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jonahlovescoffee · 3 years

Text

Unbelievable | J.M.

a/n: bc jonah in the unbelievable music video is just hot hot hot hot hot :) i’ve been putting this one on hold for way too long. not rlly satisfied with the way it went but i promise it’s not that bad (i think) lol happy reading <3

summary: jonah’s outfit was unbelievable and so was his ability to pleasure you anywhere, even in the kitchen.

warnings: kitchen smut as requested by @averysbestyears

word count: 3362

“your taste; i could drink, i could drink, i could drink a whole damn case; every drip, every drip, couldn't let you go to waste”

You spent the entirety of your morning out and about running errands, only returning to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend late in the afternoon with bags of groceries in hand. With Jonah out with his band mates to film a music video for their upcoming single for who-knows-how-long, the apartment you shared with him seemed unusually quiet and empty without the constant couple banter between you both. In attempt to lessen the feeling of loneliness caused by the deafening silence, you put on some relaxing music on the stereo before putting away all the groceries, leaving only the necessary ingredients for a chocolate cake on the counter. After tying your hair up in a messy bun, you got started excitedly with your baking, humming softly along to the music as you worked. Despite having baked for countless times before, you still weren’t exactly good at it, your clumsy self often knocking over and accidentally spilling everything and anything everywhere which explained why your counter looked like a chaotic war zone half an hour later when you were done.

You heaved a relieved sigh when you managed to put the cylinder pan filled with cake batter safely into the oven, a triumphant smile plastered on your face. You were about to start cleaning up the kitchen when you heard the faint sound of the door opening and closing so you rushed to the living room immediately to be greeted by the sight of Jonah taking off his shoes at the foyer. He smiled when he looked up and saw you, opening his arms for you which you run into with glee.

“Welcome home, love,” you giggled as he picked you up off your feet and spun you around few times until you squealed and asked him to put you down.

“Missed you so bad,” he said and placed a tender kiss on your head as he followed you into the kitchen, an arm around your waist. “Baking again?” He asked after sniffing the air that was filled with the slightly bitter scent of the chocolate cake that wafted out through the oven, completely oblivious to your lingering gaze on him that was sneakily examining him from head to toe—eyes darting from his tousled brown hair to the dark grey t-shirt that hugged his muscled figure perfectly, showing off the subtle outlines of the toned abs hiding underneath, to his long white jacket that reached his knees and jeans of the same colour—and gosh, he sure looks handsome. How nice must it feel to let your hands roam his body and—

“Baby?” He called, snapping you out of your train of thoughts and you blinked several times at him who was waving his hands in front of you, trying to get your attention.

“Yes, what were you saying again?” You smiled sheepishly at him, light pink tinting your cheeks, embarrassed by your explicit thoughts although no one heard them apart from you. But Jonah had known you long enough to figure out the exact thoughts that were running through your head a moment ago. And as a good boyfriend, he couldn’t leave your wishes unattended, could he?

“Well, I was asking if you need help with cleaning but I think we’ll get to that later, hmm?” A smirk made its way onto his face as he backed you up until your back hit the edge of the counter and he pinned you against it, his tall figure towering over your petite one. “Since you’re so overly interested in admiring my body,” he said smugly and you blushed a darker shade of crimson, guilty as charged.

“It’s...it’s your fault for dressing like this today,” you stuttered nervously while avoiding his gaze, earning a small chuckle from him.

“I’m glad you like my outfit,” he licked his lips before cupping the back of your neck to tilt your head so that you were looking at him directly in the eyes. “But I think you’ll like it better if I take them off, am I right, baby?” He asked, his voice turning husky.

“No! Definitely not! What are you talking about?” You hurriedly waved your hands in front of yourself in denial but your wavering tone wasn’t convincing enough. This bastard already knew the answer to his own question and the last thing you would do was admit it out loud to feed his ego (actually it was because you were too much of a coward to do so but we don’t talk about that here).

Jonah could feel his self control that he had put on himself ever since he walked through the front door gradually faltering at the sight of how innocent you looked on the outside — how flustered you got at the mere implication of sex like you had never done it your entire life — and how much it fueled his desire to take you right then and there in the kitchen, which was precisely what he was going to do. “Well baby, I’ll keep my clothes on then, but this means you gotta lose yours.”

“No, that’s not what I meant...ahh,” you were cut short by a gasp of your own when his lips connected with your neck without warning, generously leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your jaw down to the column of your neck, sending a shock of heat through your core.

“Then what do you mean, sweetheart?” With you guys’ handful of previous experiences, it didn’t take long for him to find your sweet spot, abruptly scraping his teeth against it, easily biting hard enough to create a bruise, earning a moan from you as your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, tugging at his brown locks lightly until a groan managed to slip past his lips.

“I...,” you trailed off, still too timid to speak your mind. When you didn’t make a move to continue your sentence, he pulled away from you and you almost whimpered at the sudden loss of contact.

“Go on. I’m waiting,” he urged, his fingers drumming the countertop impatiently, waiting for your reply. “I won’t start until you tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you,” you replied quickly, spilling out all the words out in one go and with a satisfied grin, he lifted you up onto the counter and he was standing between your legs.

“Yeah? Which part of me, baby?” He teased, both of his hands now on your waist, his thumbs gently tracing random patterns.

“Every part of you, Jonah, fuck. So can we stop with the talking and start doing now?” You yanked him closer by the chain around his neck before finally connecting your lips with his, opening your mouth on a second’s notice when you felt his teeth sink into your bottom lip lightly, granting his tongue full permission to slip into your mouth almost immediately. You couldn’t help but release another moan as soon as you tasted the coffee that he probably just drank in the car on the way home on his tongue.

Not just any coffee. You knew the difference between the tastes of all kinds of coffee like the back of your hand. The bitter taste with a hint of the sweetness of chocolate that engulfed your senses now was definitely not the taste of the straight black coffee he usually preferred.

No, it was the taste of mocha—your favourite type of coffee.

“You prick, you expected this to happen, huh?” You asked when both of you pulled away to catch your breaths, your faces remaining inches apart, your breaths mingling with each other’s.

“Maybe,” he chuckled darkly as his fingers slowly curled around your neck, “We always end up naked after every of my band photoshoots in one way or another so why not be prepared this time?”

Before you can let a string of vulgar curses escape, he attached your lips with his once again and from the way his hand tightened around your neck and the rougher movements of his tongue, you knew that he wasn’t planning on holding back his feral hunger for you this time round, subsequently making you moan with extreme pleasure when your tongues entwined and also at the thought of what he was about to do to you.

You angled your head to deepen the kiss as your hands grabbed fistfuls of his jacket, a silent plea for him to take it off, in which he responded with shifting his body enough for you to slip it off, the expensive white material thudding to the ground, revealing his strong tattooed arms. You let you fingers trace his biceps for a moment before moving your hands downwards to pull his shirt out of his jeans but he stopped you before you could remove his shirt.

“Don’t,” he said sternly into the kiss and grabbed both your hands in one hand quickly. He pulled away, biting your bottom lip with a force strong enough to make it swell slightly. “It’s not your turn until I say so,” he snarled and you felt heat pooling at your core just from the serious look on his face. “Now lie down,” he ordered and forced you down with the hand around your throat swiftly but carefully so you were laying flat on the counter, on top of all the spilled flour and some cake batter, the unkept baking supplies pushed to the very end of the counter.

He did not wait any longer to peel your shirt off you and you watched him exhale sharply as his eyes darkened, the black of his pupils almost consuming all the vibrant hazel surrounding them. “Fucking hell baby,” he tossed your shirt aside as his eyes drank in every curves and edges of your bare upper body. You didn’t bother to put on any undergarments when you changed after you got home from your grocery run, thinking that since no one’s home aside from you it’ll be totally fine. You made a mental note to do this more often in future because his stunned turned-on expression was definitely something you would want to see again. “Is it my birthday or something today?”

“You’re not the only one who came prepared,” you said cheekily, adding in a hushed tone, “Just so you know, I’m not even wearing anything underneath my pants either.” A string of profanities fell from his lips at your words as his hand made its way between your thighs, pushing your shorts aside to slip in his fingers. The wetness that his fingers were immediately greeted with was proof enough of your testament, earning a satisfactory groan from him.

“Now, where shall I start?” He asked, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he stared down at your shirtless figure splayed on the counter like his own personal feast. “Here? Or,” He teased, his hands travelled down to one of your breasts from your neck and let a finger draw circles around your nipple. “Here?” He tentatively dragged his fingers unhurriedly along your slit, collecting your ever growing slick, which had you whimpering and grinding against his fingers, in desperate need of as much friction as possible, yearning to feel more of him but the movement of his fingers remained so excruciatingly slowly.

“So fucking needy, aren’t you, my little slut?” he tisked, flicking his middle and index fingers between your hard nipple, earning an involuntary moan from you. “I’m barely doing anything,” he chuckled before taking his fingers that were coated in your sticky arousal and bringing them to his mouth, making sure that your gaze was on him as he licked them clean. “Tastes so fucking good as always.”

“Jonah, please,” you begged, “touch me more.”

“Oh I’ll do so much more than touching, babygirl,” you bit your tongue to suppress another moan at his words that were immediately followed by the sound of him falling onto his knees. His fingers gripped your thighs, pushing them further up and apart, his face nearing your dripping core. He let out a little huff on the inner part of your thighs, causing your legs to slightly shiver and your pussy flutter.

“Fucking gorgeous.” he breathed, his eyes staring hungrily at your cunt before laying his tongue flatly against your clit and let you rut yourself against it for a second before he unexpectedly gave it a harsh bite with a little bit of force. You slammed your hands against the counter right away and let out a loud gasp.

“Whoops, my bad,” he chuckled and you felt him smirk against your flesh. “Let me try this again.”

He wrapped his mouth around your throbbing clit before starting to suck it softly, his tongue flickering back and forth against it before moving his mouth lower and sweeping his tongue against your folds. It almost hurt with how incredible you were feeling right now. His mouth was hot against you as his velvety tongue continued swiping back and forth against your clit, faster and harder each time. The way he groaned at the taste of your body intoxicated you with more lust and you soon found yourself unable to think, hear, feel or remember anything else save for the name of the male that was eating you out like it was his last meal.

And when he finally moved his tongue into your pussy, it felt too good to be true. So fucking good that you were about to combust with pleasure. He went at a slow pace at first but then sped up every three thrusts until you were softly chanting a continuous series of “yes” under your breath. It seemed that he didn’t think that was enough, for he moved a finger to your weeping core, the rough pad of the tip of his finger pressing down and moving around in circular movements.

He was so rough but it felt so good, every lick and suck successfully building flares of heat in your adomen. “I...I’m close,” you stuttered, not really able to speak in your current state of bliss.

“Yeah? You wanna cum, darling?” Jonah asked, replacing his tongue with two fingers that managed to slip into you ever so easily due to how wet you were, pumping them in and out quickly.

“Uh-huh,” You nodded, your hands finding their way to him naturally, clinging onto him for dear life as he skillfully finger fucked you, your high gradually approaching with each thrust of his digits. Without any warning, he attached his lips to your bundle of nerves and sucked on it, right when he curled his fingers inside you, easily finding and hitting your g-spot. Your hands tightened on his shoulders, nails digging into his thick, supportive muscles.

“Cum for me, darling.”

Your walls tightened on him and an orgasm wracked through your body at his command, back arched while your thighs trembled as you came undone around his fingers. Panting slightly, you tried to regain your breath but before you knew it, his tongue went back to work again, swirling around to capture every single drop of your sweet juices into his mouth, the slurping noises and the ethereal feeling of his tongue on you turning you into a moaning mess.

“Fuck, darling, you taste so good,” he complimented, pulling his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth, licking them clean while looking at you and you let out an unrecognisable sound from the sight alone. “Couldn’t get enough of you. C’mon here.”

You did as he told, sitting up and scooting closer to him, your hands itching to undress him but you didn’t once you remembered his warning. You despised him still being fully clothed while you were already stripped bare for him but you also knew that one, going against him would accomplish nothing but getting punished on your part and two, he would adhere to your wishes once he felt like it.

And you were right.

“Take it off, I know you want to,” he said and you pulled his shirt off him excitedly before undoing his belt and his jeans, pushing them down along with his underwear and they pooled at his ankles, leaving his member standing at attention, already leaking with precut with all the lust bottled inside him.

“Wanna keep you close when I fuck you senseless, baby,” he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock and you whined. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He nudged your folds slightly and you nodded.

“I want your dick so bad,” you admitted with a hint of shyness and his lips broke into a small smile before pressing a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Mmhmm, and I’ll give it to you, pretty girl,” he sheathed himself inside of you and you let out a gasp at the sudden intrusion.

Taking a few slow thrusts to allow yourself to adapt to his size, it’s only a moment before Jonah completely bottoms out inside of you. He watches your face shiver in pleasure which he mirrors. He clasped your hips so firmly his knuckles turned white; it didn’t even hurt as all you could focus on was him inside you. Your hands found their way to his biceps, gripping on for some tension relief and you could still feel his muscles flex even beneath your hands.

“What a good fuckin’ girl, taking my cock like this.” Jonah’s voice was a low growl as he thrusts into you, the slaps of your skin interacting between each thrust was like a sinful symphony. “So fucking tight.”

The smell of the cologne he wore danced in your brain as he worked up a sweat absolutely pummeling himself into your sex. You grasped onto him as if your life depended on it, moaning into his neck as his cock slid in and out of you. You didn’t even know how much time was passing as he rutted himself into you relentlessly

“Just cum already, you know you want to babygirl,” he muttered to you through his clenched teeth, groans of his own escaping every now and then. You took your opportunity and let your pleasure go for the second time, your orgasm taking over as your back arched even more, your toes curling as you moaned out in pleasure.

He came soon after, relentlessly pounding into you throughout his own orgasm, his thick warm seed coating the inside of your walls, the sensation making you shiver as your nipples started to stiffen up even more. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds before he pulled out, the cum sliding out and onto your inner thighs. He stared as it drizzled out for a few more moments before he gave a smirk, glancing back up to your breathless form and his expression softened right away.

“Guess it’s time for a good bath now, love,” he said as his hands reached behind you to grab some paper towels to clean up the mess between your thighs. You tiredly rested your head on his shoulder once he’s done and the paper towels were discarded into the bin.

“I can’t feel my legs anymore though,” you complained, arms already around his neck, hoping that he’d get your hint, which he did.

“Fine, I’ll carry you,” he said with a laugh, hands sliding down your spine to grip your thighs firmly and you wrapped your legs around his waist before he hoisted you off the counter and started walking towards your bedroom. “You always turn into a baby after sex. How cute.”

“I’m your baby so of course I am,” you nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“My pretty little baby girl, hmm?” The way his voice dipped a tone when he pronounced those words near your ear made your heartbeat drop to your southern region instantly and you felt your pussy gradually turning wet. Again.

He chuckled, a sign that he felt the changes in your body too, earning a smack on his back from you. “Shut up. It’s your fault.”

“Good thing the bathtub is big enough for two then.”

taglist: @chilling-seavey @neralondon @mia-marais @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @kvd963 @cutiebandlover202 @savspersonalproperty @slowdownatthelotusinn @angelzacharyy @freakshows199 @my-fangirling-outlet

#wdw #why dont we #corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #why don’t we #zach herron #wdw imagines #jonah marais imagines #jonah marais x reader #jonah marais smut

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emetoandotherthings · 3 years

Note

"oohhh I gotta lie down" for Jude bc he's dramatic like tha

A/N: First of all, don’t get excited that I’m suddenly writing again - this is an old piece that I wrote that I’ve only just got the impetus to type up... On that note, I hope you enjoy it though!

“Jude?” Eden stretched across and poked his boyfriend’s thigh; Jude was leaning back, his eyes closed under his sunglasses and his mouth slightly open as he dozed. “Jude?”

“Hmmm…” Jude mumbled, still in that sleepy phase.

“Jude, it’s time to wake up,” Eden sat up, the sun lounger that he had been lying on creaked as he swung his legs round and planted his feet into the sand. It was still warm from the heat of the daytime sun, even as the sun was beginning to go down towards the horizon.

