#im so socially clueless

[minecraftdog]

-

[3liza]

every time I see the big black "songs about fucking" cover i remember jakey bought a "funny" t shirt with the cover photoshopped so the lady was holding a bad poker hand. and I asked him what the joke was and he said "she looks mad because her cards are bad" and he wasn't being wry or ironical, that's just what he thought "jokes" were about half the time. a joke is when a familiar thing is slightly different. this got him enough false positives on his guesses about what a joke was that it just reinforced his lack of comprehension about the concept of humor. he kept buying t shirts like this, about half of them were actual jokes and the rest were either so lame they weren't actually even funny in a shitty tshirt way, but merely confusing, or were not jokes at all and instead were just "hey remember thing you've seen before?" but not even in a novel context or anything. but he thought they were jokes, and would laugh at them

I'm never going to be able to move past this because it's impossible to receive any sort of explanation for something the person holding the misapprehension believes to be self evident and thus inexplicable

[messmers]

i feel so stupiddddddddd

[eebie]

When school starts back up again im gonna search for people who will want to hang and watch movies

[blackvahana]

i am really never going to understand why people post "shifting antis dni" in the astral projection tag. "here practice that constantly gets appropriated by us and used as a weird justification for a new set of beliefs that aren't really based in the same reality you work with, and that also gets completely misunderstood by our community because we don't care to understand what you do and just pretend we know it's what we do like christians saying other religions worship the christian god, have a post! Also dni if you don't like our practice that has nothing to do with the one whose tag we just shoved this into"

if you're not astral projecting don't put shit in the ap tag. if you don't even know the difference between AP and RS I dont think your opinion holds enough weight to counter the pushback against flooding a separate practice's tag with "if you dont like the practice I'm talking about in your tags dni"

[strawberrysweater]

.

[gremmything]

Me: *telling my coworker what another coworker did*

Her: he doesn't do that with anyone else he's gotta be flirting

Me: but what iiiiiiiiif he's just not

*2 mins later he does smthn in front of her*

Her: *giving me the look*

U guys I cannot do this how do I handle this situation lmfao

[hecksupremechips]

Idk man I just need to hold hands with Kai Satou and I’ll be good

[friendofflowersandfrogs]

I love you, and I'll tell you all the time, but I worry you don't understand how much I mean it. I love you like the moon loves the earth, distant but ever present. I love you like roots love soil, finding safety and a sense of groundedness with you. I love you like a heart loves its body, ever supportive and attatched. It doesn't even need to be romantic; it is slightly to the left, but just as powerful.

But I'm too scared to tell you this. Maybe it's because we've never met (though I feel as if I've known you since childhood). Maybe it's because everyone I've ever loved this much never felt the same, and ended up drifting away. I've always been the girl left behind, the one walking behind on the sidewalk, the one the others won't remember when they graduate. And the funniest thing is, I think you know the feeling. I think you know what it is to love with every ounce of the blood in your veins, only to be left bleeding. I think we are both terrified of feeling like that again, and so we don't admit it to each other.

Then again, I don't really know you, do I? I know your soul, but not your life. Maybe you're not bleeding anymore. I hope not, honestly (you deserve only the best). Maybe it's just me who wants to text you my every random thought. Maybe it's just me who thinks of you every time I see the moon. Maybe you don't think of me back. And that's okay. I'm used to this one sided love. So long as you're happy.

