#but caffeine should fix that p quick

[maladaptive-jcb]

Chapter 1: Icebreaker

Jamie x female!reader fanfic

(fluff, safe for under 18)

Summary: Reader is an independent artist who lives on her own in a small town and meets Jamie, a musician, in an art studio where their budding relationship formed through shared interests of different forms of art.

Warning: There will be talks about trauma and PTSD from domestic abuse and dissociative episodes throughout the story.

A quiet groan. I can hear it from two seats away from where I’m sitting. It’s almost been a month since I started this painting class where I saw it opened two blocks away from my apartment a month ago. I thought it was a perfect way to ignite my old artistic passion again. Lucky for me, it's a budget studio class, which means I don't have to break my savings just to fill up some of my free time. I work at a local bookstore and currently renting a small apartment. I'm doing good, but not amazing while living as an independent girl in this town.

I hear another sigh coming from him. Jamie first came into class around the second week I started here. I remember it was a slow day in class. I was wondering if I should even be here in the first place until I heard footsteps coming in. The way he walked in with his tussled blonde hair and iridescent eyes captured my attention immediately. Ever since then, he never missed a class. I decided to stick around after all.

“Jamie…Jamie… What did I say?” Mr. Hayes, our art teacher stops behind him as Jamie is struggling with his work. “Always check the proportions. Sorry,” he says in a low tone voice. Subtle English accent. Disgruntled look is forming on his face as he tries fixing his painting with more acrylic. Mr. Hayes pats on his back with approval and goes along to check his other students.

He's not really the worst in class. I’ve seen his work, he did a lot of good paintings except that he hates small details and proportional work.

Should I help him more? I mean, we barely talk in class aside from the occasional “Hey,” from time to time. In fact, he barely talks to anyone in here.

He shoots up a look to me.

Shit.

I didn’t realize that I’ve been staring at him for a while.

“Y/n, you’re doing great just don’t forget to clean up your finishing touches this time,” Mr. Hayes distracted my train of thoughts. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Hayes,” I give him a quick nod. I've had such a great experience so far with Mr. Hayes. He'll find a way to make one-on-one teaching lessons feel so personal to you. He's also very patient with all of us considering most of his students came in with zero prior art knowledge. I think that’s why Jamie has improved so much in just a short period of time.

____

The morning is still early when the class ended and I'm now on a hunt for some caffeine to keep my day going. The café is just a five minutes walk down the road. It's called the Aroma Mocha. Since it's an hour away until my shift starts at the bookstore, I decide to have a brisk walk under the cool weather, taking it all in.

As I walk in, there are already five people in line ahead of me at the counter. I wait in line as I soak in the café’s inviting atmosphere. I see a few people inside with their quiet talks to each other. Another middle aged woman reading her book while sipping on a hot coffee. A dark haired teenage girl in the slightly hidden corner with headphones on while sipping on her cold drink in hand. I can't tell what it is but it makes me crave for an iced latte. In another corner, there's a tired college student staring straight into his laptop screen with the fast click-clacking sound of his hands on the keyboard. Just the right amount of calm and busy here, topped off with the aroma of freshly grinded up coffee beans filling up the air. It’s just such a nice morning to start. I've been observing everyone that I haven't noticed anyone getting in line behind me until…

“Y/n, right?”

I turn around and met with a tall lanky figure, silver rings on his fingers, blonde hair framing his cheekbones perfectly in the dim lights of the café.

“Oh yes. And you’re Jamie!”

He smiles. “Yep. Fancy meeting you outside the class.”

“I hope that’s not a bad thing.”

“Not at all. Pleased, really,” his eyes twinkles.

I don’t see the disgruntled, contorted face he always makes when painting in frustrations. He seems… sweet.

“Next!” The barista calls out to me.

“One iced latte, please…” I turn to Jamie. “…and whatever he’s having.”

“Coffee. Black,” he leans forward to respond. His subtle breath warm on my neck. “Thank you."

“You’re welcome,” I return his smile.

I’ve wanted to approach him so many times in class and chickened out. Crazy to think that this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

Our drinks were done at the counter after a few minutes. I grab both and hands his coffee. He takes it, fingers brush against mine.

“I’ll see you again, soon?”

“Yeah. See you again, y/n.”

He smiles and raises the cup of coffee thanking me again. I nod and quickly turns my face towards the floor hiding the warmth that's rising to my cheeks. With one last wave, I walk towards the door to leave.

“Wait!”

A surge of relief going through my body. Somehow I was hoping it wouldn't just end there.

“Do you have time to sit with me?” he asks.

I hold my wrist up and check the time on my watch. My shift is not starting until 40 minutes anyways. How long can it be to sit and talk with Jamie?

“If that’s okay,” a little hint of pleading in his voice.

“Yes, of course."

____

We sit across each other at a table near the big window. His long legs brush against mine from time to time. Now that I'm actually closer to him than before, I can see his blue eyes sparkling even brighter under the sunlight streaming through the window pane. He's a little quiet at first. His fingers knotted with each other around his warm cup of coffee. It's almost as if he's wondering what to talk about. Eventually, he tries to ask me more about myself. Trying to set aside the sudden surprise of actually sitting with a new person on my day, I let myself cool down and let the conversations flow on their own. His eyes wide, yet soft as he looks at me attentively every time I tell him little things about myself. I just thought it was just out of politeness but I notice that he's actually listening to me when he chuckles and nods along to my stories. It's like every word that came out of my mouth hung around the air and he's just absorbing them all in.

"You know it's very interesting to finally hear all about the teacher's favourite in class," a teasing tone in his voice.

“Oh, stop. But you know, I've wanted to talk to you in class for a while as well."

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?” he smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

My heart does a somersault. He noticed that?

“Oh… I uh,” my cheeks starting to feel a little warm.

He winks.

“So what brings you to the class anyway,” my attempt at changing the subject.

“Oh, umm…” Jamie purses his lips as if he's thinking about the question itself.

"I wanted to try something new in this town. I just moved here and happened to walk by the studio and… well here I am."

“I see. I’m guessing you came all the way here from…”

“London. Yes. The accent, I know,” he laughs. Hand brushing through his beautiful locks.

“I just needed a change. What about you?”

“Oh I’ve lived here for a while. Two years now. Trying to prove to my parents that I can be independent, you know?” I tell him, quickly brushing the question off.

He nods. “You’re working?”

“Yeah. Do you know Bookworm Shack? It’s a block away from here. In fact, I should be getting into my shift in like 15 minutes now.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen it. Come on, I’ll drive you,” drinking the last bit of his coffee before he gets up.

I didn’t have time to process it. I haven’t sat in a car alone with a man for so long. Not since-

“You’re coming?” his head tilts towards me and scanning my eyes, hoping for a hint of agreement to his plan.

“I guess, there's no harm in that. Thank you."

“The least I could do for that coffee,” he gives a friendly punch to my upper arm and grinning ear to ear. Every bit of his face lights up when he does it. It feels nice to see him in a more cheerful mood than usual.

I'm not one to know much about cars. Truthfully, all cars look the same to me. If anyone would name a model of a car, no image would pop in my head at all. However, I am able to tell when a car is luxurious and expensive. Jamie's car is exactly that. At least better than the one I drove back in my hometown. It was an old car that my dad gave me after he finally saved up enough for a new one for his own. It was a little beat up but I loved it just the same. It didn't have the leg rooms as I have right now sitting in Jamie's car though. I know it wasn't the best car but it took me where I needed to and it was comfortable enough for me. Looking up at Jamie from the passenger's seat makes me feel a little shy. What do you do when someone told you to make yourself comfortable? Do they actually mean it or do they just want to be polite? Maybe I'll just play it safe and tuck my feet together and not mess with anything in here.

"Relax. The leather seat is not gonna bite you," he snickers after noticing me shifting carefully in my seat.

"Yeah, but you might," quickly giving him the same retort energy.

"Wow. Hurtful. Although, you'll never know. Hope you already got your rabid shot."

His face stays on the road but his eyes peering sideways towards me while smirking at his own joke. A giggle start escaping from my mouth and he finally lets out a big heartful laugh I've ever heard from him.

I feel myself being a lot more relaxed in my seat after that. We continue our conversations along the ride but it was cut short when Jamie pulls over in front of the bookstore. A little disappointment in my heart when I realized that I have to say goodbye to him now.

As I’m getting out of the car, he asks, “What time your shift ends?”

“6 pm. Why?” I respond back through the passenger’s seat window.

“Sounds like a good time for dinner. I’ll pick you up,” he winks again and drives away.

“Wait, I-“ Oh there’s no use. He’s gone.

_____

Chapter 2

Note: Hi! I'm new on here and I'm sharing my writing for the first time on the internet and thought that it'd be nice to start on here. I don't know if this will take off or not but I'm excited for everyone to read it. Do let me know your thoughts and reblog if you like it. If it starts picking up then I will continue posting the next chapter :)

[hekkoto]

Border between two worlds, so thin at times. You dont know if what you fear is real or just a trick of our minds Im kinda dead in last week but dont worry, its kind of 'good dead'. I really try to fix my health and do what I can to improve my wellbeing In short, I got info I suffer from insulin resistance which might be huge factor of my declining health. I will be honest, its miracle its not diabetes yet, I eat so badly since so many years, I developed huge addiction to sugar and caffeine. Im sure everyday sweets and energy drinks are main reason for this I also know what is like 'original reason' of me doing this - ED, mental health struggles, overworking and such Im not eating sweets and stuff with added sugar since Monday. Honestly, I dont crave sweets. I just sleep most of the time ;p my body isnt happy that it doesnt get quick energy boosts >XD I was also awful bitch last 2 days [send prayers to my husband]. But I thnk today I can say I start feeling better. Also...... I gonna get lil gift for not eating sweets for week - I gonna get kit for the sims 4 :> will get for first 2 weeks ;p so yeah, something worth to do >XD But anyway, dont worry, I should be more alive soon ;p I really hope cutting out sugar will fix my health at leats a bit I hope to be back soon and post more. I have some stuff waiting to be edited, posted etc. I have tons of ideas and yeah, just wait a bit more my darklings ;* wanna support my evil dark empire? Im accepting souls on Patreon and Ko-fi! -> Hekkoto Huge thanks to all of my Patrons and people who donate 🖤

Super spooky horror shit, insanity and eyes, mental health struggles, mental illness – this is what leads me to see this and make this. I love eyes, tho not always when they appear where I don’t want to see them >XD Im kinda crazy~? >XD perhaps. I often feel observed, is there really a threat or my mind is playing sick tricks on me. World is dark, and my mind is even darker. Watch out for horrors ahead. I’m horror artist who loves monsters and fantasy and horror. Im small female artist tho I believe I have way to become more known and be able to share my works to wider audience. I love horrors and creepypasta, if you want to see more spooky scary stuff, especially gory or dark and wicked check out my other socials

[assholemurphy]

it’s 4:30a, i stayed up waiting for rafiki to be free so we could go to walmart (bc my gay ass still doesn’t have a car or a license) but at 3 i said fuck it and walked to the 24 hour gas station (which is a 30 min walk away cause i move like a goddamn sloth for the most part) to get cigarettes (tho, i do have a whole list of stuff from walmart, i was just also going to get those while there) i got back at 4 but since i can’t go to bed past 4 and wake up for class, guess who gets to stay up all day??? and guess who won’t be able to take a nap tomorrow until after 5p??? yep, this sad fuck. so i’m going to be existing on caffeine and spite (and also panic bc we’ve got like, just tomorrow to get everything ready for the show and well, it’s not ready. i dunno how close to done it is, but apparently it’s p far from being done bc pb legit looked stressed af when i asked if i was needed in the shop. the answer was yes. also pb is apparently v bad at planning things bc he’s the one in charge of the set design and well, yeah. but the dumbass has been overworking himself, too, so it’s hard to be like ‘you’re an idiot for not having it done’ when it seems more important to say ‘you’re an idiot bc you aren’t sleeping properly and look like you’ve taken up high stakes gambling but have no poker face’ i’m legit worried abt him). so that’s what’s happening tomorrow.

i was sick for a few days, but it turns out i was just exhausted/stressed to the point of physical symptoms bc i wasn’t sleeping/eating/practicing basic self care bc of how much hw and shit i had. but i got all of it done. i now only have a playwriting assignment (which is due mon) and my therapy hw (due thur) to do. the playwriting assignment is to write a full 10 min play. which isn’t easy. but i’ve got a decent idea of what i want to do and a good grasp on my characters, so, that’s gonna be alright, i think. i’ll work on it sat/sun and get some meal prepping and organizing done then, too. it’s not as stressful. esp bc i don’t have class all week except for mon bc of the show (it’s a children’s show, so we’re doing daytime performances, multiple ones per day) and i’m working the spotlight. which hasn’t been used in years. but it’s fucking great, i love that damn thing. i just wish that the lights on stage didn’t wash out some of the colors i’ve chosen for the characters. there’s like 2/3 times that it kinda fucks them up, but like, that’s life. there’s no fixing that bc there’s only so many colors i can create with that thing and more characters than colors. but, it’ll be fine. i’m trying to get rafiki to come see it on fri or sat (when we do the regular audience shows) bc it’s fucking hilarious and i think he’ll actually like it. even if he hates theatre. what kind of fucking asshole hates theatre? i blame capitalism for the lack of culture in this generation. and every generation, tbh. but, not the point.

however, while waiting, i did finish the next chap of tal, so i’m going to proofread that right quick, post it, probably shower, and then wait patiently for validation. might eat something, too, maybe. i need to. maybe some goldfish crackers or something, idk.

but i’m so fucking tired. i’m gonna get a monster and take an adderall so i’m not passing out and i should be good to go. if not, i’ll down some sudafed, too, but i’d like to not take that until 8 like usual. but, if i do take it now, i can take more at noon. ah, decisions. i’m not good at making them. i’m too bi for that.

but, yeah, unless i spontaneously fall asleep (which i shouldn’t) the next chap of tal should be up before 8a. fucking finally.

[gukyi]

four weeks | kth

summary: four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

{enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, college!au}

pairing: art and chemistry double major kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, comedy, the whole nine!! word count: 20k warnings: alcohol consumption (be safe!), unwanted sexual advances (not between main characters and not at all explicit), and a ton of college tomfoolery. a/n: i’m finally finished with my very first semester of college! it was a lot, but finishing this fic was a treat after my damn finals, which were very stressful. this is part of the stranded for christmas collab, and i’m so honored to be doing this with such amazing, talented writers! please give them and their fics lots of love, and enjoy this super fun train wreck of a fic!

Admittedly, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century has never treated you particularly well. 

Your lecturer is about as interesting as grass growing, the readings are low quality scans of book pages with the tiniest font and absolutely no line spacing, and any friends you had in that class in the beginning of the semester dropped out of it by the time mid-September rolled around, leaving you trapped due to societal pressures and a History and Politics general education requirement you still have yet to finish. 

But, of all the things you could imagine Global Politics in the Twentieth Century doing to you, like charging you an exorbitant $200 dollars for a textbook you would never open anyway, burning your house down, or even straight up just murdering you, this is by far the worst. 

It’s bad enough that your final for Global Politics in the Twentieth Century is on the last possible day for finals at the latest possible time, but when the clock strikes 8:00PM and you have just about fucking had it with this semester, you realize that no one else is standing up. 

This panic intensifies as you begin thinking of all of the terrible things that could be the reasoning behind this: you’re just the dumbass who finished their final first and got all of the questions wrong, the clocks have yet to adjust to daylight savings and you think that it’s 8:00PM when really it’s 7:00PM, or, worst of all, your final is running overtime. 

You have only ever heard of horror stories about overtime finals. Things like having to cram the next three-hour final into one hour, or having to reschedule the final to some other time that is equally as conflicting. Stuff that is, to a normal human being, a minor to moderate inconvenience at best (and to an overdramatic college student—pure, unadulterated hell), but when this is the last final on the last day at the latest time, there are no other finals to be had. No other school-related scheduling conflicts barreling into you. 

It’s just your luck, really, that on the last day of the semester, at the latest time you are allowed to be here, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century would come back to bite you in the ass one last time. As if all the times you dozed off in class (or just plain skipped), forgot to turn in your reading analyses, and showed up late to your recitation are finally catching up to you. Like the very worst kind of karma that could ever befall you. 

Well, to be fair, it’s not as if the rest of the day has treated you any better. The entire time you’ve been awake on this fine December day has been an absolute trash can of a day. 

This is how the beginning of your very last day of the semester played out:

Your alarm went off at 8:00AM sharp, purposefully set that early so you could wake up and have a productive day studying before your final at 6:00PM.

You hit snooze and ended up waking up around 11:33AM.

You scrambled out of bed very inelegantly and attempted to get your life together before noon so you could at least have six hours worth of a productive study day before your final. 

You remembered that you hadn’t packed yet, so you spent the next hour frantically stuffing your belongings into the singular carry-on sized suitcase meant to last you through your month-long winter break. 

You also realized that you hadn’t done your laundry for the week (well, week and 6 days…), and you obviously want to bring clean clothes back home so you spend the next two hours doing your laundry and finishing up your packing.

By the time you finally managed to get the time to study, the panic had fully nestled itself into your bones, so you could not focus and spent the next three hours staring at your study guide and praying that osmosis would kick in so you could actually retain information. 

You left to go to your final five minutes later than you should have and then ran across campus (with absolutely no dignity left) in order to get there on time. 

You arrived at your final just in time, only for there to be technical difficulties with printing the exam because your professor is a procrastinator, just like you are.

The next thirty minutes were then spent contacting the IT department, attempting to fix the printer, having to go print in another building, and then coming back with the final exam to a room of aggravated students who thought that they would be thirty-minutes into the exam by now. 

You are taking the final exam. It’s stupid difficult and you’re absolutely going to tank it. 

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about half an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour. 

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour and a half.

And on your very last day of the fall semester, your final runs overtime by two whole hours because of some mystic force determined to ruin your life, and your flight heading back home took off fifteen minutes ago. 

You know, it could be worse. You could have failed all of your classes. Instead, you paid an exorbitant $500 to miss your flight, fail your Global Politics in the Twentieth Century final, and end up trapped on campus for all of winter break because you don’t have the money to buy another plane ticket at such late notice (or at all). 

So, it could be worse. 

You trudge out of your final exam and try not to burst into tears on your way back to your dormitory. Barely anybody is left on campus now that finals are officially over, but you still want to save that last shred of dignity. As you’re walking down the pathway, you begin to feel wet splotches on your face. For a moment, you think that they are fat tears rolling down your face, but you look at the cobblestone beneath your feet and realize that instead, it’s raining. 

The perfect weather to match your mood, if you’re being honest. 

Not wanting to get caught in a downpour, you end up taking refuge in the coffee shop connected to the art building on campus. It’s a genius business design, if you say so yourself, because there is no one more dependent on caffeine than sleep-deprived, eyebag-laden art students. Surprisingly enough, there are still people behind the counter bustling around, so you use the last of your university dollars to order a peppermint hot chocolate to warm your insides (but not your cold, dead soul). 

From there, you take a quick detour to explore the art building, a building you have, admittedly, never really taken much of a look at. It must be empty now, with everyone off campus—except you, of course—which gives you the perfect opportunity to wallow in peace while admiring art. 

Walking inside, you stare at your reflection in the enormous glass walls. Look at your tired eyes, slouched shoulders, lips pressed thin, and hands warmed only by the heat of your cardboard coffee cup. Count each acne mark and hair out of place. It’s almost like you’re watching yourself as you look in the mirror, a third person standing in the background. The audience. Like the person who’s looking back at you isn’t you at all. 

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

But no matter how picturesque, how cinematic this particular moment of your life is, nothing can really soothe you after missing your flight, failing your final, and pretty much having the worst day of your entire life.

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

You assume that it must just be a professor leaving their office, or even maybe one of the hardworking security guards, but as you watch the glass walls to catch a glimpse of who's passing by, you realize that it's not a professor, or a security guard, or even a very large mouse scurrying across the floor.

"I thought I would be the last one in here," Kim Taehyung says when he spots you, stopping in his tracks with a canvas about half the size of him underneath his arm.

"So did I," you muse in response, not really wanting to turn around to save yourself the trouble of talking to him.

Still, Kim Taehyung has always been one hell of an observant guy, so by the time he's stopped behind you, he's already peering into the reflection of the glass windows to look at who he's talking to.

"Y/N?" He asks, walking up to you with his eyebrow raised. He comes over, standing next to you as you look at each other's reflections in the glass. "Never thought I'd see you in here."

"Me neither, to be honest," you say. Seeing as you aren't a visual studies major, you never really considered the art building to be a location of top priority. Until now, that is.

The last time you spoke to Kim Taehyung was the last day of your freshman year, when everybody was getting ready to move out, packing up their belongings and removing the fifteen thousand Command hooks stuck to their walls. You and him made eye contact as you placed the last of your boxes for the semester into those enormous Residential Services carts, glaring at each other from your adjacent rooms. 

“First year flew by, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, smirk lacing his features. 

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him. 

“Not gonna miss me, huh?” Taehyung winks, and it makes you want to take this cardboard box filled with all of the notebooks and lined paper and folders you used throughout the year and chuck it at his head. 

“Miss you?” You ask with a scoff. With the final box finally out of your room, you can officially lock the door behind you, closing the chapter on your very first year at university. “Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung asks, tapping his fingers on the side of the canvas underneath his arm. “Thought you’d be off campus by now.”

“I had a late final,” you say, pretending that your life and every aspect of it is fine when it is, in fact, not fine at all. The best case scenario is that Taehyung accepts your bullshit answer for what it is and heads off to do whatever it is that he does, leaving you alone so you can wallow in pity and ponder the meaning of life. The worst case scenario is that Taehyung stays. 

And Taehyung has always been very good at picking the latter. 

“Ah, sucks, for what class?” Taehyung asks. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just wants to interrupt your personal self-wallow time for as long as possible. 

“Global Politics in the Twentieth Century,” you tell him with a sigh. You don’t want to have to hear, say, read, or write that name ever again. 

“Oh, really? I took that class last semester,” Taehyung says with an eyebrow raised, surprised. “I thought it was super interesting.”

As if you needed any more proof that you and Kim Taehyung are exact opposites in every way. You are hardly surprised that Kim Taehyung enjoyed Global Politics in the Twentieth Century—not when the two of them have so much in common, like inconveniencing you, being annoying, and sort of always having it out for you. It’s like they were meant to be together. 

“I can’t say I thought the same,” you say pointedly, lips pursed into a tight line. 

“Ah, well, I never did peg you for a history buff,” Taehyung says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Why are you still on campus? I thought art students had to turn in their final projects on the first day of exams,” you ask, turning the focus onto him. It’s obvious that he has no intention of leaving you alone, so your next best option is to interrogate him until the tension between the two of you is so suffocating, so thick and heavy, that he wants to leave. 

“I had a couple of chem finals after I finished up my art classes,” Taehyung says. Right. You forgot he was doing a double major. “And, my parents are actually travelling this winter break, so I was planning on staying on campus. Didn’t really want to go back to an empty house, you know?”

After the day you’ve had, you can think of nothing better than opening the door to your home, knowing that you have the entire place to yourself and can spend the night in your bedroom, watching Netflix. 

“You’re staying on campus?” You ask. Great. The only two people who will be on campus this winter recess are you and Kim Taehyung. Fantastic. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, clearly unaffected. He seems particularly unbothered by the fact that he can’t go home, almost like he’s been looking forward to having the entire university to himself. “You’re about to head home, then, aren’t you? Just taking a quick break in the art building?”

Well, almost to himself. 

The chances of running into Taehyung this winter break, despite being probably the only two people on campus, is still slim. It’s a big campus, and there are people who are not part of the university that walk on campus all the time. 

And still, you don’t know what you’ll do if you lie to Taehyung and tell him you’re about to fly home, and then bump into him at the local coffee shop. You might just perish. That might be what happens. 

So, for once in your life, you suck it up and tell the truth. For once. 

“Actually, I missed my flight because of my final running overtime, so I’m sort of stuck here,” you tell him, and as the words leave your lips it feels like your whole body gets weighed down, like you’re cemented to the floor.

It’s only then that Taehyung actually turns to face you, so you aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the rain pattering on the pavement outside. You look at him, meeting his eyes and to your surprise, they aren’t filled with mirth. He hasn’t got this pleased grin on his face. He’s not milking this situation for what it could be milked for at all. He could be standing here, bathing in the satisfaction of your timely demise, and he’s not. 

He actually looks quite sad. 

“Really?” He asks, genuine. 

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s then that you accept your fate, resign yourself to the fact that you’re trapped on campus with no way (and no money) to get home, and try to look for the silver lining. “So, I’ve actually got to get going, grab my stuff and everything.”

“Oh, do you live off campus?” Taehyung asks. “We should get together sometime this break. Who else are we gonna talk to, right?” 

Spending time with Taehyung on your lonely-ass winter break sounds like the absolute worst thing in the entire world. It’s been two years since the last time you were forced to be within fifty feet of each other, so even having this conversation is taking you by surprise.

“No, I’m still staying on campus. But my dorm is closing for the winter break, so I need to go and find an Airbnb or something to stay somewhere,” you say, feeling your heart break at the notion of spending even more money this winter break after having watched your $500 dollar airplane ticket get flushed down the toilet. 

Taehyung stays silent, eyes gazing at the lines between the linoleum tiles on the floor. He’s stopped tapping on the side of his canvas, a painting which you still haven’t fully gotten a glimpse of. In the quiet of the art building, the dust settles, and you wait for Taehyung to say something. Anything. 

After a few more seconds, you decide that the two of you have been standing in awkward silence for long enough. 

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” you say nervously, letting out an unnatural and forced laugh as you turn on your feet and begin to head towards the exit. You have no idea where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do, but what you do know is that you have to be out of your building by noon tomorrow, so you’ve got less than a day to figure it out. 

And then, Taehyung says the worst thing he could possibly say at this given moment:

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks. 