“ ‘s it?” Jude stretched his arms, above his head, his back arching, but his eyes still closed. “Was having a nice nap…”

“I know,” Eden said, poking his finger into Jude’s leg again, as it looked like Jude was going to go straight back to sleep. “Jude, you’ve been asleep for over an hour.” Eden told him, check his watch. “It’s about time that we head back and get changed so we can go out for dinner.”

“There’s no way I’ve been sleeping for an hour…” Jude rubbed his hands into his eyes and sat up further, his own sun lounger groaning as the plastic repositioned under him.

“You have,” Eden replied. “It’s just after six – look, the sun’s going down.” Eden pointed out across the beach; it had nearly completely emptied now, everyone else had gone back to their hotels or out to dinner.

Jude swung his legs round, so he was facing Eden, and reached out to grab his free hand.

“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Jude said, squeezing Eden’s hand.

The holiday had been a spur of the moment decision – it was just chance that Jude’s school holidays had aligned up with Eden’s reading week, which meant they actually both had a week off to spend together. Only a few days earlier, Eden had arrived back at the flat to find Jude had selected three different locations, looked at hotels and apartments, and price checked flights. At first Eden thought he’d been joking, but it became clear very quickly that he was deadly serious. They’d decided on Tenerife, booked their flights and apartments that night, and frantically looked out clothes and packed into their cases.

“It is!” Eden agreed. “I’m glad we decided to come.”

“Yeah,” Jude nodded. “We deserve a break.”

“Look at those colours in the sky!” Eden’s finger was almost pointing directly above him; the rays of the setting sun were casting orange, pink and purple shades into the sky and reflecting on the deepening blue of the sea. It was as though someone had dipped a brush into watercolour and allowed them to merge seamlessly across a canvas.

“It’s amazing what a change of scene can do, isn’t it?” Jude had lowered his head and closed his eyes, still sounding a little sleepy.

“Yeah,” Eden agreed, then looked across at Jude and gave the hand that he was holding a small shake. “Jude? Don’t go back to sleep! Come on, we need to go back and get ready for dinner!”

“Hmmm?” Jude’s head bobbed up again. “I know. It’s just been a long day…”

Eden frowned slightly, it hadn’t really been that long day… They’d slept relatively late, ambled down to a beachside bar and had some lunch and sangria.

They’d possibly had a bit too much, because by the time they’d left in the early afternoon, they were giggly and jaunty – taking a walk right along the beach front, occasionally running back and forth from the waves hand in hand, like little children.

They’d walked so far that the backs of their necks and their faces from the sun, so they bought overpriced ice creams from a van and began their walk the other way, back towards where they had come from.

The sun had still been high in the sky when Jude managed to find some free static sun loungers underneath a canopy of wooden parasols. Sun loungers were hard to find on the beach at the best of time, but to get two together was almost impossible. Eden had bagged them, while Jude found a beach vendor selling pineapple and bought them both a slice.

Eden had laughed and commented that all he seemed to do on this holiday was eat and drink, but Jude had barely finished his pineapple before he was snoring gently on the lounger. Eden had watched him for a little while, smiling at how calm Jude looked while sleeping, before leaning back on his own lounger and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin.

It hadn’t really been a long day, but Eden brushed it off; if Jude felt like it had been a long day then he’d allowed him to feel like that.

“I know,” Eden said, “but if we don’t move now it’s gonna be 9 o’clock before we even get out for dinner.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jude agreed; he slipped his book into the canvas bag that they had been using as a beach bag. Eden had stood up – stretching his arms above his head, then picked up the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

“Coming?” Eden asked, as Jude still hadn’t moved from where he was sitting on the sun lounger, and he held out his hand for Jude to take.

“Yeah,” he reached out and grabbed Eden’s hand as he stood up from the lounger.

The two of them walked along the end of the sun loungers, in front of the rows of empty loungers. Nearly everyone else had already headed away and the beach was peacefully quiet, with only the rushing sound of the water flooding in across the sand and then back out. Eden paused for a second, breathing in the salty seawater air and feeling the light breeze across his face. Jude had paused too; he seemed to be lagging slightly as they started to walk again. The grip of his hand around Eden’s felt a little too tight. When he turned to look at him, his cheeks were a little flushed pink and Eden could tell he had spent some time in the sun.

Jude was trying not to hold on too tightly to Eden’s hand; his head felt kind of fuzzy, the way it did when he drank red wine on an empty stomach. But he had eaten today… He’d had an omelette, and chips, along with the sangria, and then ice cream, and pineapple. But the thought of the food he’d eaten hours ago made him feel kind of queasy. In fact, everything around him was making him feel unsettled. His face felt like it was on fire, and his mouth felt very dry. He stumbled slightly on the sand, and felt Eden’s hand tighten to prevent him from falling.

“Whoa, you okay?” Eden asked, stopping and almost pulling Jude alongside him to check.

“Yeah,” Jude lied, trying to laugh, but it sounded oddly forced. “Tripped over my own feet!” Eden seemed to take that at face value, sand wasn’t the easiest thing to walk on.

Jude could feel his head beginning to throb – he couldn’t understand it; maybe he had drunk more than he’d realised at lunch time? But he was sure they’d only ordered one pitcher between them, and they’d shared it – there was no way he could still be drunk from half a pitcher of sangria! It wasn’t even full strength. But the whooshing, thumping in his head was growing stronger, and he was starting to feel his feet and legs going numb, becoming more and more difficult to have full control of. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage like he was sprinting rather than just ambling along the beach. He tried to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath in through his nose, trying to clear some of the weird sensation.

“Jude?” He heard Eden’s voice, but it was reverberating oddly in the space between his ears; like Eden was shouting from the end of a very long tunnel. “Jude? Are you okay?” He felt Eden’s hand squeeze tighter on his, and tried to squeeze back to communicate, but the messages from his brain to the rest of his body didn’t seem to be working too well.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and was steered somewhere, and then forced to sit down, underneath his thighs he could feel cool stone or bricks. He couldn’t tell whether his eyes were closed, or just not working properly; the thumping in his head seemed to be throwing his balance, even though he knew that he was now sitting down.

“Take a deep breath in,” he heard Eden again, and a hand on his thigh, grounding him, “and out.” Jude followed Eden’s instructions, but the swirling sliding feeling was getting worse. His insides seemed to be rolling over and over, somehow connected to his lost sense of balance. He could tell that his eyes were squeezed shut.

“What’s going on Jude?” Eden asked, he sounded worried and Jude felt bad at the concern he was causing.

“I… feel funny…” He was surprised that he could even get words out, but thankful that he managed.

“What kind of funny?” Eden questioned further. Now the whole of Jude felt like he was on a helter skelter, going round and round, unable to be controlled.

“Oooh, I gotta lie down,” Jude mumbled, sliding from the solid stone he was sitting on, down onto warm sand.

“Oh, oh okay! Here, let me help,” Eden picked up quickly, almost cradling Jude’s head and gently helping him to lie on the sand. He could feel the cold of the wall he’d been sitting on pressing against his back; he didn’t quite know why he wanted to lie down, but there was something about being on the ground – there wasn’t anywhere else to fall to.

The warmth that he’d felt earlier had intensified; he felt like he was sitting right next to an open bonfire. He was taking slow breaths in the hope that the unsteadiness would settle.

It seemed to take a lifetime but the swirling sensation calmed around him, but his insides still felt like they were on a rollercoaster.

“Jude?” Eden was trying very hard not to panic, but right now his boyfriend was lying on the sand, and not responding much. Jude’s cheeks and forehead were rosy pink, and Eden could see his chest moving and he inhaled and exhaled. Then out of the corner of Eden’s eye, he saw something – a twitch, or jerk – that wasn’t quite natural. Eden moved a little, and just in time.

“Mmmmmmmhuuuuuurrrrrrggggggllllk…” Jude’s mouth had opened and his chest jerked once more, the muscles in his torso tightening as a gush of liquid vomit spilled onto the sand.

“Oh shit,” Eden had retracted his hands for a second, before returning one to under Jude’s head and the other towards his back. Jude hadn’t been able to warn Eden, it had happened far too quickly; his mouth had gone from bone dry to oversalivating in an instant. He could tell that he wasn’t done – his muscles still clenching and heaving.

“Hnnnnngggguuuuuuuurrrrlllllkk!” Another spray of sick burst passed his lips onto the sand; he coughed, spitting extra saliva out.

“You’re okay Jude,” Eden said, but he wasn’t convinced he was – this had come on out of nowhere! Eden stroked one hand across Jude’s forehead and felt the sweltering heat. “Oh God Jude – you’re burning!”

“Hot…” Jude whispered, trying to stop his stomach from revolting.

“You’re far too hot, and not in the good way!” Eden told him. Eden could feel himself panicking, his chest tightening as he looked down at his semi-conscious boyfriend. “Oh Jude… What do I do?” He looked at Jude, his hands were trembling as he touched one of Jude’s arms. As he did so, the canvas bag that had been on his shoulder fell onto the sand, and with that an idea crossed his mind.

“Okay, okay, Jude, you just – you just stay there,” Eden said, rather reluctantly as Jude wasn’t up to moving anywhere. He rifled through the bag and pulled out one of the cheap beach towels that they had bought on the first day of their holiday.

Leaving Jude lying on the sand, Eden gripped the towel and went charging down the beach towards the water. Ignoring the salty scent from the sea, he dumped the towel in the water, making sure that it was thoroughly wet through. Then he scooped it up, not bothering to wring it out and made his way back up to where Jude was lying. Opening up the towel, he laid it across Jude’s skin, avoiding the puddle of sick as he knelt down next to him.

“Alright – Jude, d’you think you could sit up if I help you?” Eden said, putting his hand back on Jude’s arm and gave it a squeeze.

“Nnnngghhh….” Jude groaned, not particularly able to verbalise anything coherent; but Eden had made his mind up. He had to get Jude back to the apartment – even if that meant having to hoist him onto his back and carry him. Though he really did hope that he wouldn’t puke down him if it came to that.

“Okay, right, Jude,” Eden fastened his grip on Jude’s bicep and slipped his other hand into the gap at his neck. “1, 2, 3…” Eden warned Jude and then pulled him upright; Jude let out a little groan, and his head flopped forwards as soon as he was up. Eden wrapped the damp towel around the other side of Jude, ignoring the sand that was sticking to his skin.

“Uuuurrrggghhnnn…” Jude’s eyes were closed and his face was red.

“Okay Jude,” Eden said, sitting next to Jude and holding him up. “Take some deep breaths.” Eden was watching him carefully, trying to detect any sign of him getting better, or worse. He heard Jude take a few breaths, but they were ragged and gasping. “That’s it, you’re doing well.”

“Hmm! Hmmmrrk!” Jude heaved, his chest jerked and Eden heard the rush of liquid coursing up Jude’s throat. “Hmmmmrrrllllk!” It splattered messily between Jude’s legs, and Eden winced at the way Jude’s belly muscles kept clenching – long after he was bringing up anything.

“Oh honey…” Eden sighed, pushing back Jude’s fringe from where it was flopping into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay…” Eden was speaking out of hope more than any kind of certainty. “Here…” Eden fumbled with one hand in amongst the debris that had fallen out of the canvas bag. Knowing that he’d be cursing later on that he’d allowed both of their phone to have fallen out into the sand; he found the bottled water that they carried everywhere. “Here…” He repeated, clumsily unscrewing the lid with one hand, the lid rolling onto the sand, then raising the bottle to Jude’s lips. “You just need to take a little sip Jude.”

“Mmmmnnn…” Jude groaned, trying to turn his head away from the water bottle.

“No Jude,” Eden insisted, pressing the bottle back to his boyfriend’s lips. “Just a tiny sip.”

“Don’ wanna….” Jude mumbled, still trying to turn his head away.

“Little sip, little sip,” Eden put his other hand behind Jude’s head to keep him from wiggling away. “Little sip…” He held the bottle just high enough for a small amount of water to pass his lips. “Good, good job.” Eden encouraged as Jude swallowed the little amount of water. “Okay, okay Jude – we need to get back… I think you’ve got heatstroke, we have to get you cooled down properly.” Eden said. “You think you could walk if I helped you?” Jude didn’t reply, instead he simply leant his head in towards Eden, still rather limp.

“I guess that means no,” Eden mumbled, his arm was still around Jude’s shoulders. “Right, well…” Eden was thinking hard, and there was only one solution to the predicament he was in.

Using his free hand, he picked up the debris from his bag that had landed on the sand and shoved them back into the canvas. He pulled the bag over his shoulder, far enough up that he hoped it wouldn’t fall down.

“Right, okay – Jude, you need to listen to me,” Eden tapped Jude on the cheek, “can you let me know you’re listening?”

“Mmmm…” Jude hummed.

“That’s good enough, I guess,” Eden sighed. “Jude, I’m gonna help you up onto the low wall right behind you, then you can sit there for a few minutes, okay?” Eden gripped his hands under Jude’s armpits, holding tight. “1, 2, 3…” Eden counted, before hauling Jude up and making sure he was planted onto the low wall he’d been leaning against. Eden exhaled deeply, glad that Jude was managing to stay upright, if a little slumped. Jude’s eyes were still closed and the red flush across his cheeks.

“Jude?” Eden knelt down right in front of Jude, which felt rather precarious at the moment – he wasn’t entirely convinced Jude was done throwing up. “Jude, I need you to help me with this.” Eden was almost pleading with him. “I’m going to kneel down in front of you, and I need you to wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. I’m gonna piggy back you to the apartment, but I need you to hold tight, can you do that? Jude?”

“Yeah…” Jude mumbled, and Eden could have cried with relief.

“Good, good, right – okay,” Eden gushed. “Let’s do it.” Eden turned around, carefully avoiding the puddle of sick that Jude had already created. “Come on…” He was glad to feel Jude’s arms snaking around his neck, and he gripped at Jude’s thighs as they tightened at his waist. “Good, right – hold on tight.”

Holding so tightly on to Jude’s legs that he was sure he was probably hurting him, but that didn’t matter, as Eden steeled himself and pushed through his legs until he was on his feet. Jude groaned slightly at the movement, but he continued jnto hold on to Eden’s neck, which was reassuring.

“Okay,” Eden said, slightly strained; he wasn’t particularly strong, but this was the only way he was going to get Jude back. “You just – hold – on…” Eden began to walk, stepping off the sand onto the pavement. “And please…” Eden struggled, “try to warn me – if you’re gonna puke again…”

Jude hummed slightly, his head had flopped onto the flat of Eden’s shoulder, but his hands were still holding on around Eden’s neck.

Eden felt like his lungs were on fire. He wasn’t anywhere near as fit as he could be – and he certainly wasn’t used to carrying his boyfriend on his back for so long. He was sure he was receiving some funny looks from passers-by, but he started focusing only on breathing, and his feet moving forward.

Every few steps he tried to remind himself that he was nearly there, his arms were beginning to ache and tremble from supporting Jude’s legs. He was so nearly there though; he could see the front of their apartment blocks. Jude was still clutching on to him and Eden couldn’t tell if he’d fallen asleep or not.

He navigated into the lift, and then out again at their floor; he was dripping with sweat, and he knew had to put Jude down so he could get the key to the apartment door.

“Jude?” He panted breathlessly, when there was no response he gave Jude a little jiggle on his back and he heard Jude moan. “Jude? I need you to try and stand up… I can’t get the key without my hands…” Eden could hear Jude making a small huffing noise. “I’m going to put you down…”

Eden had backed next to the railing at the other side of the hallway, intending to get Jude to hold on to that. Gently, he let go of Jude’s legs, which dropped from Eden’s waist; Eden felt his hands loosen, then let go from around his neck.

“That’s it,” Eden breathed encouragingly; but almost as soon as Jude’s feet hit the ground, his knees crumpled and he ended up in a semi heap on the ground. “Oh Jude…” He sighed, rummaging with both hands in the canvas bag that had been hooked in between himself and Jude. He successfully located the key, stuck it in the lock and shoved hard – as soon as the door was open, Eden went back to Jude.