(p.s)

[chron0ph0bia]

you parents constantly telling u the shit that you've been trying to unlearn surely is smth

[diarryy]

ugh i wrote a text in my notes app to this girl i’ve been flirty with but haven’t talked to in a bit asking if she wants talk. bro idk what i’m doing or if i’m gonna send it

[azsazz]

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

[megumishotgf]

fic recommendations ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ

here are some of my favourite fics currently!! yes most of them are smutty because i am a whore!! ♡

featuring: megumi, satoru, suguru, katsuki (+ a little yuuta + mikasa) credits to all these beautiful writers - pls check them out!! masterlist fic recs pt. ii pt. iii

: ̗̀➛ megumi fushiguro x reader

possessive megumi is tired of other men thirsting over you, including toji and satoru (fic: incredible... i come back to this all the time.)

first kiss with gumi leads to another first (fic: smutty but also so intimate i love it)

you ask megumi to rail you after ur ex cheats (he fucks you so good omg. part two of the fic this is the smutty part)

y/n is pregnant and craving donuts (manga spoilers, a little angsty but mostly cute fluff!!)

you worry megumi doesn't love you. he does (don't worry not angsty so cute and fluffy makes my heart swell!!)

late night call w/ gumi who is so crazy in love with you (im crying i love him)

clueless inspired stepcest with gumi (adding this with no shame it's so so good. soft dom gumi my favourite)

"pretend i'm a random girl at a bar coming onto you" (established relationship. so fucking funny and witty. thank u so much author)

finger fucking you until you squirt omfg (i'm going insane)

weed dealer megumi headcanons (smutty towards the end i love this so much)

megumi protects you from an ass then fucks you in his car (i love protective men)

ditching school to blow your nerdy skater boy gumi (school a.u omg!!)

: ̗̀➛ satoru gojo x reader

satoru finds footage of his teen years with suguru, y/n and shoko (angsty fic: this is so beautiful and could make me sob)

mating press with satoru (holy shit... he loses control of his technique cumming inside... i'm in awe)

y/n is suguru's sister and hates toru but eventually they fuck (i was hollering reading this it's so good)

satoru needs help cutting his hair. almost goes bald (this is so funny and heartwarming. a blessing from tumblr)

drunk satoru cries about your pussy being so good then comes home to fuck you good (deleted ya’ll someone PLEASE send me this fic if it is elsewhere!!)

your clingy situationship w/ satoru (he's so soft and in love...)

: ̗̀➛ suguru geto x reader

suguru lets virgin! satoru fuck his gf (fic: so good holy shit. one of my favourite fics ever. suguru is so soft for his girl)

you're fucking your best friends' father (college a.u!! suguru gets jealous and fucks the brattiness out of you. so so good)

social media au w/ your bf geto!! (so cute and funny!! there is a gojo version too!!)

suguru finds you during your 'sad girl bathtub hours' (comfort!!)

squirting shamelessly in his face (dream)

weed dealer! suguru corrupts you (dumbification kink go crazy)

: ̗̀➛ katsuki bakugo x reader

katsuki doesn't understand how attractive he is (drabble: katsuki is so fine but he only has eyes for you)

you blow katsuki while getting his car washed (taylor swift playing omg? so hot)

your kid shows you a beautiful (ugly) drawing, katuski dies laughing (so fucking funny have you seen the similar tiktok!!)

: ̗̀➛ yuuta okkotsu x reader

vampire! yuuta soothes your period cramps... (u know what this means. incredibly written)

: ̗̀➛ BONUS: mikasa ackerman x reader

drug dealer! mikasa (headcanons: a little smutty, gunplay and robbing men)

: ̗̀➛ multiple characters (drabbles)

jjk men as chubby chasers !! (toji, yuuta, gumi + satoru) (fellow chubby girlies you will go crazy for this)

jjk men + halloween costumes (toji, satoru, nanami + suguru) (so funny and accurate!!)

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser — Liebevoll

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 1k TYPE: Humor, Established relationship, some fluff WARNING(S): Kaiser is a cringe loser, my bad german makes a comeback (I was always on that damn phone in german class)

Since you’ve been trying to learn German (you gave some stupid excuse about how you ‘want to know what shit he talks about you when he thinks you don’t understand him’), a golden opportunity to mess with you has appeared in front of Kaiser.

Obviously being that your brainwaves aren’t completely inactive, you knew not to ask him and instead try a language app first because he’s not to be trusted.

