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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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The AI hype bubble is the new crypto hype bubble

Back in 2017 Long Island Ice Tea — known for its undistinguished, barely drinkable sugar-water — changed its name to “Long Blockchain Corp.” Its shares surged to a peak of 400% over their pre-announcement price. The company announced no specific integrations with any kind of blockchain, nor has it made any such integrations since.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

LBCC was subsequently delisted from NASDAQ after settling with the SEC over fraudulent investor statements. Today, the company trades over the counter and its market cap is $36m, down from $138m.

https://cointelegraph.com/news/textbook-case-of-crypto-hype-how-iced-tea-company-went-blockchain-and-failed-despite-a-289-percent-stock-rise

The most remarkable thing about this incredibly stupid story is that LBCC wasn’t the peak of the blockchain bubble — rather, it was the start of blockchain’s final pump-and-dump. By the standards of 2022’s blockchain grifters, LBCC was small potatoes, a mere $138m sugar-water grift.

They didn’t have any NFTs, no wash trades, no ICO. They didn’t have a Superbowl ad. They didn’t steal billions from mom-and-pop investors while proclaiming themselves to be “Effective Altruists.” They didn’t channel hundreds of millions to election campaigns through straw donations and other forms of campaing finance frauds. They didn’t even open a crypto-themed hamburger restaurant where you couldn’t buy hamburgers with crypto:

https://robbreport.com/food-drink/dining/bored-hungry-restaurant-no-cryptocurrency-1234694556/

They were amateurs. Their attempt to “make fetch happen” only succeeded for a brief instant. By contrast, the superpredators of the crypto bubble were able to make fetch happen over an improbably long timescale, deploying the most powerful reality distortion fields since Pets.com.

Anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop. We’re told that trillions of dollars’ worth of crypto has been wiped out over the past year, but these losses are nowhere to be seen in the real economy — because the “wealth” that was wiped out by the crypto bubble’s bursting never existed in the first place.

Like any Ponzi scheme, crypto was a way to separate normies from their savings through the pretense that they were “investing” in a vast enterprise — but the only real money (“fiat” in cryptospeak) in the system was the hardscrabble retirement savings of working people, which the bubble’s energetic inflaters swapped for illiquid, worthless shitcoins.

We’ve stopped believing in the illusory billions. Sam Bankman-Fried is under house arrest. But the people who gave him money — and the nimbler Ponzi artists who evaded arrest — are looking for new scams to separate the marks from their money.

Take Morganstanley, who spent 2021 and 2022 hyping cryptocurrency as a massive growth opportunity:

https://cointelegraph.com/news/morgan-stanley-launches-cryptocurrency-research-team

Today, Morganstanley wants you to know that AI is a $6 trillion opportunity.

They’re not alone. The CEOs of Endeavor, Buzzfeed, Microsoft, Spotify, Youtube, Snap, Sports Illustrated, and CAA are all out there, pumping up the AI bubble with every hour that god sends, declaring that the future is AI.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/business-news/wall-street-ai-stock-price-1235343279/

Google and Bing are locked in an arms-race to see whose search engine can attain the speediest, most profound enshittification via chatbot, replacing links to web-pages with florid paragraphs composed by fully automated, supremely confident liars:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Blockchain was a solution in search of a problem. So is AI. Yes, Buzzfeed will be able to reduce its wage-bill by automating its personality quiz vertical, and Spotify’s “AI DJ” will produce slightly less terrible playlists (at least, to the extent that Spotify doesn’t put its thumb on the scales by inserting tracks into the playlists whose only fitness factor is that someone paid to boost them).

But even if you add all of this up, double it, square it, and add a billion dollar confidence interval, it still doesn’t add up to what Bank Of America analysts called “a defining moment — like the internet in the ’90s.” For one thing, the most exciting part of the “internet in the ‘90s” was that it had incredibly low barriers to entry and wasn’t dominated by large companies — indeed, it had them running scared.

The AI bubble, by contrast, is being inflated by massive incumbents, whose excitement boils down to “This will let the biggest companies get much, much bigger and the rest of you can go fuck yourselves.” Some revolution.

AI has all the hallmarks of a classic pump-and-dump, starting with terminology. AI isn’t “artificial” and it’s not “intelligent.” “Machine learning” doesn’t learn. On this week’s Trashfuture podcast, they made an excellent (and profane and hilarious) case that ChatGPT is best understood as a sophisticated form of autocomplete — not our new robot overlord.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/4NHKMZZNKi0w9mOhPYIL4T

We all know that autocomplete is a decidedly mixed blessing. Like all statistical inference tools, autocomplete is profoundly conservative — it wants you to do the same thing tomorrow as you did yesterday (that’s why “sophisticated” ad retargeting ads show you ads for shoes in response to your search for shoes). If the word you type after “hey” is usually “hon” then the next time you type “hey,” autocomplete will be ready to fill in your typical following word — even if this time you want to type “hey stop texting me you freak”:

https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/provocations/neophobic-conservative-ai-overlords-want-everything-stay/

And when autocomplete encounters a new input — when you try to type something you’ve never typed before — it tries to get you to finish your sentence with the statistically median thing that everyone would type next, on average. Usually that produces something utterly bland, but sometimes the results can be hilarious. Back in 2018, I started to text our babysitter with “hey are you free to sit” only to have Android finish the sentence with “on my face” (not something I’d ever typed!):

https://mashable.com/article/android-predictive-text-sit-on-my-face

Modern autocomplete can produce long passages of text in response to prompts, but it is every bit as unreliable as 2018 Android SMS autocomplete, as Alexander Hanff discovered when ChatGPT informed him that he was dead, even generating a plausible URL for a link to a nonexistent obit in The Guardian:

https://www.theregister.com/2023/03/02/chatgpt_considered_harmful/

Of course, the carnival barkers of the AI pump-and-dump insist that this is all a feature, not a bug. If autocomplete says stupid, wrong things with total confidence, that’s because “AI” is becoming more human, because humans also say stupid, wrong things with total confidence.

Exhibit A is the billionaire AI grifter Sam Altman, CEO if OpenAI — a company whose products are not open, nor are they artificial, nor are they intelligent. Altman celebrated the release of ChatGPT by tweeting “i am a stochastic parrot, and so r u.”

https://twitter.com/sama/status/1599471830255177728

This was a dig at the “stochastic parrots” paper, a comprehensive, measured roundup of criticisms of AI that led Google to fire Timnit Gebru, a respected AI researcher, for having the audacity to point out the Emperor’s New Clothes:

https://www.technologyreview.com/2020/12/04/1013294/google-ai-ethics-research-paper-forced-out-timnit-gebru/

Gebru’s co-author on the Parrots paper was Emily M Bender, a computational linguistics specialist at UW, who is one of the best-informed and most damning critics of AI hype. You can get a good sense of her position from Elizabeth Weil’s New York Magazine profile:

https://nymag.com/intelligencer/article/ai-artificial-intelligence-chatbots-emily-m-bender.html

Bender has made many important scholarly contributions to her field, but she is also famous for her rules of thumb, which caution her fellow scientists not to get high on their own supply:

Please do not conflate word form and meaning

Mind your own credulity

As Bender says, we’ve made “machines that can mindlessly generate text, but we haven’t learned how to stop imagining the mind behind it.” One potential tonic against this fallacy is to follow an Italian MP’s suggestion and replace “AI” with “SALAMI” (“Systematic Approaches to Learning Algorithms and Machine Inferences”). It’s a lot easier to keep a clear head when someone asks you, “Is this SALAMI intelligent? Can this SALAMI write a novel? Does this SALAMI deserve human rights?”

Bender’s most famous contribution is the “stochastic parrot,” a construct that “just probabilistically spits out words.” AI bros like Altman love the stochastic parrot, and are hellbent on reducing human beings to stochastic parrots, which will allow them to declare that their chatbots have feature-parity with human beings.

At the same time, Altman and Co are strangely afraid of their creations. It’s possible that this is just a shuck: “I have made something so powerful that it could destroy humanity! Luckily, I am a wise steward of this thing, so it’s fine. But boy, it sure is powerful!”

They’ve been playing this game for a long time. People like Elon Musk (an investor in OpenAI, who is hoping to convince the EU Commission and FTC that he can fire all of Twitter’s human moderators and replace them with chatbots without violating EU law or the FTC’s consent decree) keep warning us that AI will destroy us unless we tame it.

There’s a lot of credulous repetition of these claims, and not just by AI’s boosters. AI critics are also prone to engaging in what Lee Vinsel calls criti-hype: criticizing something by repeating its boosters’ claims without interrogating them to see if they’re true:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

There are better ways to respond to Elon Musk warning us that AIs will emulsify the planet and use human beings for food than to shout, “Look at how irresponsible this wizard is being! He made a Frankenstein’s Monster that will kill us all!” Like, we could point out that of all the things Elon Musk is profoundly wrong about, he is most wrong about the philosophical meaning of Wachowksi movies:

https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/may/18/lilly-wachowski-ivana-trump-elon-musk-twitter-red-pill-the-matrix-tweets

But even if we take the bros at their word when they proclaim themselves to be terrified of “existential risk” from AI, we can find better explanations by seeking out other phenomena that might be triggering their dread. As Charlie Stross points out, corporations are Slow AIs, autonomous artificial lifeforms that consistently do the wrong thing even when the people who nominally run them try to steer them in better directions:

https://media.ccc.de/v/34c3-9270-dude_you_broke_the_future

Imagine the existential horror of a ultra-rich manbaby who nominally leads a company, but can’t get it to follow: “everyone thinks I’m in charge, but I’m actually being driven by the Slow AI, serving as its sock puppet on some days, its golem on others.”

Ted Chiang nailed this back in 2017 (the same year of the Long Island Blockchain Company):

There’s a saying, popularized by Fredric Jameson, that it’s easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism. It’s no surprise that Silicon Valley capitalists don’t want to think about capitalism ending. What’s unexpected is that the way they envision the world ending is through a form of unchecked capitalism, disguised as a superintelligent AI. They have unconsciously created a devil in their own image, a boogeyman whose excesses are precisely their own.

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/tedchiang/the-real-danger-to-civilization-isnt-ai-its-runaway

Chiang is still writing some of the best critical work on “AI.” His February article in the New Yorker, “ChatGPT Is a Blurry JPEG of the Web,” was an instant classic:

[AI] hallucinations are compression artifacts, but — like the incorrect labels generated by the Xerox photocopier — they are plausible enough that identifying them requires comparing them against the originals, which in this case means either the Web or our own knowledge of the world.

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/chatgpt-is-a-blurry-jpeg-of-the-web

“AI” is practically purpose-built for inflating another hype-bubble, excelling as it does at producing party-tricks — plausible essays, weird images, voice impersonations. But as Princeton’s Matthew Salganik writes, there’s a world of difference between “cool” and “tool”:

https://freedom-to-tinker.com/2023/03/08/can-chatgpt-and-its-successors-go-from-cool-to-tool/

Nature can claim “conversational AI is a game-changer for science” but “there is a huge gap between writing funny instructions for removing food from home electronics and doing scientific research.” Salganik tried to get ChatGPT to help him with the most banal of scholarly tasks — aiding him in peer reviewing a colleague’s paper. The result? “ChatGPT didn’t help me do peer review at all; not one little bit.”

The criti-hype isn’t limited to ChatGPT, of course — there’s plenty of (justifiable) concern about image and voice generators and their impact on creative labor markets, but that concern is often expressed in ways that amplify the self-serving claims of the companies hoping to inflate the hype machine.

One of the best critical responses to the question of image- and voice-generators comes from Kirby Ferguson, whose final Everything Is a Remix video is a superb, visually stunning, brilliantly argued critique of these systems:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rswxcDyotXA

One area where Ferguson shines is in thinking through the copyright question — is there any right to decide who can study the art you make? Except in some edge cases, these systems don’t store copies of the images they analyze, nor do they reproduce them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

For creators, the important material question raised by these systems is economic, not creative: will our bosses use them to erode our wages? That is a very important question, and as far as our bosses are concerned, the answer is a resounding yes.