“Come on,” Eden said, looping his arm behind Jude’s and gripping tight. “We’re going to get you in, and in a cool shower to bring your temperature down.” Eden hauled Jude up, and practically dragged him inside the room, using his foot to kick the door shut. “Come on, right into the bath.” He said, using the light coming from the balcony doors to navigate his way into the bathroom. “Okay…” Eden lowered Jude onto the closed toilet seat, knowing that would prop him up until he could get the lights on. “Right…”

Eden put the bathroom light on, Jude was leaning back – his face and skin still redder than usual. He collected the bath towel provided by the apartment, and found a clean pair of underwear for Jude to change into, he stacked them neatly, before pulling the shower head down from its holder. He had to navigate Jude into the bath first though; he ran his hands over his face.

“Okay Jude, lift your leg,” Eden told him, picking up one of Jude’s legs and putting it over the edge of the bath, then repeating the action with the other one. “I’m going to help you slide in, okay?” Jude was at a kind of strange angle, with his legs in the bath, but it allowed Eden to hook him under the armpits and slide him in. He landed a little harder than intended, but Eden wasn’t complaining. “Okay…” Eden let out a few deep breaths, thankful that he’d managed so far. “Right…” Eden made to turn the shower on, but just before he turned the control, he heard a noise. Turning back to Jude in a flash, Eden saw his chest jerk suddenly.

“Hmmmmrkk! Hmmmm! Bllllahhhhuuuurrrgggllllllee!” Jude vomited so forcefully that it landed on his legs, coating all down his front. “Brrrruuuuaaarrrp!” He let out an empty belch as he rested his head back.

“Oh God Jude…” Eden pushed Jude’s sticky fringe away from his forehead, still feeling the burning heat. “Well, at least you held it in until I’d put you down.” Eden chuckled, moving to turn the water on.

Ensuring it was a cool, but not freezing stream of water, Eden began to wash Jude down. Initially, he was concerned with getting the puke off Jude, but once he was clean, he was using the water to bring down his temperature, even directing the water over Jude’s head and allowing it to soak into his hair. He continued moving the shower head up and down Jude’s body, making particularly sure that he covered all of Jude’s torso and his arms. He went up and down, over and over, until Jude was beginning to shiver where he was laying in the bath.

His eyes were still closed, and goosebumps were forming on his chest and forearms. He turned off the water, replacing the shower head back into its holder on the wall.

“We need to get you out now,” Eden told him, trying to grip Jude’s forearms, which was more difficult as he was slippery from the water. “Please, try hold on to me.” He begged.

He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to get Jude out and back on to the lid of the toilet, but once he was there he wrapped the large bath towel around Jude. He rubbed his hand up and down the towel, drying Jude off; Jude’s head had flopped forwards and he seemed to be nearly asleep.

“Bed – that’s what you need,” Eden instructed, trying to pull Jude up and struggling to get him to the bed.

Jude hummed a little as he flopped onto the bed, still enrobed by the towel. His cheeks had lost some of their ruddy flush, but he was still warmer than he should be. Eden bundled himself to their sink and poured some cold water into a glass, collecting the cleanest looking teaspoon and carried it over to the edge of the bed.

Kneeling down, he dipped the spoon in the water and then pressed it to Jude’s lips – which parted instinctively to allow the tiny dribble of water to enter his mouth.

“Good, that’s good,” Eden muttered, “just little bits of water – I’ll keep giving you little bits of water until you’re feeling better.” He spooned another amount of water into Jude’s mouth and saw him swallow. “Well done Jude.” Eden settled himself further, his legs already beginning to cramp up from kneeling down.

Jude let out a breath that sounded quite relaxed, and Eden could swear that he heard Jude try to say “thanks”. He smiled as he watched Jude’s chest rising and falling slowly.

It looked like it was going to be a long night.

#emeto #emeto fiction #sickfic #illness kink #puke #puking #male character puking #sickness #heatstroke #vomiting #oc fiction #ocs #Jude #Eden #its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #fic challenge #rare pair #uk2 #canon compliant #fluff #ortega #these people in this room (don’t shine like you)

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qaanngi · 4 years

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Wow, your art is gorgeous. Would you be willing to talk a little (or a lot!) about your process? I really appreciate the way you draw character’s faces, they are expressive in a way I don’t feel like I see a lot. The men’s jaws are really great, too! They just look right to me. Thank you for all the art you share.

sdjfaksd thank you!!! I really like drawing men & expressions, so I’m really flattered someone noticed some of my favourite details :)

And I don’t mind at all. I’ll just put part of the process under cut to keep the post from getting too long.

Thank you again for taking the time to send me a message <3

Re: my process -

I always start with my base sketch/layout of my piece. Sometimes I’ll draft it in my sketchbook/on paper, usually to try out different ideas & place things. If my BG is really complicated I tend to draw that first, then the people in the front after. I have separate layers for both just in case I screw up. My base sketch layer is always subject to change since my initial sketch is always really vague & functions as a layout. As I get into details like arms or eye placement I’ll draft more specific lines.

My linework is always on separate layers for different elements, like big structures vs. little objects, and for people I put the body, hair & face on separate layers in case I need to adjust them without erasing or messing with other lines.

From there, once my linework’s done, I’ll use masks to hide overlapping lines & then put in my flats. My canvas is never white bc I find using a colour as the base/canvas helps me pick my colours from there. Also white canvases hurt my eyes no matter how low I put my screen brightness e.e

After my flats are in I make new layers & clip them to the flats & add shading. I usually go one flat layer colour at a time, working bottom up, so from the background to the foreground, which helps inform where my shadows go. I’ll fully shade like Theo’s jacket first, and then move onto the next.

I usually have about 1-2 layers for shading bc my light/highlights add contrast between my colours so I don’t have to transition too much. For small things like Theo’s earring I might only have 1, and for darker things like his sweater (or anything black in any of my other drawings) I usually have about 1 layer for shading. Any designs or patterns are also clipped.

For small things like Theo’s buttons & earring, I tend to use 1 layer for them since they’re so far apart that shading wouldn’t affect them when I’m colouring.

For people’s skin I have a base shade, a prelimary shading layer, a second darker shade, then I have either 1 or 2 layers of “soft” shading where I use a soft brush to fill in their skin & even out the tones a bit and soften up the transition between shading & base skin tone. I also always have a little bit of blush for people to add some colour to their face. Hair’s the same way, about 2 layers of shading, and then one layer (I picked this up from Yamada Shiro actually) where I take the skintone and brush it across a character’s bangs and use it as a highlight. It brightens up a character’s face around their hair, and esp. for characters like Theo who has hair in his eyes, it helps lighten up that area more.

This piece with Theo is a bit different from others where I had additional pictures in there bc it’s an art gallery, so those were just other pieces of art I shoved in after editing them in Photoshop. For the frames I used brushes I downloaded from CSP. My gallery ref had top lit paintings, so when I add my light source, they hit top-down. Like my shading layers, all of my highlight layers are individually clipped to each base layer.

He’s standing in front of the light so my heavy contrast lighting isn’t used here, but since I work dark to light the highlight tends to stand out against my generally matte colours.

After I add the highlights, I add in final touches like sparkles or dust particles that look like sparkles (bc I always have sparkles somewhere lol), & then duplicate groups of layers (Theo, the background), merge them into one layer, use Gaussian blur on them & drop the opacity to something I like. I add a mask layer to the blurred layer to clear out what parts I want in focus.

Also any final colour grading/adjustment layers are used in this stage to finalize things :)

For other pieces with heavy lighting I might have a few extra layers of light and I might even clip a colour layer to my lineart, usually white, to create the illusion that the light is burning through my lines.

Thank you again anon for sending me an ask :)

#le ask tag #le anon tag #asks #Anonymous

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edenforest · 5 years

Text

for @oryss for the send me a one word prompt and i’ll write a summary for a fic someone else should write about it thing

groceries: A meet cute where Arya is reaching for the last box of her favourite cereal on the highest shelf at the grocery shop and a tall, surly-looking stranger wearing headphones arrives and easily grabs the box but then walks away cause it’s his favourite cereal too and she’s now ready to fight him for it

I don’t know was anyone really supposed to write a fic, but I was inspired so I did. english isn’t my first language and it’s no beta read, bc it’s the midsummer weekend and I’m a little rosé tipsy, so I don’t really care. I hope it’s not too bad and happy midsummer!

Boo Boo Bull’s Berry Bonanza

The day had been long and frustrating. Arya entered the small corner store meaning to grab some frozen meal, but when even that seemed too much work - she was no mood for poking plastic and waiting for the microwave to do its thing - she headed for the cereals. She discarded anything that looked too healthy for her, that was not what she wanted. She wanted E-colours and sugar. And when she saw the garish and yet comforting shade of nearly neon purple that was the box of Boo Boo Bull’s Berry Bonanza on the top shelf her mind was made. And as there was only one box of it, it felt like destiny.

Arya reached for the box, rose to her tiptoes and stretched her hand, fingers nearly brushing the colorful cardboard, but not quite. She huffed and flopped her hands down, quickly glancing was there a stepladder or crate or anything really she could stand on and grab her pink and purple cereal treat. There was nothing that wasn’t made out of flimsy cardboard, and she hated to go ask for help. She reached again, cursing to whoever had though shelves this tall would be a good idea. Probably some smug tall person who had no idea how frustrating not reaching something was.

Her toes were hurting and Arya had to give up. She made a low and quiet grunt before facing up the fact that she needed to find someone taller to help her. She was already leaving to find someone when a guy appeared from behind the tall piles of soda crates, seemingly suddenly, almost stopping next to him.

He looked sturdy and surly, in a quite interesting and hot way. Black unruly hair and bright blue eyes, wearing jeans and grey t-shirt, and one of those big headphones people who took listening music seriously, or pretending to be someone who wants to look like they were taking listening music seriously, had. And he was definitely tall enough to reach the top shelf. He was probably a head taller than Arya, who had stayed the same humble size since thirteen.

She had merely opened her mouth when he had already grabbed the purple cereal box, destined to be hers, and walking away.

“Hey!” Arya was surprised she reacted so fast and even more so that the tall stranger stopped. He turned, frowning, slightly moving his headphones from one of his ears. “Those are my cereals.”

The guy looked confused. “What?”

“My cereals,” Arya repeated and pointed the purple box. “That’s mine, I was just grabbing it.”

“Well grab another.”

“There isn’t another, it was the last one.”

The guy shrugged, moved his headphones back on and turned away.

Arya could've left it. She could've. Easily. Just let the guy leave, pick another sugary cereal from the shelf. It would’ve been easy.

But she had already decided she was destined to get the Berry Bonanza, and he was being kind of rude. She took a few quick running steps, twisted herself in his way at the narrow aisle. He grunted when he had to make such a sudden stop, and yanked his headphones down, to dangle on his neck.

“What’s your problem?”

“That's my cereals,” Arya said between her teeth. “Pick some other brand. I want the Berry Bonanza.”

“Are you five or something?” The guy asked, raking his black mop of a hair, looking frustrated. “I grabbed it, it’s my box.”

“I was reaching it first, you just grabbed it in front of my nose while I was asking could you hand it to me because I couldn't reach it.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t know what your deal is but I took the box from the self fair and square. So could you please step away from my way?”

“I’m not a lady.”

“I don’t really care to be honest.”

Arya gritted her teeth, her hands balled into fists. She wanted that cereal box and she was ready to fight for it if it came to that. But then he was sort of huge and looked super stubborn, so quickly she changed her strategy, she was nothing if not adaptable.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Arya sighed. “I am just having a bad day and Boo Boo Bull’s Berry Bonanza is sort of comfort food for me.”

The guy made the kind of small hmph that indicated that he understood her.

“Could you maybe find it in your heart to let me have this one,” she asked, making a slightly awkward little smile, played innocent and fragile like she was a baby bird.

The guy frowned slightly deeper, Arya could see him starting to crack. He glanced the box and Arya made a slightly sad face.

“I'm just a dainty girl. I need the sustenance,” she muttered and tried her hardest to look like maybe she would wither away if she wouldn’t eat pink and purple cereals right now.

His face tensed up immediately. “There is nothing dainty about you.”

“What?”

“You look like you probably start bar fights,” the guy accused. “Like you probably have a knife in your bag.”

Arya eyed her gym bag in which she definitely had the switchblade Jon had given her. “Well, what if I have? I still want my Berry Bonanza.” She tried to grab the box. The guy pulled it away and tried to swat her further like she was a fly.

“You are really a pain in the arse, has anybody ever told you that?”

“All the time.”

“Get out my way!”

“Give me my Boo Boo!”

“What you are gonna do, fight for it?”

***

The day had been long and frustrating. Gendry leaned his head against the grey tile wall behind him. He had just wanted some comfort and sugar into his system. It was going to be just a quick trip to the corner store to grab his cereals and head out. “I can’t believe I got arrested because of cereals,” he muttered.

The girl sitting a few chairs away, on the same hard plastic chairs snorted. “No one’s arrested, you’re exaggerating.”

“Well we are at the police station,” Gendry pointed out the obvious. “And the shop owner is still trying to decide if he's going to sue, so it’s not really exaggerating.” He peered at the girl, her arms were crossed and she was scowling him back. She was annoying. And insanely cute with her big grey eyes and perky ponytail, soft pink pursed lips, looking healthy like she had just left the gym. Her hair looked still slightly damp from the shower. She probably smelled really nice if he would lean in closer. He wasn’t going to, though, she had almost gotten him arrested. And now her cuteness was distracting him from her annoyingness.

“He is not gonna sue,” she said. “It’s not like anything even happened. Though if he for some reason is going to sue, that’s going to be on you, because you were the one who knocked down the flat of pasta sauce.”

“Because you basically tackled me!”

She just huffed. “I barely touched you. A slight shove. A slight.”

Gendry shook his head and turned away from her. He couldn't believe that he was at the police station because of that stupid box of cereals.

The younger of the two officers that had arrived at the shop was approaching them. Gendry was happy it wasn't the tall blonde. She had been scary. He in the other hand seemed relaxed and the kind of person who would understand that sometimes even good people were pulled into weird situations, because of other, smaller and crazier people. Gendry straightened his back.

“The owner has decided not to press charges,” the officer said.

Gendry sighed. He glanced at the girl, who was peering him back again, looked like she wanted to say I told you so, but also secretly relieved. “But you need to pay for the damage you caused -”

“Of course.”

“- and you are both apparently barred for the shop.”

“Fair enough.”

“I think that’s an overreaction.”

“Please shut up.”

“Then there is this,” the officer said and lifted the nearly neon purple Boo Boo Bull’s Berry Bonanza box.

“It’s mine,” she said quickly.

“No, it’s not,” Gendry claimed.

“I bought it.”

Gendry scowled at her when she reached her hand and the officer handed the cereal box to her. She looked cute even while incredibly smug.

“Please get out of here,” the officer sighed.

***

Arya marched out of the police station, keeping her pace brisk, cradling her cereal box against her chest like an artificial berry flavored child.

“You didn’t buy it,” he said as soon as he entered behind her, and Arya spun to face him, then turned quickly back into walking.

“Pretty sure I did.”

“You grabbed it from me when they were already escorting us out, threw a tenner to the cashier and shouted keep the change,” He squinted at her with his eyes narrowed to thin lines. “It was a dick move.”

Arya jiggled her cereal box. “It worked.”

“Still a dick move.”

She stopped and sighed. He looked still so surly, and Arya felt sort of guilty for all the trouble they had gone through because of the box of cereals. “Listen, I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I said it before, but that was clearly an act. But now I’m being serious. I’m sorry that all this happened. And I’m sure you think I’m a crazy person. But I’m not, I’m quite nice actually.” His brow cocked up like he was doubting her. “But I really needed some pick me up today and when I moved here to attend uni I practically lived on Berry Bonanza like three years. It helped me then and it’s gonna help me now. I’m sure you don’t care about it, but in case you do, just know that this box and these sort of disgusting cereals mean the world to me.”

The guy looked like he considered what to say for a moment and then nodded. “It’s fine, it’s just cereals. Maybe I can find some other place that sells them.”

