes, okay? Wouldn’t want a wild Senku roaming around the world without you!”

(“Heh, I would relish in the peace and quiet if it means i’m away from you.” He says while adding more sugar to your beaker with a lab spatula with careful precision and mixes it for you.)

Senku does not believe in wishing, but just this once, he hopes that when this war is over, that he’ll be able to let you listen to Byakuya’s last message and laugh at the old man with you again.

Just where are you hiding?

(You smile knowingly, as if you could read his mind. “To borrow a phrase from someone I know quite well, you would ten billion percent miss me.”)

“When we win this war, Taiju and I have a surprise to show you, Senku! A very belated Birthday present.”

Before the aforementioned scientist could protest, probably to say he doesn’t need or want a gift, Taiju cuts in.

“Senku! We found them!!”

There’s your name again, Gen thinks while he takes a side glance at Senku, whose grip on the microphone shifts into one with more attentiveness, more interest.

The atmosphere around Senku feels different, too.

Not suffocating or cold, but not necessarily warm, either. More odd, if anything. Relieved? Skeptical, curious. Anticipation?

Senku is stationary and silent. Definitely thinking.

“Taiju, it’s not a surprise anymore if we tell him what it is…”

“Ah, I just got so excited! Sorry, Senku! But i’m sure you’re excited to see them now, I bet you miss them a ton!!”

Ever since that record of Byakuya, Senku has been offhandedly mentioning you every so often in conversation. Even entertaining questions about you from the village, though only when he isn’t busy with, y’know, war prep against the Empire, and if they’ve caught him in a sharing mood.

It’s as if he finally deems it safe to reveal your existence to this new world; an environment and community that would not harm you.

Defensive. Cautious.

A relative?

Definitely not. Senku has mentioned being an only child and only having Byakuya.

A friend?

While it’s closer to the mark, it’s also not quite there at the same time.

Gen can see that Taiju and Yuzuriha mean a lot to Senku, but they don’t implore the same type of look or tone of voice that Senku presents when you’re mentioned.

You’re close to Senku, but seemingly much closer than just a long-time childhood companion.

Perhaps… a lover?

…

No, Senku isn’t one to indulge himself in customs as flimsy or as pitiful as love. The scientist even said so himself, multiple times: love is illogical, a waste of time, or plain simply, not even a millimetre interested in it.

Another thing about Senku is that he isn’t one to go back on his word unless it benefits his goals, and Gen can’t see any benefit from lying about love of all things.

“Oi, what’s got you looking so constipated, Mentalist?”

“Nothing in particular, Dearest Senku~”

Then that begs the question, just who are you?

“What does ‘muse’ mean when you use it to describe Senku? I’m not too sure what the word itself means either, but it sounds too intimate of a nickname for two people that claim not to be lovers.”

(A few from the Kingdom of Science had accompanied Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju in locating your statue, curious as to what you looked like. And just a few moments ago, they had found, dressed, and poured the revival fluid on you, standing back as the phenomenon of breaking out of the stone begins.

“Well, if it isn’t my dearest muse! How have you been faring these past few centuries?” There’s a twinkle in your eyes that nobody that didn’t know you has quite seen before, it’s almost enchanting, as if you were unconsciously beckoning people to pay attention to you.

Before anybody could hear their resident scientist’s response, Taiju and Yuzuriha unexpectedly pushes the group away from the reunion.

“Hey, what gives! I wanna hear what Senku has to say so I can make fun of him later!” Ginro doesn’t back down without a fight, but with Taiju’s sheer willpower, it was like watching a baby try to push down a brick wall.

“Ahaha, it’s best to leave those two alone for now.” Yuzuriha gently beckons Suika and Kohaku towards the camp. She looks back for a moment, but doesn’t stop walking. “They will come back with Senku to introduce themselves soon enough, trust me when I say they’ll make quite the entrance.”

The group may be far from the clearing from where you are with Senku, but with her eyesight, Kohaku can see an embrace of two people.

With your back turned towards her, she can see Senku’s grip on your clothing, holding tightly, trembling.

She decides to keep this to herself, for now.)

Kohaku is blunt in asking you the question that’s been itching her brain for a few weeks now.

You were revived only around a month ago, and have already contributed plenty to the Kingdom of Science, especially with the morale of the labourers: performing quick theatre skits, or maybe occasional performance acts with Gen to help manipulate encourage the workers to do their job faster.