Markets value automation primarily because automation allows capitalists to pay workers less. The textile factory owners who purchased automatic looms weren’t interested in giving their workers raises and shorting working days. ‘ They wanted to fire their skilled workers and replace them with small children kidnapped out of orphanages and indentured for a decade, starved and beaten and forced to work, even after they were mangled by the machines. Fun fact: Oliver Twist was based on the bestselling memoir of Robert Blincoe, a child who survived his decade of forced labor:

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/59127/59127-h/59127-h.htm

Today, voice actors sitting down to record for games companies are forced to begin each session with “My name is ______ and I hereby grant irrevocable permission to train an AI with my voice and use it any way you see fit.”

https://www.vice.com/en/article/5d37za/voice-actors-sign-away-rights-to-artificial-intelligence

Let’s be clear here: there is — at present — no firmly established copyright over voiceprints. The “right” that voice actors are signing away as a non-negotiable condition of doing their jobs for giant, powerful monopolists doesn’t even exist. When a corporation makes a worker surrender this right, they are betting that this right will be created later in the name of “artists’ rights” — and that they will then be able to harvest this right and use it to fire the artists who fought so hard for it.

There are other approaches to this. We could support the US Copyright Office’s position that machine-generated works are not works of human creative authorship and are thus not eligible for copyright — so if corporations wanted to control their products, they’d have to hire humans to make them:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/2/21/22944335/us-copyright-office-reject-ai-generated-art-recent-entrance-to-paradise

Or we could create collective rights that belong to all artists and can’t be signed away to a corporation. That’s how the right to record other musicians’ songs work — and it’s why Taylor Swift was able to re-record the masters that were sold out from under her by evil private-equity bros::

https://doctorow.medium.com/united-we-stand-61e16ec707e2

Whatever we do as creative workers and as humans entitled to a decent life, we can’t afford drink the Blockchain Iced Tea. That means that we have to be technically competent, to understand how the stochastic parrot works, and to make sure our criticism doesn’t just repeat the marketing copy of the latest pump-and-dump.

Today (Mar 9), you can catch me in person in Austin at the UT School of Design and Creative Technologies, and remotely at U Manitoba’s Ethics of Emerging Tech Lecture.

Tomorrow (Mar 10), Rebecca Giblin and I kick off the SXSW reading series.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A graph depicting the Gartner hype cycle. A pair of HAL 9000's glowing red eyes are chasing each other down the slope from the Peak of Inflated Expectations to join another one that is at rest in the Trough of Disillusionment. It, in turn, sits atop a vast cairn of HAL 9000 eyes that are piled in a rough pyramid that extends below the graph to a distance of several times its height.]

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tales-from-elysivm · 7 months ago

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I saw your bakugou with sibling reader! I loved it and would like to ask for a continuation

Maybe when the reader gets their quirk? And how would the family and others react if it does turn out to be more powerful than his

★。／ plus ultra: echo burst! ＼。★

pairing: bakugo x gn!sibling!reader (part two!)

(here's a link to part one if you haven't read it yet!)

fandom: boku no hero academia

word count: 5.4k

tw: none! purely some platonic, wholesome fluff. of course, a bit of cussing from bakugo, and some canon typical violence, unedited because i’m too tired for that- (very little violence, only implied/mentioned, little baby y/n bakugo doesn’t need that–)

notes: this is my first fic sequel! on my old blog, i had a sequel planned out and requested of bakugo’s sibling ending up quirkless, so if anyone wants to see a secondary sequel about a quirkless!sibling as well, let me know! but of course, they/them pronouns for little sibling bakugo, and please enjoy! thank you again for requesting this fic anon!

! be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed !

‘don’t touch that y/n.’

katsuki bakugo reluctantly holds onto the tiny, chubby hand of his little sibling, dragging them haphazardly through a crowded market aisle. despite being late to your appointment at the doctor, you had begged him to take you to get ice cream afterwards. your appointment had gone well, and mitsuki had demanded he do anything you wanted today.

he decides to let you loose in a merchandise store just off the side of the street. it’s the same one where you had gotten your all might onesie, and your favourite lunch boxes. he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same place deku got all his merch too.

looking around at the merch, he can’t help but think of your appointment, though it hadn’t really bothered him at all before now.

things were great. your joints in your little toe showed you would get your quirk at some point, it would develop, which would no doubt relieve his mother - she had long ago begun doubting whether you would end up quirkless, and the idea had concerned her until she had almost driven herself mad. but, according to him, you were fine. a quirk would come to you eventually, it just had to develop, and he told bakugo that things would be fine with a hearty smile on his round face.

it had made him think - he would only admit that it was briefly - what it would be. your quirk. would it be explosive like his own or would it be defensive or weaker? despite thinking of this too, he didn’t really have the heart - and he had one, deep down, for you - to think of his sibling any differently.

‘katsuki!’ you come running up to him, a round bandaid on your bare arm from the blood test you undertook. you cried a little, but toughed it up, your eyes still slightly red. in your arms is a soft midnight plush, and you hold it out to him with the biggest grin he’s probably ever seen. ‘can i get a midnight?’

he looks at it for a moment. he doesn’t even bother asking how much it might be before he deflates at the doe-eyed look you give your big brother. you walk him to the counter and hold his hand while he pays for your new plushee. one you definitely didn’t need.

with midnight plush in hand, you let him lead you out of the store.

bakugo isn’t stupid, he knows the city isn’t safe when it gets darker. he knows that villains lie on almost every corner, and that he can’t always predict when or where they might strike. he had let you drag him anywhere, and stupidly he followed. because what kind of brother would he be if he denied you? that’s how he ends up halfway across the city and carrying you home while you doze off on his shoulder. your midnight plush pressed tightly between your backs. but something passes overhead, a dark shape in the sky. a shop alarm rings out through the blackness of the street. the night lights flicker on.

it’ll only take him about fifteen minutes to get you home. but even he can feel the slightest thrill of fear that sets in. a prickling on his skin.

then a bin in the alley rattles and knocks over. from the quick flash he can see, it’s not one of the villains he’s seen before, or at least no one important enough to remember. his grip tightens around your legs, hoisting you higher on his back before he continues his walk home, his steps quickening despite himself.

your head lolls on his shoulder, your face pressed into his shirt.

‘kat? what’s wrong?’ he doesn’t answer you, only slides you onto the concrete quickly and hides you behind an alcove in the storefront. he makes sure you’re hidden by the foliage hanging overhead. ‘katsuki?’

‘stay here, ok?’ he tells you quietly, ruffling your hair a little bit to calm the panicked glaze in your eyes. it doesn’t work. his parents were always better at this stuff. ‘don’t make a sound.’

you’ve watched katsuki fight before. you’ve seen villain attacks that he got caught up with on the news, as a u.a student it’s almost expected. but this is different. you had never seen it in person. never felt the heat radiating off his explosions, seen the buildings behind this villain crumble on impact, never felt the ringing of your ears when it finally bursts. no, this is different. katsuki has only been hit once or twice, dodging the villains knives that seem to almost miraculously float around him, flying in any direction he pleases. it scares you, just how close it feels now. you don’t think you like it very much at all.

but then katsuki dodges one of those flying knives, and on his cheek a shallow wound oozes a trickle of blood. he wipes it away nonchalantly, like this happens all the time. you had never seen something like this, he was always patched up by the time he came home to see you. but this is terrifying.

without a thought, you leap forward from the alcove, little legs pounding the pavement as you plant yourself in the space between katsuki and the villain. your little arms outstretched to protect your brother, your midnight plush clutched in your fists. fat tears roll down your round cheeks and your lip trembles. the villain laughs at you, you think. and katsuki yells at you to reach cover again. maybe he barks out some threat, hoping it would scare you enough to run away. but it doesn’t. instead, you let yourself be curled into his arms and you hold midnight like a beacon. your crying erupts into earth-shattering screams.

a shockwave bursts from your fingers, the force pulsating in your skin and travelling up your arms. it hurts a little bit, makes your arms shake. your knees feel weak as you hold it, the bubble growing until it pins the villain against the alley wall. it crumbles under his weight, pushing his form against the brick. even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to let it go.

‘y/n, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ katsuki soothes with a hand on your head, shielding your gaze from the villain as he finally falls limp to the floor. not quite dead, not yet at least. ‘let’s go home, yeah?’

you nod up at him, and the shockwave droops, it fades, becoming a small bubble around you and your brother, encasing you in safety as you play with the tips of midnight’s hair.

katsuki doesn’t quite understand it immediately, but it clicks for him as he reaches the front step of your home, looking down at your sleeping form cradled in his arms, he realises just how powerful your quirk could be. your cheeks are red and splotchy from your crying before, and yet you look almost peaceful.

he moves aside your hair, and looks down at your face.

despite knowing you would always be an amazing hero, now he knew for sure. now he could probably brag that his little sibling was going to surpass even all might.

maybe, he wouldn’t mind you surpassing him either, if you kept smiling like you had.

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chilling-seavey · 2 days ago

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𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜

No better to get into the cozy winter spirit than participating in a winter prompt festival! This is my first time doing one of these but when I saw the Winter Warmers Spicy and Fluffy Prompt List, I knew I couldn't pass up this writing challenge. Thank you to the creators for inspiring me!!

All blurbs will be a part of my 'The Way it Goes' Husband!Dad!George Universe. Read more here 🩵

Dec 1: Lingerie & Coffee on a Cold Morning

Dec 2: Coming Untouched & Evening Fire

Dec 3: Dildo & Holding Hands

Dec 4: Frottage & Cuddling For Warmth

Dec 5: Praise & Tree Lighting

Dec 6: Playing in The Snow

Dec 7: Blanket Fort

Dec 8: Holiday Decorating/Baking

Dec 9: Work Holiday Party

Dec 10: Sweat & Holiday Travel

Dec 11: Ugly Sweaters

Dec 12: Daddy/Mommy & Mistletoe Kisses

Dec 13: Cold Hands/Feet

Dec 14: Holiday Shopping

Dec 15: Ice Skating

Dec 16: Secret Santa

Dec 17: Public Sex & Hot Cocoa

Dec 18: Orgasm Denial & Christmas Market

Dec 19: Holiday Magic

Dec 20: Thigh Riding & Matching Pyjamas

Dec 21: Winter Storm

Dec 22: Presents

Dec 23: Vibrator & Stocking*

Dec 24: Crying & New Traditions

Dec 25: Holiday Alone Time

Dec 26: Cock Warming & Snowed In

Dec 27: Wrapped Up Warm Walk

Dec 28: Lactation & Cozy Hobbies

Dec 29: Seeing Friends*

Dec 30: Bondage & Lights*

Dec 31: Overstimulation & NYE Countdown

*edited the prompt from the original post to be my own for this day; original did not fit this universe/apply

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

#🩵#twig mini drabbles #twig winter warmers special #george russell smut #george russell fanfic #george russell fic #george russell x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one fic #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #smut #fluff #domestic f1 #dad george russell

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sserpente · 1 year ago

Text

Blood on a Silver Platter

Synopsis: You are a human slave forced to serve your master the night he hosts a dinner party for some special guests. Only when you meet Astarion, you realise that the reason you were bought was not for your services... but for your blood.

A/N: Whoops. Oh dear, what is this sassy vampire doing on my blog? Seriously, I started playing Baldur's Gate 3 two nights ago but I've been obsessed with Astarion even before that. If you follow me on that fancy picture app, you'll know I've met Neil before and I can't emphasise enough how much of a sweetheart he is. He truly has a hand for these sassy characters, haha! Have fun reading!

