#should I tag this with my personal series or my main character there is some information about him in here...

[raayllum]

Hi. I don't mean this to be confrontational at all and apologize if I come off that way. I'm asking purely out of curiosity.

I feel like I rarely see you post any TDP critical takes or engage with TDP critical takes made by others unless you're rebutting those takes. I believe (unless I'm mistaken) you even said once or twice before that you have the "tdp critical" tag blacklisted. I was wondering if there was a particular reason for that. Whether you were just uncomfortable posting anything negative regarding the show given that you're primarily a fanblog or maybe you simply lack takes that are actually critical of the show or for some other reason.

It's absolutely fine if you don't want to share or engage with criticisms of the show. I was just curious why for such an active blog that's even existed since the very beginning of the series I see most exclusively positive takes shared regarding the show by it.

Not confrontational at all! TLDR at the bottom because I'm sorry in advance for how long this is.

It's because of 3 main things:

1) It's my blog so I only really engage and focus on (to the best of my ability) takes that I agree with. Occasionally I rebut more critical takes, but most of my stuff I post is things I wanted to write regardless (like my "why Callum made his choices in 7x02" meta) and then discourse came after I'd started writing the thing privately, but it was still a topic I thought was fun to explore. If people posted critical stuff that I agreed with, I'd probably reblog it, but it has just yet to happen, and I'm not too interested in generating it myself (more on that in a second).

2) I have a background as and was trained to examine things like an English major; I also tutor/teach humanities and literary analysis (and a surprising amount of math) for a living. This does not by any means make me an authority, but it does mean I approach stories from a very specific good faith lens that I think the majority of fandoms in general just... don't? Or at least seem not to, as far as I can tell, but maybe I'm wrong; I don't know what's going on in anyone else's head. (This also does not mean that anyone who's an English major has to or should think this way, or does; this is just how I personally internalized further what I learned from my degree and how it aligned with what I'd already been inclined to do with stories since like, childhood.)

What I mean, therefore, at least (and more elaborate thoughts on it here in terms of the perspective I'm coming from) is that because of my lifelong inclinations of 90% of the time Enjoying Canon / my background, I typically go into stories assuming two things: first, that the story is exactly what is supposed to be; and two, if something doesn't work or make sense to me, I assume first that I'm wrong, and I go looking for reasons about why the story would do this before I pass judgement on it. This can apply to character beats / characterization, execution, plot, etc. just about anything. This doesn't mean that the story can't be 'wrong' (or 'bad'), just that it's never my initial assumption.

My search for reasons/answers also does not mean that I'm going to magically be able to deduce reasons, or that any reasons I find are objectively correct and/or intentional or have to work for anyone else; sometimes I can't find the reasons (which to me is my biggest indicator that a story is not for me or no longer for me). Sometimes I find the reasons and it still isn't 'good' or is still not my preference (a good example would be when I thought a TV show randomly paired 2 characters together that I was a not a fan of in their s4, and I still don't like them together, but when I got to S5 I was like "Oh yeah, for plot reasons, of course you'd pair them together, that makes perfect sense") but I know I'm giving things a fair shake. I'm engaging with the story as is, which is my primary interest, not necessarily what I expect or even want the story to be. No piece of media promised to be my ideal; I entered in the story contract of being along for THEIR ride and gauging if the loop-de-loops are a thing I'd enjoy, but they're not going to (nor do they need to) tell my story to be 'Good'.

I've shipped things or enjoyed ideas that would 100% make a story worse if it was canon, and I didn't want them to be canon! I didn't need them to be, either. I'm interested in learning, growing, and adjusting with whatever is presented to me, and if I can't do that (or am no longer enjoying doing so) then it's time for me to go. This doesn't mean I never approach stories from a lens of 'here's what they could do better' (I'm not a big fan of She-Ra or The Owl House, which are both notoriously popular, and I have Thoughts on both of them; I can talk all day long about how structurally broken but fun Frozen is, or how poorly butchered the Star Wars sequel trilogy is) but that's usually when a story has a persistent flaw to me on a structural or overarching basis—consistent tonal issues (which I don't take seriously even for shows like Shera that I think have them, because I'm the adult choosing to watch stuff made for children so of course the tone's not for me) or broken lore, ableist/racist writing, or too many underdeveloped characters or retcons. A single scene, episode, or season (depending on the percentage of the show it is, if it's a full third or something than yeah that's more of an issue)—depending on the severity of the fumble—is probably not going to be enough for me to be pissed about it.

Part of this also stems, I think, from giving stories the grace that I'd want my own to receive some day, but I digress.

I also know from my experiences as writer is that sometimes the choices I (or a story has made) won't work for everyone, wasn't made to work for everyone, and what I dislike about a thing is 100% a choice that the author was making On Purpose that they love, and well - it's their story, isn't it? So holding space for "this is how I subjectively feel, this is what I think the story was trying to do, here's why I feel it didn't quite hit that goal, or did have the pay off to set up (just not in the manner I'd predicted" is like, important to me to all hold simultaneously as separate things that can occasionally overlap.

3) As stated before, I do have critiques—quite a few, actually—for TDP (a few I've briefly touched on here before, such as its lack of female-female relationships) but generally speaking I've never seen anybody else have the same ones.

Part of this is undoubtedly because I don't go looking, but I've also been in the fandom for 6+ years and have seen a Lot of critique for the show to the point it all gets redundant/recycled (hence the blacklist because I've never agreed with any of it) and I do think—not all—but a lot of is just... not that well founded in the text or just not very well expressed, which makes it harder to understand where people are coming from. I've written before about different types of fandom critique (vague/assumptive vs more specific critique which I think is more communicative/productive) but I know for myself, my critique is going to be Consistent for the whole show and specific about why I think what I think. If something bothers me in one season, I'm gonna meticulously check to be like "is this in other seasons? did it bother me then? if so, why or why not?" and if I'm not being consistent on that basis in terms of where and why I'm levelling critique, that's gonna change my mind.

For example, I think S6 repeats a lot of dialogue / ideas, sometimes almost if not directly back to back in scenes, and sometimes in exceedingly similar ways, particularly at the Starscraper sections of the story. For example, Kosmo explains that "on every moonless night, a blizzard rages and shrouds the heavens" and then Kosmo repeats the exact same information like 7 minutes later in the exact same way: "for centuries on every moonless night, a blizzard rages and shrouds the heavens." And it would be one thing if these repetitions were like, in different episodes, because not everyone is going to binge or watch the previously on, and you gotta get audiences caught up. That's why Karim and Miyana have a similar discussion/repetition in 4x08 and 4x09 respectively, but we're in the same episode in S6, we like Just learned this. I don't necessarily know what information we'd put in the 2nd instance with Kosmo instead (maybe highlighting his desire to see the stars, foreshadowing that he'll be timeblind further?) but I've looked for a reason for the repetition, and while I think it's a cool idea for Kosmo to have a tendency to repeat things as a character quirk / set up his affinity for being timeblind (because to deal with alternate timelines is to deal with repetition until things branch off) it's not a satisfactory reason for me.

Or like, S2 has my least favourite pacing in the show, because while I adore the flashback episodes and they're really fucking important for theme (my number one fave thing!!) they do cause the middle of the season to more or less grind to a halt in terms of the main storyline when 2x04 was already more of a transition / filler episode (which we needed after the Moon Nexus arc, 2x04 is one of my fave eps in the season, but it would typically be a transition episode to move us into a new plot section of the story, & that's not quite what happens here, so the pacing drags a lil).

But I don't think season 2's pacing is bad. I don't think 6x04 is a bad episode or that Kosmo is a poorly written character. It's just not my personal preference, and I think I'm a lot more cautious about using that metric (my enjoyment, my preferences, how relatable it is to me, etc) to discern how "good" a story is quality wise. A story can be a great story even if there is nothing relatable in it to me or if it makes me deeply uncomfortable, because art can exist for a lot of different reasons and my limited-ass white western perspective or personal story preferences is not the be-all end-all. I think TDP is a beautiful example of rejecting punitive punishment, and I've gotten more pro-abolish prisons as I've gotten older, but some of my own works have characters who chase revenge and that's the portrayed as the right thing to do, because not everything has to line up perfectly or have a singular way in which to align. It's interesting to explore a variety of viewpoints and that's the whole reason I write.

None of this means I never use my personal preferences or enjoyment as a metric, but that's usually when I'm making recommendations to people or just talking about my personal feelings, and I don't tend to lean on those much when it comes to Analyzing a story other than a jumping off point of "Huh this scene made me emotional, I wonder why? [examines the narrative for set up and pay off]". Cause I think I do, ultimately, consider myself a meta blog, and that's always been my #1 in fandom ever since I got into fandom at 12 years ago, that's what I love doing and engaging in.

If people wanted to have Actual Discussions of "this character beat felt ooc" and they could present their evidence from the text (similar scenes where a character responded differently or something or whatever), and I could say "oh, interesting, that felt in character to me because of XYZ" and I would present my evidence for the text, and we would go back and forth both having a good time before probably respectfully agreeing to disagree, I'd love to engage just for the discussion, I love character and characterization analysis. One of the most fun times I ever had was arguing both for and against the "S4 Rayla is a fake/illusion" theory before the season released because it was fun to consider and counter stuff. I have one friend who's also autistic and back in university we would just swap contrarian story viewpoints for like, an hour on something we had both read, and it was the best. (That friend loved the end of Game of Thrones, which like no one fucking liked, and also has S4 and S7 as like their top 2 TDP seasons, which isn't even true for me, god bless their soul.)

But I would say at least 70-85% of the time when people are critiquing a thing, while it might be coming from a consciously analytical standpoint, that's not what they want to express or that's not how they express it (or at least, not in a way that I can personally understand). They want to vent, and I've definitely done that before with stories myself, I get it. Sometimes a story pisses you off and you just gotta vent. But I'm not going to engage with someone who's venting unless I agree, and if it becomes clear that they are after I do engage because I think maybe they're not venting, and then they are, then I'm just gonna leave 'em in peace. I hope they're having a great time / get whatever they need out of the process.

I also just... am not going to post things I don't agree with. I'm not gonna pretend to have critiques I don't. If I have a critique on... anything that I felt was worth posting about, I would. I don't think I do. Like, I walked out of S4 feeling so happy and excited and content with the season as a whole, MUCH more than I felt when first walking out of S6 or S7, but like I process that shit privately and now I really do like those seasons, so? Yeah.

I think a lot of my disdain for Heavy constant critique comes back to like, I remember being like 13-14 years old and being so excited to come onto tumblr and find out what the ATLA fandom was analzying, because it's in many ways the show I reverse engineered literary analysis from (Katara-Azula was an early, apparent, and favourite foils dynamic of mine, for example) and there's so many lovely things about it. At that point my fandom experiences had been like a really small fandom of a show that wasn't that good but we loved it for what it is, and HTTYD, which had a very thoughtful thriving community of analyzers, and they would debate episodes and ideas in a very friendly manner even if they didn't always agree. So getting on ATLA tumblr and seeing nothing but hate for so much of the show for miles, and seeing so much hate for all the specific things that I loved the most, and that were the most meaningful to me and that I was stupid or childish to like or enjoy or get excited about them, broke my heart honestly. And I just never want to be that or potentially contribute to that for anyone else; I really don't. And at a certain point, if your critique does align with the majority takeaway, you gotta ask yourself if you wanna or really need to toss your hat in the ring and if you'd be adding anything to it, because sometimes we don't all need to comment on every single particular XYZ thing has commented on (no I didn't like the Crowlord jokes in S4, I don't like his character in general, he's also barely in the show, my dislike does not matter to me; the story uses him for comedic relief, he objectively fulfills that role even if he doesn't subjectively work for me, it is small potatoes, I'd rather focus on the more interesting, more prominent things that I love).

TLDR;

Thus far, every time TDP has done something I went ??? about, I've found a reason + one that worked for me, or it's small enough that it's a nitpick. If I don't love all parts of canon, then I stop enjoying it, and if I stop enjoying it, I leave the fandom. If I'm in the fandom, then I love and appreciate all parts of it, even if things may not always necessarily align with my preferences. I'm interested in seeing what the story is doing and focusing on that with my blog, my primary interest is not based in what I want it to do (not saying that's where anyone who does critique the show is coming from or that it's lesser to do so, this just how I'm conceptualizing the difference in mindset, but maybe I'm wrong about where the divide is or what the mindset is). 90% of the time whatever the show does I end up liking more or finding more interesting anyway, and I've also never had anything align with my specific brain more than TDP has. Kinda simple as that, in some ways.

[winter-spark]

I know self-diagnosis is valid and that as you learn more you're okay to be like oh I was wrong it's actually maybe this and whatever but I'm a bit of a coward, or well I still don't want to insert myself in spaces that I don't might not belong in and I've always hated the idea of talking about things without 100% certainty/information but uh my possible {self-}diagnosis is sorta leaking into my writing. Or at least I'm doing things in my writing then later hearing about/being reminded of things and sorta going :o so I'm gonna write about that below. Somewhat a vent post I suppose.

So... Uh I guess, besides explaining my potential diagnosis, there's currently gonna be three parts of this. My personal series Letting Go, my A3! writing, and my Buddyfight writing. And there's gonna be a lot of uncertainty here so I apologize if it at all wastes your time but here I go.

Me:

So... I might be autistic. This is something my sisters and I have been looking into for a minute tbh. Like a couple years at this point. We've taken a few different tests and started somewhat watching informational videos on autism and diagnoses and stuff, and like signs are pointing to yea probably. but like, idk. We were gonna put a pin in it until we could move but we unpinned because it wasn't helping to have it pinned. But yea, I might be autistic. Things I've looked into less that I might also have(?) ADHD, AFRID, mild dyslexia, but I've gotta do more research and it's not really about those but I thought I'd throw them out because idk some times holding things in for too long turns them to rot. But anyway, since I've been doing research on autism I was thinking maybe possibly whether I am or not my main character, Miles, is. He's from my series

Letting Go:

Now, Miles, I projected to some extent on when I wrote him but also he's very different from me but none the less there's few things that I had that could be signs of autism and I was wondering how to add more because I did want to sorta write him as an undiagnosed autistic. So in my writing before the research was my movie for my Screenwriting classes. Things about Miles, from the earlier drafts:

He is kinda sensitive to too many sounds, especially voices, at once (trait from me), (it increases when he's in a nervous/panicked state idk if that has to do with anything but I wanted to clarify that)

His, maybe, special interest is space, namely Pluto (and maybe baking)

(I had to sorta look back at this when editing/setting up for version like 4/5 which became a tv series but) he's not always great with picking up what others are putting down socially (version 1 he did not realize that another character was legitimately romantically into him, he didn't realize that, now one of his best friends, was worried about him,) like you do have to be a bit more direct with him (but not as much as Leilani but that's a different point completely)

So like, I was like maybe I should give him more traits? Like like this isn't in order and I can't remember everything but I was like okay, I, maybe, have a chewing stim, maybe I should give that to him too. (I need to double-check what his mannerisms are omg) And I say maybe have a chewing stim because I don't know if it has another name but I know that sometimes I just need to chew on something, but I've sorta conditioned myself out of it because my mom didn't appreciate me chewing on my pajama clothes and my personal stapler broke(yes I used to chew on staples). So like you know maybe that.

But also maybe I was thinking I would line his sorta panic attack with an autistic meltdown. See a big point in the story is when at a party he ends up sorta panicking and running away then he just sits by himself at like a bus stop which is where his grandma finds him, but like I wasn't sure how to do that because I was doing research and I wasn't sure how to quite make that so and if the things around it were right(I didn't do this research recently I'm sorry I'm super blanking). but I was watching this video earlier by I'm Autistic, Now What? called The 4 Types of Autistic Meltdowns, and one she mentioned was leaving/running away. Which as I mentioned he does. And I think maybe I was worried about build up/triggers but now I'm thinking more about that and maybe there is enough.

Ugh I don't want to "spoil" it but like, he's an introvert, he's a homebody(sorta), he's never had that many friends, so this was his first time going to a party with a group of friends, a group of friends that almost immediately split up, and he ends up stumbling back into one of them, but he's a little conscious about his crush flirting with someone else at the party, then his old bully is there and is harassing him and keeps mentioning Miles being a momma's boy and this is sorta more sensitive because his mom is in the hospital at the time(not a spoiler that's the (omg I'm a terrible film student what do you call the event that triggers the rest of the story, sets it in motion that's what that is)). He steps away for like to seconds to talk a breath but when he returns it is being revealed that his mom is in the hospital and [redacted because it was originally a surprise bit of info but now I just don't want to reveal this because it is still sorta a spoiler] which sends him over the edge where he borderline starts shouting and then just darts out.

And like maybe that works? I don't know. What I also don't know is if I should've even included my

A3! writing:

See, after one of the high points of my research on autism I was looking at a lot of Itaru content stuff and sorta was like is... is Itaru Autistic? Now I don't make it a point to write him as such but Itaru has become one of the characters I for some reason feel need to project onto. So when I write him I do give him me-adjacent traits and looking at some things I'm a bit like hmmm, am I maybe writing him autistic?

See-- oh shoot I should have mentioned this in the me category, okay so I might be demi-romantic, demisexual. I'm not 100% sure but with the research I've done I figure that's possibly why of the very few crushes I had it took a while for me to be like "oh! I have a crush on this person!" like literally one of them I didn't come to the conclusion until I was trying that wellness with Steven Universe/Rebecca Sugar thing and one of the days was just write what comes to your mind and as I was doing my best to do that(my mind goes very fast but I had to have complete thoughts) I got to a point where I was talking about one of my best friends and I was like "yea it'd be cool if we were still close in the future and maybe lived together and then we could go on runs together and cook together and cuddle on the couch watching movies together" literally visualizing this future together and then and I don't even remember if I considered a peck or not but I was like "oh shoot Do I have a crush on him?"

Now you're probably like, what's this gotta do with Itaru and autism? Well see in one of my CitoIta fics I gave him that trait of not quite catching on until he gets to a certain point "oh shoot, do I like him romantically, what?" so I figured I was just making him demi-romantic. (Which he still could be idk) but anyway. I saw this post a couple months back that said that not being able to quite tell if it's platonic or romantic can be a neurodivergent trait. So what if I gave it to him as like a subconscious neurodivergent, mayhaps autism, thing, idk if he's written as autistic in this story tho. I was actually initially thinking about in my Apartments au, where he basically starts scripting his interactions with his friendly neighbor (a sorta of "Okay, if we run into each other again I we have a conversation, I can ask this, and if he mentions this I can mention this" type thing. Oh tho he slightly does that in the first one I mentioned not to the same extent but he does prep how to say a line(wording and delivery) if asked what he's doing.

