SPLIT LIP

HARRY OSBORN X READER

Summary - Harry gets into a fight and emotions start to unfold.

Warnings - 18+, angst, lil fluff, smut, blood, unprotected sex

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

HE KEPT his head low as he weaved through the bustling crowd, ignoring the low gasps that slipped from the lips of those who somehow managed to catch a glimpse of his face.

None of them knew what happened, not yet at least, but he figured it wouldn’t be long before it spread around. There had been at least a dozen people out on the balcony when it all started, and given his social status it wasn’t exactly presumptuous to assume that most of them had likely recorded the encounter.

It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if he woke up tomorrow with a bunch of angry voicemails from his publicist, likely accompanied by screenshots of people making fun of him on Instagram for getting his ass handed to him by some random no name guy.

But it hadn’t been some random no name.

Not to Harry, at least.

He hadn’t been aware that he was holding his breath until he finally reached the private salvation of his bedroom, his needy lungs leaving him gasping for air as he crossed the threshold, roughly swinging the door shut behind him.

It shouldn’t have surprised him when it refused to close, and it certainly shouldn’t have surprised him when he turned to see your hand pressed flat against the pine, holding it open.

But it did.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Osborn?”

Harry figured the use of his last name wasn’t a good sign and it left a particularly sour taste in his mouth (though perhaps that was just the blood he was tasting). He hadn’t realized how accustomed he had become to the cute little pet names you used for him until now, or just how much the absence of them would affect him.

Of course he didn’t let that show though. Instead, he grumbled out a rough, “Stop following me,” before continuing to trudge towards the private bathroom.

But you had grown familiar with his evasive behavior, gotten used to his lack of vulnerability, and you rarely ever let him achieve the goal that stood behind his aloof persona; to drive you away.

So you marched right behind him, mimicking his past action by pushing the door shut as you moved. This time it met no resistance, immediately clicking shut.

There was no one else coming to check on him.

“Do you have any clue how stupid that was?”

You felt like you could barely breathe as your heart rammed against your ribcage, the sound of blood rushing loudly thrumming in your ears and making it difficult to focus. Your reaction wasn’t fueled by anger, though, rather an innate fear that consumed you as soon as Peter’s fist first collided with Harry’s face.

“Apologies, darling, but I’m already gonna get an earful from the board tomorrow about how this will affect my image as CEO, alright?” He pressed his palms against the cool marble countertop and spat into the sink. You watched as the blood-tinged spit crept towards the drain as he added on, “So, please, spare me the lecture.”

The polite phrase was laced with contempt, effectively removing any trace of its inborn goodwill. But that wasn’t what had caught your attention.

A dry chuckle ripped through you, and if he had bothered to lift his head up then he would’ve seen your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Do you really think I give a shit about your image?”

Your jaw remained slack as disbelief washed over you, leaving your head shaking. Harry Osborn was one of the most intelligent men you’d ever met, yet it never failed to amaze you just how dense he could be.

Harry’s shoulders sank a little, failing to go unnoticed by you. His lip curled, a pang of nausea coming over him. He couldn’t tell if it was caused by his injuries or from the unfamiliarity of sharing even a shred of his emotions, his voice breaking slightly as he said, “What else is there?”

“Your face?!” You cried out without hesitation. It didn’t bother you that Harry still assumed you had any regard for his status, you expected that much. But it did bother you that he didn’t think there was anything else about himself worth caring about.

Still, even your well-intentioned statement sent another wave of panic rippling throughout him, his fingers gripping the marble even harder now.

You hadn’t meant it in a shallow sort of way, even he knew that much, but it frightened him anyway. Harry already felt like he was losing his grip on everything that made him important—that made him worthy of love.

He was losing his grip on all of it; his money, his status, his career. But now he found himself staring down at the scaly patch of skin accompanying his now-bruising knuckles, beginning to realize that as his disease progressed he would be losing something else too.

What would be left of him? It was an ignorant thought, one that he knew had been fueled by his fight with Peter, but he couldn’t help but wonder anyways. What would be left for you to love when once he could no longer rely on his riches, his rank, or his allure? He knew that you weren’t shallow enough to actually care about those things, yet it still made him feel sick to his stomach.

That’s all he had ever been to anyone. A symbol, a prize, an image. He had never really felt like a person before, at least not one that people cared about. After all, no one had ever treated him like one—not his friends at boarding school, not the women who chased him, not even his own father.

Sometimes he worried that maybe there had been a reason for it. Maybe they had taken the time to peer beneath the surface, only to discover that they didn’t like what they saw. Maybe, just maybe, there truly wasn’t anything good about him aside from what he could offer others.

You almost seemed to read his mind, your demeanor softening as you watched him lean further into the counter, his mind reeling as he absently stared at the drops of blood dripping from his nose spattering into the sink.

“You know what Peter said isn’t true, right?" You took a half-step towards him, slowly closing the few feet that stood between you. You kept your voice low and soft, careful not to sound patronizing.

Harry only scoffed, moving his hand from the counter to his face. He didn’t want you to see it, whatever traces of the fist fight had been left. He hadn’t even seen it himself yet, refusing to look into the mirror.

“I’m serious, Harr.” You cooed, now close enough to place a hand against his back. He stiffened at the touch—comfort still something that was entirely foreign to him, but the pet name still soothed some of the ache in his chest. “He was just pissed, okay? So he took a few cheap shots cause he knew they’d hurt you. But that doesn’t make them true.”

They were the truth though, weren’t they?

Peter wasn’t the first one to call him out. There had been a long line of women and men alike that had spewed the same insults at him, making note of his arrogant persona and the silver spoon that hung from his lips.

But he had been the first one that had been close enough to Harry to know what insecurities to prey on in order to cut him deep. He knew about Harry’s fear of failure, the loneliness that ate at him, the crippling self-loathing that never went away.

More than that, he knew just how terrified Harry was of you seeing him the way he saw himself. And Peter knew that in an entirely selfish and fucked up way, Harry was scared absolutely shitless that you would realize that you deserved so much better than him—that you deserved someone like Peter.

“Harry-” Your hand drifted from his back to his shoulder, gently grabbing it and intending to turn him towards you, to force him to look at you.

But he refused to move. His entire attitude turned on a dime, posture straightening, though his head remained low and turned opposite of you, interrupting you with a tone sharp enough that could cut glass. “This isn’t working out.”

Your eyes widened as his words registered with you, but you didn’t move aside from that, willing your body not to react. He didn’t really mean it, although that didn’t make it any easier to hear. You knew that he was spiraling, and any attempt to disagree with him would just add fuel to an already growing fire.

