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kdh-tally · 2 days ago

Note

Huntr/x and Saja Boys watching Horror Slasher movies (like Friday the 13th) and who's screaming and crying and who's laughing and who's staring deadpan?

Huntr/x & Saja Boys Horror Movie Headcannons

Prompt : My headcannons of how the kids would be when watching horror movies!

Author's Note : Can you tell I don't watch horror movies? Sorry i took forever to get to your request anon :( This is in no specific order!

Mystery

I believe he’d act differently depending on how he has his hair styled

If it's down, then he really can’t see what's going on and that really takes away from the whole fear factor.

He’d really just be hearing the jumpscares lol

Either way he’d sit there acting chill while his soul detaches from his body.

He’d say sumn like “that’s not realistic”

He’s trying to gaslight himself into a false sense of security 💀

He’ll also act as though he’s above it all but his foot is bouncing real hard so you can tell he’s nervous.

He’s the type to quietly berate every single dumb choice made in the movie in his mind.

Secretly hates how tense horror movies are, even if nothing happens.

Now, if his hair’s up?? The man is fighting for his life

Originally has a pillow in his lap just for comfort but will slowly squeeze the life out of it over time

He’d flinch once then immediately shift and act like it was a stretch

If Zoey grabs him during a jump scare he’d freeze and be like “...did you have to”

He will not scream but he will absolutely hold his breath until he feels like the tension has died down enough for him to breathe.

Won’t talk much after the movie is over.

It’s not cause he’s scared he just isn’t able to form thoughts….

“I’m gonna go shower” he says immediately after the movie is over. Once in the washroom, he just stands in the water staring at nothing.

The type to go on reddit and ask “how to not think about horror movie while trying to sleep”

The next day he’s super quiet and you just know he didn’t sleep

He’s a real demon but he would rather remain in the depths of hell with the scariest demon than watch a slasher movie with too much suspense.

Hates screams. Like why are their voices so high pitched?

They hurt his ears and make him even more tense.

Someone (probably baby or mira) will try to make a creepy joke and he says “don’t” with full eye contact.

He’d put headphones in halfway through and pretend he’s still watching.

If anyone asks him if he’s scared he’ll say “no” in that voice that means yes

He’d tell Zoey “this is fine” while clearly not fine.

My guy is gripping the couch for his life.

Abby

He’d bring snacks and forget to eat them cause he’s covering his face in fear.

He’s the one who's shouting at the screen.

“OH MY GOD WHY WOULD YOU GO IN THERE”

At first it's out of fear because he knows a jumpscare is coming but it soons turns into anger.

Like why are the main characters walking into these terrifying situations???

His blood pressure triples.

He may also cry a little bit and then laugh like “I’m not crying I’m fine”

Clutches Romance like it’s life or death

He’s the one who's hiding under a blanket and peeking out every few seconds.

Jump scare = Scream

Romance has started covering his face with a pillow after every jumpscare so his scream doesn’t scare everyone else even more.

Hides behind whoever is next to him without shame

Begs Romance or Mira to walk him to the kitchen after.

If a character does die, like one he got attached too, he’ll cry.

“She killed her dad 😨😭 She didn’t know he was possesedddddd 😨😨😭😭😭”

The type to say “he didn’t deserve that :(” even if it was the villain murderer.

At some point he realizes that the situation could actually happen in real life…

“what if that happened to us”

“We’re demons and hunter Abby”

“Doesn’t mean we’d survive 🙁”

Can’t sleep with the lights off after.

Sure the demon world was scary but you know the fire meant there was always light.

He cannot sleep without the lights.

It’s not even up for discussion.

He’d watch “behind the scenes” clips and bloopers to make himself feel better

If someone, probably baby, sneaks up on him post-movie he screams like he’s being murdered.

Will not go to the bathroom alone

Will not look at mirrors

Will not turn around too fast

He is absolutely terrified and shaken to the core but will be the first to say,

“Can we watch another?”

Romance

He’d so act like he’s fine until Abby flinches and then he flinches even harder

Tries to gaslight himself.

“pfft, it’s just special effects”

“that’s not even real blood”

Abby is clutching him but he’s also hiding behind Abby because he’s the one who needs comfort.

Jumps at every fake scare.

If someone touches his shoulder suddenly he’s doing a full body spasm.

Covers his mouth with his sleeve every time someone gets chased so he doesn’t scream.

Will NOT admit he’s scared.

Even as he trembles in very obvious fear.

The type to say “nah this part isn’t even scary” while hiding behind Mira.

I feel like he’s one of the people who narrate loudly to cover up his fear

“OH he’s gonna die. look at him. look how he’s just… yup. he’s done.”

“There’s gonna be a jumPSCARE! Oh. yea um…”

At some point just puts Abby’s blanket over his head and gives up.

Asks Mira if she’s scared as a distraction.

He’s clinging to her while he does this.

When the movie finishes, he’d joke about it later like “remember when Abby screamed? haha yeah” (even though he screamed louder)

He’ll rewatch horror TikToks the next day.

He’s trying to consume as much disturbing content so the movie they watched won’t bother him as much.

Will pretend he’s chill about it.

He doesn’t like sound-based horror.

The same way Mystery hates the high pitched screaming, Romance hates the overlapping whispering.

Says it feels like a million ants with voices are crawling all over him and screaming at him.

Hesitates to go anywhere for the next 4 days

“I was fine”

“You screamed and hit me in the face”

Kind of jumpscares himself by thinking too hard about scary stuff later

Jinu

He isn’t scared.

I feel like everyone would expect him to be scared but he really isn’t.

He'd show up to movie night with snacks and a blank expression.

“What is the purpose of this genre?”

