KENMA'S NEW NIGHTLY ROUTINE ଳ
PART 1 → PART 2
synopsis ଳ kenma thinks of you late at night, and gets a bit adventurous with his body.
content ଳ virgin!kenma jerking off to you (a lot of yapping before we get there, but we do get there!), fem!reader, mentions of reader having big enough tits for cleavage (I wish 😭).
word count ଳ ~1.4K
Ever since his parents got him his Nintendo as a kid, Kenma had been on a strict nightly routine.
Play until sunrise and make up the lost sleep during classes.
This was the norm for most of his peers. Until about 15, when they’d all added jerking off to the schedule. And since his presence was about as noticeable as a fly on the wall, he’d overheard every single story there is.
It was gross. Those guys did it in the school bathrooms, at their friend’s places—even in class. Back when he was in highschool, some ballsy ones would hide magazines in their desks and have their friends come see.
He wasn’t a prude by any means—Kuroo was his best friend, for god’s sake—but he…he’s never gotten the hype, to put it bluntly. He’s never felt horny or anything that would make a normal guy want to go to town with himself.
He’s never even liked a girl before, and he knows he doesn’t like guys. He doesn’t like anyone, except for Shouyo. Kuroo, too, on a good day.
But then…he met you. You met him, more like. He knew nobody in any of his college courses, and he was as happy as could be. He‘d finally be able to play his games and slack off homework without Kuroo on his ass.
Peace, quiet, and games. All he’s ever wanted.
But then you sat beside him—and this is crazy to say, but you were louder than Bokuto and Kuroo combined. He really wanted to kill himself.
Your friends would swarm around your connected desks, you’d never stop chatting him up, and worst of all, you were touchy. A crazy amount of it.
You’d touch his hair without warning, poke his cheek to get his attention and sing-song his name in the hallway as some sort of warning before jumping on him.
It got bearable when he learned you liked the same games he did. And when you helped him beat a hard boss, his dislike turned into neutrality.
He tolerated you. But you still made him uncomfortable.
You’d respect his space when he told you to stop, though he’d feel awkward right after. It just felt wrong. It was like a necessary evil that made you, you.
So he resigned and let you go ham on him. Expected it. Used it to measure your mood, even.
…He’s not sure he likes you. But he knows he doesn’t not like you. You’re the closest to like he’s ever had.
Kenma groans and lazily throws his head to the left. 2:43 AM. Why’s he even thinking about all this anyway?
His heavy eyes stay glued to the ceiling, his alarm casting a faint blue glow. Then purple, then pink, then red.
The red glow reminds him of the first and only time he tried. Tried to…uh. You know. Fit in.
It was a few years back, and he was lying on his back, facing the ceiling just like now. He only even entertained the idea when he overheard a guy say it was the best feeling in the world.
Kenma didn’t believe him, naturally, since he was pretty sure nothing felt better than getting a new game—a free one (bought by Kuroo)—but it’s not like he had any say. He’d never tried it.
Worst experience of his life. He couldn’t even get it up, so it was just flopping around aimlessly.
And he tried. He really tried, and that’s what was most embarrassing. He thought of boobs, and butts, and whatever explicit thing that should’ve gotten him the tiniest bit horny. Nope. Somehow got him even more flaccid.
He’s 19 now. And if he tried, the same thing would happen. Definitely. But…
No.
Kenma’s cheeks start to get warmer, and he reaches for his Nintendo.
Shit, it wasn’t charging.
The idea crosses his mind again, causing his blush to creep down his neck.
He reaches for his phone, but that’s not charged either, and he considers jumping out of his window for a moment. All to get him to stop thinking about it.
About jerking off to you, instead of to the faceless bodies he imagined years ago.
It wouldn’t work. Is his first thought.
Why do I even want it to work!? His second.
He doesn’t want to jerk off, you’ve got it wrong. He’s just having intrusive thoughts. Very intrusive ones.
He doesn’t even have anything as jerk off material—you don’t wear revealing clothes, and don’t get yourself in compromising positions. Those two are pretty much what make up the few mags he’s seen.
But he then remembers all the small instances in which his mouth went dry.
The first is the time you held his arm and your low cut top gave him a nice view. Then when you leaned over to pick up a pencil and he caught a glimpse of your lacy pink underwear.
When you wore stockings one day and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the way that they squeezed your thighs. When you were looking over his shoulder, and made him jump from your soft voice whispering his name.
He was wrong. It worked.
Kenma’s stomach drops at the odd, intrusive feeling of warmth and tension in his groin. He closes his eyes shut and he stays as still as a statue. Funnily enough, he thinks about boobs and butts—the ones he once tried to get off on—but ends up thinking about your body, and makes it worse.
A cold sweat beads up on his forehead as he opens his eyes and looks down. When he sees it through the sheets, that’s when it really hits. He’s hard. He’s actually hard—and it’s because of you. You!
Something must be wrong with him.
I’m not dealing with it, he decides, but his mind can’t stop drifting to you. About how soft your thighs probably would feel, how nicely his hands could cup them…
A deep pressure hits him in his lower belly, and the tension turns almost painful. Sweat now drips down his forehead. Fuck.
He sits up, and tries not to think about how wrong it is when he eventually lets his right hand venture beneath the sheets. His boxers are damp. His lower belly churns.
It gets hard to breathe when his hands go further. When they go underneath his boxers, to hold himself. Lewd is an understatement. He’s warm and slick, and it’s gross, but he doesn’t want to stop. God he doesn’t want to stop.
His breath catches when he gives himself a little stroke. His eyebrows furrow. His mind races with thoughts you. Reality mixes with fantasy.
Maybe you both find an empty classroom and you sit on a desk. He stands before you, hands gripping your thighs while you kiss his neck. You leave hickey after hickey and remind him to keep quiet.
Or you’re in his room. You have nothing on except for a shirt and those pink lace panties. You think it’s funny to climb on his lap while he’s gaming. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you barely pay attention to him while you scroll on your phone. One of his hands rests on your thigh, and the other traces the rim of the pink fabric. He gently rocks you against him, watching how you rub against the bulge in his boxers.
Yeah. He likes that one.
An ugly, whiny groan escapes him this time, and he’s panting desperately loud—like he’s ran a lap around the college campus. He wonders if you would catch on…If you’d pull his boxers down just enough so that all you needed to do was push the bridge of your panties to the side.
And you’d use him, you’d use him to get off and he knows it would feel heavenly. His grip gets painfully tights and he whines.
Not yet—hold it, Kenma. Is what you’d say to him, but he can’t. He strokes from his flushed tip to his base, up and down. Again..and again.
“Mmn..ah..” He pants, his thighs tensing. It’s barely been half a minute but he’s so, so close. “Haah..ha-”
The pressure moves from his stomach and gets a bit lighter, a bit ticklish when it gets all the way to his tip. With his mouth agape and his breath hitched, he cums on himself and his sheets.
He’s still catching his breath, chest heaving—reeling—before collapsing on his pillow, having passed out.
a/n ଳ sooooo? how was my debut? :D Icl, I’m really happy with myself on this one! If you have something to say because you loved it so much (teehee) PLEASE don’t hesitate, it would make my day :3
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