#or that it doesn't count because of his senses

[m1ssed-m3ssages]

Oh my God. I love this.

Adding to this, from akechi's angle (because God knows I, an Akira fictive, do NAWT want to dive headfirst into my emotions)-

Similarly to Akira, akechi's instant reaction when hit with the fear SE is to call for joker. No, not Akira- he can feel the difference between the two, Akira was the awkward, sympathetic teenager who loved the craft of coffee and curry and pretended to miss his hometown, but joker was the suave, flirty, tactics-focused leader who put his team before anything else in the world, and knew the metaverse like the back of his hand.

He didn't place his life and safety into people's hands for fun, so Akira had really earned it. If he did just trust anyone he tolerated, he would have had a partner-in-crime by now. But he doesn't, and the only person he's ever offered to pair with and take a step back from leading was for joker. His rival.

Now, actually talking about the fear status effect- I can imagine the feelings provoked for akechi were the ones when he was a little kid, on the days he would be waiting for his mom to fetch him from the hot springs and she would be later than usual, sitting in the hot water thinking "is she on her way? Is she okay? Oh God, she's dead isn't she?".

That, or the emotions of having to acknowledge that joker surpassed his strength, duelling in the metaverse.

Or maybe when he had gone 8-1 with the phantom thieves, and couldn't hold out and defeat them, even with Loki? Or maybe it was all of that at once, not even akechi really knows.

He calls for joker because even with him being the name of akechi's existence (no, he will not acknowledge that that feeling may be jealousy) he was the one constant force that akechi could count on, despite how ironic it was to do so with someone literally called the wildcard. Leblanc feels safe, but it feels like what akechi could only imagine home had felt as a kid, under a different circumstance when Akira (not joker, joker rarely stepped foot into the cafe) was there.

Joker was someone he could count on, and the person he was outside of the phantom thieves' work- Akira- was someone he could tell things to. So, naturally, when he is hit with fear, he craves the comfort akira brings, even if he refuses to look it in its eyes.

The thieves are confused- who wouldn't be, if they didn't have the metaphorical claws joker does to slice through the meaty flesh and bone of akechi's metaphorical chest and puncture into his metaphorical heart- they thought akechi and Akira were rivals? So why do they seem to ask for (or, formerly they thought avoid out of fear) one another?

It's a little funny to imagine akechi/Akira comforting Akira/akechi while the other thieves are like "didn't akechi shoot him in the head and Akira accidentally lead him to his death??".

Sorry if this doesn't make sense, I'm a connoisseur on all things Persona-5-rambling.

Thinking (again? Has anyone done this?) of Joker saying Akechi's name during Fear status and literally everyone assumes it's because he's flashing back to the interrogation and his near death experience.

Those present try to push Akechi away from him, when the affects seem to linger, and Akechi himself at first assumes this is the case as well.

They assume that the way Joker is looking around frantically is because he's still sure Akechi is "after him."

Except when Crow loses patience and slaps him out of it with a clawed hand and everyone (aside from Sumire) expects the worst, Joker doesn't freak out and run.

No, he relaxes and instantly, sheepishly, starts to calm down.

Akechi brings it up again when he self-destructively tries to push Akira away by reminding him of it, saying "a part of you is still scared of me, don't deny it-" only for that to make Akira laugh, angry.

He isn't scared OF Akechi. He isn't saying he never had been - it was terrifying, potentially facing death while powerless. But no.

When he's hit by Fear, the worst thing it dredges up is how he felt after Futaba said she couldn't find his signal, that he'd just heard Akechi die behind a barrier he couldn't get past.

It's the worst possible thing for Akechi to hear. It scares him, that trying to push Akira away won't work, that Maruki has his life as such a high value bargaining chip in Joker's eyes and Joker doesn't even know it, and it scares him in general that someone might actually care about him so much.

It means that Akechi outright knows that on 2/2 he's forcing Akira to create another new worst memory of losing him again.

And when he wakes up alive, it adds even more pressure to the idea of letting Akira know he's fine - because if he admits it, then he has to face the ordeal of being loved so much, so powerfully.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 8, A moment of bliss

Masterlist Word count: 3.5 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Hi everyone. Enjoy Sylus being a switch/bottom for this one. He won't be for every chapter, but he's desperate and you've been waiting for this sooooo... I do want to remind everyone that this is my first time writing a smutty story. I hope it makes sense. <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

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'And then he slept over,' you tell Zayne over the phone and quickly add, 'we just cuddled. It was nice.' He doesn't need to say anything for you to know he disapproves. Just wait, he'll tell you that you shouldn't invite men you don't know over to your apartment. Especially not types like Sylus. 

'That's nice. He deserves something good in his life.' "What?!" 'Are you still there?' You probably stayed silent with your jaw on the floor a little too long. Maybe you shouldn't be too surprised. When you showed Zayne a picture of Sylus he looked physically pained, but not in a fearful way. It was empathetic. 

'Yes, yes, I'm still here, sorry. I expected you to lecture me on inviting strange men into my apartment,' you admit. 

'I would, but I know this man. I think he's a good one,' Zayne admits, 'I'm glad you ran into him. Seems the type for you.' Fair enough. Zayne has listened to you whine about men often enough to be glad you're finally actually like one. There's a knock at your door and a rush of nerves goes through your system. 

'Oh, that must be him,' you tell Zayne, 'I'll call you later, okay? We still need to set a date for our annual trip.' 

'Sure. I'll talk to you later.' His voice sounds amused, almost like he's smiling through the phone. You feel a little flustered. He probably picked up on your tone change when you heard the knocks on the door. 

'Bye.' You put your phone in your pocket and walk towards the door, stopping in front of the hallway mirror to check yourself one last time. Outfit, comfy but cute. Hair, eh, good enough. Makeup, minimal but nice. You pull the door open to reveal Sylus in a barely buttoned black blouse and slacks. Now you feel awfully underdressed in your jeans. Are you sure you agreed on dinner and a movie at his place? This looks like he's taking you to a 3-star dining and rented the whole cinema. 

But, you should have known he was going to be dressed like that. After all, it was the same outfit he wore in his newest video. The one he posted today, earlier than he usually does. In a way, you feel like he did it to tease you. Especially since it wasn't all that erotic. It was just him sitting back against the headboard of his bed with a book in his hand, reading the most utterly horny smutty chapter you've ever heard in your damn life. It nearly made you fall off your chair running to your room to masturbate, but you decided against it. The night's still young after all. 

The chapter stuck with you though. Because it wasn't all that horny because of the actual sex happening, but more because of the love between the characters. To be desired so carnally, to be loved so openly, is a fucking turn on. 

'You look beautiful,' he notes, taking all of your thoughts away with one look. The way his eyes rake over you, you feel like you're a marble statue in a museum. Loved, admired, valued, but most of all, beautiful. A blush spreads on your cheeks. 

'Thank you. You look nice too.' 

'Just nice?' 

'Stunning.' The nerves don't calm down and you're not sure why. You've already had him in your bed, you kissed him, cuddled him, let him... Why are you blushing at the thought of it now? Is it because this is a proper date? It's not even that serious. It's just dinner and a movie at his place. 

'Ready?' He offers you his arm. You nod and place your hand on his forearm. It's awfully proper, but it does feel very nice to be treated so respectfully. 

'I have to say, I was expecting a kiss,' you admit. He grins and leans down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Nothing special, just a gentle greeting from a lover. 

A lover? No, more than that. It feels like home. Like you've been kissing his lips for years, but the spark is still there. Like this is how it's meant to be. Like he is completely and utterly in love with you, and you feel the same. 

Shit, you're in love. 

Sylus leads you into his apartment. The one time you were in there, you didn't really take in his decor. It's very much him. The whole place is made up of black, white, some dark wood tones, yet it still feels warm. It might be because he has taken a page out of your book with all the candles he's lit around the apartment. The dining table is set beautifully. There's red wine on the table already, along with a beautiful bouquet of deep red roses that look almost velvety. There's some music playing that feels slightly suggestive but not enough to comment on. 

'Wow, you really went all you,' you note. You feel his arm slip from your grasp and around your waist to pull you closer against him. He looks down at you with the lightest flicker of a big smile. 

'For you, I'd rearrange the stars if you asked me to. Now go sit down. Food will be ready in a bit.' 

Sylus stands behind the stove while you take a seat at the table. Of course, you take the seat across from the kitchen so you can watch him work. The way he slightly is swaying and softly humming along with the music is truly a vision to behold. A domestic vision. A vision of a future you'd like to live. 

He looks over his shoulder, seeing you leaning on your palm, elbow on the table, staring at him. You feel your cheeks heat up again but no urge to look away. Instead, you smile at him and he smiles back. He picks up the pan and walks over to the table, setting it down in the middle between the two plates.  

'Pasta alla Norma. Say when,' he says as he starts dishing out the food on your plate. You nod your head to him after a bit, having a very generous portion of pasta on your plate. He does the same for himself and grabs the wine to uncork it. All of it goes so smooth, so fluent, like every motion of his is perfected. 

And so is the food. It's not that special of a pasta dish but it's made so damn well. 'Is there anything you can't do,' you joke, 'I might just have to marry you right here and now.' His lips quirk into a smile. 

'Are you sure, sweetie? We barely know each other,' he teases back, 'what if I turn out to be a serial killer?' 

'Then I'd die a happy death.' Even though you are joking, somewhere in the back of your mind you know that it's true. You've never had a connection to anyone before like you have with him. It's new and exciting, but most of all it feels right. 

