#and the game is slightly different to what it was in the past

[connorsui]

UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | Independence Day

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @runnergirl234) : celebrating the fourth of july with your f1 boyfriend <3

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : fireworks??? idk... ୨ৎ : word count : 3148

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : you guys should know how much of a sucker i am when it comes to introducing someone to a different culture, this was so so so fun to write🥲

ʚ・max verstappen

max didn’t get it.

“so, you just eat a lot and blow things up?” he crossed his arms, eyes narrowing like this was some elaborate prank.

“pretty much,” you said, handing him a beer.

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “you americans are insane.” but he cracked open the beer anyway.

the backyard was packed. the grill smoked, the table was buried under piles of burgers and hot dogs, and a guy in an eagle tank top was aggressively tong-flipping ribs like his life depended on it. kids sprinted past with sparklers, and someone had already set off a rogue firework that nearly took out a lawn chair.

max surveyed the chaos like he was analyzing a new circuit. someone shoved a hot dog into his hand, and he stared at it like it was an untested setup change.

“no cutlery?”

“no, max. just eat it.”

he sighed but took a bite anyway. chewed. nodded slightly. “not bad. bit plain.”

he grabbed the mustard and squeezed way too hard. a horrifying amount of it slopped onto the bun. he stared at it for a long moment before taking another bite. his expression didn’t change, but you could see the regret.

“this was a mistake.”

when the fireworks started, he barely reacted at first, just tilting his head to watch as red and blue bursts lit up the sky. the next one was louder, the kind that rattled your ribs. he flinched, just a little.

“bit excessive,” he muttered.

someone handed him a sparkler, and he held it like it might explode in his fingers.

“just wave it around,” you said. “it’s fun.”

max verstappen does not “wave things around for fun.” but after a few seconds, he started moving it in small, cautious circles, still frowning in deep concentration. then, like it was a matter of principle, he traced out the number 1 in the air.

of course.

you laughed. he shot you a glare. “say nothing.”

the grand finale kicked in, launching fireworks in rapid, ear-shattering bursts. max, now fully resigned to the chaos, took a long sip of his beer and gave a small nod.

“alright,” he admitted. “i kind of get it.”

another firework exploded so hard it shook the ground. he blinked.

“…still think you’re all insane, though.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis adjusted his bucket hat, surveying the backyard scene with an amused but slightly wary expression. smoke curled from the grill, country music blared from a bluetooth speaker, and someone was setting up a folding table for what had been described to him as “competitive beer pong.”

“you lot take this holiday seriously, huh?” he mused, sipping on an iced matcha he had brought himself.

“it’s america’s birthday,” you said.

he chuckled. “right. and what’s the game plan? burgers and blowing things up?”

“basically.”

lewis shook his head, grinning. “so, absolute carnage, then.”

he fit in better than he probably expected. within ten minutes, he was deep in conversation about plant-based grilling techniques with someone’s confused but intrigued uncle. he took over the aux at one point, replacing the country anthems with smooth r&b, nodding along as he flipped a veggie burger with the confidence of a seven-time world champion.

when someone handed him a sparkler, he twirled it effortlessly between his fingers, making little figure eights in the air. “alright, i see the appeal,” he admitted, watching the light trail behind his movements.

then came the fireworks.

lewis leaned back in his chair, watching the first one explode across the sky. his sunglasses, which he had no reason to still be wearing at night, reflected the red and blue bursts.

“these are, what… not regulated?” he asked as another one screamed into the sky.

“not really.”

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “man, if i did this in monaco, they’d fine me and take my yacht.”

still, he looked genuinely impressed. when the grand finale hit, shaking the ground with an almost comical level of intensity, he let out a low whistle.

“alright, america,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. “you do know how to put on a show.”

just as he said it, someone behind him lit an illegal firecracker that shot sideways, barely missing a parked truck. lewis instinctively dodged, years of racing reflexes kicking in.

he stared at the scorched grass for a long moment, then slowly turned back to you.

“yeah, i’m gonna stick to silverstone celebrations.”

ʚ・george russell

george arrived looking like he had just walked out of a country club. polo tucked in, hair perfectly styled, white sneakers that had clearly never touched a patch of grass. he took a slow, deliberate look around the backyard. shirtless guys were shotgunning beers, someone was wrestling with a grill that was clearly too hot, and kids were launching bottle rockets dangerously close to a tree. he exhaled through his nose and adjusted his watch like he was mentally preparing for what was about to unfold.

"alright," he muttered to himself. "let’s see how this goes."

at first, he took the polite approach. he asked well-structured questions about barbecue techniques, nodded attentively as someone explained the art of smoking ribs, and accepted a plate of food he clearly didn’t recognize with a determined sort of curiosity.

then he saw the keg stand.

he narrowed his eyes, watching as a group of guys hoisted someone upside down, beer pouring straight from the keg into his mouth while the crowd chanted encouragement.

"what exactly is happening there?" he asked, arms crossed.

you explained. he blinked. "and people enjoy this?"

before you could answer, someone clapped a hand on his back. a very large, very enthusiastic man in an american flag tank top grinned at him. "you're up next, british boy."

george let out a small, nervous chuckle, glancing at you like he was waiting for an escape. you just grinned. "it’s tradition."

for a moment, it looked like he might back out. then something shifted in his expression. that familiar look of determination. the same way he looked before attempting an impossible overtake. he squared his shoulders, handed you his drink, and nodded once.

"alright. if i’m doing this, i’m doing it properly."

what followed was the most technically flawless keg stand anyone had ever seen. a perfect lift-off, immaculate form, and balance so steady it looked choreographed. when he landed back on the ground, he wiped his mouth, adjusted his polo, and looked around.

"was that acceptable?"

the entire backyard erupted.

by the time the fireworks started, he was fully committed. the polo had been replaced with a ridiculous red, white, and blue hat. he accepted a plate of chili cheese fries without hesitation. he was even chanting “usa! usa!” along with a group of strangers like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment.

as the grand finale filled the sky, he leaned over to you, shaking his head with a laugh. "i have to admit, you lot know how to celebrate."

then someone behind him misfired a roman candle. the fireball shot sideways, missing him by inches. he spun around, hands on his hips, eyes wide.

"right," he said, voice slightly higher than usual. "and that is where i draw the line."

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos had questions.

"wait, wait, wait," he said, holding up a hand as he surveyed the absolute chaos of the backyard. "so, today, we eat like… ten hamburgers, drink cervezas (beers), and then we throw fireworks at each other?"

"pretty much," you said, handing him a beer.

he exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "los americanos están locos, eh? (you americans are crazy, huh?)"

but he cracked open the beer anyway.

carlos adapted quickly. within ten minutes, he was fully involved in the grilling process, standing next to the guy manning the barbecue with his hands on his hips, nodding like he was strategizing a pit stop. when handed a hot dog, he examined it critically.

"where is the jamón? (ham) no chorizo? (spicy spanish sausage)" he asked, looking personally offended.

"just eat it, carlos."

he sighed dramatically but took a bite. then another. his expression didn't change, but he gave a small nod.

"okay, está bien (it's okay). but if i put aceitunas (olives) on this, it would be better."

then he saw the fireworks table. his eyes narrowed. "who is in charge of this? porque esto looks very unsafe (because this…)."

before you could respond, someone lit a firecracker that immediately fell over and shot straight across the lawn. carlos flinched, ducking like it was a rogue piece of debris from an f1 crash. his head snapped toward you.

"¡ay, madre mía! (oh my god!) this is allowed?"

you shrugged. "kind of."

his hands went to his hips again. he muttered something in spanish that you were pretty sure included words not suitable for broadcast. but by the time the real fireworks show started, carlos had finally given in.

reclining in a lawn chair, beer in hand, he watched the sky light up with red, white, and blue. he exhaled and shook his head with a small smile.

"okay," he admitted. "es un poco loco… pero me gusta. (it’s a little crazy… but i like it.)"

then, just as he said it, another rogue firework went off sideways. this one nearly took out a folding chair. carlos was on his feet in seconds.

"no, no, no! that is not normal! esto es peligroso! (this is dangerous!)"

you couldn't stop laughing as he pointed accusingly at the guy holding the lighter.

"¡hermano, tú no sabes lo que haces! (brother, you don’t know what you’re doing!) give me that thing!"

and just like that, carlos sainz was suddenly in charge of the fireworks, directing the entire show like an engineer over the radio.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was trying very hard to be polite.

it was his first fourth of july, and instead of some wild backyard rager, you had brought him to your family cookout, thinking it would be a nice, relaxed introduction to the holiday. that was your first mistake.

he had been handed a plate piled with enough food to feed a small country, your uncle had already declared him an honorary american, and your grandma had called him “such a handsome young man” at least three times. charles was handling it all with his usual charm, smiling and nodding as your family quizzed him about monaco like he was an ambassador rather than a formula 1 driver.

“you ever driven one of them nascars?” your cousin asked, chewing on a rib.

charles hesitated for half a second. “uh… no, not yet.”

