#ignore the cat for now it’s just whatever for now

[jiminomenon]

model! karina meets assistant! reader’s family

pairing: model! karina x assistant! reader

word count: 1k+

summary: when jimin spots y/n laughing with a gorgeous stranger at a café, jealousy flares up, and she wastes no time strutting over to interrupt. armed with sharp remarks and passive-aggressive digs, she’s ready to stake her claim—until she finds out the “stranger” is actually y/n’s younger sister. turns out, y/n’s entire family is in seoul for a visit, and jimin, the reason y/n hasn’t been able to take any time off, suddenly finds herself face-to-face with the people who know y/n best.

from my series: the devil wears prada

a/n: happy valentines to these 2 idiots right here

jimin was not in a good mood.

she had been on her way to grab coffee when she spotted y/n sitting at an outdoor café across the street. that wasn’t the problem—y/n was always running errands, always moving, always working, and somehow, always looking good while doing it.

no, the problem was the girl sitting across from her.

she was pretty. too pretty. and she was laughing—too much, too close, touching y/n’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

jimin hated her instantly.

with a scowl, she marched across the street, her heels clicking against the pavement with purpose. by the time she reached their table, y/n was mid-sentence, her lips curled into a fond smile as the mystery girl giggled at something she had said.

“oh, y/n, you’re so—”

“who’s this?” jimin cut in, sliding smoothly into the conversation as if she had been invited. she rested a hand on y/n’s shoulder, staking her claim before shooting the other girl a not-so-subtle once-over.

y/n blinked, surprised. “jimin?”

jimin ignored her, eyes still locked onto the girl like a cat sizing up a rival. the girl, to her credit, only tilted her head, a bemused smile tugging at her lips.

“uh… hi?” she greeted, offering a polite nod.

“hi,” jimin echoed, though her tone was anything but polite. she shifted slightly, her presence now looming over the table. “you are?”

y/n exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “jimin—”

“i’m lia,” the girl answered easily, unfazed by jimin’s sharp tone. “y/n’s younger sister.”

silence.

jimin froze.

y/n stared.

lia smiled.

“her what?” jimin asked, voice suddenly a touch less confident.

“sister,” y/n repeated, sighing. “you know, family? blood-related? my parents made another one after me?”

jimin’s mouth opened, then closed. then opened again.

lia leaned on her palm, watching jimin’s reaction with clear amusement. “you thought i was her date, didn’t you?”

jimin stiffened. “no.”

y/n and lia exchanged a glance before turning back to her.

“yes, you did,” lia grinned.

jimin huffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she definitely did not sulk. “whatever. doesn’t matter.”

“oh, it definitely does,” lia teased.

y/n, shaking her head, decided to finally put an end to it. “jimin, my family’s in seoul to visit. they wanted to see me, but a certain someone wouldn’t approve my leave request, so now they’re here.” she gave jimin a look, and for once, jimin actually looked guilty.

“…oh,” she muttered.

“yeah,” lia smirked. “oh.”

just as jimin was about to formulate a response—or an escape plan—a voice called from inside the café.

“lia, y/n!”

jimin turned just in time to see a well-dressed couple walking toward them, carrying their drinks. the resemblance to y/n was undeniable.

oh no.

“speak of the devil,” y/n muttered, standing up. “mom, dad.”

jimin straightened so fast that lia almost laughed.

“this must be jimin?” y/n’s mother asked, giving the model a once-over.

“the boss who won’t let y/n take a break?” her father added, raising a brow.

jimin swallowed. “i—”

“jimin, this is my mom and dad,” y/n introduced, shooting her a knowing smirk. “and i’m sure they’d love to hear why their daughter’s been overworked.”

jimin opened her mouth, then shut it again.

lia, fully enjoying this, leaned in and whispered, “good luck, boss.”

jimin had been in many high-pressure situations before—runway debuts, designer fittings, interviews with vogue—but none of them compared to the pressure of sitting across from y/n’s parents.

they weren’t intimidating, exactly, but jimin could feel their eyes analyzing her, sizing her up like a pair of shoes they weren’t sure fit right. y/n, on the other hand, looked far too entertained by the situation, casually sipping her iced coffee like she hadn’t just thrown jimin to the wolves.

“so,” y/n’s father began, adjusting his glasses as he leaned forward. “you’re jimin.”

“i am,” jimin confirmed, keeping her posture straight, dignified.

“the boss who won’t let our daughter take a break,” he added.

jimin barely kept from wincing. “i���”

“to be fair,” lia chimed in, propping her chin on her hand, “y/n does like her job. or, at least, she likes complaining about it. specifically about jimin.”

jimin raised a brow, interest piqued. “oh?”

“lia—” y/n shot her sister a glare, but the younger girl only smirked.

“oh, yeah,” lia continued. “you’re basically all she talks about.”

y/n groaned. “that is not true.”

“really?” jimin hummed, turning to y/n with a teasing smirk. her earlier nerves were fading, replaced with pure amusement. “because if it is, that would explain a lot of things.”

“don’t start,” y/n muttered, glaring.

“what kind of things?” y/n’s mother asked, clearly intrigued.

“well,” jimin drawled, resting her chin on her palm, “she always acts like i’m such a headache, but now i’m wondering if she actually enjoys being around me.”

y/n scoffed. “i don’t—”

“oh, come on,” jimin pressed, now fully enjoying herself. “if i’m all you talk about, that must mean i’m on your mind a lot.”

y/n rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like “should’ve left you across the street.”

her mother chuckled, sipping her tea. “you two are quite close, aren’t you?”