I feel like he may also flinch at loud noises but not at the horror itself

Like the loud noises that actually make the film more scary is what causes him to be jumpy, not cause he’s scared.

Calls the killer ugly.

Tilts his head during murder scenes like a curious child.

My guy was a soul stealing demon and he’s definitely seen people get killed in many different ways.

Watching some guy get chopped with a hatched is nothing.

“Is this meant to be scary?” he’d ask and everyone’s like YES???

Unfazed when someone gets stabbed in the eye

He thinks gore is excessive but not impressive.

Just cause there's a bunch of blood doesn’t make the film scary.

Once leaned over to Baby and said “his intestines are the wrong color”

Baby who was locked into the movie almost fell off the couch because of the sudden whispering in his ear. “Jinu shut up-”

Keeps noticing historical inaccuracies in the set design

Takes mental notes during the film like “slasher = knife + dumb teenagers”

“I’ve seen worse in the mirror when I first woke up in hell”

The kind of guy that will try to comfort the scared members with a speech on how fear is a human construct

“You’re not even human???” Abby judges him so hard.

Another person that will narrate his reactions.

“Damn. There goes her head.”

He doesn’t even try to be brave. He's just genuinely indifferent

Later tells Mystery “it’s okay to feel fear” while Mystery is fully dissociating

No one understands why he’s like this

During the less tense scenes, he’d start talking about how the design reminded him of one of the spooky legends from one of his 400 years of life.

Ends the night with “Didn’t like it, didn’t hate it.”

Somehow gets obsessed with slasher movies and tries to find something that actually freaks him out.

Baby

He thought this wouldn’t affect him at alllllll.

He’d so be chill at first like “lol this is nothing”

“Guys we’re literally real demons. This is fake as hell” he’d laugh

However, the second the movie gets psychological he’d start shifting uncomfortably.

Starts the night on the floor, legs crossed, totally unbothered

By the third movie he’s lying back on the couch, arm over his eyes

“WHY do they all have mirrors???”

Makes jokes to try and keep things light

Tries to protect Abby but is clearly also getting creeped out (ends up making fun of him later)

Actually hates jump scares but will not admit it

Will randomly get super quiet during a really disturbing scene

“Yo why is this one actually messed up??”

Notices Mystery (hair up) getting freaked out and texts him “r u good??”

Acts like he’s fine but Zoey later catches him and Mystery watching some light heated anime in their shared room at 3am.

“You guys are literally watching Sailor Moon,” she’d mumble, getting comfortable on their couch beside Mystery.

“We’re gonna watch Saiki after. Are you gonna stay?” Baby would offer (which is odd of him but whatever)

Says “I’m fine” but flinches when his phone vibrates because what if someone hacked his phone and is sending him threatening messages on how he should kill his friends or else someone would come after him and do it themselves??

Also narrates to try and reduce his fear “Okay but this is too quiet. Something’s about to happen.”

Groans dramatically when characters make dumb choices

He yells at the screen.

“RUN FASTER YOU IDIOT!”

Keeps checking if the front door is locked

Leaves multiple times during the movie because he needs a break from all the gore.

The next day?

Rumi is making toast, the girls stayed over, and sees Baby “Hey how’d you sleep?”

“Great why?”

“Just thought you’d be a bit scared,” she shrugged.

“I’m over it.” He shrugs, seemingly nonchalant. Then jumps when the toaster pops

Mira

She’s the second person who isn’t scared.

She’d sit with her legs up and arms crossed, completely unfazed.

“I’ve seen worse”

She’d dead serious.

She would laugh when the killer shows up like “that’s the scary guy?”

Gets quickly bored by the plot.

She’s the person predicting who dies in what order.

She feels like almost all horror movies have the same plot too imo.

Whispers the horror tropes before they happen.

“Ah, there it is. The ‘don’t go in there’ moment.”

She does this just because it's a habit but also so Romance and Abby know when a scare is coming and they can prepare themselves.

If someone is being too loud she’ll tell them to shut up

Sips her drink calmly during decapitation scenes

Keeps handing Rumi snacks without looking at the screen

Unfazed when someone screams next to her

She’s literally the one everyone instinctively gravitates toward when they’re scared

Romance is hiding behind her.

Abby is sitting at her feet.

Rumi is on one side of her and Jinu is beside Rumi while Baby sits next to him.

Zoey is on her other side with Mystery cuddling her.

Whenever she tries to get comfy everyone else groans because she’s literally in the middle of the huge cuddle pile.

She’s critiquing the movie. Not cause she’s scared but she genuinely thinks it's dumb.

“that’s not even a good kill”

“I could take him” she’d say and no one doubts it

Won’t react to the scares but will get annoyed if the pacing is bad

She’s the least bothered and most reassuring presence at the same time

“That’s why you don’t go camping. Ever.”

Jokes about how weak the human characters are

The only one to not be scared once the movie is over.

“meh. 6/10.”

Rumi

Not scared but oddly interested?

She’d so start off cool and smirking like “this isn’t scary”

“I’ve seen real horror” she has.

She’d go dead silent when something really gross or creepy happens.

She doesn’t scream or flinch but she does freeze.

Winces at the gory scenes cause they’re just so gross.

She’s really interested in the special effects though.

“These actually look real,” she mumbles as she watches some possessed demon float in the air.

If someone (Jinu) panics next to her, she calmly pats his head.

“you’re good babe”

Will sit through 99% of it without reacting, but the last 1% disturbs her deeply

Says “ew” when things get nasty

Doesn’t do psychological horror.

She hates the babadook

Gore is fine but existential dread? not okay

“That’s not scary. That’s just sad.”