“bet you’d be real good at it.”

he smiled. “i hope so.”

your cousin nodded seriously, like he had just made a groundbreaking discovery, then handed charles a sparkler. the wrong end.

charles, being charles, took it without question.

the second the lighter touched the tip, he yelped and dropped it straight onto the grass, shaking out his hand like he had just suffered a catastrophic brake failure.

“oh! merde!” he blinked at his fingers, then looked at you, eyes wide with a mix of betrayal and confusion. “it bit me.”

your cousin cackled. “man, you gotta hold the other end.”

charles gave him the most unimpressed look you had ever seen. “yes, i see that now.”

despite the initial trauma, he tried again, this time holding it the correct way. he watched the sparks flicker and pop, his expression turning thoughtful.

“this is actually nice,” he said, moving it gently through the air. he traced out a shape, pausing, then tried again. “i was trying to do my number, but i think i made a… fish?”

you leaned in. it was, indeed, a fish.

"close enough."

the fireworks started just as he got comfortable, your dad setting them off from the driveway like it was a carefully planned operation. charles leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the sky as red, white, and blue bursts lit up above.

for a moment, he was quiet, just watching. then he exhaled and smiled. “this is really beautiful.”

you were about to agree when another one went off way too close to the ground. charles flinched so hard he nearly spilled his drink, eyes darting toward the launch site.

“is it supposed to do that?”

your dad waved him off. “eh, it’s fine.”

charles did not look convinced. “i don’t think that is fine.”

another firework whistled sideways into a bush. charles shot up out of his chair.

“no, no, no—this is not normal!”

your cousin just laughed. “welcome to america, man.”

ʚ・lando norris

lando had never looked more out of his depth in his entire life.

and that included the time he got stuck on a beach in monaco.

you had brought him to your university’s fourth of july party, thinking it would be a fun, casual experience. that was your second mistake. your first mistake was underestimating how unhinged your friends were.

“okay, so let me get this straight,” lando said, standing in the middle of a backyard that looked like it had already survived three different safety car restarts. “you guys drink an obscene amount of alcohol, eat way too much food, and then you—what? just set things on fire?”

“yeah, pretty much.”

he blinked. “that’s mad.”

and yet, here he was, already double-fisting a beer and a plate of nachos, blending in like he had been here all semester.

the night started off fine. he played beer pong, overthought his technique, lost anyway, and then blamed the table for being “not regulation size.” he had his first ever corn dog, called it “weird but kinda amazing,” and then proceeded to eat three more. he even wore a ridiculous red, white, and blue cowboy hat that one of your friends had aggressively placed on his head.

everything was going smoothly. then someone handed him a roman candle.

“wait, what am i supposed to do with this?” he asked, inspecting the long tube like it was an unfamiliar steering wheel.

“just hold it and point it up,” you said, already realizing this was a mistake.

your friend lit it, and lando immediately panicked.

“oh my god, it’s on fire—IT’S ON FIRE.”

“yes, lando, that’s the point.”

“I DON’T LIKE IT.”

“JUST HOLD IT STILL.”

“I CAN’T.”

the first fireball shot out, straight up into the air. the second one did not.

instead, it veered at a slightly concerning angle, skimming past the roof of the house and nearly taking out a string of decorative lights. lando let out a full-on shriek, dropped the roman candle, and sprinted five steps away like the thing had personally offended him.

the candle, now abandoned, continued shooting rogue fireballs across the yard. your friends scattered. someone dove behind a cooler. one of your more chaotic friends cheered. lando, meanwhile, had his hands on his head, looking like he had just witnessed an absolute strategy disaster.

“oh my god,” he wheezed. “i almost died.”

“you did not almost die.”

“that was the most unsafe thing i’ve ever done, and i race at 200 miles per hour for a living!”

despite the near-death experience, lando stuck around. mostly because someone handed him another beer, and he was too emotionally drained to do anything but drink it. when the actual fireworks started, he stayed a healthy distance away, sipping his drink and shaking his head every time one exploded a little too close to the ground.

by the end of the night, he had recovered enough to join in on the chanting. he even put the cowboy hat back on.

“alright,” he admitted, exhaling. “that was actually kinda fun.”

then someone suggested doing sparklers. lando immediately held up both hands.

“no. absolutely not. i’ve learned my lesson. you lot are psychos.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar piastri was trying his best.

you had invited him to your family’s fourth of july cookout, reassuring him it would be a relaxed evening with good food, nice company, and minimal chaos. that had been a lie.

now he was sitting on the porch, gripping a lemonade like it was a contract extension, watching your uncle aggressively flip burgers on the grill while your little cousins ran barefoot through the yard with sparklers. someone had already spilled an entire bowl of potato salad, your aunt was yelling at your dad about lighter fluid, and a bluetooth speaker was blasting country music at a volume that should have been illegal.

oscar took a slow sip of his drink. “so this is normal?”

you nodded. “completely normal.”

“right,” he said, nodding slightly. “that’s concerning.”

to his credit, he was doing his best to fit in. he helped carry the extra chairs outside, listened to your grandpa tell a very long-winded story about how “kids these days don’t know how to drive,” and politely answered every single person who asked if he knew daniel ricciardo.

he even attempted a game of cornhole. it did not go well.

“mate, you’ve got to actually aim,” your cousin said as oscar’s beanbag completely missed the board.

“i am aiming.”

“then why does it look like you’re throwing a penalty kick?”

oscar’s next toss went even further off course. he turned to you, deadpan. “i don’t like this game.”

the real trouble started when your little cousin, clearly taking advantage of his foreign guest status, decided to hand oscar a firework. not a sparkler. not a small fountain. a full-blown roman candle.

oscar held it with both hands, staring at it like it was an unexploded bomb. “am i being set up?”

“just light it and hold it up,” your cousin said.

oscar frowned. “that sounds fake, but okay.”

he did as he was told, but the second the first fireball shot out, he visibly tensed, gripping the firework like he was on the final lap in monaco. another fireball launched, and he let out a quiet but very real “oh no.”

“it’s fine,” you reassured him.

“it doesn’t feel fine,” he said, carefully adjusting his stance like he was bracing for impact. “how long does this last?”

“maybe ten more shots.”

oscar sighed. “great. love that for me.”

when the roman candle finally fizzled out, he let out the slowest exhale of his life and handed it back like he had just completed a dangerous mission.

“alright,” he said. “i have now contributed to the chaos. that should fulfill my american initiation, yes?”

the night ended with fireworks, which oscar watched from what he clearly deemed the safest possible location—standing just inside the house, one foot over the threshold in case he needed to make a quick exit.

when someone asked if he had fun, he paused for a moment, considering his answer.

“well,” he said, taking another sip of lemonade. “i still have all my fingers. so i’d call that a success.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[lobotomiesatclaires]

Lighter Kink and Psychology Analysis - Zenless Zone Zero

Full disclaimer: I don’t play Zenless Zone Zero, but through my friend’s love of the game and Tumblr osmosis, I’ve learned a great deal about Lighter. I find the differences between his canon and fanon interpretations fascinating, so I thought it would be interesting to break down the psychology of kinks and what I think Lighter’s are. I’m going to focus on the ones I believe he has, and if people want me to go into further detail, let me know! Also if it was clear from the title 18+ content below

Exhibitionism – Subcategories: Semi-Public Sex, Secret Keeping, and Risk Play

Lighter is fascinating because he’s full of contradictions. He doesn’t like having his picture taken and prefers to keep a low profile, yet he wears flashy clothes and takes on high profile work where he cannot NOT be noticed. He wants to be left alone but craves connection with people. Part of this can be attributed to losing so many important people due to his own actions, but I think another part of it is Lighter’s hopeless romantic streak. He wants to die for love, and I think part of that is tied to finding someone worthy of that sacrifice.

He’s not interested in people who praise him or send him gifts because, to him, they don’t truly know him—and if they did, they wouldn’t want anything to do with him, he thinks. This low self-esteem and disorganized attachment style create a loop where he desperately craves connection, has opportunities for it, but never fully lets his walls down to allow a deeper bond. Because of his past and the fear of never being truly understood, Lighter communicates in subtle ways. In-game, he can give the player purple lilacs. In the language of flowers, purple lilacs symbolize one’s first love or the first time one feels love for someone. However he leaves on a job right after, to stop any possibility of asking him more about why he gave them to you.

When it comes to sex, Lighter has experience, but in romantic love, he’s very much a virgin, in my opinion.

In line with this, I think Lighter would be needy as a partner, in constant need of validation but unable to ask for reassurance. He hates when his friends are mad at him—it distresses him significantly, which reinforces my earlier points about his emotional sensitivity. Thus, I think one of his core needs would be for a partner to be very possessive of him. Not only would this push back against his feelings of guilt, but it would bulldoze past his tendency to panic at intimacy and distance himself.

