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yeojaa · 3 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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franeridart · 3 years

Text

Anon said: [Spoilers for non-manga readers] opinion on Baku's hero name?

Very Bakugou, honestly don’t mind it at all! Mostly just surprised it’s, like, legal in the bnha universe for heroes to call themselves stuff like explodo-kills (and also that there isn’t a character limit for hero names??) but that Bakugou would stick with it is pretty damn in character for him so I like it xD still, I’ll probably just call him Dynamight if I’ll ever need to use his hero name lmao

Anon said: not to be the most romantic sap but uh just a kiss by lady a is killin me

Nothing sappy about letting romantic songs get to you!!!! I say, as I’m constantly crying over romantic songs so this mindset benefits me as well lol

Anon said: i may or may not have stumbled across some of your older kiribaku art, the stuff with akane, and she's the best child oc tbh. i actually like her and i tend to not be a fan of child ocs but she's just the cutest darn thing 🥰

I’m so glad you like her!!!!! She was a lot of fun, what a good gremlin ;;;

Anon said: uve heard of dragon!kiri w his hair spikes up, now get ready for dragon!kiri w his hair dowm lookin like the softest boy

AW HECK I think I’ve drawn him in the past, actually!!!! Spike-haired Kiri will forever be my fav Kiri, but there’s just something about hair down Kiri isn’t it!! What a cute boy ;;;; all sharp edges and soft curves, what a lovely sight

Anon said: can i just say your itafushi art is so cute? these two already make me feel and then your art just (つω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

THANK YOU SO MUCH I really need to draw them more, don’t I! goge kinda monopolized my attention there, but the way itafushi makes me feel..........boy the way they make me feel ;;;;

Anon said: good day, poké au thought: 12 y/o bakugo somehow catches a dreepy as like his 2nd pokemon and never questions it

WHY NOT WHY NOT I have a whole team in my mind for the boy tbh but dreepy is so cute ;;;; and anyway, I like my poke!bakugou with as many dragon types as he could possibly get his hands on hahaha

Anon said: Please know that, amongst other factors, you were one of the maon reasons I stsrted Jujutsu Kaisen two days ago and there isnothing more to say except thank you and I'm absolutely in debt with you for that, thank you so much 😍

I’m so so SO glad you’re liking it!!!!!! It can get kinda heavy but it’s such a great story.... honestly I’d been wanting to start it since I saw the first pv for the anime all the way back last year but I was like, you know it’s a mappa anime! so I wanted to watch the anime as a new thing, cause I love mappa, but three episodes in I couldn’t hold back and just binged it. It’s kind of story that just makes you wanna drink it all in one go, isn’t it? so good so good

Anon said: makeup artist kirishima and model bakugo or makeup artist bakugo and model kirishima? :0c

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm can’t say I see either of them much into fashion tbh, but if I had to pick probably model Kiri and artist Baku? I just don’t think Baku would be able to stay still enough to get photographed, and he wouldn’t like the photographer bossing him around anyway, and catwalks would be impossible for him to stomach imho, he’s too restless for it! At least it’s the way I see it haha

Anon said: fdgdhdkfhdafs i had a thought, what if bakugo prefers dogs and kirishima prefers cats and when they meet each other and become friends it's like, "oh." because they have some striking similarities to their fave animals

That’s been my headcanon for a while now, actually!! I think for me it came from two characters in a manga I like that are a lot like a dog and a cat but have inverted fav animals and when I read about that I was like “oh, right, makes sense since they like each other” and then my brain turned it krbk because when does it not lmao

Anon said: your art is the soothing balm to my soul recently, thank you for posting so much beautiful content. i hope you have a lovely week. ♡

sob thank you so much, I’m glad my doodling can help you feel better ;; <3

Anon said: Friendly reminder anon from last time: that post I left last time I had only eaten 7 gingersnaps that day and hadn’t drank any water. So that encouraged me to actually self care. Thank you.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! well I hope you’re taking care of yourself today too! And as fair trade, I’ll do the same myself! <3

Anon said: Hi! I'm an artist and I'm thinking of making a sideblog for my art. Do you have any tips?

Ah man, I’m sorry but I’m not the best person to ask this to! I started this sideblog cause I had too many followers on my main and I didn’t want my stuff to be seen by that many people at first, so whatever I did probably isn’t what you’re looking for :( but really there isn’t much to it, just post whatever you like to draw, tag it as best as you can (but remember that only the first five tags appear in the search page) and be patient, since whatever you do at first you won’t get much attention anyway - the only real advice I can give is to draw something that makes you happy and that you’d draw anyway even if no one were to see it, it’ll make keep posting despite a possible lack of activity a lot easier!

Anon said: Your goge art🥺🥺

I just love them so much ( TT’’’TT)9

Anon said: how the fuck have i not been following you? I remember seeing your bakushima art in the bnha tag and always thinking it's so cute. Now you're into JJK too??? and the satosugu art??? fuckin, diabetes incarnate. I love it. I love you. Your art 10/10. I'm tired lmao.

WELL thank you for the follow!! And for thinking my stuff is cute!!!!! I do my best with that, I want all the soft things for my favs 😌

Anon said: Are you gonna draw Gojou/Getou comic?? 👉🏻👈🏻 WOULD LOVE TO READ IT

you mean an actual doujin? I don’t think I will, sorry! I’m really no good at long projects orz but thank you so much for wishing to read something like that from me!!! ;A;

Anon said: Hello! YOUR ART IS SO FREAKING GORGEOUSSSS!!! I love them so much!! If I may ask you one question. Between Getou amd Gojou, who do you see as top/bottom? Just curious

THANK YOU!!!!! And I honestly don’t care as long as they’re happy and together!!! please let them be happy and together 🙏🙏🙏

Anon said: i want you to know!!! i followed you for your kiribaku art but!!! i love your art so much that idc what you post because it's all just!!!! incredible and wonderful and stunning!!!

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!! this means a lot to me so seriously thank you so much!!!!

Anon said: d'you think bakugo has like headaches or migraines after training or battles because of how loud his quirk is? like, i listen to music slightly too loud and my head is sending me to hell. (unless you go with the hoh hc which is also 👌)

I like to think Baku’s body is attuned enough to his own quirk that he wouldn’t get drawbacks of the kind tbh, though that wouldn’t be a bad thought for when he just starts to increase the output/width and strength of his explosions............ well, I myself suffer from chronic headaches and migraines so I’m always up for projecting on my favs ngl lmao

Anon said: so like... dragon kirishima's eyes glow right? like, if we equate his dragon-ness to unbreakable his eyes glow? they also glow when he's half shifted? honestly i just live glowing eyes

Oh hell yeah I’m all for that, definitely definitely, I love glowing eyes with my whole heart and Kiri’s eyes in unbreakable are just so!!!!!! NGH *chef kiss* the more of unbreakable there is in his dragon form the happier I am ( TT^TT)9

Anon said: me, scrolling through your blog: ah shit guess im gonna have to start watching jjk

!!!!! hope it won’t hurt you too much, anon!!

Anon said: dragon!kiri and bakugo having a tug-of-war match over a piece of meat. both have it in their mouths. both are determined to win.

Kiri is turned into his dragon form and Baku still wins, hell yeah

Anon said: your satosugu is top tier!! it's hard to find stuff for them that isn't straight up angst so your art has been super cool and also very very cute!! (tho if you went with angst, it wouldn't be a bad thing obviously)

AH I’m so happy to hear you like them!!!! but also happy you wouldn’t mind angst, as I do like them the best happy and soft but my brain, my brain has been throwing sads my way for a while now 👀 I got some ideas

Anon said: What program/device do you use??

Easy Paint Tool SAI and a wacom intuos!! Though I got myself an ipad+procreate just yesterday and I’ve been messing around with it, let’s see how that one goes!

Anon said: *inahles* i am simping for mohawk man please tell me everything about your ocs immediately or i will detonate

THANK YOU FOR LIKING HIM HE’S CALLED DAVIDE Dav for short, he’s a cat of a man and a music instrument enthusiast (mostly string ones, but he’s very good with the piano as well) - he works in a music instruments store, and he’s a uni student majoring in philosphy! He doesn’t like bothersome things, he isn’t very good at taking anything seriously or putting effort in stuff, but he’s very chill to spend time with and generally a nice chat both if you want mindless thoughts or deep conversations (he’s a philosophy major after all). He can’t sing for shit, he’s got two cats (tago and schelly!), and he just wants a quiet life to laze around but all his friends are hurricanes in human bodies, but then again, he picked them himself so he can’t complain. He’s a good boy!! I’m planning a comic for him and his boy Ross >:]

#fran answers #SORRY FOR THE DELAY #i wish i could say i was busy but actually i just got distracted #ah also #jjk spoilers #cause my sis has a habit of readin my asks and she can't know about the otp just yet #lol #is the readmore for this showing? this is pretty damn long....#long post #just to be sure

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btsmakesmehappy · 3 years

Text

Cookies Charades

Genre: Roommate to Lover, Friends to lover, Fluff, slight angst.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 4,5k

Rating: PG-13

Warning: the reader is a little insecure, grinch joke, ugly christmas sweater, low budget christmas party, a pandemic quarantine itself is a big warning (Please stay safe!)

