mic check. [kozume kenma x reader]
» You play a game of 'marco polo' with him for fifteen years. Call and response, you and him, always. «
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TAGS: childhood best friends to lovers, streamer!kenma x mod!reader, CONSTANT flirting over stream, first meetings, falling in love with your online best friend? more likely than you think, youtube filming of 'boyfriend does my makeup' trend, it's all just one big excuse for them to finally meet they honestly dont care about anything else, insanely desperate 'obsessed with each other' type sex, mutual pining but millions of people are watching it happen live
a/n: this singlehandedly made me a kenma girl. ive fallen down a hole of "kenma is a confident introvert who knows how to run his mouth" feelings. thank you so very much to the person who commissioned this <33
[commission honee here!]
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Ba-bum!
"Testing, testing, mic check."
You scroll on your phone, curled up on your oversized gaming chair. "You don't need to mic check every time," you mumble into your headset.
"Discord's shit these days," is all he says. His voice is gentle as ever, even if his words cut. "I pay up the ass in internet and it still lags."
"Add me to your family plan," you say, just like you do every time. You don't know his exact expenses, but you do know that Kozume Kenma doesn't spare when it comes to his gaming setup.
"I'll add you if you promise not to use it for League."
You scoff, reaching for your coffee. You won't hear his usual admonishments about taking care of yourself — if he wants to do overnight stream challenges, he gets to deal with a malnourished moderator.
"My ping would thank you greatly, Koz."
"Your ping can suck my dick."
You grin, tossing your phone on the desk and glancing at the time. "On that note-"
"Yep. See ya."
You both end the call, only thirty-two seconds long. Your phone immediately buzzes.
[10:00 PM]
kozuken is live!
You're the first in the chat, your monitor split between his video feed and the chat box.
"Hello, hello," he says. "Mic check, testing, testing."
You roll your eyes.
"Marco's rolling her eyes. I can feel it."
You grin, leaning in to type a response.
[10:02 PM]
Marco: eat my ass
He grins, eyes dragging over the chat before looking away so he can set up his game. "Time and place, baby."
The chat goes crazy, the way it always does, when you two talk to each other like this. Purposely walking the line between platonic and flirtatious — once just a joke, made a regular dynamic. Once you'd noticed that his fans loved it, it was easy enough to continue, especially since Kenma's so fond of egging you on in his streams.
"Roll call, moderators," he mumbles into his mic, his eyes flitting back and forth between monitors while he loads in his screen recorder and audio buff.
[10:04 PM]
Marco: marco
"Polo," he responds, an afterthought. "Looks like everyone's here, so we can get started."
The comments filter in, your eyes trained to skim quickly. The brand new fans are easy to pick out, questions coming in about why he does roll call if you're his only mod. The old fans are busy spamming the word 'marco' over and over again in the chat, a joke long turned habit.
At one point, he'd considered having more than one moderator. It's just so much work for you. But you know — he'd told you — that he can't trust anyone else. That he wouldn't be able to keep track of anyone else in is DMs, not when you take up so much of his time.
"You're always yapping," he'd jokingly complained once, when the two of you were in college. "You're a full-time job."
You wouldn't let him have another moderator, anyway. This is yours. You made this place for yourself without meaning to, and both of you know — unacknowledged, unconscious — that no one else can have it.
Things had always been that way for you and Kozume Kenma. Unspoken, inexplicable.
—
He's ten when you meet him. You're ten, too. Way too young to be playing games online with strangers, but internet safety isn't really on your mind at that age.
And he doesn't try to chat you up, doesn't try to get any personal information out of you. You happen to play a single round of a game together, and you happen to add him as a friend afterward, because he's good. He happens to accept it.
He also sounds ten. He types in short, clipped phrases, simple DMs that say 'party?' when you're both online. After a few months, that single word turns into adding each other on Discord, which you're both still too young to have but do anyway. It turns into near-silent phone calls, where you both make simple requests of each other in-game and nothing else.
It isn't until months later — almost a year since meeting him — that you're brave enough to send a meme. He responds with a reaction. You think that'll be it, and then you're surprised the next morning to find he'd sent one, too.
He turns eleven, and you send a quick 'hap birth', which he responds to with a cake emoji. You turn eleven a few weeks later, and he just sends the emoji again.
And then, one night, he texts a quick 'party?' and you respond with 'tired :/', expecting that to be it. Expecting, at most, a thumbs up.
He calls. You answer, thinking maybe he hadn't gotten your text.
"Hello?"
"Hi."
He says nothing else. You just get the notification that he's streaming his screen. He's playing a cozy game, something low-stakes with gentle background music.
You fall asleep like that, watching his stream on your phone, no words shared between you.
It becomes a habit — first, only when one of you is too tired to play, and then scheduled. Every Wednesday night, when you're both most tired from school, and then Fridays, too.
Friday streams turn into Friday movie nights, and those turn into Friday 'play something in the background and talk over it' nights.
You turn twelve on one of those nights. He spends two hours building you a house-sized cake in Minecraft, telling you in that deadpan voice to shut up when you start making insane requests.
"I just think if we put a river through it-"
"No."
"But it could be like one of those molten lava cake things-"
"Stop it."
"I'm just imagining-"
"No imagining. Less imagination from you."
You fall asleep before he's done, your face sore from laughing. You wake up to a picture of the finished block-cake, a stupid little river running through it.
You grow up like that, middle school passing with your closest friend only accessible behind a screen. He tells you about his friend Kuroo, and you tell him about your school friends, too. He starts playing volleyball, and you spend some Friday nights watching pro-volleyball matches with him so he can learn.