“they are,” lia agreed, ever the instigator.

“mm,” y/n’s mother hummed thoughtfully. “y/n talks about you so often that, honestly, we thought you two were dating at first.”

y/n choked on her drink.

“mom—!”

jimin’s smirk widened. “oh, really?” she turned to y/n, voice dripping with amusement. “you talk about me that much?”

“okay, we’re done with this conversation,” y/n declared, standing up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. her ears were red—an adorable contrast to her usual stoic demeanor.

“we’re just saying,” her father chuckled, clearly entertained.

“we’re not dating,” y/n insisted, glaring at her sister, her parents, and—most importantly—jimin, who looked far too pleased with herself.

“pity,” jimin mused, standing as well. she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just for y/n. “we’d make a great couple.”

y/n huffed, looking away. “come on. you’re paying for my coffee after putting me through this.”

“oh, i’d love to,” jimin grinned, throwing an arm over y/n’s shoulder as they walked toward the counter. “maybe i’ll pay for your love while i’m at it.”

“shut up.”

[deerlysacred]

🥘 . . . taming a bear, { soldier boy x witch fem!reader } | playing house

𐂂 𝄢 { butcher left you to take care of this famous supe soldier boy for the weekend. }

𖣂 𝄢 fluff, first chapter of the ‘playing house’ series. not sure how much chapters it'll have, planning on 3 for now.

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own the boys or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

The safe house wasn't much to look at. A shitty little apartment in the middle of nowhere, with peeling wallpaper and a draft that whistled through the cracks in the windows. Butcher and the others had left hours ago, and now it was just you and Soldier Boy.

While they were out playing detective, you were tasked with making sure Soldier Boy —Ben— didn't do something stupid, like get himself killed before the job was done or accidentally vaporize an entire city block in a fit of PTSD. Babysitting duty, basically. Butcher had even been patronizing enough to say, "Keep 'im happy. Maybe cook 'im a meal or somethin'." As if you weren't already the unofficial den mother of this ragtag mess of a team.

So. Cooking it was.

You figured stew would be easy enough. One pot. Minimal effort. Warm, fulling, impossible to fuck up. All you had to do was get through the next weekend without pissing off the most volatile superhuman in history or dying from secondhand smoke inhalation.

Simple.

Except Ben was watching you. Very closely.

Not in the way most men did— sly glances, stolen looks when they thought you wouldn't notice. No, his stare was direct and sharp. It was the kind of look that made you hyper-aware of every movement, of the slow stir of the spoon in your hand, of the subtle hitch in your breath.

Ignore him. He's like an old cat— if you acknowledge him, he'll just do it more.

He was sprawled on the couch, beer dangling lazily between his fingers, the flickering TV screen casting sharp shadows over his face. Even like this —half-drunk and half-bored— he had a presence that was impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders slouched, thick arms corded with muscle resting over the couch. His long legs were spread wide, the denim of his jeans stretching over thick thighs. "What the hell are you even makin' over there?" His gruff voice cut through the quiet, laced with skepticism. "Smells weird."

You glanced over your shoulder for a second, catching him scrunching his nose like a spoiled golden retriever. "It's stew." you said, giving the pot another slow stir.

Ben snorted, bringing the beer to his lips, his throat bobbing with each slow swallow. "Christ. What, Butcher put you up to this? Thought you were my fuckin' babysitter, not my goddamn housewife."

Heat crept up your neck at that, but you ignored it, choosing instead to focus on chopping up some carrots. "Yeah, well, I figured if I let you fend for yourself, you'd either burn this place down trying to use the microwave or get scammed into buying twenty-dollar fast food. So here we are."

"Dont need a goddamn caretaker too. I'm a grown man." he muttered into his beer, but there was something almost amused in his tone. Maybe even… appreciative? You weren't sure. His default setting was 'grumpy' so it was hard to tell.

You scrapped the chopped vegetables into the pot, watching as they disappear beneath the simmering broth. The aroma was actually kind of nice, despite what Ben said.

For a while, there was only the sound of bubbling stew and whatever car chase was happening on TV. Then, Ben spoke up again.

"Didn't know witches cooked." His voice was a low drawl, rough around the edges like he smoked a thousand cigarettes (which, let's be real, he probably had).

"What, you think I survive on eye of newt and bat wings?"

He shrugged, took another swig of his beer, and gestured vaguely at you with the bottle. "Dunno. Figured you just… I dunno, chant some shit and make food appear. Like poof— supper's on the table."

You rolled your eyes. "That's not how magic works."

"Then what's the point?"

Your grip tightened slightly on the spoon. "Oh, I don't know, maybe I like doing things with my hands."

You realized your mistake the second his lips quirked up into a shameless grin.

"Yeah? Bet you do."

You groaned, immediately regretting everything. Maybe if I just jumped out the window— no, bad plan, third floor. Maybe—

Ben chuckled, low and satisfied with himself, as he settled deeper into the couch. "What's in it anyway? Gotta admit it's starting to smell… decent."

You grinned, dropping some salt in with a flick of your fingers. "Beef, potatoes, carrots, some herbs— basic stuff."

He raised an eyebrow. "You do all this by yourself?"