Summary: A pandemic quarantine, cookies, a bet, and a night with just the two of you; you and your very own crush who is also your best friend. What could happen?

A/N: this drabble is for @btswriterscollective ‘s holiday event! It’s my first time joining an event since I wrote my fics. And this fluffy Christmas fic is dedicated to @lunar-jimin. Merry Christmas! I’m still new at writing fics so It’ll be a little messy but I hope this will make you happy! - your secret Santa, Rain

also thank you for my beta reader, @arizonapoppy Merry Christmas<3

“So what are you doing for Christmas?” Jimin asks casually as he puts chips into his mouth. His eyes are glued to the TV which plays Princess Diaries out of nowhere, and you’re pretty sure that both of you don’t even pay any attention to the movie. Today is supposed to be your movie night with your best friends, just wine, and a lot of food, and maybe some board games if you can’t find anything to watch. But since the pandemic, you can’t just barge into your friends’ home easily. That’s why you are stuck in your apartment with your roommate, Jimin.

You’ve been living with him for two years, introduced by mutual friends. You searched for an apartment, Jimin looked for a roommate, it was perfect. There was just a little thing that your friends knew: that you had a crush on him.

Well, who doesn’t?

Jimin is hot, smart, and cute all merged into a fine man. A fine man with a body that makes other men envious. It’s unfair too that he is also kindhearted. It’s like everything you need for a man, you can find in him.

Jimin is like a chameleon. He can be a nerd in the morning, and a fuckboy in the evening. He can be a bulky gym-addicted man to start and then turns into a cuddly soft boy in the space of minutes. He can be a boy that an older woman loves, or a strong-fatherly figure that girls would obsess over. He cooks, he cleans, and he also takes care of you when you’re sick.

He is so perfect. So fucking perfect.

That’s why it’s hard for you to not fall in love with him, not when he is just a room away from you, and not when he becomes your best friend so very soon. It’s like Universe wants to torture you. Like the Universe sees an opportunity to mess with your heart, let alone your relationship with people.

Yes. You’re in love with your best friend who is also your roommate.

You like him, a lot, to the point that your hand goes clammy whenever he’s close to you. To the point that his scent after shower raises your heartbeat. To the point that you feel a stab of pain to your chest whenever he comes home with Jisoo.

You sip your wine slowly. “I might be skiing again right now, if we weren’t in a pandemic.” Your eyes wander to the photo frame above the TV; it was when you were on a skiing trip with your friends last winter.

“Do you want to do something with me then?” He turns his head to face you, eyes twinkling in excitement.

“Sure, why not?” you shrug. “We’re going to do these for Christmas, after all. So yeah, just make an appointment for that.”

Jimin snatches the wine glass from you and puts it on the shaky table in front of you so clumsily that he almost makes it fall and colors your cheap white carpet red. “That’s not what I meant! Let’s just make a small Christmas celebration just the two of us. We should bake, cook, and decorate!”

“Won’t it be bothersome, though?” You’re actually pretty worn out. Your finals have just ended, all of your assignments and papers are all submitted. Not to mention you just finished your internship program for this semester, because somehow they didn’t cancel the program because of the pandemic. You were pretty busy. What you really want is just food and your bed. Celebrating Christmas? Maybe it’s just a privilege for you.

“Come on!” he whines. “It’ll be fun! This is the first Christmas, just the two of us!”

And maybe the last one, you think. Staying with Jimin has been hard for your heart. You’re supposed to move this year. You’ve searched the possible rooms, looking for extra jobs to afford it, and anything you need to rent the new room. But again, because of the pandemic, that plan will be postponed. There’s no way you would move at the time like this. So, yeah. Maybe this Christmas would be a nice memory. “Fine. So what should we buy then?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his widening smile. “Should we exchange gifts? What do you want for Christmas?”

You fold your arms, thinking. “Ehm. I know! I read it online earlier this morning, there’s a discount in the supermarket for instant noodles. Can you believe it? Buy three get two for free!”

“That’s not what I meant!” he whines. “Clothes? Books?”

“Not really; Why would I buy clothes when I spent most of my days in the apartment? And besides I’m broke.” Well, you’re not lying. Even though you’re gonna spend Christmas away from your family, it doesn't mean you won’t send them gifts, and with those pricey gifts and delivery fees; yeah, it costs you a little more than you’re expected.

Jimin pouts. “Fine… So no exchanging gifts then. Well, Christmas Eve is tomorrow anyway, there’s no way we can find gifts in such a short notice.”

You poke his sides playfully, “come on don’t be sad. And I remember you said something about baking?”

He smiles widely and rises from the couch. He walks inside his bedroom and returns with a legal pad in his hand. “What about decoration? I believe we can still find a Christmas tree downtown,” he suggests as he scribbles his ideas on the pad.

Your hand automatically stops his moving hand. “Let’s skip the Christmas tree. It’ll be too expensive. How about we just make paper chains or something like that?”

“Why? It’ll be like an investment! We can use it next year.”

“I know, but…” You bite your lips, hesitant to tell him. “It’s just…”

Jimin looks at you for a moment and then draws an X on the pad. “Fine. No decoration. Let’s keep our budget to minimum then. What about food?”

“I’m not sure. With all of the baking we’ll do, it’ll be a mess if we decided to cook too.”

Jimin taps his pencil on his chin. “You’re right. Let’s order pizza and chicken then?”

You give him a thumb up and pat his shoulder. “Okay. We should go shopping in the morning.” A yawn leaves your mouth and you rise from the couch. “Well, I’m going to retire for the night. Good night.”

“So early?” He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and then to your abandoned glass of wine. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

You give him a wave and head to your room. With the weight in your heart, you plop on your bed and sigh. Again, you missed the chance to tell him that you’re going to move out. Your mind wonders whether it’s a good idea to spend Christmas Eve tomorrow with him. Just the thought of that makes your heart race again.

Get your head straight, Y/N!

He is your best friend. Control your feelings!

Just hang in there a little more, Y/N.

Hang in there…

You’re awakened by the sound of metal crashing outside your room. You grunt as you reach the phone, eyes widening when you see that it’s noon already. You rise and walk outside to look for Jimin.

“Hello, Sleepyhead.”

You rub your eyes slowly and stretch your body. You were asleep for more than twelve hours, and instead of energizing you, it physically drained you. Your body aches. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” you ask hoarsely.

Jimin smiles as he hands you a mug of hot chocolate. Even if it’s noon already, it’s still winter and sure a hot beverage wouldn’t hurt. And the time and weather on your phone says it’s actually colder than yesterday, which is why even Jimin wears a thick black turtleneck instead of his usual pajamas. Not that you’re complaining about it. He looks good, like very good. And he just stands out perfectly in your all-white kitchen. “Because I know you’re tired. I feel bad, too, because you did this because I asked you. I’m sorry. And besides, you’re scary when I wake you up by force.”

You sit on the counter, collecting warmth by holding the mug. “Thank you. But don’t feel bad. I agreed to do it, too. So, if you give me fifteen minutes we can go to shopping-”

“That’s not needed anymore.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as your lips touch the hot chocolate, dripping some of it from your mouth. “But.. I thought we’re gonna bake cookies?”

“Yes, we are.” He cleans your chin with his thumb slowly, makes you jolt a little at his touch. The way he licks his thumb casually afterward is not helping at all. “But I already went for groceries!”

“I see, but you should just wait for me. We could go together.” You blow the beverage to cool it down and sip it slower than before.

His hand travels to your cheek and pinches it softly. “That’s fine. So just wake up already and help me bake!”

You look puzzled and yet you walk back again to your room, leaving him humming Christmas songs in the kitchen. You lean on the back of your door after you close it. Your face feels hotter as if you can still feel his fingers on your face. Smooth and warm. The warmth slowly fills your chest and makes you hard to breathe. It’s like magic. And it's even more magical that you still can stand even though your knees are all wobbly.

You shake your head to clear your mind, to clear any unnecessary thoughts, and head to the bathroom. This is going to be a hard day.

Fifteen minutes later, you go back to the kitchen, finding Jimin playing with his iPad. “What cookies should we make?” you ask as you lean on the counter, head propped on your chin. You’re wearing your Christmas sweater that your mom sent you earlier this year. It has a Grinch on the front of it and a huge Christmas tree on the back. It screams ugly in every Christmas sweater contest. You’re supposed to wear this together with your family, sitting together in front of a fireplace. Since it’s not going to happen, at least the sweater can give you some warmth this Christmas.