So you didn’t disagree with him. Instead you crossed your arms firmly over your chest and gave a curt nod, smacking your lips as you said, “Okay.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he had expected that response from you, but he did expect you to leave. He couldn’t quite imagine the hurt that would come with watching you walk out the door, though he knew it would likely be insurmountable. There was also a hint of satisfaction, though, as he recognized that you too would leave him.

Everyone left eventually, he figured, and so maybe it was best to just get it out of the way now. Maybe it was best that he stopped wasting your time, that he didn’t force you to sit around and squander your life away on a dying man.

But you didn’t leave, shocking him as you dropped to your knees beside him, beginning to rummage through a cabinet for the first aid kit you knew was hiding somewhere within it.

When you once again rose to your feet, first aid kit in hand, you grabbed a clean cloth from the linen closet before once again coming to stand directly beside him. You didn’t have to try and forcibly move him this time, finding no need in urging him to look at you for the first time since this conversation had started.

He did it on his own, forgetting about his desire to shield the evidence of the fight from you as he was overwhelmed with a mixture of both confusion and relief.

You weren’t leaving, you hadn’t turned to walk out the door, you weren’t going to do something stupid like chase after Peter—though Harry wondered if it was really all that stupid, as he doubted that Peter would ever act in such a self-sabotaging way. You were just standing there, running warm water onto the cloth with a bit of soap.

Why didn’t you leave?

You frowned as you turned the tap off, turning to look at him and cocking your head to the side. “Guess he’s not puny Parker anymore,” you hummed sarcastically, hoping to use humor to avoid having a more dramatic reaction.

The nickname certainly didn’t fit anymore, as Peter had clearly developed a hell of a right hook sometime after puberty. Blood still oozed from Harry’s nose, and a bit from his busted lip as well, but it was thicker now than before, finally starting to slow down.

Lightly pressing the cloth to his upper lip you began to slowly clean him up, careful not to apply too much pressure. He was gonna bruise, that much was obvious, and you knew that he had been right before. The board would give him hell for this.

“So what was it?” You asked as plainly as possible.

Harry squinted at you. “What are you talking about?”

“You threw the first punch.” You clarified. He flinched when you started to dab around his split lip, and so you tried to make your touch lighter. “So what was it that pushed you over the edge?”

He hesitated, sucking in a breath before mumbling something incoherent. Frowning, you lightly nudged against his leg with your foot. “Gotta be a little louder than that.” You teased him.

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw his mouth twitch into a slight smile, his eyes rolling slightly. It made you smile, too.

“You know how Peter is,” Harry eventually spoke after another long pause, finally sounding a bit more like himself in spite of the animosity he held towards Pete. “he’s never known when to shut his mouth.”

It was more than he had spoken this whole time, but he still knew from the expectant way you were staring at him that it hadn’t quite been enough to satisfy you. He was holding back and you both knew it.

He sighed. “He was talking about you. Apparently Parker’s incapable of letting go of what could’ve been.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the way he sneered, although you knew it was probably wrong to indulge in him making fun of your friend. To be fair, Peter deserved it sometimes, tonight being a prime example of that.

There might’ve been a time in which you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to be with Peter, but that ship had long since sailed, whether Peter liked it or not. If anything, you were thankful that things hadn’t worked out between the two of you, because now you couldn’t imagine a world in which you were with anyone other than Harry.

“Pete’s always been a bit delusional.” You tried to suppress your laugh, still focused on cleaning Harry up. Somewhat satisfied with the amount of blood you’d cleaned from his pale skin, you sat the cloth down on the counter and reached for the first aid kid.

Another brief moment of silence settled over you both as Harry battled with himself again, debating letting another moment of vulnerability slip out. You didn’t dare say anything, allowing him time to process his thoughts as you grabbed a stack of gauze from the kit.

His tongue carefully traced over his bottom lip, his face screwing up as the subtle movement agitated the wound on it, the taste of copper overwhelming his senses. “Is he?”

Those two little words were all he was willing to share, but they told you more than enough, guiding you towards the type of comfort he needed right now.

You nodded, folding a piece of gauze over onto itself, your gaze fixating on the shiny spot of red dripping from his lip. You pressed the gauze against it, applying some pressure. “I think so.” You told him. “I couldn’t imagine being with someone like Peter.”

Harry’s brows snapped together at the claim, clearly unwilling to believe it. “Oh, you mean someone kind and caring and who literally has an IQ of two-fucking-fifty?”

It was your turn to react, donning a much more lighthearted expression than his as you struggled to contain your amusement at the sight of his cerulean eyes growing so wide. “Do you want to date Peter, Har?”

He practically growled at your joke, and admittedly the sound affected you far more than it should’ve. Your cheeks developed a slight red-tinge, trying to regain your focus on his wounds as you moved to replace the gauze you were holding.

“No,” he spoke roughly, “I’m just trying to say that he’s exactly the type of guy you should want to be with.”

Your nose wrinkled, making it clear that you disagreed with his statement. You halted your previous movements, leaving the gauze where it laid on the counter and offering your hand to him. He only stared at it. “Come sit down with me.” you urged, moving it a little closer to his. When he didn’t move again, you tacked on a desperate, “Please.”

Harry had never been good at denying you when you used that voice with him, his heart and brain simultaneously turning to mush whenever you’d flash your best puppy dog eyes.

So he obliged, careful to give you his left hand instead of his right. The one that hadn’t been affected by his disease just yet.

You led him out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom, stopping only when you reached the king sized bed that laid in the middle of the room, making him sit down on it beside you before you were willing to pick your conversation back up.

“Do you really think Peter is the type of guy I should be with?”

It pained you to even consider that Harry truly thought such a thing. For it to be a thought fueled by insecurity would be one thing, but for it to be a God’s honest belief of his would be something else entirely.

He didn’t answer you, only focusing his attention on your hand as it remained wrapped around his. You knew the answer, though, even if you wished you didn’t.

“Okay,” you breathed out, “then let’s talk about a world where I’m with Peter instead of you, okay?”

Harry scowled. “I’d rather not.”

“Too bad.” You shot back, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re right,” you admitted despite knowing the statement would make him squirm uncomfortably beside you, “Peter is all of those things you mentioned.”

“Great.” Harry grumbled through his teeth, cursing when you then elbowed him in the side for interrupting you.

“But Peter has faults too, Harr. Big ones.” You breathed out a weak laugh. Slowly you tried to piece together your thoughts, carefully choosing your words so they couldn’t be misconstrued by his trauma-ridden mind.