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Taehyung immediately clarifies, as if that makes the offer any less sudden. “But I live in an off-campus apartment year round, so you could always stay with me if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to book an Airbnb or anything. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest rise and sink as you inhale and exhale. You can’t believe you’re actually considering his offer. You can’t believe that Taehyung would willingly offer up his personal abode, his private apartment to you, the freshman year next-door neighbor who knocked on his door every six hours to tell him to shut the fuck up. You cannot believe that you are on the verge of accepting. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, both eyebrows raised. Yes, the idea of free lodging and no-hassle appeals greatly to you, but you’re not so certain that Taehyung or you actually want this. After all, you spent all of freshman year hating on each other’s living habits as personal hobbies of yours. “You don’t have to offer just because I don’t have a place to stay. Seriously.”

“No,” Taehyung says, taking a step towards you. It’s barely a foot, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles closer to you than he was before. “I mean it. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome to. I have a futon in my living room that you can sleep on. I’m being serious.”

You cannot believe that he’s asking this. 

You cannot believe you’re considering this. 

You cannot believe you’re about to say yes to this. 

“You really mean it?” You ask one more time, just so you can be certain. You’d hardly be surprised if this whole thing was just a mindfuck. 

“I do,” Taehyung says. “No matter what, I don’t think anybody should be alone for the holidays.”

“Then yes,” you say, letting Taehyung catch up to you as you begin to walk towards the exit, step by step. “I’d really appreciate it.” You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his own chocolate brown ones, nearly ink black in the dark. You can’t offer much, certainly not anything to top this gracious proposal, but you smile, and he smiles back, and you think that’s enough. 

Your first order of business is trekking back to your dormitory and grabbing your fully-packed suitcase. At least spending an hour shoving as many of your belongings as possible into a tiny carry-on has its benefits despite you not setting foot in the airport. 

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Taehyung comments mindlessly as you walk through campus, following the cobblestone path as a shortcut to his apartment. 

“Done what?” You ask snarkily. “Hung out with each other?” You scoff. You and Taehyung spent all of freshman year skirting around each other, desperately trying to avoid contact while also banging on each other’s doors every ten minutes. It was essentially two semesters worth of shouting at each other through walls and sneering when you actually locked eyes. 

“Talked,” Taehyung simplifies, because he’s right. 

“Isn’t that what we were aiming for?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at him as your suitcase wheel skips on a stone out of place. “I thought we had reached that consensus already.” It’s been a year and a half since you last spoke to each other. You were almost confident that, without any overlapping classes, you would be able to keep that streak going long after graduation. 

As it turns out, things change. 

“I don’t know if we ever actually agreed on that,” Taehyung says, thinking back. “Almost like it went…” he pauses, and you can’t be sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because he actually doesn’t know what to say. “Unspoken.”

The irony is not lost on you. In fact, it hits you smack dab in the forehead as you watch Taehyung’s curious expression morph into the sleazy frat boy one he wore so much back then. He looks very pleased with his pun. It makes you want to sock him in the face. 

And as it turns out, some things never change. 

You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder because he offered you a place to stay for this break and you sort of (actually, really) owe him big time right now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t send a disapproving frown, which seems to do the trick. 

“I distinctly remember how you were so excited to never have to live next to me again when we moved out,” Taehyung says like he’s remembering a fun trip to the zoo. Almost like he looks upon the last time you ever interacted with each other fondly. 

You mentally sigh. If only freshman year you knew what was going to happen in the middle of your junior year. If only your final hadn’t run overtime by two hours. If only you had booked a later flight. 

If only. 

“I don’t remember that at all,” you lie like a liar, saying the words as the picture of you snarkily spitting them at Taehyung at the end of your freshman year plays in your brain on repeat. 

“You sure about that, Y/N?” Taehyung says, turning to look you up and down. He’s always been such a people reader, and you’ve always felt so helplessly transparent in front of him. Even back then. Even now. “Because I don’t really think that your memory is that bad.”

“Nope, no, I don’t,” you say quickly, trying to get Taehyung to stop eyeing you like you’re a question on an exam that he thinks is suspiciously easy. 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Taehyung muses as you round the street corner and his apartment complex comes into view. “Since we’ll be living together, anyway.”

“Miss you? Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

Before you can wheel your cart down the hallway and kiss your freshman year goodbye, Taehyung opens his mouth and says one more thing. You almost don’t hear him, too busy reminding yourself that you’ll never have to see him again, but then he says, “One day, Y/N, you’re going to realize that we’re closer than you think.”

When you walk into Taehyung’s apartment, your eyes zero in on these three things: the navy blue futon pushed up against the wall by his television and the fact that it doesn’t look like the kind of used furniture from off of the street that most college kids typically resort to, the little wooden kitchen table that looks straight out of a family-owned Italian restaurant (looks like the two of you will be eating dinner together), and the paintings on the walls. 

“Did you paint these?” Is the first thing you ask once you’re inside, putting your suitcase up against the wall as Taehyung takes off his coat. 

“Those? Yeah, I did them early last year. My walls looked so damn plain without anything on them.”

In freshman year, Taehyung seemed like the kind of artsy hipster who shopped at Urban Outfitters and put vinyl records on his wall with Command Strips but never actually listened to them. 

But the pieces on his walls aren’t vinyls of bands like Arctic Monkeys and Modern Baseball. They’re paintings, oil and acrylics and even a bit of charcoal. Still life and portraits and shadows. 

You had never seen one of his paintings before. You never imagined you’d ever want to, or even get the chance to. And now, you’re standing in the middle of his apartment, and you’re surrounded by them. 

“They’re…” You trail off, eyes bouncing from wall to wall as you take all of them in. There’s at least ten, one, if not two on each wall in sight. His bedroom is probably filled with them. His apartment’s not enormous, rather small since it’s only got one bedroom, but the paintings make the whole place bigger. Make it feel full of life. 

“They’re alright,” Taehyung finishes. He’s already grabbing extra blankets from the storage closet in the side of the wall. “They were assignments we had during the semester so I figured that they’d be put to good use on my wall.”

“It’s very impressive,” you admit. “Kind of a flex, but an impressive flex.” There is something so perfectly Taehyung about the fact that he’s got art all over his walls, but they’re his very own pieces that he has framed and hanging, on display for the entire world to see if they’d like. 

“They’d collect dust otherwise,” he says with a shrug. He tosses two blankets and a pillow your way, letting them plop onto the futon. “Are those enough blankets? It can get fucking cold in here, so I don’t want you to freeze to death or anything.”

And for a moment, you think that Taehyung has actually outgrown his asshole-y freshman days, maturing into someone with an actual moral backbone.

“How considerate,” you say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be alright. I’m a big, strong girl.”

“Just don’t come crawling into my bed if you want a taste of that weighted-blanket life,” Taehyung says, pretending to flip his hair. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to sleep with me.”

With a pillow right at your disposal, you waste no time grabbing it and chucking it straight at Taehyung’s face. He easily dodges, having spotted the move from a mile away, and chuckles. 

“Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that,” he says disapprovingly, shaking his head as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Your arm was much stronger back in freshman year.”

Scowling, you watch as he puts on the kettle to boil, letting the water begin to bubble as he goes about his business like he doesn’t have a guest in his living room that absolutely can’t stand him. 

And you realize that maybe Taehyung’s a couple of years older, a couple of years wiser, but that doesn’t make him a couple of years any less unbearable.

If you were a sleep-deprived engineering student three cans of Monster deep who, in their 4AM haze, invented a time machine to go back to freshman year, and you told your eighteen-year-old self that you would be living under the same damn roof as Kim Taehyung in two years time, freshman year you would probably sock you in the face. And ask you if you changed majors. Which, you did.

It’s not a far reach to wonder why. By the time October rolled around, the two of you had already established yourselves as archenemies until the end of time. 

It was a natural progression, really. Two tiny dorm rooms right next to each other, two beds pressed up against opposite sides of the same paper-thin wall, and two disgruntled freshmen trying their hardest not to die of alcohol poisoning. 

Now, you don’t have a track record for going to sleep at a reasonable hour. In fact, you don’t think you’ve gone to bed before 11PM since middle school. But is it really that irrational of you to want to get some well-deserved shuteye at two in the morning after a long day of procrastination and a long night of doing the studying you should have done during the day? Your roommate is fast asleep across from you, having gone to sleep at midnight like a regular college student who has her life together, which means that she’s immune to the fact that right next door, you can hear nothing but pounding drums making the very linoleum floor of your dormitory shake. 

Scowling, you scramble out of bed, sliding on your shoes to go give a certain Kim Taehyung a bit of a reprimanding. 

Why the fuck does he listen to heavy drums at two in the morning? What the fuck is he doing? Does he not own headphones, or anything that might restrict the sound to his own two ears and nothing else? Does he not have any respect for the people next door to him that might also have to listen to the sound of a thumping bass while they’re trying to go to sleep?

Some of you have 9AM’s tomorrow morning. And by some of you, you mean you. 

You quietly shut the door behind you so as not to wake your roommate, dead-bolting it so you don’t get locked out and have to trudge down to the Help Desk looking like a tired piece of non-recyclable garbage, and immediately bang on Kim Taehyung’s door. He hasn’t got a roommate, and you know he’s awake, which means that if he doesn’t respond, you’ll know why. 

Surprisingly enough, he does, opening the door and immediately grinning once he sees who’s on the other side, like he can’t get enough of the fact that his mere existence bothers you. 

“It’s 2AM,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting. 

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

“Would you mind turning down the music? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“This late, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, an eyebrow raised. “No wonder you’re always so cranky.”

“Maybe it’s because my next-door neighbor plays loud fucking music when I’m trying to go to sleep!” You say, already beginning to raise your voice like a loser who can’t control her emotions.

Which is exactly what you are, actually. So this is very on brand for you. 

“Hmm, never thought about it that way,” Taehyung says innocently. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says otherwise. 

“I’m being very nice to you right now, Kim Taehyung. Please turn your music down. Because it’s loud and you’re probably bothering other people as well,” you say, restraining yourself. If you were any more sleep-deprived you’d storm into his room and pound in his face like it was the fucking drums he’s listening to. 

“But you’re my only neighbor,” Taehyung says, a bitter reminder that you were unlucky enough to be the second-to-last room in the corridor, and he, the very last one. 

You inhale, trying to not lose your cool despite having probably already lost it. Kim Taehyung makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. Or buy heavy-duty earplugs off of Amazon Prime. The thing is, one of those options costs you money, and one is entirely free. So, it’s not difficult to see which one you’re leaning towards. 

“Taehyung, please turn your music down, or so help me God. I’m asking nicely,” you can feel the carbon dioxide paths coming from your nose as you breathe, in and out and in and out. 

“Just for you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a grin. God. You could just straight sock him in the face right now. “It helps me focus, but so does getting to see you.”

“Perish immediately,” you tell him sharply before pulling the door shut, marching back off to your room. 

True to his word, Kim Taehyung does turn off his music. Or puts in headphones. At least he’s conceded.

That is, until you wake up to a crash of glass later that morning at 7AM, coming from only one direction. 

The fact of the matter is, everything you and Taehyung did that year bothered the other so immensely that hatred, pure, unadulterated dislike, was really the only thing that could have come out of it. 

“You still listening to loud ass drums in the middle of the night?” You ask, eyeing the speakers by Taehyung’s television as you sit on his couch (as far apart from each other as possible) and eat some leftover spaghetti. 

“I invested in some AirPods as a treat to myself last year, so yes, but don’t worry,” Taehyung says. He’s mindlessly flicking through the available Hulu options on his TV, severely unimpressed by every one of them. 

“Wow, AirPods, sounds like you’re moving up in the world,” you say callously. “At least I don’t have to listen to it with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it helped me focus,” Taehyung says, all matter-of-fact about it. “It was from a Spotify playlist of modern orchestral music. You should give it a listen, it really gets you into the zone.”

“My relationship with classical music has, unfortunately, been tainted by a certain someone,” you remind him, taking the time to shoot him a glare just in case he doesn’t already know who exactly is at fault. 

“What a shame, you might actually like it,” Taehyung says sadly, shaking his head. 

“So what are the speakers for, then? If not for your fuckin’ drums,” you ask, motioning to them again as you slurp up the last of your spaghetti. It’s not as if you’ve got some sort of sacred reputation to protect in front of him. He’s seen you at your best (the first day of freshman year, when there was still light in your eyes), and at your worst (2AM, coming out of a drunken stupor, and bedhead-ridden). Like an ex-boyfriend, or something. 

“My friends really like singing karaoke,” Taehyung says. He points to the bluetooth microphones underneath the television as extra proof. 

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse to yourself. Taehyung always struck you as someone that needs people not to calm him down, but to elevate his already boisterous personality. Friends who are equally as unabashed as he is. 

“Since you’re here for a whole month, we should try it some time,” Taehyung suggests, taking the empty bowl from your hands and heading back to the sink to wash up. 

“You need help with that?” You ask, immediately getting up because even if Taehyung has a tendency to drive you up the wall, you’re still going to be a good guest.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “You know, I have karaoke for All I Want For Christmas Is You. Super seasonal, right?” 

You dust off your hands from where you’re standing, loitering in that weird halfway point between his kitchen and his living room. Checking the clock underneath his television, you realize that it’s already past ten. And while you haven’t gone to sleep this early in a while, being in Taehyung’s apartment makes you feel all sorts of strange. Subdued and exhausted, too grateful to be your normal aggressive and witty self. And after such a long goddamn day, passing out on his navy blue futon seems like absolute heaven. 

“Not right now,” you say, shaking your head. Karaoke is something that friends do with other friends. And despite currently living under the same roof, you and Kim Taehyung are not friends. 

(But perhaps you will be. And that’s the scary part.)

You sigh, absolutely tanked. It’s been a stupidly long day. “Maybe later.”

Living with Taehyung is a sort of strange limbo you never, in a million years, pictured yourself in. You aren’t close enough to be friends but you’ve matured out of being the true enemies you had both envisioned the yourselves as in freshman year. The both of you walk around his apartment like you’re afraid to talk to the other, waiting patiently for the bathroom when the other person’s inside, trying to keep yourself busy with nonexistent work (it is winter break, after all) and the apps on your phones. 

This is the sort of thing you dreamed of when you were a freshman. A Kim Taehyung that you could co-exist with peacefully. Someone who didn’t spend every waking moment of his life making every waking moment of yours unbearable. You used to find excuses to sleep overnight in the library (it was open 24/7, after all) just so you wouldn’t have to go back to your dorm and see his stupid face. Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch minding your own goddamn business and doing two totally unrelated activities. In silence. The only noises being his refrigerator/freezer combo when it starts making ice and the sounds of your fingers hitting the keyboards on your laptops. Maybe he’s playing a video game on the Playstation 4 he keeps out in the living room, but he has headphones on and isn’t saying a word. 

It’s a very strange sort of limbo indeed, because no opportunities arise for you to become friends nor do any arise for you to become enemies. At this rate, you’ll live together for the month-long winter break and when it ends, you’ll go back to never speaking to each other again. 

And that, strangely enough, makes you sad. Makes you want to reach out to him, try and build up a relationship that last ended in absolute chaos so that when you leave this place, it won’t have been for naught. You will have gained something from it, no matter how small. 

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it. 

“Hey,” he says one day, walking into the living room and already pulling on his overcoat. “You free right now?”

“Yeah, why?” You ask, shutting your laptop as you turn to him. He’s all dressed up and you’ve been wearing the same hoodie for the past forty-eight hours. 

“Let’s get hotpot. I’m freezing and I want some hot soup and meat.”

So, you go and get hotpot. 

Like any normal university with more than approximately three East Asians enrolled, there’s a hotpot place right off campus that many a college student frequent. You have, admittedly, not been since freshman year, but this winter break you seem to be reaching back into all of those memories anyway, like a can of worms. Memory worms. 

“I’m starving,” Taehyung says as the two of you sit down. He’s already opening the menu, eyeing all of the different ingredients he can order for a simple All-You-Can-Eat fare. “Plus, I’ve been craving hotpot for weeks now.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and you can hear it from across the booth.

“Even my tummy knows,” Taehyung says, placing a palm to his belly to soothe it. “Have you gotten hotpot before?”

“Yeah, but it was a while ago. I just never had the time to go for a whole two hours and pig out on food,” you say with a sigh. It’s been so long that you barely remember what it tastes like. 

“Then we’ll spend every minute that we’re allowed to here, eating as much food as we want and gaining a few pounds while we’re at it,” Taehyung says, determined. The waiter comes by to pour you both some water and he already begins to order, pointing to about fifteen different things on the menu before the waiter whizzes off. 

“I don’t think I heard a single word you told that guy,” you say candidly. Taehyung listed everything off so quickly that it went right over your head. 

“I just ordered a lot of food, so be prepared,” Taehyung says like it’s a promise. He’s got this glint in his eye, one that tells you that you should be glad you came on a fairly-empty stomach because it’s about to be filled to the brim. 

And prepared you are. Within five minutes of Taehyung ordering, there are plates and dishes and boards of food in front of you and a steaming pot of broth in the middle. There’s so much on the table that you can hardly see the marble table top underneath. 

Taehyung dives right in, clearly an experienced hotpot eater. He grabs two bowls filled with various sauces and pops a couple of the vegetables into his mouth as he waits for the broth to boil. And when it begins to bubble, he immediately begins dumping everything in sight into it, from meat to noodles to vegetables. It all looks ridiculously appetizing. 

When the first round of hotpot is over and done with, you already feel yourself starting to get sleepy just from the consumption overload. Taehyung, on the other hand, has apparently no limit and is already ordering more, pointing to another fifteen things on the menu. 

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Taehyung asks, and you can hear the knowing tone in his voice. Like he already knows how you’re going to answer him. 

“I have to admit that I never did,” you say. It must the food that’s softened you up. No wonder Taehyung invited you to a place where you can literally eat as much as you want in a two-hour timeframe. 

“This is nice, though, isn’t it?” He asks. 

And for once in your life, you agree. It is nice. Not just the food (though the food is very nice) but being with someone on a winter break that would otherwise be overwhelmingly lonely. Eating out with someone, even if it’s someone with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong, isn’t that sturdy. It’s nice. Because it means that, somewhere along the way, you both wanted something to change for the better. 

“It is.” You nod. “Way better than all the times we fought during freshman year.”

“Remind me why we never went to our RA to resolve things like we should have?” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t make it sound like you both made a mistake. He asks because he’s curious, and because the past is the past. 

“I think we were both too fucking prideful for our own good,” you say, shaking your head. You now would disapprove of you in freshman year so strongly. “We thought that we could either resolve it ourselves or spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Taehyung asks, holding up his water like it’s a glass of vintage red wine from the 1800’s. “That we thought that we could just spend the rest of our lives hating each other?”

“I was prepared to do it,” you say, taking another piece of meat from the hotpot in front of you, letting the steam waft from it like a tiny campfire. “With how big this school is, I was convinced that you and I would never have to see each other again. Never have the opportunity to change how we felt about each other.”

“But that’s not how life works, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you, looking into your eyes like he’s trying to reach into your soul, pick apart the memories of freshman year and watch as your relationship deteriorated as each day went by. “It doesn’t matter if we see each other every day for the rest of our lives or if, after this, we never say another word to each other. You will always have the opportunity to change how you feel about someone, even if you aren’t with them. Even if you aren’t seeing them at all.” He takes a deep breath, and reaches over the steaming pot of soup to nudge your shoulder with his finger, ever so slightly. It makes you look up at him, meet his dark brown eyes with your own, foggy from the steam. “That’s what makes us human, Y/N. We’re human because we can change.”

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump. 

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

It’s early in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the two of you are wide awake after Taehyung’s neighbors a floor below him called the fire department as an early wake-up call for the entire complex. You’ve always been a light sleeper—Taehyung made sure of that in freshman year—but even he woke up as the fire trucks pulled up to the fire lane next to the apartment building. He came stumbling out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too big and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, locks of his hair sticking every which way, face illuminated by the blue, red, and orange lights of the emergency vehicles beneath the window. 

And he stayed like that, even as the noise died down and the sun rose. He marched around looking like he had just rolled out of bed, barely sparing himself a second glance in the reflection of his refrigerator. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds like it’s obvious. “If we hopped on a bus now we could make it there by nine and spend the day there. How about it?”

“You mean, right now?” You ask, just as clarification. College and its many features have forced you to grow used to spontaneity, but it usually came in the form of “I’m hungry, so I am going to eat an entire bag of Hot Cheetos at this exact moment” or “Yes, my bank account is crying but these pants are very cute,” and not, “Do you wanna go to New York?”

“In a bit. Buses leave from here every hour to go to New York, especially since it’s the holiday season. Tickets are ten dollars. We could do it, if you’d like,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s suggesting that the two of you go grocery shopping or something else equally mundane. 

“Just for the day?” You ask, a girl of both many questions and a shocked expression. 

“Sure,” Taehyung says with a shrug, biting into a tomato as if it were a goddamn apple. “We can go to a museum or two, eat a nice lunch or dinner, and go ice skating at Rockefeller. See the tree, too. It’ll get us in the holiday spirit, don’t you think?”

And normally an outing to New York would have you planning weeks in advance, organizing reservations and buying tickets for entry into exhibits, but it’s winter break and you’ve got more free time than you know what to do with. 

And maybe you’d hate to admit it, but you need someone like Taehyung to get you off of your ass and out of the house, do something fun and spontaneous like college students do in the movies. 

Taehyung is practically a movie portrayal of a college student in real life. He’s spontaneous, secretive, sage. He’s artsy and worldly, paints but is also extremely smart and well-educated. He lives in a quaint off-campus apartment by himself and spends his days making friends and keeping busy. He loves to tease you, and has that sort of lopsided smirk that all casanovas do. And he is, as much as you’d hate to admit it, always been something of a looker. He’s got the same sort of handsome, classic look that young European men in paintings from the eighteenth century have, a portrait of them in the prime of their lives. One wink and he’d send every preteen girl in the audience to their knees.

And you? Well, you suppose you’re the tragically unlucky female lead who has to live with him until classes resume. 

Taehyung’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter island as he scrolls for bus tickets on his phone. “There’s a bus leaving from the station in thirty minutes. Think we can make it?”

It might be the fact that you’ve been holed up in Taehyung’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours that makes you say yes. Or it’s the desperation to do something, anything, literally anything, to keep yourself busy this break. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that little voice in the back of your chest, one buried in the depths of your heart, that makes you go. Because there is something so wonderfully exhilarating about being spontaneous.  And there is something even more exciting about it being with someone you know. 

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

Two hours later, the two of you are standing outside Penn Station in New York City, staring at the road signs to try and orient yourself. It’s chilly and a little windy, but the sun beats down regardless, shadows of skyscrapers cast along the streets. 

You pull out your phone to pull up the Maps app, looking up directions, but Taehyung just begins to walk down 7th Avenue, not a care in the world. 

“Where are you going?” You say quickly, scrambling to catch up to him. This early in the morning, your breath still turns to fog as you jog towards him to meet his abnormally long strides.

“Do you want to go to the Met, MOMA, or Guggenheim?” Taehyung asks simply, like he’s trying to decide which type of Doritos to get in the chips aisle. 

“Uh…” you are, admittedly, not that particular to the art that you’ll see. Art does not have as much of an immediate relevance to you as other things in your life, like your bank account, or your final semester grades. “Why don’t you pick the museum, and I’ll pick the restaurant we go to?”

“Deal,” Taehyung says, that same devilish gleam in his eyes, a trick (or two) up his sleeves. Only this time, you aren’t afraid of what he’s got in store. 

You find that you are very much looking forward to it. 

Twenty minutes later sees the both of you standing outside the gigantic glass doors of the MOMA, surrounded by a pitch black exterior about as edgy and contemporary as the pieces of art inside. 

“You never struck me as a modern art kind of guy,” you tell Taehyung as the both of you walk inside, glass windows and ceilings on every side of you and a bustling crowd right in front of you. Modern art seems rather stuffy. And perhaps, two years ago, you would have equated Taehyung to such, but now, stuffiness couldn’t be the furthest adjective to describe him. He may be a little obnoxious and overwhelmingly charismatic, but he is certainly not stuffy. 

“I prefer Impressionism and the subsequent periods,” Taehyung tells you, another fact you never knew but happily stow away. “But I am, admittedly, a bitch for modern art, no matter how goddamn stupid it is.”

“Good to know we’re spending our money on a museum that will definitely be worth our while,” you say dryly, taking the two tickets from the woman behind the desk. You pick up a map while you’re at it, almost certain to get lost in this maze of a museum, but Taehyung is already zooming off, forcing you to scurry through the herds of people just to keep up his pace. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” You ask, entirely serious. You fumble to open up the map and suddenly you’ve got a piece of shiny paper larger than your backpack in your hands, overwhelmed. 

Taehyung stops, the two of you standing right by the middle of a doorway, blocking everybody’s path. And he places his hands on top of yours, lowering the map as you gaze up at him, wondering why the heck you haven’t moved to the side so you aren’t inconveniencing the thousands of people roaming the museum. His brows are soft, a little furrowed, like someone began to knit them together but then forgot halfway through. Like he’s thinking. Like he wants to tell you something. 

“No,” Taehyung says softly, large hands enveloping yours as he begins to fold the map back up, “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You open your mouth, about to prove your point, but Taehyung continues. 

“But I don’t need to. Because we’re supposed to get lost,” he tells you, honest, candid, and true. “That’s the whole point. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.”

You scoff, heart a little warm on the inside but wit still sharp. “You sound like an infomercial for a cruise.”

Taehyung laughs, tilting his head back in the way that says that he means it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Please. We don’t need a map. We can guide each other. All we need is faith, trust…” He pauses, leaning in and waiting for you to finish his sentence. 

Begrudgingly, you give in, mostly because he’s too naturally charming not to. “And pixie dust.”

Taehyung grins, satisfied, before he catches you by surprise, takes your hand in his, and pulls you into the elevator. 