Words: 1749 Warnings: blood, feeding, slave!Reader

Astrid didn’t like new girls. They were shy, terrified, angry, and stubborn and they knew nothing about how this place was run, where the dishes, the cutlery, and the crystal wine glasses were. But how would you? You had a right to be terrified. You had a right to be angry. How else would you feel, sold and enslaved like cattle or a piece of furniture?

Ezekiel, your new master, had made it very clear to you from the very beginning that you were easily replaceable if you did not obey. Human slaves did not sell for much in these parts, for they lacked strength, agility… and longevity compared to other species. You could not argue with that—and that made you even more furious.

He was hosting a dinner party tonight, a group of travellers if you’d heard correctly. Of course, none of you were supposed to ask questions. You were merely there to serve and make them comfortable. You sighed. You had been on your feet all day, preparing the feast and preparing the table.

By the time Ezekiel received his guests, Astrid was screaming the place down in the kitchens. She was not a slave—your master paid for her services and left her in charge of the girls he bought to do the dirty work for them. You hated them both.

Right after the main course was served and the guests began to eat, Astrid handed you a jug of red elven wine. Her ice-cold eyes bore into yours. “Ezekiel asked for you specifically to serve the wine before the main course. Do not speak unless you’re spoken to. Refill the wine, keep your head down, and leave, is that understood?”

“Yes.” You gnashed your teeth, biting back a snarky remark when she pushed you through the doorway and you almost spilled the expensive alcohol on the stone tiles to your feet.

It was the first time you got to lay your eyes on Ezekiel’s mysterious guests. None of them were human, not at first glance.

There was one with green skin, another with red skin and horns protruding from their forehead… a tiefling… one of them, however, stood out to you the most; he was sitting at the head of the table. His short blonde hair was wild, complimenting those sharp ears, the pale skin, and his eyes… red pupils.

You quickly looked down when you realised your master noticed your rude staring, refilling their wine glasses as instructed by Astrid. The blonde man’s gaze bore into you the closer you got to him, intrigue apparent on his face.

“Well then, my honoured guests. Dinner is served. Enjoy your meal. That goes for you too, Astarion. I hope she is to your satisfaction. I got her from the slave market only three days ago.” Ezekiel leaned over to another slave girl. “Take that jug from her.”

Astarion. You did not fail to notice that his plate was the only one that was still empty. But you realised a moment too late what exactly your master’s words entailed. The slave girl you handed the jug to was only slightly older than you but you didn’t even know her name. All you knew was that the both of you dreaded what Ezekiel had in store for you, for as soon as your hands were empty, Astarion grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him.

“Why, hello, darling.”

Losing your balance, you stumbled, landing on his lap. He was quick to snake his arm around your waist to keep you from escaping. He buried his free hand in your hair and tugged on it hard enough to force you to reveal your neck to him.

Your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of his fangs right before he sank them deep into your throat, breaking the skin. You flinched, the burning sensation quickly turning into a pulling pain that had you shaking on his lap, and then… the panic kicked in and dug its claws deep into your guts.

Pushing your palms flat against his chest, you attempted to push yourself off of him, your survival instinct getting the better of you. You winced when the pain intensified and Astarion pressed you even closer against him as he drank from you. His lips on your neck sent shivers down your spine and the more you fought, the more he seemed to be enjoying himself.

It felt like an eternity and as your body grew weaker, your determination to drive a stake through his heart grew with each passing second.

Finally, Astarion released you. He licked his lips, red with your blood, an almost lascivious noise escaping him. When he let go, you slid off of him with the last of your remaining strength, almost toppling to the floor in the process.

“Hmm… thank you, darling,” you heard him say. “You taste absolutely delightful.”

You did not turn around to see the smug expression that would match his tone on his face. Instead, you hurried back to the kitchens with trembling limbs, processing what had just happened. Your mind was near empty. As if along with your blood, he’d sucked every other thought from you as well. You swallowed thickly.

He bit you. He drank your blood. He almost killed you. He used you like a living blood bag. Was this why Ezekiel had bought you?

“Where is the new girl? I asked her to do one simple job, for the love of the gods!”

“Astrid, I’m not sure she…” It was the girl who had taken the wine jug from you who spoke up. She knew that something bad would happen, she must have. You had seen it in her eyes when your gazes had crossed.

“I’m here now,” you croaked out. Your throat was dry. You didn’t want to go back out there. Didn’t want to help serve dessert, didn’t want to face him again after what he’d just done to you with everyone watching as if it didn’t concern them, eating their fucking stag steak for dinner.

“A-Astrid… would… w-would you mind s-serving dessert, p-please?” you chirped.

“And what do you dream of at night?” She came barging in from the pantry, arms akimbo and practically fuming. You swallowed thickly, clenching your fists in a weak attempt to control your shaking. It was with great satisfaction that you noticed her face fall when you turned around, revealing the small trickles of blood running down the fresh bite mark on your neck.

Her eyes widened. You were quite certain you had never seen her stutter before.

“Go… you can… g-go wash up. I’ll take care of the desserts.”

“Thank you.” You nodded, rushing past the other slave girls, all of them staring at you with widened eyes, and barged into the small washing room adjacent to the kitchens. A dirty kitchen towel would have to do to wash the blood off of you.

With trembling fingers, you rubbed at your sensitive skin until almost all evidence of his assault was gone before leaning over to wash your face. You used the cleanest-looking part of the kitchen towel to pat yourself dry before you took a deep breath and opened your eyes again—facing Astarion in the mirror right behind you. The gasp that escaped your lips echoed through the almost empty room. Instinctively, you stepped back, only to realise a fraction of a second too late that you would bump straight into his chest.

The vampire grabbed your arms and flipped you around fast so you’d face him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hello there,” he purred. “No need to be so frightened, dear.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. It was the amusement in his voice that had you seethe, anger pushing your fear out of the way for just a moment. “Of course not. Why would I be? You only just bit me and drank my blood like I’m some sort of snack.”

“Oh but are a snack,” he retorted, chuckling. “And you were quite a delicious one too.”

You stared at him. “What do you want?”

“I want you to come see me tonight.”

Frowning, you processed his words. He couldn’t possibly mean…

Astarion laughed. “You are looking so frightened again. I promise I will make it worth your while.”

“And if I don’t want to?” you whispered. You were a slave—your question was entirely redundant. It wasn’t like you had a choice. Ezekiel had practically delivered you to Astarion on a silver platter.

“Well, Ezekiel expects me to kill you tonight.”

You felt your heart plummet.

“I understand it he only bought a human slave for the occasion. To satiate my hunger and for my… entertainment tonight. Surely, he is aware how feeble mortal lives are, it is almost a waste to invest in human slaves.” You gnashed your teeth. “But there is an alternative,” he continued.

“What alternative?” you snapped.

“I could use a travelling companion. A… loyal blood slave, so to speak, and I must say I did not expect human blood to taste so delightful.”

Your frown deepened. A blood slave… to a vampire, following him like an obedient and lost puppy… you would rather die than give up your body like that. But was it truly worse than serving your current master knowing he had killed former slaves for dropping plates before? Knowing that the sole reason he had purchased you was to please one of his guests?

One thing was certain—you did not want to die and at least… he was quite handsome, was he not?

“What do you say, dearest?” Astarion’s brushed his knuckles against your cheek. He took a step forward, pressing you against the doorframe and trapping you between the solid wood and his strong body.

You sucked in a deep breath when he bent your head to the side, revealing the bite mark he had left on you. You prepared for another rush of sharp pain tearing through your neck, squeezing your eyes shut in response.

Instead, you felt his tongue dart out to taste you with a start, licking over the wound.

“There… all healed. For now,” he added with a sly smirk. You frowned, your hand flying up to feel your neck. He was right. The two little holes where his fangs had punctuated your skin were gone. And yet… his sly smirk was a silent promise that this was only the beginning of your time together.

A/N: Check out my blog for more Imagines and my original novel(s)! ♥

#astarion #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 imagine #neil newbon

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

Text

Jungkook

𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐆𝐨𝐝 🔞⚠️

In which Jungkook isn't sure what he hates most anymore: her, the past, himself, or you.

Tags/Warnings: Non-idol AU, massive warning for implied ED & body dismorphia, hurt and comfort, heavy angst in specific parts, past emotional abuse (implied), strangers to lovers, road to self acceptance?, smut but it's not the main focus

Length: Very long, 7k words

A/N: If you think you've read it before, you're probably right. This fic was posted before on a different account, but it has always been written by me. After much consideration and multiple requests, I've brought it back here to my main blog.

Furthermore, please read the tags carefully before reading. This fic covers heavy themes that could be upsetting to some. You have been warned.

Additional Content: None

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Jungkook liked sweet things, some time ago.

He'd enjoyed ice creams with mild flavors such as vanilla, or other sweet desserts that were similar to it. He snacked often and always got a little excited when experiencing a new flavor for the first time, adventurous and never judgmental when trying out things he's never eaten before.

Jungkook also loved junk foods, like ramyeon or fast foods. He couldn't help but give in from time to time, the convenience of it all being a quick meal convincing enough to walk through the food markets back in his hometown, just to get back home with a plastic bag full of treats.

But that was before he'd met her.

He's always been quite quick to fall in love, not only with people. With a soul as trusting and eager for affection as his own, he's always been someone to love others with a fiery temper and a full heart. But that also made him an easy victim, a target almost painted on his chest it seems; because he also was once someone who trusted easily, and never saw the bad in someone.

Now? He wishes he could go back in time and warn his naïve self of what's to come.

He's punching the black bag over and over again, arms already aching- but that's just a sign that he's pushing his limits again. He knows his body inside and out, takes great care of it- or at least that's what he likes to believe. Never again will someone be able to make him feel shame about himself, never again will he feel like he did years ago.

He knows his worth.

But on his way home, he smells it again; the scent of melting sugar and baked goods, faint but familiar by now ever since the bakery had opened up a few months prior. Whatever is sold there must be good, because he can see the people lining up at the front door every morning before it opens up- and even after the morning rush, the tables inside and outside seem always filled. He wonders what's it all about- maybe just a glance this time.

He won't buy anything, he's just looking.

Someone's humming to a newly released pop-song quietly playing from the radio, inside of the shop warm lit and inviting. It looks almost more like a home than a café- but it's empty now, a much different look than what's going on during the day. "Oh?" your voice finds his ears, and he needs to take two glances left and right to find where you are, broom in hand and standing behind the counter. There's a bit of flour on your apron, and what looks like sprinkles, the frilly blouse you're wearing underneath void of any stains however. Your face shape is absolutely not as sharp and angled as what he's usually surrounded by- be it men or women- and you're visibly not as tall as the average female from what he can see.

Cute, he thinks to himself. What?

No, you're absolutely not cute. You're probably not even aware of all the calories you're selling to costumers daily- and it must be pure irony that you've opened your shop in close proximity to a gym of all places. You probably never went to one in your life, absolutely careless about your weight or health-

A lightbulb starts to flicker aggressively above his head. You laugh sheepishly.

"My boss said he'd get that fixed tomorrow. It's been like that for a few days now." you tell him for no reason. He didn't ask. "it's a little creepy to me, you know, considering I'm working alone when closing. But I can't change it myself, you know." you explain further, putting the broom to the side. Again, he doesn't know why you're telling him this. He doesn't care.

"you're closed?" he asks after a moment of staring at you awkwardly, and you shrug, making him confused.

"depends. I have some iced coffee left?" you say, opening a small fridge behind the counter. Only now does he realize that the shelves are void of any goods.

"don't wanna cause you a hassle. It's fine." he waves off at that, and you nod, smiling. He just nods back dumbly, walking out the door.

"Oh- please be careful! Goodnight!" you call out, and he turns around, hands in his jogging pants' pockets. His brows are raised, irritated.

"I'm a guy." he tells you, and you nod.

"So?" you wonder, and he scoffs a little.