“I don’t like the way Peter makes me feel.” Your tone was cautious, sounding out each syllable with great care.

Harry didn’t bother to look up at you, fixating on the sight of your fingers interlaced with his, but you knew he was listening. He always listened to you.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s my friend and I care about him. But… he treats me like I’m fragile. Like I’m something he needs to save.” You shifted slightly, suddenly feeling a little exposed. But you didn’t let yourself stop, not yet. “I never feel like a person with Peter. Not really, at least.” Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what that was like, though he’s never shared it with you before. “He doesn’t actually see me.”

The admission hung in the air between you for a moment before Harry replied, his voice wavering as he said, “Do I?” You furrowed your brows at him and so he clarified, “Do I make you feel… I don’t know, seen or whatever…”

It was odd to hear Harry speak in such a casual manner, to see the ways in which he tried to come across as dismissive while still working on bearing his emotions to you. You put a great deal of effort into not smiling at it, not wanting your innocent amusement to create any additional insecurity for him.

“Always.” You answered swiftly, lovingly brushing your thumb against the back of his hand. “That’s why I’m with you, Harry.”

His eyes grew glossy, his head immediately dipping down as the tears threatened to spillover. Emotions had always felt like a weakness to him.

But you had grown tired of letting him hide himself away from you tonight. You pried your hand from his, crawling over so you were no longer sitting beside him, your knees pressed into the mattress as your legs settled on either side of him as you sat in his lap.

Tender hands reached to cup his cheeks, collecting the tears that had gathered on them as you gently forced him to look at you once again. At first he tried to fight it, but he soon realized there was no use. He let himself succumb to the comforting nature of your touch, instinctively nuzzling into your hand.

“I’m with you because I love you, Harr.” You hadn’t said those words before, and you refused to look away as you repeated yourself, “I love you. Not your money or Oscorp or anything other than you, okay?” He blinked, more tears escaping as he did, but he didn’t respond. So you repeated yourself again, needing to hear his confirmation, to know that he understood. “You know that, don’t you?”

He truly wanted to believe you, to have absolutely no doubts. But the dark thoughts crept in, filling every corner of his mind. The words of his friends, of past lovers, of his father.

His lip trembled. “But there’s nothing to love.’

You cringed as you felt the weight of that word—love. You’d dreamt of hearing him say it, and you knew that he felt it for you, but you had never imagined it sounding like that.

He said it like it was contaminated, like it was something to fear.

It broke your heart and stunned you at the same time, your mouth left agape as you fell speechless. You weren’t certain of what to say, of what to do to soothe him. You’d always known that Harry had been broken by his past, but this was perhaps the first time that you’d realized how extensive the damage truly was.

His name escaped your mouth, the only thought crossing your mind as you threw your arms around his neck and collapsed against him, nearly sending him tumbling back onto the mattress at the sudden weight. But he braced himself, his own hands moving to your back as he leaned forwards, instinctively balancing out your actions and keeping you both upright.

“There’s so much, Harr.” Your lips were pressed against his ear as you whispered, so desperate for him to hear you. The ache in your own chest grew stronger at the thought of him ever doubting your feelings for him, even for a second. “There are so many things to love about you!”

His body was unmoving against yours as you squeezed him even tighter, turning the tables and fighting against your own emotions now. You held in a sob, wanting your words to be as clear as possible, “You deserve love, Harry Osborn.”

And, for the first time, something inside of him snapped into place. He hadn’t forced you to be here. He hadn’t even asked you to waste your life on a dying man. If anything, he had pushed you away. He had practically begged you to leave on more than one occasion.

But you never did.

You wanted to be here. Not because of what you might gain from him or for what he could offer, but simply because you cared for him. You wanted to take care of him, to clean his wounds and call him out on his bullshit.

He bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood and you gasped as he suddenly mimicked your actions, his arms tightening around you as he buried his face against your neck.

“I love you, y/n.”

The word didn’t sound as harsh this time, as if he had begun to untangle the fear that had others have woven around it. It was light. Genuine.

“I’m bad at showing it—trust me, I know—but I really, really do.”

He let his walls down, forcing himself to swallow his pride right alongside his anxiety. He knew that he didn’t need to put on an act with you, that he didn’t need to cherry pick his words to ensure they wouldn’t be twisted in some malicious way.

With you, he didn’t need to be an Osborn, cruel and calculated.

He could just be Harry.

“I don’t understand it,” he admitted,”but it’s just–I don’t know, I just look at you and I love you so much. I see you and I know that there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, absolutely nothing. And you’re just so…” a particularly hard laugh vibrated against your skin, “crazy. Crazy to ever give a shit about someone like me.”

You laughed too. “And you’re an idiot,” you leaned back slightly, sliding a palm in between your bodies to try and push him back a touch, wanting to look at him, “for ever thinking that I’d give a shit about anyone else.’

And as soon as the sentence had left your lips, your eyes drifted to his and seeing the way they gleamed with a glorious mix of both love and lust, it was over.

Your lips collided with his, so fast that it was impossible to tell which of you had started to lean in first. There wasn’t much about it that was gentle, though, despite the innocent admissions that had led to this moment.

With your palms still pressed to his chest you shoved him back against the mattress, feeling it dip beneath your combined weight. Your lips never parted as you laid against him, the two of you locked into an endless hungry kiss that melded into another and another.

One of his hands slides from your waist to your stomach, fingertips delicately tracing your skin, and you felt as if you were on fire everywhere he touched. A soft moan slipped from your mouth and into his, only serving to encourage him further as he started to toy with the button on your jeans.

Your head was spinning by the time he finally pulled away from you, already leaving a wet trail of kisses against your jawline as you gasped for a breath. There was a faint taste of blood in your mouth, a sign that you’d agitated the wound on his lip, but neither of you cared.

It was all you could do to focus on his movements, edging towards your neck, his teeth lightly grazing against your pulse and eliciting a lewd whine. You felt him smirk against your skin at the sound, a firm hand pressing into your waist as he jutted his hips against yours, the friction making him groan before he nipped at your skin again.

“I love you,” he breathed out against your collar bone, his tongue delicately tracing against the sensitive spot, “so much.”

Your own breathing was uneven, entirely uncontrolled as you’d already turned into a writhing mess of moans, your only coherent thoughts fueled by your desire to feel him.

You pulled away from his assault on your throat, and you nearly melted when he looked up at you; darkened eyes pooling with desire, his lips gleaming with a mix of both of your saliva and a bit of blood.

As your gaze drifted south you realized that one thing was clear: he needed to be wearing far less clothing.

