#also ty for the opportunity (cough excuse cough) to draw them again. i miss them sm

[sealovinq]

may i request kazubub being silly instead? 👉👈 hwdjkddhkhshjdg (hii btw i was literally in your inbox typing you a message when you posted this 😭 okay anyway drink water or smth pls. i hope you ate dinner by now also. squeezing you w all my affection through the screen <3)

the sillies 💜🧡‼️

(ref under cut)

[eccentricpony]

Hi, your kaomojis were so cute! UwU Could I request a movie theater date hc with Tenma? ty!!

Hey anon, thanks for visiting my page! I’d be happy to write this for you! I’m going to write in the style of bulleted imagine if that’s okay. My writing style is usually a usually a little campy humorous, a little emotional, a little sexy, and sometimes flowery.

I apologize if my tenses changed, or the style changed, but I just wanted to have fun with it. Maybe possibly a tiny bit implied NSFW but not really. 

·        You were determined to take Tenma to a movie theater as soon as you had found out he had never been to one.

·        Despite his fame, you had learned that this child star beau of yours had missed out on many opportunities that you had taken for granted growing up. Your boyfriend was an odd blend of mature and immature due to his isolation and the pressure to manage a full-time profession at the age of seven. Fame has a price, as they say.

·        He was hesitant at first – visiting a heavy traffic social scene meant donning sunglasses, avoiding eye contact… but you had already figured that part out! You’d be soliciting Monster Movie Night at the old theater-turned-cinema in the town square. You were sure Tenma would appreciate the 19th century theater aesthetic, and it was sure to have less attendees than the cinema at the mall.

·        And what better movie genre to experience in an old, darkened theater than a classic horror!

·        Yeah, no, Tenma was having none of that.

·        He claimed that the movie you chose had received bad reviews.

·        You then forwarded him the 97% fresh rating from RottenApples.com.

·        He argued that the antagonist of the film was an actor he had worked with before and it would be “too weird” to watch someone he knew go on a killing spree.

·        You proceeded to locate said actor on IFDB.com to find that he had passed away two years before Tenma was born.

·        The lake of excuses having run dry, Tenma agreed to pick you up at 1pm that coming Saturday.

·        Tenma was a bit more fidgety than usual in the back of his family limo. You assumed that it was date night jitters, which was so very precious. The old-fashioned theater marquee came into view, and you excitedly shuffled closer to the window. Nightmare on Birch Street! It had been ages since you had seen the film, and you couldn’t recall how the victims had all been killed… was it Chauncey who had been impaled by the school flagpole?  You continued to jabber excitedly, the exhilarated sentiments floating through your head remaining unscathed as Tenma had the common courtesy to feign a cough so you couldn’t glimpse his sour expression.

·        The journey from the ticket kiosk to the theater was uneventful. There were a few stares, and a “Aren’t you that kid? From the show? At that school?” but you made it to your seats in under 10.

·        Wow, they really renovated this place! It was a bit sad to see that the creaky wooden seats of the theater had been replaced with cushy, high-tech armchairs, but it was comforting to know you wouldn’t be suffering a butt-ache following the film.

·        Immediately, Tenma started messing with the seat like he was in a dentist’s chair. Leg rest up, back down, leg rest down, back straight, back flat. 123 degree angle…

·        “Don’t you have chairs like this at home, rich boy?”

·        “Yeah, but I never sit in my living room. There’s never anyone there.”

·        Oh. You held out the bag of popcorn as a peace offering. “Well, you know that you’re welcome at my house any time you like.”

·        “Yeah so I can recite the monologue from Shinobi Love Song to your mom for the 100th time? I’ll pass”

·        “Forget it, sunshine. It was hasty of me to assume you’d be able to find my house without the guidance of Igawa…”

·        Cheeky banter was the norm with the two of you, and you never tired of it. He handed you the box of Soup Patch kids with a feigned scowl as the lights in the theater began to dim. Leg rest up, back at a 95 degree angle was his final decision.