Kohaku also decides that if Senku isn’t going to address whatever is between the two of you, she’ll surely get the answers out of you!

“Hm, the best way I can explain is to just look at him.”

She feels her brow twitch. Kohaku guesses that you’re a dead end too and groans into her hands.

You chuckle but do not look up from your work on the blueprints infront of you.

Kohaku glances at the scientist, not far from your personal work bench - he’s giggling to himself while tinkering with who knows what - and raises a brow, typical Senku behaviour at work there.

“What about him?” She asks, unimpressed.

“Isn’t he the most interesting thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?” From Kohaku’s angle, she notices a soft smile and an adoring glimmer in your irises.

Interesting is one word to put it, Kohaku thinks and doesn’t comment further.

But she also thinks she understands just the tiniest bit more than before; you and Senku are both those kinds of people that just know rather than say.

On the other hand, the child that adorns a watermelon head sat to the right of you, unknowing of the underlining meaning of your words, is oblivious and lost.

“But Senku’s just in his element at the moment, building new gadgets and inventions Suika has never ever seen before, so he looks like regular old Senku to me!“

“Exactly.”

You put your pencil down, roll up the finished blueprint, and hand it to Kohaku to give to Senku.

Seeing Suika’s eyes swirl in confusion through her lenses, you offer her a small apology and a head pat. She hands you another large sheet of paper for the next room plan.

Suika feels like there’s now even more questions than answers.

“Sorry, Suika. Despite my rather expansive vocabulary, and ability to wax on about nonsense for hours on end, I don’t think I could simplify the reason more than that.”

And it’s true, what you say.

Because then you would be forced to start off by telling her about the old world, dull and monotone, filled with unambitious nobodies that were afraid of originality and the trueness of their own character.

You would have to reveal to her the circumstances in which you first met the light that now guides you, the colour that paints your vision, and the muse to your art, Ishigami Senku.

Even after that, how do you begin explaining to a child, born into a world as primitive as this one, the complexities of something that’s been non-verbally established centuries ago, something that was instinctual rather than described.

She simply would not understand, no matter how prettily you dress your words.

Perhaps you’ll tell her when she’s grown older, a tale for another day, when she’s lived her own experiences rather than learning about yours.

For now, you will close the script that writes your story. Who doesn’t like a bit of mystery?

[ Extra - Opening Act ]

“Hmm, a unique but befitting opening line to introduce a new supporting character into a seemingly already ragtag cast…”

“Ragtag?!” Gen exclaims.

“Ragtag…” Ukyo sighs, exceedingly exasperated.

“Ragtag?” Suika questions, not hearing the word before.

Senku chuckles beside you and crosses his arms. “I suggest you let them finish, or else they’ll make it everyone else’s problem later if their flare of inspiration is cut short.”

You continue on as if you didn’t hear them, chin pinched between your thumb and the knuckle of your pointer finger.

“How about…”

You hum and mumble for a few more seconds before your eyes light up with mirth. Right hand to your heart, your left arm is outstretched to your front, palm up, a gesture similar to that as if you were reaching for something.

“After centuries confined within a prison of the mind, not a soul to keep them company bar their own, thou hast finally freed thyself! One’s solitude gnawed at thy skin and mystery shrouded thy thoughts. No more are the shackles that bind them yap yap yap yap…”

To Gen, all of your words blend together as he loses even more sense as to what kind of person you are. What he does know is that you’re exactly like Senku in a way, it’s endearing, almost.

“I see we’ve revived yet another eccentric…” Gen whispers to the archer next to him. Ukyo can only laugh sparingly.

When the mentalist turns back to you, you’re wrapping up your rather flamboyant display. “Onwards, the travesty we call life shall commence once again, so get excited!”

lover boy!ryusui, he can't help the sparkle that shines in his eye as he watches you walk across the ship, his ship. the way your hips sway, the way your hair blows in the salty sea breeze, the way the sunset reflects off your skin, you are quite the catch.

lover boy!ryusui, who has never desired a person like this before. he's desired a fleet of ships to own the oceans, to conquer the skies, to hone his professional gaming skills, he's desired many things. but never... never a person. this desire feels stronger, his heart twisting in his chest at the thought of not having you.