And speaking of characters I project onto let's hop over to

Future Card Buddyfight Fics:

So the closest I personally have ever been to "kin"-ing a character was Kiri Hyoryu, and I simply mean this in a "I related to him so hard" way like he was me foreal, okay, obviously lots of differences but point is I was able to see myself in him. Before they completely ruined him for me, that's an essay I've already written and will write again. but not this essay. So of course I wrote Buddyfight but mainly Team Disaster fanfiction(they aged with me in my writing lol). Some are actually posted too. but like in my most recent unfinished work, I was really feeling that need to project onto him. So I gave him a... something. It was similar to what I experienced but somewhat different. And as I continued writing, a character who happened to be there was like "I want to be able to help if it happens again, what sorta thing helps, can I ask if that a panic attack or an anxiety attack."(he was planning on doing additionally research on them as a whole) & I went ":0". And tried to research them and figure it out but like I couldn't. And going back to the video I was watching on the types of Autistic Meltdowns, I don't know but I kinda think that maybe he had an autistic meltdown?

But like here's the thing, how am I doing that? I not once considered Kiri as autistic. Just like a character that was as me as I was gonna get. He had a hard time making lasting friendships partly because he moved a lot, and latched onto his person(s) and just wanted to know he'd be remembered by those he cared about. Sure he was a bit whiny, I got why people thought he was annoying but it made him more like me, because I got why. I felt his pain. Even if none of it was real.

And I never really thought me and Itaru were all that alike but I feel the need to project onto him at times, and just like adjacently, like that long post about CitoIta playing Kingdom Hearts, I promise you a lot of Itaru's faves are different from my but also close enough, like Itaru being a Kingdom Hearts fan is because I'm a Kingdom Hearts fan, and he's a twewy fan too because I'm a twewy fan, like he's a gamer how can I not? But also he's nothing like me even in those regards. Like I know he's a freaking Shoka fan in terms of Neo and that he played the og twewy back when it first came out. And he's legit a gamer, I'm hardly one.

And of course my own oc, who doesn't project at least a little on their ocs. I don't have a point here on him tho. All in all I'm just like yeesh. What am I supposed to do with this?

I was gonna say I might have to accept that I really am probably autistic but I'm still nervous about trampling on other's space, interjecting myself where I don't be long that I realized something. Accidents do happen, yada yada if it's three times it's a pattern I've written lots of characters and stories so it'd have to be more than three four times... Five, more than five times, shoot I forgot Retsu's also a scripter(still Bfight character). But like yea, I'll probably start rereading my works to see if there's anything more in there that suggests that I maybe give autistic traits to characters I write and I know the less I project onto a character the less I can count it maybe? Idk, but like I just think that maybe I've over reacting idk. Time will tell I guess. I just don't want to be wrong you know?

This I know is nothing solid, I've been writing this for nearly three hours(I'm at work but it is a slow-ish day) without looking at any really research and just vaguely using my memory to make points so I might even more so be wrong idk, idk, idk.

[vettelsvee]

SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque adem��s de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (1); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, potential smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 6.6k+

Chapter Warnings: nothing major for now, lmk if i should add anything.

A/N: okay so after much thought, I decided to write this fic because Crazy Rich Asians is, without a doubt, my ultimate comfort movie. I literally rewatch it every chance I get because there's just something about the vibes, the story, and the characters that I can never move on from. That’s exactly why I wanted to create my own little version of it, with Jungkook as the main character. let me know your thoughts and tell me if this is worth continuing. also should i make a taglist for this?

part 1

Jungkook sits in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his water glass. The soft hum of classical music mingles with the low chatter of the people around, but none of it distracts him from the bubbling anticipation inside as he waits for you.

It’s been four months since the two of you had officially started dating, and though you guys had been cautious about defining what you meant to each other, these past months have solidified everything for him. You aren’t just someone he likes... you’re someone who makes his world brighter in ways he never thought possible.

New York has been his home for years now, but it didn’t always feel that way. When he abruptly moved here with his mom during high school, he reluctantly traded the familiar streets of Busan and the ocean breeze he grew up with for the city that never sleeps.

The move was sudden, jarring even, but over time, he adjusted. The city shaped him, sharpening his edges and teaching him resilience. Now, he’s built a life here, chasing his passion for storytelling as a photographer and documentary filmmaker, capturing untold stories that deserve to be heard.

Life was peaceful... steady, even. And then you walked in and turned everything upside down, in a good way.

He met you almost a year ago, purely by chance. He was documenting behind-the-scenes moments at a charity gala, a commission he almost didn’t take, when you appeared, orchestrating the chaos of models, designs, and flashing cameras like the professional powerhouse you are.

You were magnetic, the kind of person who commanded attention without even trying. Jungkook watched from behind his lens, capturing candid moments until one of your colleagues introduced him to you.

“Ah, so you’re the genius behind the lens.” you teased, offering a hand. “I’m Y/N, the one responsible for the clothes you’re immortalizing.”

Your confidence threw him off guard, but what stayed with him was your laugh... so soft and so genuine, the kind that lingers in his mind long after the event ends.

What followed after was a series of serendipitous run-ins—an art exhibit here, a mutual friend’s dinner there. Each meeting peeled back another layer of who you are, until he realized he was utterly captivated.

Now, as he waits for you to arrive tonight, Jungkook can’t help but think of how far the two of you have come. A lot can change in a year, he thinks. His lips tug into a small smile at the thought of your teasing voice, your quick wit, the way you light up every room you enter. You’ve become the best part of his life, and for the first time in years, he feels genuinely happy.

The sound of heels clicking against the polished floor pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks up, and there you are. You wear a soft pink dress that hugs your form perfectly, your hair framing your face in a way that makes his heart skip. When your eyes meet his, you smile instantly, and Jungkook feels his pulse quicken.

“Sorry I’m late.” you say as you reach the table, placing your bag on the chair as you watch him pull out the chair for you. “I got caught up at work.” you say, taking a seat.

“No need to apologize.” he says warmly, going back to his side of the table. “You’re here now and you look... incredible.”

You roll your eyes playfully, though your cheeks betray you with a faint flush. “Says the guy who looks like he just walked out of a GQ spread.” you giggle.

“Only because I knew I’d be sitting across from you.” he shoots back with a grin. You laugh, shaking your head as you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “Flirt.”

The conversation flows as effortlessly as always, a mix of updates about your respective work lives and lighthearted banter. You tell him about the chaos of coordinating last-minute changes for an upcoming fashion week, while he shares stories from his recent project, a documentary highlighting immigrant artists in the city.

But midway through dinner, he notices a shift in your demeanor. Your laughter softens, and you begin fiddling with the edge of your napkin, a subtle sign of nerves he’s come to recognize.

Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his hand gently over yours. “You okay?” he asks, his tone soft but laced with concern. You glance up at him, hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

His brow furrows slightly, but his touch remains steady, reassuring. “I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath, your gaze flicking between him and the table as you speak. “So, um... in three weeks, my brother is getting married. The wedding’s in Daegu, my hometown and my whole family's planning.. all these... these events leading up to it, and...” You pause, mustering the courage to meet his eyes. “and I’d really like you to come... with me.”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. You’ve rarely spoken about your family during your time together. All he knows is that you have an older brother whose name is Kim Taehyung, and that your work keeps you far from home. You’ve always been reserved when it comes to personal matters, and he never pushed, understanding that some things take time to share.

“You want me to meet your family?” he asks, his voice careful but touched with wonder.

You nod, your fingers curling slightly under his. “I know it’s a big step, but... you’re important to me, Jungkook. I want you to know them and I want them to know you... and i just.... I just want you to be there.”

His heart swells at your words, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hasn’t felt in years. He squeezes your hand gently, a soft smile curving his lips. “Of course I’ll go.” he says, his voice steady and full of certainty. “Thank you for asking me. This means a lot, Y/N.”

You exhale, relief washing over your features as your lips tug into a smile. “You have no idea how nervous I was to bring it up.”

“Well, you don’t have to be nervous about anything when it comes to me.” he says, his tone teasing but sincere. “Though... should I be nervous about meeting your family? Any tips I need to survive?”

You laugh, the tension melting away as his words reassure you. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you... I hope.”

“They’d be crazy not to.” he grins, his confidence laced with a playful charm.

As the conversation moves forward, Jungkook can’t shake the weight of what you’ve just shared. This isn’t just an invitation... it’s a glimpse into the part of your world you’ve kept hidden. And he knows, without a doubt, that he wants to be part of it.

//

The three weeks seem to blur together for Jungkook, filled with excitement, planning, and the growing anticipation of returning to Korea. Now, he’s standing just outside the bustling airport, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, glancing at the crowd for any sign of you. He knows you’ll be here soon with the tickets, and just the thought of seeing you has a smile tugging at his lips.

It’s been years since he last visited Korea, and the idea of going back stirs up a mix of emotions... nostalgia, eagerness, and a tinge of nervousness. But it isn’t just your family he’s excited to meet... he can’t stop thinking about reuniting with Yoongi, an old friend from his university days.

Jungkook remembers how they first met. Yoongi, fresh from Daegu, adapting to the fast pace of New York, with a wit and humor that made their friendship click instantly. They spent countless nights bonding over shared meals and dreams, but after Yoongi finished his studies and returned to Korea, they lost touch. Now, the opportunity to see him again feels like a bonus to this trip.

When Jungkook had mentioned that he'd be visiting Daegu for a short trip to Yoongi during a rare phone call, Yoongi had insisted, “You better visit me for lunch or dinner the second you land, Jeon. I’ll be waiting.” It had been less of an invitation and more of a command and a promise Jungkook fully intends to keep.

His thoughts are interrupted when he spots you approaching with your suitcase. Your face lights up the moment your eyes meet, and Jungkook feels his heart lift as he strides forward to greet you. He pulls you into a hug, planting a soft kiss on your lips, his familiar warmth seeping into you.

“You ready for this?” you ask, your grin contagious. “With you? Always.” he affirms easily, grabbing your suitcase to lighten your load as the two of you head towards security.

After passing through the usual chaos of airport checks, you finally board the plane. Jungkook trails closely behind, his eyes scanning the rows of economy seats, prepared to settle in for the long flight. But you keep walking, breezing past one row after another, heading towards the front of the plane.

“Y/N...” he calls softly, a frown of confusion crossing his features. “I think we passed our seats.” You barely glance back, simply motioning for him to follow with a playful wave of your hand. “Just trust me, Kook.”

Jungkook’s confusion only grows as you step into the business class section. His steps slow as he takes in his surroundings... the stark difference from the cramped seats in economy hits him instantly. Business class looks like another world.

The seats are spacious, arranged in private compartments with high partitions for privacy. The lighting is soft and ambient, with a warm golden glow that feels more like a cozy lounge than an airplane cabin. Flight attendants move quietly through the aisles, offering passengers drinks and handing out fancy pajama sets.

Jungkook’s jaw drops as he watches you casually slide into one of the luxurious seats, making yourself comfortable. He hurries forward, his voice incredulous. “Y/N, this is business class... Our seats aren’t here!”

You look up at him with a calm smile, gesturing to the seat beside yours. “They gave me an upgrade.” you say simply, patting the spot for him to sit. His eyes narrow in confusion as he sets down his bag. “Upgrade? Can we even afford this?” he asks, using his hands to gesture towards the private compartment.

You laugh lightly, already reclining your seat with the touch of a button. “Relax, Kook. My family has some business ties with the airline. It’s just a little perk.” (Nick Young coded girlfriend)

“A little perk?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief as he finally sits down. He presses a button on the armrest, watching in awe as the seat reclines into a flatbed. “Y/N, this isn’t a perk... this is a dream. Look at this place! It’s like a five-star hotel in the air.”

You grin, watching his childlike amazement as he fiddles with every feature. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to economy class now...that feels like a distant nightmare.”

A flight attendant approaches with a tray of pre-departure champagne, offering the glasses with a polite smile. Jungkook accepts one hesitantly, holding it up like it might break. “Champagne? On a plane? This is insane.” he continues.

You can't help but giggle at his cuteness as you casually take a sip from your glass as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As the plane prepares for takeoff, Jungkook leans back in his seat, still marveling at the luxurious surroundings. He sneaks another glance at you, the contentment on your face making his heart swell. This trip is already shaping up to be unforgettable, and it hasn’t even truly started yet.

//

Jungkook feels the weight of your pout pressed against his chest as you stand in his arms, his hands gently brushing through your hair in a comforting motion. He can’t help but smile softly, though he feels the tiniest tug at his heart seeing you so disappointed.

He knew this lunch with Yoongi was important, and he knew you understood... at least, logically. But seeing the way you looked at him, that little furrow between your brows, made him feel a little guilty. “It’s just lunch, baby.” he says, his voice soothing, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek.

“I promised him, and he never takes no for an answer.” He chuckles softly, but his smile fades when he feels the reluctance in your grip on him.

You knew he had plans with Yoongi the moment you touched down in Daegu. You had known this from the start, had heard about the lunch plan in passing, but that didn’t make the feeling any easier to shake.

The thought of him going off without you, to catch up with an old friend while you drove home alone, kind of made you sad. You were fully aware of the importance of this lunch, but that didn’t stop the tiny selfish part of you from wishing he’d be with you, just for a little while longer.

“I know...” you murmur, your voice betraying the tiny bit of sulk in your tone, but you try to let it go. You weren’t going to hold him back. "Fine." you finally say, pulling back to meet his gaze.

And the way he looks at you affectionately makes you feel like you’ve won some small victory. “But...” you add with a little smile. “I expect you to be at my place at 7. You know my grandma’s having that traditional tea ceremony thing and I promised her I was bringing someone special home.”

His eyes light up at your words, the thought of joining you for something so important and so personal. “Of course.” he replies without hesitation, his voice earnest. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

You smile softly, knowing he means it. And yet, despite his assurances, you can’t shake the lingering feeling of missing him. Just a little. Before you can dwell on it too much, you hear a voice break through the moment.

“Ms. Kim.”

You turn, blinking a little in surprise as your driver steps forward, his presence bringing a sudden rush of formality to the otherwise intimate moment. “The car is here.” he states matter-of-factly, and you know that this is your cue to part ways.

You sigh softly, reluctantly loosening your hold around Jungkook’s waist, but not without giving him one last lingering look. Your lips curl in a pout, but you try to hide it behind the gentle smile you offer him.

“Okay then…” you start, your voice trailing off as you look at him, uncertainty settling in your chest. “I’ll see you soon?” The question hangs in the air, like a promise and a plea all at once.

Jungkook watches you for a moment, that familiar ache in his chest growing stronger as he sees the hint of vulnerability in your eyes. But then his lips curl upward, soft but sincere. “Of course, baby. I’ll be there. I love you.” His words are steady, and his eyes hold something deeper than just affection... something unwavering.

You nod quickly, feeling a mix of relief and longing. “I love you too.” you whisper back before turning away, following your driver towards the airport's exit.

Jungkook watches you walk away, his heart heavy in his chest, the pang of guilt creeping up again. He promises himself to make it up to you later. Now, he just needed to get through lunch with Yoongi.

But as soon as the sound of your footsteps fades and you disappear from his sight, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The familiar name on the screen catches his attention, and he answers without a second thought. “Hey, Mom.”

Her voice crackles through the line, warm but concerned. “Hello Jungkook-ah, I just wanted to check in. You landed safely?” she asks.

Jungkook listens to his mom’s voice on the other end of the line, the familiar warmth making him smile despite the anxiousness he feels about what’s ahead. He’s about to step into a world that’s so different from New York, where he’s spent most of his adult life. But now, back in Korea, things feel unfamiliar in a way that both excites and intimidates him.

“Yes, Ma... I landed a while ago.” he answers, feeling a small wave of relief hearing her voice. “That’s good, honey... How’s Y/N?” she asks with that gentle concern she always has for the people he cares about.

“She’s good. She just left though, and I’m waiting for Yoongi to come pick me up.” he replies, smiling softly as he instantly thinks of you. “How does it feel to be back in Korea?” he hears his mom question, her tone soft but curious.

He smiles, leaning against the nearest pillar with his luggage beside him as he waits for Yoongi. “So far, so good, but I’m still at the airport, so I can’t say much.” he jokes. His mom lets out a quiet laugh, the sound comforting.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she switches to a more serious tone. “Remember what I told you, Kook... Stay put there. You know how it is in Korea... with the elders and the... the people. It’s very different from here, so please take care with what you say and how you say it.”

It’s a reminder he’s heard before, but hearing it again feels heavier now that he’s here, about to meet your family and step into a culture that’s rooted in tradition and respect, something that’s been passed down for generations.

Jungkook’s smile falters for a moment as he nods, even though she can’t see him. He knows exactly what she means. He’s always been more carefree, more western in his ways of expressing himself, and in Korea, especially when it comes to elders, there’s a deep respect for hierarchy and custom that’s different from what he’s generally used to.

“I know, Ma. I’ll keep everything in mind.” he assures her, his voice more serious now. “You’re not a kid anymore, Kook, but just... be mindful, okay? Don’t let them misunderstand your intentions. I just want you to be careful.” Her voice softens with motherly concern, and Jungkook feels his heart warm.

“I will. I promise.” he replies, knowing that this trip, meeting your family... it’s more important than ever to prove to them that he’s not just another guy in the city.... he’s not just your boyfriend. He wants to show them how serious he is about you and the future you guys could have together.

He glances around at the busy terminal, the buzz of passengers and the distant announcements. It all feels so different from New York. So... foreign. But he’ll make it through. He’s used to adapting. And this, he tells himself, is just the beginning.

“Alright, Kook... you take care, yeah?” she says. Jungkook hums. "I will. Bye, Ma." he replies back and soon, the call ends.

Just as Jungkook tucks his phone back into his pocket, he hears a deafening roar that cuts through the murmur of the airport. The unmistakable sound of an engine revving... loud, aggressive, and powerful, draws his attention immediately.

His head snaps to the right, eyes scanning the street. His gaze locks onto a sleek purple Lamborghini, its engine purring with a force that vibrates the ground beneath him as it races towards him.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, an instinctive suspicion flickering across his face as the car approaches. He’s not sure why, but something feels… off, or rather, intriguing. The car comes to an abrupt halt right in front of him, the tires squealing as they grip the asphalt. Jungkook freezes, blinking in disbelief.