Says it at the wrong time

Will make sarcastic comments during the movie

Since she’s the last to leave the group's movie room, she checks it after the movie ends.

Not cause she’s scared… just in case.

Might subconsciously avoid mirrors that night

Secretly texts Mira like “ok this one got me just a little”

Mira is the only one who knows that she’s a tiny bit bothered.

She’s too proud to admit she got spooked, but you can tell

Quickly gets over the tiny fears and gets obsessed with analyzing the themes of the movie with Zoey.

She can watch The Conjuring alone but won’t watch Coraline

When she and Jinu ae trying to fall asleep she offers to end the night with a romcom.

This is just to clear her mind…. yea…..

Zoey

The one who begged everyone to watch it.

She knows she’s gonna get scared but doesn’t care?

She’s one of the people who watches horror movies because she enjoys getting jumpscared.

Full of chaotic joy during every scare

Places bets on who’s gonna die first.

Jumps every single time but still grins

Kicks her legs like a little kid when things get intense

“Oh my gosh she’s actually a werewolf and they don’t know she’s gonna kill them-” she spoils it for herself.

Records the others’ reactions on her phone

Kinda person who finds the killer attractive, to the displeasure of Mystery but he’s too scared to even notice.

“Oh my goshhhhh look at that~~”

“Zoey, he's holding the main character's decapitated head” Mira scoffs in amusement.

“Yea but do you see that muscle?” 🤤

Puts her feet up and gets comfy

Makes up names for the characters cause she didn’t pay attention

“Don’t go in the tall grass, Carl! C’mon Carl!!”

Covers her face and peeks between her fingers

Makes Mystery flinch on purpose by grabbing him during a jump scare

After it ends she’s like “again? different one? let’s goooo”

Teases everyone who was scared (but was scared herself)

Fully believes horror is a trauma bonding experience

Wants to do a horror concept with Huntrix one day

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seobluuu · 20 hours ago

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OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT 😍 the choreographer pairs y/n with giselle for a sensual duet section and karina gets jealous 😨 later, she "accidentally" interrupts their practice then pulls y/n into a private dance session where she redoes the moves MUCH closer than necessary 🤭🤭 - anon📓 hehehehhee

𓂃 ࣪⋆🗝️˚ ༘ mine ⋆ 유지민

req. by 📓 anon

starring. yu jimin x aespa 5th member!reader

word count. 1.5k

includes jealous & possessive!rina , kisses , aespa members , kinda? giselle x reader , lmk if theres more !! (not proofread)

the studio mirrors reflect a room thick with exhaustion — hoodies tied haphazardly around waists, stray bobby pins littering the floor, hair pulled into messy buns that have long since surrendered to the hours of rehearsal. the air smells like sweat and the sharp citrus of energy drinks, the kind of atmosphere where determination clings to every breath.

you’re mid-stretch, fingers brushing the polished hardwood, when the choreographer’s sharp clap cuts through the low hum of chatter.

"alright, listen up!" her voice carries over the thumping bass still echoing from the speakers. "for the bridge, we’re adding a duet section — y/n and giselle, you’ll be paired."

your head snaps up so fast your neck protests. across the room, aeri grins, already sauntering toward you with that effortless grace of hers. the overhead lights catch the sheen of sweat on her collarbones as she nudges your shoulder with hers.

"lucky me," she teases, voice dripping with playful arrogance. her fingers toy with the hem of her cropped tank top, and you don’t miss the way her eyes flicker down to your lips for half a second.

you roll your eyes, willing your cheeks not to betray you. "try not to step on my feet this time," you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it.

aeri gasps, clutching her chest like you’ve wounded her. "excuse you? i’m a delicate artist," she declares, tossing her hair over one shoulder. the other dancers snicker, but your laughter dies in your throat when you catch a flicker of movement in the mirror.

jimin.

she leans against the far mirror, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. her water bottle dangles from her fingertips, half-crushed. the set of her jaw is tight, lips slightly parted as her dark eyes track the way aeri’s fingers linger on your wrist — a second too long, a touch too deliberate.

then the choreographer starts demonstrating the moves, and your stomach drops.

it’s sensual, to say the least.

a slow, winding sequence where your bodies press close, chest to chest, hands sliding from waists to shoulders with agonizing precision. hips roll in sync, a deliberate grind that makes your pulse stutter just thinking about performing it. the choreographer demonstrates with her assistant, their movements fluid and intimate, and your mouth goes dry.

aeri leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "well," she murmurs, voice laced with amusement, "this just got interesting."

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus on the steps, but out of the corner of your eye, jimin's grip tightens around her water bottle. the plastic crumples with a sharp crack, water sloshing over her fingers. she doesn’t even flinch.

and when the music starts, and aeri’s hands settle on your waist, you swear you see jimin's eyes darken.

practice is torture.

aeri is good. too good.

her hands are confident, her movements fluid — every brush of her fingertips against your waist, every slow drag of her palm up your arm, sends a traitorous shiver down your spine. the choreography demands closeness, but the way she looks at you, like she’s memorizing the way your breath hitches when she pulls you in — makes it feel like something else entirely.

it’s just dancing, you remind yourself for the tenth time. just work.

but then —

clang!

a half-full water bottle slams between your feet, sending both you and aeri stumbling apart. the sound echoes sharply in the studio, and the music cuts off as everyone turns.

you already know who it is before you even look.

she’s crouched on the floor, one hand outstretched like she’s just attempted to catch the bottle, but the smirk playing on her lips betrays her.

“oops,” jimin says, blinking up at you with faux innocence, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “my hand slipped.”

minjeong, leaning against the stereo, snorts into her palm. “yeah, sure it did.”

jimin ignores her, straightening up and stepping so close you have to tilt your head back to meet her gaze. the scent of her perfume wraps around you, and your pulse stutters.