Not possible on Kaiser’s watch, though. Nuh uh. What do you need an app for when you have a boyfriend who’s perfectly capable of lying to you for his amusement?

Your phone was dealt with (snatched and tucked in Kaiser’s back pocket, where you’d rather wretch than reach) three exercises in… So you’re still about as clueless as in the beginning. Now, Kaiser is subjecting you to his ‘tutoring’.

“When someone holds the door for you, you bow and say ‘Ich hoffe, du wirst von einem Auto angefahren.’ It means thank you, by the way.”

“Uh, that’s too long to mean thank you.” You look at him like he’s forcing you to say tongue twisters, suspicion clear in your expression.

Kaiser finds your wariness and lack of understanding really cute, mainly because he’s a condescending asshole. He reaches out to try and move your mouth as if that’ll somehow assist you in pronouncing it, but you pry his fingers away from your face before he can reach. It makes him snicker.

After a few tries, you get through that one. Then Kaiser forces you through the ordeal of sounding out that string of bullshit multiple times ‘just to make sure you really memorized it’.

Next, Kaiser says, “When you want the tab at a restaurant, you should say, ‘Kannst du auf meinen Teller scheißen?’”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Why do you think you know more than me? It’s my first language.” He smiles at you in a wannabe suave manner.

Reluctantly, you repeat it back to him, more than once.

His gaslighting is almost becoming convincing with his insistence on you retaining this information as if you’re actually gaining knowledge here.

But you decide to take everything with a grain of salt, anyway, no matter how compelling Kaiser’s acting may be. You’ll try to search these up later. At least if you can manage to spell them based on what you heard.

The nonsense continues on like this:

“When a guy compliments you, you should reply with ‘Sag das noch einmal, damit ich dich ausweiden kann.’ It means thank you veeeeeeery much, by the way.”

“Does everything mean thank you according to you?!”

“Aww, that’s a really cute grumpy face you’re making.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

Kaiser stares at you expectantly, scooting closer towards you and leaning in, his face inching closer towards yours. Disturbed (not swayed or affected at all, might you add!), you decide to comply.

He wonders what other stupid shit he should make you say. Even for a joyless and miserable person like Kaiser, it’s kinda difficult to stifle his laughter. Of course, someone as delusional as him would find entertainment in his own antics, but he’s doing a good job on not letting it show.

“After paying at the supermarket, you tell the cashier ‘Es gibt eine Leiche im Pausenraum’ and walk off immediately. It’s a social norm.”

What a shameless liar. You’re curious about what he’s making you say though, since he’s still not reacting when you repeat it back to him during this whole farce. The mischievous rat’s game is on point.

You continue to go along with it, though, since your intrigue is also making you want to learn them all so you can actually look them up after all this. In fact, you drop asking him about it regardless, pretending as if you let down your guard and believe him now.

This leads Kaiser to being more comfortable, testing the waters in a different direction, assuming you won’t think anything of it.

“You should greet me in German every time you see me as practice,” he says. “With something like ‘Du bist sehr schön.’”

Kaiser thinks he’ll think it funny because you rarely compliment him, but he finds himself liking it a little once you repeat it to him. Then he makes you say it again and again, aiming less to deceive you into thinking he’s dedicated to your linguistic education and more so for his satisfaction.

But Kaiser ignores this strange happiness. He tricked you into saying it, so it’s whatever. Doesn’t mean anything. In fact, he’d be a stupid microbe to dwell on it.

Once he strays down that part, though, it keeps escalating.

“Mit dir ist alles besser." - That’s probably the opposite of how you feel, so Kaiser finds some kind of humor in it conceptually. Then hearing is too much to his liking again.

“In deinen Armen fühle ich mich geborgen." - You’d never think something like that, god forbid you utter it out loud… What’s wrong with him? It’s supposed to be comedic. He’s pranking you! Punking you. You’re a gullible idiot!!! He like, got you so good or whatever.