And then one day, when you're both fourteen, Kuroo logs on while Kenma's in the shower and calls you. You answer, of course, but you're completely unprepared for the video feed to be turned on.
"Oh," you say. "That's not what I thought you'd look like."
The boy on the other end furrows his brow, a scoff leaving him. "You guys haven't video called before?"
It's not hard to figure out that this is not Kenma.
It's even easier when Kenma does come into view, a blur of dark hair and Kuroo tackled to the floor, out of sight.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
You listen as they wrestle, watch as the real Kozume Kenma appears in the video, wide-eyed and panicked.
"Holy shit," he says, frantically trying to turn his camera off. "I'm so sorry."
You just laugh, watching him mute-unmute-mute-unmute himself instead of pressing on the camera icon. He swears again, beet-red, so you just turn your camera on, too, your nerves fluttering.
He freezes, stares. Opens his mouth, closes it, blinks.
"Hi," he says, voice quiet.
You swallow, feeling your face burn and hoping it doesn't show in the camera. "Hi."
The moment is interrupted by Kuroo, who starts to laugh in the background. "This story is going in my best-man speech at your wedding."
Kenma turns an insane shade of red within milliseconds, and then he hangs up. You have to sit for a long time staring at the dark screen just to catch your breath.
One good thing comes out of Kuroo Tetsurou's intervention — video calling.
High school marks the era of sending exhausted morning selfies and late afternoon study calls, your cameras on and your mics muted. He calls after practice every day, only half his face showing as he walks home, and you bring him with you for post-midnight snack searches of the kitchen, all the lights off around you.
He's there when you move into your college dorm, his voice echoing from your back pocket as he complains about the view. You're there when he decides to start streaming professionally, your smile knowing and silly when you offer to be his moderator. Both your grins full of mischief when he actually considers it.
He starts out slow, quiet, but he's good at what he does — what you both do — and his fan base grows quickly. He hits 100,000 followers within a year, and he's at a million by the time you graduate. You run his chat with a firm hand, banning viewers after one warning and spending your free time accepting and denying requests to be unbanned. He spends his time editing VODs and posting them to Youtube, and he brings on a friend — Lev Haiba — to run his accounts. The guy's a model, apparently, and knows the ins and outs of social media better than anyone.
And then Kenma starts his own company — Bouncing Ball Corp. — and suddenly, his face and name are everywhere. You see him on bus ads and in storefronts, sports outlets marketing him and his sponsored players — Hinata Shouyou the most famous of all — until you can spot a cutout of him at least once a day on your way to work.
You always send him a picture. He always responds with a middle finger emoji.
Your days are spent working your boring office job, Discord open on one monitor as you speed through your work on the other. Your lunch breaks are spent on the phone with him, complaints sent in spam texts on the few days your coworkers actually invite you to join them.
It passes through your mind a few times — the fact that you haven't met him. You're 25 years old and have yet to meet your best friend of 15 years.
You wonder sometimes if he thinks about it, too.
—
[10:00 PM]
kozuken is live!
"Mic check, testing testing. Roll call, mods?"
Marco: marco
"Polo." Kenma scrolls through his Steam library for the viewers, humming contemplatively. "Not sure what I wanna play today. I want something lowkey. It was a rough day."
You grin evilly, typing out something quick without thinking.
Marco: i can make you feel better :')
His smile is immediate, his tongue poking out as he shakes his head. "Got enough space for you under my desk, Marco."
Marco: i pray for days like these <333
Marco: god is real <333
Marco: lemme get a hair tie real quick
He purses his lips, his laugh escaping anyway. "That'll take too long, just borrow one of mine."
The chat is responding at a rate that even you can't follow, but you do catch one comment.
'BE SO HONEST WITH US, HAVE YOU GUYS FUCKED???'
You know Kenma's seen it because he starts choking, fist beating down on his chest. You fire off a response, ignoring the flaming heat in your cheeks and that the swirl of nerves in your gut.
Marco: omw as we speak
He barks out a laugh, nodding. "Yeah, she's got a key to my place. That's how this whole mod thing happened in the first place."
Marco: aftercare is just stream ideas
"We talk about hiring VOD editors while I'm rearranging her guts."
You gasp, face searing hot as you switch to your DMs and message him.
You: YOU CANNOT SAY THAT ON STREAM!!!!!!!!!!
His eyes flick to the next screen, and then he beams, his grin a little too pleased. "Uh oh, I'm in the doghouse. Do you guys think she'll still let me hit?"
You text again.
You: NO I WILL NOT!!!!!!!!!!
His brow furrows for a moment, and you realize that you should have said that in the stream chat, not in his DMs. You groan aloud, burying your face in your hands in humilation. You only lift your eyes when you hear the ping of his text.
Koz: what if im not in the doghouse?
You freeze, staring. Eyes flicking to the video feed, watching him closely. Watching those little mannerisms that only you can see, the ones that make it clear he's nervous about that text. When you don't answer fast enough, he starts to chew on his bottom lip and his eyes take on a distracted glaze as he pretends to read the stream chat.
You watch him type again quickly.
Koz: joke
You exhale shakily, typing with trembling fingers in the stream chat.
Marco: chat, tell koz to stop begging for nudes in my dms
He finds it immediately in the sea of messages, eyes going wide and then flicking away. His laugh is full of relief, and he just shakes his head.