While I agree he’d be into risk/thrill-seeking, I don’t think it would be extreme or involve pain. I believe it would be a form of intimate thrill-seeking—the kind that engages an overactive mind.

Imagine:Lighter and his partner in an elevator, on the way to a party. Four seconds before the elevator reaches the destination, his partner pushes him against the wall, kisses him, and whispers in his ear that they’re not wearing anything under their dress coat. The doors open, and they walk out into the party crowd—no one the wiser. Except Lighter.

For example: They’re at the party. Lighter’s charming, slipping easily into conversations with strangers. But every so often, his partner brushes their fingers lightly over the back of his neck—just once, fleeting. No one notices, but Lighter does. His spine straightens slightly each time, a silent acknowledgment: I know who I belong to.

Or: Club sex on the top floor behind a loud rock band. The balcony overlooking a busy street. Going to dinner with friends with a remote in his hand and a small vibrator in his partner’s underwear.

I think Lighter would enjoy all of these scenarios—not just for the risk, but for the inherent trust required to play and keep these secrets between him and his partner. It’s something completely his, something no one else can encroach upon, yet it’s right there, obvious to anyone observant enough to notice.

Marking – Physical and Psychological

Marking, both physical and psychological, would lean into Lighter’s desire for connection. Think: visible signs of his partner’s presence—like a hickey or a faint lipstick smudge on his collarbone.

While traditional marking overlaps with the possessiveness I imagine he’d enjoy, psychological marking might be even more appealing to him. This could involve embedding someone’s presence in his mind through habits, sensory triggers, or routines.

Lighter’s fear of being forgotten or unimportant could be countered by the constant reassurance that he’s always present in his partner’s thoughts. Non-sexually, his partner might leave voice notes for him to listen to during missions or spritz their perfume on his scarf. They might even snap a risky picture and set it as his lock screen so the next time he checks his phone on the job he’s left with a surprise.

Lighter is haunted by the dead, but I think what he truly craves is being haunted by someone living. He would adore his partner’s presence lingering in his personal space, feeding his need for connection without direct confrontation.

Domination – Receiving, Direction Taking

I firmly believe Lighter likes to be dominated. In terms of desire, I don’t think Lighter experiences much spontaneous desire; rather, he’s more connected to responsive desire (see the paper “Sexual Arousal and Desire: Interrelations and Responses to Three Modalities of Sexual Stimuli” by Katherine Goldey and Sari Anders). That man is too tired to be dominant, and as seen in-game, he prefers to take orders. He would definitely call his partner “Boss” in the bedroom.

Beyond the bedroom, I feel Lighter would continue this relinquishment of power through authority transfer dynamics as a coping mechanism for emotional instability, much like he does for the Sons of Calydon. This could manifest in routines or rituals where his partner makes decisions for him, offering a sense of control without the burden of autonomy. It’s both a reaffirmation of care and a release from the pressure of decision-making.

Given his tendency to overthink, delegating power outside of sex could ease his mental load and reinforce security in his relationships. I think Lighter would enjoy having his partner pick out his clothes, jewelry, ect, decide small daily routines, or even manage his finances in a consensual dynamic. This creates a structure where emotional care is embedded in everyday life, not just during intimacy.

Additionally, given Lighter’s need for emotional grounding and his craving to feel “claimed,” collaring—whether in a literal BDSM context or as an everyday symbolic gesture—would be something he could secretly obsess over. If Lighter were given a necklace, choker, or even a collar (especially since he loves jewelry), he’d never take it off. He’d wear it under his clothes, hidden from everyone else but always present. On rough days or when away from his partner, just feeling it against his skin would serve as silent reassurance, grounding him.

It would satisfy both his exhibitionist streak (a hidden “secret” between him and his partner) and act as a reminder: I’m not lost. I belong somewhere. To someone.

For example: if before a mission his partner was to kiss him goodbye, place a necklace around his neck and say “Come back wearing this” he would tug at the small chain subconsciously the entire time he’s gone. He would sleep with it on, shower with it, and when he returned, the metal would be warm and oxidised from his skin, his skin stained from the metal.

Praise Play

An extension of his need for domination and grounding, I see praise play as a huge turn-on for Lighter. While some believe degradation is one of his kinks, I think it’s the opposite. While he might engage in degradation play if his partner wanted it (and part of him might believe he deserves it due to his low self-esteem), I think he would emotionally shut down if it became a consistent dynamic. To me it would be a similar dynamic to the start of the Astarion romance, fulfilling a role as a tool rather than as a person.

Kinks often reflect core emotional needs. Non-consensual fantasies, for example, are about being desired so intensely that someone is willing to break laws and social norms. Degradation kinks often involve a need for others to see the worst parts of us and want us regardless. However, for sensitive individuals, this negative reinforcement doesn’t bring solace—it simply reaffirms their worst fears and destroys their fragile attempts at building a better self image. I also don't think Lighter would find any attraction in demeaning his partner, I think he would feel unworthy of their attention and trust, especially in the beginning.

Lighter is consistently wracked with guilt and desperately wants to know whether he’s doing the right thing, whether it’s in his job or in a relationship. For someone like Lighter, praise isn’t just arousing—it’s reparative in a way nothing else matches. Each compliment is a stone in the foundation of a self-worth he can’t build alone. When his partner says, “You’re doing so well,” or “You feel like home, like safety,” it’s not just about sex. It’s about rewriting the narrative he’s been telling himself for years.

Domestic Play

You cannot convince me that the image of Lighter’s partner cooking or doing general domestic chores wouldn’t awaken something deep within him, even though he might not admit it at first. In-game, he respects and surrounds himself with women who embody dominant, traditionally masculine qualities. He’s more than happy to take orders from them, but in terms of romantic or sexual attraction, he seems to have little interest in those traits. I suspect this is because these qualities mirror his old self, and that’s not something he finds much solace in, either romantically or sexually.

I think Lighter would be attracted to someone fundamentally different from those around him—someone softer and more considerate, yet still strong in a more traditionally feminine sense. Given his history of loss, trauma, and the absence of a stable family, I believe he harbors a profound urge for a family-like relationship. His partner would create an environment that feels like home, a concept Lighter likely yearns for but doesn’t fully understand.

Home-cooked meals, small domestic gestures of affection—these would make him unbearably needy, though he’d only show it when alone with his partner.

For example: During mundane moments—making coffee, fixing his jacket—his partner casually murmurs, “You belong to me.” It’s subtle, not always sexual, but it lights up the part of Lighter’s brain that craves validation without having to ask for it.

Things like his partner knowing how he likes his coffee without needing to ask, or grabbing the salt shaker from him because it’s bad for his cholesterol would make him unbearably turned on you cannot convince me otherwise. These small acts of care would hit him hard, far more than overt declarations of love.

For Lighter, being told what to do isn’t about submission—it’s about relief. In a life where his choices have often led to heartbreak, the absence of choice feels like safety.

Sensation Play – Both Sensory Deprivation and Service

Lighter is an overthinker. According to Emily Nagoski’s Come As You Are, overthinking is one of the primary reasons people struggle to achieve climax or engage fully with emotional and sexual vulnerability. When you place too much pressure on external factors—self-image, internal worries, even things as small as ‘the dishes need to be done’—it inhibits your ability to ground yourself in the present and truly experience pleasure. This is why many people, particularly women, struggle with partnered sex and climax.

For Lighter, orgasm denial or delayed gratification would likely be a huge turn-on, especially in situations where he’s restrained or unable to interact directly with his partner—think handcuffs or shibari. The removal of senses, such as blindfolding, helps heighten arousal by redirecting the energy normally spent on processing visual stimuli toward pure sensation. It doesn’t stop the overthinking; it realigns it, forcing it to focus on the present moment.

For example: His partner lightly places a hand over his mouth while he’s blindfolded—not fully cutting off air, but creating a soft restraint. It’s not about danger; it’s about trust. The lack of visual and verbal control pushes him into a space where he can’t overanalyze—he can only feel.

Considering Lighter’s past—especially his time in the fighting pits, where he described himself as feeling like a zombie—I don’t think he’d enjoy pain or impact play. His physical existence outside the bedroom has already been filled with similar kinds of suffering. Instead, sensation play becomes a refuge—a way to experience his body without violence, without pain. There's a running joke that he fears the sight of blood in game, which is another reason why I believe centering pleasure rather than pain would be more attractive to him.

Emotional Edgeplay

I believe Lighter craves not just physical intensity but emotional vulnerability pushed to its limits—scenarios where trust is tested, intimacy feels dangerous, and attachment triggers are explored in consensual, negotiated ways. Emotional edgeplay isn’t about causing harm; it’s about walking the razor-thin edge of emotional exposure, where the potential for catharsis is as powerful as the risk.

Overstimulation is an aspect of emotional edgeplay, often resulting in emotional release—like crying during or after sex—as the body lets go of trauma it’s been holding onto for too long. Lighter, who is profoundly dissociated from his needs due to guilt and a deep-seated dismissal of his own worth, would find this both terrifying and necessary.