The tinted window slowly rolls down, and for a moment, everything seems to move in slow motion. When the driver’s face comes into view, Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. “Yoongi?!” he exclaims, his voice tinged with utter shock and disbelief.

Yoongi grins, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ain’t no way...” Jungkook mutters under his breath, still processing the surreal sight of Yoongi sitting behind the wheel of a car that looks like it belongs to someone straight out of a high-stakes action movie. Yoongi chuckles, clearly amused by Jungkook’s reaction.

“What’s good, my man? Meet my baby.” Yoongi says with a sly smirk, his fingers casually tracing the contours of the steering wheel like this car was just an everyday ride for him.

Jungkook’s mouth hangs open in awe. He can’t remember the last time he was this speechless. The purple Lamborghini gleams under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the neon glow of the airport. Jungkook’s eyes follow every curve, every sharp angle, as if seeing it in person is somehow more unreal than he could have ever imagined.

Yoongi, clearly unfazed by the wide-eyed look Jungkook is giving him, steps out of the car with an effortless swagger. He’s dressed in an oversized, silk button-up shirt that drapes over his frame in a relaxed way.

The half-sleeves of the shirt billow out just above his elbows, adding a laid-back yet refined touch to his look. Paired with the shirt are matching shorts that reach just below his knees, the material soft and flowy, almost weightless.

Around his neck, a thick silver chain glints in the sunlight, its boldness standing out against the simplicity of his outfit, giving him an air of casual but undeniable wealth.

Without a word, he grabs Jungkook’s luggage from the ground and begins loading it into the trunk of his car.

Jungkook snaps out of his daze and watches him, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Get in, dude." Yoongi laughs with a nudge to Jungkook’s shoulder, his tone light, almost playful, as he walks back around to the driver’s side.

Jungkook slides into the plush passenger seat, still feeling like he’s stepped into another world. The interior of the Lamborghini is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. As his eyes roam around, Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s in a dream.

Every inch of the car screams excess, sophistication, and unspoken wealth. The steering wheel is trimmed in carbon fiber, the gearshift feels solid in Yoongi’s hand, and everything seems perfectly engineered, like it was crafted for the few who could afford such a ride.

Yoongi starts the engine with a smooth hum, and Jungkook jerks his head towards him, still shocked. "You never told me you had a Lamborghini." he says, his voice betraying his disbelief.

Yoongi just laughs, his eyes glancing briefly at Jungkook before focusing back on the road. "Well, that's because I didn’t have this back in university." he shrugs nonchalantly, a casual smirk playing on his lips. The car pulls smoothly out of the airport, its engine growling like a beast waking up.

Jungkook stares at him, still processing everything. "But wow, dude? You hit the lottery or something? This car is insane." he breathes out. Yoongi chuckles again but doesn’t answer, as if the question doesn’t deserve a response.

The city of Daegu blurs by outside the tinted windows, the sun reflecting off the glass as they drive deeper into the heart of the city. Jungkook can feel the rhythm of the drive, the perfect balance between speed and luxury, as the Lamborghini effortlessly weaves through traffic, its engine purring in a low, contented hum.

The sound of the tires on the road and the occasional rumble of the car’s exhaust fill the silence between them as they talk. Their conversation drifts to more casual topics... catching up on life after university, their mutual friends, and everything in between. Jungkook listens intently, but something about the ride and everything else, still has him on edge.

Then, suddenly, the city streets begin to change. The hustle and bustle of downtown Daegu fades away, replaced by quiet, tree-lined roads and grand, gated estates. Jungkook furrows his brows in confusion. The mansions are larger than anything he’s ever seen.

Multi-story buildings with sprawling lawns, perfectly manicured gardens, and tall gates that exude old money. The kind of money that felt untouchable, like a world he’d never thought he’d be a part of.

Yoongi slows the car as they approach a massive set of gates, gleaming with metal and ornate designs. They pause for a moment, and Jungkook watches as the gates swing open effortlessly, granting them access to enter.

Jungkook’s eyes widen even more as they drive in, the long, curved driveway leading them deeper into the estate. The mansion that comes into view is nothing short of breathtaking. It’s grand and set against the backdrop of lush trees, with a modern yet classic architectural style.

The house gleams under the afternoon sunlight, its windows large and open, letting the soft glow of interior lights spill out into the day. As they pass by, Jungkook can’t help but notice the impressive collection of cars parked near the house, each one more expensive than the last.

There’s a black Rolls-Royce Phantom, a gleaming Ferrari 488, a silver Porsche 911 Turbo, and a sleek Aston Martin DB11, all parked in perfect alignment, as if they belong to the same elite circle. The cars shine brightly in the afternoon sun, their polished surfaces reflecting the elegance of the estate.

Jungkook’s mouth hangs open, his mind racing to catch up with the reality unfolding around him. He’s never seen anything like this in his life. "What is this… What is this place?" he breathes out, his voice almost reverent, like he’s stumbled into a world that doesn’t seem real.

Yoongi’s smirk is still there, a knowing glint in his eyes as he pulls the car to a stop, right in front of the grand entrance of the beautiful mansion. He looks over at Jungkook, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. "Welcome to my crib, Kook." he says.

Jungkook's mouth open, words just stuck in the middle of his throat. His mind is still processing everything, the scene outside seeming like a surreal dream. This is all too much to take in.

Yoongi was RICH rich and he didn't have a single clue about it. As they step out of the car, Jungkook notices a man approaching swiftly towards them and by the looks of his attire, it's clear that he's a guard.

Without missing a beat, Yoongi tosses his car keys at him, and the man catches them with practiced ease. "He'll grab your luggage in a bit." Yoongi says casually, already heading towards the mansion's entrance. Jungkook, still processing whatever the hell this is, follows him like a lost child, unable to do anything but take in the overwhelming sight that surrounds him.

The moment they step inside the house, Jungkook's eyes widen, but before he can even begin to appreciate the stunningly opulent interiors like marble floors or the high ceilings or the glistening chandeliers, a shrill voice cuts through the air. "Yoon, you're hereeee!"

Jungkook’s brow furrows as he watches a woman, probably in her 50s, stand right in front of them. She’s dressed in a chic, over-the-top outfit... a silk floral blouse with exaggerated puffed sleeves, tailored trousers, and a lavish pearl necklace that gleams with the faintest hint of arrogance.

Her perfectly styled hair is in a tight updo, and in her arms, she cradles a fluffy kitten, which she’s stroking affectionately, completely oblivious to Jungkook's stunned expression.

Yoongi barely reacts, his face giving away nothing as he responds, "Yes, mom." with a tone that suggests this is nothing out of the ordinary. Without hesitation, he gestures towards Jungkook, who’s still very much amused. “This is Jungkook, a friend from New York.” he introduces calmly.

She steps closer to Jungkook, her eyes widening as she takes in his appearance. "Such a handsome face." she says with a bright smile, fluttering her lashes dramatically. Jungkook feels his ears turn red, but tries to mask it with a polite smile.

"Come, come, why are you still standing by the door?" she continues in a sing-song voice, already turning towards the grand dining hall. "Lunch is just about to be served."

Without waiting for a response, she leads them through the sprawling corridor, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Jungkook follows, still processing the luxury surrounding him.

As they enter the enormous dining room, the sheer size of the table takes his breath away. It looks like something straight out of a royal palace, with intricately carved wood and sparkling silverware laid out meticulously. Seated around the table are five people, two men, a woman, and two little girls. The air feels heavy with formality and expectation.

Yoongi, noticing Jungkook's distracted gaze, gestures towards each person with casual confidence. "That's my dad." he says, pointing to the middle-aged man sitting at the center of the table who gives Jungkook a bright smile, as he nods acknowledging his presence.

"That's my brother, Geumjae." Yoongi continues, nodding towards the younger man seated to the left. Geumjae has the same sharp features as Yoongi, and he cheerfully waves at Jungkook. "Yooo." he says.

Next, Yoongi points at a woman sitting beside him. "That's his wife, Chaeri." he adds, the warmth in his voice making it clear they have a close bond. "And those are his daughters, Minji and Yuna." he finishes, gesturing to the two little girls sitting next to each other as they giggle shyly to themselves.

Jungkook nods politely at everyone, his nerves creeping in as he takes in the situation. Yoongi's family seems very welcoming, but he's still extremely nervous. He’s not used to this kind of environment, and it shows, but he quickly remembers his manners. He straightens up and gives a right-angled bow, a gesture of respect that his mother taught him for situations like this.

"Hello, I’m Jungkook." he says, his voice steady but laced with a slight hint of uncertainty. He smiles warmly at them, hoping his attempt at a formal greeting isn’t too awkward.

Jungkook feels a shift in the atmosphere as Yoongi's father lets out a hearty laugh. "Yahh, no need to be so formal." he chuckles, waving a hand dismissively.

"Come, take a seat before the food gets cold." His voice is warm and inviting, making Jungkook relax a little. Geumjae, his brother, nods in agreement. Jungkook looks at Yoongi, unsure, but Yoongi simply gives him a small shrug and gestures for him to sit.

They both take their seats, followed by Yoongi’s mother, who settles herself gracefully at the table. Jungkook glances around, noticing the opulence of the setting... the gleaming china plates, the glistening silver cutlery, the rich aroma of the food filling the air. He feels a bit out of place but tries to steady himself, taking in the high-end cuisine laid out before him.

Once everyone is served, Jungkook’s mind races for a moment as he looks at the elaborate dishes in front of him. He’s unsure where to begin, not used to this kind of extravagant meal. It’s all so foreign to him, but before he can pick up his chopsticks, Yoongi’s father breaks the silence.

"So, what brings you here, Jungkook?" he asks, his deep voice cutting through the air with curiosity. Jungkook swallows his nerves before answering.

"Oh, I’m... I’m here with my girlfriend for her brother’s wedding." he replies politely, hoping his words don’t come out too awkwardly.

"Wedding, huh?" Yoongi chimes in from beside him, raising an eyebrow. Jungkook simply nods in acknowledgment, hoping the conversation will shift.

"So this is your girlfriend’s hometown?" Geumjae asks, his voice calm but probing.

"Yes." Jungkook confirms with a small smile, relieved to stick with the easy part of the conversation. "But damn, dude, when did you get a girlfriend? The last time I remembered, you were afraid to even approach girls in university." Yoongi teases, a smirk on his lips.

Jungkook freezes for a moment, feeling a flush of discomfort rise in his chest. The comment feels casual, but the atmosphere around him is so formal that it catches him off guard. He glances around the table, noticing that everyone is relaxed and waiting for him to answer, as if this were a normal part of their dinner conversation. He takes a breath and tries to steady himself.

"Well... I wasn’t really afraid to approach them." he says, carefully choosing his words. "I just had other things to focus on." He offers a half smile, hoping to deflect the attention.

Yoongi chuckles, clearly amused, but doesn’t push any further. "What did you say her name was again?" he asks, his tone light.

"Oh... it’s Y/n." Jungkook replies, a smile creeping onto his face as he thinks about you. Just saying your name makes him feel warm inside, and he can’t help but let a soft grin escape.

"Y/n?" Yoongi’s mother repeats, her brows furrowing slightly, as though the name is familiar but somehow surprising. Jungkook tilts his head, not fully understanding the change in her tone.

He nods, confirming with a small smile. "Yes, Kim Y/n. That’s her name."

The sudden shift in the room is palpable. Yoongi’s mother’s eyes widen, and her voice grows louder, almost demanding. "You mean... Kim Y/n?" she repeats, her tone now sharp, causing everyone at the table to freeze. The clinking of silverware stops as if time itself has paused.

Jungkook blinks in confusion. He can feel the weight of their collective gaze on him, a tension that wasn’t there before. "Yes, Kim Y/n. That’s her name." he says, his voice firmer this time, trying to keep his composure. He doesn’t understand why your name is causing such a stir, but he can sense something is off.

"Dude... the Y/n you’re dating is... Kim Y/n?" Yoongi’s voice is incredulous, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He leans back in his chair, almost scoffing in disbelief.

Jungkook’s confusion deepens. He looks at Yoongi, eyebrows furrowed. "Uh... yeah? You know her or something?" he asks, still trying to piece together the odd shift in the conversation.

Geumjae chuckles, clearly intrigued. "Who doesn't?" he replies. Jungkook furrows his brows, still lost. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, his voice laced with perplexity.

Before anyone can respond, Yoongi’s mother’s face lights up with a sudden realization. "Wait, wait, wait, so the wedding you're here for... it's... it's Taehyung's, isn’t it? It’s Kim Taehyung’s wedding!" She beams, her expression a mix of surprise and excitement, as if the revelation is the most obvious thing in the world.

Jungkook’s mind races. He’s still trying to connect the dots, but the sheer shock on Yoongi’s mother’s face throws him off balance and he wonders how she knows that information. "How... How do you know that?" he asks, still trying to process everything.

Before anyone can answer, Yoongi shifts in his seat, leaning slightly towards Jungkook, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Dude... do you have any idea.... who your girlfriend is?" Yoongi asks, the question hanging in the air like a bombshell.

Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes, not understanding the gravity of the situation. His mind struggles to keep up, but he can't seem to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken. "What?" he asks, still confused. "Why... why are you asking me that?"

Yoongi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if he’s just realized something monumental. "Dude... do you know who 'The Kims' are?? You're dating someone from 'The Kims'. That is literally insane." he states, his voice filled with disbelief.

He looks at Jungkook, half-amused, half-shocked, but when he still notices the utter confusion on his friend's face, his expression softens slightly. Yoongi leans in and places both hands on Jungkook's shoulders, trying to help him process the information.

"Dude, 'The Kims' are one of the most influential families in all of Daegu. Hell, in all of Korea." Yoongi’s voice is filled with a mixture of awe as he continues.

"They own so many companies, it’s insane. From massive real estate ventures, luxury hotels, tech firms, and even a few major pharmaceutical companies, they’re basically untouchable. Every major industry you can think of, 'The Kims' have their fingers in it." He leans back again, his hands still on Jungkook's shoulders, clearly enjoying his friend's stunned reaction.

"And Y/n? She’s a part of that family. I don’t even think you understand how big of a deal that is."

Jungkook’s mind is spinning. He sits there, his thoughts racing, but the words don't seem to connect. All he can do is stare at Yoongi, trying to make sense of everything that’s being said.

His head is still reeling from the idea that the woman he’s been seeing... someone he’s grown to care for so deeply... belongs to such a powerful family. He had never imagined that you, with your down-to-earth nature, would be connected to such wealth and influence.

Yoongi, noticing Jungkook’s silence, smirks before continuing, clearly reveling in the shock he’s causing. "If you were shocked just looking at the estate I live in, wait until you see the kind of place Y/n lives in."

His voice lowers slightly, his tone growing more serious, almost as if he’s sharing a secret. "Her family’s mansion? It’s like something out of a movie. It’s not like any place you’ve ever seen before. We're talking private security, a sprawling garden, a real private estate. It's on a whole other level."

Jungkook feels his stomach tighten as he tries to digest what Yoongi’s saying. He can’t even fathom how he didn’t know this before, how he had no clue that something about your life was so different from anything he had known.

The thought of you being part of this world, a world so far removed from his own, leaves him just sitting there, not knowing what to do with this newfound information.

part 2 ->

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (5)

mom's fiancé! joel miller x f! reader • series masterlist.

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. Tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, betrayal, talk about divorce, no one owning up to what they really do, main characters get their happy ending... OR DO THEY?! >:) /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ im baaack !! last part baby!!! kind of. you'll see >:) until then enjoy this mumbled mess of 4.63k words bunnies! thank you for the immense support on this series. excuse any grammatical errors <//3

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air. You watched as she paced the room, trembling with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. “You don’t know what love is!” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Love isn’t sneaking around, tearing apart the people who trust you the most. Love isn’t ruining your family because you can’t control yourself.”

Your chest tightened, the sting of her words cutting deep. “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It wasn’t like I set out to hurt you—”

“But you did,” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “You hurt me in the worst way possible. You betrayed me with the one person who was supposed to be on my side. How am I supposed to live with this? How am I supposed to look at you and not see… this?”

Her words crushed you, the weight of her disappointment pressing down like an anchor. You took a step toward her, desperate to bridge the chasm growing between you. “Mom, please—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand to stop you. Her tears shimmered in the dim light, her face a portrait of devastation. “I need you to leave. Just… go.”

You froze, your heart shattering at the finality in her tone. “Mom…”

“Go!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned and stumbled toward the door, the walls of the house you’d grown up in suddenly feeling foreign and cold. As you stepped outside, the chill of the night air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside your chest.

The slam of the door still echoed in your ears as you trudged through the dark streets, clutching your jacket tight against the biting wind. Your mind was spinning, replaying the scene over and over again—the raised voice, the look of disgust on her face, the words that burned like acid.

"You’re a liar. I don’t even know who you are anymore."

Your mother had always been sharp, but you hadn’t expected her to be cruel. Not like that.

She hadn’t even let you explain. Not really. Once she figured it out—once you admitted you were in love with Joel—it was like she couldn’t even look at you. Not forever, maybe. But you knew that in this moment, there was no going back.

You wiped at your face, but it was no use. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and endless, cutting through the cold. You barely noticed when you reached Joel’s building. Your feet carried you up the stairs, and your fists pounded on his door before you even thought about what you’d say.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open. Joel stood there, his face tight with worry that immediately shifted into something darker when he saw you. “You told her,” he said, his voice low and heavy. You froze, your breath catching. Of course, he already knew. “I had to,” you whispered, stepping inside uninvited. “She—she guessed. She cornered me, Joel, I couldn’t—” You decided to lie. You tried to protect him from all of this. Maybe it wasn't your job or your role to do so, but this was the way to show him that it's real. that you are real, and so are all the feelings you have for him.

“You could’ve,” Joel snapped, cutting you off. He shut the door with more force than necessary. “You could’ve waited. You could’ve called me. But instead, you decided to do this on your own.” His words hit like a punch, and you stumbled over your response. “I didn’t have time—”

“That’s bullshit,” he growled, his voice rising. He took a step closer, his eyes boring into yours. “You didn’t want to wait for me. You wanted to handle it yourself, like you always do.”

“That’s not fair,” you shot back, anger bubbling up to meet his. “I didn’t plan this, Joel! She came at me, and I panicked! What was I supposed to do? Lie to her?”

“Yes!” Joel shouted, throwing his hands up. “You should’ve lied, or stalled, or done anything other than blow this whole thing wide open without me. You think this is just about you? It’s not. This affects both of us.” Your stomach twisted at his words. “You think I don’t know that?” you said, your voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t feel sick about what this means for you? For us? Joel, she kicked me out!"