“y/n,” she murmurs, voice low and honeyed, fingers brushing against yours in a touch so light it could be accidental. if you didn’t know better. “i need your help with my part.”

you blink. “but… you know your part.”

she always knows her part. yu jimin is perfect — every step, every angle, every breath calculated. she’s the one who corrects others, not the one who asks for help.

her thumb traces the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate. “do i?”

aeri lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her shoulders. “just go,” she mutters, waving a hand, “before she combusts.”

jimin shoots her a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but she doesn’t deny it. instead, her fingers tighten around yours, tugging you toward the empty practice room down the hall.

the smaller practice room is quiet, the only sound the muffled bass from the main studio bleeding through the walls. the air is cooler here, the lights dimmer — more intimate. your pulse kicks up as jimin locks the door behind her with a soft click, the sound final.

trapped.

not that you’re complaining.

she turns, leaning back against the door, arms crossed. the sharp line of her collarbones glistens with sweat, her tank top clinging to her torso. her gaze is heavy, unreadable.

"show me the duet," she says, voice low.

you swallow. "rina, you don’t need—"

"show me."

it’s not a request.

so you do.

you guide her through the steps, careful to keep space between you — professional distance, just like you did with aeri. but jimin?

she erases it.

on the first turn, instead of the light brush of fingertips the choreography calls for, she pulls you in until your chests press together, her hands sliding down your back, possessive.

"closer," she murmurs, lips skimming the curve of your ear.

your breath hitches. "that’s not how the choreo—"

"closer."

her thigh slots between yours, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. every point of contact burns—her hips rolling against yours in a slow, deliberate grind, her breath fanning over your skin as she guides you through the next move.

"aeri didn’t do it like this," she whispers, voice dripping with satisfaction.

you shiver. "n-no, she didn’t."

jimin smirks, spinning you until your back hits the mirror, her body caging you in. the glass is cool against your overheated skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of her.

"good."

and then —

her lips crash into yours.

she doesn't rush. instead, she lingers just inches away, her dark eyes tracing your face like she's committing every detail to memory. you can feel her breath, warm and uneven, ghosting over your lips.

"jimin…" your voice comes out barely above a whisper, fingers trembling where they rest against her shoulders.

her thumb brushes your lower lip, slow and deliberate.

"you looked so good with her," she murmurs, voice thick with something unspoken. "too good." the pad of her thumb presses gently, parting your lips. "i didn't like it."

then she's closing the distance. not crashing, but melting against you. the first brush of her lips is feather-light, testing, giving you every chance to pull away.

when you don't, when you sigh into the kiss instead, she deepens it with a quiet sound that might be relief.

her hands cradle your face like you're something precious, fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw as her mouth moves against yours with aching slowness. there's no urgency, just the gradual give-and-take of lips learning each other, the occasional catch of breath when she nips gently at your lower lip.

"you taste like mint," she murmurs between kisses, nose brushing against yours. "and that strawberry balm you always use." another soft press of lips. "i've been thinking about this all day."

one of her hands slides into your hair, not gripping but carding through the strands with unbearable tenderness even as her other arm wraps around your waist to pull you flush against her. the contrast — the firmness of her body against yours versus the gentleness of her kiss — makes your knees weak.

when she finally pulls back, it's just far enough to rest her forehead against yours. her breathing is uneven, lips slightly swollen, and the look in her eyes makes your stomach flip.

"now," she whispers, thumb stroking your cheekbone, "let's try that duet again. properly."

when you finally return to the group — hair disheveled, lips swollen, jimin’s fingers laced tightly with yours — the girls take one look at you and burst into knowing smirks.

ningning nearly chokes on her water. "took you long enough," she coughs, shaking her head.

minjeong just sighs, rubbing her temples. "we were taking bets, you know. i had money on jimin snapping by wednesday."

aeri, leaning against the stereo, arches a brow. "told you she’d combust," she says, grinning when jimin flips her off.

but jimin doesn’t rise to the bait. instead, she tugs you against her side, her smile smug as she presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"mine," she whispers, just for you.

and really?

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

seobluuu speaks 💬 nothin today !! but yall should learn from 📓 anon nd send me reqs since i actually hv NO plot/ideas to write abt 🥀

#seobluuu writes ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#aespa #karina #aespa karina #yu jimin #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #karina x reader #wlw #girl group imagines #📓 anon #anon cameo ⋆🎀°

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morgxnshifts · 2 days ago

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i got stuck in my DR and the shifting police got me 😨😨

#Joke #Shifttok #desired reality #reality shift #shifting realities #shifting to desired reality

22K notes · View notes

doctorsiren · 9 months ago

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Day 20 of Sirentober / Doctober

Hands / Journal

You can tell who never made a deal

Available as a print on my Etsy Shop

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k-is-for-potassium · 10 months ago

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all of this is /j and /lh!!

edit: just realized thay capitalization's not a thing on tumblr whoops. that explains why i haven't seen it on here tho lol

also how did 0.3 of you choose it if it doesn't exist that's like 16 thousand and oh my god how are there this many of y'all

oopsies i can't do math i meant 160ish

#babna 😨#tumblr polls #random polls #polls on tumblr #poll time

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hazelnutsummer · 22 hours ago

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7K 😨😨 highest it’s been LOAF YOU GUYS

GO TEAM ROCKETS!!!

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zeropro · 1 month ago

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How does starscream feel about Skywarp and sunstorm getting along? Especially given his complicated feelings regarding both of them :0

He hadn't noticed.