We see hints of this in-game. For example, there’s an interaction with a guide dog—trained to seek out the most vulnerable person in the room—that ignores everyone else and goes straight to Lighter. This detail speaks volumes about how disconnected he is from his own emotional fragility; the desensitization runs so deep that he doesn’t even recognize it anymore.

In these moments, speech and affirmation would be crucial, especially during heightened emotional states or low points.

For example: During edging, when he’s trembling with frustration—not just sexually, but emotionally—his partner gently cradles his face and whispers, “Do you see how wonderful you are when you’re not pretending?”

It’s not just arousing—it’s disarming. Because in that vulnerable space, Lighter isn’t the cool, edgy pit fighter turned bodyguard. He’s just him, stripped of all pretense. No walls, no bravado. Flaws and all. It also provides acceptance by omission, that his partner sees all and accepts all.

Caretaker Dynamics (Reversed Aftercare)

I also believe Lighter would prefer to be the primary aftercare provider, despite this traditionally being the role of the dominant partner. According to Dominatrix Eva Oh, aftercare is a service role, and for Lighter, providing that service would be deeply fulfilling. (It’s a common misconception the Sub role in BDSM is the harder or serving role, because truly Dom’s are required to be very emotionally stable, beholden to their sub and can turn out to be a very stress inducing role for the wrong people). This is why high flying jobs such as CEO’s actually prefer to be submissive because it is the only place in their life they get to be minded.

While aftercare is essential after most sexual interactions—especially those involving intense scenes—reversed caretaker dynamics, where the more emotionally fragile partner provides aftercare, would align perfectly with Lighter’s psychology. Despite his vulnerabilities, he has an overwhelming desire to feel needed, to prove his worth in relationships even when he feels broken.

Being allowed to “take care” of his partner post-sex, even when he’s emotionally raw, satisfies this need. It’s not about dominance or submission—it’s about anchoring himself through acts of care.

For example: After an intense session, when his partner is spent and emotionally vulnerable, Lighter insists on making tea, carefully bandaging small marks, or physically holding them—even if he’s the one shaking. He tucks the blanket around them, brushes sweat-damp hair from their forehead, and whispers, “I’ve got you.”

In those moments, his value isn’t measured by strength or stoicism. This role reversal reinforces his sense of purpose without undermining his vulnerabilities. He doesn't always have to be the strong one here, in this moment.

Closing Thoughts

Ultimately, Lighter’s kinks aren’t just about physical pleasure—they’re reflections of his deepest fears, needs, and desires. They’re coping mechanisms woven into intimacy, helping him navigate a world where connection feels both a gift and a threat. Whether through domination, praise, or emotional edgeplay, his kinks allow him to confront the parts of himself he hides from the world.

At the heart of it all, Lighter wants to be known.

References

Disclaimer I have dyslexia and English is my second language so I apologize for mistakes.

Theswaddle.com. (2019). The Psychology of Sexual Kink. [online] Available at: https://www.theswaddle.com/what-is-kink-the-psychology-behind-sexual-behavior [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

admin@blossmcart (2023). A dive into the definition of Lilac Flower and its Significance. [online] Blossmcart Flowers. Available at: https://blossmcart.com/blog/definition-and-significance-of-lilac-flower/#:~:text=The%20Lilac%20is%20a%20flower,purple%20Lilac%20signifies%20first%20love. 

‌Li, S. (2024). The Psychology of Kink: A Cross‐Sectional Survey Investigating the Association Between Adult Attachment Style and BDSM-Related Identity Choice in China. Archives of Sexual Behavior, [online] 53(6), pp.2269–2276. doi:https://doi.org/10.1007/s10508-024-02829-1.

When Kinks Come to Life: An Exploration of Paraphilic Behaviors and Underlying Predictors. (2024). The Journal of Sex Research. [online] doi:https://doi.org/10.1080//00224499.2024.2319242.

The Kink Orientation Scale: Developing and Validating a Measure of Kink Desire, Practice, and Identity. (2024). The Journal of Sex Research. [online] doi:https://doi.org/10.1080//00224499.2024.2387769.‌

Oh, E. (2020). I Was a Corporate Slave Until I Became a Professional Dominatrix. [online] VICE. Available at: https://www.vice.com/en/article/eva-oh-dominatrix-sex-kink/ [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

Youtube.com. (2025). Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_Ng_b28uxM [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

‌Youtube.com. (2025). Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2_aCw-DMq0 [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

‌

[rockyourwrld]

Nikki and fem reader are dating and he gets jealous of her and a guns n roses member during a party, yk how it ends 🤭

JEALOUS

the after-party was guaranteed to be crazy if motley crue was throwing it tons of sex, drugs and booze, any and everything. no matter where you looked something had to be happening.

in one corner there were rockstars getting it on with groupies, in another was party goers sniffing up white snow, and then there was Me and Nikki. well there was Vince and Sharise, Tommy with a random chick, and Mick... he's somewhere around here.

I was sitting next to Nikki on one of the leather couches, his arm was wrapped around me, tight. it brought security for some reason, like he didn't want to let me go.

his eyes tell a different story when they get stuck on some random hooker he hasn't even talked to, let alone meet. suddenly we need another round of drinks which takes 10 minutes.

I know he's not fucking her, at least not with his dick but it still hurts just a bit. I usually stay and hang out with Sharise when this happens because he always comes back to me eventually.

But this time I didn't want to be a sitting duck, if he was gonna go talk and finger bang some stranger what's the harm in me going to talk to some guy I find attractive?

I went to the kitchen to get something strong, something that will really get me going. Nikki was nowhere in sight, bummer. I grabbed a glass and started to pour myself some whiskey when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

he had jet black curly hair, a sharp jaw, and a potent smell of cigarettes and cologne. wasn't too tall, at least not as tall as Nikki.

"I hope this isn't too out of line but you're absolutely gorgeous, are you here with anyone?" he had a soft, raspy voice. definitely not what I expected from him but it's still good.

"thank you, I'm uh here with motley crue." I pointed towards the corner where we were all sitting, Tommy was practically eating that girl's face off by now.

his face scrunches at the sight "oh yeah, crazy band" he looks back over at me, finally taking his glasses off. his eyes were very attractive, could almost get lost in them.

he extended his hand towards me "I'm slash, and you are?"

" it's y/n, nice to meet you slash"

once me and slash started talking I completely forgot about Nikki, he wasn't around asking for my attention anyways. Slash barely knew me for a whole 15 minutes and had seemed more interested in me than Nikki had in the past 10 months.

everything was going good, me and slash were chatting it up, he started getting a little touchy which I didn't mind. until I felt what I thought to be Nikki's presence, which was only confirmed when a pair of rough hands wrapped around my waist from behind me.

he nuzzled his head into my neck before leaving a few gentle kisses.

"do you want to introduce me to your friend?" he mumbled softly.

Nikki always got his way, whether it was with me or someone else he always got it. he could fuck hundreds of girls but if I dared to touch a guy..

I put my hands on his "you don't want to do that yourself?"

I feel him smile against my neck before getting both of us up and on our feet, his arms still wrapped around me.

"come on we gotta go" he begins to guide me out.

I give a quick smirk at slash "see you next time, yeah?"

he nods slightly, raising his cigarette before laying down on the couch. one leg thrown over, the other planted on the ground.

x

the ride home was long and dreadful, he barely said anything, just looked at me, smirk, and look back at the road. when I asked he would just shake his head and mumble a simple "nothing."

I just turned my head away from him and looked out the window, I hated guessing games. so I wasn't gonna play.

we got home and I was first out of the car, I wanted to be inside and in my bed as soon as possible. Nikki takes note of this, grabbing his house keys he bolts past me up the stairs, not forgetting to slap my ass on the way up, proceeds to dangle his keys and unlock the door.

I give a sarcastic smile "okay you win"

he smirks and opens the door

"after you" he's always been a gentleman no matter the situation, the emotion or the reaction. I'll give him that.

I walked through the door and he closed it fast and hard, I turned around a bit shocked when he suddenly pushed his lips into mine roughly.

his hands wrap around my neck, his thumbs brushing against my jaw slightly. then he abruptly pulled away, I looked at him confused. wasn't he just upset a minute ago?

"you know you're my baby right? no matter how many guys try to get you, you're still mine baby" he pulls me back in, kissing and sucking at my neck., his hands rest on my waist.

"I hate seeing you with other guys but fuck it is hot" he let's out in a mumble.

his hands start lifting my dress slowly, such a tease. his kisses start to move down from my neck, he starts kissing my chest before coming back up to meet my lips.

"seeing how you'll let them think they've got a chance, they think they can actually get you? shit it's fucking wicked how you work y/n"

he starts guiding me to the couch, of course the couch..the bed can't be his favorite place. he lays me down before climbing on top of me, his knee between my legs, his hands around my waist holding me down.

"let me show you what they can't do for you."

[bradleysass]

mistress, mistress, have you been up to the roof?