You blinked, a little thrown by the question. "Uh… yeah?"

"Huh." He took another sip of his beer, gaze sliding over you in a way that feels almost calculating. "You'd make a good housewife."

You froze mid-stir, processing that absolute relic of a statement. Then, slowly, you turned to him, wooden spoon still in hand. "Excuse me?"

He smirked, completely unrepentant. "You heard me."

Your fingers tightened around the spoon. "I'll have you know I am not housewife material."

Ben scoffed. "Bullshit. You cook, you clean—"

"I don't clean for you—"

"—you do all that magic hocus-pocus shit, probably got some potion that makes a man sleep like a baby. Bet you'd keep a husband real happy." He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the coffee table, the grin on his face wicked. "Ever think about settling down, sweetheart?"

Your eye twitched. "Yeah. Every day. With arsenic."

Ben barked out a laugh, a real one, amused. "Shit, you got some bite to you, huh?"

You sighed, turning back to the stew before you say something that gets you vaporized. "I don't know what kind of women you were around back in the day, but I'm not some 1950s housewife."

"No shit, women these days got more bark than they used to."

You tossed a disbelieving glance his way. "Gee, I wonder why."

Ben shrugged like it was all the same to him. "Not complaining. I like a girl with some fight in her."

For some reason, that made your stomach do something weird. Not good weird, but… weird. You busied yourself with the stew. "You're impossible."

"I'm a fucking delight."

"Sure."

Silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional pop of the stew as it simmers. Ben watched you for a while, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. Then, surprisingly, he asked: "How'd you learn?"

You blinked. "Learn what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely to the stove, to you, to the whole cooking situation. "Somebody teach you?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by the genuine curiosity. "Yeah… my mom."

Ben hummed, gaze drifting slightly. "That right?"

"Yeah." You stirred absently, the memory coming back to you. "She used to say that food is one of the simplest ways to care for someone. That a good meal can fix a lot of things."

Ben took that in, quiet for a beat. Then—

"That's some sappy shit."

You sighed. "Of course that's what you take from it."

He smirked. "Hey, you wanna cook for me, I'm not gonna complain. Just sayin' —a blowjob does the same thing and takes half the effort."

WHAT THE—

Your hand twitched violently, almost sending the spoon flying. Ben just laughed at your shock. You didn't throw the spoon at Ben's stupid face, but God, the temptation was there. Instead, you took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. The stew was done. It smelled rich and hearty, the kind of meal that sticks to your ribs. You grabbed two bowls, ladled some in, and set them on the table, sliding one towards Ben with a little more force than necessary.

"There. Eat."

Ben eyed the bowl, then you, smirking like he could hear every profanity currently screaming in your brain. "Didn't even spit in it. How sweet."

"Yet." you muttered under your breath as you sat across from him.

Ben picked up the spoon, scooping up a chunk of beef and potato. He gave it a cautious sniff —because apparently, despite surviving years of eating God-knows-what, he suddenly didn't trust food— before taking a bite.

His chewing slowed.

You watched him carefully. "Well?"

He didn't answer right away, just chewed, swallowed, and went in for another bite. Then another. His brow furrowed slightly, like was confused. "…Huh."

You raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Ben pointed his spoon at you. "This is actually pretty fuckin' good."

You snorted. "Wow, thanks. High praise from a guy who probably ate paint as a child."

Ben grinned. "And look how I turned out."

"Oh yeah. Perfect specimen." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help feeling a little pleased as he kept eating. Soldier Boy, the walking nuclear warhead, was sitting in front of you, wolfing down your cooking like it was the best thing he had in decades.

He gestured at the bowl. "So, this, uh… this is normal now?"

You tilted your head. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Like… people don't eat TV dinners and spam anymore?"

"Okay, first of all, people still eat that stuff. But yeah, home-cooked meals are still a thing. Not everyone survives on frozen shit."

Ben grunted. "Didn't have time to cook back in the day. Always off doin' supe shit. When I was home, I had a hire girl do it."

You gave him a dry look. "Of course you did."

He smirked. "What? S'how it was. You'd have fit right in back then."

You scoffed. "Yeah, except I wouldn't have been cooking for you."

Ben chuckled, shaking his head as he dug back into the stew. For a while, there was just the sound of eating— the quiet clink of spoons against bowls. It was oddly… peaceful.

Then, naturally, Ben ruined it.

"So, what's the deal with you and Butcher?"

You paused mid-bite, blinking at him. "What?"

Ben gestured vaguely. "You two got a thing or somethin'?"

You nearly choked on your food. "What—God, no!"

Ben smirked, clearly entertained by your horror. "That a little too much mustache for ya?" Caressing his beard.

You shuddered dramatically. "Ew. Please. I don't need that image in my head while I'm eating."

"Figured. Butcher doesn't seem like the type to go for weird little witch girls."

You narrowed your eyes. "Weird little witch girls? I'm gonna hex you."

Ben laughed, deep and throaty, one hand drumming against the coffee table. "So if it ain't Butcher, you got someone else?"

You frowned. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged, popping another bite into his mouth. "Just makin' conversation."

You studied him for a moment, then sighed, stabbing at your stew. "No. No one."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What, a cute thing like you, no boyfriend?"

Your face heated slightly, but you rolled your eyes. "Oh, please. I don't have time for that. I've got more important things to worry about than—" You waved your spoon vaguely. "—dating."