"whatever." he simply mumbles to himself, before closing the door behind him.

……………………………………….｡.:✽:.｡………………………………………

Yoongi breathes heavily as he sits down on the carpeted gym floor, close to where his friend and personal trainer stands. "How's the shoulder?" Jungkook asks, mild worry in his words as he sits down close to him as well, crossing his legs.

"Better- but I think I should call it a day." He says, pushing a hand against the front of his shoulder before moving it in a circular motion. "Don't wanna overdo it." Jungkook nods at that, before another voice chimes in.

"I hope you're not overworking yourself already, Yoongi." You say, walking up to both of the men, and Jungkook himself can't help how his face shows his judgement of you. You don't fit into the scene at all, with your overknee socks and frilly skirt. You're wearing a blouse with cat-shaped buttons, entire attire showing that you visibly don't seem to care about your shape, seams of your socks already rolling down on one side from the fact that they sit so snug against your thighs, right where he can spot faint stretch marks lingering. Aren't you even the slightest bit ashamed?

Yoongi pats your head once, laughing at your words simply, before he looks into the white plastic bag you've brought. You're squatting now, Mary-janes making a slight sound as the leather bends to accommodate the way your feet are bending a little, and he tears his gaze away as soon as he notices that he can see almost under your skirt. You really have no shame, it seems. "What's that?" His older friend asks, rummaging around in the bag, while you just smile with excitement, your cheeks all round and a little blushed.

Would they look like that if you were to loose a bit of weight too? He hates how bloated he looks after eating, has kept his body-fat percentage low to make sure his face stays sharp and masculine- always remembering how much she praised his appearance if he did that. It's what's desirable, after all- so he can understand where she came from, back then.

Would she love him again if she saw him now?

"They're filled with a peach filling- but I played around a little so it's not too sweet, since I know you don't like that too much. And, you know, nowadays people are pretty scared to eat something sugary it seems." You joke, making Yoongi shrug while Jungkook feels irritated.

"Some people care about their diets." He speaks without holding back, and Yoongi looks at him a bit scandalized- but he doesn't get to scold him, because you're already talking.

"One single cream puff isn't going to ruin your body if it's once in a while." Jungkook hates how confidently you say that. And how he knows you're right, too. But he doesn't back down either, feeling threatened now.

"You don't look like one to know much about nutrition." He mumbles more or less, and Yoongi looks even more angry now- but you don't seem fazed at all, still smiling.

"Do you eat after working out?" You wonder, and he feels self-conscious now at that question. Oddly put on the spot. He doesn't like it- doesn't like you. You're not pushy, not at all, just asking, but he feels like you're interrogating him in a way he's uncomfortable with.

"No." He mumbles more or less to himself. "I have a tendency to, you know.. binge." He doesn't know why he's admitting that. You just asked a simple yes or no question, why does he feel the need to justify himself?

You're digging around in the plastic bag at that, before offering a small plastic container. "Here-" You say, friendly smile way too sugary for his tastes, like honey staining his teeth. "It's just fruit, nothing added to it. I brought them with me because I like to snack them during work, but you should definitely eat those instead." You tell him, and he looks at you with a questioning gaze.

"What will you eat during work then?" He wonders, and you shrug, an impish glint in your eyes.

"I'll hardly starve from one day without snacks. It's important to eat within the first two hours after working out- and we both know I didn't touch any of these weights here." You say giggling, and his heart stings a bit. While yes, he thinks the same, it's still tough to hear you say this so easily. He doesn't want you to think like that about yourself. He doesn't want you to feel like you need to adjust. "Alright- are you still coming Yoongs?" You wonder, and Yoongi nods, getting up and helping you stand as well. Your hand looks small in Yoongis large palms. Jungkook notices your little struggle. He himself can get up without any help.

"Yeah. We're eating at Jin's, you wanna tag along?" Yoongi asks the younger man, who instantly shakes his head.

"I need to put everything back into place again. Thanks." He simply offers, turning away from you both.

"Alright- maybe another time." You say, and he can only imagine the pitiful look you probably have put on for him. "I really wanna try his new dessert- he said he put some extra aside for me!" You giggle, voice becoming more quiet as you walk away. "Do you think I can watch him cook this time?"

"You know what Jin's like, but maybe-" Yoongi's voice becomes undistinguishable the further he walks off, and Jungkook dares to look around, seeing you smile effortless up to the older man, a little jump in your step, while the usually rather stoic producer looks at ease and genuinely friendly towards you. You both look so comfortable, so warm, and Jungkook suddenly feels like a kid left behind to stay at home alone for the first time- his inner thoughts not his own it seems as he watches you both leave the gym.

I want to come with you, too.

……………………………………….｡.:✽:.｡………………………………………

Sex isn't really anything special anymore.

He tends to be the first leaving, just like now- having barely undressed anyways, but he knows how to work around being naked while satisfying someone else. They don't care about him anyways, simply out for pleasure and no strings attached, and he's fine with that too. It makes him feel something at least, even if it's barely anything. It tastes of nothing but stale bread, feeding his desires while his soul leaves starved yet again.

The door closes behind him, and he can hear the lock set in.

Walking home, he passes your bakery- or rather a side-project of Jin's he'd been told by Yoongi last time he'd trained with him. It's closed now, but he still walks towards it, looking at the dark interior inside, barely visibly and only lit from the streetlights outside. Some red dots are blinking, indicating the security system is active inside- though Jungkook doesn't know what one might want to steal from a bakery of all places. The chairs are all upside-down on the tables, neatly placed, floor clean of any crumbs. Tomorrow, the people will wait at the entrance again, standing in line to get their breakfasts and coffees, and you'll probably stand behind the counter again with all those stains on your apron like he's seen you before.

He really doesn't know how to feel about you.

It's clear to him that your body makes him feel uncomfortable- because you're lacking any sense of consciousness about the way you look, but at the same time that can't be true considering you otherwise looked very well put together. Yoongi likes you- so why doesn't he himself feel the same?

Maybe because he's jealous.

He likes to tell himself that you're standing home alone as well, in front of the mirror and judging all those unflattering parts like he does way too often. Maybe you're just good at masking your feelings- your work having stained your very touch to the point that everything you do is just so tooth-rottingly sweet. You probably can't help it. He understands that.

Jungkook liked sweet things too, some time ago.

He walks away from the shop and back home, where nothing but the buzzing lights wait. And a cold bed, because he left the window open.

Maybe in his dreams he could fly outside?

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"Oh, Jungkook, isn't it?" You ask, almost bumping into him in the furniture store.

"Yeah." He simply answers, a hand on your back pulling you a bit out of the way when he notices an elderly woman trying to push her shopping cart past you. Your back is warm. You're also way shorter than him. It's odd how he only notices now, it seems.

"Oh, thanks!" You say. "Uh- do you know where that spot is to get furniture you've ordered?" You ask, and he furrows his brows.

"I don't- what do you mean?" He asks, and you look up at him, clearly not uncomfortable standing close to him, because there's barely a step of space between you two. Or at least it feels like it to him. In reality, you're probably standing two steps away. At least. He puts his hands in the front pockets of his sweater- just to pull them out again. The pocket looks award when something's in it. He doesn't want to look odd.

"I ordered a small dresser a week ago, but they didn't have it here yet- so they ordered it and I could take it home later." You explain, and Jungkook nods at that, now realizing what you're talking about.

"That's up front- do you have a cart?" He wonders, and your eyes widen.

"Oh shit." You almost whisper, and a snort escapes him.

Oh god that's weird. He coughs to cover the sound up, but you're already laughing at him. He knew it. He can feel the tips of his ears turn red already-

"I'm so stupid I swear." You laugh- but it's at yourself, he realizes. "Ah, I'll get a cart then, and hunt down some employee so they can lead me there. It's no wonder they made those SCP-Horror stories about Ikeas stores." You giggle, and Jungkook can't suppress his smile this time. He can't force his lips down.

"You know about those?" He asks, he doesn't know why. He doesn't care.

"I'm on reddit and 4chan, I know more than I want to, to be honest." You say, faking a serious expression. "Someone made an experiment with his piss once-" You start, and Jungkook laughs at this, unable to be stoic about the way you so seriously say that. "I'm serious!" You laugh along, and he nods.

"No no, I believe you." He nods, using all his strength to make sure he doesn't grin, because his teeth look like a rabbits, she once told him. He doesn't want you to see it. Or maybe it's just become a habit. "Do you need help with that closet you bought?" He asks, and you giggle again. Did he say something weird?

"It's a dresser- but I guess it can classify as the same thing just smaller?" You think. "Wait when does a closet start and a dresser end- is it even size?" You begin thinking, and Jungkook apologizes instantly.

"You said dresser, I remembered that wrongly, sorry." He says, but you just playfully shake your head.

"No worries, maybe its even a closet and I just misunderstood." You tell him. "But yeah, if you could help me, that would be awesome! Gotta use those muscles for something, heh?" You joke, poking his stomach a little. He feels like you've just shot him. He doesn't know why he's so hyperaware of where you've placed your finger on his stomach, and it doesn't hurt, but in a way, it does. He doesn't know.

You're confusing him.

He trails after you like a lost dog and he's aware of it, but he can't help it. He's offered his help, it would be rude to just leave you be now, and he doesn't want to be rude to you. Even though he's been rude to you before already. Oh yeah- why do you seem so at ease with him?

You walk towards the place where he'd told you to get your furniture, and when the old man starts to place every piece in your cart, Jungkook helps without thinking. It's the same once you're at your car- he lifts it all into your trunk without thinking of the consequences it might have for him, adjusting the seats so everything can fit into the small vehicle properly. It's only when you go to bring back the cart that he realizes in horror what had happened.

The inside of his sweater feeling damp against his skin, body freezing as he can only imagine the darker stain on the back now where he knows he sweats the most. His neck feels just as cold as the wind passes him- even his hairline bothering him now. Why did he help you with that stupid furniture? He knows he sweats easily.

'Jungkook' she'd said, apologetic face when she'd spoken. 'you gotta do something about that. I don't wanna say its gross but.. well, it kinda is. No offense.'

Her voice doesn't let go of him even years after breaking up it seems. It echoes inside his head even as you're walking back towards him- and he falls into panic realizing he's gonna take public transport home. Maybe he should just walk. He didn't even get what he wanted to get anyways. "Thank you so much!" You say, grinning at him with genuine friendliness, and he just feels awkward standing like this in front of you. "Where did you park?" you wonder, and he shakes his head.

"Took the bus." He admits, and you nod.

"Oh- do you want to ride along? The least I can do is give you a lift home." You offer, but he's quick to shut it down.

"No no, it's fine, I'm all sweaty and gross now-" he rants, but much to his surprise, you simply shrug.

"Gross?" You ask, and he nods, ashamed.

"Yeah." He responds.

"Nah. Come on now, if you help be put it up too I'll put some chicken nuggets in the oven!" You giggle, getting in the car.

He doesn't know why he accepts your offer.

His smell is probably already noticeable to you in the small interior of the car. He doesn't rest his back against the seat- the fluffy covers way too clean to be touched by his sweaty back. He hates that he's like that. Maybe he should consult a doctor about this. This has to be an issue only he has. But then- your hand pushes against his front, forcing him to lean back into the seats.

You don't say anything, but you also don't need to. He just stares- because between all the horror of knowing now that you know about his insecurities and inner fights, there's a glint of relieve filling him. Because you're not annoyed. You don't seem bothered. You're still smiling a little, eyes on full alert while you keep your attention on the road in front.

While he right next to you can't help but think, how come he's never noticed how pretty your collarbones look? Not sharply protruding, or aggressively visible- but soft, delicate, and merely there to show that your bones underneath your skin are present. A simple necklace rests over them, pendant hidden in your cleavage, but the silver band alone seems enough to decorate that part of you perfectly. Your neck is a little red where you've scratched it a little earlier, itching the skin for no apparent reason- but it doesn't look out of place. It's like proof that you're alive, because looking at you now, he realizes what you remind him of.