"One day," he says. "One day, Marco." You ignore the heat building in your gut and watch as he switches topics, scrolling through Steam again. "Alright," he eventually sighs. "Let's play Stardew."
You pin a chat that catches your eye, your fingers still shaking.
'co-op farm with marco???'
Kenma smiles, small and sweet this time, and shakes his head. "Marco's too busy running this shit like the Navy. She won't be able to focus."
You pin another chat.
'what if you guys play off stream and upload to yt???'
He nods, shrugging. "I don't see why not. We basically just play games in our free time, anyway."
One more pin, your nerves at an all-time high.
'film irl??? even if it's not games???'
His smile takes on a curious quality, brows furrowed as he hums and launches the game. It's obvious that you're interested in the idea, because you wouldn't be pinning the messages if you weren't. Everyone watching can see it, too, an influx of support crashing through the chat.
"What'do you wanna see us do, then?" he asks, attention turned to his Stardew file. A message flies by that says 'WE WANNA SEE YOU FUCK!!!', and he laughs, but his voice is tight. You understand why, your skin breaking out in a cold sweat. You type fast, trying to play it off.
Marco: lets do plushy tour
"What're you gonna do, haul your shit all the way to my place?" he jokes. "I've seen your plushy collection. It's semi-truck-requiring."
The chat continues to be spammed with ideas, and he pauses every few minutes to glance at them. You put out a few polls here and there, most having to do with his gameplay, but one of them is titled 'MarKoz Youtube Collab Ideas'. It stays up for a while, votes flooding in. He examines it for a moment, and then you watch him type.
Koz: you wanna meet up?
Your nerves peak and crash, your skin covered in goosebumps at the thought of meeting Kenma.
You: could be fun
He swallows, takes a sip of his drink. Types again.
Koz: could be
Koz: soon? or
It strikes you then that you have no idea where he lives. It can't be far, but…
You: depends
You: train tickets can get pricey
Koz: stfu
Koz: you know i'll pay
A few minutes go by with you distracted by the chat and him playing his game.
Koz: send me your address
You flush, realizing this is actually happening.
You: [location attached]
He chokes on his drink, in the middle of his livestream. You watch the chat react, a range of concern and 'Marco finally sent the nudes' jokes.
Koz: wtf
Koz: what the fuck yn
You: ????
Koz: thats ten fucking minutes from here
Your whole world comes crashing down.
—
You exhale in disbelief, staring up at the high-rise with a small grin tugging at your lips.
"Of course," you whisper, shaking your head and hauling your tote bag higher up on your shoulder. You push your way through the revolving door, glancing around as you approach the front desk. "Hi… I'm… I guess I'm here to see a resident?"
The girl behind the counter smiles up at you, humor lacing her voice. "Okay. Can I get a name?"
"She's with me."
His voice feels like a cord was wrapped tight around your spine when you weren't looking. Like he was baked into your DNA, his life intertwined with yours.
Your eyes fly to his. He's staring back at you like he feels the same way.
Disoriented. Shocked. Unsteady.
You clear your throat, smiling briefly at the girl as you drift away, your grip on the strap of the tote bag almost painful.
You meet him at the elevator bay, your legs shaking. "Hi."
He inhales, eyes flicking between yours rapidly. "Hey."
You're not sure how to greet him. If you should hug him — you've known him most of your life — or if it would be weird — this is your first time ever meeting him. He steps away to call the elevator, so you take it as a sign not to hug him and just wait beside him.
"Was the walk okay?" he tries, voice quiet and hesitant. You shift awkwardly, just shrugging.
"Yeah. It was alright."
God, this is uncomfortable. What is it? What's making this so weird?
You follow him into the elevator, taking stock of the situation. What you know about him and what's new.
His voice is familiar, but it's different in person. It affects you more. His stance — lazy with a slight slouch — is comfortable to you, but his height is new. His hair and face are the same, but now you can see his skin, his eyes. You can smell his shampoo. His cologne. You can feel his warmth, gentle and washing over you.
Your eyes dart over his form once, twice, and then they return to his face.
He's doing the same to you. His face is tinged pink with embarrassment, and you realize that your cheeks are warm, too.
His eyes catch yours, widening slightly. "Uh," he starts, gaze flying away. You see the spread of warmth across his ears and down his neck. "I was thinking we could eat first and then film… Maybe play a game or something?"
You nod quickly, following him out of the elevator. "That sounds good to me." You wince internally, imagining how awkward the video would be if you started filming right away. You can only hope that some buffer time before then would ease the tension.
When you enter his apartment, your jaw drops, eyes scanning the luxurious space. "Damn," you whisper. "You sure I can't join your internet family plan?"
He smiles, shooting a glance back at you as he leads you to the kitchen. There are bags of takeout already there, the smell of food wafting wonderfully over you. "You gonna use it for League?"
Your grin is comfortable, and there's a wave of relief crashing over you. You can feel the tension fading just a little bit, which means there's still hope.
"What're you gonna do if I do?" you joke, leaving your bag by his couch.
Golden eyes find you, and there's a flash of something there — something that warms the knot underneath your navel — before he looks away, his smile tighter than before.
"Guess you gotta find out."
You flush with warmth, all the way down to your toes. Had that transferred over as well? The jokes that lean a little too far away from platonic? The one-liners that hold more than they should?
You don't hate the idea. Not at all.
You help him unpack the food – he’d gotten your favorite, despite only ever seeing you eat over a discord call – and join him on the sofa, his massive TV and multiple game consoles collected on his TV stand. He untangles two controllers, passing one to you as he crouches by the stand and plugs one of the consoles in.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. You watch him tilt his head, watch his hair cascade down like a waterfall, feel the urge to tangle your fingers in it. “The only people who come over are Kuroo and Hinata. I can never get them to game with me.”