He froze, his jaw tightening. “She what?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “She told me to leave. Said she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. I—” Your voice broke, and you covered your face with your hands. Joel’s anger seemed to deflate all at once, replaced by something softer, though no less pained. He reached for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his tone rough but gentler now. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you into his arms, and the floodgates opened. You sobbed into his chest, your fists clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. For a while, he just held you, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I got you, babygirl... 'm right here." But the tension in his body hadn’t gone away, and you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. When your sobs finally quieted, Joel pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was etched with exhaustion and something else—something almost like regret.

“This can’t keep happening,” he said softly. “You can’t just… go off and make decisions like this without me. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.” Joel sighed, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “We always do.”

But before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated, then pulled it out, your heart sinking when you saw the name on the screen. Marjorie. Of course. Joel noticed your hesitation. “Who is it?”

“Marjorie,” you said quietly. He frowned, but said nothing as you swiped to open the message. "You should’ve thought this through", it read.

•Your mom’s already told half the town about what you’ve done. If you’d just shared a little, you wouldn’t be in this mess now. At least they'll know what a homewrecking whore you are.

The room seemed to spin, and you had to sit down before your legs gave out. Joel knelt beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady. You showed him the message, your hands shaking. His jaw tightened as he read it, a muscle in his cheek jumping.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “She’s trying to twist the knife.”

“She’s right, though,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I—I did this to myself. To us.”

“Hey,” Joel said firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You hear me, sweet girl? This isn’t on you. It’s on them. On her.” You wanted to believe him. But the weight of everything—the fallout with your mom, the shame, the fear of what came next—it was too much.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you whispered, tears welling up again. "Maybe it don't need fixin'.." Joel’s expression softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out,” he said again. “One step at a time. But you’ve got to let me in. No more shutting me out.”

The road ahead felt impossibly long, the cracks in your relationship with Joel deep and jagged. But as he held you close, his arms steady and sure, you let yourself hope.

the nigh faded as your lids finally closed, the soft whispers of Joel a blanket over your tensed body. Finally, you fall asleep, escaping this day, hoping that when you wake up It'll all turn out to be a bad dream.

But as the night fell upon, you so did the day.

Joel stood on the doorstep, fists clenched at his sides. The brisk wind carried the faint scent of pine from the trees lining the street. He stared at the door in front of him, steeling himself for what he knew was coming. When your mother opened the door, her face immediately twisted into a scowl. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” she spat. Joel held her gaze, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, we do?” she snapped, stepping onto the porch and crossing her arms. “You’ve said enough, Joel. Or maybe not—seems like you were too busy seducing my daughter to give me the full picture.” Joel winced, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then what do you want?” she shot back, her voice rising. “To explain yourself? To justify this—this shit?”

“I want to make things right,” Joel said, his tone measured. “For her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Don’t you dare pretend this is about her,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. “This is about you. About your selfishness, your inability to think about anyone but yourself.” Joel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I know you’re angry—”

“Angry?” Her voice grew louder, trembling with indignation. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Joel? My daughter—your stepdaughter. Do you even hear yourself?” Joel’s shoulders sagged slightly, but his resolve didn’t falter. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, really?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Then explain it to me, Joel. Enlighten me, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been fucking her this whole time.” His head snapped up, and his voice took on a dangerous edge. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what?” she demanded, stepping closer. “You ‘accidentally’ fell for her? And so did your dick inside of her? Was this why you got so close to her? Why you were so ‘supportive’ all of a sudden? Because you wanted her?” Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily. “I didn’t plan this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It just happened. She’s not a child, and this wasn’t some sick—”

“Don’t you dare try to justify this!” she hissed, cutting him off again. “You’re supposed to be her father. You were supposed to protect her—not—” Her voice cracked, and she had to look away, blinking rapidly. "Oh my god."

Joel stepped forward, his voice softening. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” She glared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You think that makes it better? That it wasn’t ‘on purpose’? My God, Joel—this is why you married me, isn’t it?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely taken aback. “What?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “It makes sense now. You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You saw an opportunity, and you—” Her voice broke again, and she turned away, her hand pressed to her mouth. “That’s not true,” Joel said firmly, his voice rising just slightly. “I loved you. I cared about this family. I—”

“You used this family,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “And don’t you dare pretend otherwise. You’ve destroyed everything, Joel. Do you understand that? Everything. And for what?”

Joel’s expression hardened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “For love,” he said, his voice rough. “I love her. And you can hate me for it all you want, but that’s the truth.” Her mouth fell open slightly, disbelief etched across her face. For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

“You’re disgusting,” she finally said, her voice quiet but laced with venom. “Do you know what people are saying? What they’re going to say? You’ve ruined her, Joel. You’ve ruined her life, and you don't even understand."

Joel’s throat tightened, and his heart sank with every word that came from her mouth. “I never meant to hurt her,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step forward, desperate to make her understand. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I love her, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I never wanted to destroy this family.” The words seemed to hit her like a slap. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to keep the tears at bay, but they came anyway—one by one, streaming down her face. “You already have, Joel,” she whispered.

There was a heavy silence between them. The weight of everything that had happened hung in the air like an oppressive cloud. Joel wanted to reach out, to comfort her somehow, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now.

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was cold, almost venomous. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’ll make sure of it. I’m telling everyone. I’ve already told people, Joel. You don’t get to just pretend this didn’t happen, that it’s all okay. I will make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.”

His blood ran cold. “You can’t—”

“I will,” she spat. Joel stood there. He wanted to scream, to argue, but the truth hung there. He had screwed up. And he knew that.

“I didn’t want this to happen. You have to believe me,” he said hoarsely, voice cracking. “I was trying to be there for her. I—I never wanted to hurt her or you. It just—it just happened. And I don’t know what to do, but I swear, I never meant for it to go this far.” She crossed her arms tightly, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “You never meant it, Joel? Then why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you stop? You could’ve stopped. You could’ve walked away.

His throat felt tight, constricted with guilt, but he refused to back down. “Because I couldn’t.” Her lip trembled, but she quickly bit it, hiding the emotion that flickered there. She took a deep breath, then looked him square in the eyes. “I want you to leave. Now.”

The command was sharp, final. Joel hesitated, his gaze lingering on her, and then he nodded—slowly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. There were no more words that could fix this, not right now. He turned, heading for the door, the weight of everything pressing down on him with each step.

He felt sick.

With one final glance at the door he’d just walked away from, he turned and walked down the street, away from the house, away from everything. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but none of them made sense.

He had destroyed everything.

And now, there was no going back.

Joel had just come back from a supply run, the door clicking shut behind him. You glanced up from the couch, where you’d been sitting in silence, staring blankly at a book you weren’t really reading. He dropped the grocery bag on the counter, pausing before he looked at you.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he said, his voice rough but laced with concern. You shrugged, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not hungry.” He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, baby. I know it’s hard, but we’re in this together. You know that, don’t you?”

You looked at him then, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or a sense that he really believed what he was saying. “Together,” you echoed, the word feeling hollow. “We might be together, but everything else is ruined, Joel. My mom hates me. She hates you... And everyone else knows now too."

Running away now sounds about right.

Joel crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Your mom’s angry. She’s hurt. But she’ll come around. And whatever others say... Fuck 'em.” You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. “She won’t, Joel. Not after what she said. Not after what we did.”

“She doesn’t get to judge us,” he said firmly, his voice low. “She can be angry all she wants, but we didn’t do this to hurt her. We didn’t plan for any of this.” You flinched at his words. “That doesn’t make it okay. We still—Joel, we still had an affair. We lied to her. I lied to her... and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Joel reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re the same person you’ve always been...My sweet 'n smart girl. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You looked at him, his eyes filled with determination and tears. He meant it—every word. But that didn’t erase the reality of what had happened. It didn’t change the fact that you’d hurt someone you both cared about, even if that love had long since soured.

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “Do you regret... us?” Joel froze, his hand tightening around yours. For a moment, you thought he might say yes—that he’d take it all back if he could. But then he shook his head, his voice resolute.

“No,” he said. “I don’t regret loving you. I can’t. But I hate how it happened. I hate what it’s done to you—to us.” Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself cry for everything you’d lost—for the family you’d broken and the love that had brought you here. “I’m scared, Joel,” you whispered. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re not enough?” His arms tightened around you, his voice soft but unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. One day at a time, baby.”

You wait for the moon to rise and hug you.

Tonight, as the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains in his bedroom, you realized you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not in this town. Not surrounded by the memories of everything you’d lost.

Joel was beside you, his breathing steady but shallow. He’d fallen asleep sitting against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap. His brow was furrowed, even in rest. You stared at him for a long moment before gently nudging his shoulder. “Joel,” you whispered. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a second, he looked confused, but then his gaze softened when he saw you. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

You nodded but didn’t answer right away. Instead, you sat up, crossing your legs and pulling the blanket over them. Joel straightened, too, setting the book aside and giving you his full attention.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” you started. Joel tilted his head slightly. “What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. “Why don’t we leave? Just... pack up and go somewhere else. Start over. There’s nothing keeping me here, Joel. Not anymore. We could move, get away from all this, and just... be us. We could have a life, a family of our own. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted?”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the way he was trying to process what you’d just said. “You want to leave?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You nodded. “I can’t stay here, Joel. Not after everything. Everyone knows. They’re all talking about us, judging us. I can’t go anywhere without feeling their eyes on me. And my mom... She’s made it clear I’m not welcome. But we don’t have to stay. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Start fresh.”

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, darlin’. Moving... It’s a big decision. And what about you? Your work, your friends?”

“They’re not my friends anymore,” you said bitterly, the sting of betrayal still fresh. “If they ever were, they’re sure not now. And work... I can find something else. None of that matters, Joel. All that matters is us. If we stay here, this will follow us forever. But if we leave, we can leave all this behind.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked at you; sadness and longing. “You really think running away’s the answer?”

“It’s not running away,” you argued gently. “It’s starting over. Joel, you said we’d figure this out together. This is how we do it! We can’t change what happened, but we can choose what happens next. And I choose you.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Joel’s gaze locked on yours, and you could see the battle raging inside him. He wanted what you were offering—a chance to leave this mess behind, to build a life with you. But he was also scared of the unknown and the risks that came with it.

Finally, he reached out, his hand covering yours. “If this is what you want,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “then we’ll do it. We’ll leave. Wherever you wanna go, I’ll follow.”

Relief flooded through you, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you threw your arms around him. “Thank you,” you murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you..." He held you tightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You’re all I’ve got, darlin’. I’d go anywhere for you.”

That was enough. It had to be.

The hum of the apartment felt suffocating, but there was a strange comfort in it, too. You’d been in the same place for so long, yet now, every little sound—the refrigerator humming, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall—felt like a reminder of everything that had fallen apart. The town that had been home for so many years now felt like a prison, a place where the whispers never stopped, and the eyes of judgment followed you wherever you went.

But you weren’t staying here. You couldn’t stay here. You were both looking for a way out. Maybe you more than him.

Joel had been working overtime, pushing through his job, despite the whispers about him at work—the rumors that now tainted his every conversation. His job, the stares, the small-town gossip— it all got to him. to both of you.

As for you, you had quit yours. There wasn’t any point in pretending anymore. Your coworkers had given you that look— the one that said they knew but couldn’t talk about it openly. You didn’t need that anymore. You didn’t need to keep hiding in a job that felt more like a cage than an opportunity.

What you needed was space. You needed to leave. To escape. To start somewhere far away from here.

You stood by the counter, stirring a pot of vegetable soup as the familiar sounds of the apartment surrounded you. You were tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of fighting for something that had no resolve. It should’ve been an easy answer. You knew this would happen, how it would end up. And you could see it in Joel’s eyes, too. But every time you thought about leaving, about getting out of this town where everyone knew too much, there was a brief moment of hope. A spark. What if this was the first step toward something real? Toward a life that was just yours? Was it that horrible you wanted to he happy despite what you had done?

You let out a deep breath, your thoughts interrupted as Joel stepped into the kitchen, his tired eyes locking onto yours.

"Hi, baby." he murmured, his voice a little rough from the long day. You turned to him, a smile tugging at your lips despite the exhaustion that had been weighing on you. “Hi,” you said softly, and before you could say anything more, he closed the space between you. Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then your temple. “Missed you,” he said, his lips brushing against your skin. “Every damn minute I was at work, all I could think about was gettin' home to you.”

You laughed quietly, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, but there was no bite in your words—just warmth, just the comfort of knowing he was here. “Only for you,” Joel replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his expression softened. “You’re my whole world, baby. Don’t you know that by now?”

Your chest tightened, but in the best way. You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I think I do,” you whispered. Joel’s smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you—slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world falter away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands stayed firm on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“We’re really doing this..?” you said. “We’re leaving. Packing up and going to a whole new place..."

“Damn right we are,” his voice was steady. “We got that apartment a few towns over...with the balcony and all that sunlight you love so much, could maybe get a puppy too, who knows? It’s ours now. We’re making this happen.”

"Or a kitty." you giggle. "Whatever you want, angel. anything you want." You nodded, a smile breaking across your face. Your future home. Yours and Joel's. For how unreal it sounded, it felt like a lifeline. It was small but perfect, tucked away in a quiet area where no one would know your names. It was far enough from here that the whispers, the judgment, and the past couldn’t follow. It was everything you both needed. “I still can’t believe they approved us,” you said, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. “It feels too good to be true.” Joel chuckled, pulling you tighter against him. “Believe it, baby. It’s happening. And I can’t wait to see you in it. Can’t wait to start a real life with you..." he trails off, palm settling on your lower belly and, oh, butterflies bloom into your stomach. His words made your chest ache. He leaned down to kiss you again, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The kiss was longer this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour everything he felt for you into it. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. “We’ll start packing this weekend,” he said, his tone laced with excitement. “I’ve already started thinking about how to load the truck. Gonna make sure all your stuff’s safe, no scratches or anythin'.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so practical.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta be,” he teased, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “But seriously, I want you to feel at home there. I want it to be everything you’ve ever wanted. Hell, I don’t care if we’re in a shoebox as long as it’s with you.” Your throat tightened at his words, and you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I love you,” you said softly. Joel’s hand came up to tangle in your hair, and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. “I love you, baby. More than anything.” it seemed real enough for you.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the moment settle around you. You weren’t just running from something anymore, or someone. You were running toward something— together. And it was wrong, yes, and maybe karma will eventually make it's way to you, but until then this was your chance to be happy.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury @untamedheart81 @dollyxzy @mybvalentine @am-3-thyst @cuteanimalmama @corinnedollete @lovely-vamp-princess

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it. 

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2 →

Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[alisaint]

guys, i have good news for once. i've found proof of intelligent life out here in these wastelands:

my favorite excerpts:

Will, Jonathan, and Joyce Formed a Special Trio

If Eleven is the main character in Stranger Things, the Byers family is the conduit through which she flickers. Will’s disappearance in the first season spurred the Hawkins community to rush to his aid. The tight-knit camaraderie between Will, Jonathan, and Joyce juxtaposes the stereotypical family composed of kids and teenagers. Parents and children are supposed to fight and bicker in television and other media, often to build the main conflict of the story, but the Byers family already underwent that trauma offscreen.  Lonnie Byers (Ross Partridge) makes a brief cameo in the first season, flexing his standoffish demeanor and abusive nature. It’s clear that the Byers patriarch doesn’t possess much empathy for his ex-wife or his sons. Jonathan valiantly steps into the father, husband, and big brother role, amalgamating into a combination of responsibilities that no other character on the show could dream of emulating. 

Jonathan Binds the Byers Family Together

Jonathan’s multifaceted arc in the first two seasons made him one of the series’ most easily dissectable characters. Stranger Things often differentiates itself from other shows by keeping the antagonists separate from the main characters. There are no Walter White or Tony Soprano-style antiheroes in which fans must compromise one part of their moral compass to appreciate the character. One might think this makes the series boring, but it’s the opposite. Jonathan was proof that a nearly perfect brother and son can still be fascinating to watch. After Will was found in season 1’s climax, he was taken over by the Mind Flayer in season 2. Jonathan again stood by Will’s side as his little brother felt outcasted by friends and society at large. Schnapp and Heaton’s chemistry often leads to tender, humorous exchanges like this one in which the boys remind the audience that being weird can be a human superpower in its own right.  These moments became few and far between in seasons 3 and 4. Will and Jonathan were relegated to minor supporting characters as the aforementioned new additions took center stage. Will at least gets to tag along with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and the other younger friends. Jonathan often only appears in a few small scenes with his girlfriend Nancy (Natalia Dyer), and the writers even flirted with pushing Nancy back into Steve’s arms in the most recent season. Jonathan spent the majority of season 4 high on marijuana and frolicking around in a faux buddy-comedy routine with the one-off character Argyle (Eduardo Franco).  The decision to waste Heaton’s work from the first two seasons with a 180-degree personality change made no sense. Jonathan suddenly seemed careless, distant, and uninspired, but not in a dense way that could be unlocked by further character development. Little-to-no time was spent on him. While some fans might concur it is a necessary evil to take screen time away from older characters when expanding the world of Hawkins, it certainly transforms Stranger Things from a show about family into a show just about monsters and romances. 

Jonathan’s Enhanced Role in Season 5?

Many theories point to Will being one of the critical pieces to defeating Vecna (Jamie Campbell Bower) in the fifth and final season. His connection to the Upside Down and the evils underneath the surface should open up opportunities for Jonathan to lend his ears and counseling once again. Jonathan grows on an individual level when he aids others. When locked out of his family’s life, it stunts his ability to shine as a listener and an empathizer.  Jonathan’s best scene from season 4 again features a tear-jerking moment with Will. On the cusp of coming out of the closet, Will needs Jonathan more than ever before, and his brother responds supremely to the task at hand. The poignant conversation validates that the Duffers haven’t completely forgotten how to flesh out the Byers family. When the world gets too enormous for the characters and the audience, Jonathan serves as a connector to the most human elements of the series’ thematic thesis. He may not be as funny as Steve or as neurotic as Robin, but Jonathan symbolizes the good in all of us. In a show shrouded in darkness, Jonathan’s presence will be instrumental to forming a satisfying, optimistic conclusion in Hawkins, Indiana.

[themareverine]

with Wolverine. thirty.

⇁ TAGLIST ⇁ MASTERLIST ⇁ WOLVERNATION DISCORD ⇁ LETTERBOXED

☆ ── WRITING UPDATE ！ ☆ ── MY OC

we're 18⁺ in this place. please don't solicit me for money I don't have. don't care how cute you are, i block blank blogs without ages. talk with me in my asks, I don't bite!