“I think this it’s too late for that,” Arya said, feeling suddenly apologetic.

He shrugged. “Well, what can you do.”

“And you probably grew up eating these, so you have had your fair share. We didn’t have these up North.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, and for the first time, his face softened. “My mom bought them for me for a special treat. Nothing really makes you feel like five years old with no cares in the world than drinking that purple leftover milk from the bowl.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips. “He used to… call me his little bullhead.” A shade of pink flushed his cheeks after that and he clearly regretted saying that last part.

Arya hummed, cracked a smile for him. He was really cute. “I guess you just have to go visit your mom and hope that she has some in her cupboards.”

His eyes dropped from hers and he shrugged again. “She died when I was seven so probably not.”

Arya’s face sank and the hand holding the box relaxed to hang limp against her side. He didn’t look like he was making it up or even saying things just to appeal her emotions. “I can’t believe you just played the dead mom card.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just -

“I know.” Aya sighed, glanced the garish purple box and then handed it towards him. “Just take it.”

“What?”

“Take it before I change my mind. I’m not gonna take cereals from someone who bought them because of their dead mom. I’m not a monster.” He didn’t move, just looked at her, so finally, Arya shook her hand and the box rattled. He reached to take it from her. “Enjoy,” she muttered.

“Thanks.”

Arya looked at the box in his big hands. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Oh, well…”

“I was clearly talking to the box,” Arya said when he looked so awkward suddenly. “I mean I was looking at it. You better take good care of it.”

He shook his head, but the corners of his lips were tugging up.

Arya didn’t know what to say anymore, there wasn’t much to say. They had met. They had fought over cereals and almost got arrested. Now they parted their ways. She made weird twitch with her shoulders when waving felt too much and turned to leave.

“I live a few blocks away.”

Arya turned back to face him.

“And I have milk.” He looked surly again, but differently than before, like he didn't quite know what to do and it was annoying him. “You wanna grab a… bowl?”

Arya hadn’t looked the time, but it was already dark and she was standing in the street, in front of the police station and a hot stranger she had had a brawl with was inviting her to a bowl of cereals. It was not the way she had thought to spend her night. “Don’t you have any friends to spend time with?”

“...no.”

“Of course you don’t. You have no mom and no friends. How’s your dad?”

“Never met him.”

“I really walked into that one, didn’t I?”

He snorted, his smile was baring his teeth. Arya shook her head, trying not to smile herself.

“Well lead the way, I guess,” she said, moving towards him, her mind made. She would now have to be his friend. He had no other and he had her favorite cereals already. They started walking further down the street. “I’m Arya. Do you have a name, sad boy?”

“Gendry. And I’m not sad.”

“Please, it’s like you were built in a sad-angry-hot-boy-factory. Here, let me help and carry those.” Her hand reached toward the box, almost grabbing it while he looked surprised she had accidentally let slip out the fact that she thought he was hot. But Arya couldn't imagine he wouldn't already know it, surely there had been girls telling him that before. At the last moment, he managed to gather himself and pull the box away from her reach.

“Nice try.”

“I wasn’t going to steal them.”

“Sure.”

“I wasn't. And I can’t, because technically they are mine. I bought them.”

“With a dick move.”

“And real money.”

“This should be considered a tie because I bought the milk.”

“I doubt the milk cost ten dragons.”

“Neither did the cereals. Paying that much was your own choice.”

“It was the only bill I had! I’m just lucky I didn’t end up paying more.”

He laughed, looked at her in a weirdly soft way Arya wasn’t sure anyone had ever looked at her before. She could just feel how she would end up work tomorrow wearing what she was wearing right now, having Berry Bonanza for breakfast, and probably a hickey on her neck.

#arya stark #gendrya #gendry #gendrya positivity #game of thrones #gendry waters #my writing #fanfic

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whumpiary · 5 years

Note

Hey im sorry if you've answered this before, but how do you draw your bruises/bruising? It always looks so good!!!

HI @norawritestrash! THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT AND THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTIONNN!! Please never apologise for asking something, it makes me CRAZY happy

I wanted to wait until I had my tablet back to answer it for you so I could do some visuals with it!

The short answer: LAYERS and REFERENCES

The long answer: Under the cut (content warning for bruise photos obvs)

Okay! So first thing is first: learn your colours. If you’re going for something vaguely adjacent to realism, this is really important.

We have a habit of “learning” what things look like wrong, and so people will try to paint bruises by splashing a bunch of purple, blue, and yellow and then wonder why it looks weird! I highly rec going in with your eye-dropper tool in whatever art program you have (even if it’s MS paint) and pulling some colours straight from photos:

You could use these colours as pallets if you like, or (like I do) just as a reference point to remind yourself what real colours do. One of the biggest rules of thumb with bruise colours is that they often pull red and yellow because a) bruises are just blood trapped under skin and b) most skin-colours pull yellow!

And while we’re on skin colours... make sure you’re looking at references specific to the skintone of your subject, as this can REALLY affect the colour pallet. You can fuck with this if you like, but make sure you’re doing it intentionally, ya know?

OKAY!! So now we’ve done all our learning and referencing etc etc, let’s get to putting it on a face (bc I mostly do faces).

I almost always do bruises very last on a portrait, bc I tend to paint them at a later stage, though if you’re wanting a more dramatic look you might want to take swelling into account. I just don’t because I’m laaaazy

We’re gonna take this painting of manny jacinto I did a while ago and bash him up with paint (sorry manny):

SO the first thing you wanna take notice of, is the shape of the face/section of face. We’re gonna do the eye:

See how the shape flows and tilts in different ways?? We could literally just colour these “waves” in black and put it on a low opacity and it would kinda look like a p good bruise. In fact, let’s do that:

This is just pure black, done with a textured brush, following the shapes of the face. A few little hacks here include pooling deeper shades in the “corners” of shapes, were blood would more obviously pool. Again, check your refs! Nature follows rules, bruises are just nature!

Now lets add in some colourrrrrrs.

Make sure, as you’re adding extra tones, be sure to do it bit by bit, and not just cover one colour totally over another, otherwise you’ll get this disaster (done in purple to demonstrate a double No-No):

I like to start with a middle-range colour: not the deepest, not the lightest, but a middle range (usually a pink), followed by a slightly deeper shade (usually a deeper pink) to start shaping that dEPth.

PLEASE NOTE!! All bruise work I do, I do on a seperate layer ON TOP of the finished drawing. This is important later, but also just good practice so you can change your mind if you want.

Another method you can use is to do each individual colour/shade on a seperate layer. This is more complicated and fiddly, but some people find it easier

Now if you were going for a really subtle bruise (like a mostly healed on, eg) you could almost leave it here! If you like a bit of a darker look, just play around with tones until you get something you kinda like:

Remember all of the different yellows and greys from your pallet too!! you’ve got a whole range to play with!!

“BUT NELL!” I hear you scream “THIS LOOKS SO FAKE AND FLAT THO”

yeah, bih, I know. that’s when we get to CHEAT and play with ~layer blending modes~ which you can google bc i cant be bothered screenshotting. My fave blending modes for bruises (or also, always) are Multiply, Overlay, and Lighten. All of these have different functions and I could explain them, but I think its better for you to have a play on your own and see what you like (in some art programs, its worth noting, you can also use these modes on your brush, and get the effect from the get go. that’s not my personal preference but ya know. its an option)

BAM! Dynamic!! But maybe a little intense. So lets play around with those settings and transparencies a little...

ooooooh yeah there’s that stylised middle ground yeahhhhhh babyyy. see how you can see all those cool and warm undertones now??? thats the good juice.

And Voila! Now all that’s left to do is to stare at your finished piece and try not to judge it too much!! Usual shit.

Hope this helps! Never hesitate to ask questions like this. I love it x

#norawritestrash #answered #whump art #whump resource #art resource

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drbriangay · 5 years

Text

Hey, so a little bit ago someone asked me if i would do a tutorial type thing on how to achieve realistic drawings and although this would probably fair better as a video my voice is shit and i can make sure i get everything down if i type it out.

I think the best way to do this is take you through one of my drawings? My latest Brian drawing i saved a decent amount throughout it so i can kind of comment on each process of the drawing. For the this drawing i drew it on Photoshop CS5 which is important bc i do utilise a lot of the tools there so if you use smth different then im sorry but im sure there are alternatives! I’m going to talk you through this drawing:

Because i dont use natural skin colours in my drawings i start drawings in black and white because i find that easier to control the tones? and then i can colour the drawing afterwards in whatever colour and play about with it instead of sticking with a colour from the get go.

I start with painting the entire background a light ish grey because 1) its nice to work highlights and shade into a mid tone and 2) having pure white as a background can be a bit uninspiring? even with my sketchbooks i always make backgrounds before i do anything on them.

I then take a large brush, i use a mid-dark toned grey for this, i don’t like going in super dark super fast, and kind of mark out where everything goes super loosely, precision and proportions really don’t matter at this point, it will probably look bad but that’s fine! you’ll refine it as you go on! the brush i use for this stage is usually just a soft non textured brush, but i don’t think the brush you use at this point really matters. My drawing will kind of look like this at this point:

I then go in with a smaller brush with a darker colour and kind of refine the face a little bit, i really take in the shapes of the face i’m drawing and try and get a good base to then really work on the shading/highlighting. Again, although this is your base to work on the proportions aren’t super important, it may still look bad but whatever is wrong with it you can just draw right over it to correct it! This is why i try and not give up on drawings even if they aren’t going the way i’d like it to because you can always correct it! my drawings never look amazing when i start them but i like to work into them as much as i can and i usually end up with something i’m proud of! anyways lmao, this is what my drawing will look like at this point:

This is when i start the proper like working into the drawing with highlighting and shading and things. I also change my brush at this point! Honestly any brush will do but i really like the aesthetic of having a super textured brush, I do sometimes change up my brush every so often but the brush ive been using more often than not is this brush:

Also at this point i try and not use pure black or pure white, if you’re trying to go for a realistic look then i feel pure white n black really don’t factor into a face.I also think if you use more mid tone colours then there’s more of a natural gradient? which looks more realistic i feel. Of course if you like the aesthetic of having a high contrast then go for it! this is just how i personally like to do it.

I know a lot of people work by gradually working the whole face, like do loose highlights and dark tones on the whole face and then refining it but i like to do each part of the face one by one and i usually always start with the nose, this isn’t important lmao i just enjoy drawing noses so it’s what i start with. i think the use of highlight is super important to utilise when drawing the nose because its what suggests form,, this is my drawing will look like at this point:

I do end up darkening the shadow on the right side of his nose and the bottom of his nose but i usually get to this point and then move on and then once i do more ill go back and try and bring more dimension to the drawing.

Also! one of the best tools on photoshop that you can utilise and in some of my drawings it’s my saving grace is the liquify tool. Basically if you do the drawing and get to a point it would be hard to paint over then u can use liquify, as i was doing other parts of the face i realised that the nose was supposed to be a little to the left and the eyebrows had to be lower down so you if you open up liquify you can just click and drag the nose to where you want it to be so:

it’s a super helpful tool that really helps you get the facial features exactly where you need it, i used it a couple times throughout this drawing. I don’t think sai has it but you can use the lasso tool and rotate it or whatever and just draw over the little break it makes in the canvas:

so the next thing i do is the eyes and eyebrows. I’m usually not the greatest at getting the exact eye shape but again, liquify is your best friend. An important thing to note is the angle of the eyebrows in relation to the middle of the nose, Brian’s eyebrows are quite straight so i tried to keep them that way. I also started darkening up the drawing, i didn’t quite go full black, the darkest colour i used is like just off black. This is what i have so far:

Also another important thing to remember is the lighting of the image, in the image the right side of his face is more shadowed so the shadow on the left side of his nose wont be as intense as the right side and things like the bags under his eye on the right side would be slightly more prominent. Also because of the brow bone, theres more highlight on top of the brows and usually a shadow underneath because the brows are more elevated and the eyes are sunken in a lil bit. There will be a lil bit of highlight on the inner corner of the eyes though.

In the next part of the drawing i just add a little bit to the forehead and cheeks :

I think by this time i had adjusted a couple of things like the angle his face was at was a little bit too tiled in my original draw so i just free transformed it and fixed the angle and the face i think was a little bit too wide so i just pulled it in a little bit. I think another thing to remember that places like the cheeks and forehead wont be pure highlight, especially with like men and older faces there will be more subtleties, with Brian he has highlight on the top of his cheekbones but the highlight is kind of broken up with the line that comes down under his eye and the forehead isnt a smooth bump above the eyebrows, especially with the lighting of the image the highlights get broken up a little bit.

The next drawing is a little fast forward, i forgot to save in between but ill try and talk through everything:

When finishing up I realised the left eye/eyebrow was a little too high so i liquified that baby up to bring it down just a little bit. Another thing i sometimes struggle with is getting the exact shape of the face and angle of the jaw but you can just keep on drawing on top of it until it looks vaguely right.

For the lips and mouth i think its kind of just a matter of trying to get a sense of the shape, look at the cupids bow and the length between the top lip and the bottom of the nose and how far the lips come out in relation to the nose as well, i think as well the shadow underneath the bottom lip is usually all you need to suggest the shape of the lip, it doesnt look all too natural if theres like a solid like to show the shape of the lip, the top lip though, because of the way the light is sitting on his face is almost completely shadowed, so the highlight on the cupids bow that goes down to the edge of the mouth is what helps give the mouth form. With teeth because they’re in his mouth so they’re not going to be super bright so i didnt add any highlight to them and just used a dark tone to outline the shape of them at the bottom and used a little bit of shading in between them to differentiate between them.

For the eyes i usually just leave them without the pupils because it’s my brand but it wasnt looking quite right to me so i added a little outline of the pupils, i didnt want to do the full pupil because i like adding a lil smth interesting in the eyes but i like the way they turned out!

The jaw you can usually bring out with the shadow of the neck. I didnt really feel like drawing the outfit so i kind of just did a couple of lines so show that he was wearing a shirt with a collar.

Also for brian because he has so much hair i more often than not just use flat colour for his hair and because his hair is so dark it usually works fine but with people like Roger who has lighter hair is doesnt usually work out well? especially with a more realistically drawn face. I was originally going to keep the entire background that colour but it wasnt looking quite how i wanted to. I coloured first though, and tbh my colouring process really doesnt take me that long, the longest part is just working out what colours id like to use and what looks good with the drawing I've made.

So for colouring i use the gradient tool, you have have a gradient thats two colours that will make your drawings look like this

but recently ive started using the gradients with three colours so the highlighted sections will be a different colour to the base colour, i really like the way this comes out, without any other editing itll look smth like this:

I like to play about with the settings a little bit because i do enjoy the way this looks but it’s kind of a bit overpowering and i think sometimes the details of the drawing can get lost when you overdo it a bit?

If you go through this itll give you many different versions of that gradient and i like to go through it and see which i feel compliments the drawing

heres a couple examples

The one i ended up going for was dissolve but it was a bit too intense so i turned the opacity down to 57%

which gave it a kind of static feel which i was in to, to finish it up i added a tiny bit to show some shoulders and then i wanted to add a tiny bit of a background so i used a flat pinky colour and put that around his hair and then on top of the background i added a little bit more into the hair.

and added so more vibrant pink into it as well just to spice her up a little bit.

#i hope this helps anyone!#its super long and im not even sure its like coherent #mine #long post

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bangtaninink · 6 years

Note

Hi Ary! This is going to be a long text but if you ever get inspired to write about barista!yoongi, do you think you could write one about him working in a hospital cafe, and always seeing med student/intern!OC with her team after ward rounds (because everyone in the hospital gets coffee after ward rounds), and he thinks she's really pretty but she always looks so serious when she's with her team?? but basically if you write this it will end me (no pressure love u) - whitecoat anon

Bit of background to my request - i’m a med student, just started working in the hospital and i always see the same baristas every morning after we finish ward rounds and head down to grab coffee! just thought it’d be really really cute (not that i have a crush on the baristas or anything but it’s just nice b/c they know everyone’s orders even if you’ve been on the team for like 2 days??) ok soz i will leave now, as always your writing is amazing and you are talented as FFF - whitecoat anon

Doctor, doctor (gimme the news)

a/n: this is super late, i’m sorry. but also, i loved this idea??? bc it’s kinda relatable (but not, bc i’m not a med student -- god do i wish though). all the best with your studies though, whitecoat anon!! (that’s the cutest sign off name ever though. bless.) ♡

“Incoming.”