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The dinner is mostly uneventful, except that Sylus got some sauce on his clothes. He claimed it was because he was admiring you, but you saw him struggle to get the bite on his fork properly. However, this one time you decided not to tease him because you do want to cuddle up to him during the movie. 

At least, that was the plan. Pure innocent cuddling.  

Seems Sylus has different plans. You're sitting leaned against him, knees pulled up onto his lap, his arm around you, but for about ten odd minutes now his free hand has been tracing figured on your thigh. Each passing moment he seems to get a little bit closer to your inner thigh. 

The teasing gets you hot and bothered, which only makes Sylus smirk. You don't have to look up at him to know. He moves his other hand from your shoulder to your waist, his thumb gently rubbing your skin so that your shirt starts riding up until you feel his touch on your skin. 

That's when he shoves his other hand between your thighs, so close to your core, pulling a gasp from your lips. As you smack your hand in front of your mouth and look up, you can already feel Sylus’ laugh rumbling through his chest. You won't stand for that shit. 

With one swift movement, you sit yourself on his lap. Hands gently draped over his shoulders; hips so close to his but not quite close enough. He hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you right on top of his bulge. The friction makes you gasp, but you try to keep a straight face. 

'We're not watching the movie, are we,' he asks suggestively. You move your hands to the buttons of his shirt and start undoing them slowly, one by one. In response, his hands start roaming over your hips, your thighs, they grace your ass and lower back. You feel yourself start to grind against him ever so slightly. It's almost involuntarily and gets more intense when you see how much Sylus is blushing while trying to keep a straight face. 

'Don't know why you're asking me. You're the one who started it.' Your hands get to the bottom button that you can still see. Instead of undoing it, you splay your hands out over his stomach, exploring all the skin you've freed as you rake your nails over the lean muscles on his stomach. 

'Mmm, I know sweetie, but consent is sexy,' he groans, moving his head towards your shoulder, he presses a kiss under your ear, 'do I have your consent?' 

'You do,' you say breathlessly, moving your hands behind his neck, entangling your fingers in his hair as you grind on him a little harder. He gently bites the spot he just kissed as a reply and grips your hips roughly, guiding you over him while he bucks up at you. His breathing becomes labored as you two dry fuck like a bunch of horny teenagers. 

He moves his head to kiss your lips. It's all tongue and teeth, desperately chasing a high. Somewhere in your mind you had expected Sylus to be cool, calm, collected when it comes to sex, but seeing him this excited because of you gives you confidence the likes of which you have never experienced. 

Suddenly, he drops his head back to your shoulder and bites down as his movements become less rhythmic. He stops moving all together and looks up at you with big eyes, staring up at you like you're made of pure stardust. 

'Did you just-' 

'Yes.' 

'Because-' 

'Because an angel was riding me.' A grin spreads across your face. He came in his pants like a fucking teenager because of you. That's so fucking hot. If he starts praising you any more you might just become a nightmare to deal with. 

'Wanna do it again without clothes?' 

'More than you could ever imagine.' He grabs your ass and stands up with you in his arms. A yelp slips from your lips as you quickly grab his shoulders. There's that smirk again. Shit, this could be the switch Olympics at this point, that way that you keep flipping. 

Being in Sylus’ bedroom is slightly strange. You've seen it from all angels before, even though you've never been there before. He lays you down on his bed and you see yourself looking back on the ceiling. For a second, your mind is completely lost until you realize that there's mirrors on his ceiling. Strangely, that doesn't surprise you in the slightest. 

Then, you see Sylus taking off his shirt. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him as he undoes the button on his jeans. A devious idea pops into your head and you grab his hand to stop him.  

He watches you intensively as you switch places with him so he is seated at the edge of the bed. His eagerness to touch you has a hold on him but he's trying so hard to let you do whatever. You take his hands and guide them to the hem of your shirt. Then, you slide them up. He quickly catches on and helps you take your shirt off, revealing a beautiful black lace bra. 

'Shit,' he cusses under his breath, tossing your shirt somewhere in the corner. His hands move to your jeans and undo the button and zipper. One peek at your matching undies has him groaning. He helps you step out of your jeans and grabs your hips gently, pulling you towards him. You put your hands on either sides of his face. His eyes are on yours, but they keep flickering down to your lips while his thumbs gently rub your hips. 'All this for me?' 

'All for you.' Your voice comes out sultry, seductive. Nothing you've ever sounded like before. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him, and kisses you slowly. 

'You look beautiful,' he mumbles against your lips, drunk off your body and the lingering thought of being inside it. He finally peels himself off your body and switches sides with you again. 'Lay down. I'll be right back.' 

'Don't leave me,' you whine as you grab his hand. He stops for a second, physically restraining himself. 

'Condom,' he says and lets go of your hand, disappearing into the bathroom. You decide to sit on your knees in the middle of the bed, eagerly awaiting his return while you soak through your panties. It takes him less than a minute to come back, and when he does his jeans are already off. You eye his bulge with your mouth slightly agape. Sure, you had seen it before, but everything looks smaller on a phone screen. He catches the worry in your eyes as he puts one knee on the bed to be closer to you. 'We don't have to-' 

'Shut up,' you quip, 'I'll be fine. Just go slow.' There's that grin again. With one hand, he reaches behind you and unhooks your bra with ease, with the other he hands you the condom, then he guides you onto your back. You try to take off your bra as you lay, but he grabs your hand and guides it to his hair. For a second, you don't understand but then he dips his head down and starts kissing your chest, slowly making his way over your clothed nipple and kissing it, leaving a wet spot on the lace. With his other hand he pushes the straps off your shoulders.  

Within seconds you are reduces to a whimpering, moaning mess. Your legs spread to make room for him and he gratefully takes his place between them. Sylus finally grabs the bra and removes it, joining it with your shirt and pants on the floor. His hand returns to your breast quickly, his hand gently massaging it while his lips make their way down lower. 

Slowly but surely, he reaches your panties and places lingering kisses just above them. Your hips buck up towards him and you hear the rumble of his rich chuckle. 'Sweetie, you know what you do to me. I fear I might not survive if I spend all my time between your legs.' 

'And I fear I might not survive if you don't fuck me right now,' you groan, giving a firm thug on his hair. You hear him gasp and it goes straight to your pussy. You cuss under your breath as you look down at the smug smile he wears. His fingers hook under your panties and pull them off. They join your other clothing on the floor. 

'You're soaked,' he notes, satisfied. 

'And you're not inside me yet.' Another rumbling laugh as he reaches for his own boxers and pulls them off in a swift motion. Shit, he's big and... are those- 

'They'll feel good. Trust me,' he promises as he watches you look at the two piercings making up his frenum ladder. You reach out to touch it and he lets you. He shivers under your touch as you run your hand over the metal beats on the underside of his dick. 

'One of these days I'm going to make you fuck me raw,' you say, not really realizing what you're saying as you're completely enamored with his dick and piercings. 

'You can't say stuff like that. I'm trying to go slow,' he almost gasps for air with every word and snatches the condom from your hand to quickly roll it on. You watch him lean over you, one of his hands firmly planted next to your head, the other guiding his cock towards your entrance. 

'Fuck slow.' You wrap your legs around him, pulling him towards you. He slips inside easily but goddamn it's a fucking stretch to say the very least. All you can hear is a mixed chorus of groans and gasps. He doesn't move his hips as his eyes study your face, fearing the discomfort he sees might be too much for you. However, you could care less. You feel so incredibly full and ecstatic to be spending the night with him that you might just burst right now. You reach out for him, grabbing his shoulders to pull him down for a kiss. 

'Are you alright,' he asks, holding off the kiss until he has your ok, 'I'm all the way in.' 

'I'm fine. Just kiss me and please move. I need it so fucking bad,' you beg. He does as you say, crashing his lips on yours as he sets a painfully slow tempo to get you used to him. You feel like you're going to snap if he keeps this up. 'Please move faster.' Your words sound more like a moan. 

'Are you sure, sweetie? You seem to be enjoying it just fine.' He looks down at you with pure amusement. Seems he's in a mood. You quickly shove his arm and manage to turn him on his back, not that he puts up much of a fight. 

'I thought you wanted me on top,' you tease back, sheeting yourself on his dick in one motion before he can even respond. Sylus lets out a low groan, throwing his head back and clawing at your hips for something to hold on to. 'Are you going to be a good boy for me and let me ride you?' 

'What happens if I say no.' 

'You'll have to find out.' He nods in response and makes himself comfortable on the pillows. You take that as your go ahead and set an absolutely feral pace. He was right about those piercings. They feel amazing.  

The horniest gasp you've ever heard slips from Sylus’ lips as he turns bright red in the face. His hands move down to your thighs, nails digging into your skin. You'll certainly have bruises tomorrow. 

'Does that feel good,' you ask him as you lean down a little, planting your hands on his chest, nails raking over his pecs. 

'Yes,' he moans, looking absolutely beautifully drunk on you. You feel your high approaching, as does he from what you can tell. He's so close to unraveling and it's beautiful. You wish you could capture this moment, keep this feeling bottled up on your nightstand.  

His hands move back to your hips as he suddenly plants his heels against the mattress and starts trusting up into you, hitting new highs deep inside of you. Highs that no one has ever hit before. Highs that you want him to hit each and every day. He's addicting. Your whole body is tingling as you lean closer towards him, trying to keep up with his pace while you kiss him. He seems too focused to kiss you properly. It's a mess of spit, biting, teeth clanking, and it's so fucking hot. You lick down his neck as you feel your high approaching so fucking fast. 