[next]

#transformers #starscream #skywarp #sunstorm #sunstreaker #sideswipe #maccadam #sunstorm has been diligently avoiding starscream ever since starscream told him to leave him alone #the truth come out 😨

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cinnasite · 2 months ago

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the science of sleeping with your best friend

꩜ pairing: timeskip!kenma kozume x virgin!female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 4.3k

꩜ synopsis: you relationship with kenma has always been understated—quiet moments, mutual understanding, and an unspoken connection. but when you open up about your insecurities regarding intimacy, things take a turn. one kiss, a subtle shift in dynamics, and suddenly everything you once knew feels entirely different. caught in a whirlwind of desire and growing affection, you find yourself grappling with feelings that you've ignored for years. is it too late to turn back or is this the beginning of something far deeper?

You vividly remember the day you moved to Japan. You were eleven, your nervousness amplified by the way the airport had smelled—metallic, unfamiliar, cold. Your mother stayed back in your hometown with your younger brother, and you followed your father across the ocean for his new job… your new life. You told yourself it was an adventure, trembling in anticipation.

It wasn’t. Not at first.

Making friends when you didn’t speak the language fluently and stood out in every classroom turned out to be less like an odyssey and more of a series of long, silent lunch breaks. Teachers tried, some classmates smiled, but nothing stuck. Not until high school.

Transferring to Nekoma High at fifteen was your father’s idea. He’d said something about the school’s progressive curriculum and cultural diversity. You hadn’t hoped for much until, one week into classes, the principal cornered you near the shoe lockers and asked if you’d consider being the manager for the boys’ volleyball team.

“It’s part of a new initiative. We’re looking to build an inclusive sports environment,” he said. “And you have excellent organisational skills from your transcript.” You said yes, mostly out of curiosity. And maybe because it was the first time someone had sought you out, instead of the other way around.

The first practice was awkward, to put it lightly. A room full of sweaty teenage guys and sharp whistles. You stood off to the side, notebook in hand, questioning every life choice that led you there with a resigned sigh. Until Kuroo Tetsurō slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “Don’t worry, you’re one of us now. You’ll get used to these knuckleheads.”

The team protested. You laughed for the first time in weeks. That’s how it all began.

They took you under their wing like a little sister, especially Kuroo—he treated you with a big-brother protectiveness that made the transition less lonely. Lev would tell you outrageous lies just to see you smile. Yamamoto always tried too hard to impress you but meant well. Yaku taught you how to be blunt in Japanese without accidentally insulting someone’s grandmother.

But the one you inexplicably gravitated toward was Kenma.

You were the same age, and the same reserved type, at least at first glance. Though unlike him, you didn’t mind talking. People were drawn to you in a way that surprised you. So, Kenma didn’t intimidate you. If anything, you felt safe around him. He was calm, observant, and never asked for more than you were willing to give.

You’d sit beside him during breaks, leaning over his shoulder as he played on his handheld console.

“You’re always watching,” he’d say without looking up.

“I like watching,” you’d plainly reply.

And when he let you try it out yourself—tentatively handing over his console like it was something fragile—you knew you had earned his trust. You’d talk about things beyond video games. Books. Movies. Your homesickness. His dislike of crowds. The weird comfort of silence. He was the only one who didn’t flinch when you talked about the divorce or missing your mom and brother.

By the end of your second year, you were inseparable. Everyone saw it—hell, even Kuroo made a habit of teasing you about it.

“She’s the Kenma whisperer,” he’d joke. “He actually talks around her.”

You dismissed it. You told yourself it was just friendship, that the small twists in your stomach when his shoulder brushed yours were normal. That the deliberate and soft way he looked at you was just how he looked at everyone.

But somewhere near the end of school, when the weight of the future started crawling into every conversation, you realised you felt something more. And it scared the hell out of you. You didn’t say anything. How could you risk losing what you had when it had taken you so long to find it?

After graduation, the team drifted as people often do. University took everyone in different directions, but you all stayed in touch. Kuroo’s group chats were relentless and reunions became an annual thing, something precious to look forward to.

With Kenma, your bond never faded. If anything, it grew.

Even when you were in different cities, the two of you never changed—late night phone calls, half-asleep messages, and meeting up whenever you could. Both of you still talked like no time had passed. Still knew each other in that rare, bone-deep way. However, you dated around, courtesy of your college roommate urging you to move on and get laid. You had simply nodded, telling yourself the crush was a remnant of adolescence. It had to be. It wasn’t healthy to keep holding on.

Tragically, it never went anywhere with the people you went out with. No one matched the way Kenma understood you without trying. No one matched the genuinity and the slow-burn thrill.

And now, in your twenties, with a stable job and a quiet apartment, you were beginning to admit that maybe it had never been just a crush.

But if that was true… what in the world were you supposed to do about it?

Kenma’s penthouse was everything you’d expect: clean lines, muted colors, and minimalist furniture. Expensive in a subtle way.

He was already curled up on the low couch when you stepped in, barefoot and hoodie-clad, legs tucked under himself like a cat. “You’re late,” he murmured without looking up from his nintendo.

“You’re lucky I even showed up,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door.

“Oh?” His eyes flicked up momentarily, amused. “Is this you playing hard to get?”

You rolled your eyes and sank into the seat beside him, close enough for your knees to brush. “If I was playing hard to get, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

That earned a low hum of laughter. “So self-assured.”

The night unfolded the way it generally did—casual banter, leftover takeout, and dumb inside jokes that had survived since Nekoma. You both sat there, bodies angled toward each other, the city lights painting the walls with a faint gold.

At one point, he turned off the TV, but neither of you moved. There was a falter. A lapse stretching between words. Then, after much thought, you said it.