2.1k words. TW: Suicidal Ideation

Lily had always known. She had known since their fifth year, when James would watch Regulus from across the Great Hall, eyes soft with something unspoken. She had known when they were seventeen, and James had pulled her aside at a party, the smell of firewhiskey on his breath, and whispered, "I think I'm in love with him." And she had known on the day they got married. It never bothered her, because James loved her, too—just differently. They had built a life together, best friends before anything else, and that had always been enough. Until now.

Lately, James had been distant. He withdrew from their friends, barely spoke to Sirius, stopped showing up to Remus’ flat on Sundays for their usual game nights. The glow that had always followed him, the infectious energy that made James, well, James, was gone. It was like he had been emptied out, like the gears in his head had stopped working. And no matter how many times Lily asked, no matter how many ways she phrased it—“Jamie, love, what’s going on?”—he never gave her an answer.

And then one day, he never came home.

She had called his office first. They told her he hadn’t come in. She called Peter. He hadn’t heard from James in days. She called Sirius, whose voice turned sharp with worry.

And then, without thinking, she called Regulus.

It went to voicemail the first time, but she tried again, and on the second ring, he picked up.

"Lily?"

"Regulus, I—I need to ask you something. Have you seen James? He didn’t come home last night, and he’s been—he’s been off, lately. I’m really worried."

There was silence. A long, heavy pause, like Regulus was trying to piece something together in his mind. Then, his breath hitched.

"What?"

"I don't know where he is," Lily said, her voice cracking. "He's been shutting everyone out, and I thought maybe—maybe you’d seen him, or talked to him. Anything."

Another pause. Then Regulus whispered, almost to himself, "Oh my god."

"What? What is it?"

"The last time I saw him, a few days ago—" Regulus stopped, like he was sorting through his memories. "He was talking about that hotel. The one near the bridge. He said something about how tall it was. That it was easy to access the roof."

Lily’s blood turned to ice.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, as if propelled by the same thought, they both moved at once.

"I’m going there now," Regulus said. "Stay on the line."

Lily was already grabbing her coat. "I’ll meet you there."

—

When Lily arrived at the hotel, she spotted Regulus immediately. He was standing near the entrance, hunched over slightly, his dark hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it in frustration. His shirt was rumpled, and the buttons near the collar were undone, as if he had hastily thrown it on before leaving. His usually composed expression was gone, replaced with something frantic, something raw.

Lily barely had time to register it before he turned and saw her.

"Did you check inside?" she asked breathlessly.

Regulus shook his head. "Not yet. I got here a few minutes ago. I—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was in the middle of something when you called. But none of that matters now. We need to find him."

Lily nodded, her stomach twisting into knots. Without another word, they pushed through the doors together.

The lobby was eerily quiet. The receptionist barely looked up from her desk as they approached.

Lily leaned forward. "Excuse me, have you seen a man with glasses, dark hair? He might have checked in or—or asked about the roof access?"

The receptionist frowned. "I’m not sure. But if he went up to the roof, the stairwell is at the end of the hall." She pointed past the elevators. "Security usually locks it, but sometimes guests slip through."

Regulus didn't wait for further explanation. He turned on his heel, heading towards the hallway at a near run, Lily close behind.

They reached the stairwell, and Regulus shoved at the door—it opened too easily, swinging inward. Lily felt her breath catch.

They took the stairs two at a time, neither speaking, neither daring to voice their fears. As they reached the final landing, the heavy metal door to the roof loomed in front of them, slightly ajar. A gust of cold wind swept through the gap.

Regulus swallowed hard. "James?"

No response.

He pushed the door open, and they stepped onto the rooftop.

The wind was sharp, biting against their skin as they stepped onto the rooftop. The city lights stretched out below, a dizzying array of gold and white. And then, at the edge—

James.

He was standing by the ledge, his hands curled tightly around the metal railing, knuckles white. Tear stains streaked his face, as if he had been there for hours, crying. His shoulders trembled slightly, his body swaying ever so subtly, and the sight of him sent pangs of pain through both Lily and Regulus.

Neither of them spoke at first. They didn’t want to startle him, didn’t want to push him further to the edge.

James was mumbling, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Lily deserves better... she always has."

Lily’s breath hitched, but she didn’t dare interrupt.

James continued, his voice cracking. "Regulus doesn’t need me. He never did."

Regulus clenched his fists at his sides. "That’s not true," he said softly.

James flinched but didn’t turn.

Lily took a careful step forward. "James, love, please... talk to us. We’re here."

James let out a hollow laugh. "You shouldn’t be. I’m just— I just make things worse. For everyone."

Regulus took a deep breath, stepping closer. "That’s not true, James. You’re everything to us."

James let out a shuddering breath, but he didn’t move away. It was a start.

Lily swallowed the lump in her throat, voice gentle but firm. "Come back to us, Jamie. Please."

For the first time since they arrived, James turned. And in his eyes, there was something fragile—something that, just maybe, could still be saved.

Lily and Regulus exchanged a glance, wordlessly agreeing to tread carefully. They tried everything—reminders of good memories, of inside jokes, of times James had pulled them both from their own darkness.

Lily stepped forward, voice soft. "Do you remember the first time you held Harry? You were shaking so hard, I thought you were going to drop him. But the moment he curled his tiny fingers around yours, you just—melted. I've never seen someone fall in love so fast. He needs you, James. We both do."

James let out a trembling breath, his grip loosening slightly on the railing.

Regulus' voice was quieter, but no less desperate. "I remember the night before your first Quidditch match as captain. You were so nervous, you dragged me out to the pitch at three in the morning just to run drills. You swore you'd ruin everything, that you weren’t good enough. And then you won. You always doubt yourself, James, but you always prove yourself wrong. You are so much more than your worst thoughts."

Lily took another careful step. "Remember when we made that awful bet with Sirius? The one where you had to dye your hair bright green for a week? You were so mad when you realized it wouldn't wash out. Harry wouldn't stop grabbing at it. You said you were never making bets with him again, but then the next week—"

"I did it again," James murmured, voice barely above a whisper. There was a ghost of a smile, the smallest flicker of something warm, before his expression collapsed again. "But that doesn’t change anything."

Regulus swallowed, stepping closer. "And do you remember the Astronomy Tower? That night when I told you everything—about my family, about the things I was scared of? And you didn’t run. You just held my hand and told me I was safe. You have always been the one to make me feel safe, James. Let me do the same for you now. Please."

James let out a shaky exhale, his hands finally releasing the railing. His shoulders sagged, as if the weight of everything was finally settling—but in a way that suggested he was still here, still listening.

Lily reached out, hesitant, and Regulus mirrored her movement.And slowly, step by step, James began to turn away from the edge.

But then, just as he took that step back, his foot slipped.

For a fraction of a second, time seemed to freeze. The world slowed to an agonizing crawl, the sharp intake of Lily’s breath, the way Regulus lurched forward, horror plastered across his face. And James—James felt the sickening weightlessness of gravity pulling him backwards, his stomach lurching as the ledge disappeared beneath him.

Was this it? Was this how it ended?

He saw their faces—Lily, her hand half-outstretched, her emerald eyes wide and filled with sheer terror. Regulus, who never let his emotions show, was completely undone, panic written into every sharp line of his face.

James didn’t want this to be the last thing he saw.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grasping desperately for a memory—anything warm, anything to take with him if this was truly it.

Hogsmeade. A cloudy afternoon. Sirius walking beside him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, talking about something James wasn’t listening to because his attention was elsewhere. Regulus, across the street, walking with Barty, looking unimpressed as always. James had whispered, "Finally making my move." Sirius had gagged but clapped him on the back anyway.

James had walked over, smug and self-assured, though his heart had been hammering. Regulus had barely glanced at him, but James had nudged his shoulder, grinning. "Thought I’d try my luck. Go out with me, Reggie?"

Regulus had scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Ask me again when hell freezes over."

James had grinned wider. "So you’re saying there’s a chance."

That was the first time he had ever made Regulus Black laugh. A small thing—more air than sound—but it had been real.

James clung to that memory, grasping at it like a lifeline—

And then his body jerked to a halt, his ankle caught in an iron grip.

His eyes snapped open.

Regulus.

Regulus was on his stomach, half over the edge, fingers digging into James’ ankle with desperate strength. Above him, Lily was crouched down, her hands gripping Regulus' waist to anchor them both, her face streaked with tears.

James was hanging off the side of the building.

The reality of it hit him all at once. The distant hum of the city below, the dizzying height, the sheer terror in Regulus' and Lily’s eyes.

Regulus’ voice was strangled. "I’ve got you." His fingers dug in tighter. "I’m not letting go."

Lily’s voice was just as fierce, but there was a tremble underneath. "James, please—don’t you dare let go."

James’ whole body trembled, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"James," Regulus gritted out, his arms shaking with effort. "I need you to—" He exhaled sharply. "You need to help me pull you up. Can you do that?"