✦ ── RECENT WORKS ˚ ☆ Border of Sin - oldman!Logan x mutant!wife!reader 💌 ☆ Every Part of You - 2013!Logan x mutant!wife!reader 💌 ☆ Not in Kansas - Eddie Alden x fem!reader 💌

themareverine: navigation - my main pinned post featuring my recent works, upcomings, news pieces, some fun intro stuff, and my maserlist. mare writes - my writing pieces, be it series works, oneshots, drabbles, etc. thoughts mare rambles - literally anything pertaining to my interests, most of my stuff is blogged this. marry me 💍- usually associated with Hugh Jackman or Logan Howlett/Wolverine. recent tag for me. ask mare - asks mare’s moots 💛- interaction with mutuals, ya'll keep that stuff comin'! for later - stuff i plan to read later but want on my blog to find. this is miriam - a new one for me! more of the real me, not the feral mareverine. for more intimate, personal stuffs. themareverine: taglist 🏷️ - if you want to be added, just DM or ask! WolverNation 💌 - my Wolverine discord it's a favorite - a few of the things i absolutely love a lot.

all my pieces—drabbles, oneshots, series, etc. mostly writing for Hugh Jackman characters, with focus on Wolverine. see my pinned for recents and incomings. ©️ themareverine 2024

⚠︎— PG-13/spicy please note, I'm a SFW writer and don't write smut, but my stuff should be considered PG-13 and do contain adult themes due to language and implied scenarios/innuendo. 💛— fluff/domestic 💔— angst/trauma 🔗— associated with a series 🎉 — celebrations 🎀— requests/asks

MASTERLIST —

✦ Logan Howlett/Wolverine

⇁ SERIES

🔗💔💛 ⚠︎ Mare & the Wolverine - AU!Origins!Logan Howlett x fem!OC ON HOLD

🔗💔💛 ⚠︎ Until We Fall - Worst!Logan Howlett x fem!OC

⇁ ONESHOTS

🔗💛 Wild Man- Logan Howlett x fem!OC 🔗💔💛 Bed of Bones - The Long Night!Logan Howlett x fem!OC 🔗💔💛 ⚠︎ Designated Driver - oldman!Logan x fem!OC 🎉💛 Closer to Hell - shortking!DP&WLogan x fem!OC 🔗💔 Who We Are - dofp!Logan x mutant!fem!OC 🎉 ⚠︎ God Laughs - dofp!Logan x fem!OC ⚠︎ 💛 Only When It’s Right - Logan Howlett x fem!OC

⇁ DRABBLES SERIES

A King & His Castle - oldman!Logan Howlett x fem!OC 🔗💛 IN YOU, MY FORTRESS 🔗💛🎀 UNDER DAYLIGHT 🎀🔗⚠︎ I DREAM OF YOU

⚠︎ 💛 TOY SOLDIERS - worst!wolverine x fem!OC

⇁ COLLABS

⚠︎ Bond Girl,part I - Patch!Logan x fem!reader (collab w/ @ bpmiranda) ⚠︎ The Sea Wolf, part 1 - pirate!Logan x fem!reader (collab w/ @ bpmiranda)

⇁ DRABBLES

💛 Garfield Morning Coffee- Logan Howlett x fem!OC 💛 He’s Not You- Logan Howlett x fem!OC 💛 Subaru, It's You - worst!Logan x fem!OC 💛 Top Eight - worst!Logan x fem!OC drabble 💛 Good Trouble - worst!Logan x fem!reader 🔗💛 Kingdoms - Worst!Logan x fem!mutant!wife!reader x Jurassic World: Rebirth crossover (idea only)

⇁ CELEBRATIONS

💌FROM MARE WITH LOVE Valentine's Day 2025 Celebration 💛Not in Kansas - Eddie Alden x fem!reader 💛 Every Part of You - 2013 Logan x fem!mutant!reader 🔗⚠︎ Border of Sin - oldman!Logan x mutant!wife!reader 💌

✦ Eddie Alden, Someone Like You

✦ Charlie Kenton, Real Steel

⇁ ONESHOTS

💛 Op Ed - Charlie Kenton x fem!reader (teaser)

❝I will praise you, LORD. Although you were angry with me, your anger has turned away and you have comforted me.❞ - Wolverine quoting Isaiah 12:1, X-Men: The Animated Series, Nightcrawler

©️ themareverine 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. minors DNI, i block ageless and blank blogs. header @ loganhowlctt. bunny is @ fear-is-truth

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Chapter Four - Discordant

Summary: Morpheus seems to take a turn for the better, but a person cannot change overnight. How does it feel to finally give him a taste of his own medicine? How does it feel to go back to square one, once again?

Notes: ~6.1k words, Please don't stare at the eclipse with your blind eyes, I just didn't know how to write protective solar glasses into this AU ok

Warnings/Tags: Morpheus is trying, it's not working, two deaths of side characters, miscommunication/misinterpretation (?), reader gets their feelings hurt again cause I can't stop writing angst

Tag list is open! Just let me know :)

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Discordant (adj.) - not in agreement or harmony, to be at variance

How do you face Morpheus again after that? The simple answer is you don’t, well you try not to. However, when you go to breakfast the next morning, it’s a surprise to you that Morpheus is there waiting for you. Breakfast is less formal than dinner, yet here you were, sharing a meal with him right by your side. 

Tension is thick in the air, the only sounds are that of cutlery on plates. You chew your fruit slowly while consciously trying not to look at Morpheus. This was horrible; you need wine, or something to dull your mental ability so you didn’t have to be fully here. 

Your throat was still raw from the day before, and the food only seems to make it worse, scraping itself down your throat as you swallow. 

“I’m finished,” You rasp and go to stand from your spot.

“Wait,” He stands abruptly, the glass on the table rattling with the sudden movement. You’re determined to leave but his fingers grab onto your wrist.   

“What?” You frown at him, the warmth of his fingers spreading across your arm. 

“There is a gala coming up. The Summer Eclipse Gala, please will you attend with me?”

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, not meeting his eyes. Instead you stare at how he gently holds onto you. His thumb smooths across the tender part of your wrist when he answers. 

“Not really,” He says in a low voice. There was some regret laced in his answer, but you didn’t want to pay attention to that. 

“Then that is my answer.” You sigh as you turn away. Morpheus’ hand is still around your wrist and even with a slight tug, he doesn’t release you. “Let go.” 

“Should we… talk about yesterday?” He says hesitantly.

“What is there to say?” You reply back, your voice losing itself again at the very end. When your husband doesn’t answer, you pull your arm away more forcefully. This time, he lets you go.

“Precisely.” You leave, your heart pounding as you so easily defy him. 

The rest of the week was spent doing exactly what he had been doing to you for the past couple of months. Which is to say, avoiding him at all points possible. You try to hide in the library, but that proves futile as he easily seeks you out there. The studio and many bookshelves do little to hide you, ironically.

The only place he doesn’t dare find you is your garden. Even he could understand the importance of that sanctuary to you. And though the flowers certainly seem to enjoy the summer sun, you couldn’t say the same. The heat had started to become unbearable and it had been days since your last visit there. 

When he asks for you to dine with him, you decline and lock yourself in your room. Your stomach rumbles until Matthew sneaks you a leftover biscuit, but it was better than confronting him. At a certain point, embarrassment of letting your true feelings show turn to resentment once more. 

Why did he suddenly feel entitled to your time? 

“The King brought you this, Your Majesty,” Agnes says one morning as she enters your room. One of the maids holds a large box, decorated with a beautiful red bow. 

You take a hold of it, albeit a bit hesitant, and unravel the gift. When you lift the lid, you’re greeted with something you have never seen before. The dress was a beautiful golden yellow, with gems that represented the sun inlaid amongst the sweetheart bodice. Lacey loops come off the bodice in a delicate design that would wrap around your upper arms. The bottom skirting was decorated with glittering swirls and the fabric soft to the touch. 

“Oh! It looks lovely,” Agnes compliments with a soft gasp. She’s looking over your shoulder as you continue to stare at the dress. 

“Hmm, I can’t deny it either. It looks beautiful,” You sigh as you run your fingers through the soft fabric. Your fingers come across a piece of paper with a note. 

Please do me the honor and wear this tonight. Written in Morpheus’ handwriting. 

“And so shall you, your grace, when you wear it today,” Your lady’s maid hums.

Right… the gala is today. It seems your plan of avoiding Morpheus would have to come to an end. But, you still have the rest of the day to yourself, best to start savoring it. You start with a bath, with extra Natterhorn milk per your request, and something else to calm your nerves. After which, Agnes starts pampering you to get you ready for the event. 

Hands are grabbing at you at every angle, tugging, brushing, wiping. You felt like a marionette puppet as they direct you on where to step, where to hold your hands so that they may dress you accordingly. 

“Agnes,” You gasp as she gives you another sharp tug. “I request you loosen this horrid corset for my sake.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” She says, giving one last tug and tying the knot, more than less ignoring your request. 

In the end, both you and Agnes are huffing and puffing when you’re finally done. You watch as Agnes puts on a pair of white cotton gloves and reaches into a wooden box you didn’t have the liberty of noticing before. From it, she produces an ornate crown. 

It pairs with your dress nicely, a warm gold with white gems. The points of the head piece  were a bit excessive, but your inner judgment was cut short when you realized it was supposed to represent the sun. When Agnes places it on your head, you grimace at the weight of it. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it is part of the uniform,” Agnes apologizes once again as she notices your contorted face. 

“It is not your fault, do not fret. You did well,” You grunt as you step away from the mirror. Agnes is positively gushing as she looks you over. Her beaming increases as you give your compliments to her hard work. 

Despite the heavy crown, the dress itself was light and made for easy movement. Agnes opens the door and you follow the entourage of silver knights as they lead you from the comforts of your bedroom. Matthew’s presence settles your nerves a bit as you feel his protective presence three paces behind. 

“Are you excited, boss lady?” You hear him ask with a smile hidden behind his helmet. He had recently polished his black armor and you’re sure if you turn around now, you could see your reflection. 

“In all honesty, Matthew? For the event, yes. For seeing my husband again, no.” You pause as the unified metal footsteps descend to the first floor of the castle. “What of you?”

“If I get to see Jessamy again…” He says beneath his breath, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it.

You can see the sunlight from the entrance and you’re about to ask Matthew to repeat himself. However, the silver knights stop on the final set of stairs, leaving you standing at the intersection that leads to Morpheus’ wing. He comes down in time with your steps and meets you in the middle.

Morpheus is dressed in his typical black, simply more detailed than usual. He switches his flowing robe for an off shoulder cape that only reaches his mid thighs. His black tunic and pants were dusted with silver and dark blue, giving the illusion of the night sky at certain angles. Sitting comfortably on his head was a crown: silver with curving onyx gems that resembled the moon. 

He’s close enough now to take you in your full glory. The dress he bought for you was the correct choice. It hugs your figure in all the right places; the dress was, after all, altered to your size. When the fleeting rays of sunlight come through the large window, it reflects off your dress and illuminates you. The Sun only shares a portion of His light, but you’ve managed to take it and make it your own. 

“You look radiant,” He breathes the truth as he comes closer to you. You notice his finger twitch as he resists the urge to touch you. 

“Save your falsities for someone else,” You snap, surprising yourself even. The crown was way too heavy on your head for pretenses. 

“Very well… but we should at least pretend to like each other for the guests tonight.” Morpheus offers his arm to you and turns, the breeze from the entrance coming through the hallway. 

“Then let us begin,” You reply as you hook your hand to his arm. 

Crossing the castle threshold, the eclipse was already beginning to start. The trees rustle in the gentle late spring wind, its shades creating crescent shadows on the ground. You’re able to enjoy it from afar as the two of you walk the distance to the grand ballroom. 

Slowly, daylight surrenders to night and the nocturnal critters emerge from their slumber. Crickets chirp, fireflies float around you, and moths fan their wings in the moonlight. The smell of petrichor turns heavy once more as you reenter the castle, the doors opening wide with an announcement of your and Morpheus’ arrival. The silver knights part, Matthew leaves your side, as does Jessamy, as Morpheus leads you to the center of the ballroom. 

“Welcome, esteemed guests of the Dreaming. Tonight, we shall once again celebrate the astral lovers of Sun and Moon,” An announcer bellows into a horn. Cheers and unified clapping follow. “During Totality of the eclipse, we welcome you to witness the first dance of the night, to be shared with King Morpheus and Queen Consort Y/N.”

A fanfare plays and the crowd turns to the open ceiling, watching with shielded eyes as the moon slowly clips into place. Night dominates the sky, the moon blocking the sun except for the defining ring around it. Footmen scurry around as they quickly light the abundance of candles and chandeliers they could reach. 

The grand ballroom gleams with the light of a thousand crystal chandeliers as you and Morpheus turn towards each other. The light fractures and creates halos across the marble flooring and stone pillars. Morpheus bows and you curtsy low, and the action reminds you of your wedding night. Slowly, he clasps his hand over yours gently and a firm arm wraps around your waist. 

The string ensemble starts and you try to fight the smile that creeps on your lips as you’re easily pulled in time with his steps. Morpheus smiles as he studies your face closely. You're dancing once again.

The candle light seems to be absorbed into your figure as you glow under its warm light. Spinning hand in hand with your husband, you’ve long since given up holding back your smile. You’re grinning, radiant and warm like the sun. 

You and Morpheus glide across the ballroom floor, floating like stars amongst the clouds. He is fluid in his movements and leads the dance easily. You hold on tight as the lights begin to blur together, all together have you forgotten how heavy your crown was. To onlookers, the two of you were beacons of elegance and the definition of harmony. 

The music stops and you’re face to face with Morpheus, breathing hard. The sound of applause is muffled in the background of your mind. Morpheus looks pristine as well, perfectly composed as he softly gazes at you through starry eyes. You’re the first to break eye contact, the raw emotions he tries to show you too much for now. You can see that he is trying to be better, but after months of neglect, one dance is hardly enough to make up for it. 

Morpheus doesn’t try to hide his emotions, and with deflated shoulders, leads you quietly to the matching thrones at the front of the ballroom. There, they stand high and mighty, dark, and carved with intricate designs of stars and ravens. You see Jessamy and Matthew waiting for the two of you there and some relief returns to you knowing that Matthew would be there to watch over you. 

The roofless ballroom makes it hard to believe that it is only noon. Save for the ring of sun, the sky was casted in perpetual night. The stars make their appearance, as they always do, and accompany their moon, twinkling with admiration at viewing the people of the Dreaming early today. Even the critters of the night came out from their slumber, and if you listened carefully enough, you could hear their chirps and songs of night past the orchestra. 

The throne is stiff and uncomfortable to sit in. When you glance over at Morpheus, he takes to it easily, spreading across the throne like a lounging cat. His presence fills the space and it’s easy to see how he is so perfectly fit for this role. 

An emissary comes before you and bows, the lady on his arm following suit. He wears his best for the ceremony and when he speaks, it smells of rich alcohol and fruits. 

“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Majesties. As emissary of the Kingdom of Kreya, we wish you a wonderful Solar Eclipse celebration,” The man smiles at the two of you and you smile back.

You take another glance at Morpheus and see his jaw ticking in the low candlelight. A second passes and he still doesn’t respond. 

“Thank you, we hope to visit Kreya soon,” You reply instead. It has been long since you’ve heard a rumor of your failing marriage. At the very least it’s good to know that to people looking in, there was nothing wrong between you and Morpheus. 

This is what he wanted, was it not?

From his perspective, your urge to take control basked you in a new light that he’s never seen before. Your response seems to snap him out of whatever deep thoughts he had and a cough brings him back to the present. Or, if he wanted to be honest with himself; your presence brings him back to the present. 

Others follow in his footsteps, giving their congratulations, their salutations from their kingdoms, and other comments they wished to address to you. Morpheus and you take turns responding, each one vague and surface level. 

The last emissary was a face you knew all too well. Soft brown curls wrap around a kind face. She dawns on flowy fabric of white and gold and a cape made of olive leaves. Calliope smiles when she sets her eyes on you, and you hear Matthew’s armor clink as he attempts to move from his post. The promise he made early into your relationship is evident in his mind. 

A subtle hand rise from you was enough to stop him and the black knight settles back. The tension remains thick as she ascends the steps. She bows and speaks. 

“I congratulate the King and Queen of the Dreaming on their union. From Boeotia, my sisters and I give our blessings for a bountiful year.” Calliope speaks to you specifically, and even when there is no ill intention written on her face, something ugly deep within you dares not to look at her. 

The pain and suffering you had to endure, half of the reason is because of her. Your anger and despair leave you and instead reveal itself as its true form. Is it jealousy? Perhaps. You’ve long since stopped fighting it. Your bracelet tightens around your wrist once more, as it’s always done when it doesn’t agree with your thoughts. 

“Thank you…” Morpheus responds to her. It was your turn to respond, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to speak to her. 

Calliope opens her mouth again, as if to add something else, but stops herself after some hesitancy. It’s not before long that Calliope accepts the short answer and leaves you. An even shorter amount of time for a footman to come to you and Morpheus with goblets of wine that you all too eagerly grab at.

If it weren’t for your position, you’re sure you would be drunk beyond comprehension. It is a tradition of the celebration: to relieve oneself from their physical bodies and dance amongst the Eclipse. And you can only do that by drinking until your body can’t understand the physical world anymore. 

The dark wine glitters as you swirl it around in the silver goblet, and you feel the tingling sensation as it goes down your throat. Other nobles mingle with each other, the occasional ping of glasses touching echos in the large room.

Squinting, you notice a certain blond standing alone in the corner, his dark glasses still covering his eyes. He is talking to some other man, his charismatic smile never disappearing, even when he takes another sip from his glass. As if sensing your gaze, he turns to you and raises his glass in your direction. You were the first to break eye contact, taking another sip of your own drink. You see Lucienne and Hob enjoying themselves at the snack table, watching as Lucienne looks away when Hob stuffs several cookies into his coat pocket. 

The alcohol was potent, leaving you feeling light and dizzy, but a sudden commotion on the other side of the room leaves me sober. Yelling and clashing of metal against metal piques your interest as the ballroom doors slam open. 

“I apologize, we-we tried to stop him!” A silver knight huffs out, chasing after the man who barged in. 

A calm hand from Morpheus quiets him and the knight stops. The elderly man is still charging towards the two of you, dancers parting quickly from the marble floor as they watch. 