lover boy!ryusui, who will give you every single thing you desire in this universe. just ask for it, he will give it to you with a snap of his fingers. he'll give you bouquets with hundreds of flowers in them, your own ship, custom-made clothes. even if you don't have extravagant desires, he will give you all of his time if that is all you wish for.

lover boy!ryusui, who asks "will you be mine?" in his confession to you. for the first time in his life, he was scared that he might not be able to fulfill one of his desires, that he might get rejected. he knows he's capable of having anything he wants with inanimate desires, objects. but you're a person, so if you say no...

lover boy!ryusui, whose smile is full of pure pride when you say you feel the same way for him. his fist triumphantly pointing towards the skies as he shouts his accomplishment to the rest of the kingdom of science.

lover boy!ryusui, who will watch you lean against the railing of the ship, looking out to the ocean beyond, and come up behind you. his hands resting on either side of you on the railing, caging you in, with his head resting against your shoulder, taking in your warmth...

lover boy!ryusui, when you lean into him, his hands move from the railing to wrap around you, squeezing you quite tightly from behind as you look out at your surroundings.

lover boy!ryusui, who has no problems with taking your chin in his hands and kissing you in front of everyone. after every accomplishment, every new invention, every grand new feat, he'll twirl you around in his arms and give you a kiss.

lover boy!ryusui, who always needs to be touching you in some way, or at least near you. having you sit next to him while he steers the ship, sitting next to you at francois' bar while all of your friends in the KOS are celebrating a victory, holding you in his lap while he's sitting below deck, holding your hand while he's having a meeting with the other five wise commanders, he always needs to be near you, constantly reminding himself that you're okay while this group goes on many treacherous adventures.

lover boy!ryusui, who's world would absolutely collapse if you ever got hurt on a mission. if you went into the woods with some of the others to gather supplies and come back bruised and scratched, he would immediately run over to you with a frown on his face, questioning you fervently while you just want to sit down.

lover boy!ryusui, who will panic over your state while you assure him you're fine. you try to clean yourself up and bandage yourself, but he quickly stops you and takes care of it, wrapping all your wounds and giving light kisses to all of your bruises. a captain has to take care of his first mate.

lover boy!ryusui, who is now hesitant to let you go on missions without him. when he finally lets you, he is calling the groups makeshift phone non-stop to make sure everyone is okay. (mostly just to check on you though...)

lover boy!ryusui, who will hold you as close as he can while you both sleep at night, to the point where you have to push him off of you in your sleep just to breathe. he can't help it, you're so warm. so addicting. so desirable.

lover boy!ryusui, who feels like he needs nothing else when he's with you, like you satiate all his desires. like you're all he's ever needed, and ever will need.

Through the cracks and rumble of the de-petrification, a loud and crisp snap reverberated into the ears of those who had ventured to this island. 

“HA HA! I’m finally back in action! And once more, all of the world will be mine!” For the first time in nearly 4 millenia, Ryusui spoke. “Safe to assume you guys are the ones who saved me?” He looked out at the shocked group of six in front of him, “I’ll have to thank you as best I can. My butler Francois’ll cut you a check. You can write any number you like on it, be it 10 billion or 20 billion. Francois!” He snapped again, and waited. One beat. Then two. 

He hummed, “Hm. Looks like I’m not in a position to make that happen.” He snapped again, noticing the new blue marks on his fingers. “I can tell. It’s my sailor’s instincts. Civilization’s collapsed. Which means the Nanami Conglomerate and I have lost all of our assets. Am I wrong?” He narrowed his eyes and looked to the man who had stepped up in front of him.

“Nope, you’re right. You catch on quick. Saves me a lotta time.” The man said, a smirk on his lips and intent in his red eyes.

Ryusui broke into a full grin, “HA HA HA! What an opportunity! I can’t thank you enough for waking me up! With the whole world up for grabs, there’s nothing stopping me from taking everything for myself!”

“Great… How about you start by acquiring some clothes?” A blonde woman stepped up to him, holding out a small pile of folded clothing.

“Good call, sorry about that.” Ryusui’s tone softened, but his confidence didn’t waver in the slightest. 

Once he was decent, the man from before- Senku- introduced himself. The rest of the group followed suit. 

“We’re building a ship,” Senku said, “and we need a captain. Think you can handle it?”

Ryusui barked out a laugh, “Can I handle it? If a captain’s all you need- you came to the right place. Where are you headed with this ship of yours?”

“South America.” Senku stated the grand goal with such a casual matter-of-factness, you’d have thought he was talking about his daily commute. 