Ben hummed, considering you. "That's a damn shame."

You cleared your throat. "Why? You wanna sign up?"

"Depends. Do I get more stew out of it?"

You scoff. "Oh, that's what you're after. The food."

"Hey, I ain't gonna lie to you, sweetheart. You cook like this, a man starts thinkin' long term."

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly sprained something. When you were done, you stood up. "I'm gonna go wash my hands." Ben just grunted in acknowledgment.

You headed to the dingy little bathroom, shaking your head as the faucet rattled before spitting out a weak stream of warm water. Just as you were drying your hands with a towel, you heard it—

Ben's voice, raised and pissed.

Your stomach dropped.

Oh, God. Nononononononono…

You barely dried your hands before rushing out of the bathroom, half-expecting to find him punching holes in the walls or squaring up against some poor delivery guy. Instead, you skidded to a stop in the middle of the living room and found him standing there, broad-shouldered and brimming with barely restrained fury, gripping your phone in one massive hand like he was debating whether to crush it.

"You answered my phone?!" you yelled.

Ben turned his head, green eyes blazing, irritation sharp in the hard set of his jaw. "You didn't answer it," he shot back. "Thought it was somethin' important! Instead, some dickhead named Greg starts yappin' in my ear about 'overdue payments' and 'interest rates'— what the hell kinda scam you wrapped up in?"

Your eyes widened. "Wait— you talked to the bank man?"

Ben crossed his arms, his expression pure fury. "Damn right I did."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "Oh my god. What did you say?"

"I told 'im to go fuck himself, that's what I said! Told 'im he's a snake oil peddler and if he wants his money so bad, he can come down here and fight me for it like a man."

Your jaw dropped. "BEN."

"What?"

"That was my credit card company! I owe them money!"

Ben blinked, his green eyes zoning out for a second. "…So?"

"So, now they probably think I'm trying to threaten them instead of paying them!"

Ben scoffed, waving a hand. "Good. Maybe they'll stop calling, then. Bunch of bloodsuckers, the lot of 'em."

You groaned again, stomping over and snatching your phone from his grip. "Unbelievable. You threatened my bank!"

Ben smirked, utterly unrepentant, his lips quirking like this was the most fun he had in weeks. "Ain't my fault they folded like wet paper. Bunch of pussies."

"You told Greg to fight you over my credit card bill!"

His smirk widened, slow and wolfish, dimples cutting deep into his bearded cheeks. "Hell yeah, I did. Told 'im I'd meet him anywhere, anytime. Guy backed off real quick."

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and horrified.

"Y'know what?" You inhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned away. "I'm just gonna pretend this didn't happen." With that, you flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and covering your face with it, muffling a scream.

You were never letting him near your phone again.

Later that evening, after the dishes had been washed (mostly by you, with Ben half-assedly drying them and complaining the whole time), you made coffee. Because let's be honest, after that absolute disaster Ben caused, you needed caffeine. Badly. You brewed it. Strong, dark, and just slightly sweet.

Ben eyed the two steaming mugs as you set them on the table. "You drink coffee at night?"

You shrugged. "Why not?"

He scoffed, grabbing his. "No wonder you're so high-strung."

You shot him a flat look. You wanted to say 'Says the guy who's been vibrating with unresolved rage since 1984.' but you bit your tongue. Knowing which lines to not cross.

Ben took a sip, his expression barely changed, but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly told you that he approved.

You curled up on the couch, hands wrapped around your mug. "So… now that we're stuck together for the weekend, what do you usually do to pass the time? Besides smoking, drinking, and picking fights with my credit card company?"

Ben smirked over the rim of his mug. "That about covers it, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes. "Figures."

For a while, silence settled. Not awkward, not tense. Just… quiet. The only sounds were the occasional clink of a mug against the table, the low hum of the fridge, and the faint noise of a distant car passing outside.

Then Ben spoke.

"You really think a meal can fix shit?"

You blinked, turning to him. "Huh?"

"That thing you said earlier. About food fixin' things." He didn't look at you, just stared at his coffee. "That just some witchy sentimental crap or do you actually believe it?"

You hesitated, then answered honestly. "I think… it's not about the food itself. It's about what it represents. Taking care of someone. Letting them know they're not alone." You traced the rim of your mug. "Even if it's just for one meal. It's a moment outside of everything else— outside of all the chaos. A moment where you sit down, you eat, and you know, for just a little while, that you're okay. That someone thought enough of you to keep you warm, to make sure you had something real in front of you. Then adding another meal, another evening onto it. Then another, then another… Building something safe and sound with a person."

Ben was quiet. His fingers tapped against his mug in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Then—

"…No one ever did that for me."

Your chest tightened. You turned to him fully, but his expression was unreadable, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something distant.

"…Not even your team?" you asked softly.

Ben huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. Those assholes? They couldn't wait to get rid of me."

You frowned. "Payback."

Ben's grip tightened around his mug. "Yeah. Bunch of goddamn backstabbers. Lied to my fuckin' face. My own team— people I trusted."

The weight in his voice made something twist in your gut. Crimson Countess was already dead. You didn't ask for details— if Ben had killed her, you doubted there was much left to find. But the others… they were still out there. Still breathing. They lived freely while Soldier Boy was trapped in there for years. You did know his reasons to want revenge. Or at least, you had an idea. The experiments, the isolation, the years of being kept in a frozen hellhole with nothing but agony and rage to keep him company.