“Where is she?” The man asks—or demands, more accurately, standing strong in the center of the dancefloor. He wears red, unblemished armor that stands out like a sore thumb against the Dreaming’s more subtle colors. 

“Whoever you seek is not here, stranger,” Morpheus’ voice booms across the room. 

“You, Teleute, will bring back my dead son. I will kill you if it means I will get him back…” He bravely points at your husband, completely ignoring his statement. 

You and Morpheus share a quick glance at each other. Yours is riddled in confusion, what could this random man possibly want with his sister? Morpheus shares with you a more concerned look as he finally pieces together the information.

He recalls the conversation he had with the Corinthian under old moonlight about a madman named Rodrick Burgess. Briefly, his eyes meet with Corinthian on the far end of the room, who seems all the more pleased that his target has waltzed right into his grasp. The Corinthian had taken a small break in his chase so he could attend the festival. In the end, it seemingly works out for him anyways. 

“Are you challenging the throne?” Morpheus accuses, looking down at him. You hear the shifting of feet as Jessamy and Matthew squirm with anticipation. 

Morpheus remembers once more of his nightmare regarding this specific man and you. How you laid cold in his arms, blood blemishing each portion of your body. That no matter how much he wipes away at it, the blood continues to seep and stain into your clothes. His hand slowly ghosts over yours and covers your fingers. He feels the quickening pulse underneath his fingers and allows himself a moment of peace for your still beating pulse. 

“I am challenging Teleute,” Rodrick repeats. 

“Death of the Endless is not here. I will accept your challenge in her stead.” You’re not sure where the courage was coming from. Perhaps it is how Morpheus is gently holding onto you. Or, more likely, how the alcohol is coursing through your system. That seems to be the more logical reason… right? “Who do you wish to be your champion?” 

“I am my own champion, the Great Magus Rodrick Burgess.” He brings forth his sword, covered in elaborate jewels. 

“Sir Matthew?” You call, head held high. The weight of the crown is no longer an issue for you. 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Matthew responds immediately. 

“You will be my champion.” You declare. “You will not disappoint.” It is your first order as queen. 

You watch with fixed eyes as Matthew crosses to the dance floor. The white marble is a stark contrast against his black armor. Your hand turns and interlaces with Morpheus’ as Matthew draws his sword.

It’s longer and broader than Rodrick’s and even before the fight begins, you know Matthew would be slower than his opponent. But your belief in him is strong and unyielding. 

The two knights face each other, their stances ready. Murmurs from onlookers hush around the room, the tension as thick as the wine they drink. 

Rodrick moves first, his impatience showing easily as he lunges for Matthew’s heart. Your champion gracefully steps to the side, bringing up his broadsword in a low arch to parry the attack. 

Blade against blade, the metals gleam in the low candlelight. The symphony changes from a string quartet to that of steel. The two knights dance around each other in the intense duel as both display their mastery of the blade. 

An unhonorable heavy strike to the head from Rodrick leaves Matthew dazed. It’s enough for the blunt of his blade to strike at the young knight’s helmet. You watch with an agape mouth as the force is enough to knock off Matthew’s helmet, the helm flying across the floor. Your grip in Morpheus’ hand tightens as the anticipation grows. 

Matthew is quick to be back on his feet, his black hair tousled from the fight. You catch glimpses of his determined face as he returns to the duel. Each block that Matthew predicts, each strike that he parries leaves Rodrick flustered.

Matthew notices, and when Rodrick was starting to lose strength, he advances with a series of long arching and forceful blows. You and Morpheus watch as Rodrick meekly holds his denting blade up in defense.

With a powerful kick to the chest, the Great Magus crashes to the ground, his sword falling from his hand as the last of his energy leaves him. Matthew advances still, dragging his broadsword on the ground. The teeth-grating sound of metal on marble igniting sparks. 

Your knight points the sword at Rodrick’s throat, panting from exertion. “Yield,” Matthew commands.  

“I will not!” Rodrick spits at him, pushing the imposing blade away from his throat.

“Yield!” Matthew shouts, bringing the blade back and pushing pressure onto the side of his neck. A thin string of warm blood follows the cut.

Rodrick looks around the room, conscious of how the people around him start to whisper about his loss. He makes eye contact with you and glares at his defeat. 

“I yield,” He says hesitantly as his eyes remain on yours. 

You swallow thickly as silver knights drag him out of the ballroom, your eyes following him. Rodrick was glaring at you until he could no longer see you, his cheeks still flushed from the duel and from the embarrassment of losing. 

You let go of Morpheus’ hand, wiping your palm against the softness of your dress to get rid of the excessive sweat that started to accumulate. You go to grab at your wine again, finishing the rest with large gulps to calm your nerves. The alcohol is quick to work its magic as it seeps into your system.

“Congratulations on your victory, champion,” You grin when Matthew comes back to your side. “Where’s your helmet?”

“I, uh, can’t find it…” He mutters, embarrassed. He scratches at his hair as his cheeks flush red. 

You smile once more as Matthew’s true personality shows itself again. He was quite young to be a knight, and his face had left the battle without any scars; a testament to his effectiveness. A server comes by and tops off the goblet with more glittering wine. 

Morpheus hovers a hand over his own cup as a silent decline for more alcohol. Meanwhile you were more than inclined to continue drinking. The excitement of the day is already taking its effect on you. When you set your drink back down, you notice that no one is enjoying the gala anymore.

They stand to the side, muttering to themselves behind open feather fans. No one is drinking, or feasting, and they share unsure glances with each other. The duel was a mood killer for the festivities. 

You take another slow sip from your wine, what should you do? You watch through slightly lidded eyes as Morpheus stands from his seat. His hand falls before yours in a silent invitation of another dance. Baffled, you silently stare at the upright hand. Morpheus wants another dance?

Should you? When a bird has been locked in a cage for so long, even when presented with the opportunity of flight, it often finds itself staying. It takes comfort in what the bird knows. The outside world is dangerous, after all. 

“Please,” He whispers when he notices you hesitating. You see his other fingers twitch against his leg, a tic that you’ve long since noticed he does whenever he is nervous. You place the goblet down and grab onto his hand lightly. One more dance wouldn’t hurt. 

Before you leave, you turn to Matthew with a smile. “You should go dance, too. You’ve done well to deserve it tonight.” 

Matthew all but perks up at your invitation, his eyes darting to Morpheus, who simply nods in approval of his request. 

The two of you take to the floor and amidst the onlookers and mutterers, for once, you only notice Morpheus. “I trust you,” You say slowly.

Morpheus nods before he places a gentle hand on your waist and leads the dance once more. The music is romantic somber as the two of you glide across the floor. 

Nobles and invitees around you stop whispering amongst themselves and enjoy the spectacle. Soon enough, more and more couples return to the dance floor. 

The orchestra is quick to change its tune and an upbeat swell of strings has everyone clapping and jumping around in a country dance. Your smile brightens your face once more as you witness how your small dance was enough to bring people together. 

You part from Morpheus as a new dance partner whisks you away for the next portion of the song. You grab onto your dance partner as you watch Morpheus spin with a new partner of his own, a soft smile gracing his lips as he witnesses your lingering gaze.

“Enjoying the ball, Your Majesty?” The new voice interrupts your thoughts. Your head turns to your new dance partner and you feel yourself jump in the middle of a spin. 

“Corinthian,” You greet curtly, smile dropping. 

“Hello again, Your Majesty.” He grins down at you, sunglasses still on. A silence follows and you’re desperate to change partners again.

“It seems you and His Majesty have started to become amiable with each other. I heard rumors that your marriage was in rocky waters.” He whispers into your ear as he spins you again. 

“They’re just rumors,” You lie again. 

The Corinthian hums, easily reading between the lines of your statement. “Well, well, would you look at that?”

Corinthian focuses his attention behind you and you turn to match his gaze. Couples waltz around you, but your eyes immediately seek out Morpheus. Your newly healed heart shatters as you watch Morpheus and Calliope spin across the dance floor. The two of them look beautiful together, her light colors clashing with his darker ones is a sight out of the romances you’ve read in your books. 

Were dance partners always supposed to be that close to each other? Their gazes lock with each other as they share private words amongst themselves. Morpheus says something that causes Calliope to smile, something that lights up her entire figure in delight. 

“Perhaps the rumors are quite true,” Corinthian chuckles. 

You let go of him as if he suddenly caught on fire. “I need some air… Please excuse me.” 

The Corinthian doesn’t try to stop you as you weave your way through the dancing couples. Before you leave the ballroom, you briefly overhear a conversation between Mervyn and Matthew. 

“Huh, I thought you were some beast with how you were swinging that piece of crap around. But you’re just some normal kid,” Mervyn scoffs as he lights another cigarette. 

Matthew scratches his head in confusion, the refound helmet rests between his arm and torso. It is liberating to not have to wear it for a while, and he can smell the food more clearly like this.

“Actually, I’m 1/16 pure Ravenfolk on my mother's side. Not so normal now, huh, Mervyn?” Matthew brags with a high head. 

“Pah!” The pumpkin man scoffs again, a cloud of smoke following him. “And Jessamy is pure Ravenfolk so what you got to say about that!”

You’re sure you see smoke steaming out of your knight’s ears and his face turns bright red. It’s a conversation you would have loved to entertain, but in your emotions, you don’t linger long. The door is right there and you escape from all the distracted gazes.

By muscle memory, your feet take you to your garden sanctuary. The summer sun is no longer an issue for you as the night wind calms your fraying nerves. You run your fingers along the petals of night flowers and watch as they sway in tandem with the tides. 

You take a seat on a nearby stone bench, watching the eclipse reflection in the small pond of your garden. An uncomfortable feeling like stone settles in your throat as you push down a hiccup. Silent tears still make it past your eyes. 

You wipe away your tears with the back of your hand as you silently berate yourself for always crying. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to relax your over eccentric heart. The rustling of leaves and citrus smell of flowers calm your nerves quite well. 

You hear a rustle that feels out of place and a presence behind you and you sigh deeply. 

“Not now, Matthew. I really just want to be alone,” You indirectly ask your knight for solitude. 

“Not Matthew,” The presence spits out the name and you gasp as you feel the cold metal of his blade against your throat. 

Rodrick.

How could you forget his voice? You don’t move as you watch him circle in front of you. The point of the dagger in his hands remains pointed at your throat. You swallow your nerves, the slight movement enough to scratch your skin against the sharp blade. 

“You embarrassed me. In front of all of your citizens,” Rodrick begins to monologue. It’s hard to make out his face in the dark light and the angle at which you sat, but the glare he emitted was easy to feel.

“No, you embarrassed yourself. Who told you killing someone else would bring back your dead son?” You ask to distract him. Your eyes dart around your space as you try to find a path to run away from him, or something that can hinder him while you find help. 

“The ruler I serve said so. And I believe in their word.” He continues.

“Who? Desire of the Endless?” You scoff as you look at his red armor. The lustful color and crest he bore on his chest plate was easy enough to piece together. “Have you ever considered your ruler is merely using you as bait?”

“They would never,” Rodrick says back in disbelief. The blade dips slightly for a moment as he backs away. 

You take that slight moment as your chance, grabbing at the layers of your dress and sprinting back towards the castle.

“Matthew!” You scream at the top of your lungs and you pray that it's heard past the music. 

Hedges and thorned flowers scrape at you and get caught in your dress. The sound of pounding feet catches up to you and a yelp leaves your lips as Rodricks tackles you to the ground. Your crown dislodges itself from your head at the impact and you’re screaming as you fight back as best as you can. 

His hands come around your throat and you grab at his wrist in panic. Rasping breaths leave you in huffs as he squeezes harder and harder. The edges of your vision start to go black as the lack of oxygen leaves your body wanting. 

“M-Morpheus,” You call out weakly. 

“No one can hear you now, you pathetic queen. No one can help you—”

The weight is lifted off of you abruptly and you turn on hands and knees as you intake as much air as you possibly could. You turn back around and stand on wobbly legs and watch as two silhouettes fight each other. One, you knew to be Rodrick but the other was new. The person was armor clad in silver, so it was neither Morpheus nor Matthew. One moment, Rodrick was standing, and the next he fell to the ground in a slump. 

“Come, let’s get you back to the palace, Your Majesty,” Your savior comes closer to you. The dagger that Rodrick had threatened you with is still in her hands. 

“Who are you?” You ask as she takes your hand and begins a fast walk away from the dead body. 

“You may call me Gault, Your Majesty.” Her pace is faster than yours and in your still shocked state, you fall to the ground. Gault turns around quickly and bends to help you up from the elbow. 

“Jessamy, subdue her,” You hear Morpheus' voice nearby. The sound of armor accompanying him. 

“What?” You question as you fall back to the ground. Matthew is by your side in no time, holding you up steadily. 

You watch with confusion as Jessamy holds both of Gault’s hands behind her back and kicks her knee in so that she kneels to the ground. 

“Forgive me, for not coming sooner,” Morpheus whispers to you. He unclips the half cape he wore and drapes it over your shoulders. Your abrasive run through the gardens leaves you more exposed than what would have been considered appropriate. 

“Wait, no, stop,” You interject as he returns his attention to Gault. 

Morpheus ignores you, insisting to himself that your ramblings were from shock. It’s obvious to him that Gault was going to hurt you. As soon as he noticed that you weren’t in the ballroom anymore, he was quick to leave the dance and come looking for you. 

To find you being hovered by one of his own soldiers with the weapon in her hand was evident enough in his eyes of treason. You looked horrible, your dress in shambles and thin cuts scattered across your body. 

“I was protecting the queen,” Gault states the truth slowly. “I had no intention of hurting her. I merely wish to keep her from harm.”

“Listen to her, my lord. Please, I beg you, she is speaking the truth,” You plead once more. The hold that Matthew has on you shifts from protection to restriction as you try to fight against him. 

Morpheus ignores you once more, and while your cries hurt him, bringing you justice will satiate the pain. “You do not get to decide what I saw with my own eyes. How do you think you should be punished for the attempt on my queen’s life?”

Gault pushes her head up higher even as the realization dawns on her. “I am not afraid.”

“You should be.” Morpheus stalks closer to her.

“I will rather die afraid than knowing I lived without truth, my lord.” You hear Gault whisper. 

Morpheus doesn’t bother with a response. The shadows of the eclipse seem to elongate his shadow as he paths closer to her. Your pleas once again fall on deaf ears and tears sting your face red. Your screams have turned raw in your throat as you helplessly watch.

In the darkness of the eclipse, you barely register the sound of Morpheus unsheathing Jessamy’s blade from her scabbard. You don’t see it, but you feel it—the sticky warmth of blood splattering across your face. The iron taste rests heavy on your tongue as your mouth falls open in a gasp. It mixes with the wine and creates a concoction that makes you dry heave in the grass. 

You hear it, too. As Gault doesn’t die from the first strike and her blood effectively drowns her as she tries to breathe. Morpheus swings again and the head thuds to the ground, her body following quickly after as Jessamy lets her go. 

Your scream echoes across the vastness of the night.

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Ah, Morpheus you walking red flag you. Also, I'm not going to lie, idk how to redeem Dream boy over here after this chapter cause wtf is this bitch on (I know I wrote him but what the fuck?)

Someone tell me I did good, it's summer and I no longer get academic validation

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14 @boo8008 @dragon-kazansky @i-voluntears @deniixlovezelda

[tojisbbygworl]

Congrats, Babe - Toji Fushiguro x Black!Reader ~ FFL Series

Summary: Toji couldn’t believe you actually invited him to your graduation. Watching you walk across that stage, his son in his arms, sitting next to your family, he couldn’t be happier. Toji - 24, You - 21, Megumi - 3

Characters: Toji, Megumi

Words: 4,239

Tags: Fluff (kinda sorta Tooth-Rotting), Soft Toji, Toji’s a Good Dad, Suggestive Thoughts, Crushes to Lovers

Disclaimer: This work is part of a Black!Reader x Toji series I started called Fushiguro Family Life. It's basically a slice of life series with you, Toji and Megumi. None of them are in order and can be read on their own unless stated otherwise.

AO3 Version

My AO3

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author's note: Hiiiiii! Don't have much to say except I hope you all enjoy this. I feel like it's really cute and I think I'm doing pretty good on giving small insight on Megumi's personality, Toji's parenting, and what led to his divorce with Megumi's mother who I've decided will be named Ayano. Her name won't come up here but it will down the line. Toji's past will be revealed more and more as the series continues.

“Um, daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going again?”

“A graduation.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

“It’s a ceremony.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

“Sigh…”

On a regular day, a simple drive with his son babbling about nothing in the backseat wouldn’t be so nerve wracking. However, today was a bit special.

Toji was genuinely shocked when you gave him your number after months of friendly flirting. He never actually expected to get anything from you, he was having too much fun watching you get frustrated. But, now that he thinks about it, you have been warming up to him for some time now. The two of you only ever talked at the gym. You went in only a couple of times a week, so he had to make every second count. And he may have purposely changed his availability so he would be there.

You hadn’t said yes to a date just yet, but he’s hoping it was only a matter of time. The two of you were becoming much closer with each other, sometimes spending hours just talking on the phone. Last night’s call was especially sweet. His ears have been heating up all morning from thinking about it. You were so excited about finally graduating, not having to worry about school for what may be the rest of your life, and starting your career. You were so ready for a steady income and to move out of your parents’ house. And it took everything within him to not suggest you move in with him instead of living on your own, as he knows how expensive it can get.

The journey to your graduation was a bit nerve wracking. He knew he’d be anxious when you invited both him and Megumi a week ago. A couple of family members hadn’t been able to make it, meaning Toji would be meeting and sitting down with those who could. Meeting the family before even one date. Unheard of.

He hadn’t even met his last wife’s family before marrying her. He can see how stupid of an idea that was now that they’re divorced. Imagine how much heartache he could have avoided had he done so.

After going through hell (finding parking) he lifts Megumi out of his car seat and takes his hand to follow the hordes of people heading to the auditorium. Looking at his tickets, Toji heads over to their assigned seats.

He sees a group of people who resemble you and deduces that it must be your family. At first he panics. He wonders if you told them about him coming or if he should even say anything. But, his question is answered when the older woman of the group taps his shoulder after sitting down. He guides Megumi to sit in the seat next to him, to which he simply refuses by putting his arms on his father’s lap and jumping to try and climb it. Toji rolls his eyes and lifts his son up.

“Are you the person my daughter Y/N invited? Toji?” She asks. Ah, so this was your mom. You don’t really look like her.