There was no hesitation in tugging at the hem of his shirt, urging him to help you remove it. Harry had already unbuttoned your pants, unzipped them, too, and so you quickly shimmied out of them and tossed your own shirt to the side as he worked on his own pants.

You moved to sit on top of him again but he stopped you, changing positions and forcing you to lay back against the mattress, hovering over you. He looked down at your body, admiring it, his index finger tracing along the curve of your waist, your back arching slightly as he moved towards your thigh.

“Needy,” he chastised with a low chuckle, but didn’t hesitate as he began to shift himself lower on the bed, clearly intending on first using his mouth to get you off. You stopped him, though, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He paused, following your gaze as it settled just below his waist. You licked your lips, voice low as you barely managed to get out, “Please.”

Foreplay felt unnecessary right now, maybe even a touch cruel. You didn’t wanna waste time on it, desperate to have him closer.

Luckily, Harry was never one to deny you what you wanted, already guiding himself towards your entrance, his swollen tip pressing against you before—

There was a fucking knock on the door.

Your head jolted up from the mattress, both of your necks snapping in the direction of the sound, Harry’s dick still in his hand as you both froze.

“Hey Harry,” you nearly groaned, letting your head fall back against the mattress as you heard Peter’s muffled voice through the door. “I just figured we should talk, alright? I wanted to check on you. And apologize, ya know?”

You looked at Harry, his gaze meeting yours. It took every ounce of willpower you had to keep your hips still, your body desperately wanting to grind against him. “Tell him to leave!” You hissed, trying to stay quiet.

Peter knocked again. “Harry?”

You expected Harry to say something dismissive towards Peter, watching as his mouth fell open to speak. But no sound ever came, his blue eyes suddenly twinkling with something strikingly similar to ill intent.

Then, before you’d had time to even unravel his plan he had already roughly sheathed himself fully inside of you, fingernails digging into your hips as a guttural moan fell from your lips, loud enough that Peter surely heard it.

He leaned in close, his breath tickling your ear as he said–“I think he’ll get the message.”

a/n - something quick and lazy that i wrote at school cause why not. not even sure i like it that much but the harry osborn tag needs more content so i figured i might as well post it lmao.

The Life We Build

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff ?? i think that's it

A/N: originally posted to my old blog (basicallybats). i was originally writing it as an eddie munson fic, but i really wanted it to be jason, so if you notice any typos or mistakes, no you don't. as always, thank you for reading! <3 i do not give permission to copy, repost, or use my work in any way.

"We need to go to the grocery store."

Your hands are buried in Jason's hair, thick waves curling around your fingers, soft and smelling faintly of your conditioner.

"Huh? Why?"

He tips his head back, so he can see your face, fingers freezing, a page caught between them. You recognize the book. It's your annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice. A soft smile curls at your lips, something painfully saccharine about the fact he prefers your copy; your thoughts.

"Because we have no food, Jay. Did you use my conditioner again?"

"Yeah."

"I know. I can smell it on you."

He snorts, eyes closing as you continue to massage his scalp, shaking his head lightly. "Then why did you ask?"

"I just wanted you to 'fess up. Now c'mon, we need to get food, for real. There's like, half a jar of peanut butter and a beer."

"Sounds like a decent enough dinner."

You remove your hands from his soft locks, and he whines, sitting up and carefully setting your book on the bed beside him. Jason doesn't want to go, you know that, can see the distaste and boredom brewing in his eyes already, but he will go, for you.

"Fine. Get dressed. Let's go."

You pull on an old, well-worn tee of his, slipping on your shoes and trailing him down the hall. He holds open the front door for you, locks it behind himself, jogs down the stairs to meet you at the passenger side door, swinging it open with a flourish.

The drive to the store is quiet, Jason tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the radio, bobbing his head gently, one hand on your thigh. The smile on your face didn't go unnoticed as he snuck glances at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Gotham is a god-forsaken place. Smog, trash, the highest crime rate in the nation, and a mile-long list of casualties. Jason remembers what it felt like to be back. The whisper of trauma is at the forefront of his mind. The memories, good and bad, all shot through with something unshakeably bitter. Part of him will always love Gotham, just as part of him will always hate it. But you- You are beautiful. The sort of beautiful that frequently had his heart stalling, breath burning in his lungs when he forgot how to breathe at the sight of your sunny smile, and bright eyes. Your personality and laugh, uncensored and genuine.

You are Jason's diamond in the rough. He can't bring himself to hate Gotham quite the way he did before you, but he can't shake the thought that you'll never reach your full potential here. A flower without enough sunlight can't fully bloom. Fuck, everyone knows Gotham is where good things go to die.

As Jason grabs a shopping cart you walk next to him, sliding your arm through his, a sort of camaraderie.

"We should make a casserole this week," you suggest, eyes reading the signs above the aisles, trying to piece together a meal plan in your head.

"What kind of casserole?"

You sigh, distracted, uncertain. "I don't know. Never mind. I've never even made a casserole."

He bumps his hip against yours gently, silently asking for your attention. He waits until you look at him to speak, lips twitching into a soft smile. "We have that cookbook your grandma gave us. And lasagna counts as a casserole. You've made that plenty of times."

"Does it?"

"Sure."

He's bent on reassurance. Jason knows this is new; cooking is hardly your forte. It would be easier to let him do the cooking, but you've been so eager, and you're taking to it really well. He hates the insecurity bubbling in your voice, he wants it gone. At his insistence, you soften, a bit of tension leaving your shoulders as you nod.

"Okay, we can make lasagna. And what else?"

Your gaze catches on the fresh flowers, bright and fragrant, their sweet smell permeating the air. You look at Jason, desperately curious to see if they've caught his attention too, but they haven't. He's looking at a rack of magazines, leather jacket pulled taught across his shoulders, green eyes crinkling in the corners as he squints at the cover of the newest scandal magazine.

"Good God, Dick is on the cover of another fucking tabloid. I thought he-"

It's an odd thought, this sudden need to pick out flowers with your boyfriend. You long to talk about where you should put them, what color would match your sofa and look nicest in front of the window.

"Jason."

It's not the fact you use his name, his birth name, though this is unusual for you. It's always 'baby' or 'Jay' or 'babes'. No, it's the way you say it. Thick and serious, something he hadn't quite heard before, an almost severe expression taking over your pretty features.