"…That's why you want revenge."

His eyes flicked to you.

You didn't look away. "I understand that. I may not be in your shoes but I can't even guess how much I would want to get revenge if I was."

Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. "They don't get to walk free after what they did." His jaw clenched. "They don't get to live their goddamn lives while I spent forty years rotting in a cage."

You swallowed. You could hear it in his voice, that deep, burning rage. But beneath it, buried under layers of anger and bravado— you could hear the hurt.

You hesitated, then—

"…What if it doesn't make you feel better?"

Ben's brows furrowed. "What?"

You held your coffee a little tighter. "What if you get your revenge, but it doesn't change anything? What if it doesn't make the pain go away?"

Ben stared at you.

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. "Christ. You always this fuckin' sentimental?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Just something to think about."

Ben didn't respond right away. He just took another slow sip of his coffee, his gaze distant, like he was turning your words over in his head.

For once, he had nothing smart-assed to say. And for some reason, that unsettled you more than anything else.

You pushed yourself up with a yawn, your eyelids getting heavier. "Alright. I'm calling it. I need sleep."

"Tch. Lightweights, all of you."

You ignored that. "There's a room for you down the hall. I set up the bed earlier."

That got his attention. He turned, giving you a slow once-over, before smirking. "That right? Real cozy set-up we got here. What, you tucking me in too, sweetheart?"

Your eye twitched. "No. But I will hex you into insomnia if you keep pushing it."

Ben chuckled, low and amused, but thankfully he didn't tease further. He stretched— an obnoxiously big stretch, broad chest rising, arms flexing, before he finally stood with a groan. "Fine, fine. Since you're gettin' all cranky."

You rolled your eyes, already padding toward the bedrooms. The safe house was small, so it wasn't much of a walk. Just two rooms, side by side, with a narrow hallway between them. You stopped in front of your door, reaching for the knob, when you heard Ben behind you.

"This one mine?" He nudged the door beside yours with his boot.

"Yeah." You stifled another yawn. "There should be clean blankets in there."

Ben huffed. "You really went all out, huh?"

You glanced over your shoulder. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a tired yet amused look.

You shrugged. "Just figured you'd rather not sleep on a couch that smells like stale beer and mix of suspicious liquids."

Ben snorted. "Sweetheart, I spent years sleeping in a fuckin' icebox. I ain't picky."

There was something about the way he said it— too casual, too offhand— that made your chest tighten a little.

You hesitated. There was a beat of quiet, only the faint hum of the old heater filling the space between you. You shifted on your feet. "…Well. If you need anything, just—" You gestured vaguely towards the wall between your rooms. "Bang or… whatever."

Ben's lips quirked. "That an invitation?"

Your fingers tightened around the doorknob, nails pressing into the cool metal. The way he looked at you now —hooded gaze, mouth curled just enough to be tempting— it sent something warm curling in your gut, heat prickling at your neck.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, gripping the door handle. "Goodnight, Ben."

"Night, witchy."

You groaned, stepping into your room and shutting the door with a click. But as you laid back down, the sounds of the apartment settling around you, the knowledge that he was right there, just on the other side of the wall, was… strangely comforting. You didn't want to think further why you felt that…

[deadhands69]

Cute When You Stutter

loser!Shigaraki x gn/afab Reader

prev ◁ part 3 ▷ next

[series masterlist]

The photos you posted with Shigaraki were pretty popular among your friends, most of whom were absolutely surprised at the news of you having a boyfriend (especially the people who recognized him from the news.) Among the notifications you received, one message from an old friend stands out:

you’re bringing him to my party tonight, right?

Honestly, you forgot about the party until now. It’s too late to bail though, you've said you'd be there multiple times by now. 

Back to your screen, there are already five likes on the comment and a handful of responses all indicating they want to meet your new guy.

I don’t know, you respond, he’s probably busy

Thinking that will end the conversation, you go about your day.

Checking your phone a few hours later, you find that your comment only sparked more discussion from people who your ex has already gotten to. Statements like he’d leave you alone at a valentine’s party and i heard this was fake flood your screen.

A fleeting thought tells you to drop it. Go on with your life and ignore anyone who questions you. None of it needs to be their business. 

Given that that’s not gone well for you with anything to do with your ex, you abandon that sort of thinking and push further. You’ll have to bring Shigaraki by eventually if you’re continuing this, might as well rip off the bandaid and get it over with today. 

You pause at Tomura’s door, remembering that the last time you saw him he was running from your room after cumming in his pants. Please don’t be more awkward than usual you repeat to yourself. Knocking briefly, you enter unceremoniously. He abandons his game, pulling the cat ear headset onto his neck. This is a massive departure from his usual response of grumbling at you for invading his privacy.

Cutting straight to the point, you ask if he’ll continue the dating charade in person. Noting that you’ll absolutely make it worth his while.

“All this for that guy?” he asks, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

“No! Not really? It’s just,” your voice is shaking in frustration, “I know he’ll tell everyone and I don’t want my friends to pity me or be weird about it.” 

“So, it’s not even about him. It’s about your old friends.”

“Exactly,” your voice sounds as desperate as you feel and you know he can sense that, “you don’t even have to stay for very long. And I’ll-”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he says so casually that you’re not sure he fully understands what he agreed to.

“Thank you!” you exclaim, “it’s tonight. Leave at 8?”