Those old paintings of angels, with their soft bodies and rosy cheeks.

But that spot, and the slight redness on your nose is proof that you're alive. That there's blood running through your veins, that there's a heart beating and organs working inside of you. You're breathing next to him, and that alone makes him feel oddly out of place.

Because you're so at ease with just existing, it seems.

You know that he's staring, but you don't scold him either. You just smile, like always sugary sweet, when you have to stop at a red light- and he feels like he's drowning in honey.

But the strangest thing is that he's fine with that.

Because something sweet once in a while won't hurt your body, right?

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Your apartment is odd.

Its Sunday, and he's currently waiting for you to do something in the kitchen while he takes off his shoes, looking around the area of your small home. It all looks warm, chaotic but inviting- like a genuine home. You don't seem to follow any sort of decoration theme, more or less simply existing, just like always, and it's odd to him how it all still fits together. It looks like you.

Cozy.

"Alright, so-" You start, leading him into what he assumes is your bedroom, considering the bed in the corner. "-I just need help with like, holding some of the heavier boards. I'll screw, and you hold, alright?" You offer, and he nods. That's what he's here for. Why are you saying this stuff as if he's got an option here?

He doesn't even know why he's agreed to it- or even when exactly he did in the first place. All he knows is that you're actually good at following those disgustingly confusing instructions- never seeming to misunderstand where something goes, confident in the way you screw in those metal pieces, as if you've done this multiple times before. And all is fine until you have to stand awkwardly in front of him- and he becomes aware that you can probably look into the wide and short sleeves of his oversized grey shirt. You can probably see that he didn't shave, why didn't he think of that?

But you just smile at him for a second, as if to pacify his thoughts, before you turn back to your task.

He falls into his habit of judging you yet again when you sit on the carpeted floor, reading the instructions with screws in your hand while the other turns the page of the tiny booklet. The board has left a red indent in your thigh where you'd leaned into the wooden piece not too long ago, soft thighs seemingly without muscle while your arms look similar. Your wrists are small, fingers dainty like a doll- while your stomach rolls up in several little folds from the way you sit a bit hunched over, legs crossed now. The thin straps of your top lay carefully over your shoulders, and only now does he realize you're not even wearing a bra- faint outline of your nipples against the inner fabric of the top giving him the clue to come to this conclusion.

There's oddly enough no sexual thought in his mind though. Only the mere question about, how?

How can you just sit there so comfortably, not even realizing how admittedly unflattering you're showing yourself to him right now? You're not wearing makeup, your hair a little messy, and he hates the fact that you still look pretty to him. You look adorable, with the way you lick your lips before biting the upper one a bit deep in thought. Is it a habit? He wants to know, and he doesn't even know why.

"Jungkook?" You ask, waving your hand in front of his face a little. He didn't realize he's sat down on the back of his heels by now, probably staring into nothingness. The carpet has created angry red imprints on his knees. They look awfully boney compared to yours- he can't help but pull down the seams of his sweat shorts, his gaze falling onto the little heart shaped pendant hanging from your necklace. There's a paw print on it, and he wants to know why. Do you like pets? Why don't you have any? Then his eyes fall back onto your cleavage. Your breasts look just as soft as the rest of you. Are you warm? Could you warm him up if he touched you? "You can let go now, you now?" You say, and his heart stops beating for a second, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"The board. You.. can let it go." You giggle a little, and he swallows hard, and lets go of it. There's a sweaty handprint left. Great- he's being gross again.

"Maybe I should skip dinner today." You say suddenly, and he feels ripped out of whatever thought he might've had just seconds ago.

"What?" He asks, whispers almost.

"You know, to combat all of this?" You say, sitting back and stretching out your legs or a second. "Maybe if I work out hard like you I don't look like the Michelin man when sitting down?" You laugh, but he doesn't see the joke. Where is this coming from? He doesn't like that you talk about yourself like that. "Do you think if I lost weight my face would look like those models in the TV commercials?"

"Stop it.." He says, barely above a whisper, in no way an actual threat. You just rant on.

"But then again, it's probably genetics. Imagine my body being all toned but my face still all round. I'd look hideous- all for nothing, really." You sigh. "But plastic surgery is an option. The easy way. I mean, I saved up to maybe move into a bigger apartment, but imagine how my life could change if I was pretty!" You tell him excitedly, and he hurts. "Like, actually, conventionally pretty!" You tell him. "I'd finally be loved too-"

"Stop.!" He barks out now, having reached his breaking point. He wants to apologize for yelling, but you're still smiling, sitting right in front of you. Only now does he feel your knees touching his- skin warm, warmer than his own it seems. Or maybe he's just imagining it. He can't stop staring at the differences. "Don't say that.."

"It's rough hearing someone else talk about themselves like you talk to yourself, isn't it?" You say suddenly, quietly, softly, and he feels his eyes sting. Now he really wants you to stop. "Truth is, Jungkook, that I don't care." He looks up at you. "I don't care what you look like. I don't care what I look like." You say, and he swallows thickly before attempting to get up. But you don't let him, holding his arms, even though you're no match for him.

He lets you win.

He doesn't know why.

But he lets you.

And he cries into the crook of your neck, all ugly and loud, sobbing now because who cares? He's already crying in front of you, so fuck it. It doesn't matter now, he just wants to exist just for a moment too, without thoughts and expectations and deadlines and time, and instead with your hands so gentle running over his back, your body heavy on his lap, but in no way uncomfortable. He feels as if your weight keeps him from floating away, from breaking apart and being swept away by the waves.

He calms down only after a moment- but refuses to look at you. Embarrassment is already creeping up his throat, making its home in his mind when he realizes the way he'd cried all over your naked shoulder. He's being gross again. "Who hurt you, Jungkook?" You carefully ask, and he shrugs.

"No one." He answers, voice raspy.

"Bullshit." You respond. "This doesn't happen for no reason." You say, and it's quiet for a good moment, giving him the opportunity to break apart from you- but he doesn't want to. You're warm- and he hasn't had something sweet in years.

He just wants a taste. Just once won't hurt, right?

"I was gross back then. I still am, sometimes." He admits. "Like right now."

"You're not." You reassure, but he shakes his head.

"She loved when I worked out. Said I looked like a Greek god when I was at my peak." Jungkook explains, for the first time spilling anything about it. "She wouldn't sleep with me if I slacked with my workout. But when I managed to stay on schedule, she'd love me. And I loved her."

"Jungkook.." You say, but he continues to rant.

"She really loved me then. You know. All the bad things she told me, all the times she yelled at me, I could understand it then. It was to help me, so she could love me at my best." He tries to justify, but you just squeeze his body.

He likes that feeling. He wants you to do it again.

"That's not love, Jungkook." You admit to him. "She didn't love you, Jungkookie. She loved your body, nothing else."

"I don't care." He simply responds.

"But I do." You say, and he feels his eyes sting again. "I care about you."

"You said you didn't." Jungkook fights back, leaning back a little and your hands wipe his tears from his cheek without any sense of disgust.

"I said I don't care what you look like." You remind him, and he can't help but stare. Have your eyes always been this pretty? They're like two rare gemstones polished to perfection, moving so lively and looking so warm and inviting. Even the faint redness and blemishes look more like stars now than anything else. "I care who you are. You're such a handsome being, but it's all messed up because of someone who didn't even notice what she had." You say.

"You're just saying that to boost my confidence." He responds.

"I'm saying this because you deserve to have that confidence." You instead say, and he cant help but stare for a second. "Don't kiss me now." You say, and he blushes, stammering a bit.

"I-wh.. why not?" He wonders. The moment is perfect, so why don't you want to? He's confused. It all sounded so much like you liked him- maybe even loved him.

"Because right now, you're not properly thinking." You say. "Go home. Sleep. Go about your day- don't think about it." You instruct. "For once, just exist. You've got free will Jungkook, no one cares if you work out or not, if you go get a coffee or not, or if you stay at home and laze around all day. Do what you want to, just for once, and not what you think is expected." You say.

"And if I still want to kiss you after?" He asks, and you smile.

"Then I'll be here, waiting."

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It's been weeks since you've seen Jungkook.

Yoongi says he's gone on a trip, camping, something he's not done since he was a kid. You're happy- he deserves to do what he likes, and to exist without any boundaries. "He's looked.. a lot warmer these days." Yoongi says, speaking to you who's sitting on his couch in his studio. "I have a feeling I know who's at fault."

"Hmhm, maybe." You say. "I still can't believe how much damage that bitch has done." You grumble to yourself, loosing a game on your phone, and letting it fall out of your hand onto the carpet on the floor.

"Yeah. I remember how heartbroken he was when they broke it off." He sighs, before clicking some stuff on his computer. "Did he talk to you at all these days?"

You shake your head. "Not a single message. It's fine though- he's probably busy enjoying his newfound freedom." You giggle, and Yoongi turns in his chair, looking at you.

"It's okay to be upset." He tells you, and you nod, well aware. You're not upset though- you're happy for him, genuinely so. Maybe he'll find someone who will finally cherish him for who he is, and not what he looks like. He deserves feeling happy. "Come here, angel." He suddenly says, and only now do you realize the tears falling from the corners of your eyes.

Seconds later dampening Yoongi's sweater, while he holds you close in the quietness of his studio.

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"What do you mean she doesn't work here anymore?" Jungkook wonders, standing in front of Jin who simply shrugs, defeated.

"I think Yoongi said she's now a lyricist under his label. Don't know where she went now though, sorry." He offers, before going back to wiping the counters.

Outside, Jungkook calls his friend with eager taps of his fingers- but he's not picking up. You said you'd be waiting, you told him you'd wait- so why did you leave now? You loved that bakery, you had a passion for your work, so why did you just break apart from that?

Because you've got free will.

You're way more aware of it than he is himself, having only newly discovered it, but it hurts to think that you just left like that. Sure, it's been almost half a year, but is that really too late now?

Your apartment.

He takes the bus line he's taken before, stands in front of the building, tries hard to remember which apartment number was yours, but he can't for the life of him focus anymore. He doesn't remember, he doesn't know- how could he forget a fucking number like that? Maybe you tested him, tested his love and he literally royally fucked up that test like a champ, because he took all your advice, all your efforts and all your comfort and ran off with it instead of staying. He should've stayed. He should've insisted.

He should've fought.

"Jungkook?"

His phone vibrates in his pocket before it falls out, clatters to the ground. The screen is probably broken. He doesn't care.

"I still want to kiss you." He says.

You break out in laughter.

Before pulling him down towards you.

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"That's not how you do it." Jungkook says, furrowing his brows.

"So?" You say. "Not a crime I'm committing here. Modern problems require modern so-lutions!" You struggle with the chopsticks, before the cork of the wine bottle finally plops out. "Hah! You see that? I'm a survival specialist, Bear Grylls has nothing on me!" You triumph, before pouring some in his glass, then your own.

"So you plan to survive a let's say, zombie apocalypse, with wine?" He raises an eyebrow, the warm fire between the two of you crackling away and painting your body in red hues.

"Hey, being drunk makes a lot of situations better." You offer, and he laughs- freely, corners of his eyes crinkling a little, bunny smile on full display. You like him most like that. Free.

Happy.

"Hm, I disagree." He says.

"Oh?" You challenge.

"Hmhm." He tells you, taking a sip of his wine after you. "For example, my first time with you shouldn't be wasted with alcohol." He cheekily says, and you blush- happy the fire covers that change in color for you. "I wanna remember it." He teases. He's become awfully bold- entire being evolving into something you can only describe as dangerous.

"Ah.." You just respond.

"Too much?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"No- just.." You say, unable to quite put it into words. "It's weird hearing someone say that, you know, to me." You say.