“Can I ask you something kind of... weird?”

Kenma blinked. “Sure.”

You took a breath. “Do you ever think you’re, like, bad in bed?”

His eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t what he’d imagined the conversation would jump to. You winced at yourself. “Okay, wow, that sounded way more self-deprecating than I meant it to.”

“Little bit.”

“I’m serious,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “I’ve dated, right? But it never really went anywhere. And when it did get physical, it just… didn’t go that far.”

Kenma didn’t interrupt. Merely listened.

“I mean, I’ve done stuff,” you continue rambling, suddenly fascinated by the hem of your sleeve. “A little oral. Some handjobs. But, um, I’ve never… had sex.”

There it was. Out in the open. You’d lobbed the confession between you like a live grenade, waiting for it to detonate. Only that it didn’t. The lack of response wasn’t exactly suffocating, though it did make you scream a little on the inside.

Kenma’s voice was gentler than you expected when it came. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

His words made you hesitate. “Because I’m trying to see people again. But every time I get close to someone, I panic. I keep doubting myself—what if I’m not good at it? What if they expect me to know what I’m doing and I don’t?”

A beat.

“And it’s not about being ashamed,” you added quickly. “I just want to feel... in control. Comfortable.”

Kenma studied you. “You could just tell them.”

“I know. But I don’t want it to be a thing. Like, ‘oh no, she’s a virgin, handle her with care.’” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want pity sex. Or worse, performance sex.” You dared a peep at him. “Have you…?”

He tilted his head. “Had sex?”

Your ears burned, unsure of whether you wanted to hear the answer. “Yeah.”

Kenma leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “I have.”

The words sat in the air like smoke. You ignored the tightening of your chest. “Was it good?” you asked. Perhaps, a little too quickly.

He gave you a look. “You really want to know?”

You stammered. “Yes. No. Kind of. For research purposes.”

He smirked. “Of course.”

“Shut up.”

He was quiet for a moment before replying, “Some of it was good. Depends on the person, I guess.”

You hummed, eyes on his collarbone. “Would you ever, uh, be willing to show someone the ropes?”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. The apartment felt charged, causing your fingers to twist in your lap. Without meeting his gaze, you exhaled shakily.

“I was just thinking… if I ever wanted to figure this out—hypothetically—you’re the only person I’d trust not to make it weird.”

Kenma stilled, lips parting. “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. A longer one. “You’re asking me to have sex with you.”

Your stomach flipped. “I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

You groaned. “Forget it. This was dumb. I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t say no.” Kenma looked at you. Not joking, not teasing—just looking. That same sincere care you’d known for years, now sharpened with something else.

Something almost hungry.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, voice low. “Help you?”

Your heart thundered. “Well, I—Only if… you want to.”

He leaned forward. “I want to. Let’s start with a kiss.”

You froze, eyes widening at the abruptness of it all.

“Since, you know,” he added casually, “we’re doing research.” You laughed—nervous, breathy—and nodded. “Right. For the glory of science.”

He moved in leisurely, giving you every chance to pull back. You didn’t. His lips brushed yours once. Gentle and testing, your breath hitching at the sensation. You kissed him again. More assertive than previously. As a result, his hand found your cheek. The angle changed, the excitement deepened.

You realised begrudgingly that your idea had stopped being hypothetical real fast.

Kenma and you grew feverish, your actions slow, then speedy, like you couldn’t get enough. You gripped his hoodie in an act of desperation. His fingers trailed along your waist, reluctant yet calculating. You felt his touch at the hem of your t-shirt and gasped, pulling back.

“I—I need to stop,” you whispered.

Kenma, breathing heavily, nodded. “Okay.”

You sat there, chests heaving, foreheads nearly touching.

“That was…” you began.

“Mhm,” he said, voice hoarse. “It was.”

You didn’t sleep together that night. Be that as it may, something had undoubtedly shifted. Something you couldn’t take back. Neither of you were prepared for what that first sensuous encounter had unlocked.

After the kiss, everything was different. Not in a dramatic, movie-like way, mind you. There were no whispered confessions or next-day declarations. You didn’t even text about it. Not directly, though every message after did have a different weight to it.

gamer boi: you left your ring on the bathroom sink

You: OMGTHANKYOU i’ve been searching for it all day :(

gamer boi: how did you even forget it?? isn’t it your favourite????

You: it’s not my fault someone kept me distracted with his mouth 🙄

gamer boi: don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it

The next time you saw Kenma, you were wearing a sundress with zero intentions of escalating anything. Apparently, it didn’t matter.

You were barely inside before Kenma tugged you in by the wrist, your back hitting the front door with a loud thud. His mouth was on yours again, hands roaming like he’d been starved of touch. His fingers curled around your waist, dragging you flush against him. You let out an embarrassingly needy whimper, arms looped around his neck for balance.

It was supposed to be another kiss. Nothing too intense, nothing too fiery. But soon his tongue brushed against yours—mischievously coaxing. When his knee slid between your thighs, you knew that you were done for.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned into your mouth.

“Okay?” he checked in, lips grazing your jaw.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just—you… it’s all very new. ”

He paused. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I will.”

That night, you didn’t go all the way either.

But you let him touch you. Really touch you.

You ended up in his lap on the couch, your dress hiked up, his t-shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His motions were maddeningly drawn out—smoothing over your thighs, teasing under your panties, fingers slicking gently over you until you were shaking. One thing you’d grown to learn thanks to these electrifying escapades was that Kenma neither rushed nor demanded.

Just observed.

He watched you unravel, watched you fall apart with nothing more than his hand between your legs and his mouth pressed to your throat.