He lifts his head up and his eyes fall on your green sweater. “It suits you really well, not gonna lie.” He throws his head back in laughter.

His laughter again sways your heart, stealing your breath. You hit him softly on his shoulder and tie your hair loosely in a low ponytail. “Shut up. So what should we make?”

“It’s gingerbread cookies! We can decorate them too. I bought like a dozen cookie cutters just for this day.” He opens a plastic box to show you proudly.

You pick some of the cookie cutters, trying to identify the shapes. “Are you sure you picked the right shapes? Isn’t this like a mermaid-ocean-package?”

“What?” He immediately scans the box and sighs. “Fuck, I’m sure I picked from the right shelf. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? Maybe some people are mixing it up. That’s fine!” You pat his shoulder reassuringly.

Jimin grabs all of the cookie cutters and stuffs them into their box. “Just wait for an hour. I’m gonna have this exchanged.”

You grab his arms to stop him from walking away. “Don’t bother. They’re still cookies and edible even though they’re in different shapes. I mean, mermaids celebrate Christmas too, don’t they? In any case, it doesn’t really matter.”

“It does matter!” He pouts. “It’s our first Christmas together, I want it to be perfect.”

You chuckle. “Why would you want that?”

He sighs and scratches the back of his head. “I just feel we’ve been too distant lately, and you look very tired. I just want to make you happy.”

You freeze for a moment as you look at his face. A hopeful thought sneaks to your mind and you clear it immediately. “We can just make our shapes then. You know, just cut it with a knife or a toothpick or anything.”

He looks you back in the eyes, waiting for another reassurement. “Really?”

You smile. “Yes, it would be fun, making our own shapes. Besides, we don’t need perfect-shaped cookies just to make our Christmas perfect, do we?”

He returns your smile with a wider smile and pulls you into his chest. “Alright. Thank you, Y/N.”

You’re again puzzled with the sudden act and clear your throat as you pat his back. “Alright let’s bake some cookies then.”

He releases you immediately with pinkish cheeks.. “By the way, I’ve already mixed all of the ingredients a few hours ago, just so you know. The dough needed to be chilled.”

“Really? So I’m going to just cut them out and decorate it?”

“Yep.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a bowl of brown mixture. He scoops some flour with his hands to the counter and throws down the cookie dough. “Don’t worry I’ve cleaned the counter a few times.”

You’re not a cook yourself but you know a thing or two about cooking and baking. You baked cookies a lot when you're a kid, but as an adult? Not so much. So you just watch Jimin using his rolling pin to thin the dough with admiration on your face.

“What’re you doing? You should help me!”

“Oh right.” You laugh and walk to the sink to wash your hands. You snatch the rolling pin from his hand and start rolling it slowly. “Let me roll this.”

“Wait a minute.” He walks to the cabinet nearest you and grabs an apron. “Don’t want the Grinch to be dirty.” He unfolds the apron and throws the loop over your head.

You hold a breath when he touches your sides to tie the apron around your waist. You clear your throat just so you can distract yourself from the shivers that come from the feeling of his breath on your neck. “Is this fine?”

He pulls away from you. Looking around your shoulder, he eyes the dough. “I think this is the perfect thickness.”

“So how do you want to shape it?” Your hand moves to the corner of the tempting brown dough to rip it and puts it on your mouth, letting the dough melt on your tongue. You open the drawer to search for a small knife. “I’m thinking a puppy would be cute, but without the proper cutter, I’m afraid it’d turn out horrendous.”

“Oh my God, I just have a nice idea!“ He claps his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Should we have a competition then? ‘Who’d make the best identifiable cookies’. It would be like charades!”

You chuckle. “That’s like totally random. I think you hang out with Taehyung too much.” The second bite you ate is sweeter and all you can taste is just sweetness and the ginger. Did I taste some cinnamon in there?

He smiles proudly. “I think we can ask Taehyung to guess. What topic should we use… Animals would be too easy. How about food?”

“Fine! What’d the winner get?” you ask as your hand moves again towards the dough, but Jimin slaps it lightly.

“Why do you keep eating that? It has raw egg for god’s sake. Anyway, I think...” he rubs his chin and leaves a hint of flour on it, thinking. “What about the loser should grant the winner’s wish?”

You pout and use your sleeve to clean his chin. “A wish? Sure, but we should make some rule-”

“Make that three wishes,” he grins.

“Three??” your jaw drops.

He takes a step forward, forcing you to step back. Your hip bumps the counter as he reaches out his hand. “Are you afraid to lose, Y/N?”

You laugh in amazement. “No. Three wishes just for today,” you reply as you move closer to him and accept his hand. “Deal.”

After hours of baking the cookies, letting them cool off, and decorating them, it’s time to play the cookie charades, as Jimin named it. Both of you have written all of the answers on a piece of paper so it’d be fair, and no one can change the answer later.

Jimin holds his phone as he waits for Taehyung to answer the video calls. Just after a few rings, Taehyung picks up the phone. “What’s up Jimin? Aren’t you with Y/N?”

“Hey Tae!” you wave at the phone when Jimin shows it to you. “What are you doing? We miss you!”

“Nothing. I just played games for twenty -four hours straight so I’m resting my eyes right now. What do you want?”

Jimin clears his throat and faces the camera. “So, Y/N and I are baking cookies, and we want you to guess the shapes. It’s kind of a battle.”

Taehyung grunts. “Why would I want to get involved in your rivalry? It’s so bothersome.”

“If I win I can give you one of my wishes!” you chime in, snatching the phone from Jimin’s hand.

“Yah! That’s bribing.” Jimin yells.

You scoff. “Fine! Pretty please?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Jimin snatches his phone again and flips the camera. “Alright, thirty seconds on the clock each part and you should answer as many cookies as you can. To be fair, we’re not telling you whose cookies they are. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Can we do this immediately?”

You open your timer on your phone and set to thirty seconds. “Alright, one two three. Start!”

The first cookie’s shaped like a circle, but decorated with multiple colors. It has a brown-black stripe, red stripe, and green stripe stacked between two brown-yellowish stripes. “Hmmm, Hamburger?” Taehyung answers.

“Correct!”

The second one is also a circle with a light brown color, with a little orange accent on it. “What’s that… a potato?” he squints his eyes as he looks at his phone screen closely.

“Wrong, it’s a hotteok.”

“The fuck I should know? It’s nothing like hotteok!” Taehyung rants on the other line, seemingly excited about the game.

“Just answer it! Fifteen seconds left!”

The rest fifteen seconds and another thirty seconds flew fast and Jimin concluded the game as he waves to Taehyung. “Alright, Tae. Thank you for playing with us. I hope to see you soon!” Jimin yells.

“So who’s the winner? Ya-” Taehyung asks as Jimin hangs up the phone.

Jimin puts his phone inside his pocket and looks at the answer sheets. “So, the first one has four rights and the second one has three rights. So that means…”

You bite the inside of your cheeks to control your emotion, but looking at Jimin’s face, you’re losing it. “FINE! You win!”

Jimin smiles wider as he jumps happily. “Of course I’d win!”

“I still think that putting Sprite as a question is cheating.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s not even a food!”

He laughs again mockingly, “It is if I say it is.”

You pout. “Fine, whatever. What are your wishes then? Remember, that those wishes are only valid until midnight.”

Jimin walks to the couch and sits with a smug expression on his face. “Let’s start with cleaning all of those cookie sheets and mixing bowls.” He picks up a remote and turns the TV on to play some movies. “Start cleaning, Cinderella!”

You sigh as you look at the piled-up dishes. Why did I even agree in the first place? you mumble quietly as you brush the crumbs from the pan and the hardened icing from the bowls. And the fact that it is filled with icing sugar before only makes it harder to clean. You scowl as you run them under the hot water, leaning in to scrub them more harshly.

“Don’t be mad, Y/N. You can win it next year,” Jimin reassures as he bites into his cookies. His voice is only half-mocking.

You slam the bowl into the sink with a clang, sending a cloud of bubbles across the counter. “Yeah, right. Like I would want to visit your apartment next year.”

“You what?” he asks, his voice blurred with the sound of the song coming from the TV. He turns his head to look at you weirdly.

You freeze, realizing that you just blurted the one thing you don’t want him to know. “Nothing,” you reply as you continue to wash the dishes, avoiding his gaze.

Jimin rises from the sofa and turns the TV off. He walks back to the kitchen and grabs your arm harshly, forcing you to look at him. “What do you mean?” His voice is cold, the smile vanished from his face.