"Du machst mich glücklich.”

When you parrot that one back to him with more ease, since it’s more on the simple side, Kaiser stares into your eyes with a kind of seriousness you find disconcerting. You expect him to demand you say it again so he can be sure you remember it, though the frequency of this request died down more and more with each phrase you spoke.

The silence stretches. You continue to gaze at each other with an almost bizarre confusion between you two.

Is he making you say things he yearns to hear deep down? Or is he finding an excuse to tell you things he’s reluctant to admit? Both options are pathetic and beneath him. And he also really can’t tell which one it is, either.

“Can you say it again?” asks Kaiser, more tender in tone.

“Du machst mich glücklich?”

You’re not a very affectionate couple. It’s to your surprise that Kaiser wraps his arms around you with tentativeness, like he’s skirting around something, then presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. Despite your puzzlement, you return the embrace, pulling him closer.

Now you’ve got to find out what it was to warrant all that from him for sure. Guess you’ll be utilizing speech to text later…

Ich hoffe, du wirst von einem Auto angefahren = I hope you get ran over by a car Kannst du auf meinen Teller scheißen? = Can you take a shit on my plate? Sag das noch einmal, damit ich dich ausweiden kann = Say that again so I can disembowel you Es gibt eine Leiche im Pausenraum = There’s a dead body in the break room Du bist sehr schön = You’re very beautiful Mit dir ist alles besser = Everything’s better with you In deinen Armen fühle ich mich geborgen = I feel safe in your arms Du machst mich glücklich = You make me happy I was writing a WIP with a premise I've never done before, but it got difficult to write whihc annoyed me, so I wrote this which is something that ive quite literally done before instead #StayStagnant

[basketobread]

WELL IF THIS ISNT JUST THE CUTEST THING I DONT KNOW WHAT IS!!! THANK YOU SOOOOOOO MUCH FOR INCLUDING LUNARA IN YOUR COMIC THIS IS SOOO ADORABLE <33333

Gale: Don't you mean grant me strength? Mydia: -blank stare in rogue with 8 strength- No. wanted to try my hand at a cute, simple style to maybe make comics. Need to figure out Mydia's hair anyway, and I just wanted a reason for her to yell "GALE!?" at the top of her lungs because that's just been the mood between them Borrowed Lunara from @basketobread because the guiding bolt incident was the inspiration for all of this. Lunara's a cute bean

[chaepink]

Hi i really loved ur content about submissive Kenma. Can u write a fic about kenma again🥺🥺 like the reader was so jealous because some ramdom girl is flirting with kenma. Thats why she ended up fucking him all night u knaurr

jealousy, jealousy | sub!kenma kozume

wc: 1k+ words | masterlist

dom!reader, pegging, possessiveness/jealously, begging, jealous sex, aftercare is mentioned though its not written, established relationship, slight crying

note : oh my god thank you! 😳

and im sorry but i forgot to write how the reader kept fucking him all night :,)

"Oh hello~ you're rather cute, aren't you?" You ignore the voice, thinking it was just a girl hitting on a random person. That's until you hear the high pitched voice again asking the person for their number, except it was closer this time and a familiar voice answers afterwards.

"N-No thanks... I'm not i-interested.."

You stray your attention from the item in your hand to the familiar voice and furrow your eyebrows when you see the scene.

Kenma, who's your boyfriend to make it clear, being flirted on by this clueless girl who, though he denied her advances once already, thinks she still has a shot and keeps on trying to talk to him. She's getting rather close to him too, making him have to take small steps backward in order to keep the distance between them comfortable, a slight blush on his cheeks.

You feel anger bubble up inside your body as you furrow your eyebrows, glaring at the girl. You know the emotion you're currently feeling loud and clear: jealously.