And there it goes. You hear an animalistic groan next to you, feel it rumble through his chest as his motions become sloppier. Your body topples over the edge and in a moment of absolute bliss, to suppress the absolutely vile sounds you make, you bite down on his shoulder. Hard. Sylus moans at the pain, grabbing your ass to push your body down against him, holding you in place speared on his cock. 

Waves of pleasure shake through your body as Sylus presses sweet kisses on top of your head. His hips move ever so slightly, helping you ride it out. Your eyelids start feeling heavy, your body is aching, your pussy is clenching up. 

'Are you alright?' Sylus voice is different now. It sounds almost worried. You release his shoulder from your bite and prop yourself up on his chest. 

'Peachy,' you reply with a hazy smile, 'wanna take a nap and do it again in a few hours?' 

There goes that rumbling laugh of his again. His hands start rubbing your back as he leans up to peck your lips. It's such an innocent gesture if you don't think about the fact that his dick is still inside you, twitching with every single tiny movement you make. 'As much as I would like that. Let's give it a few more hours and do it again in the morning. Deal?' 

'Only if we take a shower together.' 

'I'll do you one better. I have a tub.' 

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[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 11.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 0.8k

—chapter content/warnings: not much!! something a lil more tame lol, prob one of the 0.5s that takes place right after the chapter beforehand, i promise there is no ill intention behind what's happening here - they're both equally torn about everything as san's good friends/colleagues

namjoon: you got a minute to meet up today? sorry for the last minute request but it's kinda urgent.

jongho: sure. i'm wrapping up. can meet you in the next 15 mins?

namjoon: i'll come to you.

jongho: alright then, boss.

Jongho continues typing away at his desk, responding to all the emails that came in today while he was off doing interviews for the new open faculty role in the electrical engineering department. He makes a mental note to submit his review sheet for the first round of interviewees and to review the applications for the next round tomorrow. He doesn't realize how quick 15 minutes flies by until Namjoon is swinging his door open mid-email. He continues to type away, but his eyes shift to Namjoon's figure as he fixes his blazer and takes a seat with a loud sigh.

"Long day?" Jongho cracks a small smile, typing up the last few details before sending it off and shifting his attention to Namjoon in front of him.

"Kinda." He nods towards his computer. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt or delay you from leaving."

"All good. Didn't really have plans, anyway. What's up? You seem a little flustered."

"Well, catching Yunho, Iseul and San arguing in a conference room wasn't exactly on my agenda for today."

"What?" Jongho cocks his head back a bit in disbelief, brows tightly knitted together as he tries to make sense of what he just heard. San had been giving him a bit of the story here and there and knowing Iseul, he wasn't exactly surprised this is how things were playing out.

He's just not sure why Iseul thinks it's her business to air this all out.

"You tell me."

"As much as I would love to help, I honestly have no idea what's going on.”

"Jongho."

"What? You know how Iseul is. She somehow still thinks she has a grip on San even after they've divorced and gone through all of that. Can't stand her, if you ask me."

"You don't have to tell me twice. But, why? Why is this a thing right now?"

"Beats me." Jongho tries to brush it off even though he can see the look on Namjoon's face, his eyes trying to study him like a damn book. He hates being in the middle because as much as he loves and supports his bestfriend, he also has the utmost respect for Namjoon and knows the guy will always be on their side regardless.

"That's the first in a very long time that I've seen San react that way at the happy hour event."

"Okay, to be fair, the guy was getting super disrespectful. I think any of us would've reacted in one way or another."

"Right, I agree. But, I know there's a story behind it. I know his anger was fueled by something else." Jongho sees the way Namjoon is going about this. He's prying for the answers he already knows, but he needs the confirmation and Jongho can give him that. 

It's just a matter of when.

"What if it was just a bad day?"

"Okay, you know what?" Joon leans onto the arm rest of the chair and gives him a look. "I'm just gonna go headfirst with it." Jongho cocks a brow up. "Is there something going on with San and his rotation student? Y/N specifically." He sighs.

"I figured."

"No, you knew." Namjoon chuckles a bit.

"I don't know. I really can't tell you because I don't know anything." Jongho says he knows nothing when he knows everything.

"Jongho." Joon repeats.

"Joon, swear." He says, even though he tries to sit as still as possible. Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

It started gradually before it took off completely. Jongho knows about the last minute meetings San has had to take, Jongho has seen the subtle glances, the subtle actions, the mood changes when you're around. Jongho remembers seeing you slip out of his hotel room very early that morning during the NAS conference. Jongho remembers seeing the polaroid slightly tip out of the wallet case mid-breakfast and seeing a tiny slip of your face in his peripherals. San quickly adjusted the polaroid and continued on like nothing, wishing for the best with that one.

And he doesn't have to be told to know you've been over multiple times. All the calls that have gone curt and short, the distraction easily laced in San's voice on the other line. He remembers the faint trace of your perfume in his home, the little post-it notes you've left on San's office desk.

Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

Cause, yes.

"I can hear your thoughts."

Well, shit.

"I don't know what to say."

"I need you to tell me yes or no, that's all. I need to make sure I'm going about this correctly even though I heard a lot today alone." Jongho sighs and sees how torn Namjoon is. They both are. They obviously want what's best for San, and they both want him to be happy. He is deserving of good, genuine love. He is deserving of genuine happiness because he always rides for the people he loves, goes the extra mile for them. He acknowledges and learns from his mistakes, he apologizes when he knows he's at fault.

He's deserving of all good.

So, they both hate that it has to come to this because it's not even you that's the problem. It's the situation, and they both don't know how to approach it with enough sensitivity and care.

Even though it's good to San, it doesn't necessarily mean it could be good for San.

"Yes."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[somniarubra]

decoy

─⋆ pairing: caleb x fem!reader ─⋆ synopsis: deep down he knows the scene before his eyes is but a cunning ploy. He knows those subtle glances you're giving that pathetic excuse of a man mean nothing. Still, it burns. Burns because there’s no escaping the sting of seeing another man’s hand on you. ─⋆ warnings: mdni, jealousy, OOC, slightly obsessive Caleb? ─⋆word count: 1.1 k ─⋆ A/N: I'm so anxious about posting this. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes I might've overlooked while proofreading. Also, I feel like Caleb is acting rather out of character here, but I really wanted to describe him like this in this scenario. Also, this was supposed to contain smut, but I got a bit carried away with describing Caleb's feelings, so if there's a part two, that's where posessive!Caleb will come out to fold you in half!

Admittedly, he has refrained from stepping in longer than his patience usually allows.

While he wouldn't consider himself an easy target for the green-eyed monster, he has his limits too. And there are certain things, certain situations, that just push at Caleb's otherwise strong self-control, poke at his restraint, and whisper into his ear like a devil perched on his shoulder, coaxing that buried, deeply hidden jealousy out into the open.

It's not that he doesn't trust you. He's known you long enough to have the utmost certainty that you wouldn't willingly do what you're doing right now had it not been for the sake of gathering the intel. Still, that doesn't quench the burning need messing with his mind, the one urging him to keep you away from the unworthy and the undeserving.

The dress you’re wearing doesn’t help—sleek, elegant, and backless. The fabric clings to you like a second skin, shimmering under the dim light, while the dip at your lower back reveals far more skin than Caleb would like anyone else to see.

You look beautiful. You are beautiful. Stunning. Otherwordly. The bastard at your side isn’t even worth the air he’s breathing, while Caleb is relegated to brood on the other side of the room.

On the other hand...

A sense of shameless pride swells within his chest, because even though countless pairs of eyes follow you like hungry wolves, he's the one who's sunk his teeth into your flesh long before all those bastards had a chance to even see you.

You're good at this—Caleb decides, forcing his thoughts to return to the right path. You're good at this.

A bit too good for his liking.

He recognizes the gentle, barely there tilt of your red-painted lips for what it is—a mere act. Nothing more than facade; calculated and manipulative, settling on your features to deceive.

It's not real. Not genuine. Not like the smile that's reserved for him and him only, the one that makes his chest ache and his hands itch to cup your cheeks and kiss you senseless. Caleb has witnessed (and been the cause of) the real thing enough times to see the difference.

After all, he's memorised every detail of you, having studied them thoroughly both from the distance and up close, in the brightness of the day and the dark of the night, burning with rage like a scorching fire and swathed in a gentle grasp of sensibility.

Caleb knows your smile, the melodic sound of your laughter—the real one that seems to tumble out from the very pit of your stomach, unrestrained and radiant. And your eyes, God, your eyes... He's mapped their depth, the vivid halo of color surrounding your pupils—the latter dilating whenever you look at him, unwittingly for that matter, he's realised some time ago.

He's etched it all into his mind; painted onto the canvas of his very soul, because seeing it physically is not enough anymore.

Therefore, deep down he knows the scene before his eyes is but a cunning ploy.

He knows those subtle glances you're giving that pathetic excuse of a man mean nothing.

That teasing tilt of your head, that calculated flutter of your lashes, those bashful smiles and 'accidental' touches—they're ingenuine. False. Issued solely to ensure the success of this whole charade.

Still, it burns.

Burns because there’s no escaping the sting of seeing another man’s hand on you.

Burns like claws of that green-eyed monster he's desperately tried to keep on a leash; now tearing painfully at the fibers of his heart, forcing it into a rapid thump.

A call for action.

A sound that reverberates like a bell in his ears, yet doesn't drown out the sound of your laugh—soft and dallying, but tinged with just the slightest pinch of affectation.

