#kenma crack

onion rings & other deadly sins

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x gn!reader

Genre: crack. absolute crack. but with a dusting of fluff.

Warnings: mention of insomnia? also burning tongue on extremely hot onion rings, but that was well-deserved.

WC:1.1k

Summary: It’s the middle of the night, and Kenma smells something…s u s p i c i o u s. Could it be you, making tantalizing late-night snacks that make his mouth water?

(A/N): GUESS WHO’S BACK (but not really alksdjfhl). uhh i genuinely haven’t written in ages so please forgive me if this is absolute trash, and i don’t know when i’ll be able to write next since ap tests are coming up, and uhh i’m generally a Very Stressed Human Being right now so this might be a bit rambly and whatever but it’s FINE, everything’s FINE… request by @alpha-beta​ my beloved <3

Kenma awoke in the dead of night, throat parched. Or, rather, in the wee hours of the morning—technically. He didn’t have the best sleeping schedule.

Groping blindly at his nightstand, he let out a frustrated sigh as he realized that his handy glass of water wasn’t there.

Dang. He’d have to go down to the kitchen. There was no possible way he was going to be able to fall asleep after this.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, producing a feline yawn. Belatedly, he shoved his feet into the fuzzy bunny slippers you had gotten him for his birthday last year—pink, with floppy ears and small, beady glass eyes—and stood.

Wait.

He squinted.

There was a faint glowing light coming from outside the bedroom door. He took cautious steps forwards, cracking the door open slightly. No reasonable person should be awake at this hour, much less have the lights on. What an inexcusable transgression. An unforgivable error. A total and complete lapse in judgment—

He interrupted his own train of thoughts with another wide yawn. Fumbling with the handrails, he half-slid, half-stumbled down the stairs, still in a sleepy stupor, even with the light shining from below—exceedingly bright to his eyes, which were still accustomed to the dark.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he could tell that the light was coming from the kitchen. What’s more, there was a persistent smell of something delicious, the scent of something being baked in the oven. Were those…onion rings?

Suddenly, Kenma snapped wide-awake, his attention sharply focused. Gone was the sleepy, ruffled Kenma: in his place, there stood a Kenma with a growling stomach and a newfound appetite for warm, crispy, tantalizing treats at 3am. He quickly rounded the corner, feet skidding on the smooth wood floor of the rental house the team was occupying, and startling you out of your cooking-induced reverie.

“Eek!” You let out a sharp squeal, not expecting anyone to turn up and intrude upon your midnight snack. “Kenma!”

He didn’t respond; instead, he trotted right up to the oven and peeked inside, clearly trying to discern when the goods would be ready for consumption.

“They’ll be ready in five more minutes,” you answered his unspoken query, sounding a bit sheepish. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head—verbalizing things was for his awake-brain, not his sleep-addled and hungry one. You took it as encouragement and felt a bit less guilty about your midnight shenanigans.

As he poured himself a drink of water, you kept a vigilant watch on the golden, crispy onion rings toasting in the oven, careful not to let them burn. They had to be crunchy, yes, but just the right amount, no more, no less; Kenma was a bit like Goldilocks in that regard.

Without you noticing, Kenma crept up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder, pointing towards the sink. After his glass of water, he seemed more awake, his eyes a liquid amber in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen that you feel like you could fall right into within the blink of an eye. The sink in question was cluttered with various baking utensils, onion peels, and a vat (pot, but you sometimes liked to imagine yourself a witch) that had been emptied of its batter.

“From scratch?” His eyes were curious, a little bit pleading.

You smiled. “From scratch.”

His smile grew wider, and when the oven dinged, you turned around, oven mitts in hand, to take them out. By the time you turned back around, Kenma was already waiting at the small kitchen island, a large plate ready.

“Eager, huh?” You laughed at the way his eyes trailed the onion rings.

He nodded, reaching out to pluck one from the tray before you’d even set it down, then hissing in pain as his fingers made contact with the sizzling snack. You were about to open your mouth to admonish him when he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth—after knowing how painfully hot it was—and started panting with his mouth open to try to get it to cool down.

“Kenma!” You deftly moved the tray away before he could snatch another one. “Be careful!”

He smiled, then shook his head, resolutely chewing and swallowing the one in his mouth, which should’ve been about as hot as coal in a fire. “It’s good,” he said, somewhat muffled.

You blushed—his compliments, no matter how small, never lost that effect on you. “Well, they’ll stay good even if you’re patientandwait before you burn your tongue off. Or do you not trust my crunchy techniques?”

He stuck out a tongue—red, but not blistered, you noted—at you, then reached for another one. You were a bit more prudent, waiting a couple of minutes for the rings to cool down. A spark of something bloomed in your chest as you watched this utter goofball, this clown of extreme proportions, absolutely gorge himself on onion rings. His tousled hair glowed beach-bronze in the bright lights, and—not for the first time—you found yourself smiling at how unabashedly himself he acted around the people he was comfortable with.

“Hmm?” He pushed the tray towards you, brows slanted into a question, and you realized that you’d spaced out, probably staring at him all the while. You murmured a small “thanks” as you palmed an onion ring from the tray, now comfortably warm temperature instead of scalding-hot, and absentmindedly bit into it. The crispness of the batter, followed by the sweet, fragrant insides, was exactly what you were craving. They probably would’ve been better fried, but Kenma’s coach would probably have your head.

“You should make these more often.” You heard a small, contented sigh from Kenma as he licked crumbs from his fingers.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I already make them like, once a week. Any more and our apartment’s going to start smelling like a cheap diner.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He smiled, eyes sparkling with the promise of a future spar, one that you knew you were going to lose.

“Only if you make them with me,” you countered, the corner of your lip tugging upwards in a challenge.

“Fine.” He was smirking still, the lovely little bastard.

“At 3am in the morning, Kenma.”

“Insomnia. A deadly sin. But I’ll do it,” he retorted, “if you will.”

You sighed in playful defeat. “You’re making a deal with the devil, Kenma, and I’ll hold you to it. Swear on this pinky for onion rings”—you held out your right hand—“and on this one for other deadly sins.” You held out your left hand, winking.

Kenma twined his pinkies—both of them—with yours. “Onion rings and other deadly sins,” he said solemnly, “forever and always.”

Taglist: i’m actually going to rework my taglist since i haven’t written in so long & some of the people who used to be on there have now changed blogs so please message me to join my taglist!