·        He figured he’d have sometime before the killing started, so he decided to try and pay attention to the overall plot and characters, in case you had questions for him later. So wait… the killer doesn’t actually murder them in real life, but in their dreams? What kind of late night, infomercial hour, made-for-TV junk is this…

·        Time to do the classic yawn and stretch. Smooth as a milkshake, he performed what he felt was a very believable yawn (practiced to a fault due to all of his roles as a too-cool-for-school hottie) and casually rested the stretch of his arm across your shoulder.

·        You had been dating for about 7 months now. You had been moderately intimate. For Tenma to put on this song-and-dance just to hold onto you was a surefire tell that he was nervous. You hadn’t even really considered that maybe he didn’t like horror. You just assumed that because he was an acting professional that he was also a film aficionado, and a fan of all genres, at that. Stop pigeonholing him! you reminded yourself. Sure, he was perfect to you, but you had to let go of those preconceived notions.

·        You turned and leaned closer to him, close enough to kiss. His throat constricted, he had heard there was more to these cinemas than just watching the movie. He prayed to God that this was your intention all along.

·        “We can leave if you’re not into it” you insisted into his cheek.

·        Pulse still quickening through his neck, he sat back and shook is head.

·        “Nah babe, it’s cool. I liked the…” He proceeded to regurgitate every possible fact he had learned about the film within the last 15 minutes.

·        Damn, so he was paying attention. You knew there was no point coaxing him to leave once he had made his mind up to stay, so instead you leaned forward and gave him a peck on the nose.

·        “You’re adorable.”

·        “Tch…” He bristled returning his back to the seat, but with the pouty pleased grin of a child who received praise for a shitty drawing. He watched as your eyes returned to the screen, and you flicked a few pieces of popcorn into your pretty mouth. Now what to do?

·        Anything but look at the screen, really. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow as the movie soundtrack reached a crescendo. He swiftly brushed them off into his already unruly ginger mane. He needed to distract himself, at least until the slicing and dicing had desisted.

·        What’s this hole for? Tenma located an out of place hole attached to the arm of the chair. It doesn’t seem to have a bottom, but it does taper off deeper down. Curiosity got the best of him, and he casually slid his hand down into the soft drink cupholder. That’s freakin’ weird, there’s nothing even down there. Dumb. And he promptly finds his hand very much stuck.

·        Shit, now what? Now he was really sweating. Some freakin’ great newspaper article this would make. “Teen drama heartthrob finds himself arrested not by the eyes of a young beauty, but the grasp of a plastic cupholder.”  His father would kill him, to be sure. He’d probably have to sign autographs for all of the firefighters who removed the plastic cupholder from around his sore wrist. Here he is, trying so very hard to be a man’s man, to weather the barbarism that is horror cinema just to impress you, and now he’d gotten his hand stuck in the metaphorical cookie jar like a damn kid.

·        He twists and pulls but he can’t get the heel of his palm back through the opening. He jerks his hand in frustration and elbows your flimsy paper cup of Canada Dry. Oh, so that’s what they’re for…

·        “Hey! You got ginger ale on me, what are you doing?” You cocked an eyebrow at his hunched form.

·        “Sorry, sorry! Yeah, I- I think I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me- hey! I think that guy in on a TV show with my father.”

·        Snapping your head back to the screen, you consented that the man did indeed work with Tenma’s father (you’ve told him this before, he’s one of your favorite actors, and now you need to remind him again why his acting is so transcendent that even in a horror movie he can make the most mundane gestures seem so…)

·        To Tenma’s great relief, it turns out ginger ale makes a passable lubricant. Using the splash that now trickled down his forearm, he twisted his wrist and managed to retrieve his very sore hand, tingling with pins and needles as he returned it to his lap. He sensed that you’ve finished your rant and offers a vacant smile. “Yeah… he’s a talented guy…” Crisis averted.

·        Back to all the crazy shit happening on Birch Street. Tenma blanched as the whir of a chainsaw could be heard offscreen.