If not for the fact that he's able to hear your annoyance from the distance, it would've been like a knife through Caleb's ribs.

He remains within the shadows, cloaked in darkness, observing. Waiting. Hoping for a signal, for a sign to react—to finally step in and pull you away from that man's wandering hands and hide you from the poorly concealed lust infixed into his beady eyes.

Bold of him to believe he truly has a chance.

Caleb would've found it amusing in any other circumstances. Would've swelled with pride at your perfectly conducted performance. The scumbag falls for it, of course. They always do. You've always had men falling at your feet; crawling for the crumbs of your attention, for a single glance, dumbly hoping to dig their fingers into the flesh that would infinitely remain out of their reach.

Because you've never entertained any of them.

And you never would.

It's only been about half an hour, but you're already glancing over your shoulder, finding him almost immediately, as if you could feel his gaze burning into your frame from across the room.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn't shift his gaze from you either. But you know better than to mistake his stillness for calm. Under that mask of steel indifference, there's a barely contained storm ready to wreck havoc.

He doesn't like having you as a decoy.

Your eyes don’t linger too long, though. That would be too obvious—and the man beside you already seems frustrated to see you focused on anything other than him. Instead, you let your lips curve into a small, barely there smile, and tilt your head just enough for Caleb to see it as a nod.

You’ve got what you came for.

The tension in his shoulders eases just the slightest bit. Relief flickers across his face, fleeting but palpable. For a moment, he lets himself breathe.

But then the bastard’s hand slides down your bare back.

It’s slow. Deliberate. Imposed, like he has any right to touch you. Caleb sees it—watches as those impudent fingers drift lower, dipping just beneath the edge of your dress, dangerously close to crossing a line that would trigger Caleb's restraint into snapping. The fucker leans in then, murmuring something against your ear—and while you keep up your act, keep up that collected posture, and keep up that charming smile, he can see your hands twitch ever so slightly.

Caleb downs the rest of his champagne in one sharp motion.

He slams the empty flute onto the tray of a passing waiter with far too much force, the sharp sound cutting through the hum of the room.

He doesn’t care.

He’s moving before he can think better of it, stalking through the ballroom, cursing himself for letting you play this role in the first place.

[emoisthenewemu]

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

VIDEO GAMES

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

TOGE INUMAKI X F! READER SMAU

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt. 3

“DO YOU FW ME?”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Inumaki is slightly nervous awaiting your arrival. He rearranges his desk a few times and paces the room. For a moment he almost regrets not taking Okkotsu up on the offer for his notes. Only for a second though because there is nothing in this world that can convince him you aren't as sweet as he thinks you are.

You're going to be the first girl to ever step foot in his bedroom. Besides Maki of course but she doesn't count. He could care less if she sees his nerdy anime posters and thousand dollar gaming setup. But you are a different story.

When you knock he thinks his heart has fallen to his stomach. Even worse when he opens the door and you hug him.

“Kelp” He mutters, arms wrapped around your torso as he closes his eyes-for just a second he imagines you are his.

You smell so good.

“Hii” You smile. “How was your day off?” He knows you are only asking to be polite.

“Salmon salmon” He smiles kindly, eyes scrunching up in a way that they almost look closed.

Good. You’re so pretty.

“Oh good! Hopefully tomorrow goes by fast! Maki says I talk too much during class! Think she regrets becoming friends with me” You joke because yes she did say that but everyone knows you have quickly become her favorite. Apparently you are ‘the only one with common sense around here’ which surprises you actually.

“Bonito flakes” He does not think anyone could ever regret becoming close with you.

She loves you

“Oh em gee! Your pc is sick!”

His tummy is full of butterflies. “Tuna tuna!”

You’re perfect.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

[aphroditelovesu]

Hiya! Hope ya don’t mind me dropping in on your inbox, I’m craving some angst currently so I was hoping you could write Yandere Finnick Odair with a darling that’s pregnant with his child and what goes on through his mind during the 74th hunger games. I wonder how it would affect how the games would go since I feel since he would be a yandere and darling is pregnant that he would prioritize her over everyone else

(author did him dirty when they killed him and he never knew she was pregnant😭😭)

❝ 🏹 — lady l: I focused more on what he feels and since it's been a while since I've done this, I hope it turned out okay. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! Also, he's more of a soft yandere for his darling 💚 he's hate is for the others! :)

❝tw: angst, slight canon divergence, mention of pregnancy (but it doesn't really show).

❝🏹pairing: soft yandere!finnick odair x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,128.

When you announced your pregnancy, Finnick felt for the first time what it meant to be completely overcome by the purest happiness. Well, maybe it was the second time, because he had already felt something like that the moment he met you. In that moment, when your eyes met for the first time, he knew that his life would never be the same again. But the true explosion of happiness came when you accepted being his, when you made it clear that you shared the same deep and unshakable love that he felt for you.

For Finnick, you were more than the woman he loved; you were the center of his universe, the reason why he could endure the horrors that the world had imposed on him. And now, with the news of the arrival of a baby, everything seemed to finally make sense. That little being growing inside you was living proof of the love between the two of you, a piece of both of you, inseparable and eternal. For him, the baby was not just a symbol, but the confirmation that you were completely his — and he, yours, in every possible way.

Finnick knew, at that moment, that he would protect you both with everything he had. You were his reason for living, his happiness, and nothing in the world could change that.

But then, the Hunger Games ripped him away from you, like a storm that destroys everything that is precious. He was separated from his growing family, forced to leave behind the dream of a peaceful future by your side and the hope of being present at every moment of the baby's arrival. The cruel and relentless duty imposed by the Capitol took him away from everything he loved most, and the weight of this separation was almost unbearable.

Finnick knew that every second away from you and the baby was a second stolen from a happiness he might never be able to recover. He left with a broken heart, taking with him the image of your smile and the promise that he would do whatever it took to return to you. Even if the Games were relentless, even if the Capitol tried to destroy him in every way, he would fight with all his strength to survive and return to the family that was waiting for him.

In the arena, every step, every strike, every strategy was not just for survival. It was for you. It was for the baby. It was for the promise of a future that he refused to give up. The only way he'll give up on you, on your child, is if he dies.

But Finnick couldn't focus on what he was supposed to do. How could he? You were on his mind all the time. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the arena, his mind always kept returning to you and the baby. His heart felt torn between two worlds: the brutal chaos of the Games and the home he dreamed of building with you. His soul, his very essence, was with you. He felt like he was living a nightmare, unable to protect the two people he loved most.

He desperately needed to make sure nothing bad would come to you. The thought that the Capitol might use you or the baby against him tormented him at every moment. But in this situation, he was powerless. Trapped in the arena, surrounded by enemies and manipulated by forces much greater than himself, Finnick felt useless. He, who had always been strong, fast, skilled, was now completely at the mercy of fate — and it was destroying him inside.

He remembered the moment he swore to protect you for the rest of his life, the silent words that carried the promise that nothing would ever harm you as long as he was by your side. And now, here he was, unable to fulfill that oath. The weight of that helplessness crushed his spirit, but at the same time, it fueled a fire inside him. Even though the odds were slim, he knew he had to survive. Not for himself, but for you. For you and the baby. He would fight, even if he was broken, because giving up would never be an option.

And he was broken without you.

Anguish gnawed at Finnick like a cold, relentless blade. Every second in the arena felt like an eternity, every heavy breath a cruel reminder of his distance from you. He saw himself surrounded by enemies, but none of them were as threatening as the thoughts that haunted him. What if something happened to you? What if the Capitol decided to hurt you as a form of punishment? What if he could never again hold your hand, hear your voice, or meet the baby that was part of him, part of both of you?

These questions consumed him, making it impossible to focus on anything but his fear and guilt. Finnick had always been a survivor, a fighter, but now he felt weak, broken in a way that even the original Games had failed to do. He was a man divided, struggling to maintain the appearance of strength while inside, everything was falling apart.

He relived the moments with you over and over in his mind, as if he could cling to them to keep from succumbing. The first time you smiled at him, the feel of your fingers intertwined with his, the night you told him about the baby. He remembered the sparkle in your eyes, the hope you shared in that moment. And now? Everything seemed so distant, so fragile.

He hated himself for being here, for not being by your side, where he should be. Finnick had always believed that his strength lay in protecting those he loved, but now he felt helpless, unable to fulfill the most important promise of his life. The guilt was suffocating, a weight that made him question his own usefulness. How could he be the man you needed, the father the baby deserved, if he couldn’t even be there?

Yet, amidst the despair, there was a spark of determination. He knew he couldn’t give up, no matter how much he was hurting. He had to survive, he had to get back to you and the baby. Because even if everything seemed lost, the love he felt for you both was the only thing keeping him going. And he would hold on to that with all the strength he had left.

And he would get back to you, to your baby. The only way he would give up was if he died, and Finnick was determined to survive, no matter what.

You, your baby, were worth any cost.

[sparks-and-smoke]

Chapter 3: Helping Hands

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (refered to as Petal) Word Count: 3385 Summary: Steve asks Sam if he can volunteer at his work. Getting his shoe in the door with someone special. This is a soulmate AU, just so we are all aware. Warnings/tropes: smut, oral (male receiving), grief, loss, angst, mental health, PTSD, conspiracy theories, stalking if you squint. Soulmate AU. A/N: Fun Fact, readers last name is Darnell in this because it mean "unknown or secret" This went through a couple different variasons so if tense is weird I'm sorry. English IS my first language. I just suck at it. Beta read by the ever lovely. @voice-of-velhart

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The guilt he felt asking Sam to help him was second only to his driving need to see you. He might have given the parameters of what he was doing more thought if it didn't seem like a necessary evil. To lie to one of his only friends. To manipulate him into getting Steve into your personal space. It was verging on vile and he knew it. His conscious was eating him alive, but he didn't know what else to do.