“It’s nothing.” You try to brush his hand away and continue washing the dishes, but his grip tightens.

“I said, what do you mean?”

You take a deep breath. The scrubber slips from your hand under the water as you turn to face him. “I think I’m going to move out from this apartment.”

“What? Why?” His forehead creases. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Not at all. You’re a perfect roommate.” You clear your throat awkwardly. “It’s just, something happened.” You reach for the scrubber again.

He pulls at your sleeve, and you look at him again. “What happened? Is it a money thing? If it is, don’t worry about it. You don’t even have to pay right now. Just tell me.” His mouth is pursed with worry and your head roils with a sudden guilty feeling.

You shake your head weakly. “No, it’s not something like that. I’m fine.”

“Then why are you not telling me? I’m your best friend!”

“IT IS BECAUSE YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!” you yell, yanking your sleeve from his hand.

“What? What do you mean?” he demands.

You control your breaths. “Nothing.” You turn the faucet off and stomp towards your room. Jimin’s hand grabs you again before you get two steps, stopping you from leaving him. The warmth of his hand seeps into your body. You feel nauseous. You need to stay away from him right now. “I need some time alone.”

He bites his lips, annoyed with your answer. “Well, then you have to tell me what’s wrong.” He steps closer to you, eyes glaring. “It’s my second wish.”

“That’s not fair. I--” Tears threaten to fall at your sudden exposure.

“Tell me, Y/N. You promised me you’d gran-”

“I LIKE YOU, OKAY?” You confess as tears fall from your cheeks. Your knees turn weak after you let it out, and you slump at the counter. The secret that holds your relationship together, that makes you the way it was. It’s over for you and Jimin.

Jimin steps back from you, loosening his grip around your hand. “You what? Then why would you move out?” he asks softly.

Your fists tighten to stop your tears from falling even more. “I tried to not like you, but it is too hard, Jimin. I can’t control my feelings. I’m sorry. I really wanted to be your best friend and also your roommate, but I just ca-”

Your words are interrupted with his lips crashing on yours, catching you off guard. His lips are soft and you can taste the cinnamon-sweetness from the cookies mixed with the saltiness of your tears. Just when you try to comprehend what’s going on, he pulls away. His hands find their rest on your face and cup it gently, swiping any tears leaving from your eyes. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs. “You’re stupid.”

“Wha-what? Why?” you stutter, throat drying because of the sudden closeness.

“Why do you think I chose you to be my roommate?” His warmth spreads to your cheeks, sending another hope to you. His gaze softens and you gather all of your courage to meet him back. “It’s because I like you too.”

Again you freeze on the spot. Eyes widening, breath stopping. And it makes Jimin giggle. “I always liked you, Y/N.” He leans in and gives a chaste kiss on your nose and moves downward to plant another on your lips.

“Bu-but I thought you.. With Jisoo….” There’s no way Jimin would like you. It doesn’t make any sense. You pull away from him. “Stop playing with me.”

Jimin pulls you in his chest, resting his chin on your head. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Y/N. There’s never been another woman. It's always been you.” He takes a deep breath, and continues. “Jisoo is my cousin, and she knows about my feelings.”

“Cousin?”

“Yes. She sometimes crashes at our apartment when she has a fight with her boyfriend, who is, by the way, none other than our dear friend Taehyung.” Jimin smiles and pulls away, but keeps his arms holding your waist close to him. “And even though she sleeps here, I always take the couch. She always leaves early in the morning because Taehyung picks her up. Their relationship is a little weird, if I may say so.”

“Taehyung?”

“Look I can even call my family members just to prove it to you, if it’s what you want.”

You shake your head, looking lost. You know Jimin is telling you the truth, but still you can’t believe that he likes you. Like he actually likes you.

“I was going to tell you tonight, but this somehow happened.” He calls your name softly to gain your attention. “So yeah, I like you a lot. And don’t ask me ‘since when’, because I don’t even know the answer. It just grows each day and each moment I spend with you.”

And just like that relief washes in you along with your tears. All of the thoughts you have of losing Jimin are vanished. All of your doubts are answered. You bury your head in his shoulder.

Jimin laughs and hugs you tighter. “Why are you crying?” He strokes your back to calm you down as you sob in his chest. “It must have been bothering you a lot, does it? I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you this.”

“I’m not stupid.” You sniffle as you put your arms around him, hugging him back.

“Sure, you’re not.” He laughs again and kisses the top of your head lovingly. “So, here’s my third wish.”

Your eyes widen with the sudden change of topic, looking at him in confusion. “Like right now? Wha-what is it?”

He looks directly to your eyes, gaze softens each time he takes a deep breath. And with this proximity, you can hear his heart racing inside his chest, playing the rhythm answered with your own beat. Not even a Christmas carol can top this symphony. Not when the world is only yours and Jimin. Not when is just you and Jimin, and nothing else matters.

And finally, Jimin opens his lips slowly. “Be my girlfriend?”

Thank you for reading! Hope you all have a merry christmas!!

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purple-dahlias · 3 years

Note

“What’s the point?” for recovering!au?

thank you for the request! sorry this has taken such a long time to get out, but it’s here now!

trigger warning for eating disorders, relapse and hospitals

“You heading for the OR?” Connor asks, falling into step beside Ava as they exit the lifts together.

“Yep,” confirms Ava. “Got another CABG scheduled. Been almost practically back to back all afternoon. How about you?”

“Surprisingly, I’m free now. Patient cancellation.”

“Lucky you,” Ava grins as her phone pings in her pocket.

Taking it out, her eyes scan the notification, smile dying on her lips.

“Ava?” Connor asks, concern filling his voice as he eyes the expression on Ava’s face.

“It’s Sarah,” she manages, the words heavy in her mouth. “She collapsed in the ED.”

“Again?” Connor remembers the last time this happened, a little over four months ago.

Ava nods, knowing exactly what Connor is thinking. “I have to go,” she says finally. “Could you—“

Connor doesn’t let her finish her sentence.

“Go,” he says, placing a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll take your surgery.”

“Thank you,” Ava whispers, gratitude in her eyes as Connor waves her thanks away, nudging her gently back in the direction of the lifts.

“Let me know how she’s doing, yeah?” She hears him call as she steps into the lift, anxiety filling every inch of her.

The last three or so weeks had been insanely busy, for both Ava and Sarah, what with the way their shifts had worked out. It had meant in the end the two had always ended up missing each other, with one leaving as the other arrived, or one returning when the other was preparing to go. And with that, there had been little communication, other than perhaps a passing hello in the corridor, a kiss goodbye, or a hug before having to get out of bed at some ungodly hour. So having this knowledge, and with what she had just learnt, Ava knew this was a red flag. She knows almost exactly why Sarah had collapsed, and it’s hard for her not to blame herself.

Maybe, she thinks, if she had made more of an effort to ask, had paid more attention, had passed over some of her surgeries or post-ops to Connor, anything so that she could have been there more, she might have seen the signs.

She hopes, oh how she hopes she is wrong, and that this is completely unrelated, and that she is blowing this out of proportion, that there is some other, alternative reason.

But she just can’t shake the sick feeling that pools in her stomach as she exits the lifts beyond the Emergency Department.

She’s wracking her brain, trying to think of any rhyme or reason why this could have happened, if indeed it is what she thinks it is: the thought she just can’t seem to rid her mind of, the one that she keeps coming back to.

“Where is she, Maggie?” Ava asks, on seeing the charge nurse.

“Treatment four,” she hears, and doesn’t stick around for any more, heading straight there, heart beating at what she knows is well beyond the normal rate.

Ava pulls back the curtain to find April adjusting an IV line, while Natalie scrolls through what must be Sarah’s test results on her iPad, concern written across her face.

But her eyes fall on Sarah, lying there, looking so small and frail in her hospital gown.

“What happened?” Ava demands, and April leads her outside, just beyond the curtain, with Natalie following.

“Natalie called her down for a consult. Things were okay until she collapsed right there in front of the patient. Scared us all half to death,” April informs her softly.

“You might want to see these,” Natalie says, and Ava doesn’t miss the sadness in her tone as Natalie hands her the tablet.

It’s just what she had thought they would show, and Ava shakes her head, blinking back tears as she sees how much damage had been done, how much progress had been reversed in just 3 short weeks.

“According to her charts it looks like she’s missed her last two appointments with Dr Richardson. Did you know things were bad with her?” Natalie asks, a hand to Ava’s shoulder, and Ava feels like the worst person in the world.

“No,” she hears herself say, though it doesn’t sound at all like her voice.

This is all your fault. If you had paid more attention, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Ava,” she hears Natalie, noting how the doctor had switched to the voice she often heard her use with paediatric patients. “None of this is your fault.”

It’s as though she can read her mind.