You’d returned the favour a week later—kneeling between his knees in that same living room, palms steady even though your mind was a mess. He had gripped your hair, but not harshly—more like he didn’t know what else to hold onto.

And after, when you wiped your mouth and leaned your cheek against his thigh, both of you panting hard, he murmured, “You’re dangerous when you’re confident.”

You smiled. “Guess the research is working, huh?”

His only answer was a smirk.

Life, as it usually does, got in the way. You were swamped at work and Kenma had his own obligations. Days passed. Weeks, even. You didn’t meet up with him, but you felt him everywhere. In your skin. In your thoughts. In the aching, restless emptiness of your bed. And worse: you missed him. Not just the way he touched you—but the him of it. His deadpan humour. The way he’d pause in conversation like he was thinking four moves ahead. The attractive rasp of his voice. The way he drank you in.

You missed your friend. You craved your… something.

You didn’t know what you were to him anymore. In spite of that, you knew that you needed him.

Kuroo’s reunion couldn’t have come at a better—or worse—time.

You’d dressed without overthinking it. Okay, maybe a little overthinking. The black corset hugged your curves like sin. The skirt hit mid-thigh, leaving appropriately enough to the imagination. The oversized leather blazer added a touch of effortlessness you didn’t actually feel. And the platform boots? Tall enough to be seductive.

When you walked into the high-end restaurant, every eye turned. On the contrary, you only looked for one.

Kenma was at the bar, drink in hand, dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was tousled, face unreadable. But when he saw you, he froze. Eyes trailing down greedily, taking his sweet time. He didn’t smile or wave.

Later, after hours of group toasts, dodging Kuroo’s banter, and pretending you didn’t itch with anticipation, Kenma found you on the rooftop balcony.

The city buzzed beneath.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, not turning around.

He stepped closer, “You’ve been busy.”

“So have you.”

All you hear for a few seconds is the cacophony of traffic and pedestrians.

“You look good tonight.”

You swallowed, your feet carrying you to him. “Yeah?”

Kenma appeared to be just as tormented as you. “Too good.”

“That a problem?”

He didn’t bother with an answer. Reaching for you, he hastily tugged you close. His mouth slanted over yours, hot and aching, weeks (he’d argue, proclaiming ‘years’) of self-control slipping like sand through fingers.

You didn’t even remember getting into the cab.

The moment Kenma’s apartment door shut behind you, it was chaos.

Lips crashing. Hands fumbling. Breath caught between kisses that were all teeth and tongue, no space for thought. Kenma backed you against the wall while you yanked at the buttons of his shirt like you were unwinding every second you’d spent pretending this wasn’t what you wanted. He dragged your blazer off, then your corset. His hands slid up your thighs, underneath your skirt, finding nothing but heat and skin.

“You planned this?” he muttered, strained, against your neck.

“I thought about you,” you whispered honestly.

He cursed, kissing you deeper—ravenous, like the time apart had built a pressure in him he could no longer contain. Soon, you were in his bed. Limbs knotting, bare. His weight on top of you was crushing—so real with almost a decade’s worth of tension, of friendship, of everything unspoken.

His touch skimmed up your stomach, pausing at the curve of your breast.

“I need you,” he said, hoarsely. “Tell me I can have you. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you reassured—just a whisper, but your whole body yearned to meet his. “I want you so bad, Kenma.”

He reached down between your thighs, fingers running through the mess there, working you open. You moaned, legs falling wider to allow him to move inside you better. You were drowning in sensation. His teeth nipped at your chest, hips grinding just barely against yours, and yet—

You wanted this. God, you wanted him. But—

“Wait,” you muttered, voice thin and trembling.

Kenma froze immediately. His eyes locked on yours, reading your face with terrifying precision. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I—”

Your hand pressed lightly to his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do this like it’s solely physical. Not with you.”

The room shifted.

“I thought I could,” your voice was so low, one might believe you weren’t speaking at all. “I told myself this was just for fun. A learning thing. ‘Research.’ But I can’t pretend anymore.”

You looked up at him, shame creeping in. “If I sleep with you, I’ll fall completely. I already have. It won’t just be sex to me. I don’t think it ever was.” You gulped, words turning rawer. “And if that’s not what you want… then this was a mistake.”

Tranquility. Thick. Cracking at the seams.

You felt your panic rise. “Sorry. I know I fucked things up, god. I should leave—"

“Stop,” Kenma finally spoke. Your blathering halted.

His fingers trailed up your cheek. “You think I’d let you in like this—have you like this—if it was just physical to me?” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

“I’ve been in love with you since high school, you idiot,” he said, and your stomach dropped. “I just never thought you’d want me back.”

You blinked up at him, stunned.

“When we kissed that day,” he continued, reverent, “everything changed. I didn’t want to risk scaring you away, so I thought if I gave you what you needed… eventually you’d see it too.”

He kissed your forehead. “See that I’d burn down the world for you.”

You gazed up at him, shaking slightly. “You’re not serious.”

He kissed your cheek. Your temple. Your nose. “I’m dead serious.”

Emotion swelled in your heart, hand cupping the side of his face. “Kenma…”

He leaned into the touch. “Talk to me.”

“I used to wait for practice to end just to walk home with you. I used to sit in the stands and pretend I was watching the match, but I was only watching you.”

The corner of his lips twitched. His hands ran down your sides.

“I thought I was broken for never wanting anyone the way my friends did,” you whispered. “But then you showed me it wasn’t about anyone. It was about you. It was always you.”

The atmosphere in the room grew charged with something sacred.

“I love you,” you declared, like the words were stolen from your ribs. Like they were always there between the two of you, waiting for someone to speak them to life.