James hesitated, fear locking his limbs in place. But then Lily leaned over more, voice breaking, "Come back to us, Jamie. Please."

That was all it took.

James forced his hands to move, scrambling against the concrete, trying to get a grip on anything solid. Regulus held firm, refusing to let James slip even an inch. With a groan of effort, Regulus and Lily hauled him back up, inch by inch, their bodies straining with the weight.

James' arms finally caught the ledge, and with one last desperate pull, he collapsed onto the rooftop, shaking, breathless, alive.

For a moment, none of them moved.

And then Lily threw herself at him, sobbing into his shoulder, fingers fisting into his jacket. "You absolute idiot—don’t you ever—ever—" Her words dissolved into a broken wail, and James felt his throat tighten.

Regulus wasn’t crying. But his face was pale, his eyes hollowed out with terror, his breaths uneven. He didn’t touch James, didn’t move closer—he just sat there, staring, as if he still couldn’t believe James was here.

James turned his head toward him, voice hoarse. "Reg—"

Regulus lunged forward, grabbing James by the collar and crashing their mouths together.

It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, messy, almost desperate—like Regulus was trying to breathe James back to life.

When they broke apart, Regulus’ forehead pressed against James’, his breath warm against his lips, voice shaking. "If you ever do that again, I will kill you myself."

James let out something between a sob and a laugh, his fingers weakly gripping Regulus’ shirt.

Lily, still clinging to James, let out a wet, breathless chuckle. "Yeah, what he said."

And for the first time in months—maybe even years—James let himself believe in the love he had always been surrounded by.

And he held onto it.

@samynnad102687 @greenlemon3102 @accio-sriracha

[airandyeah]

Gimme Gimme Gimme (God!Sukuna X Reader) Pt.8

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Makes me overjoyed that the taglist keeps growing, I love you all and appreciate the support! This chapter is one of my favorites so far. This is all from the POV of you in your past life, so this isn't in the present.

The air was thick with the oppressive hum of his power. Sukuna, in his true form, loomed above you, a towering god of destruction, his body a grotesque amalgamation of strength and fury. His four eyes glowed with an unsettling light, and his form radiated an aura that sent shivers down your spine. He should have been terrifying, and in many ways, he was. But in this moment, it felt as if something else was stirring beneath the surface—a hesitation, a vulnerability that you had never expected from a creature like him.

You found yourself frozen in place, your gaze tracing the sharp contours of his face, the flicker of humanity hidden behind those overwhelming eyes. Despite his power, despite the danger that clung to him like a second skin, there was something strangely intimate in the air. The world seemed to hush around you, as if it too was holding its breath.

Sukuna’s massive form shifted, his hands trembling slightly as if unsure of his own strength. He lowered his gaze, his lips curling into something close to a frown.

"Are you afraid of me?" His voice was deeper, more resonant in this form, but there was an undercurrent of something softer beneath it—something almost uncertain.

The question hung in the air, fragile like a thread waiting to snap. You felt the weight of it, the gravity of his being, but you could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you—he wasn’t just waiting for an answer, he was waiting for you to look at him as something other than the storm he had always been.

"No," you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the vastness of his presence. "I’m not afraid of you."

He seemed to hesitate at that, his colossal form shifting again, as though he had expected something different. The flames that danced along his body flickered erratically, and he let out a long, deep sigh that vibrated through the air like a wave crashing against the shore.

"You should be," he murmured, his voice barely audible now, a tinge of frustration mixing with something else—something you couldn’t quite place. His gaze softened, just for a moment, as if you were more than just a pawn in the game he was playing.

You took a cautious step toward him, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what this moment meant, unsure of what to expect from him. He could obliterate you in a heartbeat if he wished. Yet, there was a strange tenderness in the way he watched you now. His massive frame bent slightly forward, as if trying to shrink himself down to your level, trying to find a way to connect beyond the ferocity that defined him.

A shaky laugh escaped you, catching Sukuna off guard. You took another step, your voice light but full of sincerity. “You know, you’re really trying, huh?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable at first, but there was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe—before the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I am," he said, his voice laced with something almost sheepish, despite the godlike strength in his form. "But you make it difficult."

The statement was strange coming from him, and it caused your heart to beat faster. You could hardly reconcile the destructive force before you with this hesitant, almost bashful being. It was as though the chaos inside of him was being held back by some invisible force, some thread of connection that bound you both together. It made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

Sukuna took another step toward you, his gaze now softer, more intent. "You should go," he said, his voice low, "before I ruin everything."

But it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a plea, a desire for you to escape the storm inside of him. And yet, you stood your ground.

"I’m not afraid," you repeated, your voice stronger now, full of something that you couldn’t quite name. "And I’m not going anywhere."

For a long moment, there was silence between you both, the weight of his presence pressing down on you. His towering figure loomed over you like an ominous storm cloud, but there was something undeniably tender in the way his eyes lingered on you. And when his hand reached down—massive, like a mountain range in its immensity—you didn’t flinch.

His fingers brushed your cheek softly, an act of gentleness that felt almost impossible for someone like him. His touch was like fire and ice combined, burning with power yet somehow cool against your skin, as though he was learning to be something else entirely.

"I don’t know how to do this," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to be this—how to be anything but the destruction in my bones."

You looked up at him, the fear, the tension of the moment slowly starting to ebb away, replaced by something more complicated. Something fragile.

"You don’t have to know," you said softly, stepping closer, your hand reaching out to touch the edge of his palm, your fingers trembling slightly. "You just have to try. And so do I."

Sukuna’s eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, the intensity of his form—his monstrous, destructive power—seemed to waver, like a storm cloud dissipating in the face of sunlight. He stood still, as if waiting for something. As if waiting for you to change everything.

And in that moment, it almost felt like you could.

"You make it hard to be angry with you," he said, his tone still rough but no longer filled with the usual menace.

You smiled softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally stood beside him—not as the all-powerful god of destruction, but as a being, vulnerable and seeking something you couldn’t define.

"Then maybe that’s a good thing," you murmured.

For once, it felt like the storm inside him was quieting. And maybe, just maybe, you were both learning how to navigate the calm before the inevitable chaos. ~~~ The river’s gentle current hummed softly in the background, as if the world itself had quieted in anticipation. You were sitting on a large stone near the water's edge, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, your thoughts as restless as the water flowing past.

That’s when you saw him. Sukuna.

He wasn’t the towering god of destruction you were used to seeing—no, today he was something else entirely. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his usual posture of arrogance replaced with a hint of uncertainty. He walked slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure of his place beside you.

In his hands, there was something small—delicate.

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and amusement tugging at your lips. “What is that?” you asked, leaning back against the stone.

Sukuna froze for a moment, his dark eyes flicking to yours. For once, he didn’t seem quite as confident, his gaze faltering for just an instant. He cleared his throat, and his fingers tightened around the bundle of pale pink flowers he had carefully gathered.

“They’re for you,” he said, his voice quieter than you expected, a small flush creeping up his neck. “I… thought you might like them.”

You blinked, trying to process what had just happened. The god of destruction—Sukuna—was standing before you, holding flowers like a bashful child offering a gift. The sheer absurdity of it almost made you laugh, but you quickly swallowed the impulse.

"Flowers?" you asked, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Did you pick them yourself?"

He didn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he glanced down at the flowers, his fingers subtly fidgeting with the petals. “It wasn’t easy. But I thought... they might make you smile.”

You couldn't help it. You let out a small, amused laugh. "You? Picking flowers? That’s a first."

Sukuna’s eyes flashed up to meet yours, a faint flicker of something like irritation in his gaze. But instead of the usual scorn, there was a touch of self-consciousness. “I can do things other than destroy,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t need to be reminded.”

You smiled at his defensiveness, feeling the tension between you loosen. It was so strange—this side of Sukuna, so unlike the god of destruction, so unlike the creature of chaos he was born to be. And yet, here he was, standing before you, a blush creeping onto his face as he offered you the delicate bouquet of pale pink flowers.

Taking the flowers gently from his hands, you leaned forward and inhaled their sweet fragrance. "Thank you," you said, your voice soft, genuine. "They’re beautiful."

Sukuna’s lips twitched, his usual impassive demeanor flickering just slightly, like a cloud passing over the sun. "I’m glad," he said, his tone still low but with an unspoken sincerity. "I wanted to do something... for you."

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling warmly at him, a softness creeping into your heart. Sukuna, the god of destruction, the being who had brought kingdoms to their knees, was standing before you, flustered, awkward, and yet… trying so hard to offer something precious.

“Maybe next time, you can bring me a bouquet of fire instead,” you teased gently, watching as his expression flickered between annoyance and uncertainty.

"You're impossible," he grumbled, but there was something in his voice that made it clear he didn’t mind. Not really.