You cross your ankles, uncross them, look around his place some more. “I can come over more, if that’s what you’re asking.”
You hear him laugh through his nose, and then he nods. That urge to tangle your fingers in his hair grows stronger.
"Yeah, that's what I'm asking," he jokes. "Want you here every day."
"Get me a key, then."
He turns, eyes finding you. He doesn't say anything, just rises and hits the power button on the console. Then he joins you on the couch. You try not to notice that he sits close enough that his thigh touches yours.
The Mario Kart soundtrack fills his living room, so you force down the thought of his body heat. Of his cologne, washing over you. Of the hyper-sensitivity on the right side of your body, the side that's pressed to his.
You manage to fake your way through the nerves, the game relaxing you and the food delicious. Jokes fly easily, the bump of his elbow on yours easy and the shove of your shoulder into his when he's winning all too comfortable.
You don't even realize that several hours have passed, not until you glance out his floor-to-ceiling windows — he's way too rich, you think — and see that it's completely dark out.
"Oh," you breathe, looking around. The food is long-finished, and you've gotten completely comfortable in Kenma's home. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, hoodie removed from the warmth of pushing and shoving and yelling about the game for hours on end, your weight slumped heavily against his.
He shifts, moving you in the process, and stares out the window. "Damn," he says, slightly out of breath from screaming his head off at you hitting him with a blue shell. "We should film, huh?"
You laugh. "Yeah, probably." You set the controller down and rise, stretching your arms high above your head and groaning quietly. When you open your eyes, you find Kenma's gaze latched onto the slip of skin you're showing, just above your jeans. He looks away quickly, but you'd still caught it, the same way you're catching the pink tinge in his ears.
You swallow, warm, and clear your throat. "Shall we?"
"Yeah."
You follow him down the hall, your tote bag weighing you down. It's full of your makeup, the consensus on the last stream that everyone wants to see him do the "boyfriend does my makeup" trend.
You stop at the door he steps through, staring.
It's his bedroom.
"Oh-" you start, eyes wide. "I thought we would be in your office."
His eyes fly to yours, panic seeping into his expression. "Oh. I thought it would be more comfortable on the bed." He blinks, and you see his brain working overtime. "We can-"
"No!" you laugh, entering and setting your bag on the floor by the foot of his bed. "It's okay, you're probably right."
He's silent while you unpack all your makeup onto his bed, and then he sighs quietly. "Okay," he breathes. "I'll get the tripod." He scurries from the room with the pace of someone incredibly nervous, and you can't blame him. You feel the same.
He returns after a moment, tripod and camera in hand, and sets up next to the foot of his bed. When he's done, he looks to you expectantly. "Ready?"
You climb onto the mattress, nodding. "Let's do it."
He settles down next to you and presses record. "Okay," he says, examining the view in the little side panel. "We're good."
You grin, waving at the camera. "Howdy."
You see his brows furrow, watch the grin slide across his face as he looks at you. "'Howdy'? That's what we're doing?"
"Just start the damn video."
"It's started!" he laughs. "Be normal!"
"This is normal!"
"Oh, my god," he sighs, addressing the camera. "Hi. Kozuken here," he starts. He gestures to you. "Marco, as you probably guessed."
You wave again. "Howdy."
"I'm gonna kill you."
You shove him. He shoves back. When you try again, he catches you by the wrists with one hand, dragging them down into his lap. You gawk at him, flushing, and then remember that the camera is on.
You turn to it, one eyebrow raised and a smirk tugging at your lips.
"And that, ladies-" you say. "-is how you get a man to do what you want."
You can't help it — falling back into what's comfortable. It's unfortunate that this is what's comfortable.
Kenma leans into it, too. He can't help it, either, then.
"She thinks I don't know what she wants," he jokes, shaking his head. "I'm always ten steps ahead." And then he lets you go with a quiet exhale. "Let's get to the point of the video, please." His voice is light, but you can see the warmth in his cheeks.
You can feel the warmth in yours, too, but you push on. "Okay, so by popular demand, we're doing the 'boyfriend does my makeup' trend!"
He smiles, giving you a purposely pointed look. "You gonna clarify for the masses, or are you just gonna let them think I'm your boyfriend?"
You grin, shrug. "I'm gonna let the masses think what they want."
"Whatever you say," he gives in easily. He turns so that one leg is hanging off the bed, the other ankle crossed under his knee as he faces you. You mirror him, getting as close as you can and leaving your leg overlapped with his.
"Shall we?" you say, gesturing to your mountain of different products. "I brought everything I own, just because I want to make your life harder."
"You certainly do like to do that," he says, shaking his head at the pile. "Fuck, this is a whole store." He glances around and then up at you. "Alright," he sighs. "Let's see what I can fuck up in the next hour."
And then he pulls a hair tie off of his wrist and cups your face with both hands. You gasp quietly, eyes trained on his in confusion. He smothers a smile and slides his hands into your hair, looping his arms around your neck and gathering it all up in one hand. He ties your hair up like that, your breath mingling in the minimal space between you and his eyes locked tight on yours. His eyes flick down to your lips quickly and then come back, and you know he sees how you warm because his smile grows before he bites down on his bottom lip to cover it.
He leans away, examining your makeup. You turn to the camera while he does, staring hard. "You guys saw that, right?"