Yoongi glances up from the magazine in his hands to watch a stream of people walk in, chattering amongst themselves as they all take their seats at the biggest table in the cafe.

“Must be the new interns Seokjin hyung was telling me about,” Namjoon says, smiling politely to the few that look in his direction.

“Interns?” Jeongguk asks.

“They’re like… doctors in training.”

“Ooh.”

“There’re so many of them,” Yoongi mumbles, looking on with awe. “Didn’t realise we had so many nerds in the country.”

“Careful,” Namjoon chuckles. “These people could save your life one day. Alright. Let’s look alive. Looks like they’ll be ordering in a bit.”

Jeongguk finishes arranging the display cabinet with the fresh batch of cakes and baked goods while Yoongi puts away his magazine, taking over from Namjoon who’s busy trying to rip open a new bag of coffee beans to refill the machine with. Namjoon smiles sheepishly, giving Yoongi a gentle pat on the shoulder before walking to the storeroom to grab a box of new paper cups and lids.

It’s an unspoken arrangement, the way Jeongguk automatically mans the register while Yoongi stays behind the espresso machine, grinding and pouring as needed, Namjoon staying clear away from any kind of service, lest his hands accidentally spill or drop anything ordered. It’s the way Yoongi likes it though, preferring Jeongguk to engage in the small talk with that boyish charm and charismatic smile of his, the younger being the best candidate to pull the staff away from the gruelling reality of hospital life, even for just a minute. Yoongi wholeheartedly believes that Jeongguk is the best kind of distraction that this cafe can offer this hospital, and has caught the younger venturing off to the paediatric ward on his lunch breaks to play with the children on multiple occasions already.

“_____?” Yoongi calls out, sliding the next coffee forward. You look up from the folder in your hand when your name is called, walking up to the counter. “Flat white with… two sugars…”

You tilt your head a little when the barista’s voice seems to trail off, but smile anyway and thank him, grabbing your coffee and walking back to the table to join the rest of your group.

Yoongi doesn’t even realise he’s staring because no one’s there to bring his attention back to coffee. He can hear a distant no, I’m not here for coffee. I just wanted to come and talk to you because you looked cute in your apron somewhere off to the side, but pays no mind to it, and misses the way a slight flush of pink colours Jeongguk’s cheeks at some intern’s persistent flirting.

(He later hears said intern’s name is Kim Taehyung, and Jeongguk is already head over heels for the aspiring paediatrician.)

But it’s the sound of toppling boxes that drags him back to reality and forces his attention to the back where Namjoon emerges from the storeroom, clipboard in hand as he shakes sugar out of his hair.

Four coffees and a hot chocolate later, Yoongi still can’t take his eyes away from you, sitting quietly at the end of the table, writing and sipping while the rest of the interns are deep in discussion. He wipes the steam nozzle with a damp cloth with barely a second thought, peering in between two stacks of coffee cups to watch you turn to the intern beside you, pointing down at the paperwork in front of you.

“Hyung, can I have a coffee?” Jeongguk asks, wiping his hands on his apron. Yoongi doesn’t respond, and just keeps on wiping the steam nozzle distractedly. “Hyung. Hyung.”

“What, Jeongguk?” Yoongi asks, clicking his tongue when the younger shakes his arm.

“I said, can I have a coffee?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

With furrowed eyebrows, Jeongguk watches Yoongi get back into his usual routine of tampering down ground coffee beans and frothing up milk with his usual expressionless face, but working long enough at the cafe has meant Jeongguk is a little better at reading the elder’s behaviour.

“What’s up, hyung?” he asks. “Something wrong?” Yoongi shakes his head, shrugging. “You seem… distracted.”

“Do I?” Yoongi returns, nonchalant as he hands Jeongguk his coffee. “Maybe I need a coffee too.” Jeongguk shrugs.

“Yeah, maybe.” Yoongi’s back to wiping the steam nozzle when the younger leans against the counter, drinking. “So, hey. The new interns seem pretty cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re a lot nicer than all the other staff that come in.”

“That’s because they’re still clueless to the horrors of a hospital, Guk-ah,” Yoongi chuckles, putting the cloth down and following suit, resting his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“No, I don’t mean like that. I mean they’re just… nicer.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, suspicious, and looks over his shoulder at the table of interns before turning his attention back to Jeongguk.

“Don’t tell me you like one of them already.” Jeongguk sputters and puts his coffee down, straightening up as Yoongi watches with amusement.

“What’re you— I— I don’t like like him!”

“Yet,” Yoongi adds with another chuckle.

“I was just intrigued because he works in the paediatric ward, okay?” Yoongi nods slowly, looking smug.

“Which one?”

“The one next to the girl at the end. The one with the pinky-red hair.”

The both of them glance over the espresso machine at the interns, eyes drawn to the head of hair almost immediately. Yoongi lets out an unassuming hum, resisting the urge to shift his eyes to the intern beside him — you.

“The kids must love that hair,” Yoongi comments.

“Yeah. He said a couple of the girls braided his hair the other day and it took him and his friend _____ an hour to untangle it all,” Jeongguk replies, chuckling. Yoongi tries not to perk up too obviously at the sound of your name.

“_____?”

“Yeah, the girl next to him. They’re, like, childhood best friends or something. I think Taehyung — that’s the guy with the hair — said they met in the church choir or whatever.”

“What, she sings?”

“No, she’s their pianist. Like, a lowkey prodigy.” (Yoongi tries to keep his face as straight as possible after hearing this.)

“You got all this information in a two-minute conversation?” Yoongi asks, arching an eyebrow; Jeongguk shrugs, picking up his coffee again.

“He’s pretty much an open book.”

“The barista keeps looking at you.”

You’re halfway through your paperwork when Taehyung leans over to whisper in your ear, chuckling lowly when you look at him with confusion.

“The barista,” he repeats, nodding his head towards the front of the cafe. “He’s been sneaking glances through those paper cups for the last ten minutes.”

You lift your head and look forward, past the shoulder of the intern in front of you to where the barista is standing, talking to the cashier and who you’re assuming is the manager. You watch the barista ruffle his hair; it’s just a few shades lighter than Taehyung’s, and definitely not as bright.

“Why would he be looking at me?” you ask.

“Well, I dunno, hot stuff,” Taehyung laughs. “Maybe he was surprised by your weird coffee order.”

“Pfft. What’s weird about a flat white? If anyone has a weird coffee order, it’s you, Mr. Mocha-With-Caramel-Syrup-And-One-Sugar. How can you even drink that and not be a diabetic?”

“Great genetics, I guess,” he replies, shrugging. “But seriously. He keeps looking at you.”

“Maybe he’s looking at you and your hair.”

“No, he’s definitely looking at you. Jeongguk’s the one looking at me.”

“Who’s Jeongguk?”

“The cutie at the register.” You watch as Taehyung sighs wistfully, leaning forward and cradling his chin in his hand. “I’d love to tap that.”

(You consider it small miracle that you hadn’t decided to take a sip then. You would’ve definitely spat it out all over your work.)

“Taehyung, please,” you groan.

“Just telling the truth. I’m under Hippocratic Oath, you know.”

“How the hell are those two things related?” you say, trying desperately not to burst out laughing.

“No idea, but I know that I’m gonna get a piece of that cute-ass cashier. Mark my words.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn your attention back to the paperwork in front of you. Taehyung, however, seems to have other plans.

“_____. Let me borrow some money.”

“What now?” you groan.

“Well I need a reason to go back to the counter now, don’t I?”

“Hello again,” Jeongguk says, smiling amusedly. “Did you change your mind about the coffee?”

“Nope. I just missed you,” Taehyung replies, leaning against the counter. Jeongguk chuckles quietly, while Yoongi rolls his eyes from the other end.

“Can I get you something, Taehyung-sshi?”

“I’ll take a slice of the chocolate brownie and your phone number, thank you.” As he passes by, Namjoon whistles and laughs.

“Smooth,” he comments, walking back around the counter to disappear, once again, in the storeroom. Shaking his head and smiling, Jeongguk reaches for a pair of tongs and opens up the display cabinet.

“Hey, Jeongguk. What’s the barista’s name?” Taehyung asks.

“Hmm? Oh. That’s Yoongi hyung.”

Hearing his name, Yoongi looks up and turns to where Taehyung stands, pen still poised over his clipboard.

“Kim Taehyung, aspiring paediatrician,” Taehyung says, holding out his hand with a smile. Yoongi tucks his pen behind his ear and reaches out to shake his hand.

“Uh, Min Yoongi, barista and, uh… aspiring musician?” he replies.

“Ooh. Musician. How ‘bout you, Jeongguk? What’re you aspiring to be?”

“I…” Jeongguk straightens up, holding a brownie slice in between the tongs. “Have absolutely no goddamn clue.”

Yoongi snorts. Taehyung laughs.

“So. Min Yoongi. You taken?” Both Jeongguk and Yoongi freeze at Taehyung’s abruptness. “I’m asking for a friend. Don’t worry.”

“Um… no?” Yoongi replies.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.” Yoongi clears his throat.

“Uh, no,” he repeats, careful not to inflect the end of his sentence. “No, I’m… not taken.”

“Interesting.” He’s not really sure why, but Yoongi feels nervous watching Taehyung’s eyes narrow a little as he nods his head. “Good to know. Anyway. What do I owe you, Jeongguk?”

“On the house,” Jeongguk declares. “Just… don’t tell Namjoon hyung.”

“You sure?” Jeongguk nods. “Well, thanks. _____’ll be glad to know she just saved some money.” Yoongi resists the urge to ask more at the mention of you, and just goes back to conducting inventory. Taehyung turns on his heels to leave.

“Wait!”

“Hmm?”

Frantic, Jeongguk looks around, grabbing a napkin and plucking the pen from Yoongi’s hand without warning.

“Here,” he says, holding the napkin out to Taehyung. Taehyung takes it, looks down at the black ink starting to bleed through, and grins.

As Taehyung walks back to the table, Yoongi pulls the pen out of Jeongguk’s hand, annoyed at the giddy look on the younger’s face.

“That brownie’s coming out of your pay, you brat.”

(“Good news,” Taehyung announces, dropping himself into the chair next to you. “The barista is single.”

It takes you a moment to register his words, but when it sinks it, you drop your pen, mortified.

“Taehyung. You didn’t.”

“His name is Min Yoongi and he’s a barista-slash-aspiring-musician. Brownie?”)

“Hey.” You put your folders down onto the counter, reaching into your pocket in search of money.

“Morning, _____,” Yoongi says, flashing you a little smile. “Uh, on your own today?”

“The rest of the group’re on their way. I think all my time in A&E has made me a little too quick on my feet. Taehyung had, like, three kids clinging to his legs when I passed by Paediatric too.”

Yoongi chuckles softly.

“You’re A&E?”

“Yup.”

“So you’ve probably got some crazy shifts, huh,” he says.

“Yeah. Everyone thinks I’m crazy for willingly choosing that department, when you’ve got wards like Maternity and Paediatric, but… I dunno. I guess I just live for a shit ton of work and adrenaline being piled onto me.” You smile when Yoongi snorts and shakes his head.

“You probably don’t get much time off then, huh. Compared to the other interns, I mean,” he says. “A&E’s probably a lot more demanding than, like, Palliative Care and stuff.”

“Yeah, me and the couple of guys wanting to get into surgery probably have it the worst,” you reply. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. We’re all suffering. Hospital internships are no joke. But I think I’m allowed to say I suffer just that little bit more.”

“I guess that’s why you always look so serious all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time you come in here with the other interns, you’re nose is always, like, buried in paperwork, while… what’s his name… Taehyung? Taehyung seems to be having the time of his life flirting with our cashier, Jeongguk.”

With a hint of a grin on your lips, you lean forward and prop your elbow up on the counter, chin resting on your fist.

“Oh, so Taehyung was right. You have been sneaking glances over at me.” You watch Yoongi’s expression drop, mortified as he struggles to find a reply.

“Wh— n-no, I— that’s not—” he stammers, looking left and right and in every direction that isn’t right at you. Your shoulders begin to shake as you desperately try to hold back your laughter and fail, fist pressed to your lips in an attempt to muffle the sound. Yoongi’s cheeks flush a soft shade of pink. “Wait. T-that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s fine,” you say, reassuring him with a dismissive wave of your hand. “It’s good to know you’re not repelled by Resting Bitch Face.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Yoongi groans quietly.

“So fucking embarrassing. I’ve been hanging around Jeongguk and Namjoon too long.”

The last of your laughter trails off when your pocket starts to beep, and you pull your pager out just as a stream of interns begins to pour into the cafe, Taehyung and his disheveled hair included.

“You’d think, in this day and age, that pagers would be relics by now,” you say, studying the message on the little display before dropping it back into your pocket. “I’d love to stay and chat, but duty calls.”

“Right,” Yoongi says, trying not to sound disappointed.

“I’ll just take my coffee to go, if that’s okay. Flat white, two sugars?”

“No problem.”

You leave your money on the counter as Yoongi walks to the end of the counter to the espresso machine, quick to make your coffee, knowing you need to leave. It’s as if you’ve just managed to pick your folders back up again when he’s back in front of you, holding your cup of coffee out towards you. You thank him and turn to walk out.

“_____, wait!” Yoongi calls out. You turn to look over your shoulder, mid-sip. “Your change.”

“Keep it,” you say, chuckling. “Consider it an incentive.” His eyebrows furrow with confusion.

“Incentive… for what?”

“To continue being unaffected by my RBF. Catch you later.”

“Aha. Busted.”

Yoongi swivels around, almost spitting out a mouthful of coffee as he looks at you, leaning against the front counter with a cheeky smile. He chuckles airily through his nose, putting his mug down as he swallows, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Jesus. I nearly choked just now,” he says, shaking his head as he grabs a paper cup — the largest size — ready to start on your coffee.

“That’s alright. I’m trained, remember?” you reply.

“Lucky me. The usual? Flat white, two sugars, right?”

“You remembered.” The abrasive hum of the grinder fills the air, the scent of freshly ground coffee pleasantly filling your nose. You sigh with contentment. “Maybe I should just hang out here for the rest of my internship. Coffee smells a lot better than disinfectant and hand sanitiser.” Yoongi chuckles, not looking up from the jug of milk in his hand, the whistle and hiss of the steam nozzle almost drowning out any other sound in the cafe.

“So. How were your rounds this morning?” he asks. “Any gruesome stories to tell me today?”

“No, unfortunately,” you reply with an exaggerated sigh. “An earlier shift means that more than half of the guys in my ward were still dead asleep when I got to their beds.”

“Not sure ‘dead’ is the best word to use when describing hospital patients, _____.” Yoongi glances up at you briefly, milk ready and poised to be poured into your cup; you look back at him, mortified.

“Shit.” You drag a hand down your face with a groan as he puts everything down, too busy laughing to concentrate on pouring properly. Behind you, the rest of the interns at your table look in your direction, interest piqued by the sudden raucous and the sight of you leaning over the counter to punch Yoongi in the arm. “Shut up. It was a figure of speech.”

“Yeah,” he says, wiping away the tears starting to form in his eyes with the pad of his thumb before getting back to work. “Probably the worst figure of speech someone in your position could use.”

“Shut up.”

The back storeroom door opens, and Jeongguk steps out, a giant cardboard box in his hands.

“Oh. Hey. I thought I heard you,” he says, smiling as he drops the box onto the back counter.

“Morning, Jeongguk. Feel free to not divulge any details about your date with Taehyung last night. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it all already. Twice.” Jeongguk laughs.

“Seokjin hyung told me about that emergency tracheotomy you did the other night. Nice work.”

“Oh yeah. That was a real adrenaline rush. I’ve never been more terrified of screwing up in my life. But he got moved from the ICU to general recovery a couple days ago so that’s a plus.”