·        “You okay? he asked, leaning over to comfort you which really wasn’t necessary whatsoever since you actually seemed extremely excited and not the least bit worried or bothered by all of the disgusting blood and guts and weird fleshy ceiling splayed onto the wall by the projector overhead.

·        Before you had a chance to reply, he nuzzled in close to you, his hair brushing your cheek as he snuggled next to your chin. D’aww. You wiggled closer, touching the side of your forehead to his as the shrieks of the Final Girl could be felt penetrating the very seat below you. Great acoustics.

·        Tenma wiggles his head into the crook of your neck to avoid looking at the carnage, murmuring an almost devious “Don’t be scared” into your ear before pressing a kiss to the column of your throat.

·        Your heart leaps into your ears at the sudden burst of semi-public affection; Tenma wasn’t big on PDA, and you were cool with that. He smelled like a mix of clean cotton and Cool Water (they still make that?) He didn’t really do much besides camp out there above your collarbone after that, but his ghosting breath gave you pleasant chills, so you didn’t tell him he was missing the best part.

·        You smelled like almonds and Freesia, he considered. His mother loved Freesia and she had planted them all along their estate courtyard, though she was rarely at home long enough to enjoy it. Tenma enjoyed sitting in the courtyard as a child. While the house was always eerily silent aside from the sterile hum of electricity, the courtyard was always full of tweets and twittering after school, and a discordant chorus of various chirping in the evening. That was what homes are supposed to be like, he had always thought. Chaotic and noisy, but full of life. It was his safe haven, and you carried the scent of it on your skin. You were his new sanctuary… a little pocket of protection from the pains of fake friends and real insecurities.

·        These are his last thoughts before he fell asleep. You realize he’s out like a light as the credits roll, and you feel a sliver of drool trail down your clavicle. Hot.

·        “Tenma? Hey!” He startles awake and you attempt to suppress a grin. “Hope it was a good dream.”

·        Tenma may not have book smarts, but he’s far from stupid. He knows that you know he hated it, and he knows that you know that he knows he was just playing the brave guy to shield his ego. He was beginning to confuse himself, so instead he focused on the core of the matter – he loved you enough to feign interest in something you liked, and you loved him enough to go along with it.

·        “They’re always great when they feature my favorite co-star.” He leaned forward and gave the bridge of your nose a chaste smooch.

·        Gahhh. The right side of your mouth pinches up in a grin. Damn you and your flawless smileyou’re your immaculate stage presence.

·        After he returned his hat and sunglasses to their proper place, with twin grins syrupy-sweet enough to make Yuki vomit, you exited the theater.

·        Once outside, he took your hand and pulled you off to the side of the theater, at the mouth of the little alleyway that led to a street behind the theater. His wide palm and long fingers felt warm and comforting, though rather sticky and smelling oddly of ginger.  

·        “Thanks for coming out with me. I know it’s a pain in the ass for you,” you offered before he could speak.

·        “Nah,” he deflects. “I’m used to it.”

·        You knew he still hated it.

·        “Plus, you’re worth it,” he added, feet shuffling and pink tinging the tips of his ears.

·        Butterflies, oh so many butterflies. Rolling onto your toes, you leaned up and kissed him. After a meager gasp of surprise, he returned it with fervor, nose brushing against yours as he experimented with a few different head angles. Sour Patch kids never tasted so good.

·        The thump of a closing car door was unfortunately audible above the sounds of your smacking mouths – Igawa was on the move and ready to shuffle the prince of teen dramas and his beloved to the safety of the Sumeragi Cadillac CT5. You groaned in unison, and not the good kind.

·        Dragging your mouths apart, your mutual stares shared a silent vow that you would find a way to pick this up again later. Without a word, you both emerged from the shadows, fingers tangled tighter together as you steeled yourselves for a lecture from Igawa on the dangers of lingering in crowded places.

·        You had no doubt there would still be plenty more adjustments to be made by both parties, and many a wall to gently tumble down. But that was a future nearly too resplendent to imagine, when where you were now was already a pretty fantastic place to be.