"I'm sure they're rewinding over and over again as we speak," he jokes, yanking a bottle from the depths. "'Foundation'," he reads. "Well, that seems promising. Buildings start with the foundation, don't they?"
You grin, staring up at him while he reads the back of the vial. "Good boy," you tease. "Using your wittle bwain."
He glares at you through his lashes. "Say it again. Go ahead."
You shrink away, just beaming at him while he uncaps the bottle and starts to smear foundation all over your face. He uses far too much, enough that you feel a whine build in your throat.
"You're wasting it. That was expensive-"
"Shh," he whispers, drawing on your forehead. "I'll buy you more later."
"You better."
"You know I'm good for it," he mumbles, focusing hard. You try not to flush, but you can feel his voice — deep, low, close — dripping down your spine like honey. "Now be quiet. I'm making art."
Now that you notice, you realize he actually is drawing. He's writing something on your face with the wand. You start to pull back, but he catches your chin with his other hand.
"Where you goin'?" he breathes, still focusing. "I'm not done."
You grimace. "You're writing weird shit on my face, Koz." You hear it, the bratty whine that trickles out with your words. But you can't help it, not when he's gripping your face like that and talking to you like that. Like you're his.
He just chews on his lip, that grin still threatening to spill out. "Just be patient."
"I'm not good at that."
His teeth flash briefly when he snickers. "I can teach you, if you'd like."
You push him away, huffing petulantly. He just laughs, the sound bright. You use the opportunity to lean into the camera, examining the side panel.
Property of Kozuken
Your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek, nostrils flaring. You know the camera catches it all, that it catches the look you shoot him over your shoulder.
He's still smiling, all too pleased and not nearly embarrassed enough.
You find your spot again, glaring up at him. "Fix it." When he just coos, cupping your face teasingly, you lean forward, pressing your hands into his thighs and filling his space with your presence. "Fix it, Koz," you breathe, your pout poking out for him.
You're close enough that you hear his breath stutter. You feel his body twitch in response to you. You watch his eyes flick between yours and down to your lips, lingering too long to be accidental.
"Okay, okay," he mumbles. His thumbs spread over your cheeks, wiping away the Kozu and ken in two gentle swipes. "Don't get mad. I was joking."
You don't know what to do with the fact that he'd said it quietly enough that there's no way the camera caught it. That he'd said it for you, just for you.
"Not mad," you whisper, still leaning on his thighs, still pressing your face up toward his. "Definitely not mad."
His eyes widen, and then his eyelashes flutter, his lips parted and his breath shaky as it leaves him. He glances at the camera, laughing nervously.
"Chat, she's whispering nasty shit in my ear."
You push off of him with a roll of your eyes, ignoring the fingers that snag on your wrist, the thumb that swipes over your pulse once, twice, before leaving your hand in his lap. He shuffles through the rest of your makeup, starting to organize the bottles by type.
You talk to the camera while he works. "I think next time, we should do something that doesn't involve wasting all my makeup. Like a plushy reveal!"
"I told you no," he says right away, still sorting. "You have a storage unit's worth of plushies in that bed."
"Okay, then you come to my place. We can rank them together." You lean over, off camera, and snag your fingers on the single plush he has on the armchair. It's a cat, orange and squishy and totally messed up from years of tugging and kneading at it. "But bring this with you."
He snatches it, smacking you on the head with the squishy butt of it before tossing it up to the head of his bed. "You're biased. You bought it."
You nod, contemplative as you tell the story. "He had a bit of an anger issue with games when we were kids. But he would just punch the air and scream, so I sent him a little stress toy." You reach for it again, showing the camera how disfigured it is. "Look what he did, guys! He's a monster."
"I have a lot of cute aggression to get out of my system."
You turn over your shoulder, meeting his eyes. "Oh, yeah? About what?"
His gaze is steady, even when a single eyebrow lifts.
You look back at the camera, your face noticeably warmer. You look away, the sight of yourself in that camera tugging at the fluttering nerves in your stomach.
Kenma moves on without comment. "These all say concealer," he says, turning a few over and reading them. He glances at you when you stay quiet. You know he can see the burn of your cheeks, that your gaze is distant. That you're clearly still embarrassed about how things are falling into place between you.
"Too much?" he finally says, eyes still reading labels and hands still separating vials into different sections. You get the sense that he plans to cut this part out of the video.
You shake your head. His knee is starting to bounce anxiously. You let your fingers dance over his jeans, pressing down on his knee to calm him. "Not too much," you say, chewing on your lip and staring down at the spot where your leg overlaps with his. "Just nervous."
He stalls, fingers hovering a tube of lipstick. You hear him swallow.
"Yeah," he eventually breathes. "Me, too."
You both move on.
He clears his throat and raises his voice for the camera again. "I'm gonna try one of these concealer things."
"Okay."
"Where do I put it?"
You just smile. He rolls his eyes.
He ends up slathering it in random spots. The only one he gets right is the spot under your eyes, where he ends up putting way too much.
"Wow, this is ass," he jokes, trying to rub it in with his thumbs. You make choked noises, leaning away in fear that he's going to stab you in the eyes. He ends up bent over in laughter, hands still cupping your face, and you end up straining to look at the camera, the panic in your eyes obvious.
He moves on, leaving you caked in foundation and concealer as he picks up a pile of pencils. All lip liner.
"These look like they go on your eyes." When you stare at him in horror, he smiles innocently. "Eyeliner, right?"
You just smile, full of fear, and turn to the camera again. "Yeah."