Yoongi whistles appreciatively as he finishes securing the plastic lid over your coffee cup, saying, “impressive shit there, almost-doc.”

“Thanks,” you chuckle, sliding over your money. “See you guys around.”

It’s just the sound of the register opening and shutting as Yoongi counts your money out (more out of habit than distrust at this point) and slides it into the till for a while, until Jeongguk decides to stop unpacking the new box of coffee cups to lean over and whisper in the elder’s ear.

“Asked her out yet, hyung?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Surprised, Yoongi turns his head towards the younger.

“What are you, nuts? I’m not gonna ask _____ out, you brat,” Yoongi hisses.

“Why not? You obviously like her.”

“I do not.”

“You so do,” Jeongguk argues, throwing his head back with hearty laughter. “It’s written all over your face, hyung. Don’t think I don’t notice the way you always say yes to Namjoon hyung every time he asks if you can do the morning shift these days.”

“Taking the morning shift means I have the rest of the day to do shit.”

Jeongguk hums, unconvinced.

“Not because _____ noona just happens to work the overnight and morning shifts.��

“No. And since when have you gotten close enough to _____ that you can start calling her noona?”

“Taehyung hyung said I could. But, fine. Whatever you say, hyung. Where do you want these to go?”

It’s routine by this point, the way you head straight to the cafe as soon as your rounds are done, not caring if you’re joined by the rest of the interns or not.

“Morni— woah.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, watching as you tiredly drop the pile of paperwork in your arms down onto the counter, sighing and running your fingers through your hair.

“Hey,” you mumble.

“You okay?” he asks, slowly reaching for a paper cup, making sure not to take his eyes away from you. You shrug in reply, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the front counter, hanging your head down as he gets to work on making your coffee.

Behind the espresso machine, Yoongi casts you worried glances, not used to seeing you so sullen and quiet. He can hear rattling and chaos behind him in the storeroom, a prompt I’m okay! called out by Jeongguk after the distinct sound of something shattering, but Yoongi barely notices, too distracted by the sight of you so distraught.

“Flat white with two su—”

“I lost a patient.”

He freezes completely, stops pushing the fresh cup of coffee across the counter to you, watching as you gnaw on your bottom lip, looking off to the side.

“I lost a patient,” you repeat, sounding so much more broken than you’d hoped, your voice unsteady and shaky. “I watched his blood pressure drop to almost nothing in a matter of minutes. H-he was only twelve, Yoongi. I watched a twelve year old boy die right in front of me, and I couldn’t do jack shit.” You let out a stuttered exhale, straightening up and scratching your temple. “That’s the first time that’s happened to me. I’m the first intern in the group to lose a patient.”

“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that, _____,” Yoongi says.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Hey.” He reaches over to lay his hand over yours where it still rests on the counter. “You’ll be okay. Patients pass all the time, even after you’ve done everything you can.”

“I just… I didn’t think it’d happen three weeks into my internship.” You stare down at Yoongi’s hand on top of yours to distract yourself, trying hard not to become an emotional wreck in the middle of the cafe so early in the morning. “Like, I can’t help but think now if there was something I could’ve done, if I should’ve done something differently to have prevented it.”

“It’s just the way life is,” Yoongi replies, giving your fingers a gentle, sympathetic squeeze. “I’ve seen a lot of the staff come in here after they’ve lost patients too. It doesn’t get any easier. You just learn to accept fate. You know what always helps though?”

“What?”

“Coffee.”

Despite yourself, you find yourself letting out an airy chuckle, shaking your head as you rub the inner corner of your eye.

“Right,” you mumble, the smallest hints of a smile on your lips as you reach into your pocket to grab your money. Before you can find anything, Yoongi squeezes your hand and stops you.

“Don’t worry about it. Just take it easy, _____,” he says. You look up at him, eyes flicking down to the soft smile he flashes you.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

You nod in reply with no words left to say, picking up your paperwork and coffee and walking over to your usual table.

It isn’t long before the rest of the interns join you, their raucous chatter quieting down to almost silence when they all spot you, slouched in your seat, paperwork and drink untouched while you stare down at the chipped lacquer on the edges of the table. While everyone walks over to the counter to order their drinks, Taehyung detours and walks over to stand behind your chair and wrap his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“How you holding up, squirt?” he says, rocking you gently from side to side. You smile a little, not taking your eyes off of the table as you reach up to pat the back of his hands.

“I’m alright, toots,” you reply. “Just gonna zone out for a little while.”

“You want anything else from the front?” You shake your head, your cheek squished up against the side of Taehyung’s head. He nods, and straightens up, giving your shoulders a squeeze before walking up to the counter.

“Hey, hyung,” Jeongguk says, greeting Taehyung with a small wave.

“Hey-a, Guk.”

“Hey, um… is _____ noona okay? Did something happen?”

“I think she will be,” Taehyung replies, looking over his shoulder. “She lost a patient this morning.”

“Holy shit,” Jeongguk gasps.

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess, what with her working in A&E and all. But she probably wasn’t expecting it to happen to her so early in the game, y’know?”

“What happened?”

“_____’s ward rounds are a bit different to the rest of ours. You know how, in the movies, it’s like a group of students following around the main doctor around to different patients and just observing how they interact with the patient and stuff? That’s how it is for me and the rest of the guys at the table. But with _____ being in A&E, she doesn’t really have that because Emergency doesn’t really have a structure like all the other wards do. And since she’s the only intern in A&E, she kinda just shadows the senior doctor over there. So it’s not really ‘ward rounds’ for her per se, but like, actual on-your-feet experience. Anyway. I think they said it was, like, seven-ish? Seven-thirty? A&E got a call about an incoming patient, a kid who was hit by a car on his way to school. A hit and run somewhere near Incheon. The kid came in and… God, he was just a mess, but she tried, she really tried to keep him here. They all did. But it wasn’t even ten minutes after his admission that he flatlined.”

Yoongi, who’d been standing off to the side, walks closer to where Jeongguk and Taehyung stand to listen, to get the answer to the question he didn’t dare ask you earlier when you’d been standing just a few feet away from him.

“Christ,” he mutters, looking over Taehyung’s shoulder where you sit, sipping at your coffee, which by now must be closer to cold than lukewarm. “That’s intense.” Jeongguk nods silently in agreement.

“Thank fuck she’s got the day off tomorrow,” Taehyung says, sighing quietly. Without instruction, Jeongguk reaches into the fridge beside the display cabinet, pulling out a bottle of orange juice to slide over to Taehyung. Taehyung, in return, slides over his money.

“Should we give her something to eat?” Jeongguk asks, looking first at Yoongi, then at Taehyung. “One of the brownies, or the custard tart, or a cooki—”

“Nah, I asked her already. She said she doesn’t want anything.”

“Oh. Okay.”

A distant beeping catches everyone’s attention, and they all turn and watch you pull your pager out, looking down at the display before picking up your paperwork and coffee and standing. There are looks of surprise and confusion from the interns, Jeongguk and Yoongi alike as they watch you head towards the doors.

Looking over your shoulder, you glance at Taehyung, Jeongguk, and Yoongi, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” you ask.

“Another emergency?” Taehyung asks. You can’t help but laugh.

“It’s the A&E, Tae. It’s always an emergency.”

Jeongguk is busy packing away everything in the cake cabinet while Yoongi is sweeping the floor when you walk back into the cafe, fatigue very clear in your body language.

“Sorry, we’re clo— oh.” Yoongi looks up, the broom still in his hand, watching as you pull out a chair and drop yourself into the seat, fortunately sans paperwork. With a sigh, you hang your head back and stare up at the ceiling.

“I’ll just be a sec,” you say. “I just need to sit down for a little bit.”

“Don’t be stupid. Stay as long as you want,” Jeongguk says, smiling over at you.

Resting the broom against the wall, Yoongi dusts off his hands on his apron, grabbing a bottle of water before Jeongguk can lock the fridge and walking over to you, setting the bottle down on the table in front of you.

“Oh. Thanks, Yoongi,” you say, sitting up properly and reaching for it.

“No problem. Figured this’d be better than a coffee.”

“Yeah. I considered cutting out coffee altogether, but I’m not sure I could survive this without it.”

“Taehyung says you’ve got the day off tomorrow,” Yoongi says, pulling out the chair next to you and taking a seat.

“Mmm. Thank god for that. But…” Taking a deep breath, you pause to take a sip of water, resting the bottle on your knee, leaving a ring of condensation on your pants. “I don’t really sleep that much so I don’t know what I’ll do the whole day.”

“Something as far away from hospital work as possible, please,” Yoongi chuckles; you smile in agreement.

“Hey, hyung. Isn’t it your day off tomorrow as well?” Jeongguk calls out from behind the counter, holding bags of coffee beans in each arm. He flashes a knowing look to Yoongi, discreetly nodding his head in your direction.

“It is, Jeongguk. Thanks for reminding me,” Yoongi replies, trying not to clench his teeth and strain his voice.

“Which hyung is coming in tomorrow to make the coffees then?”

“Well, I dunno, Jeongguk. Maybe you should check the roster in the back.”

“Right, yeah.” Yoongi all but glares in the younger’s direction when Jeongguk sends him a wink and a grin before disappearing into the storeroom.

“You have the day off too?” you ask, oblivious to the silent conversation that’d just taken place between them both, distractedly picking at the label on the water bottle. “Nice. What’re you gonna do with twenty-four hours of freedom?”

“Dunno. Might sleep for about half that time, eat something, and probably spend the rest of the day chillin’ with my bae.”

You arch an eyebrow, the lip of the bottle inches away from your lips.

“Your bae?” you repeat.

“My piano,” Yoongi chuckles. “That’s the closest I’m gonna get to a relationship anytime soon, I think.”

“Oh.” You find yourself chuckling, and somewhat confused by the relief that’s washing over you. “Cute.”

“It’s not, really.” He reaches up and ruffles his hair, locks of faded pink moving in all directions. “I mean, how many grown men do you know call a musical instrument their first love?”

“Well, I dunno about instruments, but Taehyung has this elephant plush toy that he swears convinced him that love at first sight exists back when he was six.” Yoongi snorts and shakes his head.

The both of you watch silently as Jeongguk rounds the counter and makes his way around the floor, wiping down the tables before stacking the chairs on top of them. As he makes his way closer to your table, it dawns on you that you’ll need to stand and, eventually, leave the cafe to let them finish cleaning up.

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet, and you turn away from Jeongguk to look at him. “Um, are you done for today?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “I finished kinda early actually. I’m just killing the next five minutes so I can clock off.” You pick at the label on the bottle again, biting the inside of your cheek, mustering up the courage to ask, “why?”

“I, uh… I was wondering if… you wanted to grab some dinner. Tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just… I figured, since we both have the day off tomorrow, we could have dinner tonight and not have to worry about going home early because of work the next day or… whatever.” Realising what he’d said, Yoongi turns to you, eyes wide. “Oh God. That came out wrong. I-I don’t mean—”

You throw your head back and laugh, drawing Jeongguk’s attention to the both of you; Jeongguk laughs quietly to himself, watching Yoongi drag his hand down his face and ruffle his hair again.

“No, yeah, I…” You drag your knuckle against the corner of your eye. “I’d like that. Taehyung’s going out on another date with Jeongguk tonight, so… yeah. It beats another night in the apartment on my own eating instant noodles and crying over some lame anime that I never really wanted to watch in the first place.”

“Taehyung?”

“Yeah.”

“Amazing. Jeongguk is the exact same.”

“Well. If you’re ever in the mood to switch roommates… you know who to call first.”

You and Yoongi laugh quietly, letting it trail off naturally as Jeongguk approaches the table, hands planted on the remaining free chair.

“I hate to interrupt,” he says, grinning. “But we’re closing now, miss. I’m afraid you’ll have to vacate the premises.” Snorting and rolling your eyes, you stand, fingers wrapped around your bottle of water.

“Right. Oh, uh, before I forget, Taehyung said something about meeting up at some dog cafe instead of the apartment for you guys’ date tonight. I think he’s gonna text you the address later.” Jeongguk sighs wistfully.

“A dog cafe. A man after my own heart.”

“Eww,” you and Yoongi say simultaneously.

“Shut up.”

“I’m gonna go clock off,” you say, shaking your head at Jeongguk before looking at Yoongi. “I’ll, uh, meet you outside?”

“Sounds good. Give me, like, twenty minutes to finish up here and I’ll catch up with you,” Yoongi replies, nodding his head.

True to his word, Yoongi steps out of the hospital twenty minutes later — eighteen, to be exact; but who’s counting? — stained black apron replaced with an olive green bomber jacket, one strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. In a similar fashion, you’ve forgone your white coat for a sweater and scarf, tucking your phone into the pocket of your jeans as you wave your hand to catch his attention.

“I forgot to ask earlier,” Yoongi says. “Did you have a ride, or…”

“Oh. Oh. Crap, no I don’t,” you say, expression falling. “Me and Tae usually come together, but he’s taking the car for his date with Jeongguk tonight. Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s fine. You can catch a ride with me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just, uh…” Yoongi’s eyes shift left and right warily as he scratches the top of his head and clears his throat.

“What?” you ask, a little confused.

“Just… here. I’ll show you.”

Following behind him, he leads you to the carpark, weaving through the different lanes to eventually stop at the back of the lot.

“This okay?”

For a moment, you stand there, speechless, looking with wide eyes at the slightly scuffed black leather seat, and worn tires of Yoongi’s…

“Motorbike,” you say, eloquent as ever.

“Yeah. Uh, I just remembered what I came to work in when I was grabbing my stuff out of my locker.” He clears his throat again, reaching into his bag to pull out his helmet. “If you don’t wanna ride, it’s totally chill, _____. I can call Jeongguk, get him to ride this home, and we can catch a taxi or something.”

“No, this… this is fine,” you say with a soft exasperated chuckle to your words.

“Have you ever been on a bike before?” You shake your head. “Oh. Well. Um.”

“There’s a first for everything though, right? I can handle some early morning trauma in A&E. How bad could a bike ride be?”

Yoongi chuckles quietly, and nods in agreement, lifting the seat of his motorbike to pull out a spare helmet to hand to you, shoving his bag in roughly before shutting the seat.

“You’re, uh… gonna have to keep your bag on. The seat’s not big enough for all our stuff, unfortunately.”

“That’s alright.”

“Sorry. I didn’t really think things through before asking you out to dinner tonight,” Yoongi says, biting on his lip nervously.

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I prefer spontaneity anyways.”

“Yeah? I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he mutters.

“Next time?”

Yoongi clears his throat yet again, looking away from you to pat down his jacket and jeans in search of his keys and preoccupying himself with anything that isn’t related to looking you right in the face. You grin and busy yourself with undoing the buckle of the spare helmet in your hands.

“W-what do you feel like eating?” Yoongi asks you, sliding his helmet on and hoisting his leg over the bike to straddle it, inserting the key into the ignition without turning the bike on just yet. You shrug in reply, resting the spare helmet on the back of the bike to free up your hands and tie your hair back.

“Whatever you feel like. I’m not a fussy eater like Tae,” you say, words mumbled around your hairtie held between your teeth. Yoongi leans a little towards you, pointing to the side of his helmet to indicate that he can’t hear you properly. You reply with a, “anywhere’s fine,” raising your voice a little more. He nods in acknowledgement and turns the key.

The motorbike roars to life and you flinch a little at the sound. You don’t hear Yoongi’s chuckle, but you see the way his shoulders shake slightly in amusement before you’re sliding the helmet onto your head. Holding his shoulder, you swing your leg over the bike to sit down behind him, his hand coming up to hold onto your wrist when he feels you wobble slightly.

“_____!” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

“You, uh, you need to hold on.”

“What?” you ask, leaning forward to hear him better, the front of your helmet knocking against the back of his. Instead of raising his voice and repeating himself, however, he reaches behind to find your arms, guiding them until they’re wrapped around his waist. He gives your wrists a gentle squeeze, and you take the cue to hold on — tight. Yoongi throws you a thumbs up over his shoulder; you reply with a nod.

You gasp, barely audible, when Yoongi revs the engine, grasp instantly tightening when he kicks off the ground and starts to move, fingers holding onto his jacket.