"I'm honestly surprised you even have time to volunteer man. Doesn't all that SHIELD shit keep you pretty busy?" Sam had been talking but Steve wasn't listening. Preoccupied with the sweat forming on his palms and the shake in his fingers. Every step they took brought him closer to you. Closer to either setting things right or ruining his life.

"Ah, yeah well. Everybody needs a sense of community right? I'm just trying to find mine. You try making friends with a bunch of spies and secret agents. Not exactly confidant material." He kept his tone light, his usual polite air covering his intentions. In all truth he was only half lying. He really wouldn't mind spending time with other combat vets. Though his faith in the VA as an institution was weak at best. "Besides you're the one that encouraged me to come."

Sam scoffed, giving his friend the side eye. "I suggested group sessions. Not volunteering in the housing division."

But she is in the housing division. It's an easy in. Steve only shrugged, "I find peace in helping others."

They made their way across the campus. Being greeted by the occasional coworker, or passersby. Voices murmuring as they trailed off to the building on the far end of the green. It was sinking in that there was a high likelihood he couldn't do this unrecognized. There was really no avoiding that, but… How would his sweet girl react to meeting someone the way he was now.

You had always been fiery and confident in their day, something that drew his pensive personality to you like a month to a flame. But had time changed that.. What if being near someone who had been genetically modified scared you or made you uncomfortable. He couldn't handle a rejection before this even began. He couldn’t begin to know what he would say or how he should act. Should he charm you, or should he stand off and let her come to him? Did he even have the restraint?

How had he done it the first time? That was the problem wasn't it. Because the first time around you had picked him. Sure he was bigger now, conventionally more attractive but he was still the same introverted knot-head he had always been. You had been the one to approach him then, you were the one asking questions and making his ears burn when you called him handsome. He had no clue how you found it charming then, he highly doubted it would be charming now. He needed to be smooth, he needed to be charming and friendly and not like the nervous desperate fool he felt like right now.

They made it to the large red brick building on the far side of campus and Steve was starting to feel exposed. Like this was a bad idea. He found himself fidgeting, smoothing back his hair and adjusting his jacket. Petal had always like him in brown leather. Hopefully that was still true now..

"Are you good? You got somewhere to be?"

Sam's retort pulled him from his grooming. "Yeah maybe. Who knows. I've always had a thing for a cute nurse."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah sure. Says the man that has turned down every opportunity I have shot your way for months now."

"Maybe you just don't know my type." Sam just rolled his eyes as he help open the door. They went about their tour. Meeting the orderly and getting the weekly schedule and where they could use help with activities and outings. Steve payed the closest attention to Monday-Thursday when he knew you were working. He did his best to remain respectful and give the orderly his full attention as he spoke up his eyes were constantly roaming looking for that distinctive head of hair…

As they walked Sam held most of the conversation to make up for Steve's apparent daze. They walked into a small hallway with a few doors, each leading to different departments. Nursing, mental health, physical therapy. They passed a door that led to a small garden where veterans sat, chatting on benches, and another one that looked like a rec room. A massive almost gymnasium like structure with open sky lights and an open floor. Clearly, most of the building funding had gone toward places like this.

Steve gave a low whistle hand in his pockets as he looked around, his body spinning slowly as his gaze wondered. "They didn't look like this when I was serving…" He stopped in his tracks. There you were. Off at one of the tables talking to an elderly man in a wheelchair. Your hair pushed back with a headband.

The world melted away. Not only was it you, and you were gorgeous as ever, but you looked so much happier than he left you in the 40's. You were healthier, more relaxed and calm in conversation with the man. You were happy here; without him. His heart squeezed painfully, but it was OK. You were happy.

He had the sudden urge to leave, to tell Sam to go and that he would come back another day… and then he heard you laugh. A real laugh for the first time in seventy years. He whipped back around, his eyes wide and locked onto you. All other thoughts faded, all he could see was you.

Steve was frozen, it was like his very being had short circuited. Finally your eyes caught his and his heart stopped. It was like a shock of electricity through his body. In that moment it was as if the war never happened, as if you had never lost each other at all. But just like that your gaze passed over him and you returned to the man, as if you hadn’t even seen him. Maybe you didn’t. But Steve knew he couldn’t move, was completely frozen watching you.

Sam gave him a nudge, “You OK brother?”

But Steve didn’t answer. His soul hurt so much he felt unable.

You could feel eyes on you, they were impossible to ignore. Glancing over to the doors you could see Sam Wilson and your head nurse talking to another tall man that seemed roughly familiar but you couldn't really place, maybe he was a family member or a vet here? Or a vet himself just here to provide company which was encouraged in the therapy sessions…

Either way it didn’t seem like the blonde was listening. Because he was staring out into the room with a look that could only be deceived as heartbreaking. Somewhere between hope and devastation.

His gaze locked on yours and you gave an encouraging smile. Trying to be warm as the man's face drained of color. Was he looking for someone? had he just been given bad news? You rose to her feet deciding to check on him when Lt. Nelson tapped your hip.

Leaning down you listened to what he had to say. "I served with him. That's Captain Steven Rogers, I would know him anywhere. I haven't seen him since Italy…"

“Do you think so?” You knew the name. Hell, everyone knew the name between the Smithsonian exhibit and the coverage in the news and tabloids it was a household name. Steve Rogers, Captain America, The world mightiest hero. It wasn't the craziest thing you had heard from a resident today. But, it wouldn't be the first time the Lieutenant had mistaken a visitor for someone from his glory days, and while you would never correct him. You tried not to encourage it either.

Superhero’s don’t come here, was you're first thought, but you didn't have the heart to say that, instead you told him. “Well why don’t I go say hello, and maybe you're right.” Rubbing Mr. Nelson’s shoulder warmly before watching over to Sam and the stranger.

You came closer and closer until Steve could see you clearly. All the details he had forgotten were there, the way your nose scrunched when you smiled and the way your eyes would sparkle with happiness or mischief. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and beg her to remember him.

But then you were in front of them, you eyes on Sam, a soft smile and he felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under him again. “Sam! Long time no see, whose you're friend?"

Sam slung an arm around Petal, giving you a warm hug. Which you returned with a gusto that Steve knew all too well. Those hugs were warm, and snug, and you always lingered just long enough to make you feel important and safe..

"This is my friend Steve. He was hoping to come hang out with you and the old dogs a few times a month, ain't that right Cap?"

Steve shoved down the green monster rising in his gut at the hug and plastered a lopsided smile on his face. "That's right." he stated dumbly, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth.

"Oh, well that's nice of you. Were you in the service sir?" Their it was again. Sir. Not Steve or Stevie, but sir. The title you give to a respected stranger. Felt like fish hook in the gut. You were trying to be polite but all it did was make him want to evacuate his stomach on the checkered tiles.

He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat with a smile. "Yes, a captain in the army."

”Nice to meet you Captain,” you held out your hand to shake Steve’s. He took your hand, savoring your grip and your soft skin on his hand. He felt that soft wave of recognition buzz over his skin. One soulmate touching another, it wasn't the electric rapture that overcame you the first time you touched you're other half. It was that old familiar whirring under the skin that came with every contact with his girl. His eyes shot up to see if you recognized the feeling. Nothing

“The pleasure’s…” He had meant to to come off suave but his voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again, “The pleasure’s all mine.” He felt like an idiot and his chest felt like might swing open and the contents would fall out, but he knew he had to be strong.

When you responded with a welcome smile, he felt maybe everything might be alright. He tried not to notice how perfectly your hand fit in his, though his brain instantly comparing the sizes and the way his palm dwarfed hers. Your handshake was warm, and he could have held you forever, but you took your hand back far too soon.

“Come on,” you said, smiling and lighting up the room. “I’ll show you around and we can discuss volunteering a little.”

Steve and Sam followed you, looking around as you introduced them to a few of the veterans that were sitting and chatting around. You seemed to know them all, giving nicknames to each one with a loving, familiar smile. Steve wasn't surprised by how easily you could make anyone feel like they were a friend. You had always been that way, Like when your eye's landed on someone you were actually seeing you and not just a face. you smile lit the room and he was so enchanted he let his guard down. Talking to vets and being recognized, if you were shocked you didn't show it. You just let him become part of the goings on.

You left the Captain to talk to Mr. Nelson. Smiling to you're self when they pulled out the checkers board and you made you're way back to Sam.

"So… THAT is Captain America?"

Sam laughed, watching the interaction between the Captain and the old vet.

“He’s a good guy, a little outdated and hard to get to know… but don’t let him intimidate you, he’s a marshmallow on the inside and he can be…charming… on occasion.”

"He seems.. melancholy?" you search for the word. Sad didn't seem right but there was this vague sense of otherness to Steve that almost comes off him in waves.

"Wouldn't you be? The man lost everything he's ever known. Was woken up only to be thrown into another fight… He probably needs therapy. But I think you would be hard pressed to get a man like him in a session. So, community is gonna have to do for now."

You consider that for a moment as Steve's gaze meets yours one more time. He does seem a like happier now that he is here. But you still see that flicker of something indescribable whenever he is left to his own thoughts. You may not know combat but you knows that feeling. That lost drifting feeling that settles on the bones after soldiers come home. You had seen it in the eyes of a least a hundred men.