"Close your eyes, then."
You keep smiling at the camera. "Don't wanna."
"C'mon," he laughs, nudging you. He's wielding a red pencil. You just stare. "Close your eyes."
You whimper dramatically, letting your eyes fall shut.
He's gentle, but that was never a concern, really. The real concern — the one that sits at the back of your throat as your eyes are sliding shut — is how close he's going to choose to get.
It's close. Really close.
You feel his breath on your lips, feel his hair tickle your face, feel his fingers holding gently to your chin, keeping you steady.
"While he fucks this up," you start, voice light but slightly shaky. "Let me talk about the games I wanna play that we can record off stream and upload later."
"Mhm," he hums. You wonder if he's nervous about your breath on his lips, too.
"Well, I wanna play Stardew. I also think people would have fun watching me try games I suck at."
"Like League?" he jokes quietly. You gasp, ignoring the fact that you can feel when he speaks, feel the bass in his voice and the slide of honey that comes with it.
"Take that back right now."
"No."
"Koz," you whine. "Be nice to me. I'm letting you mess up my face."
There's a long pause, one where you feel him start to laugh, the bed shaking slightly. Your skin warms dramatically under his touch.
"Shut up," you bite. "You have such a dirty mind."
"I didn't even have to say anything for you to get there, too."
"You just wanna see me under your desk."
He chokes, leaning away from you quickly. "Shit," he coughs. "Warn a man."
Your eyes are still closed. "You never warn me!"
He comes back after a moment, drawing lightly on your eyelids for just a little longer. And then he sighs.
"Fuck," he jokes. "I don't think I should have picked a red one."
You smile, trying not to shiver when he cups your jaw with his free hand, fingertips pressing softly into your cheeks. "I think," you start, breathing deep when his fingers twitch in response. "That you should have picked an eyeliner."
He pauses, and you just know he's staring at the pencil in confusion. "What are you?" he whispers, loud enough for the camera.
You keep smiling, your whisper just as loud. "Lip liner."
"Ah, shit," he laughs. "Well — Since I'm here." His fingers push at your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker for him.
You stop breathing, and your eyes snap open in surprise. He meets your gaze evenly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then he refocuses his attention on drawing the outline of your lips.
"You look ridiculous," he comments while he works.
You just roll your eyes. "I wonder why," you mutter, your voice muffled by his grip.
He leans away when he's done, humming pleasantly. "I think I'm done."
"What?" you laugh, turning to examine yourself in the camera. "Koz, I look so stupid."
"I'm too scared to try anything else."
"You didn't even do lipstick," you complain. "Or mascara. I look like a fool."
"I think it suits you." He just laughs when you smack him, his hand rubbing at the spot on his chest that you'd hit. "Say bye to the masses."
"Koz," you complain, lamenting your appearance in the camera. "You've got to be fucking with me-"
"Bye!" he calls, his hands coming down on the camera and shutting it off.
You just stare. "Do you see me?"
He laughs, squeezing your cheeks together with one hand. "You look like a dumbass."
"Yeah!" you laugh back. "My foundation's splotchy, there's concealer caked under my eyes, and you used lip liner all over the place!"
He just stands, tugging a box of tissues over and wiping his hands diligently. You swipe one, too, scrubbing at your skin. He gasps.
"My art!"
"I'm not going outside like this," you say, standing at the full-length mirror in the corner and working at your face until, though red and splotchy from scrubbing, it's clear of makeup. You don't say anything about the fact that Kenma's just been watching from the bed, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle while he leans back on his hands.
"You wanna stick around a little?" he asks quietly. You glance at him in the reflection, smiling shyly.
"Next time? It's late."
He looks reluctant to nod, but he does anyway. "Yeah. Next time." He turns, packing your makeup away while you wash your hands in his en suite bathroom.
He walks you to the door quietly, hauling your tote bag for you and waiting while you put your shoes on. "Want me to walk you?"
You smile at him, taking the bag. "I'll be okay."
"I don't like that you're walking in the dark. Let me call an uber at least."
"I'll be fine," you say. "Want me to call you while I walk?"
He flushes. "No."
"Would it make you feel better?"
"… Yes."
You laugh. "Okay. I'm gonna go."
He looks like he's searching for any reason to keep you here. You purse your lips, the nerves coming back. But you set the bag against the door for just a moment, anyway.
When you hug him, it surprises him. You feel his inhale, sharp and quiet, as you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook. His hands find your waist easily, gentle and trembling slightly. He slips his arms around you after a moment, pulling you flush to his body.
You let your urge from earlier win, fingers finally tangling into his hair.
He shivers. It flies down his spine almost violently, shaking you in the process. The breath he lets out is mixed with a sound that you desperately want to call a moan.
"Fuck," he whispers, laughing nervously. "Sorry."
Warmth floods your skin, seeping low into the spot under your navel. You cling to him, feeling when his hold on you tightens.
"'s okay," you whisper back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You feel him swallow, the sound dragging past your ear.
And then he presses his lips to your shoulder. Quietly. Gently.
You inhale harshly, your exhale just as hard.
He does it again, against your pulse. His fingers dig into your skin when a whine flies past your lips.
"Kenma," you breathe.
His chest is rising and falling unevenly. "You should go," is all he says.
It takes all your strength to pull away from him. He looks as unsteady on his feet as you feel. His pupils are blown wide and his face is burning red and he's carding his fingers through his hair and letting out a sigh that speaks of distress and feelings he doesn't want to voice.
"Bye, Koz," you say, wanting him to look at you again.