Much like the corrupt businesses whose main offices are only a few minutes walk away, you go from the top down. Taehyung says that it is like a very, very long slide. You say that it’s an extremely slow walk. 

He’s an art student. You don’t really know what else you were expecting. He stares at each piece until it bores into his eyes, fills up another cup in his soul, overflowing with color, with light and meaning and everything in between. Every now and then, he and you stop at the same one, inspecting each and every detail, and Taehyung will lean to the side and whisper in your ear. 

He will tell you what he thinks of the medium, what he thinks of this piece and what he thinks of the positioning of that specific object. He tells you not how he interprets it in the eyes of the artist, but what it means to him, and how he perceives it. And, as the hours pass, you realize that, while you have been in museums before, you had never felt like you were truly there. And here you are, standing in front of priceless pieces of art with a boy in love with art beside you, and he holds your hand as he takes you through what brings him more joy than anything else. 

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

When you reach the first painting and sculpture floor, Taehyung lets out an audible gasp. 

You round the corner and before you know it, you’re standing in front of what could very well be the most famous painting of the nineteenth century. 

“I forgot it was here,” Taehyung says distantly, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. In the ink black of his pupils, you can see the oil painting reflected, the thick blue and yellow brushstrokes, each and every line on the canvas. 

“Now, this piece I’m familiar with,” you say, standing next to him and staring up at The Starry Night, an artistic feat, worth more than probably a hundred times your tuition, and a legacy. The legacy that The Starry Night left behind is one that you see still reflected today. You see it in all of the other people in this little room, clambering over one another just so they can get a glimpse. You see it in the little children who draw self-portraits in art class, Sharpies and markers and crayons littering the page. 

And you see it in the boy next to you, who loved something so much he knew that he would be doing it for the rest of his life. He would be following a legacy, forever, until he forged one of his own. You look not at the art but as Kim Taehyung gazes at it, memorizing each and every stroke and imprinting it onto his brain. And you finally realize what art means: passion. It means that it fills you up, flows through your blood and into your heart, consumes you. And it means that the only thing you can do to prevent it from eating you alive is to spread it, and let others get a taste of the madness. 

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it,” you muse. You don’t know much about art but when there is something so mesmerizing, so stunning, in front of you, it’s difficult not to notice. 

You feel Taehyung turn his head, letting the gaze of his piercing brown eyes rest upon your figure for a split second before he turns back. “It is,” he says. 

The way that the two of you go through art museums, by the time you emerge, it’s already dark and the streets are beginning to empty as tourists and cityfolk alike find places to eat, walking into every bar, restaurant, cafe, and house on the hunt for a good meal, whether homemade or curated. You had spent nearly an hour in the gift shop alone, laughing at the overpriced t-shirts and kitschy pillows. 

“Where to next, m’lady?” Taehyung asks as you push open the glass doors and let the biting cold hit your noses. 

“You know, we were so busy in there that I didn’t even have time to find a nice place to eat tonight,” you admit sheepishly. 

“That’s alright,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like surprises. Spontaneity is my thing.”

“You don’t say,” you comment sagely, making Taehyung roll his eyes. 

Knowing that it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation now, you and Taehyung make your way south, following the flow of traffic heading towards Times Square and keeping an eye open for any places that look relatively nice and busy, but not too busy, the perfect sign of both a delicious and available restaurant. 

After walking for a few blogs, cuddling together (in a totally platonic way) to preserve as much body heat as possible in the now freezing weather, air no longer warmed by the sun’s rays, you stumble upon a tiny hole in the wall Mediterranean place. You can’t really see anything inside due to the fog on the window, forming from the combination of cold air and hot, but Taehyung does a quick google search and says that it’s a modern Mediterranean restaurant that specializes in pizza. Google says it has two dollar signs. You hear the word pizza, and everything pretty much goes out of the window. 

“Hi,” Taehyung says as you squeeze through the little hallway to get to the host, voice warm and silky. “Table for two?”

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks. 

“Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. You two are college students. It’s not like you plan ahead anyway. 

“That’s okay, we still ask for every customer’s name for a more personalized experience,” the host says. He leans forward, eyes wide, waiting for Taehyung to respond. 

“Kim,” Taehyung says simply as the host gathers two menus and a wine list. 

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” the host says, and you open your mouth to correct him (Because you are not married. You’re not. You’re not even dating. This is not a date. It’s not a date, right?), but Taehyung puts a finger to his lips and tells you to zip it. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this. 

For the rest of the evening, the wait staff all address you and Taehyung as Mr. and Mrs. Kim, which is absolutely outrageous for multiple reasons: you are college students, you both look like college students, you’re not dating, you don’t act like you’re dating (other than the hand-holding and cuddling which was purely out of survival and nothing else), and most importantly, you’re not interested in each other like that. That part is obvious. Isn’t it?

When you order a glass of champagne each they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When Taehyung has a question about one of the ingredients on one of the pizzas they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When you order your food they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they come by to clarify Taehyung’s request of no anchovies they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they bring these massive pizzas and place them down on your table, wishing you a pleasant meal they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. 

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you. 

“Everything alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kim?” Your waiter asks as you’re plowing through your individual pizzas very inelegantly. 

“Yes,” Taehyung grins cheesily. “Thank you very much.”

He’s positively beaming. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised. 

“This pizza is really good,” Taehyung tells you. 

“Not that,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You know that Taehyung knows exactly what you’re referring to, he’s just being annoying about it, as per usual. “The whole ‘we’re married’ thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“The “Mr. and Mrs. Kim’ thing?” Taehyung says with a smile. He’s relishing in the feeling, especially when it’s obvious that you’re not as keen on the collective nickname. “I fucking love it. You don’t?”

“We’re college students,” you remind him. 

“So? That means that they think that we look old enough to not be college students. I consider that a win, especially because Jimin always says I look twelve,” Taehyung says with a shrug. 

“We’re not married,” you add. It’s the truth. 

“You’re right, we’re not, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I love the way that it sounds,” Taehyung says. He basks in it. 

“We’re not even dating, Taehyung,” you say with a sigh, exasperated. Doesn’t he get it? It’s weird, being Mr. and Mrs. Kim, because you never have been. There never was a Mr. and Mrs. Kim. And quite frankly, there never will be. “We’re not even interested in it.”

“Who says?” Taehyung asks, and the path he’s directing this conversation down is not one you’d like to take. It’s rocky and bumpy and unclear, hazy with fog. You don’t do fog. You like when things are clear cut and visible. 

“I do,” you say with a frown. “Are you interested in dating me, Taehyung? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to date you right now. Or, like, at all.”

Taehyung pauses. His brows are furrowed again, but all the way this time. He stares down at his pizza, and he contemplates. You sit there and watch him, feeling the weight of every second as it passes by. Were you too harsh? Maybe you were. But it was the truth, and he deserves something honest, even if it’s brutal. 

“Oh,” Taehyung says, like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of your mouth. What you said has been lingering between you like smoke, refusing to dissipate. “Well, I—I guess that makes two of us.” It’s obvious that there’s something else there, just underneath the water, but you don’t press further. It sounds like he’d rather keep it hidden. 

When you leave, the waitstaff bid you goodbye exactly as you had predicted. 

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” they say cordially as you and Taehyung pull on your coats and hats and gloves and head out the door. 

“You too,” Taehyung says softly after a few seconds, like he was waiting for the words to fade away before speaking. “Thank you.”

Your bus leaves from Penn Station at 9:30 that night, and it’s barely seven. Plenty of time for you to continue exploring, see Times Square all lit up like it’s New Year’s Eve, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, or even take a peek into Central Park at nighttime, when the moon is high and the lanterns are lit. 

“How about we go ice skating?” Taehyung suggests as the two of you walk along the pavement, side by side. Your hands are buried deep into the pockets of your coat. 

“At Rockefeller?”

“Sure, why not?” Taehyung says. That sentence pretty much sums up your trip to New York thus far. “I’ve always wanted to go skating and see the tree during Christmastime. When else will we get the chance?”

Five minutes later you’ve paid for rental skates, a locker for your shoes, and a ticket to the rink. Visible right next to you is the enormous tree, the lights twinkling and cameras flashing as everyone scrambles to get their Instagram picture to prove that they actually went to the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City. 

When the zamboni is finished and the employees have skated over the ice enough to increase the level of friction, Taehyung and you balance on your skates as you walk towards the entrance. Slowly, everybody begins to glide on, wobbling at first before eventually getting the hang of it. There are a couple of small children holding onto those little penguin skate assistants, laughing as their older brothers and sisters guide them along the ice. 

“I’ve never skated before,” you admit nervously, about two seconds before you’re about to enter the rink. 

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

“No,” you reiterate, even more nervous than before. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I just said yes because like you said we’re in New York and it’s nearly Christmas and we should just seize every opportunity that we have and—”

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, calming you down as he ushers you away from the entrance so you aren’t blocking other people’s paths. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells you, holding onto your wrists to make you look up at him. “I can show you how to. It’s easier than it looks, I swear. I won’t let you fall. You just have to trust me, alright?” He shakes your wrists to catch your attention, make sure that you heard him. “Alright?”

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale. 

“Alright.”

Everything is, in fact, not alright. No matter what Taehyung says, ice skating is way more fucking difficult than it looks. Taehyung steps onto the ice and it turns into second nature for him, gliding around a small circle to get warmed up as you cling onto the side railing like an idiot. You have no idea how to move, you have no idea where to go, you just shuffle along the railing with the rest of the children who are far younger than you, also trying to skate for the first time. 

This is embarrassing. 

“You’re a liar,” you tell Taehyung pointedly as he circles around, coming up to rest next to you. You’d point at his chest for emphasis, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without both hands on the railing at all times. “This is—” you pause, remembering that there are children present, “—very difficult.”

Taehyung just chuckles. “You have to be brave, Y/N, come on,” Taehyung implores. He holds out his hand, motioning for you to let go of the wall and take a leap of faith. 

“No, I will not be brave. Please let me be weak,” you beg, scared for your life. One wrong move and you’d go splat in the middle of the rink and embarrass yourself in front of all of New York City. 

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung says, holding his hand closer. “You said you trusted me. I told you, I won’t let you fall. Come on. Be brave.” And then he adds, leaning in to meet your eyes, “for me?”

He’s always been too charming for your own good. 

Tentatively, second by second by painstaking second, you remove your hands from the railing, first the left and then the right, as Taehyung pulls you right next to him, holding on tight. 

“See?” He asks as you begin to move on your own, Taehyung’s short glides pulling you along the ice. “Look, it’s not that bad.”

“I am scared for my life right now.” You blink. 

“Focus on me, okay,” Taehyung says, making you meet his eyes once more. “Eyes on me, alright. You’re doing fine. You’re skating, isn’t this fun?”

“I am terrified that I am going to perish on this very rink,” you repeat for emphasis. 

“Look, Y/N, look! You’re skating!” Taehyung tells you, and finally you glance down at your feet and realize that they’re beginning to move on the ice, all on their own. 

“Oh my God! I’m skating! What the—heck!” You say, eyes widening in excitement. 

“I knew you could do it,” Taehyung says, hands gripping on tight. You can feel the warmth from his palms seep into your own, feel the back of your hand burning from the touch. “You just had to trust me.”

“This is so cool,” you say, immediately very pleased with yourself. “I’m such a pro, I can do anything. Who said skating was scary?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but you shoot him a warning glare and he zips his lips. 

“Watch this, I can even do it on my own. You’re gonna be very impressed, Kim Taehyung, just watch me!”

Within the next moment, you’re letting go of his hand and pushing yourself away from him, gliding along the ice ever-so-slightly as you begin to balance on your own. 

But power is short-lived, and much like every leading male in Greek tragedies, your hubris gets the best of you, and you face the ultimate demise. 

The moment you attempt to pick up your left foot, your right toe pick gets caught in a dip of the ice and you go toppling over, collapsing onto the ice in a cold, bruised ball. 

Luckily, your coat takes most of the hit, its length preventing your knees from hurting into the next century, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. Ashamed of yourself and even more mortified to have to face Taehyung after boasting about how amazing you are, you slowly push yourself off of the ice, wobbling like a baby deer. 

“What was that, Y/N?” Taehyung says with a raised eyebrow as he skates over. He’s clearly just recovered from a laughing fit. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter, and you don’t even care if children hear you. “I got excited.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung notes, eyes wide and knowing. He holds out a hand, and before you even have time to think of a snarky retort your palm is reaching out for it, letting him pull you up off of the rink. “Here. Come on.”

One hour and two fairly bruised knees later, you and Taehyung are taking off your skates and relishing in the feeling of your feet, flat on the ground like feet should be. 

“You alright?” Taehyung asks. You didn’t have any massive falls following the first spectacle, but you admittedly, still cannot ice skate very well. You’ll have to figure out a way to learn. 

You round out the night by going to look at the Christmas Tree. Now that it’s fairly late, the massive families with young children have all gone home, leaving only the young adults left to bask in the glory of the peak of Christmas decorations. 

“It seemed bigger in photos, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks as the both of you crane your necks to look at the tree in all of its glory. “Like it was the size of a small tower.”

“Yeah,” you agree. It looks somewhat disappointingly small, now that you’re here in front of it. “Today was a lot of fun, Taehyung. Your spontaneity paid off.”

“When does it not?” Taehyung asks, proud of himself. He even has enough of an ego to do a little hair flip, making you shake your head disapprovingly. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did.”

“What was your favorite part?” You ask. 

“Definitely when you were in your prime for one moment and a puddle on the ice the next,” Taehyung says, and for that, he earns a punch to the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I did really enjoy ice skating.”

“Yeah, because you can actually do it,” you remind him. 

“What about you?”

You think. This day has been so long, from getting woken up by Taehyung’s irresponsible neighbors and the entire city’s fire department outside your window, to hopping on a bus to New York, to museums and restaurants and ice skating and the city, you feel like you’ve lived three days in one. 

“The museum,” you finally decide. “I’m not really an art person, but I thought it was lovely. Nice and heated, too.”

“Yes, the best part about the Museum of Modern Art was its modern, state-of-the-art central heating,” Taehyung repeats, making you laugh. “I’m glad you liked the museum. I was worried you’d think it was too stuffy.”

You had thought that too. And then you watched someone fall in love with each and every piece, right in front of you, and you realized that there’s more to art than putting a price tag on it and critiquing it. It’s passion, materialized. It’s real.  

It’s Taehyung. 

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I thought it was beautiful.”

On Christmas Eve, it snows. 

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot. 

Correction for the correction: On Christmas Eve, it blizzards. 

When you listened to “White Christmas” last night, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, if you were being honest. Maybe an inch or two. Maybe even just a flurry. But certainly not nearly two feet worth of snow, effectively trapping you inside of Taehyung’s apartment complex until the next day because not even the snow plows are allowed to go out on the roads. Not until the snow stops. 

“Good thing we don’t live on the first floor, right?” Taehyung asks with a laugh that late afternoon, taking a peek out of the window to stare down at the white expanse below you. “I’d hate to be those guys.”

“It must be so cold,” you say sadly. You’ve spent the better part of today huddled up in as many blankets as Taehyung owns in his apartment and you have no intention of shedding even one of them. Not even as you sweat right through your pajama shirt from high school. 

“We can just make dinner here, tonight,” Taehyung says, fishing around in his kitchen to see what the options are. It’s already beginning to get dark even though it’s not even five o’clock. God, you hate winter. 

“What are we making?”

Taehyung fumbles through the cabinets and his fridge, hunting for anything that might make a good meal. Eventually, he pulls out two cartons of Trader Joe’s vegetable broth and every vegetable in his fridge. 

“Wanna make soup?”

Soup is very easy to make. You set the broth to simmer, chop up vegetables, and dump them in the pot. 

But the idea of you and Taehyung sharing his tiny kitchen space, both with knives in your hands is, well, a recipe for disaster.

Luckily no knife mishaps occur, but, like the children at heart that you are, you eventually end with pelting uncooked lima beans at each other in the most adult version of a food fight you have ever had in your life. No fuss, no mess, no tomatoes or key lime pies or spaghetti doused in sauce getting chucked across the kitchen floor, the dinner table. 

No, your little food fight ends with you and Taehyung kneeling down on the tile as you pick up each little lima bean, gathering them in your palms. 

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you. 

“Wait,” Taehyung says, a hand on top of yours as it hovers over the trash can, “don’t toss them out.”

“Huh?” You ask. 

“I’ll feed them to the birds,” he says, taking the pile from your hands and placing all of the lima beans, along with his own, in a Ziploc bag. 

“You have a porch out here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve never seen it. 

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “They land on my bedroom window sill so I feed them.”

When you were in freshman year, you remember how Taehyung always left his window open. You know this because even though yours was always closed, anytime a police car, fire truck, ambulance, or particularly loud motorist drove by, the sound was always loudest on the wall of your room that bordered Taehyung’s. You hated how he always left his windows open, even in the winter. Wasn’t he goddamn cold?

And now, even though it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a blanket of snow outside nearly two feet deep, Taehyung will go and open his bedroom window again and feed the birds lima beans like a fucking Disney prince, and it makes your heart flutter, ever so slightly. 

You end the night sitting on Taehyung’s couch, only a foot or so of space in between your bodies as he multitasks, channel surfing and gulping down your homemade soup. 

“I haven’t made soup in a while, but damn, this is good,” Taehyung says, drinking the rest of it before getting up to help himself to seconds. He sticks a hand out to take your bowl as well, and wordlessly you hand it to him. 

“It’s my magic touch,” you tease. It was not. Taehyung did most of the work. You don’t have much of an affinity for cooking.

“It’s my chemistry brain,” Taehyung corrects. “Chem is basically like making soup.”

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

“But it can kill you,” he agrees, returning to the couch. This time, when he sits down, he plops right down next to you, your sides touching as you sit in front of his television, slurping up homemade vegetable soup. “How’s your major? What is it, again?”

“English with a minor in Psych,” you say over a mouthful of carrot. 

“Sounds like too much reading for me,” Taehyung comments. “I’d only like picture books.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you tell him sarcastically. “But it’s going well. I’m thinking of maybe adding Consumer Psych as another minor since there’s a lot of overlap, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments. 

“Almost as busy as visual studies and chem,” you remind him. “Seriously, do you ever sleep?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress and the will to do my chem problem sets, even more fickle,” Taehyung muses like the two subjects aren’t the absolute bane of his existence. “But yeah, I mean, I made it this far.”

“Our majors are so different,” you comment. They are. Encompassing all sides of the college major spectrum, from STEM to art to humanities. The only thing you’re missing is a business minor. But only snakes would ever be interested in something like that. 

“It’s nice,” Taehyung decides. “Because this is forcing us to talk with someone with whom we don’t already share all of the same classes with.”

“I couldn’t imagine taking the same class as you,” you say, not because you’d hate having to be in the same room as Kim Taehyung or dread the potential to be paired up for group work, but because your tastes are so different. They’ve always been different. Art, English, chemistry, psychology. Headphones or speakers. Closed windows or open. It’s always been opposites with the two of you. 

“Maybe I’ll take a psych class so that way we can,” Taehyung says. 

“Maybe I’ll take an art history course,” you retort.

“You’d really take an art history course? They’re awfully boring, and I’m an art major,” Taehyung says, in disbelief. 

You ponder it for a moment, but then nod. Yes, you would. Even if it sent you to sleep. Because it looks genuinely interesting. “After today, I wouldn’t mind it. You showed me a lot about art, Kim Taehyung. More than I thought I would ever learn in my lifetime.”

Taehyung sighs, shutting the television off. You guys weren’t watching it anyway. You hardly realized it was on. He looks down at his empty soup bowl, and then at you. He always does that—always looks somewhere else before looking at you, like he has to muster up the courage by first staring at an inanimate object. And then he says, “You’ll never stop learning about art. Neither will I. It’s a constant cycle, learning and relearning and changing your mind and revisiting old pieces. Because art is all around us.”

He looks at you, like he’s trying to say something else but doesn’t have the words. “You just have to look for it.”

New Year’s Eve is often a time of reflecting on the year that’s passed, making a list of goals to achieve once the clock strikes twelve. Thanking your friends and family, your loved ones, for being there for you this year, and promising to be there for them as well next year. 

To you and Taehyung, it’s literally your last chance to get piss drunk this year without repercussions. You’ve never stayed here, at your university in the city, for New Year’s Eve (obviously). You’d be interested in getting all dressed up to go out. Taehyung would also be interested. 

And so, after a day of slouching around and making half-assed resolutions you know you won’t keep (like managing your time better. As a college student? Impossible.), you and Taehyung decide to get dressed up and go out, pulling out the winter jackets you don’t care if you lose, or if they get trashed, or if they stain with vodka. All you want is to lose your goddamn mind in a tiny club with a bunch of other wasted young adults who don’t want to stay at home on the last night of the year. 

You are, unsurprisingly, a self-proclaimed not-a-going-out person, but tonight is something of an exception. It’s your last night to do this this year, and honestly, you can’t really think of a better way to end the year. There’s been plenty of ups (that A+ on your paper on the ethics of Beowulf, yay!) and plenty of downs (Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, yikes), and no better way to say goodbye to them all than with alcohol in your system. But even if, during the regular college season, you’re something of a stick in the mud, you remembered to pack a nice party dress just in case, so you tug on a little black velvet mini-dress that sparkles rainbow in the light, covered with tiny glitters that get stuck in your hair and never come out. 

As you’re fishing around for some tights that you don’t care about so your legs don’t freeze off in the cold, the door to Taehyung’s bedroom opens. 

Out he walks in all of his New Year’s Eve glory, a full black ensemble complete with structured belt and a leather jacket. You turn around to look at him and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking like he doesn’t know where to look. It gives you a clear view of him and his simple yet extremely flattering outfit. He looks like Danny Zuko. He looks like a boy you would avoid in high school. 

Funnily enough, seeing him now draws you closer to him.

“Wow, hot stuff, you clean up nicely,” You comment, tugging on some black tights with a hole in the back that no one’s going to notice. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he adds on, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t even know you had this.”

“I packed it just in case,” you say with a shrug. 

“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He asks. He comes up to stand by you, holding his arm out for you to wrap yours around, two people on a mission to not remember most things about this night. “You ready to go?” 

Stuffing your phone and wallet into your purse, you quickly link arms with him as you walk to the door, your black boots clopping on the floor like the obnoxious high-heel owner you are. 

“Yeah, you ready?” You ask, doing a quick double check. You’ve got everything. 

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

And fuck some shit up you do. By the time you reach the club that Taehyung had found online, you can already hear the bass pounding through the walls, feel the ground shake from the speakers alone. Go big or go home, you suppose. 

As you expected, the club is already packed with bodies. Every young adult within a twenty-mile radius is out tonight, eager to spend the last night of the year doing what young adults in the primes of their lives do best: drink. And you and Taehyung are no exception. 

Like everybody else entering the club at the same time as you, you make a beeline for the bar, already itching to get something into your system. You don’t love being drunk, and you like the taste of alcohol even less, so you just order a simple cocktail that should keep you occupied for a while. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, well. He seems to harbor the go big or go home mentality quite firmly. It’s obvious that he’s here to do one thing and one thing only, which is not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow. You watch, a little impressed and a lot nervous about what exactly he’s trying to achieve, as he downs several shots in a row, pays the bartender, and immediately pulls you into the crowd of people dancing in the center of the room. 

“The more I move, the faster my body can process the alcohol,” Taehyung tells you as your cocktail sloshes around in the glass in your hand. It’s an alright cocktail. A little too sweet for you, but you suppose that that’s your fault. 

“Wow, when you said you wanted to fuck shit up, you meant it,” you comment as Taehyung dances, jumping and swaying to the beat of whatever Top 40 pop song is blaring from the speakers. You can barely hear the music over the volume of the rest of the club, people shouting to speak to each other, the sound of feet hitting the floor. 

Within approximately fifteen minutes, Taehyung is already fairly tipsy and eager to keep going, bubbling over with excitement. 

You convince him to dance a little longer before he goes back to get more, trying to make sure at least a bit of the alcohol he had at the beginning of the night goes through his body. The song changes to something much sultrier, like honey dripping from the speakers themselves, and suddenly, the entire club’s atmosphere changes. 

“I love this song,” Taehyung says, and it must be the lack of control that causes him to place a hand on your waist and pull you in close to him, making you gasp. 

“Wow, okay,” you comment, blinking. Taehyung rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning down as he holds you tight, your bodies swaying in tandem. 

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks. 

“Not if you don’t,” you respond. He’s practically drunk, and you’re even a little buzzed. There are worse things you could be doing. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He inquires aloud. It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, can’t watch the haze in his eyes, otherwise you might lose your footing and collapse. 

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully. 

The next three minutes are some of the most confusing ones of your life as Taehyung rests a hand on your waist, palm rubbing up and down as the two of you dance together like it means something to the both of you. 

But it doesn’t, does it? You chalk it up to both of your minds not being as sharp with some alcohol in your systems. That must be it.

When the song ends, the mood disappears as well, and Taehyung’s back to his bouncy, tipsy self. He’s practically stumbling over himself once he determines that it’s time for more shots, and you’ve never seen Taehyung drunk before but you can tell that he’s nearly there. You’ll probably put a hard stop on the drinks after this round, since Taehyung is the one most familiar with the way back to his apartment and you wouldn’t mind going home and sleeping after this.

“Come with?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the bartender like he’s the love of his life. 

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

“You never call me Tae,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. Even when he’s nearly drunk, he still picks up on the little things. 

“I guess the alcohol is making me soft,” you admit. “You go. I’m gonna find the bathroom and hope that nobody’s having sex in it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung singsongs as you pull away from him, looking for a dingy hallway to go down. “Be safe.”

“You too, I’ll be back soon,” you promise him, and that’s when you go rushing down the hallway.