Behind his helmet, Yoongi smiles at the warmth of your chest against his back, and the almost-death grip around his waist.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he helps you off the motorbike, trying not to grin at the way you let out a sigh of relief when your feet touch the ground. You hum and nod your head in reply, undoing the buckle beneath your chin and pulling the helmet off, yanking out your hairtie to fix your hair.

“That was… new,” you say, pausing when Yoongi reaches up to fix a lock of your hair. “But I could get used to that. Maybe. Hopefully.”

He laughs a little, taking the helmet from your hands to put it back under the seat after pulling his bag out, shoving his own helmet into it.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

You stop fixing your hair for a moment to turn and look up at the neon lights of the restaurant signage, taking a deep breath in and exhaling with a happy hum as the smell of grilling meat hits you immediately.

“I am most definitely not a vegetarian,” you reply, grinning.

“This is my brother’s restaurant,” he explains, leading you inside, the scent of cooked meats and vegetables increasing tenfold as soon as you’ve stepped through the doors. “As if it isn’t bad enough that I’m on my feet all day, every time he sees me walk in, he gets me to work in exchange for free food. I’m hoping with you here that doesn’t happen.”

“No family benefits?”

“Well, you’d think I’d get some, right?”

“Well, well. Good evening, young master. Come to pay your debts?”

The both of you turn to come face to face with a man wiping his hands on a towel, hair a dull shade of blue, multiple piercings on both ears, and a cheeky grin painted on his lips.

“Nope. I have a ‘get out of jail free’ card tonight, hyung,” Yoongi answers, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is _____.” The man’s eyes shifts to you before shifting back to Yoongi, slightly narrowed.

“You win this time, you brat. But you’ll be on dishes next time. Your usual table’s free.”

Yoongi groans, but you can see him holding back a smile as he leads you over to the back corner of the restaurant after you bow your head politely.

“That… was your brother?” you ask, taking a seat and dropping your bag down beside you.

“Yeah, that was Yoonjae hyung,” Yoongi replies, following suit. “I’m actually surprised he’s only gonna put me on dishes.”

“Is that bad?”

“Nah. Bad is toilet duties. Have you ever cleaned a toilet after midnight after a busy day in a barbecue restaurant? The things I’ve seen in there could probably rival the things you see in A&E.” You snort.

“That’s a stretch.”

“Okay, yeah. True. But you know what I mean.”

Shaking your head, you laugh as you reach for the menu beside you, eyes scanning the various cuts of meat and side dishes on offer. Everything looks amazing and enticing, and you’re salivating before the grill’s even been ignited.

“So. What’ll it be, kids?” Yoonjae asks, approaching the table with a small notepad in his hand, grabbing his pen from where it’s tucked behind his ear.

“I’ll have the usual,” Yoongi answers. “I dunno what _____ wants.”

“What’s ‘the usual’?” you ask.

“A serve of dumplings, some steak, pork belly, kimchi hot pot, and rice.”

“That’s all for one person?”

“It’s supposed to be for two, but I mean, I don’t know when I’m gonna be eating next, so… while I’m here…”

“Interesting. I’ll get the same.”

Yoonjae stops writing to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You know what?” he says, tucking his pen back behind his ear. “I like you already.”

“I hope that means I get to avoid doing the dishes with Yoongi,” you laugh.

“We’ll see.”

“Wait. What?”

“Hold up. Wait. Jimin, come back.”

“What’s up, hyung?” the waiter asks, his tray tucked under his arm.

“We didn’t order this,” Yoongi says, pointing to the basket of fried chicken.

“Oh, I know. But Yoonjae hyung said to bring it over to you guys. He said something about wanting to see if you and your new girlfriend can finish everything.” You feel your mouthful of soup start to trickle down the wrong pipe, and you drop your spoon and cover your mouth, trying not to cough too loud, because girlfriend? The waiter, however, seems to be unphased. “I’m Jimin by the way! Family friend of the Mins.”

“I’m…” You pause to clear your throat a few times, hand pressed to your chest. “I’m _____.”

“Nice to meet you!”

“Jimin? Can you leave so we can eat?” Yoongi says, jaw clenched as he glares in the waiter’s direction.

“Right! Yeah, sure. Just yell out if you guys need anything.”

You watch as Jimin walks off to tend to another table with a friendly smile, seemingly completely unaware of how confused you are, and of how mortified Yoongi is.

“Sorry about him,” Yoongi says quietly, quick to shove a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

“He’s very… cheery,” you say, chuckling a little as you turn your attention back to the food. “Like, very cheery.”

“I know. I swear nothing gets that brat down.” He reaches for the tongs, flipping the meat on the grill. “I mean, he’s a cool kid, but damn.”

“Yoongi. Eat that last one.”

“I would if I could, but, _____, I can’t. You have it.”

With a groan, you sit up again, elbows resting on the table as you stare down the last chicken wing in the basket. You pick it up, but hesitate to bring it to your mouth. Across the table, Yoongi lifts his hand and curls his fingers into a loose fist, pumping it in the air weakly in encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you curse quietly before taking a bite.

It takes you a ridiculously long time to finish off the last chicken wing, and when you drop the bones onto your plate, you are well and truly done.

“Well. Consider me impressed,” Yoonjae says, taking a chair from a nearby table to sit with you both. “You have officially avoided dish duty.”

“What about me, hyung?” Yoongi asks.

“I haven’t decided about you yet.” Yoongi sighs and leans back in his seat. “So. _____, right? What do you do?”

“I’m, uh, I’m a med student. I’m interning at the hospital at the moment,” you reply, reaching for your glass of water.

“Holy shit. You’re a doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“Yet,” Yoonjae repeats, laughing. “Which part of the hospital do you work in?”

“Accident and emergency.”

“Damn. That must be full on.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“How’d you score an almost-doctor, you brat?” Yoonjae asks, grinning as he reaches over to punch Yoongi’s arm. Yoongi flinches and groans, rubbing his bicep.

“We work at the same hospital, hyung,” he mumbles, frowning.

“Oh, right! Yeah. Barista. How’s that gig going, by the way?”

“Same as always I guess. I have yet to hear any juicy stories from _____ over here.” You snort, reaching for your glass of water to take a sip. “You’d think working in A&E she’d have a million and one stories to tell me while I make her morning coffee. But, nope. Not a damn one, hyung.”

“What a fucking shame,” Yoonjae sighs, shaking his head. “I’m so disappointed in you, _____.”

“Disappointed enough to put her on dishes with me, hyung?”

“Hey!” you cry out, chuckling a little.

“Nah, I can’t put her on dishes, man. She might have to save your ass one day after you fall off that goddamn bike of yours. Seriously, Yoongi. When’re you gonna get rid of that thing? I swear to God, mom has a heart attack every time you roll up for lunch on Sunday.”

“That’s like asking me to give away my own child. How dare you, hyung?”

Yoonjae rolls his eyes and stands, putting the chair back to its original table before resting his hand on your shoulder consolingly.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, _____.”

After dinner, Yoongi decides to leave his bike parked at his brother’s restaurant for a little while in favour of walking around the area with you aimlessly, walking down streets and alleyways as conversation bounces from favourite classical composers all the way down to basketball dream teams. Yoongi laughs as you tell him about the time Taehyung broke his arm after falling off his bicycle when he was distracted by your neighbour’s new puppy, and you almost trip over your own foot when you’re busy wiping your eyes after Yoongi tells you about the day he’d almost walked in on his parents have sex, only saved by his brother who’d pulled him away from the door and forced him back into his room.

The both of you eventually end up at a small cafe, wedged in between a karaoke bar and another barbecue restaurant. It’s warm inside, and you’re instantly hit with the smell of freshly ground coffee as soon as you step in, unwrapping the scarf around your neck.

The cashier greets you both as you step up to the counter, giving you both a moment to decide on your orders.

“I’ll have a latte, thank you,” you say, reaching into your bag for your wallet. Yoongi grabs your wrist and stops you, pulling out his money instead, saying, “and I’ll take an Americano.”

“Would you like something to eat? We have a coffee and cake special tonight,” the cashier says. Yoongi lets go of your wrist, and nods his head towards the display cabinet.

“Pick something.”

“Wh— not if you’re paying for me,” you reply, frowning.

“_____, pick something,” he chuckles. You furrow your eyebrows, but you turn eventually, realising there’s no way you’re winning tonight.

“Fine. I’ll have a slice of the strawberry cheesecake then.”

Yoongi nods towards the tables, telling you to take a seat as he finishes ordering everything. You obey, albeit a little reluctantly, taking a seat at a table in the far corner of the cafe, putting your bag down by your feet just as Yoongi joins you.

“You didn’t have to pay for me,” you say, trying not to whine (but probably failing miserably).

“I wanted to though,” he replies, just chuckling. “I was the one that dragged you out tonight.”

“It’s not like you forced me out though. I wanted to come. Better than cup noodles and anime any day.”

“_____. Seriously. It’s fine.” You frown, but lean back in your seat comfortably. “I’ll just pick up an extra shift during the week to make up for what I’ve lost tonight.”

“Yoongi!” you whine; he laughs, clapping his hands once at the expression on your face.

“I’m kidding!” He grins, watching as you huff and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll only need to pick up half a shift, I think.”

“What made you decide to study medicine?” Yoongi asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“My grandpa, actually,” you say, eating a bite of cheesecake. “I was pretty much raised by my grandparents because my parents were always working. He always dreamed of becoming a doctor.”

“He didn’t get to be one?” You shake your head.

“I’m from a family of lawyers. I think everyone all the way back to my great-great grandparents has been a lawyer. My grandpa used to be a judge before he retired, but he always talked about how much he wished he’d become a doctor instead. My bedtime stories were medical discoveries and all these tales of doctors doing the impossible. He’s so excited that there’s finally gonna be a doctor in the family that he’s paying for my tuition completely.”

“Wow. A family of rich super nerds. I shouldn’t be surprised.” You snort quietly. “And Taehyung? Is he from a family of rich super nerds too?”

“Nah. But Tae’s always known he’s gonna either work with kids or animals. His little brother had his tonsils out when we were in our sophomore year, and he was so inspired by the whole ordeal that he decided to try out for med school with me. And, uh, I guess, here we are.”

“Interesting.”

“How about you?” you ask, bringing your cup closer to your lips. “Have you always dreamed of being a barista?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I’m working my dream job, for sure. I couldn’t have asked for more,” Yoongi replies, grinning, voice dripping with sarcasm that you have to put your coffee back down before you spill it everywhere as you laugh. “Nah, this is just a temporary thing — hopefully.”

“What do you want to be, Yoongi?” you ask, leaning forward, propping your elbow up on the table and resting your chin in your hand.

“I wanna be a producer. Or songwriter. Or both. Any of those options is fine by me. I do a few gigs down at Club Cream in Hongdae here and there with a few of my friends.”

“You sing?!”

“Rap. Like hell you’ll ever catch me singing.”

“Wow. I mean, thinking about it, it actually kinda suits you. But I would’ve never guessed that about you,” you reply, leaning back in your seat.

“Why?” Yoongi asks, eyebrow arched in amusement. “What do I look like I’d be into?”

You narrow your eyes, looking at him with exaggerated curiosity.

“I dunno. Carpentry?” Yoongi snorts — loudly. “You look like you’ve got a carpenter’s hands.”

“That’s a first. Never gotten that one before.”

“Why? What do you usually get?”

“I’ve gotten computer nerd, professional gamer, Seven-Eleven dude… fortune cookie writer…”

“Fortune cookie writer?” you repeat, laughing loudly.

“Yeah, that was Jeongguk,” Yoongi says, shaking his head. “Apparently I seem like the kind of guy that would be good at writing fortunes.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear some bomb-ass fortunes then, O Wise One.”

“Hold on.” You watch over your cup of coffee as Yoongi presses his fingers to his temples, shutting his eyes tightly in concentration. “Oh, here’s one. Don’t eat the paper. Also, your lucky numbers are: one, five, sixteen, twenty seven, and thirty. Pretty good, huh?”

“So. Where to now?” Yoongi asks, tugging his jacket back on.

“I dunno,” you say, shrugging. “But I’m down for whatever, because I’m not looking to go home to see Taehyung and Jeongguk doing something I could’ve gone my entire life without seeing.”

“To be fair, they could be doing that at my place too.”

“Well. We’re screwed, I guess.”

“Hold on,” he chuckles, pulling his phone out. You watch as Yoongi taps away, pauses, then taps again, until eventually, he concludes, “they’re at yours, and Jeongguk has no idea when they’ll be ‘finished’. God. Does he have to say it like that?”

“I’d rather work a double shift at A&E than go there,” you say, wincing.

“We can go back to mine if you want. Wait, that… that wasn’t me trying to get you to do, um, something, by the way.” You throw your head back and laugh.

“Sounds good, Yoongi. Surely being a med intern means that if I can revive a man, I also know how to kill him.”

“Sounds fair. Let’s go.”

“Ooh. Okay. Now I see why you call this your first love,” you say, fingers skirting along ivory keys and polished wood. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, wistful. “It took an arm and a leg to get it in here, but I’m never getting rid of it. They can take all my furniture away and force me to sleep on the floor for all I care.” You chuckle quietly. “Jeongguk… Jeongguk told me that Taehyung said you play.”

“I do,” you answer. “Not as often these days though, now that I’m an intern. Mostly at church now, or if we’re having a family lunch at grandpa’s and I need to entertain the younger cousins, you know?”

“Play something.” You look at Yoongi, hesitant; he smiles back in reply.

“Al… alright.” You put your bag down by the sofa, slipping off your scarf, before walking back to the piano, the leather of the chair groaning quietly as you sit down. “Any requests?” Yoongi shrugs.

“Something you like playing,” he suggests.

Poised fingers rest on the ivory keys of the piano as you think for a moment before you start to play anything, the small apartment eventually filling with quiet music, the smooth crooning of Chopin taking over the sounds of the traffic outside. Behind you, Yoongi sits down on the edge of the sofa, watching you play with awe, marvelling at the way you seem so at ease and carefree as you play the piece flawlessly.

The music ends too soon for his liking.

“Wow,” he whispers, lips parted.

“Just a little something,” you reply, shrugging, trying not to blush. “You play something.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know anything classical,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s okay. Anything’ll do, Yoongi.”

You shuffle down aside to make room for him on the other side of the seat, patting the space next to you. He takes up the offer, though he walks over with cautious steps, clearing his throat.

Yoongi starts to play, filling the room with something a little heavier than Chopin, and you’re taken aback for a moment, just watching the way his fingers move along the keys like water. You don’t know what compels you to bring your hands back up from your lap to start playing with him, making the tune up along as you go, but it’s amazing, beautiful even, that you both find yourselves smiling.

You withdraw your hands, and let Yoongi finish off the song on his own, letting the apartment fall into a comfortable silence.

“Shit,” he eventually says, sighing before he chuckles. “I wish I recorded that.”

#min yoongi #suga #bts #bangtan #bangtan scenarios #barista!au #intern!au #r #anon #☆ whitecoat anon ☆#i finally finished this hallelujah

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crowned-ladybug · 6 years

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Clockwork

This is the result of me not being able to even sit bc of cramps and spending most of my day reading a ~50k word fic and then Really wanting to write but not knowing what. I just stared out my window for a bit and wanted to do something peaceful that’s more images and feelings than things happening, and this is the end result.

Characters: Shawn Flynn

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: nothing is happening. At all. Mentions of Shawn/Jameson (can I actually just call it Oldtimers now?)

It’s winter, and the evenings come early. The time is barely past four in the afternoon, but the cluttered workshop is already lit more by lamplight than the cold one of the sun. There’s warm light from overhead, an old bulb covered by a yellowed shade, too faint to be actually useful but giving comfort and banishing the darkest shadows to the farthest corners. The lamp on the workbench works much better, with the bright, neutral light it casts across jars of paintbrushes, stained papers filled with scribbles, and the scattered remnants of a cheap clock that had been salvaged for parts. The sky outside the window keeps on getting darker, quickly enough that one could just sit and watch it happen, and feel surprised when it’s already dipping into darkness despite having been a pale grey just a moment or two ago. The snow is growing thick outside, settling on the windowsill too. For a moment, the only noise is just the faintest rustling of the snowflakes hitting the glass.