Toji puts on his charming smile and holds his hand out to her. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” He gestures to the little boy on his lap. “This is my son, Megumi.”

Megumi, who’s usually shy, lifts a small hand up and waved at her, looking down and away nervously. Your mom twiddles her fingers which makes him smile. “Aw,” she says and reaches over to tickle his stomach. Megumi giggles and kicks his feet. Toji jerks his head back in shock.

“Is this Toji?” He hears. 

Your mother turns to the man sitting next to her and nods. “Mhm. And this is his son.” Megumi gets nervous again and his smile drops, but he does give a small wave. The man waves back and looks up at Toji. He holds his hand out. Now you do look like him. This must be your father.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Toji shakes his hand and says the same. The other two look over at the commotion and smile. Toji waves at them. Megumi hides his head in his shirt.

“Hi! You’re Toji?” One of them asked. She looks to be around the same age as you and sounds like it too. In fact, so does the boy sitting next to her. “I’m Kennedy. This is my brother. We’re Y/N’s cousins.”

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he said after introducing himself as Kwame. “She talks about you all the damn time.”

Toji’s smile freezes and he rubs the back of his neck. “She does?”

Everyone nods and starts going on and on about how much you gush about him. Up until he accepted your invitation, he was known as, “the fine ass gym owner”, a statement that made him blush even harder. However, it was nice knowing how you truly felt about him. It’s not as if you would ever admit to having a crush in front of his face.

He was a bit shocked. Yeah, you flirted back with him from time to time, but you didn’t actually like him, right? It was just…friendly banter. Right?

Some time passed before the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the graduation music began to play. As much as Toji loves that you asked him to come and as excited as he is to see you, it was extremely boring. The only reason he was awake was the clapping from various families. Didn’t bother Megumi, though. He was fast asleep in his father’s lap. Thank goodness, too. Megumi hated staying still if he didn’t have anything to distract him. It was something Toji was working on with him. He’d be getting somewhere with it, and then Megumi would go see his mother and it’s as if she pushed some sort of reset button and he was asking for Toji’s phone again.

Toji was feeling a bit anxious. Your name hadn’t been called yet, and even when it was, there were still hundreds of other students after you. It’s only a matter of time until-

Feeling a stirring on his chest, Toji tears his eyes away from his phone to look into his lap. Megumi was twisting back and forth into his shirt. He did this a few times before sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn. “Shit.” Toji whispered to himself.

As if it’s a homing beacon, Megumi twisted his head to his father’s hand where his phone was being held. He reached out for it, becoming irritated when Toji put it in his pocket. Megumi looked up at him begrudgingly while Toji stared back. Crap. Megumi was a good kid overall, but he was still just a kid. He really didn’t want to have to leave because he started crying, and he also didn’t want to give Megumi the phone. Well, he would have to make a decision soon, because Megumi’s chest was heaving and getting worse with every passing second. His eyes grew big and sparkly, his bottom lip started to poke out, ahh shit.

Like an angel in disguise, your mother leaned over his lap and smiled at Megumi. “Did your daddy make you mad?” Toji’s jaw drops then drops even more when Megumi actually nods.

“Aw, come here baby,” she holds her hands out and lifts him into her lap when he reaches for her. “Don’t cry, hm?”

“Don’t you want to watch your friend graduate?” As if Megumi knows what graduate even means, he nods his head again. Toji is appalled. She flips him around and points to the stage where you had actually just gotten to the stairs. “Look. It’s Y/N.”

Megumi doesn’t know who she is either, he hadn’t met her yet. But still, he looks around for a face he does recognize, and Toji takes this chance to talk to her. “How…how did…”

“Hold on, she’s about to walk,” she shushes him. Toji turns his head back towards the stage where he sees you standing at the top. He sees your black and blue cap and gown, your decorated neck, and the bright smile on your face and lights up. He adjusts his posture.

You begin to walk and Toji takes notice of your heels. Your legs and feet look fantastic in them. He wondered what dress you were wearing underneath all that. He knows it looks great on you.

Your name is called, and he joins your family in a round of applause. Even Megumi starts clapping. Toji decides to throw in a whistle, laughing to himself when you turn to the crowd in confusion. You try to look for him in the crowd to no avail, but you smile anyway and walk off.

Toji leans back in his seat, still reveling in your smile, but stops when he feels some eyes on him. He turns to look at your mother who was giving him a stare he couldn’t read. Megumi was successfully distracted. He was counting on his fingers. Hopefully the number was 1000.

“So,” she starts, “how long until you’re ready to put a ring on her finger?”

After a second of choking on his own spit, Toji responds. “I’m-what?”

“What comes after 19?” Megumi asks.

“20,”Answers your mother.

“Oh.” He puts one more finger up. Afterwards, he puts all of his fingers back down and starts again. “What comes after that?”

“21.”

“…Oh!” And he starts silently counting again while mouthing the words to himself.

She looks back up at Toji who was waiting patiently for an explanation. “Well, now that she’s a graduate and is entering a sustainable career, I think she’s more than qualified to be a wife. Don’t you?”

Toji blushes profusely. His heart runs a mile a minute. He doesn’t know what to say or think. Is that why she’s been so nice and talkative to him? She thinks they’re dating? What have you told her?

She was anticipating his answer. Megumi was halfway through his 20s. “Uhm…I mean…yes, but…I think you might have the wrong idea.”

She leans back and gets a wistful look on her face. “Ah, I see,” she says. “You want to wait until the right moment and all of that. Well, I say the right moment is now, but that’s just me I guess.”

Toji’s mouth hasn’t closed for the entire interaction. She doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Just goes back to telling Megumi what numbers come after what.

-

After the ceremony, you all meet up outside and wait for your arrival. Toji decides not to bring up what happened in the auditorium. It was a little awkward, but mostly, he kind of likes the idea that your mother thinks the two of you are dating. No one else has said anything, however. Maybe it’s just your mother being a bit ridiculous.

Megumi, who’s still being held by her, taps her shoulder. “Is that her?” He asks while pointing.

They all look in the same direction and lo and behold, there you were. Your gown was unzipped showing off your beautiful white dress that stopped at your thighs and hugged your curves. It showed only a bit of your cleavage and left a lot to Toji’s very active imagination. Your makeup was stunning, and you had texted him earlier today saying that you did it yourself. You did an amazing job. Your Cajun spice locks framed your face beautifully. You told him you wanted your hair to be blonde so you stopped staining your new growth after bleaching it. Your cap was hiding the blonde. He would have loved to see it.

Your beautiful smile filled his heart, and he found himself gravitating towards you, even getting in front of your family. Your smile grew even bigger as you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in it. He did the same to you and squeezed you closer by your waist.

“Congrats, babe.”

“Thank you Toji. I’m so glad you came.” He rocks you back and forth before pulling away.

“Of course we came.” Your face lights up and you look at your family. You hug and kiss them all, your mother being last. She puts Megumi down to hug you tightly. Toji sees a tear run down her cheek. He looks at Megumi, expecting him to come running back, but he just stands there and looks up at you while holding your mother’s pants.

“Have you met Megumi, yet?” Your mother asks you, putting her hand behind his back and nudging him in front of her.

“No,” you answer, crouching down to speak to him. “Hi Megumi. I’m Y/N.”

Megumi smiled shyly and waved at you. “You’re very pretty. I see why my dad likes you so much!”

“Megumi!” Toji reaches for his hand and picks him up while blushing. Kennedy and Kwame giggle off to the side. Your father was too busy trying to record you to notice what he had said. You cover your mouth and look at him. He knew you were laughing underneath your hand.

“Okay!” Your dad put his phone away after looking at the time. “We have to get going before traffic gets bad and we end up late.”

As if he pressed a button, your whole family jumped into action. Toji looked at you in confusion as you walked up to him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re throwing a graduation party,” you explain. Sheepishly, you rub your ear. “I…wasn’t sure if you wanted to come to that too. It’s mostly going to be family and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable-.”

“I’d love to come!” He says a bit too excitedly. He clears his throat afterwards. “I’d love to come.”

Your beam made his heart pound. “Okay! I’ll send u the address.” You approached him and put your hand on his arm. His palms became sweaty and he had no clue what you were trying to do, but he was prepared for anything. Especially a kiss.

Unfortunately, you weren’t trying to do that. Instead, you tickled Megumi’s tummy making him giggle sweetly. “Are you okay with that?” You asked while looking at the baby boy.

Megumi nodded enthusiastically. “I love parties!” He shouted.

“Yay! You’ll have so much fun. There’s going to be a kids room, okay?” Megumi nods even more. You take out your phone, send Toji the address, then turn to catch up with your family. Toji continues to watch the back of your head longingly. He’s knocked out of his trance when you turn to look at him. “Come on. We’re going to the parking garage.”

Toji blinks and gulps. That’s right. He could walk you to your car. “Coming.”

-

Toji pulls up to the banquet hall 30 minutes later. Your family had made it a few minutes before, but were all already inside having a time. Getting out of the car, Toji looked around. There were a lot of cars and even more pulling up. Whole families getting out and rushing to the doors, some of them with gifts. Toji’s throat dries up. He thinks he’ll keep his gift in the car.

When he walks inside with his son, it’s clear that he is a fish out of water. There was a large dancefloor already housing hoards of people. He nervously looked around for someone he recognized, and got even more nervous as the seconds went by. He looked at Megumi, who was getting more and more nervous by the second.

He began walking inside with no clear direction. Some children ran past his legs, which captured Megumi’s attention. They took a second to stop and look at the large man that they had never seen before, then went right back to playing. Toji watches them run to the other side of the building and go through a door. Toji wonders if that’s the kid’s area you were talking about. Then, a couple more children run past the doorway, with an adult chasing after them. He’ll assume the answer is yes.

Upon walking through the door, he finds himself in a hallway. It’s a long corridor, but right on the wall opposite to the party, there was an open door. He could see from the cartoon paintings on the wall, the bright colors, the puzzle piece mat, and the sound from within that this was his destination. When walking in, he gained many stares from the various kids inside. He grew worried for Megumi who had his hand over his mouth staring nervously at the crowd of kids. He was gripping Toji’s shirt tightly. He knew his little heart was beating a mile a minute.

Toji pulled his son to the front of him. “Hey,” he tells him. “You’re gonna be brave for daddy, right?” The boy shakes his head. Toji shifts his jaw and sighs. “Come on, Megumi. I’ll…” he squeezes his lips together and his eyes shut, not wanting to have to bribe his son. “I’ll get you pizza and ice cream tomorrow. We can have it for breakfast.”

It didn’t excite him, but it did the job. Megumi nodded his head and let his father put him on the floor. “Of course,” Toji whispered under his breath. He watches Megumi shyly walk up to some younger kids around his age, talking about nothing and playing with blocks. They watch him sit down then go back to playing. Megumi looks back at his dad who gives him a smile and a thumbs up. The boy takes a second, turns back around and reaches for a block. Then, one kid decides to hand one to him. Then another. Soon, Megumi’s being offered blocks galore. Toji feels a warmth growing inside him along with relief. He fit right in. And, maybe he’ll forget about that promise.

“Well that seemed to work quite well, huh?” Says a familiar voice from behind him. Toji turns around to face you. Your cap and gown was off just leaving you in your stunning dress. Your skin looked so smooth, and your hair was even more beautiful than before now that he can see it in its full glory. You never failed to take his breath away.

He clears his throat, checks back on Megumi once more, then follows you back out into the hall. The door leading to the party was closed so the children wouldn’t run into it so easily, and they wouldn't be disturbed in the play room. Despite the blasting music, it blocked off the sound pretty well. “You heard that, huh?” He laughs. “Yeah, it always seems to work. Sometimes he forgets so it still works out in my favor.”

You let out your adorable giggle. “I wasn’t aware that you were so conniving.” You tease.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet, doll.” Toji gives you a sideways grin and leans towards you with his hands in his pockets. You’re beaming with your fingers covering your mouth. 

You push his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can’t say. Kids around.”

“Excuse you?”

“You should push me again.”

“I probably will. You always give me a reason to.”

“Can it be because I like when you touch me?”

“Toji!” You exclaim quietly, looking around to make sure no one was in the hallway to hear him. He was giving you the most shit-eating grin. He reveled in making you flustered.

“What?” He feigns, leaning even closer towards you. He gives your face a good once over. Then he looks down at your lips. They look so soft and so full. He just wants to know how they feel on his skin. On his lips. On his-

“Oh my gosh!” You gasp and grab his arm, knocking him out of his trance. “This is my favorite song!” You grab him and run to open the doors, dragging him onto the dancefloor that’s become even more crowded.

Toji’s feeling a whirlwind of emotions. But nothing compares to you throwing him forward and getting in front of him. Your back faced towards him and before you started dancing, you turned your torso to look at him. “Put your arms on my waist.” You yell.

He blinks. “What?” He’s sure he didn’t hear you correctly over the loud music.

“Your arms,” you repeat. You take his hands and put them on your lower torso. “Just catch my whine, okay?”

And he does. And he does it well. You start to move your waist slowly. You’re barely touching him, but he still feels hot all over. He really is perfect. He’s not grinding against you, but he’s not letting you go either. He squeezes you, which pleases you immensely. Both of you feel amazing in the other’s presence. As if you’re the only two there.

All good things must come to an end. The song, the dance, and eventually, his time at the party. It was getting late. He had to get Megumi home. After what you pulled, Toji didn’t even bother to fix the boyfriend allegations. He wondered how awkward that would be. For you to dance so sensually on a man you weren’t with in front of your family. He’s sure they wouldn’t appreciate that. And there were so many people asking him about it. It would be a headache to correct all of them every single time.

Even then, he had a lot of fun. He enjoyed spending time with you and your family, despite how awkward he could get. And you - oh, you. Your eyes didn’t leave him all night. He thought he was imagining things. But when the clock passed 10, and he told you he had to leave, you eagerly followed him to grab Megumi. Him, amongst other children, were asleep. Toji picked him up and carried him outside.

“Good thing you’re walking little ol’ me to my car.” He whispers once they get out. “I wanted to give you something but I was afraid you wouldn’t have anywhere to put them for the time being.” Toji walks around to Megumi’s seat and sits him down safely. He was still sound asleep. He would have been confused, if it wasn’t for the food stains around his mouth and on his shirt. He’ll be asleep until next week. “And I…was nervous and couldn’t think of a good time.”

“Aw, you didn’t have to get me anything.” You assure him. Toji shushes you before strapping him inside. Once he does, he picks up a gigantic bouquet of white flowers, walks back around the car, and gives them to you.

You gasp. “Oh, Toji.” You appreciated all the presents you got, but this was all you really wanted. Something simple and cute that still showed that whoever gave it to you was thinking fondly of you. And they were your favorite. 

You accept them graciously. For a few seconds, you and Toji just look at each other. He’s overwhelmed with pride and joy for you. You really graduated today. You achieved something great. Something that he was never able to do. He admires you so much. Not just your looks, but your brain and personality. In his eyes you were…perfect.

Today went just the way you wanted it to. You got to celebrate your achievement with the people you truly cared about. And you did care for Toji. You think it’s about time he knew that.

So, you grab his shoulder, pull him towards you, stand on the balls of your feet and give him a smooch right in his left cheek. You hear his small gasp and it makes your heart run. You began to sweat a bit. The nerve of you, to kiss him like that. He looks genuinely shocked and you almost begin to regret what you did, until he takes his arm and wraps it around your waist before you can pull away. Toji breathes harder and harder as he stares longingly at your parted lips. Then, he finally leans down and kisses you for the first time.

For a moment, your hearts feel as though they’re beating as one. The kiss is tender and filled with need. Toji is steady pushing your head backwards as he deepens it. When he realizes what he’s doing, he stops abruptly and pulls away. You both continue to stare in each other’s eyes as you catch your breath.

Despite his dry mouth, Toji swallows. “I-I’m sorry,” he begins. “I just…I…”

He had seen you smile a lot today, but the one that spreads across your cheeks was the brightest by far. Everything, every anxious thought and insecure feeling he had washes away. “No. It’s okay. I liked it.”

Absolutely perplexed, Toji let’s out a sound of disbelief. He tries to keep from smiling, but he can’t help it. “You did?”

And you nod. Eagerly.

Ever the rascal, Toji gives you his signature side grin and brings your body closer to him. “You want another one?”

His chagrin makes you burst into a fit of laughter and you throw your arms around his neck, smacking the flowers onto his back. Filled with joy, Toji fully wraps both of his arms around you and lifts you up, twirling you around.

And from inside, a couple of your baby cousins watch the adorable scene. One of the older ones took many pictures to show everyone later on. “I told you that was her boyfriend.”

ending a/n: Let me know what y'all think! I love hearing yall's opinions. And I mayyyyy be open to taking requests. I have many idead already, but I want to see what y'all can think of. Okay byeeeeeeee!!! Taglist for the next story is open.

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[charaunderwood]

hey kh gang, so this is a debate I've been having in my head ever since first getting into this series and I've never really seen a general consensus about it. so I'm asking you today, what order do you say the Wayfinder trio's names in out loud?? like how most people say "Sora, Riku, Kairi" when talking about the Destiny trio and "Roxas, Axel, Xion" when talking about the Sea Salt trio.

some more ramblely thoughts about this under the cut

so I know this is kind of a silly poll that doesn't matter but it's been something I've never really decided on coming up on year two of knowing about this series, and it bothers me even more since I don't tend to see a general consensus on this anywhere else and everyone just kind of says it in their own order

I think currently if I had to land on one I'd say "Aqua, Terra, Ven" personally just because it sounds the most natural to say. But it's also interesting to think about it through the lens that we say the other trio names as. They seem to run off the logic of "Main character we get to play as, Oldest figure of the group, Girl/Third tag along" or something along those lines, and its just generally obvious that that's the order we should say their names in

But that all kinda falls apart with the Wayfinder's because it gets so much more complicated than that and, at least from what I can tell, even the people making the damn games don't have an official order that they should be said in.

Maybe Terra, Ven, Aqua should be the order since that's the order you're meant to play them in in BBS? but then again saying it out loud like that sounds really awkward and it breaks the loose rules of saying the other trio's names. Well if we follow those rules then it should probably be Ven, Terra, Aqua right?? since Ven is so connected to Sora and Roxas he should probably take their place in the order, plus I've always personally felt like Ven is supposed to be the most "main protagonist" out of the three in BBS specifically. Well that one also sounds a bit awkward to say out loud and it can be very much argued that Aqua is the most "main protagonist" of the three at this point in the series. After all she is the leader of their team in Melody of Memory and she's gotten a whole game to herself giving her easily the most focus of the three (even though that too can be argued since Ven got focus in the mobile stuff). So then the order should probably be Aqua, Terra, Ven right??? that's what I've tentatively landed on but considering how much argument there is for other orders it really just comes down to preference. still it would be nice if we could all generally as a fandom come to a solid conclusion.

anyway. that's all. if you somehow read thru my giant wall of text have a nice day :3. and even if you didn't still have a nice day <3.