Things are certainly weird down here. It must be the feeling of the new year looming over your heads. Like this is the last night to do everything wrong without regretting it in the morning. The bathroom is, luckily enough, empty, so you rush in and splash your face with some water, not caring about if your makeup runs. You’d sweat it off, regardless. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and this feels so stupidly like a goddamn romantic comedy that it makes you want to laugh at the irony. 

Beautiful male art student lead gets drunk, confuses hardheaded and impenetrable female lead who doesn’t believe in love and supposedly hates beautiful male art student’s guts. Tension ensues. 

Your life may as well already have a shitty Rotten Tomatoes rating stamped on top of it. 

After collecting your thoughts and praying that that white stain on the wall isn’t what you think it is, you leave the bathroom and scurry down the hallway, eager to find Taehyung and make sure he isn’t bouncing off the walls after a second round of shots. 

He’s not. 

Instead, he’s still standing by the bar as a beautiful young woman speaks to him, long dark hair resting against her shoulders and a model-esque smile on her face. She’s leaning in with a suggestive look in her eyes, a hand coming up to rub at the side of his arm. 

You furrow your brows as you watch them from afar, a little hurt by the fact that beautiful male art student lead is confusing hardheaded and impenetrable female lead even more, but then you notice Taehyung’s hesitance. The way he backs up a little when she gets closer. How he stiffens when she touches him. 

And, well, fuck that. 

 “Tae,” you say, rushing up to him faster than you’d like to admit. “There you are, I was looking for you.” 

The girl next to him frowns at the sight of you, and it’s clear she feels no shame to hide the immediately dislike. Sure, you don’t have model proportions or a smile whiter than snow, but you have morals. 

“Who’s this?” You ask, trying to be nice. 

“Nobody,” Taehyung tells you, and his hand immediately interlocks with yours. Standing next to him, you can feel as the tension fades from his body, his whole demeanor relaxing now that you’re by his side. “She just wanted to talk.”

“Are you a friend?” She asks, because she knows. 

“I’m a special type of friend,” you say. There’s no way she’ll leave Taehyung alone otherwise. And this is definitely on the cocktail you drank (and nothing else, you swear!), but you even reach up to plop a kiss on his cheek for proof. Taehyung’s eyes widen as you do, but he plays it off as catching him off guard and grins, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “Can we help you?”

The girl is absolutely pissed, which means that you did your job. 

“No, it’s alright,” she hisses through gritted teeth before turning her sights on someone else. Someone without a friend to protect them. 

“Thanks,” Taehyung whispers once she’s gone. Even though she’s probably not coming back, Taehyung keeps you close, a hand on you at all times like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold on tight. 

“Of course,” you tell him. “You’d do the same for me.”

“She scared me,” Taehyung says, and if his red face is anything to go by, it’s clear that he’s pretty much reached his alcohol intake limit. “I’m glad you came.”

“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to her,” you say. 

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung says, and it’s definitely the alcohol that’s erased his filter. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom and she just came up to me and started flirting with me. I think she wanted to get in my pants. I didn’t want her to get into my pants.”

“I know.”

“I’d much rather be with you than with her. Than with anybody else. I would always want to be with you, instead.” He tells you, keeping your hands firmly intertwined as you lean against the bartender counter. 

And well, huh. That’s different. Taehyung’s aforementioned lack of a filter means that any thoughts that run through his mind immediately turn into spoken words, but you weren’t expecting those words. You never thought you;d hear them, not in a million goddamn years.

“Okay, Tae,” you say, patting him assuringly. He’s just drunk. That’s all. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you firmly, pushing your comforting hand off of his shoulder and turning to face you directly. “I mean it.”

“I know, Tae.” you reassure him. It’s easier than trying to fight him, especially when he’s this hammered. You check the time on your phone. Maybe it’s time to leave. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back by midnight. “Let’s go home, okay? I’m ready to go home.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods, and the two of you leave the club before people are even thinking about ringing in the New Year. 

When you reach Taehyung’s apartment, he takes off his leather jacket to hang on the coat rack and turns the television on. Only three minutes to midnight. 

“I had fun,” you say, trying to lighten the conversation. The way back was silent, the only noises the sounds of New Year’s Eve parties on every block you turned onto. Taehyung kept his face forward and his eyes ahead, even as you tried to huddle close to him to conserve the warmth. 

“It was sort of fun,” Taehyung halfheartedly agrees. 

“Did you drink too much?” You ask. His face is still beet red. 

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight. 

You frown, brows furrowing. Why on Earth would Taehyung want to drink more? What would change if he had another shot, a can of beer or a little cocktail?

Slowly, you begin to peel off your own layers, resting your coat on the back of the couch and slipping off your boots. The both of you stand in his living room as the TV begins to buzz with excitement, the broadcast of Times Square lighting up the otherwise silent, tense atmosphere. He’s only a couple of feet away but it feels like he couldn’t be farther from you. 

One minute to midnight. Everybody begins to count down, and you feel yourself holding your breath. 

“Will you be alright going to sleep?” You ask. Even if Taehyung’s still drunk, he’s far less bouncy than he was at the club. 

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk past. 

Three. 

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One. 

Something overtakes Taehyung, something quick and brief. He stops right next to you and flinches, like he wants to lean in and do something, anything, goddamnit, but stops himself before he goes through with it. Everyone on television is cheering, but this apartment couldn’t be less festive even if you tried. 

Taehyung sends you a small smile as the world rings in the new year, dashing off to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. 

And you stand there, in the middle of his living room like the goddamn fool you are. Turning to the television, you watch over and over as every couple in Times Square kisses, clip after clip after clip, and like a goddamn idiot, you wish that Taehyung had done the same. 

The end of winter break approaches faster than you’d like it, just like it does every year. Before you know it, there’s less than a week left before classes resume and you go back to the daily college life. Less than a week left before you can go back to your dorm and pretend like this year’s winter break mishap never happened. 

Less than a week before you and Taehyung go back to never seeing each other. 

You’re sitting at his kitchen table, clearing out your backpack and recycling every paper, every syllabus and assignment and study guide from last semester, doing a deep cleanse of your life (because holy shit, you need it), when you come across the purchase you had made at the MOMA. 

“Taehyung,” you call out before you can stop yourself. 

“Yeah?” He asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a James Joyce book. You love that novel. It was one of the very few you read for fun last year. 

You take the small paper bag in your hands, walking over to the couch. “I almost forgot about this, but since winter break’s starting to wind down, I just wanted to give you this as a thanks. For everything.”

“You got me a belated Christmas gift, Y/N?” Taehyung asks as you hold out the gift, clearly something thin like a posterboard or an art print.

“If it means I don’t have to buy you two things, then sure, consider this a belated Christmas gift,” you say with a laugh, sitting down a foot away from him as he slowly opens up the packet. “It’s sort of cheesy and very basic, but I just wanted to get you something nice as a thank you.”

Out Taehyung pulls is a print of van Gogh’s The Starry Night, big enough to fill up the empty spaces on his walls, so every inch of his apartment, of his life and his home, is filled with art. 

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says, mouth agape. “This is…”

“It’s basic, I know. But I know how much you loved seeing it in person, so I thought that a memory of that would be nice,” you say, trying to ease the nervousness that has bubbled up inside of you. 

“It’s wonderful,” Taehyung says, and you swear you’ve never seen him so happy, other than perhaps when you saw the real thing. “This is so fucking thoughtful of you.”

“I just—you told me a lot about the art we saw that day, but when we reached this painting, you were speechless. And I sort of knew, then, that it was your favorite piece. Because you didn’t have to explain it with words,” you tell him. “I could just tell. It was like your whole body warmed up the moment it came into view.”

“I’m touched, Y/N.” Taehyung beams. “This is all an art student could ever want, really. To be able to know that their love for art meant something to someone else.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything. Taking me in, cooking me food, being really nice me despite me entrenching on your living situation.” You smile. 

“I was happy to do all that stuff,” Taehyung tells you honestly. “I’ve had a lot of fun this winter break, even if we’re still trapped on campus.”

You loved getting to go home for winter break your freshman and sophomore years. You loved being able to escape from the college mindset and just relax, no deadlines, no assignments, no worries. 

But looking back on it, you think that you’ve had the most fun this winter break, stuck at school, a five-hundred-dollar plane ticket short, with your dorm neighbor-slash-nemesis from freshman year. Never have you done so much in so little time. 

“Yeah, me too,” you say, thinking back fondly. It feels like this winter break has lasted for years, but also as though it went by in the blink of an eye, 

“I have something for you as well,” Taehyung says, scrambling up to dash into his room. “Consider it just a Christmas gift, because I don’t really have to thank you for letting you stay at my apartment for free for a month.”

“Roast me, why don’t you,” you muse jokingly, rolling your eyes as Taehyung fumbles around in his bedroom before he emerges with an equally flat, similarly-sized gift wrapped up in some spare tissue paper. 

“I don’t recall you buying anything at the MOMA,” you tease as Taehyung hands you the gift, settling back down on the couch to watch as you open it. 

Slowly, you peel back the tissue paper, and when you reveal what he’s wrapped up for you, it drops to your lap. 

It’s a portrait of you, done entirely in pencil. It’s you smiling, with your eyes closed, lashes fluttering. He’s memorized your entire face, drawn it neatly onto this piece of sketch paper, like he was just passing the time and suddenly he had a picture of you on his hands. He’s even remembered where your freckles go. 

“What’s this, Tae?” You ask, like you don’t already know. 

“Uh, it’s you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drawing you, I didn’t have a gift in mind, but I was practicing sketches the other day and an hour later I looked down and I had drawn you. And I felt bad for not telling you, because that’s weird, so I thought that you could see it.”

“You drew a portrait of me? Just randomly, from memory?” You ask, looking down at the sketch in your hands like it’s just ruined your life. 

“Yeah, so?” Taehyung asks. He looks terribly nervous. 

“So, that’s—people don’t just do that, Taehyung. You don’t just draw a picture of someone purely from memory while you’re practicing sketching,” You say, reeling back as he tries to lean in, attempts to explain himself. 

“What do you mean? I did that. I thought of you and I drew you, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, Taehyung. I told you in New York. We’re not dating, Taehyung,” you tell him, so firm and certain in your conviction that you hardly pay attention to the way his shoulders sink. “We’re barely even friends. I’m not interested in you like that. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me what to think,” Taehyung snaps, and he’s mad. Really mad, not like the fake anger from freshman year when you tried to get back at him by being an equally-annoying neighbor. “Don’t tell me how to feel. I drew you, Y/N. Not because I’m obsessed with the idea of us getting married, or because you’re my muse or some bullshit like that. I drew you because I thought of you, and I draw what I think of. Don’t tell me what to fucking think.”

“Do you like me, Taehyung?” You ask, on the verge of shouting.

Taehyung’s furious. “So what if I do? Huh? What difference does it make? You’ve told me over and over that you don’t like me back, so why does it matter? It’s not like I’d ever have a chance.”

“I told you because I didn’t want to confuse you,” you hiss, standing up and beginning to grab your belongings. It’s clear that this conversation is turning sour. 

“Confuse me? You didn’t want to confuse me?” Taehyung shouts. “You did a damn good job at that. Telling me in New York that you hated being called Mr. and Mrs. Kim, but holding my hand as we walked around the city and looked at art together. Kissing my cheek in the fucking bar but then patting me like on the back like I’m just a sadass friend of yours. Can you blame me if I was confused, Y/N?”

“I told you,” you say again. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung bites. “I’m sorry that I fucking fell in love with you, even though half of the time you acted like it was alright. My mistake.”

“It was your mistake. I never said I wanted to date you,” you tell him firmly. You refuse to take the blame for something you had made so explicitly clear. 

“Can you fucking blame me for being hopeful?” Taehyung asks. He’s standing up, about to head back into his bedroom, absolutely furious. “You held my hand and kissed me on the cheek and I thought that meant that you felt it, too.”

“Taehyung—”

“Keep the portrait, Y/N,” Taehyung spits. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

He slams his bedroom door. 

It’s a good thing you made friends with some upperclassmen when you were a freshman. 

After packing your belongings into your little suitcase and standing in the lobby of Taehyung’s apartment complex, you remember that one of your old friends who had graduated last year still lived in an off-campus apartment since he would be beginning graduate school at the same university. 

“Yoongi?” You ask when you hear him pick up your call. 

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“Long story,” you say with a sigh. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you until school started?”

“Holy shit, you’re on campus? What the fuck, yeah, sure, you know where I live. I’ll be here whenever you stop by,” he says without question.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside his door, double checking to make sure you’d got the right apartment. 

You barely get the first knock in before the door swings open to reveal Min Yoongi himself, clad in all black and looking very tired. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. He looks exhausted. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, ushering you inside. 

“Have you been up all night?” You ask, resting your suitcase against the wall. 

“I took a brief nap between two and three, but yes, I have been,” he says like it’s natural. 

“You’ve always been a chaotic sleeper,” you say with a shake of your head. 

“The grad school grind stops for no one,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “What’s up? Why are you on campus?”

“It… it’s a long goddamn story. Do you have time?”

“I have a piece due for a small indie band tomorrow at noon that’s barely finished,” Yoongi says.

“Oh,” you say. You suppose the story can wait. Yoongi offered up his abode to you until classes resumed if you needed it, and there’s no way in hell you’ll be going back to Taehyung’s. 

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I got loads of time,” Yoongi says. He plops down on his couch and motions for you to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi has always been a particularly good listener. Not just to other people’s words, but to music, to the sounds of the chords and the notes of the piano. He has an ear for things that most others would never notice. 

It’s the same thing for when he’s doling out advice. 

“To clarify,” Yoongi says when you’re finished telling your story, thirty minutes later. You had warned him that it would be a long one. “You had once hated his guts, but no longer hate his guts?”

“I stopped hating him after freshman year,” you admit, more to yourself than to Yoongi. It’s true. The moment the two of you stopped seeing each other, everything dissipated. 

“And now you like him.”

“We’re friends,” you say, tentatively. Maybe less than friends after the disaster that just went down in his living room. 

“But he drew you a portrait of yourself,” Yoongi mentions. 

“I said that it was complicated,” you say with a frown. 

“It doesn’t sound that complicated,” Yoongi says. And maybe he is a graduate student with more life experience under his belt than you, but you think that it’s pretty complicated. 

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like he likes you, and you like him. I wasn’t really interpreting it in any other way,” Yoongi says casually. 

You reject the notion immediately. “I do not like him.”

Yoongi frowns. “Would you really be here, in my apartment having a relationship breakdown, if you weren’t confused about your feelings for him? Really?”

“I just needed to get out of his damn apartment, that’s all,” you say, avoiding eye contact. Yoongi has this very annoying habit of being extremely reasonable all of the time, and it bothers you immensely. 

“Sure, okay. Y/N, I’m not gonna dictate how you feel and try to change your mind, or anything. But if you can look me in the eye before the end of your break and tell me, one-hundred percent honestly, that you don’t like him, then I’ll believe you,” Yoongi tells you simply. “How about that?”

It sounds like a very doable deal. Maybe it’s not doable right now, but it certainly seems possible in the future. In the future, specifically. 

“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Why does he care? It’s not like you’re worried about it. 

As it turns out, you’re worried about it. 

You’re worried about it because even though you’re not in the same room, not in the same building, not even on the same goddamn street as him, you’re thinking about him. Thinking about how much fun the two of you could be having right now as you relish in the last couple days of your winter break before the cold reality of school hits. 

Think about the things you could be doing. Exploring, going out to restaurants, finding new little gold mines in this city that you call home. And instead, you’re moping around your friend’s living room wishing that the two of you hadn’t ruined the whole thing. 

Maybe you had been too harsh. Taehyung has a right to be mad at you for lashing out at him. How was he supposed to feel? You held his hand and kissed his cheek and pretended that it was still freshman year, that the two of you were still just two people stuck together by unfortunate circumstances. Acted like nothing had really changed despite the years going by. Going through with all of these adventures with him knowing, in the back of your mind, that once classes started back up, you’d probably never make an effort to see him again. 

Drawing a portrait of you says one thing, but dancing around him says another. Every time you fucking see Yoongi in his own goddamn home you try to muster up the bravery to tell him that you don’t like Taehyung the way that he thinks you do, and you can’t. 

He sets up his pullout couch in his living room for you when you go to sleep that night, you dream of Taehyung. Envision him wandering the halls of a nameless museum, priceless pieces of art hung along every wall, from van Gogh to Monet to Picasso. He turns back around so you get a view of his face, dream up his curly black hair and soft eyes, sparkling with wanderlust as he roams the corridors, stopping to spare a quick glance at every painting he passes. 

And then at the end of the hall, he pauses in his tracks, looks up at the painting on the wall. You watch as the camera zooms in on what he’s looking at, what made him stop in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on it. 

It’s your portrait. A simple piece of paper out of a sketchbook, graphite on the coarse canvas. It’s barely more than a line drawing, your eyes here, your nose there, the little freckles that decorate your skin. It’s only in one color and still, even now, it leaves you speechless. Taehyung made that. He drew that, line by line. He made that for you. 

You wake up in a cold sweat at seven in the morning. Yoongi’s fast asleep in his bedroom, and you know he won’t be waking up until the hour on the clock reads double digits. Frantic, you scramble through your backpack until you pull out the sketch paper a little bit larger, a little bit thicker than the rest, still wrapped up in tissue paper. 

Pulling the paper away to reveal the canvas, you stare down at it in the hazy light of the sunrise, small rays beginning to stream through Yoongi’s window. Your fingers trace along each line, picturing Taehyung as his pencil scratched along the paper, over and over until it looked perfect. Taehyung made this. He sat down, thought of you, and drew this. 

A picture may be worth a thousand words but this one doesn’t say a thousand words. Instead, it only says three. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you flip the sketch over to see if there’s anything else he’s drawn. There isn’t, but you find a little note in the bottom right corner. 

Y/N,

I hadn’t realized that I had drawn you until I was nearly finished with this. My bad, but it was too late to stop. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, or if I’ll just have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, but just in case I do, I want you to know this: art inspires me, and you are no exception. 

Tae ♡

When Min Yoongi wakes up that day and trudges out of his bedroom, he finds you sitting on his pullout couch, staring down at a sketch in your hands. When you turn to look up at him, he sees your red eyes and wonders how long you’ve been out here, crying. 

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” you tell him. 

“Do what?” Yoongi asks, even though he already knows the answer. Why else would you be letting your tears drip onto your portrait?

“Tell you that I don’t like him. Because I do. And I can’t lie to him like that.”

Yoongi grins. He knew you’d come around, like you always do. You may have quite the stubborn streak, but you’ve got a big heart, and it always gets the best of you. 

He sits down next to you, glancing down at the portrait. It’s gorgeous. Taehyung did a wonderful job. He looks at you as you cry over a sketch of yourself, and he thinks that, even if he doesn’t really know this Taehyung character, the two of you will make a perfect pair. 

“You should tell him that,” he tells you with a nudge. You look up at him, scared for your life. “I think he deserves to know.”

The night before winter break ends, you ask Taehyung if tenants of his apartment complex are allowed on his rooftop. He says no, but also says that his landlord is out of town for the holidays. 

In the biting cold of a mid-January evening, you climb up the stairs of his apartment complex and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, a gust of wind nearly blowing you right over. Looking around, you spot Taehyung in nothing but a sweater and a scarf, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and looking out over the city. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

He turns around to find you standing next to him, wrapped up in a long coat, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf. 

“I’ve got a warm body,” Taehyung tells you, looking back out into the sea of lights. 

“This is scary, isn’t it?” You ask, sitting down next to him. Your feet dangle off the ledge, and normally you’d be insistent on sitting in the middle of the rooftop where no danger can befall you, but this feels a lot more personal. 

“Why did you want to meet me up here?” Taehyung asks, all business. 

“I just wanted to talk,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s the last day of winter break and all.”

“It went by fast, didn’t it?” Taehyung muses. 

“I remember failing my final and missing my flight like it was yesterday,” you remember fondly, laughing. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but there’s always a silver lining. You just didn’t know what it was, back then. 

You think you have a pretty clear idea of it now. 

Taehyung chuckles, letting the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you gaze out at the rest of the city. Taehyung’s apartment building isn’t particularly tall, but it’s got enough height to it that it feels like you’re looking out over a place you hardly recognize. There are so many things you don’t know about this city, despite having lived here for over two years. So many things you are aching to find out, and only one person you’d really like to do it with. 

“What’s your New Year’s Resolution?” You ask randomly, interrupting the quiet that had befallen the both of you. 

Taehyung jumps at the sound of your voice piercing through the atmosphere, caught off guard. You lean in, expecting him to answer. 

“Oh, um, I guess to draw and paint for fun more. A lot of the stuff I’ve been making in school I’ve been doing because I had to,” Taehyung says quickly. It’s sort of obvious that he made up the resolution on the spot. “Uh, what’s yours?”

You press your lips into a thin line, smiling to yourself. “To be honest.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Believe me, Y/N, you are more than honest. Brutally so.”

“To others, yes,” you reason. You always were a tell-it-like-it-is sort of person. “But I’m not very good at being honest with myself.” You swing your legs slightly as they dangle over the ground below, kicking into each other. Taehyung turns to look at you, waiting for you to continue. “Yoongi says I’m a very stubborn person. I always have been. Once I determine something is the way it is, it’s very difficult to change my mind.”

Taehyung chuckles to himself. He’s probably quite familiar with that aspect of your personality. 

“But I realized recently that sometimes, things change without you even realizing it, and that instead of being afraid of those changes, you should embrace them. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be more honest with myself, because I think I’ll make everybody around me, including myself, happier.” You continue. 

“Good for you,” Taehyung tells you mindlessly, turning back to face out towards the city. 

“Kim Taehyung, I’m not finished talking, yet,” you demand, forcing him to look back at you. “I hated you in freshman year. You were the worst thing to happen to me that year, annoying and full of yourself. And I didn’t know you in sophomore year. We stopped talking and decided that it was better if we never did again.”

He lets out a little huff of breath, visible in the cold night air. 

“But I do know you now. You offered me a place to stay when I missed my flight after what might have been the worst final I have ever taken in my entire life. You took me to New York, and we made vegetable soup together. You let me hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, and you drew me a portrait,” you say firmly. He looks up at you and finally, finally, his eyes aren’t foggy. There’s no haze, no mist. You look into his eyes and you can see yourself reflected in the ink black of his irises. He’s beautiful. He’s sitting on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building in the middle of January with nothing but a sweater and a scarf on, and he’s beautiful. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Before you can even take another breath, Kim Taehyung places a cold palm on your scarf-covered cheek and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his other hand wrapping around your waist as you shuffle along the ledge, closer and closer. And even if his hands are cold and his lips are chapped, his mouth is warm and soft, wanton and desperate. You beam at the feeling of his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck as you ring in the New Year for real. This is how it was supposed to be. This is what you had been waiting for. 

When you part, Taehyung’s lips are a cherry red to match the tip of his nose. His brown eyes are twinkling, and not from the light pollution of the city. 

“Can I be honest, too?” Taehyung asks. He’s got the biggest goddamn grin on his face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words are music to your ears. “My honesty is rubbing off on you,” you tease. “Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Smiling, grinning, positively fucking beaming, Taehyung wraps his hands around you and kisses you again. It warms your heart from the inside out, blossoms like a tulip in spring. When you started this winter break, you thought you had reached your lowest point, but you’re finishing it on a high that you hope never fades. He loves you, he loves you, and most importantly, you love him back. And as it turns out, the movie where beautiful male art student lead and hardheaded and impenetrable female lead are stuck with each other for four weeks has a happy ending, after all. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[stusbunker]

Hunters’ Crossing: Moving In

A Kinky Swingin’ Supernatural AU

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Written for: @spnkinkbingo

Word Count: 3535

Square Filled: Teasing

Summary: Dean and you work on moving into your new house. Which just happens to be Sam and Rowena’s old place. A neighbor stops by while Dean is out, welcoming you to the cul-de-sac. As the day goes on, you enjoy distracting your husband until he has had enough.

Warnings: 18yo+, shower sex, oral sex (both), penetrative sex, fingering, anal sex, analingus, dirty talk, just happy couple smut.

Pre-read by @cracksinthewalls & @thoughtslikeaminefield​ (who also made the awesome header).

    Dean had been up and itching to get the show on the road for over an hour. The only things left unboxed in the two bedroom ranch, you had been renting since moving back to town, was the mattress, bedframe and a change of clothes. As of sometime after midnight, Dean and you were packed and ready to go. Unfortunately for your husband, you were still sound asleep.

    He started pacing, or what sounded like pacing from your exhausted face-down state. It turned out he had started moving the boxes from your room to the driveway.

    Dean wasn’t being loud, but it was really fucking early for that. 

    You crawled out of bed just after eight, shrugged into the old top and leggings you had left out the night before, and prayed he had gotten coffee. 

    “And she’s up,” Dean snapped his fingers in excitement. You grumbled your good morning, but snuggled into his side as he dialed Benny, his lead mechanic and the guy who was bringing the trailer. You nursed your coffee (with all the right fixings) as Dean finished his call.

    “Can you believe where we’re gonna be livin’?” Dean kissed your temple, then looked down at you like a kid on the way to Disneyland.

     “Uh, yeah, so can the bank account. You’re lucky you’re so cute and Sam’s lucky you have a soft spot for him,” you finished on a mumble.

    “You love that house, don’t be like that,” Dean tisked at you.

    “I do! I do. It’s just, I could have slept for like four more hours,” you whined. “Thank you for my coffee.”

    Dean rolled his eyes at you, but you could tell he was pleased he had done good. You left a quick kiss on his jaw before he walked away to start hauling more things outside. 

    Barely ten minutes had passed when Benny and Bobby sauntered up the walkway. Before you had even metabolized the caffeine, the first trip was underway.

    Hunter’s Crossing was the last cul-de-sac at the end of Lawrence Lane. Which ran the length of the development known as the Ethereal Estates. The four bedroom, three bathroom McMansion that you and Dean had purchased from his younger brother Sam was on the northern corner, facing south. Dean pulled the Impala into the garage with Benny and Bobby with the truck and trailer filling the driveway right behind you. 