“Okay,” he pulls his headset back on and returns to his game. As you leave, you barely hear him mumble under his breath, “if they still listen to what he says, I think you deserve better friends. No one here would ever do that.” 

Stumbling out the door of your bedroom, you realize with the amount of effort you put into looking presentable, you’re running slightly late. Shigaraki is waiting for you in the living room, having cleaned up surprisingly well. His hair is freshly washed, clothes clean, and whatever soap/deodorant combo he used smells amazing. For a moment, you forget why the two of you are going to this party together in the first place and begin to actually look forward to the evening. Giddy, even. You take a moment to remind yourself that this is the same guy who awkwardly huffs your laundry detergent because it smells like you, plays dating sims on full volume, and gets hard if you so much as glance in his direction. There’s no need to be nervous.

When you arrive, the party is already packed. Having expected a more quiet evening with maybe a few games or conversations, you’re a bit shocked to walk in and immediately see your ex trying to chug champagne from a beer bong.

“I should have warned you he’d be here,” one of your friends ushers the two of you into another room. “It’s just, you get it,” she pleads.

No, you don’t get it but you’ll keep the peace.

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumble, pouring sweet sparkling wine from a sticky bottle into two plastic cups. 

“Cheers!” you say, sloshing your drink into Tomura’s. Even in a room full of people you know, you find yourself preferring to spend time with him. You have to admit he’s growing on you.

After an hour of small talk and dragging around your awkward arm candy, Shigaraki excuses himself to find a restroom. Now’s as good a time as any to refill your cup for what you're guessing is either the fourth or seventh time so you head to the kitchen. Your asshole ex misses absolutely no time in cornering you.

“You look nice tonight,” he says, arms caging you into the counter. Without a verbal response, you glare at him before ducking under his arm and walking away, champagne bottle in hand. He yells after you, “come on, that guy? He probably fucks his fist every night crying over you.”

You know he does, the two of you share a wall. And it’s cute, that’s part of why you like him. Wait…what? You’ll come back to that thought later. Heading to find Tomura in a rush, you collide with him in the hallway. Maybe it’s the dizzying amount of drinks you’ve already had but he looks so kissable. And you did say you’d make tonight worth his while.

Pulling him into the nearest door you see, you find yourself in the bathroom. Perfect. 

He still has the deer in the headlights look on his face as you lock the door behind you. You set the bottle of champagne on the counter, pressing him into the corner between the door and wall. He whimpers at your touch.

Dragging your lips over his, you whisper “I thought you’d be used to me by now.” You kiss him slowly, drawing it out. He hums as you lightly suck his bottom lip between your teeth. “I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve touched you.” His mouth cracks open, letting you slide your tongue over his. “And I know what you do every night, the walls are thin. I hear it when you moan my name.”

He blushes at the thought, wanting to be ashamed but he can't. Not with the way your sweet lips linger on his.

Your hand trails down the front of his thin shirt, past the hem, and to his growing erection. Tracing the outline of him, you reach to unbutton his pants.  Hand hovering over the zipper, you glance back at his face. He’s practically crying at your touch.

“P-please,” he quietly pleads.

It’s the furthest you’ve ever been with him and he hasn’t cum instantly and run away which is progress. Unzipping his pants and pulling the length of him out of his underwear, it’s prettier than you expected. He’s rock hard already, grinding himself into your hand. You wrap your fingers around his dick, stroking him slowly while you resume kissing him. Your mouth moves over his jaw and down his neck as he throws his head back, panting. His hands are fists at his side, trying hard not to touch anything.

“Fuck,” he whines, breathlessly. You suck his neck harder, bringing your free hand to massage his tip. 

Immediately, he throws his clenched hands around your shoulders. He groans, covering your hands in pearly white that drips between your fingers. You hum in amusement. How many times have you made him cum without ever getting to see it? He whimpers in overstimulation as you run your hands over him a few more times to get the last few drops out.

Crimson eyes follow you through the room as you move to wash your hands. 

“I- uhm, thanks,” he mumbles, struggling to pull his pants over his still hard dick. You smirk at him, while making yourself presentable again.

“Awe, fuck,” you mutter to your phone. In the four minutes you were in here with him, all hell seems to have broken loose outside. The few texts from your friends make you cringe.

your ex is out here

hes sad

you should give him another chance! he says hes really sorry

hes hotter than your new boyfriend anyways

“Ugghhh,” you grumble, taking a massive swig off the champagne bottle you nearly forgot on the bathroom counter. They know he cheated on you and they know how you felt about it, yet you're still having to deal with this.

“What, what’s going on?” Tomura asks, tailing you as you shove open the door and stumble into the hallway. You’re not really sure why, but you show him your phone.

“Oh,” he mouths, eyebrows raised. “Do you want to go?” he asks tentatively as you chug what’s left of the champagne.

As you enter the living room, one of your friends approaches, begging you to talk to him. Through double vision, you watch as your ex’s girlfriend rushes out the door, crying. She doesn’t deserve this, you decide, and neither do you. You sway slightly as you turn to Tomura who’s standing awkwardly by your side. 

And, the rest of the night is black. 

You don’t remember anything after that.

next - series masterlist - bnha masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @kalulakunundrum

[archivewriter1ont]

Echo and the Cadet Batch Chapter 16: How To Babysit Aboard a Warship Is Out!