"Why?" He wants to know. Are you a virgin? He highly doubts that- considering you're pretty soul and pretty smile. There's no way he's the first to ever be interested in you like that.

"I don't know, it just.. happens, I guess. I'm good at giving advice left and right, but I'm bad at following that myself. I.." You admit, sighing as you look at the fire. "..tend to let myself be used, I guess."

"Why?" He asks again, but this time its whispered, like he himself can't believe what you're telling him.

"Because it lets me dream a little?" You giggle. "It's why I didn't kiss you, you know, right away. I know where it would've lead."

"And you don't want that with me?" He wonders, but you shake your head no.

"I do." You say. "I did back then too." You confess without shame. "But.. I liked you too much. It would've crushed me to wake up and realize it's been nothing but a short fever dream. I would've hated myself if you woke up and.. I don't know, realized that you don't like me like that after all, and that emotions were just hot and high."

Jungkook nods at that- because he can't say that it wouldn't have happened like that. You looked out for him that night as well, maybe without knowing it- and he's thankful you did. Because it gave him time, freedom, and the chance to really let everything sink in and flow through.

It made him realize that he still loves you, even if you hadn't been the one to wake him up like you did.

"Now I ruined the mood." You laugh, throwing your head back a bit in dramatic agony. "Ugh I'll never get anywhere like this."

Wordlessly, Jungkook puts his glass down on the plastic table, before he walks over to you and takes yours as well, helping you stand up. "Jungkook?" You wonder, and he just kisses you, soft and warm like he always does. It's silent, there's no need for words, especially not when he picks you up and opens the door of the campervan, bringing you inside where he immediately tries to shed your thick jacket and sweater.

"You're so pretty." He chants out, hands running over your warmed up skin like he has to convince himself that you're real. And he does, in a way- because it all feels absolutely surreal to him in every way.

He doesn't think about his own appearance at all. He doesn't care.

He doesn't mind when you pull his own sweater over his head, hood of it catching on his jaw and making you both laugh. Your hands on his skin feel like heaven, he's never realized how he'd burn the world down just to feel your skin against his own. You're holding onto him like he's worth millions, his lips chasing yours, teasing you every now and then by not letting you get as close as you'd like to.

Sex has never been so exciting and comfortable at the same time for him.

Every sound you make, every heavy breath or whine he drinks up like a starving man, hands gripping your flesh like you'll disappear if he doesn't hold onto you strong enough. There's trust in this- trust you'll tell him where to go if he looses his way, trust that you'll accept what he does for what it is, trust that you'll love him just as much as he loves you.

Your thighs are soft, laying over his shoulder as he holds onto them, his mouth busy on your core.

You're both cute and absolutely enchanting, writhing and squirming under his actions, whimpers accompanying his own obscene noises he doesn't care about making. You're divine, you deserve to be treated like it as well.

And you cum so prettily too, toes curled and hands reaching out for his own.

"I love you." He says, and you smile up at him, kissing his lips before you turn his chin towards the side.

"And I love you too, but maybe no kids yet?" You joke, making him laugh and nod as he walks over to fetch a condom out of his bag. He didn't specifically plan anything to happen on the trip with you- but he still prepared in hopes of it. "Jungkookie.." You say, when he's back above you, wrapping the contraceptive over his length.

"Hm?" He wonders, looking at you wide wide eyes, in all his naked glory and inked up skin.

"I love you." You say, and he grins, brightly even though he's barely illuminated by the little campfire outside.

"I love you too." He responds, adjusting your positions to push himself inside. "Everything about you." He adds on, before he moves, slowly, agonizingly slow, frustrating you. But he seems to enjoy that struggle, rather than feel like he needs to adjust anything. "We've got time." He chuckles, and you wrap your legs around his middle at that.

"Please..!" You beg, and he only cocks his head to the side at that, hair falling into his face a little. "Kook, please, come on-"

"Impatient now?" He wonders, and you huff.

"Obviously!" You call out, making him laugh again before he pushes your thighs towards you, adjusting his pace to a more brutal thrusting.

Your head spins.

"You look so fucking pretty like that." He praises, hands on your skin digging into your flesh, probably leaving imprints later on.

Good.

"Gotta mark you up all pretty too, right?" He grunts into your neck, kissing first, before he bites, sucks, claims almost. "Gotta make sure they know you're mine." He says breathlessly.

"Yours." You respond out of breath yourself, before you clench around him, orgasm hitting you hard at his ruthless pace. He himself can't help the obscene moan that escapes him as well, coming undone only a short time after you.

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"Make sure they know you're mine?" You joke, out of breath. "Where did that come from?"

"My heart." He says, making you slap his chest. "Ow!"

"You're so cheesy!"

"You love me for it."

Yes.

Yes you do.

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic

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catcze · 1 year ago

Text

⠀「 Grocery Shopping *ೃ༄ 」

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 FEAT : 」 Kazuha, Xiao, Thoma, Ayato, Alhaitham

「 ### : 」 gn reader, domestic fluff, established relationship, modern au

Reposted from my secondary blog !!

⠀「 KAZUHA*ೃ༄ 」

An absolute sweetheart who insists on pushing the cart or carrying the basket for you !!

Sticks pretty close to your grocery list, though if something interesting catches his eye he might pick it up and show it to you in hopes to convince you to get it.

His choices in food are of the healthier variety, I feel like. Mostly goes for organic choices, and is pretty well-learned in knowing which fruits, veggies and fish are the freshest and which are the closest to spoiling.

Tbh grocery shopping with Kazuha is so ?? Chill? Like, little to no stress, swear.

It’s just very easy and relaxing, walking through the aisles at a leisurely pace and plucking stuff off of shelves. You two talk about whatever you want as you walk, or sometimes you sing along to the music that plays from the speakers.

If something is too tall for either of you two to reach there’s no problem!! Kazuha can jump pretty damn high so he can reach the tip-top shelf easy peasy ♡

I feel like Kazuha also has a secret sweet tooth? Nothing too wild, but you’d catch him eyeing a pack of marshmallows every now and then, or staring a little too long at a tub of ice cream.

If you seamlessly pluck up whatever sweet he’s debating on getting and put it into the cart, he’ll literally light up and give you a sweet smooch on ur nose :((

⠀「 XIAO*ೃ༄ 」

To his credit !! He’s pretty damn decent as a grocery buddy.

Xiao’s a little introverted, typically choosing not to be around other people for very long periods of time, so him actually volunteering to come with you nearly moved you to tears.

He also pushes the cart from you and keeps track of your grocery list, crossing stuff out for you without you even having to tell him.

Xiao doesn’t talk much, which isn’t very out of the ordinary, but he does give some helpful suggestions when you’re indecisive about something. And he’s very pragmatic and straightforward when he helps you make your decisions, too, so it’s very time-efficient having him with u ♡

He barely asks for anything that isn’t on the list tbh? I dunno, I guess he just doesn’t feel the need to. Not to mention, he’s not particularly picky when it comes to his meals either, so he’s content to sit back and let you take the reins for restocking the fridge.

If his eyes sparkle a little when he sees you picking up ingredients for almond tofu, you choose not to tease him about it.

Definitely the one to try and bring all the grocery bags to the car in one go. And??? He somehow manages it to ??? You have no idea how, or how the guys somehow managed to hold your hand while also toting all those grocery bags but ?? Hey, you’re not complaining.

⠀「 THOMA*ೃ༄ 」

I shit you not Thoma is the best person to go shopping with. Hands down.

Thoma doesn’t go to the supermarket for his groceries, actually. Or at least not all of them. For some stuff that have to be imported or that are a bit harder to come by locally, he goes to the groceries and such.

However, when it comes too food shopping, his first stop are the farmers markets!

He’s already a regular at the local farmer’s market. Old grannies love to pinch his cheeks whenever they see him and they always coo over you two being an adorable couple.

Thoma leads you by the hand all around the farmer’s market the entire time you’re out, knowing which stall to go to for the freshest produce and the most decent price.

Knows how to bargain with the locals without being disrespectful! And he always manages to net really good discounts. If you ask him how he does it, he’ll wink and tell you that it’s just his charm. And you can’t fully disagree.

Definitely brings around his own eco-bags, too. He’s used to carrying all the groceries on his own, but if you offer to help he’ll thank you with a kiss and a smile.

At one point while you two separate to cover more ground, he passes by a stall ran by an old couple and their grandkid that sells flowers. He gets you a bouquet— nothing too big that’s hard to carry around, but something small and cute that you can press between your books and display.

When you reunite and he gives you the gift, he looks so goddamn precious holding out the flowers to you with his smile that u just wanna give him a kiss ♡

⠀「 AYATO*ೃ༄ 」

If Thoma is a god-send to be with when grocery shopping, Ayato is… nicely put, the exact opposite.

Listen I don’t blame the man. He’s rich enough that he’s never really had to do his own groceries before, so he’s a bit out of his element when he accompanies you to do it one day, but it’s still cute that he cleared a part of his busy schedule to help you out with this. He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit (and a pretty face, which helps.)

Motherfucker picks up some incredibly overpriced caviar, looks at the price tag ( $95 !!! For 30 grams what the fuck !!! ) nods to himself like he remembers you having that shit on your grocery list (you do not) and would have plunked it into your cart if you didn’t catch him in time.

He reasons that he’s tried this brand before and that it’s a very delicious-tasting one that you should try yourself, and his reasons are honestly pretty sweet, but it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t need the goddamn caviar. When you try to tell him that you don’t have the budget for it, he offers to get it for you which, again sweet and it makes you want to kiss him, but that’s not the point Ayato !!

Aside from his ignorance inexperience with how much a typical grocery run costs, there’s also the fact that this guy can’t cook for shit. As a result, if he’s not tossing rich person food into your cart, he’s placing shit that should under no circumstances be mixed together in the cart, claiming that he thinks the combination sounds nice to consume.

Ayato, dearest, I love you, but what the fuck is a Cheeto mango shiitake salad ??????

⠀「 ALHAITHAM*ೃ༄ 」

The mf who makes a detailed shopping list, complete with the specific brand of the item you’re looking for, the exact amount, the exact price for said amount plus quantity, and then several alternate brands if the one he was aiming for sells out. All of these are entirely researched before hand.

Well, he either does that, or he goes for he most outrageous expensive shit you’ve every seen.

And no half of the time he doesn’t even throw in the $60 per kilogram cheese because he likes it— he does it because he kinda enjoys pissing off a certain blond architect who invites himself over to sleep on your couch rather often.

It’s usually up to you to cross your arms and stare Alhaitham down, quietly judging him for a petty bitch while he crosses his own arms and stares back at you, one eyebrow raised in the way that makes you not sure if you want to punch him or kiss him.

Sometimes you win and with a sigh, your boyfriend quietly turns and goes off to acquire the next item on his incredibly detailed list, leaving you to put his purchase back as you victoriously fist pump to yourself.

Other times, he wins and you throw your arms up, rolling your eyes so hard as you try not to look at his smirk for fear of actually punching him (or, you know, kissing him and flagrantly having public displays of affection.)

Fine! You say to him with a huff that’s not actually angry. Keep your goddamn parmigiano reggiano.

You can never feel huffy about it for long, though— not when you find an extra tub of your favorite ice cream later as you put the groceries away.

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #Kaedehara Kazuha x reader #Kazuha x reader #Xiao x reader #Thoma x reader #Kamisato Ayato x reader #Ayato x reader #Alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #Kaedehara Kazuha #XIao #Thoma #Kamisato Ayato #Alhaitham #genshin impact #Cw GN reader

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toooster · 11 days ago

Note

Hello! I’m new to your account, can I possibly get a run down of everything?

Hi love!! Welcome to my account! Ofc you can!

(Everything below the cut)

About me: I’m patch, I’m a minor! I’m on this app more than anything, I love music, coloring, and movies! More than anything I love Christmas! I’m a writer (who I write for/masterlist in intro along with all my other information!)