"Y/N? Yeah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, just- Can we get some flowers?" He watches you shake your head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

It's the domesticity of it. A tender, mundane thing catching up to you as those things often do. Something painfully sweet about it, stability your life lacked until Jason. And now? Now going to the grocery store with him was better than anything you did before. Like cooking, like cleaning, like laying in bed all day, face pressed mercilessly into his skin, breathing him in as he reads to you, just because you could. It was an insatiable craving, one you needed fulfilled right now.

"Sure, baby. You wanna pick some out?"

Your nod is almost imperceptible, arm still curled around his, goosebumps creeping along your flesh. He sees. Sees the light in your eyes, knows you need this moment. Jason knows that every day like this erases those brutally lonely hours from before. Minutes marked with blood and grief, a bitter memory. He knows because these moments do the same for him, setting things right he wasn't sure could be fixed.

Fuck, he'll buy all the flowers here if it brings the carefree smile back to your lips. "What kind do you want?"

"I- I'm not sure. Anything. I'll know the right ones when I see 'em."

He peruses the bouquets, at a loss, this is far outside his comfort zone, but if it makes you happy.

Your wonder hurts his heart, wide eyes and shock every time you find new colors squished together, or flowers you haven't seen before. You should have been given flowers all the time. He checks the price of the bunch in his hands and winces. What he wouldn't give to buy you flowers like this every day. Maybe he should, he thinks.

"How about these?"

Your eyes fall on the wild bouquet of rich, wine roses, flowers in full bloom, overlapping each other, fighting for the gaze of the beholder. They're gorgeous, you can feel them without touching the silken petals, velvet. "They're nice."

He sees it on your face, the dismissal, the gentle rejection. The flowers are pretty, too pretty even, gaudy, and suffocating. They're the type of thing that would fit well in Bruce's home, but not yours. Far too formal, far too showy; you want something sweeter.

"They don't match… Anything at home."

"We'd have to pick weeds to match our apartment."

His words come too fast, voice flat, deadpan, shooting for humor, missing, falling by the wayside in a shallow bitterness. He sees the hurt in your expression the instant the words gush past his lips, a geyser of ill-timed distress. Fumbling, rushing forward, trying to make it right, he presses on. "I'm kidding. That was an exaggeration. We make a nice life. It's just we-"

He stops, letting the chatter of other patrons and the store radio fill the silence as he watches tears build in your eyes, shimmering beneath the harsh fluorescents.

"I'm kidding."

You know he wasn't. He meant the words, frustrated with dead-end jobs and your meager incomes, scraping by with just enough. He wanted more for you, more for himself, more of a future. But all you heard was the immediate dissatisfaction. It wasn't enough, it was never enough.

You shove the small cluster of sunflowers you're holding into his chest, plastic wrapping crinkling, flowers smushed against his chest with the severity of your action.

"I need to use the restroom. You can put these back. I'll meet you at the checkout."

"Baby I- Y/N!"

You run. There's not enough care in your bones to think about how odd it is for a grown woman to be running through the store, stumbling into the restroom, tears already tracking down her face.

Hands braced against the cool countertop, you stare at the water droplets scattered across the laminate from whoever last washed their hands. It's a fascinating pattern, water catching the light. A tear falls, splatters on the surface, and shines too. How pathetic are you that you're hiding in here, waiting for the onslaught of emotion to pass before you can face your boyfriend again? Before you can face his disdain?

Minutes drag by, the tears slowing and finally stopping. Red eyes stare back at you, bloodshot and hollow. With a harsh tug, you turn on the faucet, splashing cool water on your face, hoping it soothes the obvious signs of crying.

Time is up, you can't stall any longer. With a fortifying gulp of oxygen, you drag the paper towel harshly across your face, wiping away the water, and push the door open. Jason is waiting there, shopping cart abandoned a few feet away, leaning against the wall, local business cards pinned to the wall next to store notices, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Baby."

You're frozen, eyes locked on the overlapping flyers and cards on the wall over his shoulder, unable to meet his gaze. Jason can see it. The remnants of salt tracks on your cheeks, eyes red and puffy, lashes clumped together from the water you hastily splashed on your face in a harried attempt to cover your reaction.

He wishes he could rewind, take back the past few minutes, and unsay those words, spare you the heartache. He knows he can't; it's a pointless wish, spent in vain like the coins he tossed in the well with his mother all those years ago.

"Baby," he repeats, voice low, shoulders sagging when you ignore him. "Y/N, just look at me, please."

His voice isn't him, isn't Jason, viscid like a flower soaked with dew, drooping beneath his regret. He's too pretty, too serious, you shouldn't let him wallow in it, you know that. But his words were too real, too close to that oozy, rotten spot in your heart that cries for acceptance.

It takes everything in you to drag your gaze to his, jarring when you meet those eyes, deep and sorry, churning like an earthen ocean, soil and sediment devouring itself. It's like watching the earth cave in. It's alarming, unsettling, it makes you want to touch his face and beg for the promise that it's all okay.

Is it though?

"I'm sorry. What I said- It came out wrong. I would never insult the life we've built, I-"

"You did though, Jay. You did insult it. You pissed all over it."

Jason winces at your bluntness, nearly an idiom, yet far from it. He focuses on your words, playing them over and over, watching your lips twist sardonically, building a wall around yourself. "It's fine, okay? I get it."

"No, you don't." He finds his voice, gruff with the nasty feeling building in his stomach, unable to be gentle in the wake of his own despondency.

"Can we just go home? I don't want to have this conversation here."

Movements stilted, uncoordinated he moves to the abandoned shopping cart, hands wrapping around the handle in a white-knuckled grip. He takes two steps, yanks the cart back, and turns to you so abruptly that you nearly collide with his chest.

"No. No, we are going to have this conversation now, otherwise you'll never have it. You know damn well I wasn't insulting you, or our home, or our life."

Blank-faced, eyes a hollow shade of their usual verdancy, you don't show any sign you really heard his words.

He's never felt this before, desperate and shaky with wanting- no needing you to understand. Why does this feel so insurmountable? His hands land on your shoulders, large, hot, scarred, shaking just enough to inspire a rise out of you.

You swat his hands away, fresh tears burning tracks down your face, humiliating, telling. "I care, okay! Damn you, Jason, I care!"

You suck in air too fast, choke on it, a strangled sob dancing on your lips, free falling. Hands useless on his chest, feigning a shove, curling in his soft tee shirt and pulling him closer. Tucked away in your little nook, no one is around, no one sees the mania tainting the air. Lovers begging forgiveness for the transgression of misunderstanding.

He buries his face in your hair, hiding his face, hiding his relief at your touch, at your admission. "I care too. I care that I've tied you to this hell hole with almost no chance of getting out."

"You don't get it, do you?"

