Curate, connect, and discover
Kenma didn’t mind most positions.
He liked slow sex. Quiet sex. Something easy, something lazy—skin against skin while the rest of the world went quiet. He didn’t like being overwhelmed, didn’t like chaos, didn’t like the kind of intimacy that made him feel too seen. Too vulnerable. Too much.
But then there was you.
And you liked control. You liked watching him blush, watching his breath hitch, watching his hands tighten on your thighs as you rolled your hips just right. You liked when his focus shifted from the glowing screen in his hands to the way your body responded to him. You liked riding his face.
At first, Kenma thought he wouldn’t enjoy it. Not because he didn’t want to please you—he always wanted that—but because he assumed he wouldn’t be good at it. That he wouldn’t know what to do with his hands, or how to breathe, or how to make you come apart just from his mouth. He overthought it, worried he’d be awkward or freeze up.
But the first time you sat on his face? Something changed.
He liked the weight of you on his tongue, the pressure of your thighs trembling around his head, your hands fisting in his hair as you got louder, needier, completely undone. The way you moved, desperate and trembling, grinding down into his mouth like you couldn’t help it—it awakened something in him.
It felt powerful.
It felt intimate in a way he didn’t expect.
And that’s what made it his favorite.
Tonight, the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his monitor left on in the background, some menu music humming quietly in the silence. The air was warm, still, thick with tension as you straddled his chest, slowly shifting forward until your thighs framed his face.
Your knees hovered above him, thighs already trembling from anticipation, slick dripping down onto his waiting tongue as you tried to hold back—tried to be gentle with him.
Kenma wasn’t having it.
His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you down, anchoring you right where he wanted you.
You gasped, spine arching, one hand flying back to the headboard to steady yourself. “K-Kenma—!”
He groaned into you, eyes fluttering shut, tongue lapping firm, slow stripes from your entrance to your clit, flicking it with just enough pressure to make your hips buck.
“Sit,” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “Don’t run.”
You whimpered at the command. The heat pooling in your core flared violently, and you dropped your weight onto him with a moan. His fingers tightened in approval, guiding you to rock your hips slightly, grinding into his mouth at a pace he set.
That was what he wanted.
He didn’t need to see your face. Didn’t need to speak. He wanted your thighs around his head, your breath hitched and stuttering, your body twitching every time he dragged his tongue in just the right way. He wanted to hear the way you lost yourself.
You gripped the headboard harder, panting, your thighs starting to quiver. "Kenma, f-fuck, I can't—"
He moaned into you, nose nudging against your clit as his tongue moved faster, more deliberate, savoring every whimper you gave him. The vibrations of his groan made your hips jerk, your eyes fluttering shut as you got closer.
You were close. He could feel it.
Your thighs tensed, hips jerking, and suddenly your fingers were yanking at his roots, grounding yourself as you cried out, back arching. Your body bucked against his face, and Kenma didn’t stop. Not even when your orgasm surged through you, not even when your voice broke from how hard you were panting. He kept going, working you through it, tongue relentless, until your thighs twitched around his head.
Only when your hips tried to lift away did he ease up, licking you through the aftershocks like he was savoring dessert, mouth sticky with you, breathing heavy but content.
Your entire body was trembling.
You collapsed onto the bed beside him, flushed and panting, eyes glazed over and lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath.
Kenma wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gold eyes flicking over to meet yours.
“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse but laced with quiet amusement.
You nodded quickly, still catching your breath, then whimpered when your thighs twitched again. Your skin was buzzing, hypersensitive, your body limp with exhaustion and pleasure.
Kenma smirked faintly, eyes soft but smug. “Good. You were loud.”
You let out a breathy laugh, covering your face with one hand, still dazed. “Shut up.”
He pulled the blankets over you, kissed your cheek softly, and curled in beside you like he hadn’t just ruined you with his mouth.
Lazy. Soft.
Still your favorite gamer boy.
But now?
He had a favorite position, too.
Kenma Kozume had never been good with change.
He liked things predictable. Safe. Video games had taught him that if he kept his strategy consistent, if he memorized the patterns and played smart, he could survive anything. Life was just another game to him—one where he preferred to stay in the background, keep things stable, and avoid unnecessary risks.
But nothing about this felt stable. Nothing about this felt safe.
Because you were leaving.
Kenma sat on the floor of your apartment, legs crossed, a cardboard box in his lap. Around him, the room looked smaller than it used to, packed with boxes stacked high, shelves stripped of their usual clutter. The air smelled like old books, packing tape, and a faint trace of your perfume, and for the first time since he had known you, your space didn’t feel like home anymore.
Maybe because it wasn’t. Not for much longer.
You had been a part of his life for so long that he barely remembered what it was like before you. Since childhood, you had been there—first as a quiet presence at his side in elementary school, then as the only person who could sit with him for hours, gaming in comfortable silence. You never questioned the way he was, never pushed him to be anything other than himself. And as the years passed, you became his constant, his safe place, his person.