[steviebbboi]

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Last Updated: 12/19/24

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[rookinthecrownest]

Discussion about romances + expectations under the cut (I'd put it as like..mildly critical, but also coming from a place of understanding?). As usual, will tag as such so you don't have to engage/read on if you don't wish to. I always invite open discussion, just keep it respectful (as I will endeavour to do so myself).

This is going to be a bit of a ramble, so I apologize if my thoughts are not clearly laid out like they should be.

I think I've found the reason why I (and maybe others), feel that the romances in Veilguard feel a bit... idk, hollow, at times (not BAD!!! just feeling like there could be MORE). And that's because of the trap of expectations. I may also be speaking completely for myself here.

Anyway, let's rewind to 2014.

Be me, 10 years ago. You're not really a gamer, but indulge in action RPG's casually.

See a commercial for this hot new game coming out called Dragon Age: Inquisition. Be intrigued by the character designs, but know nothing about the world. Come to find out it's part of a trilogy. So naturally, you buy the first two games and play through them before playing the third.

Be amazed, and completely hooked on the characters, the lore, the world, the darker elements and themes. It becomes your favourite game series of all time.

But you had no idea that you could romance any of the companions going into the experience. And man, does it fundamentally rewire your brain chemistry to fall in love with cRPG and get ridiculously attached to your Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor.

So, you romance Alistair first because he's funny as hell, and has a really interesting story/character arc. Then you romance Zevran, and love that too - he's charming and suave and awkward and funny. Then you go onto DA2 and romance Fenris and Anders, and each of those romances pack their own emotional gut punches. Then it's finally time for DAI, and predictably, you go for Solas (a veritable slow burn that spans TWO games), Cullen, and partially (I never finished those playthroughs lol) Blackwall and Dorian.

I had no idea you could romance companions going into these games. It was a pleasant surprise! It always felt like an important part of the story, while not overshadowing the main plot. There was enough material in the codexes, the cutscenes, and party banter to make each romance feel complete and whole and awesome and nuanced.

And then, like some of you I suspect, I read an article that touted Veilguard as "The Most Romantic Bioware Game Yet", and I thought - "Wow, if they're saying this then the romances must be something else", given the quality of the previous romances you've experienced in these games!

But you get to the game - and while you're having fun, it definitely leans more into the ARPG style where romances feel a bit more pushed to the side in order to tell a certain story than the traditional Bioware/Larian RPG experience you've come to love.

Which is fine! Again, once I stopped thinking of Veilguard as a classic Bioware CRPG, and more like GOW/The Witcher, I found I was able to appreciate it a lot more for what it is. Things have to Happen A Certain Way for the narrative to work, and that's not a bad thing. DA2 was similar - it was a harrowing, personal tragedy about the Hawke family and their struggle to survive in Kirkwall.

Just like DA2, there are aspects of Veilguard that make me glad things happened the way they did. I'm not mad that Rook has so much dialogue without a ton of player input and you can't 'be evil' - because the game doesn't make sense if you can. At its core, Veilguard's narrative is centered around Regret, after all - you can't have an evil protagonist running around because Solas' Regret prison would never work (evil people don't generally tend to regret their actions...)!

Now, if you're expecting a long-winded, fully researched academic breakdown of every romance I'm sorry but that ain't happening tonight lol. This is not based in any fact, this is all opinion.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but sometimes it feels like the romances in this game (and I say this with the biggest grain of salt as I've only done Emmrich and Lucanis' - and am going through Neve's now), are just missing....something, to take them from good to great.

I loved Emmrich's romance. I thought it was very well done. I think a lot of people would agree it's one of the stronger ones in the game - doubly so if you play as a Mourn Watch Rook (you get a TON of MW specific lines going this route, it's great). His side romance with Strife if you don't get together is very cute, I enjoyed it. But as superbly well done as it was, somehow, I wouldn't even put it in my top 4 Bioware romances.

With Lucanis' romance - whatever my hangups may be about how it was handled, certain parts of his romance were done excellently (even better than some of the previous Bioware romances, I'd say). You can read more about my thoughts on his romance here which is why I'm not going into detail about it. Unlike Emmrich's, I would put it in my top 4 because I fell in love with the character that much (both in the game but really, I've loved him since Tevinter Nights), and I've grown very attached to my first Rook and him as a pairing. I've seen others share a similar sentiment on here (and I hate to say it but I agree) - sometimes it feels like I fell in love with Rookanis despite the way it was handled, not because of it. I can't say that for many other romances. While it's been fun to think up a lot of HC/write fics/make art about those abandoned concept sketches and parts where I felt the game could have showed us more of their dynamic, I can't help but feel like his (and other) romances would have immensely benefited from even 1 or 2 extra small scenes to flesh it out a bit more if they weren't going to let us freely talk to our companions.

The issue with the romances might also have something to do with the pacing of the game itself. I think Act 2 is where the pacing goes a bit awry, before picking back up in Act 3 (which is great, I love it).

Sometimes I also felt that there was a little too much reliance on codex entries and party banter to tell the story of the romance rather than showing it explicitly through cutscenes. I think that's what makes the romances feel a bit truncated at times, compared to the previous entries? Some of the romance-specific party banter was so good, it probably deserved its own cutscene. But it's also highly dependent on the party you have, and it's easy to miss/not trigger. I remember absolutely living for the cutscenes in the first three entries and I can't explain why I feel like, subjectively speaking, Veilguard just has less romance content (this may not be objective reality - I haven't compared the amount of romance specific content head to head with other games).

I also couldn't tell you why I feel DA2 doesn't suffer the same problems as DATV in terms of romance interaction - because you can't freely talk to your companions in that game either. Yet somehow, it always felt like I was getting enough of them to not notice that. I do miss being able to chat my LI's ear off and ask them questions about their life/their views/etc. like I could in DAO and DAI. I think it's a shame we can't because the companions in DATV are SO interesting. I want to ask them all a billion questions about their lives/stories/etc even if they're not my love interest. The party banter in this game is immaculate but being able to talk to them individually about this stuff would've been SO nice. I feel that I've missed out on SO MUCH of these characters just because I didn't have two of them in my party at the same time!

Anyway, I need to wrap this up.

In closing, perhaps, if I hadn't read that article about how it was going to be Bioware's most romantic game ... maybe I wouldn't feel this way? I think it sent my expectations through the stratosphere, and that's no one's fault but my own. Not Bioware, not EA, mine.

I know that this game's development cycle was a unique sort of hell that the other games didn't suffer. To go from Joplin -> Morrison -> Veilguard. To have so many of the original staff leave the team when Joplin got scrapped. To have to pivot from Live Service and then back to single person RPG. More lay-offs. It's a miracle this game got made. I'm happy I can sit around thinking about it. And I hope its successful enough that we get DA5 so we can all sit around dissecting that in 5-10 yrs time.

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy the Veilguard romances for what they are. I'm enjoying them more I play and discover additional banter/codex/etc that I missed the first time around. Like any Bioware romance, there are spots where they hit their stride, and spots where they falter a bit. When they hit their stride they knock it out of the fucking park. But when they falter, you can really feel it. Romance is hard to write! And you'll never fully please everyone.

But a small part of me wishes I'd gone in blind, and checked my own expectations a bit.

Maybe you agree, maybe you don't. Tell me about it. What was your experience with the romances? Did you also read that article and get your expectations up?

I hope this makes sense.

Kind regards good fandom folks,

Keep the discussion respectful. And please don't use this post as an excuse to just blatantly hate on the game.

-Rookie

[cult-of-the-eye]

Mag 81 A Guest for Mr Spider

FUCK FORMER HEAD ARCHIVIST

Wait I need to check the timelines - this was 2 days after leitner's death

New spooky music???

My man is so fucking dramatic I love him so much "grand of sand behind my eye" love the way he speaks

Yeah FUCK JURGEN LEITNER

Omg the greying hair is canon??

Child in the 90s makes him at most 27 GOD DAMN. I was imagining like mid 30s...can you imagine a fucking 27 yr old using words like "ilk" when talking to you

Oh shit he's an orphan poor guy

Yeah ok a lot of his personality seems to make sense if you realise he was raised by his grandma

You know those memes that are like people raised by their grandparents are exceptionally polite but in a brisk way, talk fancy and are super posh? Yeah that's him.

Getting such neurodivergent vibes

Yeah he sounds like a main character from the start Jesus Christ he's such a kid who got traumatised and then grows up to be a horror protagonist vibes

My First Leitner lol like kids had to be introduced to them at a young age like those my first toys

He's so funny I can just imagine him as an 8 yr old getting super like affronted at this like how dare my grandma think I am of subpar intelligence he's such a little bitch from the start

"The eponymous Mr spider" even talking about his childhood trauma he's busting out the vocabulary

Fuck that story actually kinda rattled me I had my hand over my mouth in shock for most of it

I think it was the bit where the horsefly brought his son and they were both crying that got me, I could definitely imagine it scaring an 8 yr old

The way it drags out as well, with the pages of the same scene it really heightens the suspense

Is his childhood bully someone we should keep track of?? Love how he says Michael probably cause he sees him as a bully lol

It's interesting how despite him bullying him (quite badly seeing as though he beat him up) he's still like yeah but he saved my life and that means he deserves to be remembered

My bro didn't save your life on purpose, he was just trying to make it worse and happened to come to a terrible fate cause of that

I guess underneath it all he was still a kid who watched someone die, knowing they'd get eaten by a fucking spider, he still held him in some regard

The way he specified the guy was his bully even after he was being eaten though lol

He was desperate to get the book back? That's a leitner thing I guess, the book makes you want to keep it so it can finish whatever it wanted to do to you

On my relisten (which I will do once I've finished the series I'm sure of it), I'll have to look out for any reaction of leitners name

I wonder why Jon didn't react more to Carlos vittery's statement, like it must've terrified him? I saw a post a while back explaining Jon's thoughts and IT WAS GENIUS it was like of course he doesn't react, he must be terrified that someone knew about his experience and somehow did this to mess with him or it was a joke and he can't let anyone know that the Head Archivist is not Good at This ugh it's so good I'll tag it if I can find it

AHHHHH HE REGRETS DISMISSING THE OTHER STATEMENTS AHHHHHH

HE FINALLY ADMITS THAT HE NEEDS HELP WE LOVE THIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT YES YOU FUCKING DO BITCH.

yeah at least he's right about Elias killing leitner

GEORGIE THE EX GIRLFIEND

ITS SO WEIRD TO SEE HIM ACTUALLY NICE TO SOMEONE WOW HIS VOICE CHANGES SLIGHTLY AS WELL HES LESS ACADEMIC

THE ADMIRAL

Awwww he's so cute with georgie

GHOST PODCAST GHOST PODCAST

THE WHAT THE GHOST T SHIRT IS CANON???? AHH THATS SO CUTE

Can he not go back to his own flat?? Did he bring all his clothes to the archive and then subsequently leave them there? Does he even have a flat??

God Georgie is so nice I would kill for her

It's so funny that an apparent supernatural cynic dated a ghost podcaster

WOW SEASON 3 OFF TO AN AMAZING START I CANT WAIT TO KEEP LISTENING IM GONNA TELL MY THERAPIST ABOUT THIS TOMORROW!!!

[tmnt-tychou]

What is Ninja Turtles: Brotherhood?

Brotherhood came into conception February 2023 when we started to see more of the Mutant Mayhem movie set to release later in August. While I don't mind the franchise skewing young--I myself first saw Ninja Turtles as a child-- I found myself wishing there was also some TMNT animated content for older fans. At the time I was watching DC animated series like Young Justice and Harley Quinn. It was nice they recognized that there were fans of all ages and they were putting out animated content for older audiences while also making content for kids. I found myself wishing that TMNT would follow that example. And then I asked myself, if I had the opportunity to make a TMNT animated series for older fans, what would it be about? At first, I had nothing and wasn't intending to explore the idea further. Then, one day, I was driving home from work and I suddenly had an idea.

For most of 2023 I explored the concept. Since animation is my background, that was the medium I had in mind when putting it together. Of course, there's no way I could animate a whole series by myself as a fan project. I first thought about maybe trying animatics, but that also seemed a bit overwhelming. For a time, I thought maybe I would let it go as it seemed too big of a project for one person. But then the 40th anniversary came around and I decided I wanted to do it for them. For a lifetime of turtles. So I decided on a web toons type format. It seemed easier as a one-person project than the typical comic book format. So here I am after a year of development, attempting my best at putting out a TMNT fan comic for the anniversary. It's meant as a love letter to both the franchise as a whole and the fans. It pulls from many different iterations while also telling its own story. As such, it's meant for not just fans of one iteration, but for fans of any of the iterations. Just Ninja Turtle fans in general. And I'm aiming to provide a full character arc for each turtle so, no matter who's your favorite, you'll get some good content.

Plot: The series takes place five years after the defeat of the Shredder. In a story meant for older fans, I decided the turtles should be older, too. No longer teenagers, they are now 25. The idea is that everything that you expect to see in a typical TMNT series has already happened to them, and now they are navigating their world and experiencing new adventures as adults, trying to find meaning after their main adversary is gone.

You can find development art I've done over the year by checking out the #ntbrotherhood tag. I post new parts every Monday. And I usually post here on Tumblr unless I feel they are too big. You can find the full comic collected on Webtoons (for as long as they'll put up with hosting a fan comic.)

The Boys:

[rwbyrg]

Hello!

I would like to ask if there's already a post a long the lines of "Why Rosegarden is a good ship" or reasons to ship RG? If none would it be alright to ask for your insights?

It's my first time being interested in them but I just can't wrap it around my head for now. I would love to read about them!

Thank you in advance ^^

Hi Anon!

I have not yet made any posts specifically with these questions in mind, no. Just a small, unfinished, series about why I believe the ship is likely to be canon. I am happy to offer some insight, but I don't know that I'm going to give you the answers you're looking for. 😅

First and foremost, the questions you're asking aren't really ones that can be answered objectively. What makes a ship "good" or "bad" is largely subjective, as there are as many ways to view a ship as there are people viewing it. I could make an argument about how I think it is - objectively speaking - a well written pairing that follows the typical beats and tropes (with delightful subversions) of a good romance arc, that also parallels how other canon ships within RWBY have been established... but at the end of the day, if you're not a fan of what RG is about, then there's not much I can say to change your mind.

Which brings me to your second question. The best reasons to ship RG are going to be the same reasons for why anyone should ship anything: ship it if you want to, ship it if it resonates with you, and ship it if you enjoy it.

If their characters, interactions, themes, parallels, allusions, tropes, symbolisms, foils, designs, messages, etc., aren't your cup of tea, it's completely okay if you pick something else on the menu! So long as you don't like. verbally harass people that do like it or fill the tag w the same discourse that we are all very tired of seeing.

I don't know if that is a sufficient answer to your question, so I'll take a chance and also provide some of my personal reasons as to why I think it's "good" and why I ship it. While there are many reasons I can't all include, the main things are just how much they mirror each other:

From their complementary character designs (red vs. green, silver vs. gold, moon vs. sun, etc.),

To shared fairytale allusions (Little Prince and the Rose, Dorothy and Princess Ozma/Tip, Warrior in the Woods, etc.),

To the narrative parallels (both being the youngest of the group when they joined respectively; how both of their attachments to each other keep being put into focus; to their shared themes around choice and identity: Ruby having chosen adventure but feeling as if she has no choice but to keep moving forward, while Oscar was chosen by adventure but chooses to do what he can despite his circumstances; Oscar not knowing who he is because of the merge and asking: "I'm just going to be another one of his lives, aren't I?", versus Ruby not wanting to be who she is after chasing the the ghost of an unachievable ideal, but being asked "what if you could be anyone?"; how they're both just kids thrown into war and unfair responsibility before they even have a chance to figure out the kinds of people they want to be, etc.),

to perhaps, most importantly, the show of mutual support between the two of them.

Ruby supports everyone as best she can. She is always giving to and supporting others as a show companionship and leadership. But thanks to V9 and also E4 of RWBY Beyond, we know this was not sustainable or sufficiently reciprocated.

She was let down by Weiss who constantly managed to hit her right in her insecurities; let down by Blake who - even while trying to uplift her - just ended up adding more pressure by treating Ruby like a role model; to Yang and Qrow who both tried to support her as best they could, but kept comparing her to Summer in the process; to Penny having so much of her own lack of experience, stressors, and very immediate worries going on that she couldn't offer Ruby the support she needed even if she wanted to; to Jaune flipping his lid at her and pointing the blame even when he himself was guilty and knew he was out of line; to Ozpin, Qrow, Maria, Tai, Summer, Cordovin, Ironwood, etc., all being adults who could have taken responsibility or done the right thing, but fumbled or failed leaving her to pick up the pieces in their wake. But Oscar? We see it from Oscar's introduction that he - like their shared fairytale allusions - is in awe from the moment he meets her. But after one conversation about the weight of her grief, trauma, and the responsibilities she is carrying - a conversation she has not had with anyone else up to this point - he immediately sees how heavy Ruby's burdens are. Saying, as early as V5: "This must be really hard on her too". And while it is subtle, he never stops looking after her as best he can as the volumes go onward ("Looks like you're needed elsewhere."/"You're sure?"/"Yeah, I've got it."). However, it's only in V9 that her sister Yang is asking "why didn't she just talk to us?". It is only in V9 when her partner Weiss admits: "Maybe it's because she didn't feel like she could". It is only V9 when Ruby finally lays her burdens out to someone else again, this time to the Blacksmith, after almost having given up completely.

For a character who's 116 episode long arc has been about carrying the weight of responsibility far beyond her limits, never asking for anything in return no matter how difficult it gets... to meet another character that instantly notices her struggles and makes a conscious effort to help where all others have failed? To have one conversation and say "that looks heavy, let me help you carry that" without her asking or waiting for an answer? It's just one of the most beautiful acts of care I can think of. The themes and the parallels all resonate very strongly with me on a personal level, making it - in my humble opinion - a brilliant, and very stable foundation for a relationship, and for a story.

Thank you for your question, I hope I was able to offer some of the insight you were looking for. 💕