He does. You wonder if he can even help it anymore.
"Call me," he says, his voice rough, thick with emotion. "Soon as you leave."
"I will," you promise.
You do, the moment you step foot in the lobby.
He doesn't sound any less overwhelmed. You know you don't, either.
—
"Oh, my god," you laugh, scrolling through the comments. "This is nuts."
"It's only been up 12 hours," he says, equally amazed. He's watching your shared screen so that you can react to the same comments at the same time.
'you cannot physically convince me that these two arent secretly in a relationship and are just gaslighting us.'
You laugh. "Should I like it, just so people crash out?"
"You know my answer."
You leave a little heart on the comment and scroll.
'WHY DO THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT. SOME OF US ARE SINGLE.'
Another like.
'property of kozuken??? are you joking??? are you kidding?? are you playing??? you think this is a damn joke, markoz??????'
Another like, and you add a heart in a comment, too, just because it's that funny.
'the way she whines his name whenever he does anything stupid?? you just KNOW he loves it.'
You stare at the comment, your mouse hovering over it. Kenma says nothing. You scroll without liking it.
"Go back."
You jump, a shock running through you. "What?"
"Go back," he says again, his voice soft as ever but his words tugging on that cord he has wrapped around your spine. "And like it."
You want to tease him. You want to make some stupid joke. You want this to be part of the running bit between the two of you.
But you can't do it.
So you just scroll back up and like the comment.
You rush to scroll down again, your face burning and your ears starting to ring.
'every time she sasses him he looks like he cant decide if he wants to kiss her or do so much worse'
You scroll quickly.
"Go back."
You go back and like it.
'if you look hard enough you can see the moment koz pops a boner'
"Oh, my god," you mutter, your face burning. You scroll, praying he doesn't say those two words again. Praying you can move past it, because you're not sure you can handle it if he doesn't.
"Y/n."
That's worse than telling you to go back.
You sigh, the sound stuttering. "Koz," you whisper. "C'mon."
"Go back. And like it."
"You have to be joking."
"I'm not," he says, his voice still soft, even though he's saying something truly terrible. "If you don't do it, I'm gonna go in there and write a response."
"What could you possibly say?" you joke, your laugh desperate.
"That they're right."
Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.
"And then I'm gonna leave the timestamp."
You bury your face in your hands. "Kenma," you whisper.
"4:52."
You're shaking. You can't deal with the fact that he has an answer. That he's telling you to go look.
"Y/n."
You shudder, hand clamped over your mouth and the warmth under your navel burning hot, dangerously so.
You find the timestamp.
'Fix it,' you're saying. You're leaning onto his thighs, your eyes big and your pout petulant as you push your face into his. 'Fix it, Koz.' The words property of kozuzen are half-visible on your face. He's looking down at you like he's losing his mind. You hadn't realized it at the time, but the pained expression is plastered on his face.
You swallow. "That was super early on."
"I know. It was torture."
You hang your head, breathing hard. "I regret meeting you in person, Koz."
He's silent, completely silent.
"What?" he finally says. His voice is thick. You can hear the fear in that single word. "Why?"
You laugh pitifully. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to handle it. That I wouldn't be able to be normal about you afterward."
His breath is heavy in the mic of his headset. "Normal about me?"
"I like you so much," you whisper, almost hoping he doesn't hear it. "It's so much worse now." You dig the heel of your hand into your eye. "I want you so bad, Kenma."
You hear when his breath stutters, when he whispers 'oh, fuck' to himself.
"You mean that?"
You haven't ever meant something this strongly in your whole life. It's been three days, and you haven't stopped thinking about him for even a second.
"Kenma," you whine, tears pricking behind your eyes. "Please."
You hope he gets what you're saying.
He hangs up.
Your heart jumps. He got it.
—
He makes it to your door in under ten minutes. You don't say anything about the messy hair or the way his chest is heaving or the wild look in his eye.
You don't say anything at all. You just grab him by the collar of his hoodie and drag him into your apartment.
He crowds you against the wall immediately, barely managing to kick his shoes off in the process. His eyes are flying across your face, checking your gaze and the flush in your cheeks and the way you're chewing on your lip.
"Please don't take it back," he breathes, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. "Please."
You just shove your fingers into his hair, tangling tight and pulling him to you. A moan rips out of his throat and his hands slam down on the wall on either side of you as you push your lips against his.
He kisses you like he's been thinking about it for years. You let yourself admit that you've been thinking about it, too.
His lips burn on yours, the push and pull full of desperation, urgency. He pushes his body against yours, and you feel so clearly that he's shaking. That he's leaning on you like he's worried you'll disappear. You cup his face, kissing him deep and then whispering into his mouth.
"I'm not goin' anywhere, Kenma."
He shudders, drops his hands to your waist and pulls you impossibly closer. "I know. It's just been so long." You don't have to ask what he means. You just wrap your arms around his neck, letting him haul you up, letting your legs wrap tight around his waist. Feeling when he presses you into the wall and pins you there with his hips. "I've known you my whole life," he breathes. "Had you my whole life."
"Wasn't enough," you mumble, a little distracted by the way his lips get rougher, the way his grip on you gets possessive.
"Yeah," he mutters, teeth tugging your bottom lip into your mouth. His tongue presses to it hard, tasting you. "Wasn't enough."
"Always kinda hoped you weren't joking," you admit, clinging tight when he starts to walk you through the room. He pauses every few feet, pushing you against the nearest surface so he can kiss you, like he can't help it. "When we started messing around on stream."