(adorableness I want to squeeze them) art by @littletroggo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58834273/chapters/149944141

(Ugh the insert-link feature is not working again)

Summary:

Time moves differently in the Negotiator's current time zone, so the 501st and the 212th are still trying to a) keep the cadets as much a secret as possible and b) manage to keep them safe aboard a warship. After fighting alongside them as adults and adjusting to their crazy, Rex hopes that settling the baby batchers down for dinner and bedtime will go smoothly. It does not.

SNEAK PEEK: ⬇️

“Crosshair, get that pencil out of your mouth,” Echo chided gently. “That’s why you have the toothpicks.”

Rex smothered a smirk as Crosshair shot a petulant frown at the cyborg but did as he was told. The small sniper plucked the eraser end of the pencil out of his mouth but didn’t replace it with a toothpick – he was far too busy concentrating on the sketchpad in front of him. 

The captain had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, content to observe what was going on around him, but now he leaned over and tried to get a better look at the drawing, suddenly intrigued. He had just gotten obliterated by Tech in a chess game – the little engineer had not known how to play until an hour ago, but apparently learned strategy quickly and was ruthless once he did – and he could still see Wrecker and Boomer showing Hunter an array of magic tricks, though he wasn’t sure if the tracker cadet was actually interested or just accommodating his brother’s excitement. But he hadn’t seen Crosshair budge from that spot for at least an hour. Ever since he had found the sketchpad and pencils while rummaging through his older counterpart’s pack, the white-haired cadet had been sprawled out on the floor, feet kicking methodically in the air, obsessed with whatever he was watching take form on the thin, cream-colored paper.

“What’re you doing, kiddo?” he asked. He was making a point to refer to the cadets by such names as often as possible, since he wouldn’t likely ever get to do so again once they were replaced by the adult batchers he knew and loved. 

Though whenever that switch happened, he was already planning to bring up the whole “sketching” thing to Crosshair. Apparently Echo had known of the sniper’s artistic streak but Rex had not, which made him think it would be the perfect thing to bring up when the snappy batcher wanted to ignore that the combined forces of the 501st and 212th had now seen him as a mostly-harmless little cadet.

At his question, Crosshair immediately looked up. His sharp eyes narrowed at the blonde clone, but unlike his older self, he didn’t immediately bite off a none of your business or the like. Instead he hesitated, the end of the pencil inching back toward his mouth as he weighed whether he should answer.

Finally, he spoke in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice. “Something.” He tilted the sketchpad further away from Rex and adjusted his position on the floor, nearly blocking the entire thing from view. 

Rex slid closer, now determined to see what something was. Crosshair snatched up the pad and held it to his chest, turning away and eyeing him like a suspicious cat. Rex could almost imagine the little sniper’s white hair standing on end like a kitten’s, too.

He smiled at the mental image. “What kind of something?” he probed, trying to sound casual. 

(Whoops my hand slipped and I added 2k more words than I meant to. The snuggles part I referred to yesterday is now in chapter 17. 😁)

TAGLIST: @leapingbadger, @badbatchposts, @kybercrystals94, @maybe-some-words, @moonsstarsandscience, @littletroggo, @spinoqueenwrites,

NPT bc I thought you might like it: @happydragon, @indigofyrebird

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! ❤️❤️

[chansakura]

Sakura sat still as he climbed out the window, her eyes following him until he disappeared into the night. She didn’t stop him. There was no need to. Whatever he was doing, he had already made up his mind about it.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned. Blood stained his hands and face, fresh and dark, and in his grasp, something small and wriggling shimmered with an eerie glow. A soul. A real one.

Sakura’s stomach twisted, a deep-rooted unease she had never been able to shake. The sight of it made her throat tighten, her body instinctively rejecting what she knew she was supposed to crave.

“Um….”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she watched him—really watched him. There was something different in his expression now, a spark of something genuine, something alive but a little.

She stood and moved wordlessly to clean the blood from the floor, the scent filling the air like iron and regret. By the time she was done, he had already started cooking. The smell of seasoned meat drifted through the small space, rich and savory, masking the sharp metallic tang of blood. It was strange, almost normal. If she ignored what it was—if she let herself pretend—this could have been any other meal, made by a restaurant.

But it wasn’t.

She hesitated as he set the plate before her. The meat was cooked well, seared to perfection, but the real test wasn’t the flesh—it was the soul. A small, condensed orb sat atop the dish like a garnish, pulsing faintly with leftover energy.

Sakura heard his instructions and stared at it, unmoving.

She had tried before. Had forced herself, again and again, to be what they expected her to be. But every time, the soul burned in her throat, her body rejecting it before it ever reached her stomach.

But he made it just for her.

He had gone through the effort. He had tried for her. She could try, too.

She lifted the cup of blood, swallowing a mouthful first to coat her throat. Then, without giving herself time to think, she took the soul between her fingers and placed it in her mouth.

It was warm. Pulsing. Still alive in some way.

She swallowed down.

And it gave her much more energy she needed than the energy drink or blood itself.

“I-I did it!” She cheered, her gaze flickered up to his like a cat being adopted.

It wasn’t so bad after all.