“But it is. Sarah is supposed to be my responsibility,” Ava hates the way her voice sounds, broken, as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Some things you can’t control,” April says beside her. Ava knows she means well, but it’s all just wrong and backwards. Because for Sarah, this was all about control. Ironic, really.

“For now,” Natalie begins, that coaxing voice back, “you should just be with her.”

Ava just nods, letting the curtain fall behind her as April and Natalie take their leave.

She takes a shuddering breath and drags the stool to Sarah’s bedside, where she sits, taking hold of the thin, limp hand of her girlfriend.

“Ava?” Comes a voice, weak beside her, and Ava swears that if she wasn’t a cardiothoracic surgeon, she would have thought her heart had stopped.

“I’m right here, Sarah,” Ava tells her, squeezing her hand gently.

“Where am I?” Sarah asks, a little groggily.

“In the ED. April said you fainted.”

“Oh,” returns Sarah, her voice small, panic filling her face as she notices the IV line in her hand.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Ava croons, taking hold of both Sarah’s hands when she sees how distressed she is. “It’s just some fluids to help give you your strength back. You need them, okay bokkie,” Ava continues, using the pet name.

“No, I don’t! What’s the point?” Sarah cries out, every word punctuated with an agony that pierces Ava’s very soul.

“Nothing I do will work and I’m just so tired. I’m a psychiatrist. I know this is bad! I shouldn’t be having this problem. Ava you know I try, but…” Sarah trails off, and Ava can’t help but notice the way Sarah runs a finger over her clavicle, a subconscious habit she had.

“Sarah, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you,” Ava begins after a pause. “But—“

“Then don’t,” Sarah grits out, harshly, cutting Ava off. “Please, Ava, just go,” Sarah practically begs, bunching up the thin bed sheets and turning to face away from her.

Ava sits there, a few moments longer, until it becomes clear that this won’t be going anywhere, that Sarah isn’t ready to talk.

Twisting her hands, she lets out a sigh she hopes is mostly silent.

“Okay,” she says, willing the heaviness in her voice not to be too pronounced. Ava stands and moves to adjust Sarah’s pillow just how she likes it, the only way she can think of right now to give Sarah a little more comfort. “But Sarah,” Ava gently tells her, “I’m here for you, okay. No matter what. Please know that.”

There’s no response. Not even a shift in the bedsheets. And if the machine monitoring Sarah’s vitals wasn’t still beeping quietly in the background, well, Ava doesn’t want to give much rise to that particular thought.

With a final kiss to the top of Sarah’s head, a last attempt to let her know she is here, Ava turns to leave, drawing the curtains back around Sarah.

“Well?” Natalie asks her from her position at the nursing station, breaking away from a conversation with Maggie.

Ava just shakes her head. She doesn’t know quite what to say. What does one say? Besides, Ava really doesn’t wan to have to talk right now. With anyone. All she can think about is how much she had let Sarah down. How she should have been paying attention. And now she couldn’t even get Sarah to talk, much less get to the bottom of what triggered this.

It’s windy up on the balcony, and the evening is drawing in as Ava stares out onto the city of Chicago, a hundred thousand lights twinkling below. There’s still no more word from Sarah herself. Only that Ava can gather loud and clear she wants to be left alone. Which is especially hard to know.

“Hey,” a voice says beside her, making Ava jump. The fact she didn’t even hear him coming is a telltale sign something is wrong. Ava normally never misses anything.

“Your CABG went off without a hitch,” he begins lightly, trying to gauge Ava’s mood.

“Wish I could say the same about other things,” Ava deadpans, staring off into the distance, her focus on nothing in particular.

“How’s Sarah?” Connor frowns, leaning against the railing.

“Nat messaged to say she’s being transferred up to a bed to stay overnight for observation. She still doesn’t want to see me.” It comes out a little cold, detached. And honestly, Ava’s just feeling more than a little numb right now, so that assessment it’s about right.

“She’ll come ‘round,” Connor assures, putting an arm around Ava, who leans into him.

“Ooh my ears are burning,” comes a familiar voice from behind.

“Oh, hey Nat,” Ava manages a weak, sort of washed-out smile.

“How are you holding up?”

How was she? How did one answer that? How was someone dealing with all of this supposed to be?

Connor’s phone buzzes, breaking the silence.

“It’s Latham,” he says, checking.

“You’d better go,” Ava tells him, grateful for the diversion.

“It’s gonna be okay, Aves. You’re gonna get through this. You both are.”

“Thanks,” Ava sniffs as Connor pulls her into a tight hug, wanting desperately to believe his every word.

And then he’s gone.

“How’s Sarah,” Ava asks, eyes trained on the spot Connor had just vacated. She’s almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Pretty much the same. I’ve paged Dr Charles though. I hope you don’t mind?”

Ava shakes her head sadly. “Maybe he’ll have better luck than me.”

“Oh, Ava,” Natalie hums, holding her close, up there on the balcony. She doesn’t even care that Nat is probably using some of the tactics she uses on kids down in the ED. Because all Ava wants to do is believe things will be okay.

“How about I drive you back to yours so we can grab some things for Sarah?” Natalie suggests, filling the silence, smoothing Ava’s hair.

Ava agrees with a small nod. That seems like a logical suggestion. And in any case, she’s not sure she should be driving herself anywhere right now.

“Great,” Natalie says softly, her arms still safely around Ava. “And Ava, I promise you: everything will work out. It may not seem like it right now, but it will.”

There’s a fierceness in her voice, and Ava just clings to her. She wants to believe her. Wants it to be true with her whole heart. Because it has to be.

#recovering!au #my aus #sarah reese #ava bekker #they're both going through it #connor rhodes #natalie manning #april sexton #chicago med #reesker #asks #buiscitsandbooks #mutuals #eating disorder tw #hospitals tw #tw ed #my writing

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suometar · 3 years

Text

youtube

Power song of the day: Wake up by Smash into Pieces

You can not resist, like a moth to a flame -- You know it will burn, but sometimes you enjoy the pain

This is your favorite game -- But you're gonna be defeated -- And you're never gonna beat it -- Controls you like a slave -- But you gotta stop pretending -- You won't get a happy ending

(Chorus) Someday you're gonna wake up -- Gonna wake up -- From a life in fantasy -- Someday you're gonna wake up -- Gonna wake up -- And realize it's not meant to be -- You stumble in the dark cause you close your eyes -- Guided by the sweet talk lullaby -- But someday you will wake up -- You will wake up From a life in fantasy -- Wake up!

You try to cut everyone out of your life -- So no one can question how you can believe the lies

This is your favorite game -- But you're gonna be defeated -- And you're never gonna beat it -- Controls you like a slave -- But you gotta stop pretending -- You won't get a happy ending

(Chorus)

You're in the fire, what do you do? -- You wake up -- The final round is waiting for you

(Chorus)

Why? Well...

I'm coming down from mania.

Which sucks. And here's a glimpse into my 30 or so years experience of this nonsense.

But before I say more I want to say to everyone who I have been venting during the last month or so:

Please don't think that you have contributed in making my situation worse. You haven't. The fuel for all of it comes from within myself. I am nothing but crateful that I have had a chance to vent to someone because otherwise it all would've just clumped inside me and that would've made the situation worse.

And besides, not all venting has been caused just by mania. When I'm manic it doesn't remove the normal thoughts and feelings I have.

When you're stuck in a tar pit created by a certain person for who knows how many years in a row it's obvious it's not just the mania. I think you guys know what that's like :D

Coming down is like a really really really REALLY bad hangover

Except that you can remember every single thing you've done, the things you've felt, the things you've planned, what you thought of. EVERYTHING.

And you KNOW they're all just a result of the chemical imbalance of your own brain.

Coming down doesn't mean necessarily that I'm now depressed. It's just getting back to your normal state from mania.

But the bad hangover is real. If you've experienced that you know what it's like. Regrets after regrets.

What's mania like

That ecstacy of mania is an immense rush you don't really know unless you've experienced it yourself.

It's difficult to describe, but I think falling in love really hard and fast is the closest that describes it best. You have butterflies in your stomach all the time, you're hyperfixating on that one person and you feel invincible, like everything in your life is finally perfect and you're in control like never before.

Or even better: It's like being on speed, except without the drugs. Overstimulated 24-7-365.

Hyperfixation is typical for mania

In my case the hyperfixation can be basically anything from men (real or fictional, doesn't really matter lol) to any action, hobby or even work, totally depends on the situation.

What I do is I dedicate all my time to that one thing and one thing only even though I know it's not healthy.

Thank god I've learned to control it so that it won't take ALL of my time anymore, but it still is there. And I need to cater it to some extent or I won't be able to do anything.

It's like having a parasite you can't get rid of but you can make it behave if you give it some attention from time to time.