    As you climbed from the passenger’s seat, Benny let out an impressed whistle.

    “Damn, Boss, you’ve gone full country club on us,” the large man drawled.

    “Can it, nimrod, or you’ll give him an even bigger head,” Bobby warned. Benny and you both laughed.

    “You done? Cuz, last time I checked you can walk and talk,” Dean snipped, only half-heartedly. Bobby gave you a gentle smile as you shivered against the early spring air. You all fell in line behind Dean and awaited your assignments.   

    Two hours into hauling furniture, Garth showed up to give a hand. Unlike Bobby and Benny, who worked directly for Dean at Winchester & Son’s garage, Garth, a long time friend, was an accountant who helped Dean learn the books when John retired. His wife Bess was the kindest person you had ever met.

    You were settled into organizing mode when the guys left to pick up the last round of boxes. Then, the doorbell rang.

     A man stood on the front porch, draped against the doorframe like he had known you for years, tucked into a fitted black suit paired with the softest looking tee shirt you had ever seen. His mischievous eyes crinkled above a flirtatious smirk as he introduced himself.

    “Baz, hi, I’m at the center of the loop. Welcome to the neighborhood, wish it were over better circumstances, but happy to keep it in the family, as it were,” he rolled off before you could even reply. He must be in sales, you thought.

    “Hi,” you gave him your name, finding it easy to smile under his charms.

    “You're the sister-in-law? So where’s brother dearest?” He teased in a tonal accent.

    “Oh you know, sent him to do the heavy lifting. They’ll be back before long.” You stood up straighter.

    “Right, well, we’re having a dinner party next week. It’s kind of a regular thing, we take turns hosting, and my wife’ll kill me if I don’t pass on the invite. Friday at seven? We have cocktails, and get gussied up for one another,” he mentioned passively, but you caught the drift. It wasn’t a backyard barbecue. “It’s all a bit pretentious if you ask me-- Well, who am I kidding, right?”

    You couldn’t help but giggle a bit at his expense. “It sounds great--- Bash?”

    “Baz,” his voice sizzled along the last letter.

    “Baz, sorry. Uh, I’ll have to check with Dean, but I don’t think we have anything going on.” You gave him your best customer smile.

    “How about I’ll just pop back when you’re better settled? I didn’t mean to pressure you, love,” Baz waved as he backed off the porch.

    “You’re fine, really,” you apologized. “It’s just the first day, a lot to sort out.”

    “Of course! Take your time. Right, well, I’ll be seeing you, ta ta,” Baz waved with a tight lipped grin.

      You closed the door and exhaled. That was more than you had heard from your neighbors in the three years you had lived at your last place. It was kind of exciting getting an invitation on the first day, now if you could just convince your husband to go. But Dean didn’t really get ‘gussied up’ for much.

      Dean found you in the kitchen, kneeling on the counters as you sorted the plates. There was so much space, everything was able to get its own shelf. You heard him start the tap, just out of your line of sight. Quickly, you sensed his amusement as you continued to stack and place the piles by size.

    “Don’t laugh at me, it’s easier this way,” you said without looking at him. When he didn’t reply, you grew curious to what he was up to, slowly you turned around to find him leaning against the island which held the double sink, eyes firmly on your ass. You sighed, but leered back at him, down to just his t-shirt after the last of your belongings had been unloaded. He wiped his wet lips with the hem of his shirt, flashing the sweaty plane of his abs at you.

    “Don’t mind me, carry on,” Dean sassed, waving you back to the task at hand.

    It was your turn to roll your eyes, pushing off the counter with an exaggerated arched back. You broke down the box and moved onto the next, knowing Dean was enjoying his water break more than he should.

     “Why don’t you call for pizza? Get the guys fed for all their help,” you suggested as you climbed back up to stock another set of cabinets, this time with glassware.

     Dean nodded before he finished off the last of his water. As he scrolled through his phone for a number, you remembered your visitor.

     “Babe? You got anything going on on Friday?” You watched him think.

     “No, why?” Dean didn’t look up, brow scrunched in concentration.

     “We were invited to the neighbors’ for a dinner party,” you sing-songed the last words, emphasizing the level of chic.

     “What neighbors?” Dean paused.

      “The ones in the big house in the middle. Baz, was his name. Said they do it a lot and take turns hosting,” you shrugged. “Could be fun. It was nice to be welcomed to the neighborhood.”

     “How long was this guy here?” Dean’s face froze in suspicion.

     “He just stopped by!” You chuckled aghast, but you couldn’t hide the blush Dean’s interrogation had brought back.

     “So, what, he just conveniently shows up to check out the hot new neighbor when he saw us leave?” Dean shook his head and stood straight, squaring off. “I don’t know, sounds like a creepy thing to do.”

     “Shut up, he’s married! He said his wife would kill him if he didn’t extend the invitation. Calm down, would ya?” You hopped down to face him. Dean grumbled and went back to his phone. “Hey?”

     “What?” Dean huffed.

      “I love you.” You placed your chin on his shoulder as he got over his temporary pouting.

       “Yeah?” Dean cocked an eyebrow, and smirked at you.

       “Yep.” You popped the p. 

       “You want the usual?” Dean put his phone to the opposite ear. 

       “Please?” You grinned, as he settled against the sink once more.

         His fingertips swatted the curve of your hip as you walked away.

    You had left an entire room for the empty boxes. Without enough furniture to fill the space and after Sam and Rowena sold off half of theirs to cover the costs of the divorce, it was easy to let the cardboard pile up as the day went on. As you waited for lunch to arrive, you trudged through the living room to drop off another few flattened boxes. 

    Dean asked Benny and Garth to reassemble your bed and the guest bed upstairs, while he and Bobby organized tools and lawn equipment in the garage. You could see Dean and the older man talking through the window in the study, or the current box depot. Your husband had a fantastic profile and you took a few moments to appreciate it.

    Slowly you tore yourself from your reverie and started to break down the remaining intact boxes. You quickly grew overheated and bent over to crack the window. You caught Dean’s eye as you wrenched the stiff windowpane up. He was watching you from the tops of his eyes, mouth open as his tongue played with his top teeth.

    He always had such a sinful mouth.

    The glint of chrome flashed from his window up to yours, the wrenches he was lining up nearly forgotten as you ducked your head out the window, strategically pinning your breasts between your folded arms. He was not shy about taking in the show, his eyes grew dangerous with want. 

     There was a sudden pounding on the front door. Just as quickly as you draped yourself out the window, you rocked back and away from Dean’s hungry glare.

      The beer bottle was cold against your lips as you let the tangy liquid wash down the mouthful of pizza you had practically inhaled. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the smell wafted in from off the porch. Best pizza around and you were finally in the delivery radius, suburbia already had its perks.

      “Save some for us, darlin’,” Benny teased, as he cracked off the top to his bottle.

       "Hey, I'm not the one driving anywhere, you get your one, the rest are mine," you sassed back. 

       You took another sip, locking eyes with your husband across the table. He licked his lips before taking a generous swallow of beer. A familiar heat sizzled in his eyes.

       "Good to know who's really in charge," Bobby nudged Garth to hand him his beer, which Garth passed on.

       "I don't want to get drunk," the skinny man reasoned.

       "Yeah, and I don't want to have to call Bess to pick you up," Dean agreed and took the offered beer from Bobby, though his was nearly full.

      "Somebody's ready to celebrate," Bobby teased.

       "They're ready for something," Benny taunted. "A little horizontal mambo seems to be in the cards."

       "It has been a long day, a little might be all he's got left," Bobby agreed.

       You almost spit out your beer as you giggled with their banter. Dean chugged his beer and rolled his shoulders.

          "Mind your business, or I'll have you work late every Friday until I'm sick of looking at ya," Dean said after a faint belch.

          "Yes, sir," Benny nodded, smirking at you with a little wink. You shook your head and sighed. The food quickly disappeared alongside the beer, leaving you all stuffed and lethargic. You rolled your shoulders and followed the guys out through the garage. Dean shook hands goodbye while you leaned against the double wide door frame, smiling and waving. You were grateful for all they had done to get you settled in.

    “Have a good weekend, boys!” you called, watching them climb into the truck. Dean sauntered back to your side, sweat stained shirt rumpled, hair askew, and handsome as ever.

    “Ready to go break in that fancy shower?” he asked, fingertip dragging your hair from your pulse point. A devilish chill ran down your spine, you couldn’t help but shiver from his touch.

    “I am beat, Hot Stuff,” you lamented. “A shower does sound amazing though.”

    “Let’s get you naked, then we’ll see who’s beat,” Dean punned horribly.

    You groaned and then gave him a meager chuckle. “Do you even hear yourself sometimes?”

    “I’m fucking hilarious, it’s one of the reasons you married me,” Dean insisted, leading you back into the house by the small of your back. You stomped through the mudroom and passed the kitchen to the stairs, every step up felt like you had concrete bricks for feet.

    “No rush or anything,” Dean teased, hands firmly on your hips, always so supportive.

    “Why did we buy a two story house?”! You fell dramatically forward, slumped on the landing, with your legs and arms askew like limp noodles. “Can I just nap here first? It’s so far!”

    Dean stood two steps behind you, hands on his hips and bitch face on. “Really?”

    You rolled to your back, knees bent and propped yourself up on your elbows, as if it was the hardest thing in the world. Starring up at his annoyed face, you got creative.

    “Please? Just take a little break with me?” You opened your legs suggestively, seeing his eyes rake over your body before he rolled them in mock annoyance.

    “Five minutes, then I’m getting clean, with or without you,” Dean warned. He fell into the cradle of your thighs, his chest was flush with your heat, as his face burrowed into your cleavage. His arms snaked around your shoulders, holding you up to him like a pillow. It would have been uncomfortable, if he didn’t feel so damn good squishing you into the plush carpet.

    Every inch he touched burned through your clothing, the radiant heat of his body oozing into your tired muscles, turning your blood into molten sludge, pooling at your core. Dean hummed and shifted above you, the tip of his nose teasing a nipple.

    “I can’t wait to fuck you in every room of this house,” Dean murmured, voice husky and full of promise. “Gonna make you scream my name until there is no doubt every inch of this place belongs to me.”

    “To us,” you replied, pulling his face up to look at your lust blown eyes.

    “Just you and me,” Dean agreed, kissing a clothed tit, and then the next. He slid up on his toes until his hard edges crooked against your welcoming curves. Then he kissed you blind.

    You twisted your hands into his hair and the back of his shirt, clinging to him as he sucked every memory of exhaustion from your mind. The satisfaction of a day’s work done and the hope of new beginnings flooded into your already happy existence, filling you with a blissed out giddiness as Dean began to grind his hips against you. You gasped, breaking the kiss, before dragging his shirt over his head.

    He leaned back and placed a swift kiss on your lips. “Five minutes are up.”

    You groaned in dismay as Dean untangled himself from your limbs and climbed the last six steps to the second floor. 

    “You coming or what?” He barked at you, belt already flapping open, erection poking his shorts out of his fly. 

    Dean usually hated shower sex, too many slippery surfaces and not a lot of space to get things done. But now that you had a walk in shower stall, custom-made for his giant brother, Dean had become an enthusiast. 

    What started on the stairs, led to him staying dressed on the bottom half until you were completely bare. Then he started the water, letting it get as close to boiling as he could stand and how he knew you liked it. He escorted you under the massive showerhead and pulled back your hair, letting the water soak every inch of your skin. 

    He wouldn’t let you touch him. 

     Then he started to scrub, louva sudsy and soothing over your shoulders, under your arms, around your breasts, leaving the parts that needed him most tight and wanting. Once you were as clean as he was going to let you get, Dean brought out the shampoo, letting you finish, not trusting himself to be gentle enough with your tresses.

     It took him less than five seconds to finally get naked.

     Once your hands reached above your head, Dean started his attack. He lapped one nipple into his hungry mouth as you groaned. Dean watched you the entire time as he mouthed your tits, wanting to push you to the edge as many times as he could get away with.

     Fucking tease.

     Then he moved between your legs, and the way he left parts of you unwashed all made sense. Because he wanted to taste you, not your floral body wash. He fell to his knees and hooked a thigh over his shoulder, leaving rough kisses on each thigh. Back and forth he went until you were dizzy and whimpering. He rinsed his hands and licked his finger tips for good measure, watching you wait for him to get on with it.

     Then he began to stroke your folds. Ever so carefully, he pulled you open, cherishing the way you quaked for him. Your wetness only aiding in the tortuously slow glide of his fingers, front to back, back to front. After more breaths than you could keep track of, Dean pressed into you, two calloused fingers as deep as they could go.

     You grasped his neck, desperate to hold on, because as soon as he would, you needed Dean’s tongue on your throbbing clit.

    “Whoa--- everything alright up there?” Dean said with laughter in his voice.

    “God, fuck, Dean,” you begged.

    “Yeah?”

    “Please, stud, I need you,” you panted, nails digging into his back.

    “Might want to think about how you were acting all day then. Climbing around like a jungle cat. Practically flashing me and Bobby in the garage. Flirting with the neighbors,” Dean tisked at you. “I’m just giving you what you gave me.”

    Then he shut up and put out. That sinful mouth decadently pulled and puckered every inch of flesh, until you were screaming over the torrent of the shower. Once his tongue joined his fingers, you were gone. Liquid heat squeezed out of you as your body shuddered out the aftermath, thanking his skillful digits for their efforts.

    At long last, you were bent in half, hands braced against the intricate tile as he speared into you from behind. Your body fighting to keep the water out, which only pushed Dean to thrust harder against the unrelenting tightness. Your legs were going to give out soon, it was all too much, the warmth of the shower and the way, even on your tiptoes, Dean had to crouch with his bowed legs to hit your sweet spot with every single stroke.

    When he smacked your ass, you faltered, elbows bending and falling forward. He caught you, slowly easing out of your abused cunt, until you were back on steady feet. You turned to kiss his pink lips, still heady with your juices. Carefully Dean reached behind you to turn off the water, brushing his chest against yours. You reached up and pinched his nipple. In return, he let his hand drop down to cup your mound, tapping a gentle rhythm across your slit.

    “Ready for that nap, now?” He offered, kissing your temple.

    “Definitely.

    You spent the rest of the weekend unpacking and screwing, just like Dean wanted: in every room of the house.

    He ate you out as a pre-breakfast in bed, first thing Sunday morning, slow and dirty. The noises that came from his plush lips made you writhe just as much as the work his tongue put in. You sucked him off while he made you a proper meal, but only during the prep work as bacon spatter is nothing to toy with.

    You rode him while he tried to watch opening week baseball highlights in your new living room, your bare legs deliciously smooth against the leather of the couch. He took your ass after he watched you doing laundry, bending down to pull the hot towels out of the dryer was too much for him. So, he dragged you up stairs to a spare bedroom, licked you clean and then worked you twice over before slamming home and filling you filthy.

    Moving was the best idea you’d ever had. You loved the house and couldn’t wait to get to know your neighbors. Life was good, you just didn’t realize it could get even better.

Tagging: @dolphincliffs @fangirlxwritesx67 @foxyjwls007 @akshi8278 @dontshootmespence @smi727 @ericaprice2008 @deandreamernp @mrswhozeewhatsis @itmighthavebeenintentional

Let me know what you think?

Series Masterlist

2020 Kink Bingo Masterlist

[iatasbcl]

Can’t Help Falling In Love

Pairing: Gavin Reed x RK900 (Richard/Nines)

A/N: Tina Chen is my fav lesbian. Also, guess I ship reed900 now,,,

Summary: It’s Tina’s wedding and Gavin has Richard as his date.

Word count:2170

“Ladies and gentlemen give it up for our newlyweds, Nora, and Tina Chen!”

Gavin cheered when he saw his long-time friend finally enter with her bride, both danced to the music that played and had the world’s shiniest smile on their faces. Happiness practically radiated off them.

He felt himself smile unwillingly. “You look positively cheerful, detective.” It was the same cool voice he grew used to, albeit a bit more empathetic now. Gavin’s grin grew wider, “Damn right I am, my girl made it.”

He turned to Nin- Richard and saw him smile back at him, “Yes, I suppose Officer Chen has ‘made it’. Her Dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin levels are off the charts.” Gavin let out an amused scoff and knitted his brows together, still grinning.

“You can drop the formalities ya know? We are at a wedding.” He muttered and Richard’s LED turned yellow at the statement. The android gave him a blank stare then nodded slowly. They looked back to the women of the hour. They giggled together and stood by each other as another song started to play, Gavin immediately recognized it.

“The newlyweds will now have their first dance.” The man announced, Tina and Nora faced each other and got into position.

Wise men say, only fools rush in

The first verse began and with it, they moved, they twirled and danced while looking into each other’s eye with what he could assume was unconditional love. Now Gavin wouldn’t consider himself to be a sappy man, nope, no fucking way.

But, this. This was somehow so touching and soul-stirring for him. Seeing one so devoted to another that they probably the rest of the world exists, fuck. He wanted that, he wanted to be an absolute fool that got pampered with love and adoration. He would never admit it though

“Gavin. You zoned out, are you alright?” This brought him out of his little bubble, the song had ended, and Richard looked at him with worry. Richard. He was his date for the night, just his companion, his coworker that agreed to be his ‘date’. It was sad, it was pathetic, but it beat being alone on your best friend’s wedding. Or so he thought.

“Yeah, yeah-” He froze when he realized it. Had he just called him by his name? “Gavin?”

There he went again. Gavin shook his thoughts off, he asked him to be casual, why the hell did that make his mind foggy? It didn’t matter. “Yeah, uh, I’m good.” He shrugged.

It was time for him to give his man of honor speech, and saying he was a wreck was an understatement. The wedding had been so wholesome so far, he didn’t want to ruin Tina’s perfect vision. He sighed as he listened to Nora’s maid of honor’s speech, it was quite emotional, as in he could see the women tearing up. He felt slightly bad for finding it a bit funny.

“Are you anxious, Gavin?” was Richard’s sudden, quiet question.

“No. Why?” He wasn’t going to confide in him.

“Well, your heartbeat keeps increasing as your turn nears. Your palms are slightly shaking and a bit sweaty. It seems as if you are afraid.” He said it in his usual monotone voice like he was stating simple facts.

Gavin snorted, “Huh, me? Scared? No fucking way.”

“You do realize I am an advanced model that can detect lies, right?” Richard said with a smirk, an actual fucking smirk. He felt his heart skip a beat, but he quickly regained his composure. What the fuck was that.

“Your heartbeat does not have a usual beat either, it seems like your terrible caffeine addiction is taking its toll. You should seek medical attention.” The man with steel-eyes said and went back to looking around. The bridesmaid had finally finished her speech. Gavin got up slowly and looked around, everyone was here.

Hank, tin c- Connor, Chris, hell, even the captain was here, and other friends from work. Not that he cared, this was cool, cool, cool, cool-

“Gavin.” Again, the man snapped him out of it, this time it was different though. His soft hand touched his rough one. “Breath. I am sure Tina will appreciate what you have to say.”

His words were simple, and his touch was gentle. It was weird, they had been partners for a while and while he kinda liked him before, he never really let him get this close. Now that he did, he couldn’t help but wish he could stay like this and shit, he didn’t like where his mind was going.

He snatched his hand and just went to where the microphone was, not responding to what Richard said at all. He pulled out his speech and sighed.

“Hey uh, Good evening everyone.” He started, “Hope everyone’s having a good time,” He heard someone woo in the back of the room. “Well for those of you that know me from work, I am shit-bag Gavin.” He heard someone chuckling, probably agreeing with him, Tina smiled.

“Well, I am also Tina’s friend. I’ve known her for over 10 years now and I… couldn’t be happier for her. I remember eating shitty ramen and watching her get ready for her big date, freaking out over how her shoe looked or how her hair wasn’t good. I remember her coming back and looking like she had the time of her life.”

He went on and told some other stories of their relationship and him being their favorite third wheel. How Nora turned out to be allergic to cats and had to be rushed to the hospital the moment she set foot into their apartment. How Nora popped a Champaign bottle and the cork flew directly into Tina's face, hitting her eye. She wore a black eyepatch for a while.

Tina looked at her wife and held her hand, kissing it softly. “I think what makes those two goofballs perfect is how they came through for each other. Always supported one another. Some things are meant to be, and those are definitely one of them.” He paused and looked at the couple, “I wish the best for the both of you, you deserve it.”

“I am glad I got to be a part of your special day, it’s uh- an honor.” Fuck, he didn’t mean to stutter. Wait what was he going to say? He looked back to his paper, but he couldn’t focus, shit, shit, shit.

“Uh,” he gulped and looked around, everyone was still looking at him. Richard did too, he smiled at him and gave him a thumps-up. He closed his eyes for one second, collecting his thoughts. He opened them again, picked up the glass next to him and raised it.

“Let’s all raise a glass to our newlyweds.” And they did, some clapped and wooed. He gave the couple a quick hug and went back to his seat, his heart was finally slowing down.

“You were great.” Said, Richard. He felt his cheeks heat up a bit, “Yeah, I know.” He tried to shrug it off. “hmm, of course, you do.” Came Richard’s sarcastic remark.

Time passed and couples were dancing to the slow song that played. Gavin and Richard were still sitting in their place, the prior man was observing everyone; they seemed to have fun. Even Connor was out there on the dance floor.

“Wouldn’t you like to dance, Gavin?” Richard finally said as he fixed his tux. Gavin rolled his eyes, “You don’t have to fucking pity me okay? I don’t want any of that.”

The android raised his eyebrow, almost offended. “Pity you?” he questioned.

“Yes, stop it. I know you agreed to come with me but ya don’t have to pretend to like me.” He hissed, “Perhaps you should consider asking before making such assumptions, Gavin.” He hissed back.

“I came here with you because I wanted to, and I am asking you to dance because it’s what I would like to do. I would not be here if it was to simply throw you a pity party.” His LED was yellow, again.

“You wanted to come to the wedding, as my date?” He asked in disbelief, “Of course, why else would I be here?”

Oh. Shit, he did not expect this, at all. Richard got up and extended his hand to him, “Now, would you like to dance?”

He cursed internally when he froze again. He wasn’t some dumb teenager deep in love, it was just a dance, just a dance with someone that wanted to be his date. Holy shit.

He took his hand carefully, making sure he wouldn’t change his mind suddenly. Richard pulled him up and towards the dance floor. This felt ridiculous, why did he feel like he could give his whole life to this android?

“Do you even know how to dance?”

“Yes, I learned how to when you asked me to be your date.” He answered like it was the most obvious shit in the world. He held Gavin’s hand while the other rested on his shoulder, Gavin was getting a heart attack today.

Richard slowly leaned in as they swayed together and whispered, “Relax.” Was he some weird hypnotizer? why the hell did his words have this effect on him? “Some things are meant to be.”

“Huh?”

“As a river flows,” He continued, not breaking eye contact, “surely into the sea,” he moved closer, “Darling, so it goes,”

Being on fire would be accurate enough to describe how Gavin felt, this was wrong, this felt like a sin to him, why did he feel so much for an android?

“Somethings are meant to be.” He finished the chorus, “It was a part of your speech.” Oh, right. “I didn’t think you would enjoy this kind of music, Gavin.”

Gavin could feel disappointment wash over him, but he smirked nonetheless, “Well, I am full surprises.” They continued to dance, “It’s my pop’s and mom’s favorite song.” He confessed.

“I see.” They looked into each other’s eyes and Gavin wondered if this what it felt like to utterly defeated by love. To be so lost in someone you forget anyone else exists. If so, he wanted this to last for eternity.

He couldn’t help it, he thought. He can’t help this feeling that straight up invaded his heart, this fondness, this adoration, love, whatever they call it. He couldn’t help falling in love with an aloof andr- man.

They got closer now, he looked up at him and Richard did the same. Time froze and it was just him and this man that he’s fallen for. Something in him pushed him to be even closer and he instinctively put his arms around the taller man’s neck.

Neither of them said anything, just reveling in each other’s presence. But he wanted to say it, he wanted to let it out, but he just couldn’t.

“Is there something you want to say?” he probably analyzed him. “Well, uh, yes.”

“Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere private.” He pleaded and luckily Richard immediately complied, leading him to a surprisingly empty room.

He stood there, trying to collect his thoughts for a minute. The other man just stared at him, his LED still a dim yellow.

“You know how I am me and well, shit.” This was harder than what he thought, “I- uh. I think I care about you, no wait scrap that, I know it.”

He wished the ground would tear open and swallow him whole, Richard didn’t even react to what he said, at all.

“Shit, just, forget what I said. I’m gonna go outside for a while.” He rushed to leave he was pulled back, “I care about you too.”

It was simple. The words slipped out of his mouth with the same monotony. But one look could tell him his voice didn’t match how he felt. His LED was switching between red and yellow; his usual straight posture was now slightly bent.

“You, uh- sure?” He stuttered and Richard nodded, holding his hand. “You are ‘trash’.” Wow, how romantic. “You can’t control your temper and you can be as stubborn as a toddler, but.” He paused, “You are also kind, supportive and a good detective. Today proves it. I enjoy your company, no matter how ‘trashy it is. I love it.”

God, this was cheesy, like those romcoms he always made fun of. But damn if this didn’t mess him up in the best way possible. He laughed, earning an unamused look from his love. “Did I do it wrong? My research suggested I should be hones-”

Gavin waved his hand and got closer to him, “No, you dumbass. It was perfect.”

“Oh.” After that he tightly wrapped his hands around Gavin, slightly bending to put his head on his neck. The heat came back to his cheeks, but he returned the gesture anyway, loving every second of it.

Some things were really meant to be. Maybe this was it.

[atrainernamedradish]

Top 5 Favorite Rivals

Least Favorite list: https://atrainernamedradish.tumblr.com/post/190290513502/top-5-least-favorite-rivals

Top 5 Favorite Rivals:

5) Barry [Diamond & Pearl; Platinum]

I think people can agree with me when I say Barry either needs to lay off the sugar and caffeine, or needs some Adderall, because holy fuck he was so damned hyper it was unreal! And before someone gets mad at the joke let me remind you that there is some dialogue where he tries to count to ten, and proclaims he can’t even sit still to do so! Like sweet Lord Barry calm the fuck down lol!