And now, you were leaving.
“So, you’re really going, huh?” His voice was quiet, neutral, but even he could hear the strain in it.
You looked up from where you were sorting through a pile of miscellaneous things—old letters, tangled earbuds, random trinkets you had shoved into drawers over the years. You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. It’s happening.”
Kenma’s fingers curled around the edges of the box. He had known about this for weeks now, ever since you told him about the job opportunity in another city. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He had told himself it wouldn’t change anything. That you would still text him, call him, visit when you could.
But now, with everything packed up and your walls bare, the reality of it all settled like a weight in his chest.
He had never thought about a life where you weren’t here. Where he couldn’t just send a message and have you show up at his door an hour later with takeout, where you weren’t sitting beside him on his couch, watching him play through whatever new game he was obsessed with that week. Where you weren’t just…
Here.
You sighed and flopped onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m kind of freaking out,” you admitted, voice light, almost playful. “New place, new people, new job. It’s exciting, but also terrifying.”
Kenma swallowed. He should say something. Something encouraging, something that made it sound like he was happy for you, like he wasn’t falling apart inside.
“You’ll be fine.”
You turned your head to look at him, and for a second, he thought you could see right through him. That you could tell he was barely keeping it together. But then you smiled—soft, familiar, warm.
“Thanks, Ken.”
He nodded, looking away. He focused on the box in his lap, on the way his hands clenched the cardboard just a little too tightly.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He had never needed to say anything before. He thought you just knew—that you had always known. That there was no rush, no deadline, no moment where he would run out of time. Because you were always here.
But now, you weren’t going to be.
And Kenma realized, too late, that he had never even given himself a chance.
The packing took hours, and Kenma stayed through all of it. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else, anyway. He helped you sort through things, separate what you were keeping from what you were leaving behind. Every item had a story, a memory attached to it. The hoodie he had lent you once and never got back. The game controller he had bought for you so you could play co-op with him. The tiny cat figurine you had won at a festival and insisted looked just like him.
All these little things that made up you.
All these little things that reminded him of what he was losing.
He wasn’t good with words. He never had been. He wasn’t like Kuroo, who could charm his way through anything, or Bokuto, who could wear his heart on his sleeve without fear. Kenma had always been quiet, reserved, hesitant. But when it came to you, his feelings were loud, screaming inside him, demanding to be acknowledged.
But he had never said anything.
Because what if he did, and you left anyway? What if it changed everything? What if losing you as a friend hurt worse than losing you to distance?
“You should take this,” you said at one point, holding out an old, well-loved game case. “We never finished it together.”
Kenma stared at it, then at you. “Then take it with you.”
“I don’t have my console anymore. Sold it.” You grinned sheepishly. “New city, new start.”
His grip tightened on the game. He didn’t like that answer. He didn’t like any of this. He had never been an emotional person, but right now, something bitter sat at the back of his throat, something wrong.
You were leaving. You were letting go of all these things, of this life, of him—and you were acting like it was just something that had to happen.
Kenma had spent years convinced he had all the time in the world. But time was up. And for the first time, he didn’t know what to do about it.
It was late by the time everything was packed. The apartment looked empty now, stripped of everything that made it yours. You stretched, yawning, then turned to him with an expression that was far too casual for what this moment felt like.
“This is it, huh?” You nudged his arm lightly. “One last night before I go.”
Kenma’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to nod. “Yeah.”
“Hey.” You tilted your head, watching him. “Are you okay?”
No. No, he wasn’t. Because this wasn’t fair. Because he should have said something sooner. Because he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that tomorrow, you wouldn’t be here anymore.
“Yeah.”
You frowned, unconvinced, but you let it go. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. Kenma stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, before his body reacted on instinct, arms lifting to hold you back just as tightly.
“I’m gonna miss you, Ken.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to memorize this—the feel of your arms around him, the warmth of you against his chest, the way your head fit perfectly against his shoulder. Trying to ignore the aching thought that this might be the last time.
He wanted to say don’t go. Wanted to tell you to stay, that you didn’t have to leave, that he—
But he didn’t.
Instead, he whispered, “Me too.”
And he held on for as long as he could.
I’ll update my masterlist soon while I’m on my little mini hiatus- only a week and half left of school, I’ll be back soon!!!
(In the meantime please leave request, I love getting them!!!)
-Liv xoxo
Idk if something’s off with my tumblr or what but like I’m just seeing the same stuff that I’ve already liked or reblog over and over in my dashboard and it’s just driving me nuts. And when I go to search manually for stuff I’m seeing the same stuff too or barely any new content.
I just wanna read fanfics bro why you gotta act up now :/
(I’ve tagged a bunch of my interests so if you have recs that you wanna give or tag me that’d be so wonderful my loves🫶🏻)