Jason can barely hear, your voice smothered by his chest, the fabric of his shirt, his hearing a bit unreliable from too many head wounds. "Get what?"

"I don't want more. I don't want... I don't know what you envision, but my happiness is this. Buying groceries with you and, and- Gotham. My happiness is fucking Gotham if I'm here with you. I don't need-"

"You deserve-"

"Do not interrupt me, Jason Todd!"

He recoils, stung, chastised, conceding quickly, lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay."

"I do not need anything more. I don't need a big house or a safer city to play in or whatever it is you think I ought to have. Deserve? I don't even know what that means. But I want you, and I'm content with this life. Until you start picking it apart and making it seem like it's not good enough for you. I cannot tolerate that. I won't."

He waits, the silence stretching on and on, like the fraying string on a shirt that refuses to snap, until he is certain you're finished.

"You're right."

"That's all?"

"No. It's much more than that. But-"

He releases you, feeling your hands release his shirt slowly, confused as he steps back, raking his hands through his hair.

"You asked me so nicely for flowers. Let's start again. And we can finish at home, like you asked."

You blink. Once, twice, three times, trying to process, waiting to see if any argument floats to the surface of thought, but none does. Nodding, you step to his side, following him quietly to the tables of flowers once more.

It happens at the same moment, your eyes find the simple bunch of sunflowers and baby's breath the second his do. Understated and sweet, the type of flowers to catch your eye and hold it with a strange fascination.

"These?" you ask, eyes never leaving the buds, fingers tentatively caressing the soft petals.

"Yeah. I like those. They're pretty."

They are pretty. And suddenly, you need to see him, touch him. Placing the bouquet back you turn to him, cool hands pressed to his warm cheeks, eyes tracing soft lips, and the strong line of his nose. Those eyes that say secret things to you, things his lips could never speak. The panic and overwhelming nature of the trip are still fresh in your mind, but his eyes say he understands, his eyes reflect the same image as yours and it's less. Less upsetting, less frustrating, less misconstrued.

"I get it too."

Your words soothe the cuts on his heart, shallow and stinging like paper cuts. His lips are on yours before he knows what's happening, no self-control left at this moment.

It's over too fast, a promise, a vow, an apology. You know; you feel it, trying to pass over all of your love in return. It's enough, more than enough because he smiles when he pulls away, kisses a trail up your nose to your forehead, and into your hairline.

"I love you, Jay."

"I love you, Y/N."

Gotham isn't much, your apartment isn't much, and a single bouquet of flowers in your drab little living room is hardly anything at all. But it's plenty for you, plenty for Jason. It's enough.

226 notes View Post

agustdyoons

2 years ago

Five Moments in Time

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Summary: All of the moments in which Sergeant Barnes let the nurse on his unit know he’s not gonna stop trying to win her over. Even from beyond the grave.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Minor injury, angst (the big kind)

a/n: I rewatched tfa and fell in love with Bucky all over again! So I had to write some 40s angst of course. Also I think might’ve made myself cry.

I discontinued my taglist, but you can follow my library blog @pellucid-library for notifications 🤍

Masterlist

“And just who are you?”

The medical tent was overrun with white-clad bodies in a flurry. Aprons were stained and gauze was clenched tightly between overworked fingers. The war hadn’t been kind, but at least Captain Rogers had been able to save all these men.

And amongst the men was the flirty, ever charming, Bucky Barnes.

“I’ve told you, Sergeant Barnes, I’m your nurse. Now please sit back so I can properly stitch your arm.”

He didn’t listen to you, sitting up further to prop his hand on his chin and take you in. You’d asked him about four times now, each one fruitless.

Keep reading

1K notes View Post

agustdyoons

3 years ago

→ yoongi x reader (tiny bit of taehyung x reader)

→ when the pandemic first started, you never thought you'd have to stay quarantined in your apartment with yoongi, one of your roommate's friends and a guy you've never met. and you definitely did not expect you'd end up falling for him.

→ genre: fluff, angst, roommate au (?)

intros

💭 01 – who's yoongi

💭 02 – third wheel

💭 03 – send a heart

💭 04 – your simp is showing

💭 05 – a bunch of hags

💭 06 – jealous boyfriend

💭 07 – or whatever

💭 08 – bestest of best friends

💭 09 – promise ✏️

💭 extra

💭 10 – delusional

💭 10 ½ – company

💭 11 – enemies to lovers

💭 12 – someone like you ✏️

💭 13 – workaholic

💭 14 – pretty girls

💭 15 – angel

💭 16 – fucking butterflies

...

1K notes View Post

agustdyoons

3 years ago

smokescreen | knj sm au

banner by: @dee-ehn

🖇 synopsis:

— don’t judge a book by its cover. unless the book is a six foot tall, dimpled muscle pig who has no problem bragging about the notches on his belt… not to mention his new unhinged determination to add you to the list.

pairing: rapper!namjoon x photographer!reader

fic type: social media au

side ships: yoonmin!! 2seok.

genre: smut!! idol au, enemies to lovers, boss/employee. angst… maybe

warnings: namjoon is a raging asshole and 100% fictional! i’m sure the real kim namjoon is a sweetheart - just not this one.

updates: everyday! (sometimes twice)

status: ongoing!!

A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

parts:

prologue: sunday morning scandal

character profiles: cypher v

character profiles: yoonmin stans ft. san

part one: caught in 4k

part two: slapping multimillionaires

bonus: under me

part three: work related

part four: unbelievably down

part five: snotty nose boy

part six: fucking obvious

part seven: alternate universe

part eight: strict asswipe

part nine: grossly whipped

part ten: unwashed dick

part eleven: borderline prostitution

part twelve: producer era

part thirteen: life changing

part fourteen: scared of myself

part fifteen: openly flirting

part sixteen: haven’t kissed

part seventeen: done searching

part eighteen: just peace

part nineteen: deep in like

part twenty: getting attached

part twenty-one: kinda friends

part twenty-two: real unfamiliar

part twenty-three: namjoons girlfriend

part twenty-four: no visitors

part twenty-five: feel comfortable

part twenty-six: real me

part twenty-seven: home

bonus: clearly delusional

part twenty-eight: creating sonnets

part twenty-nine: perfect moment (time jump)

epilogue: lucky shirt

epilogue: i like sushi

end

New Rules

Title: New Rules

Genre: basketballplayer!mingyu, collegestudent!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, s2l, smut

Tags/Warnings: Cheating, heartbreak, gender neutral reader, slow burn, smut, creampie, unprotected :/, general arguments between the reader and some characters, alcohol drinking, hurt and comfort, 26k words

This is a part of a sports collaboration being hosted by @gyukult . Thank you so much for the opportunity to write this I seriously never would have come up with this idea and written this had it not been for this collab!