Jokes aside, I thought Barry was a solid rival. He wasn’t mean-spirited about being so or always trying to act better than you about it. Sure, he was cocky, but he eventually learned that he had to put his ego aside to actually learn how to be that much of a better trainer. His teams were pretty solid too. He wasn’t the hardest person to face, but he wasn’t a pushover by any means. Sometimes his hyperness was a bit annoying, but nothing that bugged me for too long. He was a good rival to have when you’re trying to deal with the headache that is the other rival that is your boring opposite gender.

4) Marnie [Sword & Shield]

Marnie is an interesting character. When I first saw her in the reveals for Sword & Shield I thought she was going to be this arrogant punk (I blame the black leather and spikes :P), but when you actually meet her that isn’t the case. She’s actually someone who doesn’t have that much confidence in herself, at first though, but as you progress through the game she builds up to that. In fact, the only thing she was confident in was not taking over her brother’s gym and setting out to do her own thing. Besides believing how confident she was going to be, I was also expecting Marnie to have this annoying personality (but I feel like that was due to Team Yell being there more than anything), but once again she blew my expectations out of the water! Her personality was sweet and likeable and it was refreshing! Her team was actually a pretty powerful one and was actually fit her aesthetic! That’s actually rare for a rival in this series if I’m being honest… From her aesthetic that mixes hard and soft (which yay the girls will be getting her outfit which I adore and can’t wait to have on my alt character!), her sweet shy personality that eventually gets some quiet confidence behind it, and her battle prowess, I enjoyed her as a rival as opposed to the other two who either got shafted by the overdone formula, or the one rival trying to be the OG rival who we’ll never truly get back.

3) Blue (Green) [Pokemon Red & Blue (Green); Yellow (Pikachu Edition); FireRed & LeafGreen; Let’s Go Pikachu & Eevee]

And speaking of the OG, here he is: Blue (or Green if your Japanese). Many Pokemon games after the originals have tried to replicate this character, and haven’t quite made one that is up to snuff. This character is a perfect blend of cocky asshole and a strong trainer. You almost liked how much smack he talked then enjoyed kicking his ass after the fact, and doing so wasn’t always an easy feat, even in the remakes (excluding the Let’s Go series since he isn’t your rival in that). He had almost the perfect team not only against your starter but to also counteract your team members that made up your team for said starter’s weaknesses. That’s why kicking his ass was all that much sweeter because he didn’t just hand it to you. He made you work for that victory. While I’m not necessarily someone who is looking for a rival that has to be an elite trainer or anything, it’s nice to not have a friendly rival who talks a big game but is always going to face defeat, and quite easily and quickly too, by your hands. There have been some other rivals that have been pretty tough to deal with, but not as challenging as Blue will ever be… There’s a reason you will find this asshole on almost every top rival list. He earned that spot. Because despite being that smack talking asshole that you have to work extra hard to beat… he is kind of charming. He’s the rival you love to beat.

2) Bianca [Pokemon Black & White; Black 2 & White 2]

I want to make this clear with about my opinions on characters in Pokemon: they don’t have to be the strongest to be my favorites or even liked for that matter, and Bianca is one of those characters as far as battling prowess is concerned. I like Bianca for her character arc as well as the character herself. I think this character gets a lot of hate for no reason other than her not being a strong trainer, or not automatically being this confident cool character that should be ready to adventure which is honestly sad…

For me, Bianca is a very relatable character who in my honest opinion is a very underrated character. She is a character who wanted to do something with her life, but wasn’t sure how to start or go about doing it. Her first attempt is by doing what all the other characters her age do and that’s to set off on her own Pokemon journey, even if she wasn’t exactly ready. As her story progresses she comes to realize that that isn’t for her, and honestly not every person in that world is going to go out there finding out that this is for them. Not to mention not everyone who sets out on their Pokemon journey is going to find themselves being these super powerful trainers who are always going to confidently beat everything in their path. Bianca getting picked on by Team Plasma was not all that farfetched. She was a brand new trainer experiencing new things making her an easy target for them. Your character could have easily been just as privy to Team Plasma. Generation V showed that anyone was susceptible to them. But anyway, I’m going a little off topic, Bianca did struggle, but her struggles eventually took her to her calling: being a professor’s aid. Which fits her and overall is a good story arc for her. She’s not your typical rival of going around trying to one-up you and getting on your nerves trying to do so. She’s a friend, a main character, and unlike the typical power hungry overused rival archetypes, she grew and I was happy for her.

Not to mention, Bianca is one of the first few characters in the series to actually really… notice that there is this big new world around you and it’s something to explore taking it in as opposed to rushing into filling the Pokedex or doing the Gym Challenge, and honestly that’s refreshing for a character! Because you cannot tell me that if you were to leave your home setting off on a journey traveling to many new places that you’d overlook everything? Probably not. You’d want to explore all the new sites. That’s the whole point of an RPG is to explore. I felt more immersed in Black & White than most Pokemon games because I had a character in my journey to make it feel like it was actual exploration instead of bare bones places with much to be had. Unova, as to other regions, had a lot more sightseeing options and a lot more to explore. Unova just felt big, kind of like Johto and Kanto for GSC/HGSS. Just, thanks Bianca for feeling like a real person, instead of one-dimension rival who either wants to kick my ass or is so boring that I wish they were annoying lol…

1) Wally [Pokemon Ruby & Sapphire; Emerald; Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire]

It’s like I stated with Bianca: a rival for me doesn’t have to have battle prowess to be liked by or be a favorite for me. Not gonna lie, I wish Wally had a better team, but unfortunately Wally falls under the earlier formulas of forcing trainers to use entirely new Pokemon instead only peppering their teams with a few new ones, but whatever… 

Wally has one of my favorite rival arcs. He is a sickly kid who wants so badly to be healthier and have a Pokemon of his own so he could one day to set on his very own Pokemon journey like the other kids who have probably left by now on it. Nicely enough your character is there to guide and watch over him as he finally catches his very own Pokemon, even if later you were there to kick his ass a bit later on… While I do like how ORAS gave more facial expressions for this character to make you more sympathetic to him in the story… I wish they hadn’t had him show up after your battle with your dad to keep that mysteriousness of him actually progressing along side you on your Gym Challenge (yes I know you could read the gym signs to see that he’s doing it, but no one thinks to read those, let’s be honest!) before running into him at the end of Victory Road, but oh well. Honestly I wish they had had him in the Champion spot, kind of like what RBY did with Blue, but instead of knowing your rival was one step ahead of you as always you had the sickly kid you thought you sent home after a crushing defeat there instead who actually overcame it and decided to meet you there to prove he did so.

Overall Wally was an underdog and I like characters like that. You don’t expect him to become much more powerful after Mauville. He takes his defeat and he does his best to make up for it by having it push him. He wants to be stronger to prove to everyone, but more importantly to you, the person who was there to witness his journey from the start, how capable he was. Yeah, you do inevitably beat him, which is the fate of the main player in Pokemon, but when you do it you don’t think “aw man I beat another weak rival” or “hah! I beat your smug ass again!” you think of how it was a fun battle and a great progression in a well developed character’s story. And even then, Wally doesn’t take the defeat as a loss, but more as a way to push himself even further. He sees losing as a way to overcome something as to trying to cover up his frustration or to go packing home, and that is an admirable trait. Plus the final battle with him on Victory Road was pretty epic with that new theme of his as well as made me a bit sad because I had to beat him and all he did was smile and thank me… Made me want to cry lol… But that’s why Wally is my favorite rival. He has a great character arc, personality, and he makes me feel so many emotions that I feel like other rivals or characters couldn’t give me… Good job Wally you will always be the rival. 

[kurly-quill]

Robin’s Nest Cafe (part 1)

So, here goes nothing! This will probably have more than one part, but will likely be non-chronological. 

Pairings: JayTim, maybe future JayDickTim 

Rating: Mature for Language [for now] 

Coffee Shop AU (sort of), Civilian!Tim (mostly?)

         Part 1 - Part 2

(1) Hot Chocolate

The first thing to know about Gothamites, is that they are objectively, irrevocably rude as fuck.

It’s not like New York City, where people bustle past without so much as a nod of acknowledgement because they have somewhere to be and don’t have time for pleasantries, or the aggressive shoving on the metro in Tokyo, or God forbid, like Metropolis, where people born past 1930 still tip their hats at passerby.

No, the average Gothamite would see you, without an umbrella, soaking wet, and shake their umbrella off on you on the way inside. If you gave up your seat to an elderly Gothamite on the train, they would sooner say fuck you than thank you. If you tried to mug a Gothamite, they would probably punch you in the face and steal your wallet, because, hell, you’d be the fifth person to try it this week.

And Tim, for all of his “good breeding” and “respectable upbringing” is, at his very core, a Gothamite.

His smile is so wide that he’s baring teeth, and while it doesn’t match the snarl on the face across from him, it’s no less able to convey the sheer amounts of fuck you very much, have a fucktastic day!!

“I ain’t sayin’ it again -” the man bellows, spit hitting Tim’s face and, ew, probably his lips too, “- give me the money inna register ‘afore things get ugly!”

His eyes glimmer with the sharpness of the icicles hanging outside along the shop window, barely sparing the knife shaking under his chin a second glance.

It’s 11 pm on Friday night, and the cafe is still open because Gotham never really sleeps and Tim lives above the shop, anyway. Behind Knife Guy, there’s a few people in line, displaying varying degrees of concern.

(1- was born in a Gotham alleyway, please if you’re going to stab the cashier just do it I’ll pour the coffee myself, 5 - been in Gotham for awhile, kinda worried but Killer Croc smashed my car last week and I just really need a coffee, 10 - visiting Gotham for the first time this weekend-- and the last time.)

Tim looks skyward, praying for strength. There are cobwebs up there he’s never noticed.

“Sorry, the money in the register is a seasonal flavor. But hey, bright side, we’ve just got peppermint mocha back in, so I can ring you up for that instead?”

Knife Guy gapes for a second, squinting at Tim like he expects him to start tap dancing any second now. Tim raises a brow, patient. With a frustrated snarl, the knife jolts forward enough that it clicks against Tim’s nametag, chipping at the edge of the black and yellow batman sticker beside his name, which is his favorite sticker so excuse you.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. Either you put away the knife and order a peppermint mocha with christmas tree sprinkles, and we pretend this never happened, or we do it the less fun way, with the GCPD. Who are a total buzzkill, by the way, believe me. Your choice.”

There’s an eye-twitch, and a change in the man’s expression that makes Tim’s finely-honed Gotham instincts go “oh damn, here we go”, when someone opens up the front door with far too much strength, the glass rattling with the force of its inward swing. The freezing night wind billows in, the scent of oil and snow filtering through the warmer scents of the cafe. There’s an unceremonious tinkle of the bell dangling on the doorframe, and beneath it stands another man.

Tim stares. Knife Guy stares. One of the customers looks up from her phone, groans long and loud, grabs her triple-espresso hazelnut latte with caramel drizzle, and walks out into the late-November chill.

The Red Hood holds the door open for her, because he’s a fucking gentleman.

The door swinging shut with another tinkle, and there’s a pause filled only with catchy holiday jingles that have been playing over the radio since September. Hood surveys the scene before strolling toward the counter.

“Damn, lemme tell ya, it’s cold as fuckin’ balls out there,” Hood laments, with absolutely zero prompting, rubbing his hands together as though he’d gain any friction through the gauntlets. He stops just short of where Tim and Knife Guy are facing off, the blade hovering threateningly in the air just under Tim’s chin. Hood cocks his head.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?”

Tim takes a quick second to make sure that, if he opens his mouth, his jaw won’t hit the floor, before he replies, “Just regular customer service in Gotham. Hope you’re not here for the money in the register too - We’re fresh out of stock. Moving onto the Winter Menu, you know?”

Hood nods, making what sounds like an understanding hum through the voice synthesizers, “Some people just never check the website. Read you’ve got a mean gingerbread latte on special.”

Tim would respond, except now the knife is shaking to a worrying degree– Knife Guy is scared shitless, because the Red Hood is nearly shoulder-to-shoulder– or, well, shoulder-to-bicep with him, because the man is huge and smells very distinctly of cigarette smoke and blood. Tim would sympathize if he wasn’t having an internal fangasm to end all fangasms at this moment.

In a display of panic-borne, truly ballsy stupidity (unfortunately, also a common trait amongst Gothamites, particularly the ones that rob cafes at knife-point at just the hour the Bats tend to come out), Knife Guy whips the knife to the side to turn on the vigilante.

Hood’s got the knife out of the guy’s hand in an instant– Tim has just enough reflexes to grab the steaming cup of caffeine goodness that’s sitting innocently in harm’s way– and in the next second he’s grabbing the guy by the hair and slamming his head backwards onto the counter, spine bent at an angle that makes the onlookers flinch. A few more scurry out the door. There are other places to get a caffeine fix.

“Look here,” Hood growls, No-Knife Guy going cross-eyed as the knife points straight at his nose, “I ain’t lookin for a side of stitches with my candy cane hot chocolate with heavy cream, ya feel me?”

Mr. No Knife squeals.

“P-Please– I’m sorry, I’ll go! Promise! Just– fuck, l-lemme go!”

Hood’s head makes a minute motion, somehow conveying sheer exasperation despite the helmet (Though Tim can just feel the eye-roll going on). He drags the wannabe-robber up to his feet, though it’s pretty useless seeing as the guy’s knees give out they’re shaking so hard– and, oh dude, gross, that’s definitely a wet spot in the front of his jeans there. Tim’s nose wrinkles. He better not have to mop that up.

Hood pays the fact that he’s basically holding up all the man’s weight one-armed no mind, dragging him to the front of the shop. The bell chimes merrily as he gives the guy a literal kick in the ass out the door. The guy lands face-first in dirty, oily, Gothamy snow. An eight year old kicks him as she walks past, hand-in-hand with her father to the nearest bus stop. That Uptown Gotham charm, amiright?

“You’re just lucky I’m feeling the holiday fucking spirit right now– Plus, no offense,” a quick appraisal, “you’re kinda pathetic.”

And then Hood closes the door.

But he’s still here.

Tim looks around the shop. Apparently, at some point in the last 2 minutes, the rest of the customers have decided that they really don’t have time for the typical Bat-dramatics today and fucked off to another cafe. Tim should be more upset about the loss in business than he is, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind.

Because the Red Hood (It’s him, it’s really him) is still standing there. In the cafe.

 With Tim.

He glances down at his chest to make sure the knife isn’t actually buried there, because the possibility that he’s died makes more sense than the Red Hood standing in his cafe, surrounded by a horrific mash-up of dollar-store Hannukah and Christmas (because his family is technically Jewish even if they didn’t celebrate jack shit, and Steph took the shitty plastic menorah on top of the espresso machine as a challenge).

“Um,” Tim remarks, scrambling for the words he wants to say to one of his childhood heros, “So, can I get you something? I feel like I should get you something. Cause I mean. This is an establishment that supports vigilantism, okay? Robin’s Nest cafe, at your service. At least a 10% discount, just like military. Just putting it out there.”

Right. So where is that knife again? Can’t speak if he doesn’t have vocal chords.

The vigilante makes a sound through the synths in his helmet that must be a chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. He moves back up to the counter with movements far too fluid for someone of his size, and Tim swallows a bit as he’s forced to look up (and up) at close proximity. Wow, the helmet is something else– he’s itching to get his hands on it, take it apart and see all its functions and how it was made.

“Gotta first aid kit?” is almost lost to Tim, he’s so mesmerized – he thinks distantly that he’s probably looking a little manic, cause he’s running on caffeine and spite, and people have always told him that his tendency to hyperfocus is unnerving on a good day – but then the words click. He frowns.

“Yes, we do? He didn’t get you with the knife, did he?” he questions, eyes raking up and down Hood’s leather jacket for any telling rips or tears.

Hood tuts, reaching up to tap at his neck, “Nah, not me, but you’re ‘bout to need a new white shirt.”

Tim mimics the movement on autopilot, clapping his hand to the side of his neck and feeling the stickiness there. His heart jumps for a second as he pulls back his hand and sees enough blood there to wonder how he’d missed it.

“Oh. Damn.”

And that’s how, five minutes later, Tim’s got the doors to the cafe locked and finds himself sitting in the break room with the Red Hood dabbing at his neck with a cotton swab.

If he finally manages to overdose on caffeine tonight, he thinks he could go happily.

Hood’s so close that Tim’s 100% sure the vigilante can feel his heart trying to burst all his arteries by its sheer pumping force. He’s getting light-headed because he’s trying not to be creepy and do something like smell the the tall, buff guy with gentle hands (Cause, God, somehow the scent of cigarettes, leather, and gunmetal just work for him) and has thus forgone taking any deep breaths.

“Lucky you, s’not deep,” are the only words either of them has said since he plopped down on the table. Tim hesitates for a second, watching Hood close the first aid kit and step away, before he clears his throat.

Courage, Tim. Come on, you’re from Gotham.

“So. Thanks. For all that, I mean.”

Hood shrugs.

“Eh, there are worse ways to start the night. Plus, it’s way warmer in here than out there. Wasn’t kidding when I walked in– was gettin fucking blue balls out there, and not even from anything fun this time.”

Tim lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh? Well, I think I have a way to warm you up.”

There’s amusement in every line of Hood’s shoulders as he tilts his head, becoming increasingly intrigued by this particularly bold civilian. When he speaks, there’s a definite purr there, mechanized though it is. Something prickly hot shoots down Tim’s spine, and he has to fight down a flush.

“Yeah? You got something in mind?”

Tim can’t help but grin. “Oh, I’ve got just the thing.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Let me guess. Hot chocolate with heavy cream?”

“Shut your shittin’ mouth, Dick.”

.

.

.

.

“…. It’s got candy cane flavor in it”

[lykaonimagines]

Positive (Part 4) - Loki x Reader

oOnce again, thank you to everyone reading and liking this story! ^_^ This part is broken up into two sections at two different intervals of the pregnancy. There will be more parts, since I keep expanding what I had originally intended with the story. So I have no clue at this point when it’ll end, there’s still a few things I want to do :P Starting the next part as we speak so hopefully it will be up this weekend!

Anyways, enjoy! And let me know if you want to be tagged :) 

Paring: Loki x Reader

Part #: 4

Word Count: 1,914

Description: A mutant member of the Avengers finds out she’s pregnant with her boyfriend Loki’s baby, are they ready for this?

Warnings: Pregnancy, some angst, suggestive themes (really nothing much), and violence

Part 1      Part 2      Part 3      Part 5

Part 6

(Gif isn’t mine)

-16 Weeks Pregnant-

“And exactly what are you doing there?” Loki asks as Y/N tries to peek into the room adjacent to theirs.

“Oh you know, not much, just looking,” she states, deciding to look at Thor who is standing next to him instead.

“Darling,” Loki sighs walking over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he back her out the door. “I thought you were told that under no circumstances were you to be in here?”

“But-“ she begins but is interrupted by his lips on hers, a pleasant hum filling her body as he pulls away. His distraction works for a moment, before the sound of Bucky’s disgusted gagging noises remind her. Her cheeks instantly go red, and she pushes away from Loki. “I’m just trying to help, and I want to see how it’s going…”

He smirks as he backs her further out into the hall, “Well I thought we were under the agreement that it was to be a surprise for you, and I would rather you not be around fresh paint and trying to assemble furniture in your current state, love.”

She fixes her face with a pout as she looks up to him, hoping to change his mind, but quickly laughs at the sight before her. “You have a little bit of paint,” she reaches to wipe the bridge of his nose with her finger, “Riiight here.”

“Oh do I now?” He asks with a smile. “I wonder why.”

“I have no clue,” she answers innocently. “You won’t let me go in the nursery.”

“Never you mind that,” he says before bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Seeing as I’m a mess, why don’t you join me in the shower later to make sure I clean up to your expectations.” He lightly nips her ear, and pulls their bodies flush.

The contact pulls a soft groan from her before she manages to work out an answer, “Hmm that sounds like a good plan, can’t have you slacking in personal hygiene now can we?”

“Exactly,” he smiles leading her out to the kitchen. “We’re nearly done as it would be anyway. Maybe later I’ll let you in on your surprise.”

“I’d love that,” she replies looking up into his blue-green eyes with a smile. “I’m glad we stayed here.”

Loki rolls his eyes looks to the map of the tower laying out on the counter. “I would have preferred a nice secluded place to call our own. But Stark makes a hard bargain.”

“Well a room for us and one for the baby, and a large pool of willing babysitters I think will be a blessing when the time comes,” she replies with a laugh.

“Possibly,” he remarks, carefully pressing one hand to her growing belly. “This little one is going to come out practically drowning in love and affection.

-

“Are you ready?” Loki asks Y/N, his hands over her eyes as they stand in the new nursery.

“More than ready!” she exclaims. “I want to see what you’ve done!”

“Well love, I’ve done the best that I could by my own talent and memory,” he says as he removes his hands.

Y/N gasps as she’s met by a mural of Asgard behind the baby’s crib. The whole room is blue with glowing stars including the ceilings beyond the one wall. She steps forward to carefully touch it, running her fingers down the palace. “It’s beautiful.”

“Well our little prince or princess should know what home looked like,” he whispers. “It took me long enough to see it that way again. But now that it’s gone… “

“You miss it?” She fills in for him, reaching for his hand.

“I do,” he replies. “It was beautiful, and it’s where I spent most of my life.”

They stand silently for a few minutes holding hands before she says, “I didn’t even know you could paint. A man full of surprises.”

“That’s what I do best,” he replies with a wink.

“Well I suppose you deserve a reward for all your hard work,” she says.

“Oh really?” A gleam in his eye appears. “And what would that be?”

-

“Gods,” Loki shudders, a groan drawing from his lips. “That feels so damn good.”

“All I’m doing is massaging your back Loki,” Y/N responds with a small laugh, her fingers exploring along the small scars on his back as water runs down them both.

He turns to her finally and wraps his arms loosely around her, pressing his forehead to hers and staring into her eyes. Her smile lights up, and once again he can feel it. That pang in his heart. The sight of this beautiful woman he loves, looking back at him with those same feelings reflected in her smile, her eyes, her gestures. Letting herself be this vulnerable to him, naked and wrapped in his arms as the water runs down their faces. Her wet hair sticks to her face, and the last of her makeup washed away. Her belly swelling with the presence of the child they’ve created together. Beautiful. “Have I told you that you make me the happiest man in all the realms?” He murmurs.

She turns her head up to presses her lips to his, “How are you this romantic sometimes?”

“Sometimes?” He smirks. “All sorts of Asgardian romance novels. Are you practically swooning for me yet darling?”

“Well your plan failed,” she replies sticking out her tongue to touch his nose. “I was swooning from the second you stepped into the tower in that black suit, because damn.”

He grins, “Love at first sight hm?”

“It was something at first sight. Can’t say it was my heart talking though.”

“Brat,” he whispers before kissing her once again.

“Your brat,” she corrects him happily.”

“Exactly,” he presses more kisses along her jaw before prompting her to turn so he could wash her back.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” she begins as she relaxes into his touch.

“Of?” He prompts.

“Names for our child.”

“Oh really? And what would those be?”

“Weeell,” she stalls for a moment. “I was thinking… I thought for us, we should go with a character from Shakespeare.”

“Hm, I’m interested. Go on,” he says with a smile.

“For a boy, I was thinking Lysander. Or Lucio,” she responds leaning back into him. “For a girl, Lavinia or Luciana.”

“That’s a lot of L’s there, any particular reason?” He asks.

“Well he or she is going to be either Lokison or Lokidottir,” she says confidently. “And I like the alliteration.”

Loki goes silent behind her, not quiet sure what to say. He just pulls her into his embrace hugging her back, and places his chin on her shoulder. She can feel his heart racing as she puts her head against his chest, and turns her head to kiss his cheek.

“Do you not like them?”

“I love them,” he answers sighing into her ear. “It just… it suddenly occurred to me.”

“What did?”

“Lokison, Lokidottir,” he says softly. “My son or daughter, baring my name, a part of me. I’m really going to be a father.”

She gently pulls his hands down to be flat on her belly where a small kick greets them, “And he or she loves their daddy already.”

-24 Weeks Pregnant-

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Loki now yells at the top of his lungs. “You are not going with us!”

“Like HELL I’m not,” Y/N yells back charging past Loki in her now much snugger Avengers uniform.

“You can’t be out fighting for your life when you’re pregnant!” Loki insists grabbing for her wrists, which she quickly avoids on her path toward the kitchen.

“You act like I’m going out on a suicide mission alone Loki,” she responds back, pulling on her fingerless gloves.

“You shouldn’t be going out on any mission accompanied or otherwise,” he growls still following her.

She finally comes to a halt and spins to face her boyfriend, “I’ve gone on barely any missions since I’ve been pregnant Loki. Hell I have barely even touched junk food. Or do any form of physical labor. Or been around the painted nursery. Or have more than one cup a tea a day because of the terrifying caffeine. I can handle one mission!”

“Well pardon me trying to care for our child,” he crosses his arms defensively.

“I know you are! But…” she sighs and rubs her eyes. “I love that you care so much, but we, me and the baby, aren’t that fragile. We can handle one mission. It’s just an in, interrogate, and out. And you’ll be there with me, along with a squad.” She reaches up trying to uncross his arms as she gives him puppy-dog eyes.

His shoulders drop, allowing her to grab his hands as he sighs, “Stay by me at all times?” It comes out as barely a whisper, already regretting his words.

She smiles widely at him stepping up onto his boots to give him a quick kiss, “Everything will be fine love.”

-

Things didn’t go quite to plan. Not that they ever did when it came to Avengers missions. Y/N cringes as a freshly sliced body goes flying past her. The cabin was far more protected than any of them had expected.