What's real and what's not? That is the question

When you're having mania it's sometimes super hard to differentiate what's a real thought and what is based on the illusion created by your own mind. And even though I am nowadays capable to tell the difference of my real thoughts/feelings and the ones fueled by mania the later ones do have an effect on me even though I try not to react to them.

The tricky thing is that your body can't tell the difference of a so called real/normal thought/feeling and one created inside my head fueled by mania.

A manic person wants nothing more than get more of the dopamine that fuels the ecstacy. Which easily can lead to a psychotic episode/period.

The saddest part is that manic person usually looks and behaves exactly like any normal person. You can't tell from outside if someone is having mania unless they choose to show it. Psychotic then usually is clearly psychotic and erratic and behaves totally out of character.

Triggers for mania

Anything can basically be a trigger for mania and they vary from person to person. For me it's usually one of the following:

an extreme negative change in life (such as death, divorce or other big things like that),

finding a new crush,

intensive concentration on some activity,

social media, or

as surprising as it might be: music. Especially any with a faster tempo.

Usually though I have already been somewhat hypomanic before the real mania hits. Hypomania though is very hard to notice because I'm somewhat easily excited and impulsive already by nature.

But I've lived with this so long that I know when it's going overboard. My manic mind just usually chooses to say it's nothing and I believe it like a fool - because it feels so good.

This time the trigger for me was intensive concentrating on writing. While the writing was crucial in easing my general anxiety this time it had this unfortunate side effect.

Nonetheless, I'm not quitting writing. Because the anxiety has eased significantly from when I started. I probably need to change the subject for a while and not to write daily or limit it just for 30 mins a day.

How a new crush can happen when you're married, you ask?

Oh, easily. See, with a manic mind a marriage is nothing but an obstacle. Nothing is but an obstacle that is designed to limit you. Because you're omnipotent. And obstacles - well, they're made to be conquered or plowed through.

In my case I've chosen to keep my crushes online and physically as far away from me as possible. I've made a mistake of crushing into someone irl and that was UGLY for all parties involved.

Thirsting over someone from afar online while remaining happily married is by far a better option.

How to control mania or turn it off

Yes, you can turn it off. The problem with that is that usually manic person doesn't

feel like something is wrong, and

doesn't want to get down from the high.

But there are things you can do to get it end sooner.

Log off from all social media. Seriously. Don't just turn notifications off - LOG OFF.

If that's not enough, remove all the social media apps from your phone. You can always install them again.

Turn off your phone if it's possible.

Don't use computer unless it is absolutely necessary - like for paying bills. You don't need to find out what age Barbara Streissand is at 2:30am - or, well, ever.

Social media is by far the biggest contributor for mania. The apps are designed to give us a dopamine rush each time we scroll down any feed and see a new post. That's how they keep us stuck on them.

When you already have an issue with the dopamine rush using social media just makes it worse.

You won't miss anything if you log off for two days or a week. SERIOUSLY. But it will improve your well-being tremendously.

The absolutely best thing you can do is to create as dull environment to yourself as possible. That there's nothing artificial you can drown yourself into. Best place to be in mania is in the middle of the woods without any mobile signal - trust me.

Take up an activity where you do something with your hands. Hands-on approach is crucial.

Doing things with your hands will root you into the real world.

It doesn't matter what it is: cooking, cleaning, handcrafts, drawing or painting (NOT on a computer or ipad but with real pencils/crayons/paints/brushes/etc).

Remember not to do just that though. Go out (without your phone). Enjoy the nature. Listen to the sounds of the outside world. Don't close your senses with headphones. Read. Watch out of the window. Stare at the wall. Watch the paint dry.

LET YOURSELF GET BORED.

Just stay away from any electronic devices.

The hangover is horrible but it'll pass. And you will feel better afterwards when you're functional again.

------

It's not easy. None of us chose to live with bipolar. It's always inherited. But there are ways to work through it.

I hope this helps at least someone.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#bipolar disorder #bipolar #bipolar mania #coping skills #mental health tips #thoughts from the crypt #long post

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dusksmote · 3 years

Text

2020 in perspective...

i originally got into south park in 2010, left the fandom in 2011, then nearly a decade later in december, 2019 i came back again.

January: butters sketch

i hadn’t been in a serious fandom for years, hadn’t drawn or written anything seriously in years. i went on a trip to denver, colorado, and came back ready to get fucking into it. i started writing the longest single work i’ve done to date, Ecstasy (130k, not yet posted). this piece was the first drawing i did this year, while riding the train home from my internship. a shitty little sketch of butters from the fanfic, with mohawk and glasses.

February: latex tweek

still traditional art only. started getting serious about shading, and drew LATEX TWEEK (also from Ecstasy). Finished the 1st draft of the fanfic this month and went into the editing phase.

March: juggalo stan and kyle

why? did i forget to mention everyone in Ecstasy is a juggalo? long story. finished the current (final?) draft of Ecstasy.

April: stan and mpreg kyle

STILL doing traditional art. started working on my next fanfic project, a prequel to Ecstasy--BUT FIRST i read @blesspastacraig‘s fanfic Best Laid Plans and it inspired me to write my oneshot Our Fish Alien (2k, complete). Got my Ao3 account this month and decided to post it with some art. hence, style mpreg art. started incorporating prop elements (hospital bed), but still too spooked to try backgrounds.

my friend @cola-fiend convinced me to make a tumblr and post some sketches, ergo here we are. this eventually lead requesters to ask for more mpreg, which snowballed until i made a fucking discord server for it, but i’m getting ahead of myself.

May: fat kyle

the last time i did digital art was 2015 when my tablet broke, then in may i found out there’s free phone apps for drawing. so my first digital drawing in half a decade was fat kyle and his skinny boytoy 😂 by now i’d scrapped my plans for an Ecstasy prequel and had started writing Eat That Lunch (27k, complete), and wanted the art to look better. i started by drawing the lines traditionally then coloring the picture digitally 😬 yikes

June: crimson dawn

now we’re cooking with gas. i watched a few art tutorials and tried drawing something serious with digital line art. i was working on my tiny fucking iphone 5 screen and this piece took over 35 hours 🤘😔 no backgrounds yet

July: tweek and baby

my first commission! @blesspastacraig and i are now collaborators and friends and i got to illustrate some of her fanfictions. this one’s from Algorithm! (which i totally helped inspire >_>) blurry ‘baby’s first’ background in there too. i also started writing the sequel to ETL this month, What They Say About Us (50~k, incomplete), but didn’t publish it until september.

August: boxer tweek

first attempt at a lineless, painting style. did this one for tweek’s birthday. not a great first piece for a new art style, but a very important design shift that’s changed how i color completely. also switched to an ipad instead of my small-ass phone screen phew

September: boys eat at shakey’s

posted WTSAU! i wanted to make this fic look super fucking good and probably put more effort than i should have into all the art. BUT, forcing myself to illustrate it is what’s really helped me gain more artistic skills. this is my first scenic piece with full color background. i also started writing my next big fic, Wayward Son (50~k, not yet posted), based in the same universe as @blesspastacraig‘s fanfic Hungry. it was supposed to be a oneshot and now it’s 95 pages long dammit!! 😭

October: broflovski passover

resumed online classes and creative progress suffered for it 😔 i still managed to put out a lot of work i’m proud of, like this seder scene from WTSAU chapter 3. full background and 8 characters? pssh, can’t scare me. i showed this drawing to my boss, who named it ‘the confused gentile’. oh stan.

November: gunslinger kyle and stan of many moons

honestly? not sure how i survived this month. but i knew the start of december was gonna be worse so i jumped on style week as soon as they put the prompts out (this was the second one i drew). at this point i enjoy painting backgrounds more than the figures in them.

December: style clubhouse

i drew so much stuff this month it’s hard to pick one thing to represent it all, but--the seventh day of style week has a bit of everything i’ve learned. background. colors. lighting. concept. crazy when you compare it to january.

now i’m back to work on putting out WTSAU chapter 5. after that’s done i’ll pick which fanfic to post next and get cracking on art for that. Wayward Son’s in it’s final pages, so i’ll be picking up a new fanfic project in the coming weeks too.

overall? 2020, you were a wild south park year, just like 2010. i honestly can’t believe how far i’ve come as an artist considering i spent the first 1/3rd of this year sketching on napkins and shit, and here we are. looking forward to all the improvement in 2021 💚💙

#muh art #and never fear drawing backgrounds!!!#ecstasy #our fish alien #eat that lunch #what they say about us #wayward son #muh fanfic #i've written other fanfics during this time but they aren't as big as the ones mentioned #sorry Anomaly 😢

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the-silentium · 4 years

Text

Jinx

Masterlist

Pairing: The Swedes x Reader

Words: 3300 words

Warnings: Mention of semi-nudity.