Summary:

Kim Mingyu is the star basketball player of your schools’ team, and one of the most popular boys in your entire University. You’re just a college student with the best boyfriend in the world.

You stared at the lake in front of you, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration. You felt the breeze blow through the trees, and you shivered a little despite the warm fall sun beating down on you.

You weren’t cold for long, after only a moment warm arms wrapped around your body, tugging you close. You smiled, a giggle leaving your lips.

Keep reading

5K notes View Post

agustdyoons

1 year ago

bringing it back to old school.

summary; a series/collections of fiction of various drivers based on old school reggaeton hits.

f1 main masterlist !

yo voy | lewis hamilton

lewis was used to having women throw themselves at him and try to seduce him for a night in bed. however, only one is able to have him completely wrapped around his finger.

ven bailalo | george russell

despite not being the best dancer, george will always join y/n on the dance floor, bad moves or not.

mayor que yo | max verstappen

max doesn’t care that checo’s sister is older than him. he just wants her no matter the age difference.

que tengo que hacer | charles leclerc

charles is desperate to have y/n back in his life and he just wants to know what he has to do to bring her back.

quiero saber | carlos sainz

y/n is tired of hiding her relationship with carlos and tired of all the prying eyes of other women in clubs who are desperate to dance with him. her only solution? take him out to the dance floor.

pobre diabla | lando norris

y/n is spotted out in the streets of monaco drunk and a crying mess. unbeknownst to everyone, she was crying over her relationship with lando.

dile | oscar piastri

oscar wants to make sure that y/n’s boyfriend knows how and when he met her. but he wants her to tell him.

llamado de emergencia | logan sargeant

the pressure of formula one is catching up to logan. after his dnf in miami, there was only one person he could call for help

pasarela | alex albon ft. lily

the fashionable influencer at the miami grand prix catches the attention of f1’s favorite couple

perdóname | daniel ricciardo

daniel made one of the biggest mistakes of his life and all he wants is for y/n to forgive him

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

note; reader is implied to be latina in a lot of these btw!!! how could i not w a reggaeton series??🙈 ofc i had to add lily to alex’s fic, i missed my fave throuple 😞 but i’m really excited for this <33 first ones should be out hopefully this week!!

850 notes View Post

agustdyoons

2 years ago

BLURRY LINES

PAIRING :

roommate!kang taehyun x fem!reader

GENRE :

fluff, angst, crack(?)

WARNINGS :

curse words, bad & suggestive jokes

SYNOPSIS :

if there's anything y/n's good at, it's differentiating her feelings between love or hate. it's so distinct, she really doesn't get it when people say they have mixed feelings about something, cause to her, love is LOVE and hate is, well... HATE. LOVE is like her feelings for prodsputnik, an anonymous soundcloud artist she adores which she may or may not have a stan account for. HATE is like her feelings towards her roommate, kang taehyun. she even claimed that researchers are bullshitting when they say there's a thin line between hate and love. but what if y/n figures out that prodsputnik and kang taehyun is the same person? will the line between love and hate stay thick and clear as fuck (y/n's words) to y/n or will it get blurry?

STATUS :

completed

START :

Sept 23, 2021

END :

Jan 23, 2022

TAGLIST: CLOSED

@gyuuss @btxtreads @terrytaehyunnies @miraculyfe @yoonkeehoe @derinxfam @snowfalltxt @taehyunsfel @letmeal0ne @cosmiclele @cerisetalks @meowtella @shrutiajit @msxflower @lomlyeonjun @lokideadontheinside @arminandjeanandannieandhange @nycol-ie @00-baejin-05 @summery-bat @txtville @wkhdery @stray-bi-kids @mintbgyu @she-is-dreaming @yeonyeonyeonjun @sunflowerbebe07 @simpforscoups @multi4lifer @beomjundiaries @whoe-dis @ahnneyong @kac-chowsballs @bucket05 @iyeonjuni @beomsun @day6andetcetera @uygmoeb @wh4txium1n @carolnina55 @youreverydayzebra @nshitae @milkycloudtyg @soobsdior @roseless1213 @sulkii @pinkheadflowers @multiwendi @mygwarai @envy-brr @she-is-dreaming @pikapikapikaachuu @ttaeycngg @rlajjunie @chillfilms

CHAPTERS :

1K notes View Post

agustdyoons

3 years ago

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)

a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3

Keep reading

2K notes View Post

agustdyoons

3 years ago

baby, you can drive my car |(mechanic!yoongi)

→ pairing: min yoongi x reader

→ genre: mechanic!au, spoiltbrat!y/n (++ inexperienced y/n as hiGHLy requested hehe), 6 greasy bois, a taste of richboy!jin, a vintage mercedes benz named beeper, usual dose of crackheadiness, touch of angst, sprinkle of fluff, and bts (big time smut) ((i love recycling this joke don’t come for me)) (((thigh-riding)))

→ trigger warning: there is a brief mention of blood so tread lightly if you feel queaSy about that!

→ wordcount: 24.6k magic in the air

→ summary: welcome to min mechanics - what can i do for you today, doll?

→ note: ooh BOY this took me a while! i’m sorry it took me so long to publish this but i hope this bad boy (i’m talking about the fic itself anD mechanic!yoongi) makes up for it! mechanic!yoongi has been in the works for a while… thank you to every single one of you who contributed each of your own lil ideas and helped to create the chArming tattoo-sleeve man we all fuLLY fell in love with. seriously y’all i could not have done this without you!! i ain’t gon lie i was going to post this on the day of the comeback but i think i needed a day to just.,.,, SCREAM and listen to the album.,.,,. (and also i was still editing it yikes) ((and also what do u guys think of the new albUM hELLO)) so here it is twO days after the comeback!!!!!!! i hope i gave you sufficient time to recover from the new album but if not oH well what can ya do!!! also i’m really friCkin nervous for some reason but nonetheless enjoy the ride! ( 灬♥ 3 ♥灬)

pst if u wanna talk to y/n or yoongi u know what to do ;-)

(gif isn’t mine!)