The team had split up to approach from different angles, Y/N was now back to back with Loki. His daggers and magic sending their opponents flying and dropping dead faster than she could keep track of with her own self occupied with stabbing the ones in front of her with her telekinetic energy swords.

“Just in and out,” Loki mocks in a high pitched tone as he sends another enemy flying.

“I also said it would be fine, and thus far we’re doing just fine,” she responds taking down the person in front of her. “And isn’t exercise good when you’re pregnant?”

Loki rolls his eyes, grabbing her arm behind him and swinging her in a circle to slash the enemies all gathered around her, “This is hardly what the books had in mind I assure you.”

“Some yoga in the morning, some light murder in the afternoon, and a nice jog in the evening right dear?” She shouts back as he sets her back down.

He looks to her for a moment, her eyes shining in the heat of battle, a big grin, and her hair flopping out of place as she tries to smooth it. Practically glowing before him, he can’t stop himself from pulling her into him and kissing her passionately. “My queen,” he winks letting go of her as they hear Captain America shout for them near the cabin.

“We’re all clear guys, lets get in there before he tries something!” He yells gesturing toward the door.

Y/N lets her energy weapons disperse before sliding her hand into Loki’s as they go to catch up, a quiet hum coming from her.

After a moment, a harsh wind blows up from behind them, and her hand drops from his. The air now suddenly eerily quiet.

“Y/N?” He says as he turns, his heart stopping at the sight in front of him.

Y/N struggles to stand with a large sword now protruding from her abdomen, her eyes wide with fear, and a man behind her grinning at him.

“Whoopsies,” the man says, kicking her off his sword and flat onto the ground. “That’s gotta hurt.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just the one picture this chapter since it took a little bit to put together, sort of the general idea I had for what Loki would choose. As to why he can paint, I just figured that could be a hidden talent he’s had :P 

P.S. Please don’t hate me for this part, I love you all :$

Part 1      Part 2      Part 3      Part 5

Part 6

Tag List:

@ihavenofilter @zombiefied-gay-ghost @talinalani @chloe-skywalker @shanetoo @shitty-imagines-95 @roryomxlley @afangirlamongotherthings @servamp-addict @moonfaery @thefallenbibliophilequote @arielletheavenger @lucacangettathisass @draconicyeet @i-love-loki-its-unhealthy @tokoyamisstuff @whennoonethinksyoucanyoumust @ximi27 @throughartistseyes  @islaylivesinshire @ink-and-starlight  @starfox-92 

[icecoldparadise]

Thankful for a Change

Moxiety, Logince

I know not everywhere celebrates Thanksgiving, but here in Murica we do. So have fluff.

No trigger warnings.

             After the adventure of Halloween, the four men retreated to their own rooms for a much needed recharge period. They still ate meals together and worked on videos with Thomas, but no one was offended when the others kept to themselves for about a week. During that time, Virgil managed to convince himself the events from Halloween (especially between him and Patton) were just the influence of the holiday’s magic and withdrew even more from the others; Logan relished the quiet monotony of scheduling events and reorganizing information; Roman redecorated his room to reflect the new friendship dynamic he and the other sides had established (he refuses to tell anyone how he got pictures of them all in costume); and Patton looked back on the recent memories fondly while excitedly anticipating the next big event. Logan and Patton united first from the break with a common goal in mind: they needed to start planning their Thanksgiving celebration, which required both memories of past successes (and failures) and new ideas for this year. Roman felt them trying to brainstorm new ideas and felt inspiration flare up inside him. The three began planning, not realizing they were unintentionally leaving out the gloomier side. He had never taken part before, and while they would love him to they didn’t expect him to take any interest.

           It came as a surprise to them when he began giving small pointers here and there. Roman managed to find a way to decorate for the underappreciated holiday, and he was in the process of decorating the common room Virgil slinked in on his way to get coffee from the kitchen. He paused, a critical gaze on the prince’s handiwork. It was alright, but there were too many turkeys and the single orange streamer he had put up was haphazardly pinned up. “You should use some yellow and brown streamers, straighten the orange one, and put some of those turkeys in the kitchen.” The anxious side critiqued, his quick low voice startling Roman. The creative side turned to gape at him for a second before stepping back to look at his current progress. “Hmmm,” he began, and Virgil thought he was going to get mad for a moment when he continued, “You know what, System of a Downer, I think you might be right.” Virgil was surprised his opinion was validated and quickly muttered something about “Needing coffee” before disappearing in the kitchen. Logan and Patton were both debating the recipes they had settled on at the kitchen table. Virgil quietly listened as he got his much-needed caffeine fix. “But Logan! It’s a holiday! We should do everything and have lots of food to choose from!” The logical side quirked an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Patton, that’s absurd. Some of these recipes clearly have ingredients none of us like. We shouldn’t use them if no one will like them.” They went back and forth like this, running in circles. Virgil peered over their shoulders and read some of the recipes.

           Logan was right. A few recipes had ingredients such as prunes, spinach, cranberries or cooked broccoli. He scrunched up his nose reading those, but had to admit the rest of the recipe sounded delicious. “Why not just omit those ingredients and either substitute them with something else, or just scrap em entirely and make a modified version of the recipe?” He piped in before he could stop himself. The two stopped midsentence and gaped at him much like Roman did. ‘Ah, shit I ruined everything they probably think I’m annoying I shouldn’t have said—’ Patton beamed up at him. “That’s an excellent idea Virge!” Logan gave a small, stiff smile as well. “Excellent compromise, Virgil. I am quite certain we can work out alternative ingredients while still maintaining the integrity of these dishes.” The anxious side flushed before ducking out to his room, clinging to his coffee mug. His brain raced at the thoughts of them all liking what he suggested, but he couldn’t keep away the thoughts that they may just be trying to be nice while secretly hating what he said. He stayed in his room the next few days.

           At last Thanksgiving arrived and the entire mindscape felt warm and cheery, the scents of maple pancakes and bacon filling each room in a tasty breakfast call. Everyone stumbled into the kitchen to see Patton in a ridiculous turkey-themed apron with “Kiss the cook” stitched on the front. He turned briefly and flashed his characteristic smile beam at the others. “Morning kiddos! Happy Thanksgiving!” They greeted him, lightly teasing him for his apron (“Seriously Patton, it even has tail feathers!” A laugh, “It’s so I can shake a tail feather!” Groans.) Logan began spouting off facts related to the holiday, some of which mortified the fatherly cook, before Roman took mercy on the heart and turned the conversation away from the history of Thanksgiving. “I declare, I think this year I am the most grateful for our epic (if not slightly disasterous) Halloween adventure! It was the best one yet!” The creative side boldly stated, causing some laughter at the memories. “Remember how cute Logan looked as a cat?!” Patton cried out, causing the normally reserved side to blush and scowl slightly. “Oh! Or how those werewolves nearly got us but Virgil saved us?” The laughter turned to a solemn agreement. Logan peered at the flustered boy who was currently stabbing his pancakes with a vengeance. “Yes. I am quite grateful we got out of that alive and in one piece. I am also thankful for Thomas’s renewed interest in academia.” Roman snorted, choking on some orange juice he had just taken a swig of. “Of COURSE you would be, AstronoNerd.” Laughter resumed, and they piled into the living room to watch the Peanuts Thanksgiving episode. When that finished up Logan pulled out a book to read out loud while Patton started on dinner, and Virgil couldn’t help but follow him inside the kitchen.

The anxious one watched as Patton started gathering ingredients, noticing a haphazard measuring system that was mildly terrifying. “P-pat? That’s not how you measure stuff.” The fatherly side peered up, his eyes warming up the way they did on Halloween. “Whatdya mean, kiddo?” Virgil fought down a slight blush and ignored the slight chill that went down his spine. “You’re not… Um, being very precise and that can affect the flavor.” Patton tilted his head, thinking about it, then smiled and offered a apron to the other. “I suppose you’re right! Why don’t you help me out, Virge?” The dark brooding man nodded and quickly got to work. Everything was measured precisely, times were kept exactly in the middle of the suggested times, and food was plated to the detail. The entire time they cracked jokes, commented about how the food looked and smelled, joked about the cream of broccoli and possible effects it could have on Princy… And Virgil felt at peace. He ignored the unnecessary, almost affectionate contact Patton would give randomly throughout the process. He hid his disappointment when the cooking was done and Patton called the others in, not wanting the time between them to be done yet. Roman and Logan came in, looking suspiciously disheveled. Patton appeared blissfully ignorant but Virgil caught the subtle shift in his eyes- an amused warmth that wasn’t quite like how he looked at the anxious side. Virgil smirked, not able to resist a snide remark. “So Princy, I see you were extra Charming while Pat and I slaved away in the kitchen.” The sheer brightness of the red on Roman’s cheeks was worth the disapproving glare from Logan and the gentle chastising he received from Patton; still, he saw the two quietly hold hands under the table later and couldn’t help but feel simultaneously happy for them and a bit jealous of them. He shoved those thoughts down as they all grabbed a plate and loaded it with food. Conversation was light and full of abnormal amount of praise for the food. “I must say, Patton, this food is absolutely out of this world! You’ve outdone yourself this year.” Roman complimented, digging into some stuffing with turkey shredded into it. Patton glanced at Virgil before grinning widely. “Actually, I can’t claim all the credit here. If it weren’t for good ol’ Virge here, I would have added too much of everything all together.” The others looked at the hiding side with a pleasantly surprised expression on their faces. “You can cook, Green Day?!” Virgil buried into his hoodie more but nodded. “I-I learned so that Th-thomas wouldn’t burn the house down or give someone food poisoning.” He muttered, red as a beet. Logan rescued the clearly distressed side. “Well, I for one am grateful you’ve ensured our food is safe for consumption. If you aren’t opposed, I think it would be beneficial for you two to cook together from here on.” Patton and Roman enthusiastically agreed before moving on to spare the poor man from the attention overload. Midbite Patton exclaimed, “You know what I’m grateful for?! I’m thankful for how close we all have gotten and how far we’ve all come!” They all toasted to that, clinking glasses of juice together.

Once dinner was done Logan and Roman volunteered to clean up the dishes since the other two cooked, allowing them to plunk down on the couch in a food coma. Patton had sat close to the anxious side, which Virgil blatantly tried to ignore as his cheeks dusted red. “You haven’t told us what you’re thankful for, Virge.” Patton said softly, forcing the darker side to look at him. He ducked his head a bit. “I’m thankful for you, Pat. You’ve helped pull me out of the darkness, more than the others could.” Patton put an arm around him gently and pulled him into a hug. “Awww shucks kiddo. That’s the nicest thing someone’s ever said to me.” Virgil relaxed into the hug, heart racing a little at the contact. He noticed the moral side was still wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron. Gathering up his courage, Virgil peered up at Patton. “Pat? Has anyone ever actually kissed you while you were wearing this?” Patton glanced down and chuckled, a surprisingly deep rumble emitting from his chest. “No, I don’t think so. The others aren’t very touchy-feely with me besides occasional hugs.” There was a brief silence as Virgil contemplated his next action carefully. Fuck it. He quickly kissed Patton, surprising the moral side. He was about to pull away when the heart gently stopped him and gave him a soft kiss back. Virgil’s heart fluttered, and they both cuddled together on the couch for the rest of the night.

  @storytellerofuntoldlegends

@justanotherpurplebutterfly @ssides  @thelogicalloganipus @pirate-patton @thatsthat24 @tinysidestrashcaptain @sidewritings @i-love-word-association-games @fandomsandanythingelse

[perfecthealthseo-blog]

When I at first began with keto, I wound up spending a fortune on all these various updates. I truly took after a deer in the headlights and likely a stunning individual among the most clear fixations for all these update affiliations.

Luckily, I accomplished the objectives that it is persistently useful to put that cash in a dietician and solid expert (shoutout to Susan!). With her assistance, I have had the choice to test out stores of updates and separate the fixings and signs.

One of these things is Keto Pure, and I had a few falterings about it since it appeared to tail me wherever on the Internet.

In the event that you've seen this likewise, by then watch this thing plan, before you settle on a choice.

What Is Keto Pure?

Keto Pure is a dietary improvement that should need to lift fat eating up at different events of a keto diet.

During the beginning occasions of a keto diet, you will wrap with an appealing framework where the body changes from glucose to ketone as a centrality source. During this stage, you can feel some astonishing signs.

While it's overwhelming that you hold quick to the eating routine during this stage, there are things you can do to help.

​Weight scene updates like Keto Pure confirmation to interface with ketone to age, and that will go far towards diminishing the weariness and cerebrum nonattendance of definition.

Keto Pure Supplement

Regardless, it's not simply in these beginning of your way of life change this update can be huge.

At unequivocal stages and on days where you plan some essential work out, the additional centrality discharge can in like manner be an epic presentation layout.

We should perceive what express focal centers you can imagine.

What are the Benefits?

Eat up Fat Quicker - The standard clarification behind relationship of keto is to get your body to begin eating up fat and discharge the set away centrality. Getting to this condition of ketosis can take 14 days, in spite of with the assistance of weight rot supplements, you can interface that opening. As time goes on, your body can wrap up being helpful at sourcing all centrality needs from dietary fat. In the event that you need to lift or kick begin fat eating up clearly, by then updates like this one are a perfect framework.

It Makes The Diet Transition Easier - In those early keto days, the keto influenza and mind nonappearance of clearness signs can make it uncommonly hard to work reliably. While all around a couple carbs would help give you that required lift, this would truly be incredibly counterproductive. With Keto Slim, you can discharge some secured fat to help your ketone levels. This, everything considered, will give you some additional centrality to get over that focused on befuddling stage.

Mental And Physical Endurance - Between the sweeping ketones and caffeine you will see key lifts in mental clearness and physical stamina. On the off chance that you time these weight ruin updates well, by then they will interface with you to achieve higher exercise targets.

What are the Ingredients?

Keto Pure is a without gluten supplement made with BHB salts and 100% every single central fixing. While the cautious bit of the fixings is unequivocal data, you will get the upsides of:

Magnesium Beta Hydroxybutyrate

Calcium Beta Hydroxybutyrate

Caffeine

Sodium Hydroxybutyrate

Our Review of Keto Pure

Keto Pure uses a restrictive mix to dismantle in you to get steadily dainty - You'll find after each and every other option have been drained of the publicizing material that there are references to starting ketosis and arriving speedier. Regardless, this isn't absolutely titanic. What it will do is vanquished any issues to ketosis before all else periods by discharging additional ketones. A little while later, this isn't cleaned through essential 'ol formed ketosis.

Spreads Your Carb Cravings - At different events of the keto diet, it is incomprehensibly major to throb for sugary and high-carb snacks. It's start and end of the a dash of the huge structures in your body attempting to reveal to you that there is a danger of starvation.

Keto Slim won't give you an estimation of being full, yet with the wide criticalness levels you won't have equivalent sorts of necessities. Getting some low-carb snacks for in the midst of suppers will deal with that throbbing regardless.

Everything thought about Verdict: Will This Product Boost Your Weight Loss ​& Fitness Goals?

We found that there was an epic lift in centrality when Keto Pure was joined with a veritable eating routine and exercise plan.

Regardless, it's by no means, in any capacity by any means, a substitution or silver slug to weight rot.

Pick in weakness in any case, we are still absolutely more for proposing another Shark Tank thing called Purefit Keto.

Undeniably, it is only that bit better at making a semi-ketogenic state with everything considered diligently mental clearness and physical execution.

For the odd layout of inadequacy where you may go on a little carb gorge, it's an astonishing structure to change those "risky" snacks.

From this time forward, before you settle on an official choice, look at our Purefit Keto plan. The choice is at long last yours—on a central estimation ensure that you make it with most by a wide edge of the data open.

See more:-  http://www.perfect4health.com/keto-pure-diet-reviews/  

https://www.facebook.com/perfect4health/posts/917378768604872

https://www.facebook.com/events/403034093646045/

https://twitter.com/Perfect4Healths/status/1141610355275096064

https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/839851030492186602

https://www.instagram.com/p/By7IF1Jnavy/

https://www.quora.com/unanswered/Where-Can-I-Buy-Keto-Pure-Diet

[halsteadproperty]

The Women of Strivers’ Row

By Ivonne Velasquez, Lic. R.E. Salesperson in our West Side office

Strivers' Row – my neighborhood. Not only is it picture perfect with its brick and limestone facades and refuse-free curb appeal, it is also brimming with businesses run and operated by WOMEN. It’s a magical place where the divine feminine is at the helm of entrepreneurship and community.

Many of the services one would need on a daily basis are offered within this two-block stretch of historic St. Nicholas District. It’s only fitting that for Women’s History Month I pay homage to my neighbors who are making history: the women of Strivers'.

Aliyyah & Jo-Ann Baylor

One hundred yards from my front door, I can grab my morning coffee and a slice of heaven from the iconic Make My Cake where mother and daughter owners Aliyyah & Jo-Ann Baylor have been delivering the goodies for over two decades. Their German chocolate cake throwdown against Iron Chef Bobby Flay has gained them worldwide recognition, but their consistency across the board has made them legendary. I can shamefully admit that many mornings I have chosen to walk in their direction when Ishould be headed in the opposite just to inhale whatever treasure is baking.

LaChena Clark

After my caffeine fix I pop in a couple of doors over to Sudsy Water where LaChena Clark and her friendly staff handle my laundry needs from dry cleaning to wash and fold. The turnaround is quick and my garments are always crisp and clean. In addition to laundry, LaChena also owns Mia’s Bathhouse, a self-service dog wash just a few blocks away.

Lisa Logan

I’m pretty low-maintenance when it comes to having my nails done, but when I do decide to sit still and get a fresh mani, I don’t have to go far. Lisa Logan of The Nail Suite is the nail tech to the stars. Her clients include Taraji P. Henson, Queen Latifah, and yes, darling…the Queen Bey! As many celeb claws that she has handled, Lisa’s fame comes from being a true Harlemite and making all her customers feel like superstars.

Tammeca Rochester

It is too easy to come up with excuses for not working out. However, it shouldn’t be when it's right around the corner, warm, inviting, and actually fun! Tammeca Rochester and her team of instructors know how to get your pulse up at Harlem Cycle. This boutique cycling studio offers a range of workouts that are sure to fit your style while the playlists keep you moving. Tammeca is constantly thinking of new ways to collaborate with the other women of Strivers to improve exposure and health awareness while creating a comaraderie of sisterhood.

Jessica Spaulding

I can't speak for you, but after a workout, my body wants chocolate! Seriously; I pour my all into my workout, so a piece of chocolate does Vonnie good. Luckily, I can skip across 7th Avenue to Harlem Chocolate Factory where I can easily spend 15-20 minutes pondering which of the mood-altering morsels to choose. Owner, chocolatier, and Harlem-grown Jessica Spaulding’s unique spin on her artisan creations have gained her major street cred in the chocolate and culinary scene. My top picks? Everything that has chocolate.

Justine & Juliet Masters

More than often my days end late and the last thing I want to do is cook. Thanks to the wonder twins Justine and Juliet Masters of The Edge, I don’t have to. These ladies have created a space to commune and enjoy tasty dishes influenced by their Jamaican roots. I can enjoy live music, take in the works of local artists, and enjoy a hearty meal a stone’s throw from home. The "No Wi-Fi, No Laptops" rule makes it all the better to truly connect.

Beloved actor and activist Ruby Dee lived in the Strivers' Row enclave, and she once said, “We woman have a function to perform; the world needs us.” Yes, the world does, so perform we shall. I am inspired daily by the dedication and performance of my neighbors – the women of Strivers'.

Come for a visit. You may just want to stay.

[lindafrancois]

4 Weight Loss Medicine Drawbacks To Be Aware Of

Weight loss medicines to say the least become a lucrative option, especially when a special event is nearing. It comes across as a medium to lose weight which gives quick results and which does not require any effort at all (you can’t deny this one!).

Even the weight loss medicines leave no chance of advertising their effectiveness and their ability to give you the desired frame in no time. What they do not advertise are their ingredients and the various side effects they tend to pose to the human body when consumed [1].

They also do not tell you that these medicines if not supplemented with a healthy diet and regular exercise, fail to give you the results they claim to produce.

Today, with so many companies manufacturing various weight loss medicines using numerous chemicals, it has become almost impossible to regulate their component and ingredients as a result of which many unsafe ingredients make their way into the weight loss medicines available in the markets today.

Another noteworthy point is that you will gain all the weight you may have lost with the use of weight loss medicines if you do not continue your low-calorie diet and regular exercise.

The weight loss medicines have different working mechanisms. Many weight loss medicines act as appetite suppressants which consist of ingredients like phenylpropanolamine or caffeine.

A few of them work on increasing the metabolism rate of your body along with helping in controlling your appetite.

A few others actually act as fat blockers where they get attached to the food that we intake and disallow the fat constituent to get absorbed into your body. In this process, Others claim to block the body’s ability to absorb fat.

In this process, the nutrients useful for our body also get blocked from getting absorbed into our body. Some weight loss medicines claim to give the same results as a bariatric gastric banding surgery without the operation does.

These weight loss medicines expand in the stomach and keep us feeling full. The rest of the weight loss medicines work on the formula of eliminating fluid and waste from our body.

Weight loss medicines could be addictive in nature and could expose you to various side effects even if consumed according to the doctor’s prescription.

Thus it makes all the more pertinent to consult a doctor before taking any weight loss medicine in case you are suffering from any prior health ailments.

Also, ensure that you research well on the side effects caused by the weight loss medicines and stop their use immediately if you notice any side effects in your own self.

Users should also analyze the common and serious side effects caused by the weight loss medicines before we actually get into using them. So, now let us talk about some side effects posed by the weight loss medicines.

This might just prove to be useful for someone who is planning to use weight loss medicines.

The side effects caused by weight loss medicines and many and varied. Some common side effects are insomnia, restlessness, headaches, diarrhea and dry mouth.

According to Fraud Guides [2], weight loss pills are often unregulated which is because many of them claim to contain ingredients that the FDA doesn’t qualify as drugs.

Also according to Fraud Guides, in the metabolism-boosting or calorie-burning pills that promise to raise your metabolism so that you burn all the extra fat, you will always find a new “herbal” metabolism booster without finding even a sign of the older ingredients in the product.

Why this happens is that older “herbal” ingredient that has already been tried by the consumers, left them dissatisfied as they did not manage to make them lose weight.

So, to keep the companies dealing in weight loss medicines running and products selling, the manufacturers paste a new label on the old ones and start selling them afresh.

Also according to Fraud Guides, the fat blocking weight loss medicines because of their food blocking properties, can lead to all kinds of health problems like gastrointestinal problems including diarrhea, bloating, and gas along with stomach ache.

The unabsorbed food keeps straying in your body and causes these problems.

Keeping everything we have just told you right now, let us see why we should not use weight loss medicines.

If you are reading this article, it is a sure indicator of your dilemma about using weight loss medicines and at the same time your desire to lose weight.

So, in this article, we aim to give you a reality check of weight loss medicines and reasons why you should not use them.

Common Side-effects of Weight Loss Medicines

1. Serious Side Effects

While most times you will find the side effects of weight loss medicines disappear once you stop taking the medicines, this may not always be the case.

Some serious side effects caused by long term use of weight loss medicines include heart arrhythmias and palpitations, tightness in the chest, dizziness and confusion.

Along with these, there is always a possibility of congestive heart failure, strokes, convulsions and renal failure.

Common Side Effects Associated With Weight Loss Medicines (Source)

Brand Drug NameDrug CategoryCommon Side EffectsAdipex-P (phentermine)Appetite suppressant; sympathomimetic amineIncreased blood pressure and heart rate, insomnia, nervousness, restlessness, dependence, abuse or withdrawal may occur with long-term use. When given as a single agent, phentermine is not implicated in valvular heart disease.Alli (orlistat) – over-the-counter (OTC)Lipase inhibitorOily spotting, gas (flatulence), fecal urgency, soft stools, fecal incontinence; take Alli with a daily multivitamin.Belviq (lorcaserin)Selective serotonin 2C receptor agonist (suppresses appetite)Headache, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, dry mouth, constipation; euphoria/dissociation may occur with higher doses; do not exceed 10 mg two times a day.Bontril PDM, Bontril SR (phendimetrazine)Appetite suppressant; sympathomimetic amineIncreased blood pressure and heart rate, insomnia, nervousness, restlessness, dependence, abuse or withdrawal may occur with long-term use.Contrave (bupropion and naltrexone)Antidepressant (weak inhibitor of norepinephrine and dopamine) and an opioid antagonistNausea, vomiting, headache, fatigue, constipation, dizziness, insomnia, dry mouth, diarrhea, increased blood pressure, anxiety, tremor, hot flush, unusual taste.Desoxyn (methamphetamine)Appetite suppressant; sympathomimetic amineHigh abuse potential; use only if alternative treatments are ineffective; increased blood pressure and heart rate, insomnia, nervousness, restlessness, dependence, abuse or withdrawal may occur with long-term use.Didrex (benzphetamine)Appetite suppressant; sympathomimetic amineIncreased blood pressure and heart rate, insomnia, nervousness, restlessness, dependence, abuse or withdrawal may occur with long-term use.DiethylpropionAppetite suppressant; sympathomimetic amineConstipation, restlessness, dry mouth, Increased blood pressure and heart rate, insomnia, nervousness, restlessness, dependence, abuse or withdrawal may occur with long-term use.Qsymia (phentermine and topiramate extended-release capsules)Combination appetite suppressant-anorectic; exact action of topiramate on weight loss is not knownParesthesias, dizziness, altered taste, insomnia, constipation, dry mouth.Saxenda (liraglutide)Glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) receptor agonist; regulates appetite and food intake.Nausea/vomiting, diarrhea, constipation, headache, heartburn, fatigue, dizziness, stomach pain, gas, dry mouth, low blood sugar in type 2 diabetes, increased lipase.Suprenza (phentermine)Appetite suppressant; sympathomimetic amineIncreased blood pressure and heart rate, insomnia, nervousness, restlessness, dependence, abuse or withdrawal may occur with long-term use.Xenical (orlistat)Lipase inhibitorOily spotting, gas (flatulence), fecal urgency, soft stools, fecal incontinence; take Xenical with a daily multivitamin.