A/N: Hey dear people. I know I usually write for Five, but I had to write at least once for these nice brothers who I clearly love too much. @jossambird this one is for AND is because of you. Please enjoy!

What made you pleasant in the brothers’ eyes was exactly why people generally avoided you. You didn't talk much, always preferring to stay by yourself instead of gathering into groups, passing your time daydreaming, and drawing on a weird small board instead of drinking collectively with the rest of the Commission's workers. You had a perfect mission success rate and to the surprise of many, you always came back unscathed. A lot of agents asked you about your methods but you never answered, much to their annoyance. Not even your supervisor knew, not that he minded.

So a majority of the Commissioners treated you like an outcast, someone to be left alone and forget. In your time as a reject, you met the only trio that was as silent as you. You never planned on accepting more than one cooperative mission with them, but something attracted you to the brothers. Maybe it was their acceptance of your personality, how they never forced you to express yourself and treated you like a normal person or perhaps it was the bond they shared that made you desire to not be alone anymore.

The boys didn't mind your presence around them. They quickly realized that a lot of the rumors about you were false, you had so much more to give to those who accepted your introvertness. You were diligent in everything you were a part of, always taking initiative before the brothers even asked you to do something, you were observative enough to predict what they needed and always gave them a helping hand whenever they asked. You were a hard worker, that was for sure. On the other side, after a couple of missions alongside you, they noticed that you often put everyone's need before your own, so they had to keep that in mind.

A year later, you were an unofficial member of the group, accompanying them more often than not on their trips. Oscar became your best friend, the one with whom you'd share the second twin size bed available in the crappy motel rooms, the one who had managed to make you open up about your past -some part of it, at least- and the one who would always hold your hand whenever the dark was too much for you to handle.

Axel was often the one to make you laugh, with his snarky remarks to Oscar's stupid pranks or with his silly fire camp stories. (The boys will never tell you that, but these stories were made solely for you as a mean for Axel to hear your melodious laugh. Never did the older brother tell his siblings stories of the sort. Oscar and Otto were quick to realize their brother's enamored behavior, to which Axel threatened them to keep their mouth shut about.) To your delight, Axel even let you cook meals from your country. He often helped you around the kitchen just like you often did when he was the cook.

To your embarrassment, you systematically seemed to fall asleep on Otto whenever he was your couch buddy. His body heat mixed with his height made it perfect for his bicep to serve as your pillow. He always said that it was fine, that you needed the rest but you couldn't stop yourself from feeling ashamed. In return, you made sure that you helped him with the chores and the cleaning.

You smiled as you stopped the vacuum, admiring your handy work. Wherever you guys went, the stray cats were always welcome into your little temporary home, meaning that cat hairs were everywhere. This time wasn't so bad, the only two stray felines passed the majority of the time on someone's knees seeking body heat.

You put away the vacuum in its rightful place and made your way to your bed. It was rare, but sometimes you had your own bed. You were grateful that Otto found a place for rent, causing you to have your very own room for the first time in three months. You loved Oscar but you couldn't wait to remove your pants and bra and walk around your room with only a baggy t-shirt and panties on.

You passed the table where Axel was reading a file and Otto was bent over a map marked with red dots here and there. You stopped at Otto's side in hope of catching his attention. It didn't take long.

"I finished the vacuum, you won't have to do it later." You smiled as he huffed and rolled his eyes, unsurprised that you hadn't listened to him when he told you to take the day to yourself and let him do the cleaning. "If you guys need me, I'll be in my room."

Otto hummed in response as Axel nodded, a small smile on his lips. You had to curl up your toes to refrain yourself from moving forward and do something stupid. Quickly, you turned around and walked to your room, glancing for a second at the snow covering the houses, trees and yards. The sight was truly bewitching, although you weren't a fan of the cold temperature.

Looking under your bed, you pulled out your bag and searched around in its depth, taking out your fully charged iPad and apple pencil.

Drawing has always been a part of you, despite what it caused. You had to get your thoughts and ideas out of your head and drawing was your way of doing it. All you had to do was find a way so no one could see your drawings. It wasn't easy with your old sketchbook, anyone could find the book and open it, so you requested an iPad with a compatible pencil and locked it with a very complex password.

You verified that the door was completely closed before caving to your wants and discarded any unnecessary clothing, leaving you in your most comfy oversized t-shirt and your undergarment.

Now comfortable, you jumped into the bed next to your tablet and started drawing as soon as you positioned yourself with your back pressed onto the headboard. You didn't know how long you passed there, drawing the content of your mind, only knowing that you were at your fourth piece when the door flew open, presenting you Oscar with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, leaning in the doorway.

"I came to ask if you wanted to watch a movie, but I see you already have one." He snickered.

You had once told the brothers what your "small board" was, although skipping the part that it was your drawing tablet. You showed them the music and videos kindly pre-installed by your supervisor and of course, Oscar wanted to watch modern movies with you. You'd never scrolled through the entirety of the movie selection available, but you should have. Before you knew, Oscar had selected Fifty Shades of Grey and everything went down from there. Needless to say that his own time period wasn't that open into showing nudity so it was a shock for him. At first. You were only grateful that the older brothers weren't interested into watching modern movies and that they never knew why Oscar teased you with a color.

"I'm not watching anything, Oscar." You countered defensively.

He entered the room, unbothered by your appearance.

"What are you doing then?" He reached for the iPad, causing you to hit the lock button in a hurry, hiding the lines and color behind a hard black screen and a password.

"But I wanted to see." He whined, putting. You made the error of rolling your eyes, giving Oscar the opportunity to grab your pencil out of your hand.

"Give it back!" You yelled, reaching for the electronic crayon. Oscar stepped away from the bed, almost making you fall off the bed.

"It's a pen? You draw? Can I see it?" His eyes were sparkling, but it didn't hurt in the slightest when a categorical no fell from your lips. "But why?"

You jumped out of bed, ready to jump on him if need be to recover your stolen good.

"Because. I don't have to give you a reason- Oscar!" You followed him out of the room as soon as he dashed for the door. He stopped in the living room, where he used his height to annoy you and keep the device out of your reach. You tried to reach it on your tippytoes, without success.

"Oscar I'm not kidding. Give it back." Your patience was getting thinner by the second.

"Same for me. I want to see." He smirked at something behind your shoulder, but you couldn't care less at the moment.

"I said no!" You tried again to reach for your iPad in the outstretched arm of the younger Swede, unconsciously offering a perfect view of your behind to two completely red Scandinavian.

"Give it back!" The desperation in your voice caused Axel to intervene, his heart reacting to your panicked state.

You felt tears forming into your eyes, from anger or distress, you didn't know, but you harshly wiped at them in hope of concealing your weakness. Oscar froze at your movement, eyes widening at the sight. Someone behind you grabbed the devices from Oscar's hand, before handing them to you.

"Enough brother. She said no." His tone was hard and let no place for discussion, not that Oscar would have tried to argue after he saw the water in your eyes.

With shaky hands, you pressed the electronics to your chest, protecting them from any other wandering hands. With them close and safe, your frantic heartbeat could finally slow down.

You turned to Axel to thank him until you noticed how bright red his cheeks and neck were. He was still glaring at Oscar, although when he realized that you had turned to him, his gaze fell somewhere near you. The realization of why he couldn't meet your gaze dawned on you like a cold bucket of water, your very own cheek reddening.

Mortified, you fled to the security of your room, the door banging on its hinges behind you. You searched the doorknob for a lock, helplessness invading you when you found none. Rushing to the bed to hide under the covers, you could only hope that the boys would leave you alone for as long as you needed. Forever would be an acceptable amount of time.

You cried yourself to sleep, remnants of your panic playing tricks in your head, tormenting you with what-ifs. What if Oscar had seen your drawing? What if he decided to try again in the future? What if the boys decided that they had had enough of you? What if- whatif--

A soft knock resonated through the door, waking you in a panic. You had a terrible headache and your eyes were burning. You were disoriented until Otto's soft voice reached your ears.

"Dinner is ready. I brought you a plate."

You couldn't possibly think of eating at the moment, but you couldn't find it in yourself to let your sweet Otto turn back, defeated, to the kitchen.

"Come in." You managed to croak out, your throat not used to form words instead of sobs.

Otto opened the door slowly, the light of the house entering your dark room, allowing Otto to see your form concealed under the sheets. Only half of your head was poking out of your safe zone, giving him all the information he needed on your state.

You managed to give him a small smile as he walked into the room to place the plate onto your nightstand. He paused for a second, seemingly thinking over what he wanted to do or say, before making up his mind.

"Oscar is very sorry." His hands formed fists when he met your red eyes.

"I won't say it's fine because it's not." You answered, breaking the eye contact to concentrate on the wet spots on your pillow.