And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like the world was on the verge of crumbling. It felt like something entirely different—a quiet peace, an almost fragile moment in time that you wished you could hold onto forever. ~~~ The evening air was thick with the scent of earth and trees, the setting sun casting long shadows over the quiet clearing where you stood with Sukuna. The world around you felt distant, the sounds of the forest muffled by the sheer intensity of the moment. You didn’t speak—neither of you did, as if words might shatter the delicate peace that seemed to settle between you.

Your gaze flicked to him, to the imposing figure that was both familiar and distant. Sukuna stood a few steps away, his usual cold detachment softened by something unspoken. His intense gaze, usually filled with power and arrogance, was now shadowed with something else. Something quieter.

The breeze stirred your hair, and you caught the flicker of something soft in his expression as his eyes followed the movement. It was a fleeting moment, but you saw it—a crack in his stoic façade. For a brief second, he didn’t look like the god of destruction. He looked like a man, caught in a rare moment of vulnerability.

You shifted slightly, stepping closer to him without thinking, feeling the pull of something unspoken. It wasn’t something you had expected from him—this closeness, this quietness that felt almost intimate.

He noticed your movement, but instead of pulling away or retreating into his usual guard, Sukuna seemed to hesitate. His gaze flickered to your hand, and for a heartbeat, everything around you seemed to pause. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, like something was about to change.

And then, without a word, Sukuna took a slow step forward. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but there was an uncharacteristic hesitation in his actions. His hand, large and strong, hovered just beside yours—barely an inch of space between you—but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You could feel his presence like a weight against your skin, the heat from his body so close it almost burned. His eyes locked with yours, a fierce intensity in them, yet there was something vulnerable hidden beneath the surface—a quiet longing.

You didn’t say anything. There was no need for words.

And then, his fingers, ever so gently, brushed against yours.

It wasn’t a grand, sweeping gesture. It wasn’t dramatic or intense. It was simple—delicate, even—and yet, it sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was hesitant, unsure, as if he feared you would pull away or reject him. But instead of moving back, he lingered, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in a soft, almost tentative gesture.

You didn’t pull away either. You didn’t need to. There was something in his touch—a quiet plea, a hope that had no words, but was felt in every brush of his skin against yours.

You held your breath, the silence thick between you, your pulse quickening with the sudden weight of the moment. For all his power, for all his history of destruction, Sukuna had never seemed more... human.

His voice broke the quiet, low and almost raw. "I thought... if I could, I would never let go."

It was a strange thing for him to say—vulnerable, uncharacteristic of the god who had destroyed so much in his time. Yet here he was, with his hand just barely touching yours, his words carrying the weight of something deeper.

You stared at his hand, then back into his eyes, and a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, the softness of the moment making your heart flutter. “You’re not really good at this, are you?” you teased, the words light, but the sincerity behind them evident.

Sukuna’s lips twitched, the faintest sign of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never had to be,” he said, his voice still rough but with a hint of something else—a tenderness that he didn’t know how to express.

You took a slow, deliberate breath, and with a quiet motion, you closed the distance between you. Your fingers curled gently around his, the warmth of his hand filling you with a sense of peace, even in the chaos of everything around you.

He stiffened at first, the unexpected move catching him off guard. But then, just as slowly, he relaxed. His grip tightened slightly, not possessive, but almost as if he was afraid this moment would slip away if he didn’t hold onto it.

You stayed there for a long while, neither of you saying anything more, but the silence between you was no longer awkward. It was comforting, like a secret the world couldn’t touch. The weight of everything—the destruction, the fear, the uncertainty of the future—seemed to disappear, if only for a fleeting moment.

And in that moment, Sukuna didn’t seem like a god of destruction. He seemed like something else entirely—a man who, for just an instant, allowed himself to feel something he hadn’t in centuries. ~~~ After the silence that stretched for what felt like a lifetime, the tension between you and Sukuna finally cracked, like the faintest of glass shattering.

He shifted slightly, his hand still resting gently in yours, but now there was a strange lightness in the air—a moment of reprieve from the intensity. You could feel the weight of his usual dominance returning, but it was... softer now. Almost like he was trying to work out what to do next, and failing, just like you were.

For some reason, his uncertainty made you smile. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t seen him like this—not this... awkward. And it was too much to resist.

A quiet chuckle escaped you, and Sukuna immediately stiffened, eyes narrowing at you. “What’s so funny?” His voice was laced with an almost comical mix of defensiveness and curiosity, as though he couldn’t fathom why you’d suddenly laugh.

“You,” you said simply, the giggles bubbling out despite your attempts to keep them in check. “You look like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

His brows furrowed deeper, his lips pressing into a tight line as if to fight back his own irritation. But then, just when you thought he might snap, you saw it—the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the smallest hint of a smile trying to break free.

“I do know what to do with myself,” he muttered, though there was a crack in his usual cold confidence. “I just don’t know what you want.”

You grinned, poking at his pride with a teasing edge. “I don’t know what you want either, but you’re definitely not as smooth as you think.”

His eyes flashed with that familiar sharpness, but before he could retort, you pulled on his hand gently, dragging him toward a nearby tree where you leaned against it. Your laughter had become more genuine now, bubbling up freely as you watched him stumble slightly, trying to maintain his regal posture while simultaneously adjusting to the fact that you had shifted the power dynamic, even just for a second.

You were still laughing when you caught a glimpse of his expression—his eyes softer now, and for the first time, he looked a little... self-conscious. It was an absurdly endearing sight, and before you even realized it, you found yourself laughing even harder.

Sukuna sighed heavily, throwing his head back in mock exasperation. "You're impossible."

“I know,” you teased, wiping a tear from your eye. "But you're a little fun to tease. You should smile more, you know."

He scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. "I don’t smile."

“Clearly,” you shot back with a smirk, still a little breathless from laughing.

And then, as if to prove a point, you exaggeratedly made a silly face, pulling your cheeks in and puffing your lips out in a ridiculous manner. Sukuna blinked at you, clearly taken aback by your goofy expression, and for a second, you wondered if he would break.

It was just a quick glance—a fleeting moment—but you caught it: the smallest, barely noticeable upturn of his lips, as if he couldn’t help but appreciate your silliness.

You widened your eyes playfully and stuck out your tongue. “Not impressed?”

He stared at you for a heartbeat, and then, without warning, he leaned in. His fingers curled gently around the back of your neck, pulling you close enough that your breaths mingled, the teasing smile still on his face.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered again, but this time, there was something more in his voice. Something that made your heart race in your chest.

“Impossible is fun,” you whispered back, your lips brushing his lightly as you tilted your head.

Sukuna paused for a split second, as though considering something, before his eyes darkened in a way that made you feel like the air between you had just shifted. And then, with a single, smooth motion, he closed the gap between you.

His lips met yours—firm and unhurried, as if he was testing the waters. It wasn’t like the fiery, desperate kisses of some of the stories you’d heard—it was more like the soft release of something that had been building between you two for far longer than either of you had acknowledged.

You froze for a moment, heart pounding in your chest, but then, just as quickly, you leaned into him, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. The moment felt both slow and fast, a rush of adrenaline mixed with a sense of grounding, of connection that neither of you had expected.

And when the kiss broke, it was soft, lingering, leaving your mind spinning and your pulse still racing.

Sukuna didn’t pull away immediately. He hovered just an inch from you, his breath warm against your skin, as though he were waiting for your reaction.

You blinked up at him, dazed and a little surprised at how natural it felt, how soft his touch was despite everything. The space between you seemed suddenly more charged with an unspoken understanding, a new layer to what you shared.

"Well," you said, your voice a little breathless, "guess you're not completely hopeless after all."

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with amusement, the smirk that had once been all arrogant confidence now more playful. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words.

You laughed softly, your heart still pounding, but this time it was different—lighter, as if the weight of all the chaos and destruction could be put aside for a moment. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, you had this—this silly, unexpected moment, and maybe that was all you needed.

And as the night deepened around you, you stayed close, your fingers still entwined, the echoes of your laughter dancing in the air between you.

Taglist: @rinkomei , @sleepycrybbylaiah , @queenmimis , @maellem , @after-laughter-come-tears , @damdido Taglist is always open for anyone!

[reynahendrix]

reyna’s eyes tracked dayn’s movements, following his lead with measured curiosity. her frustration still simmered beneath the surface—having to babysit a grown man was hardly her idea of a productive evening. yet there was something satisfying, almost primal, in watching her light demands met without hesitation. control hummed at the tip of her tongue, a weight she wielded with ease. intimacy had always been a comfortable game for reyna, a mutual exchange to fill the void of idle time. vulnerable heartstrings ? those were territories she never dared venture into. physicality ? that was different. simple. tangible. moments without the burden of emotional entanglements or overthought meanings—a reprieve.

she sat still in her chair. a slow arch of her brow, head tilted just slightly to the side, reyna's gaze softened, inviting whatever came next between them. the tension was palpable, simmering like a spark waiting to catch fire. what about me... the words lingering in the charged air between them. her arm extended, index finger deftly hooking through one of dayn’s belt loops. she tugged him closer, the anticipation curling warmth through her chest, rising to flush her cheeks. simplicity reigned—a game of nearness, desire, and silent understanding.

breath caught as his lips grazed her jawline, igniting a tension she struggled to suppress. a groan threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down, determined not to yield. dayn's willingness to submit to her touch sent a surge of heat through reyna, compelling her hands to explore the hard planes of his chest, craving more — craving him closer. with a deliberate push, she guided him lower. "on your knees," she commanded again, her voice low but resolute, every syllable charged with authority. her head tilted slightly, as though savoring the lingering echo of her own words.

reyna’s legs parted, curling around dayn, enclosing the dwindling space between them. the press of their clothing was an unbearable boundary, frustrating her need for contact. so close, his breath warm against her skin, fingers mapping the curve of her waist as though memorizing her. her own hands traced the strong lines of his arms, appreciating the power beneath his skin, yet delicate with her. the thin thread of control she clung to frayed with each ragged breath, each tremor of her chest.