He laughs into your mouth. "The first few times, I was sure you could see how red I was." You couldn't, but you remember your own reactions so clearly, back in college when you and Kenma were just starting to realize you were both adults.
"Why did this take so long?" you breathe, shuddering when his lips trail down the line of your throat, his tongue searing into your skin. "We could've been doing this the whole time."
He nibbles on your pulse, passes his tongue over it. Starts to suck on that spot. "I dunno," he mumbles. "We were socially stunted kids on the internet?"
You giggle, carding your fingers through his hair and tugging. He grunts, marking you in another spot now. You tug again, and he pushes his hips against yours, a warning. You sigh, your eyes shut and a smile on your lips when you feel how hard he is.
"I think I like pulling your hair," you admit, tugging again. He uses his grip on your waist to pull you into him harder.
"I think you think you're in charge."
"Am I not?" you sigh. "You're so soft. You let me do whatever I want. You always have."
He lifts his head away, golden eyes locked tight on yours. His gaze glints with the edge of something sharp.
"You just said it," he breathes, smiling. "I let you do what you want." He tilts his head when you start to shrink under his gaze, his smile stretching wide. "You didn't notice?" he coos.
You purse your lips, staring up at him. "Shut up, Koz," you grumble, tugging on his locks again.
He sets you on your feet before you can blink, and you realize in that moment that playing volleyball regularly since high school wouldn't have left him without something to show for it.
Your hands are ripped from his hair and pinned above your head without a single word from him. He just holds you there, trapped against the living room wall, his smile entirely too smug.
"Wanna take it back?" he teases, eyes passing over your embarrassed flush with glee.
You pout at him. "C'mon, Koz."
"Say 'please'."
You sigh. "Please, Kenma."
He lifts his brows. "Now say 'pretty please'."
You glare. "Fuck you."
You can't decide if that look in his eye — pleased, smug, victorious — makes you want to kick or kiss him.
"Not 'til you say 'pretty please'," he says, starting to laugh.
You groan, laughing because he is, and put on your best pout.
"Pretty please, Kenma?"
You watch his brain stop working. It's a beautiful sight.
You use the chance to rip out of his grasp. He blinks, surprised, but it's smothered by you throwing your arms around him and dragging him into another searing kiss. He moans, relenting and just pulling you close.
You stumble down the hall like that, half-blind and knocking things over without care. He slams his hand down on the wall multiple times to keep you from falling over and dragging you down with him. You just keep doing it, too busy kissing him to care if you end up on the floor. It's a dance — a clumsy, stupid dance — but you eventually make it to your room, shoving your back against the door and pulling him in with you.
You collapse on the bed together, the desperation taking over again now that you're here. Now that this is real.
His hoodie hits the floor first. Your shorts go next.
Nothing else makes it off of you.
He starts to moan openly, and you start to whimper into his mouth, his hips rocking you into the mattress again and again. You fist his t-shirt in your hands, keeping him close. He slips his fingertips under the band of your panties, tugging while he rubs his tongue against yours.
"Can I…" he whispers, his breath warm against your lips and his mouth falling back on yours right away. You nod, expecting him to pull them down.
He doesn't. He doesn't have the patience for it. He just slides his fingers between your legs and presses them against your clit. Your back arches, and you whine loudly into his mouth. His breathing grows more ragged while he touches you, and his moans fall out in time with yours, like he gets as much pleasure from touching you as you do from being touched by him.
Your high approaches too soon. "Kenma," you breathe, high-pitched and full of warning.
He stops immediately, shaking his head. "Not yet," he mumbles, still kissing you. You don't understand how it's possible that you haven't gotten tired of kissing him yet. "Wanna feel you around me when it happens."
You whimper, nodding. "Please? Now?"
He smiles against you, nodding along. "Yeah. Now."
He shoves his pants down blindly, barely letting them hit his thighs before he's reaching between your thighs again. A wave of chills crashes down over the crown of your head, flooding your body when you feel him pull your panties to the side and slide the head of his cock through your folds.
"Oh, my-" You shiver, moans falling past your lips without your permission.
He's no better, his breath shaky and quiet groans building in his throat. He shoves his lips against yours again, moaning down your throat when he nudges against your entrance. You hear yourself begging, hear yourself mumbling his name over and over again while you beg him to do it.
When he pushes into you, it comes with a moan that gets caught in his throat, his voice cutting off and his breath going with it. Your vision goes white, and you just cling to him, knowing he's going to have nail marks in his skin and holes in his shirt later.
"Please," you breathe, almost inaudible. "Yes, please, fuck-"
He isn't patient enough to bottom out. He just starts to thrust, bullying his cock into you little by little with each push of his hips. "Oh, fuck," he moans. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"
His pace isn't steady or even or anything remotely controlled. His hips stutter and twitch, and his moans get louder every time you clench around him. It's messy and desperate and neither of you cares nearly enough about making this perfect. You're too lost in each other, too lost in the fact that this moment was built over years of loving each other, of learning each other.
When he comes, it's with a trapped whine and your name, his forehead pressed to yours and the words 'I love you' slipping out as he pushes his lips against yours. When you come, it's much the same, his name on your lips like a mantra, your love washing over him in time with the flutter of your walls around him.
It takes several minutes — maybe even hours — for you to move, your body trapped under his and your mind completely content, warm.
You both fall asleep, sweaty and messy and completely at peace.
As you're drifting off, curled up in his arms, you mumble a question.
"How're we gonna break the news to chat?"
He just groans and pulls you closer.