Ryusui grinned, “you’re bold. I like that. I can captain your ship, sure. Before we go, there’s something I want here. No, something I need.” He turned to the lineup of statues he came from, scanning each one closely before landing on yours. 

“Them,” he said, snapping and pointing to your statue, “I’m going to need them if you want me to captain your vessel.”

Senku scoffed, “your request is a person? Do you know how scarce this revival fluid is? We’re down to our last two bottles here. Who are they?”

“Y/N L/N. My first mate. The youngest person to graduate from Nanami Academy. Top of their class, graduated in record time. I desired their talents, so I hired them. I can sail your ship alone, but it will become a hell of a lot easier with them around.” His gaze bore into Senku, letting him know that this really wasn’t a request. It was a demand. 

Senku sighed, “Fine. If you’re giving us no other choice.” He held out the bottle of revival fluid to Ryusui. 

“HA HA!” Ryusui snapped again. “Excellent! Our chances of making it to the other side of the planet just increased ten fold.” He took the bottle from Senku. 

“Wait!” Minami jumped back in. “Maybe we should… dress them first this time?” She had a bit of a thousand yard stare in her eyes- mildly traumatized from the display just moments before. She grabbed the second set of clothing Yuzuriha had prepared for them- “just in case” she had said- before quickly dressing your statue. 

“Another good call from a real beauty. Thank you.” Ryusui smiled, and Minami scoffed and rolled her eyes- not amused by his charms. 

Ryusui uncorked the bottle and poured the revival fluid on your statue. For the first time, he witnessed the process- the glowing, rumbling, and cracking of the stone breaking away- revealing your body underneath. 

Freed from the stone, you took a deep breath. Gasping for air that hadn’t filled your lungs in 3,700 years. In a quick moment, you were able to assess the scene before you. You saw Ryusui in strange clothing, stone statues, and six strangers.

“Ryusui?” You turned your gaze on him, taking in his new outfit, and taking note of the blue markings on his right hand, “Are you the one who freed me?” You kept your composure, but you were terrified at this moment. What had happened? How long has it been? Where was everyone- Francois, the students, the teachers? A pit formed in your stomach. You had a feeling something very, very bad had happened. 

“Not without a little help.” Ryusui grinned at you, a sight you were well familiar with, and placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, first mate. You and I have been given a lot of work to do.”

You smiled back at him, finding comfort in his familiar presence. You glanced behind him at the six strangers, who seemed fairly unbothered- if not curious about you. You wondered what they had in store for you. You fixed your gaze back on Ryusui. 

“Well then, let’s get to it.”

In the old world, Ryusui Nanami- heir to the Nanami Conglomerate- was your employer. He hired you to work at his side on his voyages. Your combined expertise made for thrilling adventures across the world, and your position by his side allowed you the opportunity to indulge in all of the luxuries his mere presence provided. But, outside of work, sailing, parties, and the money- Ryusui Nanami was your dearest friend, and you were his. 

During your time at Nanami Academy, you crossed paths with the “prodigal son” of the Nanami Conglomerate. He immediately took an interest in you, having heard of your record-breaking advancements through the academy’s coursework. Unlike most that he met, you had an immediate connection with the man. Throughout his life, Ryusui had encountered those who desired a relationship with them- driven by their own greed, desiring to see if they could benefit from the Nanami family wealth. He had also encountered those who viewed him as selfish- one who gave in only to his own wants, one who threw away money and resources irresponsibly- this is how his family viewed him. And, he had encountered those who outright could not stand him, and did their best to steer clear of him- like his brother. 

There were two in his life that truly understood Ryusui- his butler, Francois, who had practically raised him, and you. You saw Ryusui’s passion and burning desire and challenged it. He was the only one you had met at the academy that challenged your skills. Together, you pushed each other to do better. Ryusui desired nothing but the best, and that is what you were. 

Considering this, it came as no surprise to you when Ryusui offered you a job upon your graduation. It was an easy decision to accept his offer- you would be a fool to go anywhere else. No where else would you have the freedom, the adventures, the challenges, and companionship like you did on his ship. 

Throughout the time the two of you spent together, Ryusui began to know you unlike anyone else- and you began to know him the same way. You were attached at the hip. Where he went, you would follow, and vice versa. It came as no surprise to you when you realized one day that you had feelings for the man. 