You wished he would let Sam actually help him.

Steve did his best to focus on the game with the Lt. He really did. But when his petal was standing right there in your cute pink scrubs who could blame a man for being distracted.

"She is a cutie, let me tell you what." Nelson murmured with a smile as he took another of Steve's pieces.

Nelson gave him the look of a man that had a keen nose for bullshit. "Nurse Darnell. You've only been looking at her like she is made of sugar for the last 20 minutes."

Steve chuckled, trying to play it off. "She is very attractive yes."

"Then why are you wasting time talking to an old fart like me."

"I don't know if your aware of this pal but I am just as much of an old codger as you are."

Nelson shakes his head, his deep baritone laugh rumbling in that old smokers chest. "Naw, you may have been born the same year as me son, but you're still a young man inside. I know you feel out of place. But we all did when we came home."

Steve knew what he was saying was right, and that Nelson was trying to give him an out to go and ask his petal out. But Steve was still scared to death. "I don't know if I am ready for all that."

"You'll never know if you don't try son."

When Steve pushed up from his chair Sam and petal where no where to be found. He searched the room and came up empty. "You looking for me?"

Her warm voice trickled down his spine and made him smile. "Yes, I was. Do you have coffee in this place."

"Do we have coffee?" You sounded almost indignant. "You are aware this is a VA correct. And that we service exclusively military personnel and veterans… Yes we have coffee. Stiff enough to float a brick on."

Steve smiled at that, the grin lighting up his face. We are talking, she's talking to me… "Just how I like it."

You lead him off to the little coffee bar in the corner of the rec room, the one that is attached to the kitchen where all the meals are served, "Here we are." You pump a mug full out of a carafe and hands it over, "might be a little cold. Hopefully not."

"I'm sure it is just fine." He assures and takes a sip, it was in fact cold be he could not give less of a shit as long as you keeps talking to him. "It's perfect."

"Mhhm…" you looked like you didn't believe that for a moment but didn't say anything. "So how are you finding modern living, Captain Rogers?"

"Steve, please." He did his best to keep the pleading from his voice but if you called him Sir again he was gonna throw something. "And I'm… I'm finding it. It's different from home but most places are. And its better then the trenches so I guess I'm fine."

"I feel like there is a major difference between 1940's Brooklyn and the trenches Mr- uh Steve." You seemed to catch yourself. It was just one more reminder of how he had lost everything and even now with you right in front of him he was lost.

"Well yeah, but I have to find the good where I can. The food is good, the cars are fast, information at your fingertips anywhere and everywhere. The future isn't so bad…" He was rambling. And he knew it. But he didn’t know how to stop the words. You, his sweet girl, were right in front of him. And he could touch you. He could pull you into his into him, hold you close and sweep you off you're feet like he should have been able to 70 years ago if he hadn't been a fool. Taste your pretty lips again. Hear you say “I love you” with that laugh at the end, like always did.

It was taking every ounce of dignity and strength he had not to do it.

"What do you hate about it?"

That broke him from his daydream. "I'm sorry what?"

"What do you hate about the modern world? When I first moved from New York to DC i hated the way people talk. Back home everyone talks fast and straight to the point. No one sugar coats anything and you know precisely where you stand. Here, everything is niceties and small talk. It still drives me crazy sometimes, but I've gotten used to it." You swirl the tea in your mug. "So, what drives you crazy? What can't you stand."

He wanted to say he could not stand the distance between them. The fact that you did not know him. That the love between them was gone. That they had spent so much time apart, years where they could have been building a family together.

“Too much choice.” He said with a smile as he tried to hide the sadness in his eyes. “Back in the 40’s there were about 2 radio channels, you had one ice cream place to go to and movies were 15 cents a pop. People have hundreds if choices now. It's pretty overwhelming. Everything, is buzzing and moving and changing constantly. I can't keep up.”

She hadn't expected that answer but it made sense. "You'll like it here then. Our own little bubble her at the living center. You can stop in for a change of pace whenever you want."

The way you said 'our' and 'you' gave him a jolt of hope. "So, I can come back and help out when I can?" he asked casually.

"Oh, of course you are more then welcome. It benefits everyone don't you think? Plus I can always use the extra hands." You say and give him a grin that makes his whole day worth it.

Steve thought the grin on his face was permanent, he did not even notice his cheeks starting to ache. There was a warm feeling in his chest and he felt a calmness wash over him the longer he was in you're company.

"You got a pen I can borrow Pet?" He said as an idea came to mind.

You pulled an ink pen out of her breast pocket and handed it to him. "Sure."

He took the pen and took a napkin and quickly jotted down his number. "Here," he hands her the napkin back with a lopsided boyish smile, "for next time, you know, when I can help out."

Captain America just gave you his phone number on a napkin. You couldn't help but grin at how cute and old fashioned that was. He looked so boyish and shy, you just had to tease him. "Just for work?"

Tag List: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers, @delilah-hey @tldrthor @littlestxli @otterlycanadian @moviegurl2002

[laswells-ashtray]

Just read through all of your Sergeant Price and Macmillan posts and I’m now a huge fan of your work. Love how you write those two!!

Also, an idea since everyone else is being creative(and I want to as well), Price pushing Macmillan too far and getting his ass handed to him. Whether he says something sassy or does something, he’s still getting torn into by his Captain.

"A swear, yer thick as two short planks."

John just huffs, looking over his shoulder to avoid making eye contact with him. It was guilt, they both knew it. If John was under the impression that he was in the right then he'd scream himself hoarse arguing with Mac but to say nothing? Culpability.

"Ye dinnae get away wae fuckin scrappin lik a school wain just because yer pissy that yer injured. Yer no workin until ye can walk withoot wincin and if a hear wan mair word aboot it then am buyin a bag of rice and makin ye count ever fucking grain ae it."

The sergeant at least has the sense to look ashamed of himself. He'd been fighting with another soldier, the young lad had ripped the piss out of him for not joining them on an upcoming mission. A sharp exchange of words transitioned rather rapidly to boys exchanging blows like they were two lads, battering each other in a stairwell at school.

John didn't respond well to being left behind, he claimed it was because he earned his place fighting next to MacMillan and his lieutenant. Mac knew it was because the younger man got bored out of his mind and he typically spent his time trailing after the Scotsman like a tense-shouldered shadow.

John grumbles, eyes warily drifting back to his face as the sergeant assembles a protest in his mind, Preparing to fire it off like a round of bullets in Mac's chest. "It wasn't that bad, he-"

"Broken nose, split lip and if he wisnae fuck ugly before then he certainly is noo." He chastises, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down that little bit at his sergeant. Something that irritated John to no end.

"Just let me come on the fucking mission."

And there it is.

"Naw."

"But, my knee is fine and-"

"Naw."

"Fuck sake, Mac. Will you just listen to-"

"Naw."

The only reason John doesn't hit him is because he raises an eyebrow at him, informing him that no matter what hit he throws it's be caught and returned Hell for leather.

"Yer oan yer arse until that knee is healed and a swear if ye try anyhin then yer getting sent hame."

The string of curses and vile descriptives he hears John mutter about him as the other man storms away only serve to amuse him. He'd likely find all of his pens springless but at least John would keep himself busy on base.

[thescreaminghat]

just thinking about tf armada optimus after unicron is defeated (spoilers), when he's been battered by fighting and is now drifting aimlessly amidst the debris in space and comes across the matrix of leadership, the very symbol of authority and hope for the autobots---the symbol that he chose to discard before accepting a final fight with megatron---and how he resignedly says, "i dont deserve it".

like ig there's the interpretation that he somehow "stooped down" to megatron's level by engaging in the 1v1, but i dont really get that vibe, and it feels a little too simple, even for the often questionable dialogue choices for the eng dub. i dont get the impression that somehow optimus is now "bad" because he accepted megatron's challenge, because he's been fighting megatron for fucking 10 million years, and it's presented as a "necessary evil" even though the whole point with the minicons is that conflict and war and fighting is, probably, more of a harmful thing than a good one, because megatron's purpose is to control and exploit the minicons for his own ends (i.e. the series series is still a kids' show, meaning certain tropes, like "the good guys ultimately need to come out on top", are still going to be used even if moral complexities are explored).

rather, i get the sense that optimus's somewhat mournful/regretful rejection of the matrix comes from the fact that he didn't fully acknowledge all sides of him and never got the change to. despite the fact that his obsession with op clouds his judgment like 99% of the time, megs knows himself way too well---there was no way on god's green earth that he and op were going to hold hands and kumbaya and that's what he lived by his entire life. bro held onto an infatuation of the millennia but also held a level of animosity and craving that likely rivalled the level of forgiveness and generosity of primus himself. and megatron accepted this, accepted that he wanted to battle and feel in control and in the end, when the only thing he had left to prove was to his forever rival, that was all he wanted: one good fight and he would be at peace with the outcome of the entire universe (im counting what happens in tf energon as its own thing at this point, it's way too messy of a direct continuation of armada). imo megatron stayed true to his own feelings without the necessity of hamfisting a redemption arc, he went through notable growth (biggest example being his shift after starscream's death) but in the end, there were parts of him that were never going to change, so in a way, he saw his journey through to the end and made the choice to sacrifice himself for optimus because of that acceptance

in contrast, i get the sense that because optimus must constantly act as a figurehead to the autobots, he's not truly able to be 100% honest with what he wants, and who he is. not that there's any doubt that he truly believes in his mission, and that he hasn't been deceitful or dishonest, but i got the sense throughout the series that optimus keeps a lot to himself because he can't be anything less than the protector of the matrix (e.g. when starscream leaves the autobots, hotshot, furious and hurt at the betrayal, starts yelling at optimus and doubting why he made the choices that he did, op doesn't say anything. instead he just walks away, with this pained silence following him out the door, leaving scavenger to chew out hotshot for "disobeying orders"---which seemed kind of, idk, a weirdly ironfisted way (at least from the autobot side) to shut down some genuinely good and earnest questions. and that specific moment of tension never really gets resolved, because optimus sacrifices himself to, in a way, "make up" for his and starscream's mistake). why doesn't he defend himself? if he truly believed in starscream and the inherent goodness of all cybertronians then why not express that directly to hotshot with passion, with conviction, with acceptance of all aspects of his own beliefs?