About my amazing moots!

@elysianwayy77 was my first ever mutual and (I believe) one of the first people I interacted with! She is really kind and extremely welcoming! If you’re interested in Grayson Hawthorne (not to sure what he exactly is apart of😭🫶) her blog is a great place to look.

@sparklyjellyfishheartz is also extremely kind and welcoming! She has one of the cutest blogs I think I’ve ever seen, if you’re interested in just girl blogging then she’s definitely a good one!

@333sturns is such an amazing writer, like one of the best I’ve come across!! She is such a kind person as well, if you like the sturniolo’s and want to read fics about them I’d definitely recommend the lovely Alexa!

@your-average-toast-enjoyer has such a welcoming vibe, I initially stumbled onto her blog because of frogs (wether or not they were a fandom lmao) and she’s welcomed me ever since. If you like x-men, Taylor swift, frogs of course, or relatable repost then her blog is the best to follow!

@feynightlight truly is the best blog to go to to find amazing fics. Her blog is where you’ll find the absolute best Bucky Barnes fics!

@soft-likethesunset is the most welcoming blog ever! It doesn’t matter who you are or what you like she’ll welcome you, she is such a kind and amazing human being! She post anything and everything, her blog is basically a party 24/7!

@theodditylacey is my favorite blog. I could sit here and scroll through her blog for HOURS. She has the cutest outfits, the best music taste, she’s an amazing writer, and her market is adorable and so well done! Lacey is someone you could sit there and talk to hours with, she’s well educated and so so so kind. Absolutely one of my favorite blogs.

@iloveyapping they are literally so funny! They’re blog post about so much, like pjo, the marauders, and VLD (even tho they don’t post about it much!) They are so kind and have the warmest heart.

@cassioxpeiaxmgg oml don’t even get me started on her, anything she post I’m guaranteed to laugh my ass off at it. If you like criminal minds AND Matthew gray gubler go check out her account! She’s also hilarious and super kind!

@dazedanddainty I adore Daisy so much, such a kind soul and person. There’s been countless times where I’ve just gone on her blog to rant about stupid things but she always listens! Her blog is so relatable!

@naturalbornluvr literally the most relatable blog you’ll ever come across. I have no other words to explain adoria except relatable 😭🫶

@justafanbutcurious also has insanely good music taste! We don’t interact much but from what I can tell they are super sweet!!

@hxress23 is the sweetest person ever, such a kind soul and so welcoming. Her, lacey, Liz, and Daisy have the most welcoming personalities and are such genuine people.

@loveinalocket is currently partially active but she is so sweet and has the cutest themes ever!

@starlightt-love and k don’t interact often but she seems like such a sweetie from what I’ve seen on other peoples blogs!!

@forestgromlin is so sweet! They are extremely kind and welcoming (I know I’ve said it about everyone but it’s true!!)

@whispered-winds is so sweet and kind, her vibe is just so good and perfect. Like there are not better words to describe her!!

@myhyperfixationisbooks is also so sweet, ever since we’ve been mutuals she’s been so incredibly kind and welcoming!

@stars-over-ice-cream is super sweet as well! She post about Sabrina Carpenter, and she reblogs amazing things!

@auntiejohn is so so kind and her blog is such a safe space!

@wish-i-were-heather and I haven’t interacted much if at all but they seem so so kind and welcoming!

@glxsyymads I saved the best one for last! Maddie is so kind and sweet, she goes out of her way to make you feel welcomed. She has such a sweet vibe and is really funny. It makes my day a little brighter when I see she’s interacted with me or my post, or she’s answered my asks!

That’s most of my moots I believe! My blog is welcomed to anyone and everyone! I believe everyone deserves a place to be themselves so welcome to my corner of the internet.

#toooster #patch yaps #patches moots!#welcome!!

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happy-beeeps · 2 years ago

Text

To Build a Home

WC: 4.2k

Pairing: din x reader

Synopsis: You’re on the hunt to make this house on Nevarro a home, but you’re wrestling with feelings of inadequacy in you and Din’s relationship after he adopts Grogu but doesn’t take you as his riduur. Fluffy, emotional hurt comfort, domesticity, slice of life, Din is a fisherman for 30 seconds.

Warnings: none really! Vaguely ooc Din but I think I got it back. Ever since that one episode of The Bad Batch I’ve just been dying to send Din fishing

A/N: HAPPY MAY THE 4TH!!!!

Fun fact, when I started this blog three years ago it was because the Mandalorian had just come out and people had only just started writing Din fic. I was in the trenches with the other mando fic pioneers. Technically this is the same reader as my first ever longfic “I don’t do droids” which I’ve semi abandoned BUT I do plan on making a better spin off version soon! It's not at all necessary to read that to understand the reader’s backstory though!

* * *

You’ve been to markets before. The familiar fast paced environment had always been something of a vice to you when you traveled with Din, the reprieve from being crammed on the crest or a short expedition for something to snack on. Once or twice Din himself had even accompanied you, with the baby wrapped around your chest in a bundle of fabric, his hand interlaced with yours. Now, though, you’re alone for what feels like the first time in years. You’re wandering through the market at a speed so slow it’s almost comical, taking time to touch, to see, to hear.

It’s exhilarating.

Nevarro has grown since you had first been here, and you can’t say it’s been particularly easy for you to return, to immerse yourself in a system that’s caused you so much pain. There are nights you find yourself thrashing at the sheets at the image of Din’s body crumpling under fire as the rest of you were forced down through the halls of the covert, or the ice that filled your veins when you realized your son had been taken. That Nevarro is gone, however, up in ash like the volcanos that dot the landscape of this system. You have a home here, a real house, and you’re determined to make it into something to rid both you and Din of your nightmares.

You left Din and Grogu at the house and took the small speeder he had been restoring for you back to the city center, parking it just outside the bustling square, ready to go if need be. Old habits die hard, you guess. The city itself now brims with life, families duck in and out of each other as they weave through the streets, droids pull carts of fresh produce. It’s all very exciting, very reassuring.

“Lady Djarin!” A booming voice calls, one that stops the people nearest to you as they part ways to make space for the figure coming through. Greef Karga walks through the parted crowd, offering handshakes and smiles to those he walks past, before coming to stop at you and extending his arm. “Going shopping?”

You blush slightly at the moniker, Din had been clear that you had been made part of his clan and while you were by no means married, you appreciate the sentiment. “You know if I let Din make decisions on the house it’d stay as barren as the day we moved in.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckles, escorting you through the streets and alleys. It really is beautiful here, with overflowing greenery practically spilling out of the windows of the residents, flowers of numerous bright colors dotting shopfronts and the hair of those who walk past you. “Have you been to our markets before?”

You glance at him and quirk up an eyebrow. “Have I ever had much time for shopping when we’ve been on system?”

“You’ve got a fair point.” He leads you farther, until you approach a colorful alley with storefronts boasting fruits, silks, and small goods that stretches farther than you can see. “I recommend the flowers from the Togruta woman halfway down, if you were to pick some up,” and pats your hand before leaving you to your own devices. He knows you well enough at this point to know that you aren’t unable to defend yourself, and that you do occasionally appreciate the rare moments you get away from father and baby.

It’s not that you don’t love them both dearly, you do, so much so that you keenly remember the feeling of bringing a vibroblade up to the chest of Moff Gideon before you were quickly thrown aside. You’ve got the scars to prove it. You adore them. You also needed a moment of peace, to think and feel and make a home out of the house you were so graciously gifted. Besides, you can’t help but feel a little lost in your place in life now, as the dust has settled. Din had clearly adopted Grogu as his son, a fact you really couldn’t be happier about, but where did you land? You had waited with baited breath for him to ask the Armorer to add you to their song, but he hadn’t. Instead the three of you left soon afterwards, planning to meet up at Nevarro after he went to talk to an old friend with the New Republic. You had grown to resent his little two seater N-1, much preferring the space of your trusty fighter.

You walk down the alley, stopping to feel the fabrics and scarves that line the booths. One stall boasts brightly colored blankets, and you rustle through the soft blankets before you find a warm cream color dotted with tiny, multi-colored, embroidered flowers.You hand the shopkeeper the credits, and continue to walk down the street, doing your very best attempt to not buy everything you touch, though you aren’t sure you’ll succeed.

“Fruits! Fresh fruits here!”

“Instruments for the finest songstress!”

“Silks and scarves, keep warm when the sun sets!”

“A treasure for the finest student, primers for language!”

It’s this last seller that stops you in your tracks, reminding you of the reason you first met Din anyways. Sure, your role had grown now, twisted into something beautiful and pure, but aside from being lover, mother, confidant, and pilot, you were at your core, his translator.

“What languages do you offer?” You say, walking into the old man’s small storefront. It’s cool inside, with walls painted a deep blue with light blue outlines of nearby star systems, like a map projected. He’s got datapads and even a few books of flimsi strewn around, tucked into cupboards, as well as collectibles from systems you could only dream of visiting.

“What language do you need?” He grins, pulling out a datapad from his pocket and opening a menu that seems to scroll for years. “I offer most standard tongues, as well as a few more useful in the outer rim. You strike me as someone who’s looking for something a bit more unique.”

“I’m a translator by trade,” you say, scrolling through the offerings until you find something that stops you. “Standard is my craft.”

“A scholar then,” he pauses, and takes the datapad away from you. “When was the last time you learned a language for yourself?”

“I learned Kaleesh when I was younger,” you shrug, and the shopkeeper laughs.

“What does a woman like you need a war-tongue for?” “All the best people in my life are fighters.”

“Perhaps the language of a friend then, a spouse?” he offers, and you stop in your aimless wandering around the shop. Of course, how could you have been so stupid.

“I’ll take one basic primer, for a child, and anything you’ve got on Mando’a.”

Your arms are beginning to tire from the amount of things you’ve picked up: you’ve got toys for Grogu, fruits and vegetables, some meat for dinner, the blanket, your downloads, a few silks to hang for drapery, seeds, and a rug that’s set to be delivered in a rotation. You’re about to turn back, content with the amount of credits you’ve ran through in a day when you notice her, the Togruta woman and her flower stand. She’s inarguably stunning, with wide eyes and lekkuu that stretch down her chest, her markings intricate and carved down her face in an eye-catching way.

“Hi,” you begin as you walk up to her, she’s pruning a bright orange flower now, and she glances up from her work to offer you a smile. “Your flowers come highly recommended by magistrate Karga.”

She scoffs and sets her flower down, offering you a worn hand to shake. “I’m Obesha.” She gestures to the blooms bursting from her cart. “What are you looking for?”

“Well, I’m relatively new in town, me and my,” you struggle to find the word. Din isn’t your spouse, but he’s more than your boyfriend. Frankly, lover feels a little too intimate for this woman you just met. “Companion and our child just settled outside town and I’m looking for something to brighten up our home.”

Obesha grins, before plucking a variety of blue, yellow, and white flowers carefully, tucking in pieces of greenery amongst them. “Turning a house into a home is one of the most challenging, yet rewarding things a being can do.” She gingerly plucks at the leaves, pruning it to perfection, before wrapping the bouquet up in a light gray cloth, which for some unbeknownst reason feels softer than anything you’ve felt before.

“What is this?”

She hums and turns back into her shop, coming out with a larger swatch of fabric, this one decorated with finely worked sheer lace, dyed the same blue-gray as the fabric on the outside of the bouquet. “It’s custom in my village to wear these for special occasions,” she pulls the wrap up to model it on herself, and you’re struck by the way the light filters through the lace. “It’s deceivingly warm and very beautiful.” She folds it up into a small square before handing it to you, “consider it a housewarming gift.”

Your mouth falls open as you struggle to reach into your bag for the credits. “Please, let me pay you, I have the money.”

She extends a hand forward to hush you, then gestures back down the alley. “Pay me back by letting me know what your family thinks of my arrangement.”