He felt like your perfect match- the one who completed you. But, how could one possibly try and pin down the greediest man in the world? He had said it himself- many, many times- he desired everything, and everyone, the world had to offer. So, you stayed quiet, and continued on your self-assigned mission to make his dreams a reality. With time, you had committed yourself to making sure he acquired everything this world had to offer him. 

And now, here you are. 3,700 years into the future. In a new world. A world in which dreams had to start from scratch. And you were loving it. 

Sure, it certainly had its downsides. You really, really missed hot showers with nice soaps. You missed coffee. You missed books, and movies, and television, and all of the technological luxuries of the 21st century. 

You were beyond grateful to Minami, who had given up the final bottle of revival fluid she had been hiding so that you could revive Francois. At least now you weren’t still missing the luxury of the fine dining you had been oh-so-spoiled with in the past. 

Despite everything you missed, you were really happy. You were presented with the opportunity to indulge in your passion. Your expert navigational skills were imperative. Not only with charting your course for the cross-continental voyage you had been preparing for, but also with the preparations themselves. The landscape of Japan had shifted drastically- any form of modern map was rendered useless. You had taken it upon yourself, along with the help of Senku’s reinvention of the camera, to draw a new map from scratch. This new life was exhilarating. No two days were the same. Some days, you hid yourself away in your tent- drawing maps, charting courses, planning. Others, you were joining the crew in a hot air balloon scouting the landscape, looking for oil. Every day was something new, something exciting. 

What really got you excited, however, was watching Ryusui. You were watching his dreams, his biggest desires, come true before your eyes. The greediest man in the world desired even the world itself. And now, it felt like even that desire could be obtained. It felt like a privilege, really. To be around to watch him. He led with such confidence, but it was obvious to you just how happy, how excited he was. You had spent so much time with him, watching him build and collect his model ships, listening to him talk about the day he would find someone to help make his dream ship a reality. It took 3,700 years, but that day had finally come. 

When the day came for the Perseus to set off on its maiden voyage- just over a year after the revival of both you and Ryusui- you were already on the ship with Rysui before he even began calling names. There wasn’t any question about it. In fact, you had helped him make the manifest of desired crewmates. 

“Well, we have the obvious ones. There’s no question that Senku is coming. We’ll obviously want Kaseki, too. And Chrome.” Your mouth was full as you spoke, snacking on leftover cookies Francois had made that night. The two of you were alone in his tent, kneeling in front of a rustic desk, surrounded by papers. You weren’t sure what time it was, just that it was well past midnight. You took a sip of your tea- also courtesy of Francois, who you could still hear shuffling outside- cleaning from the day and preparing for the morning. 

You spoke again, “oh, and Francois. Again, obvious. No one will want to go if they aren’t there.” Your statement was true, but did get a laugh out of both of you. 

“Ha! You’ve certainly got a point there. Not that there was any question about it. Ukyo’s coming as well. We’ll want Yuzuriha on the engineering team, too. If we need to repair a sail, we’ll need her.” His usually boisterous voice was toned down, careful not to wake those who were sleeping nearby, but his excitement was still clear in his tone. 

“Good thinking there, Cap.” You said, teasing him with the nickname. “We’ll want some muscle, too, of course. Kohaku, Taiju, Nikki, Kinro,” you paused, “I don’t think he’ll want to come, but Ginro should be invited, too.” You paused again, “...and Magma and Yo, I guess. The ship might sink before it ever leaves port, though.” You both laughed again.

“They are valuable members of the team, just like everyone else,” Ryusui stated, “I desire their strength for the wellbeing of the crew.”

You wrote out the list of names as you went, chatting back and forth with Ryusui about who would be needed, who could be beneficial, and who would be best staying behind. The process took a couple of hours, between discussing plans for everyone and getting side tracked with general chit chat. The remains of your tea had long since become cold.

You looked up from your list, eyebrow cocked, “Do you think Gen will be needed? I mean, I think he should be there anyway. Senku might get lonely without him.” You chuckled to yourself, knowing Senku would absolutely have chastised you for a comment like that. 

“Who knows what will be discovered out there?” Ryusui asked. A daunting question, considering your circumstances, but you could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes at the possibility of such thrills. “Gen’s abilities may very well be needed on this trip. We don’t know what’s waiting for us on this island.”