Kenma was silent for one moment—just one—before… “I love you too,” he kissed you like a man reborn. This time, there was no rush.

He moved over you like he was making a vow—hands smoothing over every curve of your body, lips mapping every inch of your skin, like he was trying to memorise the sound of your breath as it caught in your throat.

When he lined himself up and pushed inside, it was slow. Intimate. He didn’t look away once. You clung to him, gaping at the fullness, the sheer gravity of him inside you.

“Alright?” he murmured, brows furrowing in concern.

You nodded, breath shaky. “Better than alright.”

He kissed you again, explosively possessive. After what felt like ages, he moved.

Each thrust was deliberate and claiming. His hand tangled with yours above your head. His other gripped your hip, holding you steady as he rocked into you, building a rhythm that made your back arch.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured into your ear. “Dreamed about you under me, begging for more.”

You moaned, eyelashes fluttering. “You have me now.”

“Trust me, I’m never letting go.”

Your bodies danced in a symphony that blurred the line between pleasure and worship. You came first, legs trembling. He followed right after, whining your name against your lips, pulsing with everything he felt and couldn’t say fast enough.

While you both lay there—spent and dizzy—you clung to each other. Because you knew this wasn’t the end.

You woke up to sunlight. Golden, slithering between silk curtains and spilling across the sheets in hazy lines.

Next to you was Kenma, his arm draped over your waist. The slight scrunch of his forehead indicated he was still deep in thought even while asleep. The sheets were rumpled around your legs, your body still sticky with sweat and afterglow, and every inch of you ached deliciously.

Oh my god, you thought with a giddy smile.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You reached out, careful not to disturb Kenma, and blinked at the screen.

8 Messages from loser

1 Missed Call

1 Voice Note

You opened the texts, bracing yourself.

loser: where the hell are you?? kenma’s vanished too tf

loser: you better not have left. lev tried to arm wrestle yamamoto and lost. to YAMAMOTO

loser: i swear if you ghosted the reunion i’m kicking your ass

loser: wait

loser: waitttttttt

loser: OH MY GOD DID YOU AND KENMA LEAVE TOGETHER???!!!

loser: TELL ME THIS ISN’T HOW I’M FINDING OUT

loser: ANSWER ME FUCKER

You choked on your laugh, snorting into your palm. Kenma stirred beside you, yawning.

“Mmm… what time is it?” he mumbled, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Too early for our best friend to be having a meltdown,” you giggled.

Kenma cracked one eye open. “Kuroo?”

You held your phone up. “He’s in panic mode.”

Kenma blinked. Then closed his eyes again and guided you down into his chest. “Ignore him.”

You laughed, cuddling into his warmth. His hair was mussed, bleached strands falling into his eyes. His fingers rubbed lazy circles into your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you in his tired state either.

“I still can’t believe last night happened,” you remarked dreamily.

Kenma nuzzled your shoulder. “I can. I’ve imagined it a thousand times.”

You flushed. “Okay, damn.”

He smirked against your skin. “You think I didn’t spend high school losing my mind over you?”

You were about to answer when his hand slid lower. Then lower still.

“Kenma—”

He rolled on top of you before you could finish. You sucked in a breath as his mouth found yours—inviting at first, then insatiable. Your legs parted instinctively as he settled between them, hardening length grinding slowly into your wetness. His body was still warm from sleep, but his touch was awake. Very awake.

“You’re gonna start something you can’t finish,” you warned.

He kissed your jaw. “Wanna bet?”

You fisted his hair, pulling him back to meet your eyes. “We’re seriously doing this again? First thing in the morning?”

“You’re naked in my bed,” he deadpanned. “If anything, this is on you.”

You were mid-laugh, mid-moan, mid-thigh squeeze when…

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—”

The bedroom door slammed open. You both stopped, unmoving.

Kenma’s mouth was on your neck. His hand was on your thigh. Your legs were definitely wrapped around his waist. Kuroo stood in the doorway like a horror movie freeze frame.

One hand still on the doorknob. Jaw hanging open. Eyebrow twitching.

You screeched and dove under the sheets like they could erase the last thirty seconds of reality. Kenma… just sighed. Still completely on top of you, showing no signs of clothing himself.

“Get out,” he said flatly.

Kuroo was pale. In a shocking display, he turned red. If possible, redder.

“I—WHAT—SHE’S NAKED—YOU’RE—WHAT—WHY—"

“By the way, I didn’t give you the code to my penthouse so you could come and go as you please,” Kenma muttered, frustrated.

“I thought you were dead!”

“Kuroo—” you poked your head out, expression absolutely boiling—“I’m begging you to forget this ever happened.”

“Oh no. This is burned into my soul. Wait till the group chat hears about this.”

Kenma finally stood up, arranging the blanket properly to cover you like a true gentleman. Instead of being embarrassed, he looked rather annoyed at being interrupted. Like this was your regular Saturday afternoon in the Kozume household.

Kuroo glanced between the two of you, hands on hips, processing.

Then he scoffed, “I watched you two lunatics dawdle around each other for YEARS. Years. You think I didn’t know?”

“Then, why are you surprised?” Kenma asked.

“Because I thought you’d tell me through a well-structured text, not with your fucking nipples out!”

You screamed in humiliation and retreated into the covers again.

Kenma shrugged. “We were busy.”

“Oh, no need to tell me.” Kuroo turned, still muttering to himself, “I'm gonna need bleach. For my eyes. For my brain. For my…”

The bedroom door slammed shut and it was peaceful for all of three seconds. At the same time, you and Kenma burst out laughing. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck as you wheezed into the pillow, your body shaking.

“Never living that down,” you gasped.

“Worth it,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you again—slow and soft—like he had nowhere else to be.

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