2. Weight Loss Medicines Can Get You Addicted

Weight loss medicines often contain amphetamines [3], anti-anxiety drugs, and antidepressants.

This mix is not only dangerous in nature but also highly addictive. Any medication that gets you hooked on it, should be considered multiple times before consumption.

3. Ineffectiveness of Weight Loss Medicines Has Been Proved Multiple Times

Many weight loss medicines offer a combination of caffeine and other diuretics, which cause water loss in the body [4].

In the beginning, it appears as weight loss but in no time, this water weight returns causing the weight scales to return to their original position.

Also, extreme water loss due to these weight loss medicines can cause serious dehydration in the body.

4. Limit Your Motivation To Adopt Healthy Lifestyle

If you wish to gain long term weight loss, you have to take it as a journey and change your eating habits along the way along with making exercise a crucial part of your journey.

Weight loss medicines are quick fix methods, which when adopted, discourage you from understanding food and workout from a holistic perspective thinking that the quick fix will do all the work, while this does not happen in real life.

Your body after a certain point of time, gains immunity to weight loss medicines and stop acting, getting you back to where you started from. So, is it really worth it?

So if you are even thinking of taking weight loss pills, stop! Search about more healthy, effective and long-term methods to lose weight.

Start watching your calories and workout. These will definitely give you better and sustainable results than any quick fix.

For more information on weight loss and nutrition, talk to our Truweight Nutritionist today! The first consultation is on us. Click here to avail it. 

Get FREE Weightloss Consultation Today!

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[reomanet]

Pizzazz!

Pizzazz!

Hi there! Oli was a very busy and active woman. She had a really demanding job that kept her working until six o’clock in the evening; immediately after she was attending her fitness class for a couple of hours. Then at nine thirty in the evening, she was meeting her partner until the early hours , as usually. Finally, she was going to bed at around two in the morning. As a consequence, she was always struggling out of bed next day, and feeling constantly drained and exhausted. She also had great difficulty concentrating, and lost her patience too quickly. She was feeling completely tired, weak, unproductive, almost useless. “ I have to change my whole lifestyle, so I can stop feeling so exhausted and hopeless every day “ she thought one morning. And so she did …… Under The Weather The pace of our modern life today, is very disturbing and damaging to humanity. Although every body is rushing all day to catch up with their responsibilities, they find it hard to keep up. Consequently, they feel permanently stressed and run down. According to research, one in three adults seem to be exhausted and fatigued all the time; and needing various stimulants to enable them to go through their every day obligations. Here are the main reasons why you feel so exhausted: 1) Lack of any kind of exercise. 2) Insomnia of any type. 3) Caffeine addiction. 4) Dehydration. 5) Sugar addiction. 6) Lack of protein in the daily meals. 7) Alcohol addiction. 8) Being overweight. 9) Vitamin B complex deficiency. 10) Chronic stress. 11) Depression. 12) Anaemia ( Iron deficiency ). 13) Under active thyroid. 14) Low blood pressure. 15) Various allergies. 16) Various medications. 17) Chronic Pain. 18) Autoimmune Diseases. 19) Fibromyalgia. 20) Heart Disease. 21) Diabetes. 22) Arthritis. 23) Chronic infections. 24) Kidney/Liver disease. 25) Adrenal insufficiency. 26) Anxiety. 27) Celiac Disease. 28) Cancer. Out Of The Woods Unless you have a health problem that needs medical attention; here is how to deal with being drained, increase your energy levels and improve your every day life. L i f e s t y l e a) Exercise daily. Go walking or light jogging for thirty (30) minutes every day; either all at once or ten minutes three times a day. b) Reduce stress and relax. Take breaks, breathe deeply, laugh, meditate or do yoga. c) Sleep between six (6) and eight (8) hours every night. d) Develop positive social connections. e) Listen to the music during the day. f) Look at red colour: red flowers, red clothes, red soft furnishings. g) Avoid smoking completely. h) Avoid overworking at your job. i) Be self-confident, and like yourself a lot. j) Be organised in your life. k) Have enough and various plants in your house. D i e t a) Eat three (3) meals every day, plus one to two snacks, at regular intervals, every three hours. b) Drink plenty of liquids like, various herbal teas and coconut water. c) Eat protein foods with all your meals. d) Avoid alcohol, sugar and caffeine in all your foods: desserts, snacks, breakfast, lunch and dinner. e) Have a healthy and balanced diet at all times. Your diet should include: Organic Meats, Fish, Poultry and Eggs. Nuts and Seeds. Fruits and Vegetables. Grains, Pulses and Legumes. Organic Dairy products. S u p p l e m e n t s a) Take Calcium and Magnesium 1000/500 mg . b) Take Vitamin B complex 50 mg. c) Take Omega 3 fish oils 1200 mg . d) Take Vitamin D3 2000 IU . e) Take probiotics 5 billion microorganisms. Essential Oils Lemon oil, Orange oil, Grapefruit oil, Bergamot oil and Lime oil; will increase your positive mental attitude, total energy and happiness. Peppermint oil, Spearmint oil, Eucalyptus oil and Rosemary oil; will enhance your alertness, concentration and mental clarity. You can use them in a diffuser, put them on your wrists, or inhale them directly from the bottle. Fine – Tune The following quick fixes will help you instantly to get your energy back: 1) Yawn to cool down your brain and wake it up. 2) Splash cool water on your face. 3) Eat a banana. 4) Stretch your whole body and lift your arms above your head for 15 seconds. 5) Get up and start moving around. 6) Drink beetroot juice. 7) Sing and dance around the room. 8) Go for a ten minute walk. 9) Improve your posture by sitting up straight. So many people find themselves feeling exhausted and drained on a regular basis. Follow the above natural recommendations, to increase your energy levels and reclaim your life.

Read More…

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Response to “Organic food won’t help you get pregnant”

Response to the National Review op-ed “Organic food won’t help you get pregnant” by Julie Kelly published on December 6.

Photo credit: Lisa Williams

Did Julie Kelly actually read the peer reviewed scientific article she is bashing?  It appears not.

The study by Harvard University Researchers and published in the scientific journal JAMA Internal Medicine did NOT gauge how often study participants ate organic fruits and vegetables. In fact, organic or not organic was in no way considered in the study’s methodology.  Instead the study assessed the intake of fruits and vegetables known to have high levels of pesticide residues vs fruits and vegetables known to have low levels of pesticide residues – without reference to production method. Kelly makes the same error in her reference to a previously published study that links consumption of high pesticide fruits and vegetables to lower sperm count and quality in men.

Kelly also seems to be either confused about what constitutes peer review or just throwing out lies. JAMA Internal Medicine is a well-respected, peer-reviewed scientific journal.  What that means is that all articles published in that journal must go through a rigorous peer review process before they are accepted and published.  To claim that the study was not peer-reviewed is just plain false.

While Kelly is correct in pointing out that the study has not been replicated yet, it’s also worth pointing out that that’s because it was only published a month ago.  Believe it or not, it is going to take more than one month for other scientists to replicate the study and publish their research findings.

The study authors recognize that their research identifies a correlation (as opposed to causation) between the consumption of high pesticide residue produce and negative reproductive outcomes in their study population and they call for more research to address this. They also note – in an interview with CNN and not in their publication – that organic is just one option for those that want to reduce risk that may be associated with pesticide exposure.  While Kelly interprets this suggestion as industry-influenced “dishonesty and shamelessness” to “exploit a vulnerable group,” it could also simply be that the researchers are making an informed recommendation based on their research results in hopes that it will lead to improved health outcomes for others.

It’s clear that Julie Kelly likely cannot be convinced that these research results are not part of a larger conspiracy, but she should at least read the research paper before she attacks it.

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A Foodie’s Guide to Santiago | Chile

by Victoria Khroundina

When we think of the best food destinations in the world, Santiago isn’t a city that immediately springs to mind. Chile is mostly known for its fish, empanadas and of course wine, but many of its other culinary treasures are still waiting to be unearthed. Santiago might not be a magnet for diehard foodies just yet, but its gastronomic potential is undeniably growing. The city’s restaurants are steadily populating Latin America’s 50 Best Restaurants List and the premiere of MasterChef Chile a few years ago has sharpened people’s food knowledge – and their palettes.

The narrowest country in the world is framed by the Andes, one of the world’s longest mountain ranges, to the east and the Pacific Ocean, home to a myriad sea life, to the west. The north is home to the arid but pristine Atacama desert, the world’s highest, and vegetated Patagonia is in the south. It is this unique climate and landscape that makes Chile an ideal place for growing a huge variety of fruits and vegetables. It’s got some of the best beef in the world (second only to adjacent Argentina) and its wine credentials are top-notch. The variety of seafood products (not just fish but also shellfish, molluscs and seaweed) is simply staggering. There is also an increasing number of biodynamic farmers and winemakers who are growing their crops without the use of pesticides, fertilisers or artificial chemicals, resulting in fresh, healthy, delicious produce.

Chileans love to eat – so much so that they have four meals a day! They start with a ‘light’ breakfast (desayuno) of bread, smashed avocado (which they surprisingly don’t salt), cheese, jam and very sweet tea or coffee (Chileans have a real sweet-tooth). Lunch (almuerzo) is a big meal consisting of 3–4 courses (including soup, main, salad and dessert). Then there’s once, late afternoon/evening tea (eaten between 5pm and 7pm), which typically consists of breakfast foods like pastries, sandwiches, avocado, scrambled eggs, jam, and tea and coffee. Dinner (cena) is eaten between 8pm and midnight, and involves knocking down a couple of glasses of wine. 

As Chile’s bustling capital, Santiago is home to some of the country’s best restaurants, cafés and markets. The capital is also where you can delve into the fine-dining scene – something not possible in many parts of the country. Whether visiting for a day, week or month, there’s no shortage of places to embrace the Chilean tradition of feasting, drinking and chattering away no matter the time of day. I enjoyed every morsel, every drop and every vignette of effervescent conversation.

First stop: coffee. Chile is not known for its strong coffee culture and many people are content with drinking Nescafe at home. But out and about, the coffee of choice is a cortado, literally translating to ‘short’. It’s basically an espresso with a dash of milk. You can get it in most cafés or restaurant – but the quality does vary. There’s also been a recent burgeoning of pop-up coffee trucks serving cortados and other variations of espressos with or without milk. Stop by Plaza de Bolsillo Morandé, an inner-city oasis brimming with food trucks, for coffee from the Porta Café. Sip it while you marvel at a mural by Alejandro ‘Mono’ González, known for his socially conscious art.

The best coffee I tasted is at 3841 Coffee Roasters on José Victorino Lastarria. In this cosy space, tattooed bearded hipsters cut hair in one part and serve perfect espresso made using Ethiopian beans roasted in-house in the other. The two young owners learned their craft in Brisbane and Australia is known for its obsessive coffee culture. This is not a café per se, more of a takeaway joint to drop in on foot or bike (there’s a handy window for those on two wheels) and get your caffeine fix as you explore the colourful bohemian Lastarria neighbourhood.

Another peculiarity of coffee drinking custom in Santiago is its infamous cafés con piernas. At these ‘cafe with legs’, your coffee is served by scantily dressed waitresses. These were established in the 1950s to try spruce the coffee drinking culture (basically as incentives for workers to take a break), but although the 1950s are long gone, this out-dated tradition has for some reason stuck. We didn’t visit a cafés con pierna but we did observe flaxen-haired women in tight, red velvet dresses serve drinks to people of all ages at an outdoor café in the city centre. No one seemed bothered by or enamoured with them.   

To get a good (touch and) feel for the produce of Chile, visit a few of Santiago’s markets. The Mercado Central, housed in a 19th-century neoclassical building, is the city’s main market. Appreciate the beauty of the building – particularly the intricate domed towers on the pyramidal roof – before passing through the wrought-iron gates to the famous fish market. The city conjugates here for seafood lunches and there is an overwhelming number of restaurants to choose from. Avoid the brazen, touristy spots in the middle and head to one of the smaller, homelier restaurants or stalls on the market’s edges.

Delicacies include pastel de jaiba, a crab stew made using only cheese, milk, bread and crab – it’s the ultimate comfort food. For something lighter, try a fish stew like the tomato- and potato-based caldillo de congrio. Known for its hangover curing properties and being poet Pablo Neruda’s favourite, its base is a fresh, flavourful broth made from boiling conger eel heads with garlic, coriander, carrots and pepper. True seafood aficionados should go for the locos, a type of Chilean abalone. These edible sea snails are named after a word derived from the Mapuche language, which translates to ‘crazy’. Why the abalone is christened this is a mystery, but the flavour is definitely not for the faint-hearted.

For a sensory overload, don’t miss the nearby Mercado Vega. Stalls and stalls of kaleidoscopic arrays of fruits, vegetables, meats and dry goods paint a picture of Chile’s culinary riches. Everything is cheap and some vendors want you to buy in bulk so they might not sell you a single apple to snack on. Don’t take it personally – just move onto the next stall. Many stalls are run by vendors from neighbouring countries such as Peru and Colombia. Buy some yucas (cassava root) to take home (we hand cut ours and served with fried fish) or cactus to make a sauce. There are also stalls selling great coffee and if you need sustenance, order a pizza slice from the hilariously named Livin’ la Pizza Loca. For a healthy pick-me up, grab a delicious juice from one of the vendors at the Abastos Tirso del Molina part of the market. Try one made from cherimoya (a type of custard apple dating back to Inca times), lucuma (a subtropical fruit which has a creamy, citrusy flavour with hints of maple syrup), or maracuya (a milder and sweeter passion fruit). Remember to say ‘sin azucar’ if you don’t want any added sugar.

Once it hits past midday, it’s not too early to get stuck into the world-famous Chilean wine. Chile has a viticultural history dating to the 16th century when the Spanish conquistadors brought Vitis vinifera vines into the region. The most common grape is the Carménère, which was originally planted in the Médoc region of Bordeaux. These days, it’s almost extinct in France and Chile boasts the world’s largest planted area of this grape in the world. Wine producers are getting more and more experimental with it too and blending it with other grapes such as Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s a delicious, deep, lingering red, somewhere between a Pinot Noir and Merlot in strength, which makes it easy drinking but still full-bodied.

An absolute must-visit for wine lovers is Bocanáriz in Lastarria. There are almost 400 wines on offer, with knowledgeable sommeliers on hand to help you choose. Although primarily a wine bar, Bocanáriz also has a robust menu. The idea is for the food to enhance the taste of the wine, not the other way around. The dishes are categorised by notes such as iodized, citrusy, light, creamy, herbaceous, sweet and sour, spicy, smoked and aged. There are also themed flights of wine, including one dedicated to Carménère, another to ‘wild’ wines, iconic wines, ‘extreme’ wines (from vineyards located in locations characterised by inhospitable climates and landscapes), and more. We declined (with difficulty) a flight and had a glass of Koyle Carménère from the Colchagua valley. The fit-out is slick but cosy and getting a table on a weekend nights is no meat feat. Stop by in the late afternoon for a pre-dinner drink.

Something I had no idea about before visiting Chile is the country’s obsession with sandwiches. Called sánguches, these aren’t your standard ham and cheese toasties. They come loaded with ingredients and enjoyed at any time of day – for breakfast, lunch and especially as a pre-dinner snack. We got introduced to the Chilean tradition of once when our hosts served us a spread of ham, cheese, avocado and bread rolls to self-build sandwiches at 6pm. Thinking this was a quick and simple dinner, we loaded on these only to discover that dinner (cena) doesn’t get eaten until later.

One of the most exciting parts of sandwich construction and eating is getting to choose the bread. Chilean cuisine has many different types of bread, the most common – and perhaps tastiest – of which is the marraqueta, a bread roll similar in taste to a French baguette. Chileans buy it bulk and carry it hot from the bakery in those old-school reusable cotton mesh bags. It’s enjoyed at any time of day and with any meal, including as the first course to every Chilean asado (barbecue), when these are stuffed with a sausage (choripan). Frica (a round, flat, light roll) and pan amasado (a round roll baked in a brick oven) are other good choices.

We came head-to-head with Santiago’s sandwich culture on our first night when we stopped for a ‘snack’ and a pisco sour at El Mitico. At this laid-back pub-type restaurant in Provedencia, the humble sandwich gets a reworking into 12 different types. There are seven Peruvian sandwiches and five Chilean offerings – the most popular of which is the Chacarera, which is packed with tomatoes, green beans, green chilli, mayo and parsley pesto. Also delicious is the Con cabra, which has goat’s cheese, avocado, caramelised onion, shoestring fries and coriander mayonnaise. Each sandwich comes with your meat of choice – slices of roast beef, suckling pig, chicken or fried fish. As a bonus, the pisco sour was surprisingly strong and well balanced. (On a side note, we didn’t find a great place for empanadas in Santiago and we had some awesome, home-baked ones at our relatives’. But in the country in general, the best empanada I had was deep-fried and stuffed with cheese and shrimp at an unassuming stall, aptly named Delicious Fried Empanadas, on the outskirts of the coastal town, Con Con.)

Santiago’s fine-dining scene is still young but it’s imaginative and brave. All the action happens in the upscale Vitacura district. The area itself is a bit soulless but it’s full of fancy rooftop bars with stunning 360-views of the city and pioneering restaurants. Catch a taxi there to avoid the climb.

Our dinner at Boragó was a highlight of the entire trip. Chef Rodolfo Guzmán’s contemporary, innovative spin on Chilean cuisine earns him every bit of his fourth place on Latin America’s Best Restaurant List (Boragó is 42nd on the World’s 50 Best). A foraging Svengali, Guzmán’s ambition is to introduce little-known wild Chilean ingredients to the world. He scours the salt flats of the Atacama for native herbs and plucks sea asparagus from the rocks dotting the shoreline of the Pacific. The name too pays homage to foraging – boragó translates to starflower, of the flowering herb family Boraginaceae.

Guzmán worked at Mugaritz (number 9 on the World’s 50 Best List) in the Basque country before returning to his native Chile and opening Boragó in 2006. It struggled in its early years (Chileans haven’t fully caught on to the fine-dining scene and cooking meals at home has always been the norm, so Guzmán’s visionary dishes fell on dead mouths), but it’s now packed every weekend.

Rather than borrowing from European cooking conventions, Guzmán’s menu is a firm nod to the local traditions and ingredients, whether these are indigenous seafood, the ancient culinary culture of the Mapuche people or vegetables from bio-dynamically unique farms from all over the country.

We had the 16-course degustation that lasted almost four hours and brought more than one tear to my eyes. Even the house-baked bread to start was exceptional. It was served with the favourite Chilean condiment, pebre, a mix of chilli, coriander and red pepper paste, which Guzmán makes extra special by adding toasted flour.

Other highlights included the chupe of mushrooms from Quintay (a coastal town near Valparaíso), which was an incredible, earthy mushroom puree topped with spinach endemic to Chile. Seafood wise, we had jibia (local cuttlefish) served under red plum leaves flavoured with murra, a popular berry that is mostly used for juicing (it tastes like a hybrid between a grape and a blackberry). The Cojinova, a local fish, was served filleted under bitter plants withered in burnt butter and cochayuyo (a seaweed indigenous to Chile and New Zealand). Carnivores will appreciate the lamb cooked à la inverse served with vine leaves, grapes and herbs. But really, there wasn’t a bad dish. The plating too celebrates the treasures of Chile’s wild beauty. The very last course, the Cold Glacier, was a potent mint bomb that completely refreshed the mouth. It was almost like the slate was wiped clean and you could do the 16 courses all over again.

If you want to try noveau Chilean cuisine but are feeling slightly intimidated by 16 courses, try lunch or a six- or nine-course dinner menu at the much more casual 99 in Provedencia (it won’t break the bank either). Here, ex-Boragó chef Kurt Schmidt (who’s also a Noma and Azurmendi alumni) breaks out on his own to serve wonderfully executed dishes that likewise celebrate the intense flavours of Chilean ingredients. He’s joined by Gusta Saez, crowned the best pastry chef in Latin America in 2016, at an eatery that’s being dubbed the leader of ‘Chilean bistronomy’ movement.

The fit-out is stripped-back but classy, with tables carved from roughly chopped timber with streaks of turquoise paint, recycled furnishings and beautiful wooden plates. We had lunch on the terrace that opens out onto bustling Providencia, indulging in some people watching while enjoying amazing food.

Typical dishes include ‘fungal textures’, mushroom varieties in raw, cooked, powder and puree forms; lamb tongue on a cauliflower puree with prunes and caramel; and carrot sorbet with coconut foam and caramelised peanuts. For lunch, the food and the vibe are a lot more casual. We had creamy tomato soup garnished with shavings of dehydrated tomato, an Asian-style bao with pancetta, oven-roasted sea bass with a medley of Chilean potatoes, a delicious bean ‘stew’ with cameos by mushrooms and broccoli, and two desserts, including a chocolate cheesecake served with a lemon reduction.

The drinks list showcases independent Chilean producers making natural and biodynamic wines, which is all part of the restaurant’s overall commitment to sustainability. I had a beautiful Pinot with the savoury courses and a German-style Riesling with dessert. It married so well with the mouth-watering strawberry shortcake (our second dessert!!). I couldn’t tell you the names of the wines unfortunately as the friendly waiter recommended something from the opened bottles and I happily accepted.

Like Indian in London or Mexican in LA, Peruvian cuisine is widespread and very popular in Santiago. Known as the original ‘fusion’ food, Peruvian cuisine has incorporated influences from every continent and fused them with ingredients that date back to the Incas. It’s not only about ceviche – there’s an abundance of other fish dishes and a huge assortment of potatoes, corn and chillies, to name a few. The flavours are also a lot more potent than some of the more nuanced flavours found in Chilean cuisine.

Peruvian restaurants are a dime a dozen in Santiago – from fancy (and pricey) white tablecloth options to downtown eateries favoured by Peruvian immigrants. Like with everything, some are great while others not so much. For reliability and taste, it’s hard to go past Mistura Del Perú. With three locations (in Santa Isabel, Infante and Pedro de Valdivia) and prices that won’t make your jaw drop, it’s a great way to sample exciting Peruvian food.

The menu is vast and, be warned, the servings are massive. Start with some ceviche – we had the mixed, which comes loaded with cuts of fresh local fish, octopus, squid and prawn, and dressed with red onion, red pepper and seaweed. There is also a great selection of tiraditos, a dish of sashimi, similar to crudo and carpaccio, served in a spicy sauce. We had the tuna, which came lightly scorched and drizzled with a pumpkin and chilli reduction and then topped with mini crumbed calamari. For some bulk, go a rice dish (the ‘green’ rice, which is rice flavoured with coriander and mixed with shrimp and mussels was perfectly al dente and delicious). The grilled ocean trout had a pleasant charred flavour and was very juicy. The vegetables it came with were crisp and the asparagus was knockout.

Just like there are a plethora of Peruvian restaurants, Chile’s fish and seafood culture lends itself perfectly to Japanese cuisine. We couldn’t get into Osaka (number 43 on Latin America’s Best Restaurant List) where popular Peru-born chef Ciro Watanabe serves Nikkei fusion dishes so we tried Hanzo, a restaurant of the same ilk in Vitacura.

The vibe is sophisticated – minimalist fit-out, low lighting, down-tempo tunes – it could very well be in New York instead of Santiago. The menu is long, with every Japanese and Peruvian delicacy you could want. There’s nigiri, sashimi, maki rolls, salads, soups, hot plates, rice – the choice is overwhelming. We had ceviche, which sees thick cubes of fish and avocado enlivened with nori (seaweed) and chulpe corn, and dressed with soy and leche de tigre (Peruvian citrus-based marinade used for curing seafood). The spicy tuna gunkan sushi – aka battleship rolls – was likewise delicious, but we particularly enjoyed the potato croquettes, which are made with two types of Peruvian potatoes, drizzled with a mild yellow salsa and topped with a creamy mass of octopus and shrimp. The carpaccio beef, dressed with sesame oil and citrusy ponzu sauce, and garnished with avocado, tiny fries and crunchy quinoa croquettes – a true showcase of Japanese and Peruvian fusion – didn’t taste as flavoursome as it sounds. The drinks list is also disappointing, with wines from just one vineyard. Nevertheless, it was a great meal to conclude our odyssey of Santiago’s gastronomic delights.

Directory:

Porta Café

Various locations

Plaza de Bolsillo Morandé 83, Santiago, Chile

3841 Coffee Roasters

José Victorino Lastarria 228, Santiago, Región Metropolitana, Chile

http://www.3841.cl/

Mercado Central

San Pablo 967, Santiago, Chile

Mercado La Vega

Calle Davila Baeza, La Vega Central, Santiago, Chile

Bocanáriz

José Victorino Lastarria 276, Santiago, Región Metropolitana, Chile

http://ift.tt/1IvSfd6

El Mitico

Av. Nueva Providencia 2020, Providencia, Región Metropolitana, Chile

http://ift.tt/2hW7Avy

Delicious Fried Empanadas (Empanadas Fritas Las Deliciosas)

Av. Borgoño 25370, Con Con, Concón, Región de Valparaíso, Chile

Boragó

Av. Nueva Costanera 3467, Vitacura, Santiago +56 2 2953 8893

http://www.borago.cl/

99

Andrés de Fuenzalida 99, Providencia, Santiago, Chile

+56 2 2335 3327 http://ift.tt/1R3nXQl   

Mistura Del Perú  

Santa Isabel 0496, Providencia, Santiago, Chile

Av. Pedro de Valdivia 3580, Ñuñoa, Santiago, Chile

José Manuel Infante 1502, Providencia, Santiago, Chile

http://ift.tt/2hYhOLY

Hanzo

Av San Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer 5970,

Vitacura, Región Metropolitana, Chile

http://www.hanzo.cl/

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