You nodded in agreement, writing his name on the list- squeezing him in towards the top. Everyone from Senku, to the man on the power team you had simply denoted as “no name” that would be needed on the Persues was written there. You handed the list over to Ryusui to review. 

“Hm. A solid list. This really is everyone, then?” He asked, a yawn finally breaking from his lips now that the work was finished. 

You nodded, “I mean, I think there is one person that might’ve been forgotten.” A smirk placed on your face, seeing and taking the opportunity to mess with the man. “There’s no first mate on this list.”

Ryusui scoffed, “And do you see a captain on that list? No.” He swung an arm around your shoulder. You blushed at the close contact, grateful for the low light provided by the single candle in the tent. “There’s no point in putting you on the list. Same with me. If there’s no first mate, there’s no captain. If there’s no captain, there’s no voyage. To me, it is you, my Y/N, that is most important to this journey. I desire you and your skills above the rest.”

Your blush deepened. His, he had said. He desired you more than anyone else. You did your best to play along, feigning annoyance to hide how flustered you really were- throwing his arm off of you and pushing him away gently, despite how badly you wanted to stay right there.  

“Finally I get you to admit how great I am.” You teased. You turned towards him, looking him in the eyes- a sincere smile on your face. 

“It will be the honor of my life to serve as your first mate on this trip. The Perseus’ maiden voyage into a new world.” You placed a hand over your heart as a sign of devotion. 

“There’s no one else I would rather have by my side.” He smiled back, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It’s late, Y/N. Go get some rest.”

You nodded, standing up from your spot, “you get some, too, Ryusui.” Before he could respond, you gathered up all of the papers and pencils from the desk, looking back at him with a stern expression, “I mean it. I know how you are.” You could hear him laughing as you exited the tent- taking all of the work he was going to do with you. 

Upon the ship’s arrival to Treasure Island, you were tasked with joining the scouting crew. A set of “sailor’s instincts” were needed- as Gen put it. The captain stayed with the ship. Well, your sailor’s instincts were screaming. Something was going to happen- something bad- you couldn’t shake the feeling. But, on you went. There was no other way to go but forward. You needed the platinum from the Soyuz capsule, you had no choice but to continue onward. 

Your instincts were proven right when you laid your eyes back on the Perseus- everyone on board having been petrified. Your gaze was fixed on Ryusui’s statue, the world around you spinning. You needed to find that platinum now. 

Once you had found and met Amaryllis, you and Kohaku both agreed to join her in infiltrating the inner palace. You weren’t a fighter, but you had spent a lot of time around the upper class, and knew very well how to schmooze yourself into places you weren’t necessarily supposed to be. At the very least, you were confident that you could provide distractions when needed, as well as facilitate communication back to Senku when needed. 

You were invited (forced, really) to the inner palace, as expected. What you weren’t expecting during your time there was the statue of your best friend to be brought in and placed in front of you. The intention was to weed out the intruders, those who hesitated to destroy the statue a true islander would have no attachment to. You didn’t let your resolve falter, you couldn’t. If you showed even a single sign of doubt, this would all be ruined. You were eternally grateful to Kohaku, who had stepped up to the challenge presented before you swiftly. She didn’t allow anyone else a chance at their turn, cleanly breaking Ryusui into pieces. 

You could feel your heart shatter with him- like a piece of your soul had been stolen from you. You couldn’t show emotion, though. You kept your face stone cold, and trusted in Kohaku- knowing she made clean breaks and could get his pieces back to Senku. 

Everything that followed was a whirlwind. Upon the petrification of Kohaku and Ginro, you fled with Amaryllis back to the cave. Entering the cave, you both broke from the water for air. Through your gasps and the water blocking your vision- you saw him. 

“Y/N! Amaryllis!” You could hear Gen call out, surprise clear in his voice. This wasn’t part of the plan. 

“It’s awful! Simply awful!” Amaryllis cried. You wiped sea water from your eyes as she explained the situation. Looking up, you saw Ryusui’s hand outstretched to help you out of the water. You gave him a small smile, and took his hand, stepping out onto dry land.

“It’s good to see you back in one piece, Ryusui.” You looked up at him, trying to keep the flood of emotions you felt to yourself. This was no time for a dramatic reunion. 

“It’s good to be back!” He exclaimed, his typical bark of excitement ever present in his voice. “I’m glad to see you back here safe.” He squeezed your hand and turned to join back with the rest of the group, with you following suit. You still had work to do. 