Knowing how Kenma hates being social and would rather stay inside and play video games over anything else, your boyfriend is probably hating all the attention that he is currently getting from her. Hell, judging by the facial expression he has on it seems that he would rather be anywhere else than at that very spot.

Having dated him for a while now, you know the poor boy won't find it in him to be able to find the words to shut her down directly. That's where you come in.

Taking a few deep breaths, you calm yourself down before you mindlessly do something you would regret. Walking towards the two, Kenma sees you and his eyes immediately light up, begging you to help him out of the situation.

Grabbing his hand more harsher than you meant, you immediately begin walking towards the cashier section while completely ignoring the girl right there.

"C'mon, babe. I'm done getting everything."

Kenma blushes at the venom in your tone. He could feel the jealousy radiating off you and honestly? It's rather hot.

But he can't help but be nervous about what's going to happen to him.

---

"P-Please! i'm s-sorry!" He lets out another sob as you hit all the right spots in him with your strap. Due to the sheer size of it, it fills him up almost too perfectly, making him whine and whimper underneath you as you continue to pound his insides.

Tears brim his eyes as you brutally fuck him stupid. All he can do is lay there as pleasure courses through his body in waves making him unable to do anything without being shocked with pleasure seconds later. He's a pillow princess, really, but oh do you love it.

Mere minutes if not seconds after you entered the shared apartment between you two do you already have him trapped on the bed underneath you, one of your biggest straps entering and exiting him easily and quickly due to prep. His top half is still covered by a hoodie as you were too focused on revealing his bottom half.

"Oh don't worry, baby." You clench your teeth. Your thighs are absolutely burning but you don't dare stopping for even a second. You remember how touchy the girl was being with Kenma and you speed up your thrusts even more, jealously fueling your adrenaline. "I know you're sorry. Just gotta make sure that the next time that girl sees you-," you start to say. "Well the next time anyone has their eye on you, they'll see the hickeys on your neck and decide to leave what what's mine alone."

A shiver runs down Kenma's spine as your possessiveness makes blood run far down his body. His hands make its way into your back, latching on and digging his nails into your skin, making you hiss from the slight pain it causes. The grip you have on his hips is hard enough to leave a mark but it allows you to easily fuck in and out of him and be able to control the pace.

"You're mine, yeah? No one else's. Mine."

He whimpers as a particular thrust of your strap has him arching his back and letting out a almost pornographic moan. Fuck, he looks absolutely breathtaking right now.

"Y-Yes- fuck! I'm y-yours."

You latch your teeth onto his neck and bite down, making Kenma mewl out from the slight pain. Making sure to leave a few more bite marks and love bites, you lick a few to soothe the pain. You don't care if they only stay for a few days, knowing you would leave more in the near future.

"Fuck- i'm close!"

With that information, you switch from quick, hard thrusts to slower, deeper ones that make Kenma's toes curl and eyes roll from the sheer pleasure he's feeling. He lets out another moan.

"Go on, baby. Cum for me, alright?"

And with that, Kenma lets loose. Whines, moans, and whimpers fill the room as your boyfriend stains the bed and his hoodie with cum. You continue slowly fucking him to ease him down from his high and Kenma whines from sensitivity when you pull out, leaving him to clench around nothing.

"Good boy," you say, kissing his cheek. He blushes red from the praise, almost as if you weren't fucking his brains out mere seconds ago. "You did so good for me." You're about to leave to clean him up until he grabs your arm, stopping you. You raise an eyebrow at him.

"Um... w-what about you though?" It takes a moment for you to process his question but once you do, you can't help but smile.

"Aw sweetie," you coo, making him blush even harder at the new pet name. "Don't worry about me, I'm just glad you enjoyed it."

As you go and get a wet towel to clean him up, he reaches to his neck and gently touches the hickeys and bite marks you've left there. Though it hurts as he slowly presses down on a bruise and he has to stop himself from letting out a whimper, he can't help but smile, a dark blush adorning his cheeks.

He's yours.

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

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