ig what im trying to say is, being the bearer of the matrix seems to instil (at least to me) this sense of "purity" or "virtuous aloofness" in optimus, whether out of duty or a genuine belief in those qualities as being the ideal. so when optimus discards the matrix specifically to fight megatron, and subsequently tells himself that he "doesn't deserve" that symbol of leadership, i think what he is berating himself for is having enjoyed a fight just a little too much or at the wrong time, having chosen to do something that wouldn't have fit the mould he had held himself to. his first response to megatron's reminiscing about how their fight reminded him of the "good old days" is denial ("i can't say that i enjoyed it").

tldr my interpretation (definitely wrong) is that op has a lot of responsibility and it seems to create a kind but also distant version of him in armada; it feels like op is repressing a lot of who he is and the rejection of the matrix brings him into the daunting realization that yeah, maybe that was for the better. maybe it's ok to not deserve that honour. he'll have to accept that and live with it, but it's ok.

[scoobydoodean]

Hi, scoobydoodean! Are you of the opinion that Cas' confession parallels John's private speech to Dean before he went to take Azazel's deal which killed him. Like, they're both deals to save Dean. And they only decided to say things left unsaid about how much they loved Dean and were proud of who he was, right before they knew they were going to die. I don't know if that's a stretch, and if it's not, what does it say about Cas and Dean if it does parallel John? I don't know.

You know—I could have sworn I've mentioned that very thing before, but probably just in passing, because I can't find it in my archive. Cas and John have some interesting parallels, and I don't doubt Dean notices (and occasionally chafes) at their similarities (because their similarities tend to dig into some of Dean's biggest issues with his dad). It isn't just that Cas and John both sacrifice themselves for Dean, giving him a deathbed speech about what a good person he is (one that is touching and heartfelt but still comes with painful consequences for Dean that they don't foresee).

John and Cas have also both been known to do the following:

Ignore phone calls for weeks at a time.

Disappear without anyone knowing where they are for long periods, leaving their loved ones worrying.

Try to handle The Mission alone and ice others out of it to "protect" them.

Die leaving Dean to care for, protect, and then (if necessary) kill their sons—sons who are being pursued by powerful forces who want to manipulate and use them—sons who are not actually children.

Trade out a car for a truck, funnily enough.

John and Cas are also both soldiers, and Cas understands the soldier's mentality: The Mission comes before everything (this is what Sam and Dean ultimately clash with John over at the end of season 1). Cas has admired John's handwriting (8.08), and I think is probably a little interested in John as a model of the failed protector, though he knows Dean considers John a deadbeat (5.17). Cas has his own issues with his own father to contend with, and I think because Chuck is the absent father but not the protector father (except very specifically with Cas in a few early moments—bringing him back to life 2-3 times)... Maybe one could argue that Cas wishes god was more like John—that his absences weren't always for lack of love but were somehow mission-oriented. Chuck bringing Cas back a few times gives Cas hope that maybe his father is out there watching and caring about him and ready to help him despite his absence and silence. Even as late as season 14, Cas goes off alone to find a way to reach out to his father for help with Jack. Perhaps we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that Cas going off alone in search of help from an absent father instead of communicating with his family is part of what leads into Dean and Cas's "divorce arc". Perhaps we should consider more carefully if something underlying Dean and Cas's conflicts is how they perceive their fathers.

Maybe to an extent, quite unconsciously, Cas wants to prove that he can be absent from his family and still love and protect them from a distance... because if Cas can do that successfully, it means maybe god loves him from a distance too? Maybe he thinks it can make sense of Chuck's behavior—bringing Cas back several times but still so silent. It isn't until AU Michael tells Cas that Chuck is a writer looking at failed drafts that Cas starts to catch on—and he doesn't want to catch on, is the thing. He wants to reject Michael's narrative. Having Michael in particular (in Dean's body) tell Cas this also pits Cas and Dean's perspectives on fathers against one another—Cas's hopeful belief vs. Dean's nihilism. When Dean pleads with god on behalf of his family, he does it faithlessly because he already knows you can never count on your father to help you no matter how hard you plead and cry (1.09, 5.14, 13.01).

As for what this means for Dean and Cas? Well—I've said it before and I'll say it again—fandom could stand to calm down about the "implications" of John parallels. It's often treated like some sort of condemnation to be "paralleled" with John, but... it isn't? Sam, Dean, and Cas all have parallels with John at various points, and it doesn't make any of them bad people. It makes them messy and interesting and (for lack of a better word) human. I think Cas and Dean could have some fascinating fights along this subject and I want to see more of them. Sorry but I love it when they fight it entertains me greatly.

[wynnshxfts]

hello!

i found ur page and wanted to ask more about aizawa if u dont mind!! like what does he look like and whats he like and does he have a gf omg what was that

ֺ ۪ 　　𝜗𝜚⠀　come into the water ..

━ aizawa in my dr !!

ֺ ۪ APPEARANCE : He has dark brown eyes with hazel highlights. When his quirk is activated, they glow yellow. You can't see the glow with his goggles on, but I think It's beautiful. His eyelashes are really pretty, It's something that always stood out to me about him. He has a nice facial structure. There are bags under his eyes, I wish he'd let himself rest more. Actually, I'm surprised Mic doesn't have bags under his eyes too with all the work he does. He doesn't care much for his appearance, which is a shocker because he looks so.. anyways. His hair is usually messy, but he does in fact comb it - It's just thick (if that makes sense). His eyes are tired and cold. I'm not sure if anyone else notices, but I love when they soften. His lips are dry, and Mic will leave chap stick on his desk sometimes. He has no clue who's doing it and sees it as an insult. He's always wearing his scarf - and he looks naked without it. One time I blew on his neck while It wasn't on and he freaked the fuck out. He likes wearing black, but he isn't restricted to it. Mic and me try and take him out to shop but he absolutely hates shopping. Cannot blame him because I do too. Mic on the other hand loves it. He also has horrible taste in shoes, sorry bud. He smells comforting. That's the best way I can describe that. When we drifted apart briefly after high school, I had a hoodie of his and I kept it. Very sad day when it stopped smelling like him. He has big hands, at least, bigger than mine.

ֺ ۪ HABITS : He scratches at the scar under his eye a lot. I can never tell if It's actually itchy or a nervous habit. One time I caught him doing a grounding exercise, tapping his fingers against his thumb and counting back and forth. I notice he scratches a lot - his hand, his palm, his neck, his head. He doesn't have long fingernails. Odd detail I wanted to add. When he's annoyed he taps his heel like an angry bunny. If you point it out, he'll stop.

ֺ ۪ ABOUT : He's very sweet, don't let his tough exterior fool you. He's so caring. He doesn't let himself get close to people, so his relationships mostly consist of those who do put in that effort. He has a big heart, he always has. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if quirks didn't exist, would he let others in? Anyways, he is single. I don't think he's ever been in a relationship, actually. He tried dating someone once in high school, but I don't think that counts. He's very unsure when it comes to that stuff. He's always to the point and doesn't stand for any nonsense. It's funny, because in high school he wasn't much of the voice of reason. He usually got just as caught up in shenanigans as others. He does small acts to show he cares, like letting people he's comfortable with fall asleep on his shoulder (which isn't as romantic as it seems. it hurts like hell afterwards.) and .. well, It's hard to explain when you don't experience it in the moment. But he has a softer look to his gaze when he does acts of kindness. He also is actually very bad with eye contact on occasion. Like when he's doing something sweet he'll keep his gaze off of me. Unsure if he does this with others.

ֺ ۪ He isn't much different than canon. But then again, I might be forgetting to add stuff because I already view that as apart of him that everyone knows. If you have any more questions, ask away! Also a small note, but him being single is a running joke Midnight always brings up. She also likes joke shipping him with others he's even slightly kind to together. Bi icon, ily Midnight. Oh, he also has some scars on his chest. Do not ask how I know this.

[wetpussyju1ce]

retired!John Price and the ghost girl living in his sea side cottage. 

he didn't even know the house was haunted when he bought the place. it's not like the owner of the cottage would've told him. and in this time and age, not a lot of people really believed in ghosts, heck he didn't believe in them either. 

well, maybe that's a bit of a lie. he doesn't believe in actual ghosts appearing and knocking shit over just to mess with the living. but he's been long enough in the military to know that every man and woman have their own ghosts they carry around. heck, even some bases are worse than others, sometimes when the wind blows hard and runs in the corridors, it sounds like souls out of hell, coming back to haunt the ones still alive, telling them their time was counted for. 