After the battle was won- Ibara taken down, the platinum from the capsule retrieved, Kohaku and Ginro saved, and the terrifying transmission from Why-Man received- you found yourself on the beach of the island with everyone else. 

The festivities were vibrant- the Kingdom of Science excited to indulge in a well-deserved celebration, and the islanders finding themselves in a new culinary world. You stood and laughed with your friends, feeling the weight of the last few days melting away. Sometime into the night, you noticed a familiar presence next to you. You broke from your conversation, and turned your attention to the blonde next to you. 

“Take a walk with me?” Ryusui asked, his tone softer than normal, but not lacking any of its typical confidence. 

“With pleasure, Captain.” You said, giving him a quick salute- and getting a chuckle out of him. Together, the two of you walked away from the party, to a quieter section of the beach. You both stood in silence at the edge of the water, listening to the waves. 

“What a maiden voyage, huh?” You let out a nervous laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect from the cool breeze coming from the water.

“Ha! You can say that again. I have to say- I certainly wasn’t expecting that.” Ryusui retorted. There was silence for another beat before he spoke up again. 

“Y/N, I-”

“I was so scared, Ryusui.” Your words came out a millisecond after his, unintentionally cutting him off. He stopped speaking, looking down at you.

“So much could have gone wrong,” you continued, voice quivering, “They brought your statue to the inner palace, they were going to make us smash you- kill you. I was so scared. If Kohaku hadn’t stepped up, I…” You paused, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, “I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know if I would have been able to do it.” 

You looked up at him, a tear trailing its way down your cheek. “I can’t lose you, Ryusui. I can’t. I can’t do any of this without you.”

Ryusui frowned, looking down at you, his hands fidgeting by his sides. 

“You have the skills they need,  Y/N. You could take them without me.”

You shook your head, “That’s not what I mean. I can’t live in this world without you. You’re my best friend. You’re my everything.” You let out a choked sob. Ryusui was quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. The world is going to have to try a lot harder than that if it wants to stop me. I’m not going to leave you.” His grip on you was tight, a hand running through your hair. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. You found comfort in the embrace- the close proximity, his warmth, his heartbeat- a reminder. He was still here. He was alive. 

Several moments passed before you pulled back. Loosening, not breaking, the embrace. You looked up at him with tear stained cheeks. He moved his right hand- blue marks no longer adorning it- to your face, wiping away stray tears.

The intimacy of the moment was palpable. The love and care in his eyes providing you with a moment of courage- your mouth spoke faster than your brain could think. 

“I love you, Ryusui. I’m in love with you. I have been for 3,700 years.” A blush filled your cheeks as you realized what you said. You turned your head away, but Ryusui’s hand was quick to grab your chin, turning your gaze back towards him. He looked deep into your eyes for a moment, before leaning down, his lips finding yours. 

Pure electricity shot through your body. This kiss was short, but it was passionate and full of devotion. He pulled back just far enough to look into your eyes, but close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips. His hand kept its gentle grip on your chin. In the distance, you could hear a loud boom. From your peripheral, you could see the familiar sparkling of fireworks- a sight you hadn’t seen for millenia- but the gaze from the man in front of you was much more enticing. 

“For those 3,700 years, my Y/N, you have been my greatest desire. You have been what I wanted the most.” A soft smile adorned his face, the cockiness that typically filled his tone was replaced with complete and utter adoration. 

You smiled back at him, “and the greediest man in the world always gets what he wants.” He chuckled in response, moving his hand to brush a stray hair out of your face.

“Kiss me again.” You moved your arms to wrap around his neck, gently pulling him back down to your level. 

“With pleasure, my desire.” Your lips met once again. Fireworks shot in the distance, and the ocean waves lapped against your feet, but there was only one thing you could focus on. 

He was here. He was alive. And most importantly, he was yours.

A/N: Giggling and kicking my damn feet. I have big feelings about Ryusui. I have even bigger feelings on what it would mean if he actually set his sights on a single person to enter into a relationship with. I just think it feels so special when it's Ryusui.

I also usually am not one for non-traditional pet names (like with StanXeno I stick to babe, baby, my dear, darling, etc... The most out of the box one I use is doll but that's superrrr old fashioned), but smth about Ryusui calling his partner his desire makes me GEEK oh it's so stinking sweet and cute.

Guys I really really love Ryusui