(((and the read more function iS there but most of the time it doesn’t work on mobile :// i am sorry don’t attack me by sending passive-aggressive anon messages)))

you know what

you could totally get used to this being an adult thing

you finally get to live in your own place

you finally get to eat whatever the heck you wanna eat

and most importantly

you finally get a car

yes, you’ll admit, you’re a little behind with the whole car thing

most of your friends already got their licenses befoRe becoming adults but so what if you were a little slow!!! you were just living life as a teenager!!!! there was no rush

let’s not beat around the bush here

you are: a spoilt brat

like unbelievably so

when you were younger all you’d have to do is point at something and your parents would immediately be like ….aight

Keep reading

3K notes View Post

agustdyoons

3 years ago

hello! can i request an at home coffee date w yoongi? smth like yoongi cleans 'round the house and its warm and pretty and when reader enters the house after a rough day its filled w the smell of coffee (i love coffee too <3) and its just reaallllly fluffy? thank u for your time on this. and thank u in adv if you write this request. hope ure doing well!💖

COFFEE & CUDDLES ; myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: so. much. fluff.

summary: see ask

word count: approx 1.1k

a/n: ANON CAN I JUST SAY: thank you so much. this was so much fun to write. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it, and i hope it was at least similar to what you were requesting!! i was able to get this done pretty quickly <3

songs i listened to whilst writing: lover of mine — 5sos, best years — 5sos, someone to you — banners

taglist (send an ask to be added to my general taglist!): @mwitsmejk

THE BUZZ OF your phone jolted you out of the slumped position you were in over your desk, and you let out a groan. Today had been exhausting to say the least — after a bad night and a long, long day at work, you wanted nothing more than to be at home, in bed.

“Hello?”

You felt your lips quirk up at the sound of your boyfriend on the other end of the line. “Hi, baby,” you greeted him tiredly, glancing at the clock.

“When are you coming home?” Yoongi asked, straight to the point as always.

”I’m —“ You cut yourself off to yawn. “Sorry. I’m about to leave work now, I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay. Good.” He said simply and then ended the call. You suppressed a smile at his plain words, before dragging yourself out of your office, calling a goodbye to some of the co-workers you passed along the way.

By the time you got home, you were ready to pass out, but as you pulled into the driveway, you internally groaned. There was laundry to be done, and the living room was a tip, and you hadn’t washed the dishes after last night’s dinner or this morning’s breakfast. “Fu-u-uck,” you groaned in annoyance, and dropped your head on the steering wheel for a few seconds. After a few moments, though, you gathered your strength and exited your car, and jiggled your keys into the door.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. Coffee. You breathed in it deeply; coffee was one of the most heavenly smells on the planet, in your opinion.

“I’m home!” you called out as you kicked off your shoes, not exactly sure where in the house your boyfriend was. He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, his lips twitched into a familiar gummy smile.

The first thing you did was fling your arms around him and drop your head on his chest. You let out a long, contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, squeezing once.

“Long day?” he asked gently, combing a hand through your hair.

“The longest,” you said tiredly. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he mumbled, then kissed your head. Then, suddenly, he swung you up into his arms and you let out a surprised yelp, clutching your arms around his neck.

“Yoongi!”

He let out an amused laugh at your shriek, and carried you into the kitchen, setting you on the counter, and standing between your legs. Even with you sitting down well above him, he was still almost as tall as you. He moved closer and rested his forehead against yours.

“Hi,” you whispered, a giggle in your tone as your noses brushed.

“Hi, jagi,” he mumbled back, before pressing his lips against yours. You let out a soft exhalation into the kiss, relaxing for the first time all day, winding your arms around Yoongi’s neck. He kissed you gently, sliding his hands into your hair and twirling strands around his fingers.

When you break apart, he moved backwards, towards the kitchen table and he picked up two mugs that you hadn’t noticed before, being too wrapped up in him. He handed one mug to you, taking a sip of his own.

“Oh my God, I love you,” you groan dramatically, pressing a kiss to his cheek, after taking the first sip of the coffee he’d made you. It was perfect, as always — he was one of the few people who always got it exactly right.

He snorted at your melodramatic antics. “Is that all I am to you? A coffee-maker?”

“Yes,” you said unapologetically. “But not just any coffee-maker. The best coffee-maker.” You nodded fervently, and Yoongi laughed again, shaking his head at you.

“Coffee makes everything better,” you said after a moment, relishing in the warm drink. “And you,” you add, dropping a kiss on Yoongi’s cheek again. “You make everything so much better.”

He scrunched his face up, trying to look disgusted, but it didn’t work. His ears and the apples of his cheeks were turning red, and you giggled at the sight, but chose to keep quiet instead of teasing him.

“Baby, did something go wrong today, with work?” he asked after a moment, voice soft. “You sound so exhausted.”

You shrugged. “Just a long day.”

He made a noise of understanding as you finished off your coffee. When you made to swing yourself off the counter, though, he hooked his arms underneath so that he was carrying bridal style, and you let out another surprised squeal. “Put me down!”

“What?” he protested innocently. “You said you were tired. So you need to rest.”

“I have to do stuff first,” you whined, wriggling and slapping at his arms gently. Of course, you were no match for him — your movements had absolutely zero effect.

“There’s nothing to do, sweetheart,” he said confidently, as he carried you towards the doorway.

You paused in your squirming. “Huh? I need to do the washing and the living — ”

“No, you don’t,” he said simply. “I’ve done it all.”

“What?”

“I did it all,” he repeated, unfazed. “Did the dishes, the laundry, tidied the living room, vacuumed upstairs — it’s all done.”

You gape wordlessly for a few seconds. “You — huh?”

Yoongi set you down on the sofa in the living room, sprawling next to you. His face was completely unbothered, barely even glancing at your shocked expression as he groped for the TV remote.

“Oh my God,” you said after a few moments. You glanced around the living room and remembered how tidy the kitchen had been — everything was spotless. “Min Yoongi, you are the most perfect man in the entire world.”

He flushed slightly at that and tried to shrug it off. “I know.”

You curled up into the chest of the man next to you, tears pricking at your eyes. “Seriously. What did I do to deserve you?”

“It was nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t cry, darling. It’s okay.” He lifted you into his lap so that your were straddling him, and you buried your face in his chest. He smelt like a mixture of coffee and vanilla, soft and warm. He tightened his arms around you, and pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head.

“I literally love you,” you said into his chest.

“All I did was clean up!” he snorted. “If my baby’s tired, of course I’m going to help out.” He paused, and kissed your forehead. “I love you too. You want to go sleep upstairs?”

You shook your head, nuzzling into his neck. “Want to stay here with you. Cuddles.”

He huffed a laugh. “Okay. Cuddles.”

And that was how the rest of the evening was spent, cuddles and coffee and the warm feeling in your chest that only Min Yoongi could produce.

145 notes View Post