But this type of ghost, the type that's absolutely shit at being a ghost, John thought it was a house squatter, a homeless person using the cottage because it was empty for a very long time, that's what the owner told him. When he first saw her, she dashed past the door, fast enough that he couldn't exactly see who it was but slow enough that he could tell it was a person. 

then she'd follow him around, she wouldn't make any noise of course, but he could sense her presence and see her in the corner of his eye. He thought maybe it was his old age getting to him. because no matter how hard he looked there was no evidence of human presence, other than himself, of course. he catches himself staring long and hard at his cigar, getting suspicious of his own tobacco, if he'd somehow mixed some cannabis in it and forgot. But no, she was there, and very real. 

The longer he stayed in the house, cleaning, dusting, moving things and unpacking, the more he could see of her, just glimpses here and there. And for a reason completely unknown to him, he wasn't scared. why would he? if she wanted to hurt him she would've done it by now? plus, she doesn't look as scary as someone would think. John knows that she's barefoot, wears a light pink dress and her flesh looks of normal, if faint, human colour. It doesn't look rotted or grey. 

John hasn't told anyone about his little ghost roommate, and probably won't because they'll definitely drag him to a retirement home if he does. So he keeps his mouth shut and tries to catch this little ghost, or at least get a look at her face, speak to her, ask her what is she doing in his house. 

That day came sooner than he thought, where she was creeping behind him, it was comical how John immediately knew what she was doing, saw her in the reflection of his glass of water. then walked out of the kitchen, slowly at first, when he turned the corner he booked it for the other kitchen door, getting in and there he saw her, slowly creeping to the door he just exited out of. He wanted to laugh at how bad she was at being stealthy but held it in, then he creeped behind her, then pounced, wrapping his arms around her. 

She shouted and he gasped, hearing her voice for the first time, she was cold, and soft. when it finally registered in her head that the human man was touching her, she froze, and when she did, John couldn't feel anything anymore. She was still there, looking down at his arms that were now floating inside her. John moved his hands around, eyes wide and she shuddered, stepping away with her shoulders hunched. 

John felt bad for scaring her like that so he cleared his throat, “Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,”

She didn't move for a minute, her back to him, and then slowly looked over her shoulder, blinking her wet eyes at him. She was scared and his heart twisted in his chest at the youth etched in her skin, at her hunched shoulders and trembling lower lip. 

“I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to scare you,” John quickly apologised again, this time trying to whisper, his hands in the air, trying his best not to scare her away. 

Her body slowly turned around, levitating and floating, then he could finally see all of her, including the marks wrapped around her neck in the shape of fingertips as she stared at him, shaking. John never thought he was capable of scaring a ghost, if anything he should be the one terrified out of his wits. This wasn't normal.

“I'm John, John Price,” John introduced himself, “I bought the house a month ago, as a retirement present for myself…” Price explained as if she would care why he bought the house. 

“You can see me?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper and Price nodded, eyes wide. 

“And you can touch me?” She asked again, fingers grabbing hold of her dress, pulling at the fabric and toying with it.

John nodded again and she looked down, confusion written all across her face. 

“Are you a ghost too?” She asked, hopeful and Price’s small smile fell, did she just ask him if he was a flipping ghost? 

“Am I dead?” He repeated and she nodded once with a grimace.

“Well, I hope not,” He awkwardly laughed, running his fingers through his beard, thinking hard if he could've lost his life in the battlefield, a bullet to the head or something. 

“Are you sure?” She asked and he frowned, was he sure? 

“What's something ghosts can't do and living people can?” John asked and she tilted her head to the side, thinking. 

“Well, I can't leave the house…” She shrugged and he nodded, that's it, all he has to do is leave the house and he'll be sure he's actually not dead.

John walked to the door, turning the key and looked over his shoulder, “I'm doing it!” Then he put one foot outside, then another, and nothing happened, “See! I'm not a ghost,”

She frowned in confusion, “If you're not a ghost, then why can you see and touch me?”

John walked back in the house and locked the door behind him, “I don't know, you're the first ghost I've ever talked to, I'll tell you that,”

“Really?” 

“Yes,” John smiled a little, “Are there others in here or is it just you?”

“Just me,”

“Alright, will you give me a hard time?”

“No!”

“Good, then why don't you make yourself useful and help me pick a new wallpaper for the hallways,”

[pleasant-dune]

This (old) tweet is worded in such a weird way...? Matt didn't fake being blind, what a careless way of wording it. Too many people already think Matt isn't blind just because of his senses and shit like this definitely fueled the fire.

MATT IS BLIND, GUYS. THAT'S WHY THE SHOW DEPICTS HIM USING BLINDNESS ASSISTIVE DEVICES. THAT'S WHY HIS EYES CANNOT PERCEIVE LIGHT AS SHOWN WHEN THEY SHONE A FLASHLIGHT AT MATT'S EYES.

HE HAS NEVER "FAKED BEING BLIND".

This is why actors should just shut the fuck up instead of tweeting ableist-worded shitty takes. For what anyway? For the sake of shipping wars? Insufferable.

P.S Now why didn't she address all the times Karen has lied? But that's a topic for another day, since this is about addressing the highly ignorant and ableist take that Matt's blindness is "fake".

[luvo27]

i have thought a LOT about how i like to write cass in my fics so here's one of the thoughts:

one thing that i do on purpose when writing from cass's pov is not use the babs or steph nicknames in the narration and this is something that i thought about because if i'm writing in steph's pov, i'll use the steph nickname from time to time but i don't use it for cass. i love love love love the scott puckett batgirl run, and one thing that really makes it unique to me is the lack of cass's narration and yes this is because she doesn't know english for a bit but even afterwards it's still fairly minimal, and there's very much the question of like, how on earth do you translate this very visual character into a written medium? the idea is like, trying to distance the narrator's voice from cass's voice. it's fun in a sense of like, i cant draw and use art to show how cass's thoughts work and how she connects things in her mind, but i can get the narrator to describe her thoughts even if in words not her own so cass might call stephanie by the nickname steph, but the narrator wouldn't, and all of the narration is like a second hand translation of what's actually happening in cass's head and sometimes it's more connected to cass's voice and sometimes it's less connected and i don't know if this is making any sense at all. basically if i were ever going to write a cass comic i think i'd write the narration in 3rd person most of the time

[rivilu]

ok you know. the Ellu in dav crossover au is very fun but i am a little bit enchanted by the concept of him AND Rynn at once. Best of both worlds in a sense.

[phoenixcatch7]

What I'd really love to see is a svsss au where shen yuan had the immense powers from saiki k.

Like, svsss is already a romcom of a guy shunted into a fantasy world with meta knowledge and immense power for no reason apart from 'make a happy ending' as a fairly thick veneer over an absolute hot mess of a tragedy with a happy ending, red flags galore, complete with a protagonist completely removed from the concept of romance and resigned to his fate of being abandoned by the people around him because of the circumstances he was 'born' into, but he's funny about it.

The disastrous life of saiki k is a fast paced crack comedy about a guy granted immense power for no reason with meta knowledge of the world as a thick veneer over something a little darker and traumatic with a happy ending, complete with a protagonist completely removed from the concept of romance and resigned to being ignored by the people around him because of the circumstances he was born into, but he's hilarious about it.

Now I don't think it should be a 1-1 transplant of saiki to the svsss world, but to imagine an sy with those powers who didn't manage to find loyal friends, who moved out to live alone as soon as possible to avoid issues with his powers, who gravitated to web novels because of their regular updates as opposed to being constantly spoiled for books with finished endings. An sy who despite his ridiculous levels of power died alone in a stupid way and woke up in a world filled with people who also had immense and varied powers, dealing with the prospect of immortality when his own powers are still constantly growing and interfering with his life, but be silly about it.

I want to see a sy with telepathy still failing to understand what lbhs deal is because of his own denial, a sy with the power to crush mountains with a finger trying not to blow down walls with a sneeze because someone put him on a mountain FILLED with plants in SPRING, an sy who deleted an entire country from the planet aged four trying to dodge overly enthusiastic maidens he keeps saving because he doesn't want to steal from the protagonist and also no, lady, please. Shen yuan sitting in the water prison absolutely deadpan as people try and scare him with 10 iq stories about the acid waterfalls. An sy who hares around the peak trying to avoid being spotted on valentines day as he redirects unwanted admirers and improves his disciples dates just so they can all have a good day.

An sqh who really, honestly truly doesn't know how pidw was made real, honest!! All he could do was see ghosts! It's not his fault the story he wrote to make rent turned into all of this!! But because you're here can you pretty please make some ice, I'm in desperate need of air con and my king hasn't showed up in weeks!

Sqq and sqh playing telepathic chess during boring meetings and sqq leaving him to suffer when sqh is asked a question even though he himself knows the answer.

Lbh trying everything to get shizuns attention and discovering his total weakness to his cooking. Like, will let you cheat in class levels of bribery.

Sqq stalking dourly through fields of aphrodisiac plant because he's raised his body temperature high enough to burn out any pollen before it gets too close and the system just despairing at getting this man to do something interesting.

Cat!sqq transforming back as fast as he can because he's got a meeting in half an hour and having to rush around trying to find something to cover the cat ears he didn't manage get rid of.

Shen qingqiu pulling out his limiters and dropping the mask to reveal a deity in the shape of a man, something crafted purely of psychic energy and burning fury, determined to hold maigu ridge together and keep the realms apart with his will alone, to save luo binghe if it killed him again. A shining aura stretching miles, glowing like a star, halting the earthquake with his bare hands.

Sqq seeing a bug and freaking out so hard he teleports to the northern demon realm and lands in a slushy pond, and sqh nearly giving him away because of how hard he's laughing.