"i want you," she murmured against his cheek, her voice raw with need. nuzzling into dayn, seeking his lips until they met in a kiss steeped in fervor. there was nothing timid about it — no hesitation. reyna's tongue skimmed his bottom lip before slipping past, exploring, claiming against his own. one hand wove through the silky strands of his hair, anchoring him to the intensity of the moment as her body demanded more, dissolving the last remnants of restraint.

Dayn was surely playing with fire, he knew that much. He didn't know much about the guards, the hunters, the scouts, other than they had a type of responsibility he both didn't want and was ill-equipped to handle. To him, they felt in a different league. Four years was a long time to keep people safe day in and day out, at the potential expense of one's own. He sure couldn't do it. She could have easily told him to shove off and cuff him against something for the night like they did the first night he arrived here, when he was too unruly for logical thinking. In a way, he probably wasn't thinking logically here, and was definitely not doing a great job at keeping himself together.

His eyes followed her face as she stood from her chair, easily letting himself get pushed backwards. A hand found her arm, light and inviting, while his other found the underside of her thigh. Hips over his, he grinned, unabashedly, the little smirk almost inviting her fingers over his throat to squeeze - he would gladly cave under that sort of pressure. Dayn laughed then, low and agreeable, waiting until she had stood off of him before he got up himself. "You don't have to tell me twice." That closet was right past the bar, and it took him very little time at all to stride across the floor of the room, to the rapidly falling asleep patron and sling an arm over his shoulders, leading him into the closet. Though he had to treat this with some care, given that this was a whole other person, the temptation to just toss him in there and lock the door was strong. But Dayn let him down gently onto the old tile, rushing to the back of the bar where he left spare blankets and pillows and tossing one of each to the closet. The chair was pushed against the door, under the doorknob, just like she commanded requested.

When it was finally just the two of them, standing further apart now, his brows quirked up a bit, stepping forward with the corners of his mouth slowly turning upward. "So then what about me?" he asked, inching closer, until he was close enough to gently slide his hands over hips, leaning his head down. "What do you want from me?" Control could be all hers, here, so long as he didn't end up in a closet somewhere himself. All bets were off then. His head dipped down a bit to kiss at her jaw, right under her ear, fingers grazing up her ribs. "Something like this?"

[masterskywalkers]

While I feel that games like Pillars of Eternity can't really compared to Baldur's Gate 3 in terms of playstyle, I will say that Baldur's Gate 3 - like other games such as Dragon Age: Origins and Knights of the Old Republic - work well as a good introduction into the older, more strategic isometric genre.

Pillars of Eternity is a love letter to the isometric style of the 90's - 2000's, and one of the gaming inspirations it borrows from is the original Baldur's Gate games and Icewind Dale. These types of games borrowed a lot from tabletop games (Baldur's Gate is obviously a D&D game built in the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons system - or second edition, for ease.).

Isometric gaming was something that was on the way out a few years ago, and Pillars of Eternity began life as a Kickstarter project. It gained interest and, while being of a rather niche interest in the wider gaming market, sparked enough of a buzz that it woke up others who took inspiration from the isometric style and brought more games back to that style. Pillars wasn't alone in restarting this resurgence, but it damn certainly helped it.

Baldur's Gate 3, to me, is more of a return to what RPG's used to be back in the late 00's. Its gameplay is far more reminiscent to Dragon Age: Origins than it is of its original two entries - so much so that when I first spoke of BG3 to friends, I actually compared it to DA:O in the styling of it.

You have to remember that when isometric games were big in the 90's and early 00's cutscenes weren't as big a thing as they are in games now - they were there, but the technology wasn't like it is today so the cutscenes would either be filmed or have to be much shorter / or silent (think original cutscenes in Final Fantasy from entries 6-9 that had no voice acting, or old titles like the Wing Commander series - hey, didn't Mark Hamill film for those?). CRPG games had to rely on the story - both visual and through actual reading on the player's part. Baldur's Gate 3 is quite amazing to me because it gets to take influence both from its original routes through the gameplay, but it also gets the luxury of having cutscenes and showing scenes where characters can talk and interact face to face. Because of this, Baldur's Gate 3 is actually a nice introduction for a new RPG gamer to find their footing in the genre. Harder difficulties lend a strategic process that can open doors to players wanting to explore the more challenging games that isometric gaming opens (especially when BG3 introduces those legendary actions in the later part of the game on harder difficulties). The RPG genre is always evolving and changing, and we'll continue to see how it adapts as the years go on and more ways to tell a story develop and grow. Isometric gaming is just another variation of how to tell a story, just as RPG's like BG3 and DA:O and 2 are another version of the genre. I would also argue that games like Dragon Age: Inquisition are slightly different from both of what came for, as they brought with them the open-world element. In a way, Inquisition is unique to its own franchise in the way BG3 is, as it borrows pieces from its past, but grows with what's new also (even if I still feel Origins / Awakening is the strongest entry in the entire series).

So, yes. I don't really like/agree with comparing these games in accordance to gameplay and style as they are all products that reflect the differences of how the genre itself grows. Pillars was always a love letter to games of the past, whereas BG3 is a story that pushes the boundaries of what we have available to use with today's resources. RPG's will keep changing, but we'll always see those special games that come out to celebrate a different era of the genre.

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[fragmentedblade]

The "Dan Heng is Dan Feng" dogmatics annoy me a lot. It entirely brushes off one of the most interesting and prevalent questions posed by the game, incarnated by several characters and stories that give the question different hues with different potential answers, and a constant also in HI3, like a thread waving the two games together

[aquilamage]

[Image Description: a set of five edited bug fables screenshots from the pre-battle zommoth encounter. The first is the same as in-game, Kabbu saying "W-What is that!? Something's coming!" The second is of zommoth appearing on screen with its sprite edited to be various shades of pink and yellow, wings the same pattern as Leif's (but still with the purple blight magic stuff in the chest area.) The next three images have the sprite edited in the same way.. The third image is of Leif's saying "...Wh, Rkejrm-m-Muse!? Kjdrira, mebsrgr...!!!" The next is Kabbu saying "Muse!? Leif, that's..." The final is Vi saying "T-That doesn't make any sense!" End ID]

I thought about one of my fucked up and evil au ideas for five minutes again, so I decided to spend like fifty hours making a thing about it. Basically what if Muse went back into Snakemouth later to try to rescue Leif or at least bring back his body and got caught by the roaches.

Putting just the edited sprites under the cut if you wanna see those without the lab mood lighting:

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A drawing of two scavengers from Rain World, one labelled Sanic and the other one Shrek. Sanic's fur is light brown, with darker extremities, a messy row of pale green spines down its back, and bright blue eyes. They sit contentedly, staring at the screen, with a couple grenades by its feet. Shrek has pale fur, a green head, hands, and feet, and brown eyes. It's facing to the right, with their arms splayed out and an explosive spear on their back. Beside each scavenger are a few woefully-compressed screencaps of their in-game appearance. End ID]

An ode to these silly beasts, who accompanied me on my second visits to Industrial and Chimney

[todayisafridaynight]

through all the practice sawashiro fights ive done this morning ive decided he has a really weird grudge against eri for whatever reason

[mantisgodsdomain]

The greatest curse of Us, without a doubt, is the... us-centrism of the fact that we are Us and no one else. Our view on the world is limited and we are frequently subject to the logical fallacy of The Curse Of Knowledge and we're even more frequently beset upon by the fact that some people, like, are Genuinely Averse to depictions of things they've Dealt With themselves.

Like, what do you mean you're talking about this thing as a reason that this media sucks? What do you mean you actively avoid media that depicts things you went through? Do you not gain that feeling of connection from watching people go through something similar to what you did? Do you lack the feelings that are so easy to conjure up in a strong way from seeing a character dealing with the Same Damn Shit? Do you not look at art to feel things?

[captain-clive]

Unironically been considering a post where I explain why each Sims 4 expansion pack is a let-down. The game designer in me has been trying to sit things out but bro wants in.

[subaru-meteorlight]

💫.