"We know." A shadow blocked the light coming from the hallway and into your room, creating an enormous dark form onto the opposite wall. You lifted the covers to hide the remaining of your face, causing Otto to walk out of the room to keep the newcomer outside.

The smell of the food was heavenly despite the fact that your stomach wasn't ready to welcome any of it soon. You pulled the cover off your face to allow fresh air to enter your lungs and repositioned yourself in a somewhat comfortable position. It didn't take you long to drift off, too tired to resist the welcoming arms of Morpheus.

You woke up to a pair of steely eyes glaring at you from the doorway. Nervous, you got up from the bed and followed the retreating figure. On your way, you grabbed and slipped on your sweat pants, running to catch up with Axel. You collided with his back when he stopped abruptly and fell on your ass due to the force of the impact.

Your eyes widened as soon as you caught sight of Oscar's body lying on the floor, blood running down his nose, eyes open but unseeing. A scream died in your throat, the pitiful sounds you managed to do were muffled by your hand covering your mouth. Axel turned to you, glaring at you from his vantage point.

"He saw your drawings. It's your fault."

Sobs shook your body as tears ran down your face once more. All you could do was chant a succession of no, desperately wishing that it wasn't true, that you didn't kill him.

You expected the older brother to kill you in retaliation, but he must have known. No, he knew. As a fruit of your imagination, he knew how to make you suffer. Slowly, his arm lifted to the side, pointing towards the door where Otto was waiting, a blank expression darkening his features.

"Leave."

Your heart stopped. You would be alone again. Just like the past 16 years of your life. The only ones who accepted you were now rejecting you because they had seen what you so desperately tried to hide. Because your selfishness had broken them. Why couldn't you just stop drawing? Why-

Axel's hand closed firmly on your upper arms, the surprise and fear causing you to shot up into your bed, the sheets falling from your body and exposing your sweaty skin to the chilly air of the room. You slammed your hands onto your mouth in hope of containing the sobs and not disturb the other residents of the little house.

Just in time, your body stopped shaking, your tears stopped falling and your breath stopped breaking. You stiffened as a knock resonated in the air, Oscar's voice breaking the silence.

"Are you up?"

You were relieved to hear his voice, to know that he was still alive and well. You really wanted to answer him, to let him know that he was forgiven and that you didn't hate him, but you knew you looked like hell and that it would only hurt him more. So you stayed silent, waited until your heard his footsteps walking away to get up, gather your clothes for the day and with the discretion that one could only acquire after years of training, you made your way to the bathroom down the hallway.

The woman looking at you through the mirror looked definitely dead, with her dull puffy eyes, her untamed hair, the tear tracks on her cheeks and her pale skin. Quickly, you showered to remove any trace of your sadness, took an aspirin to lower the pressure into your skull and got dressed to not embarrass anyone furthermore. Now, the woman looked just like you, healthy and beautiful, if not just a little more down than usual.

As you came out of the bathroom and entered the living room connected to the kitchen, Oscar immediately shot up from the couch like he had waited for you all this time. You knew Otto and Axel's attention were on the both of you even if they continued with their activities, making breakfast and petting the cats.

"I am so sorry. I crossed a line and I know it wasn't right. Please, don't hate me. I'm sorry." He was as shaken as you were if his disheveled hair was anything to go by. This was a first.

"I don't hate you, Oscar." He relaxed at your word, a soft smile leaving his lips. "I forgive you, but please, don't do it again."

He shook his head and wrapped you in his arms. The tightness was a bit too much, but you didn't mind, you hugged him just as tightly.

"Thank you." He whispered as he pulled away, a small smile on his handsome face.

You playfully punched his shoulder to which Oscar retaliated by poking your sides until you were on the floor, laughing so much that your headache came back.

"Food's ready." You cheered at Axel's statement, successfully pushing your white-haired friend off of you when he wasn't focussing.

"Thank you." You said to the cook while getting seated to your place. He hummed, just as usual, the events of the day before seemingly forgotten.

Despite your great appetite, you didn't touch your fork, instead gathering the courage to come clean.

"My birthday is October 1st, 1989." The Swedes froze, surprised about the new information. Everyone at the Commission knew about the children born on this particular day. You continued when Oscar opened his mouth. "My ability," you frowned, "if I could call it like that, is that if I accomplish a specific task, people die."

The brothers were lost, not getting to what you were implying.

"If someone sees a drawing I've made, they die. Generally in the next day or so. It can be by a heart attack, a brain hemorrhage or a stupid accident." Your gaze found Oscar's grey one. "You didn't see it, did you?"

He shook his head, a smirk stretching his lips. "You're that bad, eh?"

You kicked his ankle under the table, a yelp resonating into the room.

"You could have died, you moron."

"You're not kidding?" His head tilted to the side.

"No! How do you think I killed for the Commission for the last 16 years? I only had to show them a drawing and they were dead by the next day!" You huffed, frustrated that he didn't believe you at first. "I've lost my family because of it, I won't lose my friends too." You chewed on the interior of your cheek, your gaze fleeing everyone’s by falling on your plate.

Before any dark thoughts could invade your mind, a hand fell on your shoulder. Axel didn't have to say it in words for you to understand. They'd never give up on you, no matter what, the reassurance making you smile to your plate.

"Why don't you stop?" Otto's question pulled at your heart.

"Because whenever I draw, I draw my family. I miss them a lot." You could hear the laugh of your little sister in the wind sometimes or could see yourself playing in the snow with your older brother. It was an accident, you didn't know at the time, but when you showed your very first drawing of the neighbor's dog to your family at dinner, you had sealed their fate. Four heart attacks under the same roof on the same night was hardly a coincidence, leading the Commission to take your case seriously. They took you in and made you who you were.

A chair moving harshly on the floor caught your attention. Oscar walked around the table to hug you from behind, his face pressed against yours.

"We are your family now."

#the swedes #tua swedes #axel x reader #otto x reader #oscar x reader #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #ikea mafia

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kyidyl · 3 years

Text

Kyidyl Explains Bones - Part 4.1

(These are all under the KyidylBones tag.)

Sorry for the pause in this series....it’s difficult to produce these when I don’t have my meds and I ran out. But I refilled them, so now we continue!

Anyway, today we’re covering something that is, if possible, even more complex and thorny than sex determination: race determination.

Ethical Statement: Race is not a biological reality. Now, hear me out before you run away. Race isn’t a biological reality, but that doesn’t make it *not real*. Race absolutely is real and effects how society interacts with an individual. But between these two statements, which gives you more information about a person:

“I’m white.”

“I’m white and I live in 21st century America.”

The second, obviously. Because skin color tells us virtually nothing about an individual. Ethnicity - where they’re from, what social groups they might have interacted with, how society might have treated them, etc. - is a lot more valuable than knowing the color of their skin. HOWEVER. And this is a big however. However, in a modern person’s understanding there is a lot of crossover between race and ethnicity. And, in fact, as with sex, when a set of remains is being evaluated for identification we must at least attempt to identify the race because that’s how they’ll be categorized in the missing persons’ database. And identifying race in archaeological remains helps us track human social interaction and migration because ethnicity doesn’t really survive intact outside of grave goods (and those may or may not be present.). And, yes, if you’re wondering, DNA tests can confirm a lot of the data that we attempt to glean anatomically but for the most part we don’t have the money to do DNA tests on remains, or they don’t have anything surviving that has intact DNA (you can have a nearly complete set of remains and not have any DNA because damage to the outside surface of the bone and/or teeth causes damage to the DNA inside it and causes it to break down.).

So since race isn’t a biological reality but it is a social reality, it’s helpful to attempt to determine the race of the individual in question. And, obviously, that’s before you even take into account that people interbreed all the time. So how can we begin to do this with any degree of accuracy, since the classifications are social and not biological?

Short answer: we can’t, but we try anyway because of the reasons I mentioned above. And there’s something that I should have added to the post about sexing a skeleton but I didn’t because I’m human and I make mistakes sometimes: we don’t ever refer to a set of remains as definitively X sex or definitively X race (well, we do when we’re with other scientists who have an understanding of what I’m about to say for brevity’s sake.), we say “this individual has _____ features consistent with or indicative ______ race/sex.” Sometimes the features are very stereotypical and we’re fairly certain that they definitely are X race or sex, but other times they’re not. And the markers that we use are based on averages, so obviously within those averages there’s a huge amount of variation - that’s why we use so many different markers. So like with any science, it’s good to remember that there’s always room for change and that it’s all theories.

Also if you want to do some reading on it, you’ll see that these determinations are still hotly debated among anthropologists because we are well aware of how racist and shitty it all is and we hate that we have to engage in it but at the same time it’s important for the reasons I mentioned above, so we’re always trying to find new ways that are more accurate and less racist.