Not afraid - @chansakura - Finn x Sakura *CLOSED RP*

The alleyway reeked of damp asphalt and old blood, a scent Finn had grown accustomed to. He leaned against the brick wall, one boot pressed casually against it, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was tired and desperately needed a shower. A job had gone sideways tonight. The mark wasn’t where they were supposed to be, and now Finn was stuck waiting, calculating his next move. But then there it was. A shift in the air. Someone was watching. His fingers twitched toward the knife hidden beneath his coat. "If you're gonna stand there like a damn ghost, you might as well step into the light," he muttered, voice low, edged with amusement. Was it a threat? A client? Or just another poor soul who didn’t know better than to get too close? It didn't matter, someone was there and he had to see if they were going to be trouble or not.

[b1mbodoll]

i Hate being sick

[dreamlogic]

aye can i get a fuckin uuuhhhh

break. on my burger

[chaotic-bun]

i heard you loud and clear 🫡

[cha1cedony]

Thinking about how Lincoln and Chris are both SUPER jealous people. Love them but that must’ve been a crazy marriage lmaoo

[mirmidones]

why do men feel the need to start a conversation with girls all the freaking time. fucking trip into the railroad and die

[kellerybird]

Being a Big Girl and going to the laundromat and it's already been such an ordeal aaaaah

First I was halfway there when i realized i forgot my quarters so I had to turn around and to back home to grab them

Then when I was nearly there I realized I left my headphones at home

At least I remembered the laundry and detergent??

[humanmorph]

i spent some time doing this yesterday & just wanted this on my blog.

[briefeee]

Soundwaves face? Starscream!? The overall interaction and expressions playing like a little film clip? Seeing it is driving me nuts (in a good way) because of how expressive they look and the shape of Starscream's pupils. He looks so—not torn necessarily by his conflicting emotions or whatever may have been running through his mind at this moment, but it could also be some inexcusable form of direct anger, rage, or something that demands a full case worth of effort (in his mind) has to be done by him because Soundwave won’t give up whatever information or bout of mental clarity was asked of him right now. He may already have his own suspicions, maybe already on what Soundwave's answer is, but it has to come from Soundwave to matter/be real enough to deal with the aftermath of all of this (like the answer will change anytime but what it really is).

The problem is: he's dealing with an insane little bat from hell who's also an insane little cryptic. He's not meant for this place or this type of interrogation/conversation, Starscream! Let him be insane sometimes!?Though goodness knows Starscream could always just be lost in the moment as to whatever caused such a ruthless action/response to Soundwave and finally came back to his senses when Soundwave finally looked him in the optics and said something. His little, "Oh no, what have I done!" moment of clarity makes me laugh almost; therein lies that little bit of realization and guilt, or not guilt; only Primus knows that he will justify it all in his spark and (maybe) try to make it up to Soundwave by telling him, "If you weren't so, I wouldn't have had to!! Not my fault!! 😭" He just deflects all blame while patching up the annoyed bat. At least give the cute hellbat a treat, Starscream, something to nibble on while his frame handles all the static charge, thinking about whatever his brain can conjure up now; it's hard to connect to another Cybertronian after experiencing immense horrors, okay!

✿ When I look at you, sometimes I question my own sanity. For you, I am the worst version of myself. For you, I am the best version of myself. Maybe as time passes, I will finally understand why re-visiting the tortured demise of our relationship was a disguised but held hope for more. ✿

Primus forbid a mech be a little bit insane from their own ability and the horrors of being in a horrible institute 😒 can’t do anything in Cybertron these days. This isn’t necessarily part of my continuity’s story cuz it doesnt really have one yet so just imagine whatever story you want for this tbh. Maybe you’d get some ideas

[sexcaliburs]

I've been telling my family that my sister bringing a cat to our house was a horrible idea for a long while. We have dogs that don't behave around cats despite our previous efforts to train them, it just wouldn't be a safe environment for a cat to be in

It took our dogs attacking a stray cat for them to listen to me and not tell me I'm just "worrying too much"

[jacksallys]

x

[choccorin]

catboy!haruka, hear me out. PLEASE!

thinking about rehabilitating a catboy that had been jumping from home to home due to his aggressive nature. hissing at every human that comes closer to him. ears flattening at the slightest of actions towards him that he instinctively raises his clawed hand to defend himself.

so the group who handles rehabilitation for hybrids had you taking care of him for the mean time. hoping he'll soften up to you and prepare him for society in which you gladly took him.

it wasn't easy for you. adjusting your new life with your cat hybrid. he messes up with your place. scratching every surface he can get and tearing the curtains. biting holes at them and within a month your house was a total mess. hell, he didn't even still warm up to you despite months of living and proving that you won't harm him.

not until he scratched you. his claws digged at your skin and blood was already flowing from how deep it was. he expected you to lash out on him. blame him and worst kick him out back where he belongs but none of it ever came. instead you just left him to tend your wounds.

he waited minutes for you to check up on him and you did. apologizing to him that you invaded his boundaries. assuring him that you're not angry for what he did. just hurt at the scratch which he knew it wasn't. he teared your skin like it was paper.

catboy who feels guilty. it took a week before the wound healed and you're not using any bandages to cover it up anymore. you continued to look after him, feed him. making sure he's comfortable and one day he just comes closer to you.

retracting his claws and grabbing your arm for him to lick where the wounds is. you were started of course. your once angry catboy coming to you and initiating contact. you warmed at him. happy that he got closer to you and since that things had changed.

asking for scratches and starts making biscuits over your plush body. he swear it's the best feeling ever. he won't tell you about it. you were just so comforting and kind to him.

and he's now your sweetest catboy until his rut came......