* * *

You’re distracted your whole ride back, which you admit probably isn’t the best thing for you to be as you navigate the desert. It’s not a particularly long ride to your home, which you’re grateful for, and you smile as the familiar form of the ships parked outside the small cabin beacon you in. Din and Grogu must not be home, considering he usually rushes to you to take anything you’re carrying and you can typically hear Grogu’s coos before you see him. It isn’t a surprise then, when you walk in to find the house empty, and notice the small message flashing on the datapad he’s left behind.

Gone fishing just down the springs.-D

It’s a habit he’s picked up after the brief time the two of you spent apart, when Grogu went to live with the Jedi and Din went off on his own. He came back to you quickly, finding you easily while you worked as a translator on Tatooine, with the daimyo you and Din had gotten to know very well. He never left without a message again once he had you back, and you smile as you swipe the note away.

“Time to organize!” you clap to no one in particular, and begin setting things up around the home. You tuck the new blanket in along you and Din’s bed (a concept that still feels so foreign after the places you’ve been sleeping recently) and the toys on a shelf in the small room you’ve begun calling Grogu’s nursery. The rest is relatively simple, tucking fabrics along windows and placing fruits in the kitchen. You put the bouquet down in the middle of the small table, and are sure to add fresh water to the vase. It’s really coming together, you have to say. The cabin isn’t particularly large, the majority of the house consisting of one large room that works as kitchen, living, and sleeping space (which you’ve done your best to section off,) a small ‘fresher off towards the back, and the small room you and Din have given to Grogu. It’s perfect for your little clan of three, and you don’t find yourself wishing for more from the space, settling down on the couch and digging into the Mandalorian language pages on your datapad.

You aren’t sure how long has passed when your legs want for movement, and you set the datapad down and opt to go find your fishermen. It’s still blazingly hot on the surface, so you forgo the small shawl and walk towards the direction of the springs. You and Din had both dipped in them on your first night here before you realized the springs died off into a small, cooler pond a short walk away. There, Karga had explained, there was a thriving population of fish and other reptiles that were open for fishing.

You spot them before they spot you, Din’s shiny helmet reflecting in your direction. It’s another thing that’s had your gut twisted in on itself. You’ve seen Din’s face, the day Grogu left you had seen it. In that moment you had fallen deeper in love than you realized even possible. You were absolutely supportive of him and frankly, you were elated he’d been able to be welcomed back into his covert, but you couldn’t help but feel like an absolutely terrible person for it. Honestly, you hadn’t expected this move to domesticity to churn up so many emotions for you, particularly when this is the thing you’ve basically been dreaming of since the two of you first kissed.

Now, he’s perched on a rock, pole in hand, while Grogu sits on his knee, eyes fixed on the pond. You walk up quietly behind him but years of experience have him turning his head to spot you walking. Grogu turns too, and you can swear he gurgles out something to the effect of “buir!” as he bounces up and down on his father’s knee. You move in to scooch beside Din, who happily makes room for you, as you run a hand down the side of his helmet.

“Hi,” you breathe, and his hand, not on the pole, moves to find your fingers.

“Hi.” He murmurs back, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I got some things for the house,” you lean over to scratch Grogu’s ears, “Got some stuff for bug and some food for dinner.”

“Can I cook for you?”

Your cheeks bloom at the words, “Sure, I’ve never had your cooking.”

“Never really had the space to do it,” he shrugs, “but I do now.”

You settle into a comfortable silence after this, and he sets Grogu down to splash in the edge of the pond and rests the fishing pole on the side of the rock. With his hands free, he heaves you up onto his lap and slides his arms around your waist. “Did you get anything for yourself?”

“One or two things,” you wave a hand in the air, “got a language learner for Grogu, thought we could try and teach him basic.”

“Please, as if we need to give him more ways to say ‘No’” He groans, but you can tell from the shake of his shoulders that he’s laughing, and he pulls you in closer to his chest. “We haven’t caught anything all day.”

“Mmm… so he clearly doesn’t get his patience from his father.”

“No, he gets it from his mother.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. Sure, you know you’re his mother, but hearing those words, after the adoption, it floods you with a warmth that has you wishing you could just kiss him right now.

“Cyare,” he starts, his hand coming to rest on your cheek, but is disrupted by the sound of violent splashing. You both jump up just to see Grogu standing at the edge of the pond, fish in hand.

“I guess only one of you had trouble today,” you nudged him playfully before going to scoop up the baby, while he dropped the fish in the pond.

It’s been dangerously quiet inside the house, and you’ve been relegated to sit out on the small bench on the front porch. You appreciate Din cooking but the simple fact that you aren’t entirely sure he knows how to cook slipped your mind when you agreed. Now, you try not to think about that fact, and dedicate yourself to the datapad in your lap. You’ve seen some familiar words, buir and cyare, even the diminutives Din calls you late at night, cyar’ika and mesh’la. You’ve always wanted to pick up his mother tongue, and you want to kick yourself for not doing it sooner. Now, you’re devouring it, trying to learn it all. It’s a rich language, more complex than most you’ve learned. You’re so wrapped up in your reading that when Din opens the front door you jump, and he leans forward to grab your hand, guiding you out of the chair.

“I think it’s done?”

“You aren’t inspiring a lot of confidence here,” you laugh as you walk inside, sitting down at the table next to Grogu. Din brings over the pot and you peer in. He’s done what looks to be a solid job, the vegetables are chopped a little more rough than you could’ve done, and you can tell the meat is slightly overdone, but considering it comes from him, you spoon it onto your plate like it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten. You pour some out in front of Grogu and you feel Din’s eyes practically burn holes in your head.

“Yes?”

“I want to know if you like it.” He’s so quiet, the voice sounding almost shy. You reach over and place a hand atop his.

“There isn’t a universe where you make something I don’t love.”

You both begin eating in silence, (his use of seasoning is surprisingly impeccable, and the meat is only a touch rough) when he starts up again. “The flowers are a nice touch, and the drapes.”

“Thank you,” you blush. “I just wanted to warm it up here.”

“Maker knows I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re lucky to have you.” He reaches over and taps you on the chin before turning his attention to Grogu, running a rag on the table across his mouth as he manages to smear every bite of food across his face.

After dinner, the two of you work to clean the kitchen while Grogu plays with one of the new toys you brought for him in the living room. You and Din are chatting, about nothing, about everything, when the warmth of the moment hits you, and you lean your head on his shoulder. He’s since dressed down to just his helmet, and you can feel the warmth of his skin radiate beneath his shirt. “This is nice.”

“What, dishes?” he laughs, but you can feel his arm snake loosely around your hips as he sets the last plate down.

“Just, this” you gesture to the house, to the pile of dishes, to Grogu playing, “it’s nice to have a home.”

“I already had a home,” he pulls you in closer, you can smell the sweat of the day and his spiced aftershave from where your head falls on his chest. “When Grogu falls asleep, I want to take you somewhere.” He pushes his forehead on yours, before moving to sit on the floor with Grogu, leaving you standing in the kitchen, grinning like an idiot at the scene before you. This is your family, your clan. Husband or not, Din is the love of your life, you’ve lost him and the baby once and you don’t intend to do it again. You set down the cleaning rag and join the two of them on the floor, happy to oblige in whatever game Grogu is playing.

* * *

“Where’d you get that?” Din asks as he leads you down the rocky sides of the springs.

“The florist, it’s shockingly warm.” You pull the shawl tighter around your form and Din stops suddenly. You're back at the pond from earlier only now it looks different. There’s a small blanket strewn across the rock you had sat on earlier, and he scrambles to light a few assorted candles that litter the ground. Even the scenery appears to have changed, as tiny yellow lights dot the air.

“They’re actually tiny lifeforms,” he says, gesturing to the yellow dots, “Karga told me they come out at night over here.”

“It’s beautiful, how come we haven’t been here yet?”

“Just waiting for a good time to get you alone.” He pulls you closer to the rock and the two of you sit down, your back pressed to his chest as you watch the sky turn a deep purple color as the yellow lights dance in the sky. You sit like that in silence for a moment longer when his voice comes out, rumbling and warm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong, why?” You sputter, and you want to smack yourself for how incriminating that sounds.

“You’re hiding it, and hiding it well. But something’s wrong,” his voice comes low to your ear now, still modulated and heavy but him. “What I don’t know is why you won’t tell me.”

“I’m… It’s really not a big deal.”

“Can I guess?”

“If you want.”

“Well,” he breathes in, like he’s holding his breath, “I commed Bo.”

You whip your head around at that. He must have been really concerned to enlist the help of one of your favorite Mandalorians.

“Oh? What did Bo say?” “That I’m a nerf herder.”

You snort at that and settle into his chest again. “Sounds like Bo.”

His hands come up to turn you towards him, and he pulls your legs so you're facing him, your legs wrapping around his waist. You’re close like this, if you leaned forward you could rest your forehead against his. “You doubt me, what I feel for you.”

“That’s not really the way I would put it,” you murmur, and he closes the gap for you, bringing his helmet to your head. “I just was worried… that I wasn’t a part of your clan. You’ve adopted Grogu, and that makes you his father. But I’m just-”

“His mother. Cyar’ika, I haven’t been fair with you.” His hands move to press small circles into your back. “I shouldn’t have let you feel doubt in me, in our clan. You are to Grogu as I am. You’re my-”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” you breathe, and it’s your turn to cut him off, whispering the sweet words to him in the echo of the world. You can hear his breath hitch as he grabs you tighter. “I’ve been practicing all day.”

“You don’t need to speak my language to be a part of me. You already have been for longer than I can say,” he murmurs, and his hand goes to the back of your head. “Gar solus ner aliit, gar solus but buir.”

It takes you a moment to catch up with the translations, the sweet words he’s whispering, and Din uses this moment of thinking to bring both his hands up to his helmet, disengage the locking mechanism, and pull it off, resting it on the rock beside him.

“Din!” you shout, and smack your hands over your eyes, but he’s faster than you and catches your wrists in your hands.

“Look at me mesh’la.” And you do, you drink him in with everything you have, bringing your hands to trace his lips, his nose, eyes refusing to leave his. “I finally have something to offer you.” He whispers, his lips so close to your ear that you swear you’ve died. That must be the case. You’ve simply ascended into the great beyond. “I didn’t add you to the song on Mandalore because I wanted to have something to give you, something to promise you forever.”

You look past his shoulder to the silhouette of the cabin. “Our house.”

“Our home.” He holds your cheeks in his hands, and you can tell he’s been as starved of this as you have. “You’ve made it a home.”

His lips are on yours in an instant, and you’re devouring him like you’ve been starved. Sure, you’ve kissed him since he put his helmet back on, but the weight of all of this, of his helmet being gone, of you seeing him again, it’s like the first time all over again.

“Din, your creed.” You murmur between kisses.

“Save me the trip back to Mandalore and marry me then.”

You pull back, searching his eyes for any joke, and you want to cry when there isn’t one.

“I told you, when I had something to offer you.”

You’re laughing and crying now as he fiddles with the lace hem of your shawl before delicately draping it across your head. “My riduur.”

Even with your expert knowledge of linguistics, the vows are clunky and foreign in your mouth, but with Din smiling at you, you have no complaints. He scoops you and his helmet up almost immediately, walking you back into the cabin and tossing you onto the bed. He breaks from your gaze for just a minute to go into the nursery and emerges with a sleepy-eyed Grogu.

“Hi baby,” you croon as Din places him on the bed and he waddles towards you.

“He loves his buir” Din whispers as he falls into bed beside you. The little green cover stealer is quick to settle between you and his dad, his hands reaching out to press on both of your foreheads. You look over at Din, whose eyes are once again finding yours.

“Welcome home.” He whispers.

You mean to tell him that you love him, that you’re happy to be married to him, but sleep

finds you first. Not that it matters.

He already knows.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mando

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