Shawn turns the chunk of wood in his hands, peering at it from behind his glasses with some kind of fondness he always seems to have for his work. It’s the body of a bear he’s working on, and its legs are going to be made of long springs to make the bulky feet dangle like they should, should one sit the bear near an edge. His glasses slip to the tip of his nose and he stares at the bear over them instead, a bad habit he should be working on getting rid of. He turns it in his hand again, making sure it has no more edges to file down, reaching absently to the side in search for the piece of sandpaper he’d just dropped when he discovers he’s not yet satisfied with his work.

His fingers skim across a series of dents in the wood of the workbench before they find the sandpaper, and he turns his head with a small smile to look. There are a handful of symbols carved into the wood near the edge, intricate runes and sigils. He brushes a couple bits of wood shavings onto the floor as he moves on from looking at them, a small smile playing with his lips, and he finally picks up the sandpaper again.

The symbols are not his own doing. Marvin (Shawn might call him an annoying brat too often, but he’s a good friend and a frequent visitor) had carved them when he came to visit one day, having gotten his hand on an unfortunate pocket knife. Shawn had given him many disapproving looks upon discovering what he’d done, but Marvin had simply grinned at him and left. It was much later that he told his friend that the sigils, he hoped, would help protect him from hallucinations and ease his worries about monsters. Shawn is still yet to figure out how to thank him, because while the sigils don’t appear to be foolproof, he very much appreciates them.

The darkness from outside tints everything a dark blue, like looking through one of those old glass bottles. The snow doesn’t show signs of ceasing falling anytime soon. Inside it’s still cosy, though it could be a little warmer, but Shawn can’t be bothered to get up and fumble with the heating now.

He reaches out for his coffee mug with one hand while the other searches through a whole bouquet of brushes. Finding the mug empty, he shakes his head with disappointment that’s far from entirely serious. Maybe the next time he has the energy and the mind to get up for a drink, he’ll get tea. Just to humour Jameson. Or maybe some hot chocolate.

His arms and face are smeared with colourful paint by the time he finishes painting the bear and its two siblings. That’s what he gets for wiping off excess paint with his hands all the time. It’s a bad habit. The two jars on his left, once filled with clean water to dip his brushes into, now both only murky brown water, and he gives them a quick look of disapproval. He’ll have to wash those out too. At least the water in them isn’t black.

The bears are set down to dry for the night side by side, with a pair of springs placed in front of each so that Shawn won’t misplace them on accident. Knowing himself, he absolutely would without precautions. He puts the can of brushes down near the bears once he’s done rinsing all of them at the sink in the back. The surface of the workbench is smeared with colourful paint almost as much as his skin is still (he’ll take a shower anyway once he’s done here), and so he brings a wet rag over to wipe it off. Once he’s mostly done, he bunches up the rag in one hand and stops for a moment to stare out the window. The light pouring outside from his workshop cuts a bright rectangle into the now complete darkness, and the light reflecting off the snow makes everything look strangely brighter.

He thinks that maybe tomorrow he’ll ask Jameson to find somewhere peaceful so that they can go out on a walk together. Shawn himself isn’t the biggest fan of snow or cold in general, but he knows his boyfriend very much is, and that definitely makes it worth it having to dress up a little thicker and putting up with a runny nose for an afternoon.

He flicks off the light over his workbench as he straightens his back again, gathering the rag in his hand. For a moment, he absent-mindedly traces a thumb over Marvin’s sigils, like he’s wishing them (or Marvin?) a good night. Then he nudges his chair back into place and picks up his newsboy cap that had been hung on the back of it, shoving it onto his head like he’s planning to go outside and not just upstairs to his flat. He even gives the three new figures on his workbench a little wave, though he’d be beyond startled if they waved back. He stops for a moment by the door and looks over his beloved, messy yet organised workshop before turning off the light.

At seven in the evening, Shawn closes up shop and heads upstairs.

#no first paragraph preview bc it's long #shawn deserves a break and a day when nothing shitty is happening to him and he can actually function #it just felt so good to actually write something again yknow?#shawn flynn #fanfiction #oldtimers #writing

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chrysaliseuro2018 · 6 years

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LIFE’S NOT ALWAYS A BEACH

Time to leave Catania so headed off in the ‘taxi’ organised by the Bed and Breakfast - weeny little Fiat which was a little squeezy with us and our two bags. Europcar is the rental car of choice this time as Hertz doesn’t have a drop off in Cefalu our car drop off point.

Easy pick up with the car our the front in the street so didn’t have to go down in the depths of a garage as is often the case when renting. It was a Lantina, a great improvement on the Hertz Malta rental which was an old banger of an Opel. Clearly the driver found it more agreeable to as there was less less gear box crunching too.

Thought we would mosey to next destination Syracuse rather than go straight there. So we headed off along the motorway and then down some minor roads towards the coast. Lots of agriculture and masses of enormous greenhouses constructed of metal frames and acres of plastic sheeting. Hard to see exactly what was being grown but did glimpse some tomatoes, grapes and watermelons.

A sunny mid 20’s day so headed towards the beach. Took a punt and turned into a scrubby road that reduced to a lane. Parked up and locals came out asking us politely to give them a bit more space around their driveway. Seemed a little over the top considering the impossibly tight gaps they usually don’t hesitate to speed through.

Walked down to the beach which was a very pleasant surprise. European beaches regularly fall short of expectation unless your preference is (a) a small patch of dirty brown sand, (b) pebbles in lieu of sand (c) rocks and no real beach or (d) all of the above. This was a long, wide wide sandy beach with hardly anybody on it. We were tempted but with no umbrella we had no shade. Our days of lying in the sun are well behind us. About 500 metres along the beach there looked to be an opportunity for umbrella hire. So back in the car to get to find it. Easier said than done.

Retraced our steps and headed down a side road that should lead us to the possible umbrella hire ‘lido’. Get with 200 metres of the beach only to find the road is blocked by a gate. On the other side of the gate is a cluster of houses. Maybe this is their private beach. So backtrack to the main road take another little side road and it’s a repeat of the above. Not to be defeated we try again and find one with a gate open. Thinking we have finally cracked it we start driving through only to notice the gate’s closing. Averted a double disaster of damage to the car and /or being locked in a gated compound by slamming of brakes and quick shift into reverse. Increasingly frustrated we try one more road but to no avail. Left us wondering whether we hade found ourselves at ‘The Mob’s’ private beach playground. We left in a huff.

Next bright plan is to head to Augusta on a promontory. Although Augusta gets no mention in Lonely Planet, neither did Salema in Portugal and it was lovely. So we give it a go, but realise Lonely Planet was 100% correct on this occasion. We get there around 2pm and there is absolutely nothing open. Nothing! Giving up as we head back out of town we spot some umbrellas suggesting there may be a cafe down on the river. We took the circuitous road there and pulled in for a snack. Cafe it was not. More a shed selling tired old panini. Its only customers were surly 20somethings all sucking on fags hunched over their phones. I’d like to say they must have wondered what these two outcasts were doing there but I don’t think they lifted their heads from their phones to notice. Even the river was scungy. Managed only a few bites each of our unappetising panini. Surely the day was going to improve.

After these fruitless attempts we gave up any further ideas of exploring and drove the short distance to Syracuse. We had booked a B&B through booking.com and were wondering how we’d manage to get the car into the restricted area of Ortigia which Syracuse’s Island. (Since 2014 we have noticed a marked increase of apartments advertised on booking.com and less and less hotels. Not sure where the hotels are advertising these days.) On approach messages were being exchanged with B&B owner about how to find his place. While Giorgio’s was giving his English a fair crack, the messages were unclear. Time to test his oral skills and phone him. Thankfully speaking to him was a little easier even thought it was an excited voice yelling down the phone at me not letting me get a word in. Finally we settled on a plan...look for him wearing his green Lacoste polo, not just any old polo, but a Lacoste one (only in Italy) on Via Garibaldi. Trusty Maps guide Narelle got us to the right street and there was our green Lacoste wearing host. Big relief. Drove behind Giorgio on his scooter into Ortigia where he found us a free park. These are like hen’s teeth. Only problem was we had to go backwards up a one way street and park into a tight spot, never Chris’ forte. Giorgio could see Chris’ fear from 10 paces so volunteered to get the car in. Chris gladly handed over the keys. Mission accomplished.

Short wheel of cases to apartment which while on the ground floor was a little internal for my liking. French doors out on to the street but no other windows. So it was either hello to every Giuseppe, Marco and Salvatore or total enclosure. Gladly the air conditioner helped some air circulation at night seeing we had booked two nights here.

Time to see if Syracuse lives up to its lofty reputation. Glad to report it does. The narrow streets are charming, the main thoroughfares lively and while some mainstream shops are present, eg Zara, it was largely local shops. And the buildings are gorgeous.

The Piazza Del Duomo is breathtaking. Reminiscent of the Old Town Square in Prague, no matter which way you turn there’s something wonderful to see. The Duomo, it’s centrepiece has a fascinating history. Originally 5th Century BC Greek Temple Of Athena it was converted to a church. And while it has all the hallmarks of a Catholic Church the massive Doric columns of the the original temple are still clearly visible having been incorporated into various additions especially after the 1693 earthquake. While the Catholic paraphernalia was present it wasn’t dripping in the gilt and fussiness of some churches (yes Spain I’m talking about you). It had a calming presence (even for an atheist) and although tours were clearly available, the ticket box was firmly shut the twice we went there. While the Duomo was the dominant building of the piazza it was complemented by Palazzi and another smaller church.

Of course there were the omnipresent Roman ruins, a street market selling fresh produce, fish, herbs and spices, hats and general stuff, and a lovely walk around the wall high above the sea. However beaches are in short supply. There was one crescent of sand about 150 metres long attracting large numbers of sun seekers. The other option was the Lido - a flat rocky platform set above the sea decked out with maybe a 150 sun lounges. To have a swim you climbed down a ladder into the choppy sea below and swam amongst the boulders. At a guess the price for a sunlounge was steep judging by the number occupied compared to the crowd on the little free beach.

As evening drew on we chose a bar at another smaller square and with beer and a spritzer in hand enjoyed watching the passagiata. Saturday night had the crowds in. Fashion was varied but what caught our attention most were 1. the colourful dress sense of the men who love a vibrant coloured trouser and 2. platform shoes worn by most of the women. Do they wear them for fashion or because Sicilians are largely height challenged or both? Can only imagine it’s a practised art form tottering along in them along the uneven cobblestone walkways. I’d be flat on my face in 10 seconds.

We planned to eat dinner at Giorgio’s friends restaurant having been assured by Giorgio that any mention of his name would guarantee great service. Turned out Giorgio had a self inflated opinion of his influence. Dropping his name couldn’t even secure us a table so we booked for the next night. Chose another place nearby and while neither my Sicilian specialty of stuffed sardines and Chris’ swordfish with a caponata and mussel sauce weren’t outstanding they did the job nicely.

A late night passagiata of our own and back to our man/woman cave.

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wordsonpages1-blog · 7 years

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And Just Like That... Everything Changed Part 2

So this turned out way way longer than i intended but I just couldn’t stop! I hope you guys like it and it doesn’t drag on too much... This is 100% turning into a big multi chapter now! My inspo is peaking!

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and liking and commenting you guys are beautiful and your responses always put a smile on my face xxx

Note: find Part 1 here- https://wordsonpages1.tumblr.com/post/160768728387/can-you-please-do-a-really-angsty-bughead-fic-bc-i

Blaring alarms rang in her ears, the sound obnoxious and hopeful all at once. Betty felt like she was under water, every sound muffled, every movement sluggish. Time seemed to pass impossibly slow-a stark contrast to the speed in which the bullet had hit him. His breathing was becoming more shallow and ragged by the second, his skin almost translucent. It felt cold under her hand which rested on his face [the other still pressing down on the wound].

His eyes kept threatening to flutter closed and each time she’d urge them open, keeping his gaze and making out the far off look in them behind the watery sheen in her own. Her mouth felt like a dessert but she kept whispering “please” and “stay with me” or “I love you” into the suffocating air between them.

Red and Blue lights illuminated the diner, the paramedics bursting through the door mere moments later. The chime of the bell was lost in their haste.

“Just hang on Jug,” she breathed, a slither of relief sliding into her heart.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Jughead wheezed; quiet, broken and wretched. It made her want to throw up but steeling her strength Betty merely stroked his hair away from his chilled, damp forehead.

“Shh,” she whispered gently, trying to keep the panic and despair out of her tone.

And then she blinked and the paramedics were there shoving her aside and taking ownership of her boyfriend’s body and more so, his life. She couldn’t register what was happening, rather she could only think about how much colder her hand found now that is was bereft of his even with his skin so icy. How empty and lost and useless she felt as pain erupted in her chest all over again and spread outward.

They moved his body onto a gurney and all she could think was-

So much blood.

It was dark and tainting over pristine white tiles. Betty couldn’t tear her eyes away from the pool, spreading and eating away at the floor and her sanity. A tear dripped off her cheek landing in the liquid and sending ripples running outward through the scarlet.

“Your riding with him,” one of the paramedics asked voice calm but enshrined with urgency. Betty took a moment to respond, the words seeming to be on delay. When they finally settled on her ears she nodded furiously and climbed up on shaking legs.

“Girlfriend?” the woman asked as she clambered into the ambulance behind the gurney. The shell of the blonde girl nodded, her eyes never leaving Jughead’s form.

His eyes were shut now, his shirt cut open as the paramedics accessed the wound. He was hooked up to machines, doing most of his breathing for him.

The blaring sirens started up again and Betty felt the lump in her throat grow.

And then her world came crashing down all over again.

A different jarring sound cut through the air. The sound of breaths through tubes stopped all together. A harsh flat line, alarming, dire and demanding pulsed throughout the vehicle.

“We lost him!”

Betty’s heart shattered. The sharp broken pieces seeping into her blood and catching and cutting on her arteries and veins as her severed organ kept trying to push it through her body. She couldn’t breathe. Everything was falling, crashing, spiralling, burning. Panic and pain, a lethal combination like nothing she had ever experienced surged through her body, making it seize at the poison. A mangled cry left her throat as the debris of the hell she was now in the midst of crushed her. Her soul left her body, leaving it empty and cold.

The paramedic was by his side doing things Betty couldn’t even attempt to comprehend. The sound of machines trying to tell her he was dead rang in her mind like a sick, morbid taunt was on loop as the pain and emptiness battled within her. A voice nothing like her own- weak, broken, devastated, grieving- infiltrating the air. It was begging the woman and God and “ANYONE” to “PLEASE GOD PLEASE BRING HIM BACK”.

The obnoxious noise settled and a steady ore subtle beep pierced the air now. Betty stilled paralysed. Her eyes wide and blinking slowly.

“He’s back,” the woman breathed, relieved offering Betty a small smile. She didn’t return it merely slumping back with her own gasp. Air came back into her lungs, and her soul permeated its way back into her core.

“He’s a strong one.”

Another blink and they were at the hospital. The doors of the ambulance burst open. And then he was gone.

Her body, paralysed till that moment suddenly shot forward. No! They couldn’t take him from her now. Her logical mind, hidden in the depths of her frazzled and distressed emotional state knew that they needed to take him. But her soul and heart which were inextricably linked with his seared at the distance and uncertainty.

“Jughead!” she called, her voice rough and panicked.

A nurse was beside her in an instant but her eyes remained desperately on his body which was trailing further and faster from her line of sight.

“They’re going to take him to surgery sweetie,” the older woman said gently, placing what would be a reassuring hand on her back if Betty was capable of feeling any sensation at all in that moment.

The hand then guided her swiftly, yet delicately toward the building.

“Let’s get you settled in the waiting room. I’m sure there are some people you need to call,” another warm smile.

Half an hour later Betty found herself sitting in the dull, plastic and linoleum infused waiting room of Riverdale ICU. Her body was rigid, her face stoic. She had been staring blankly at the wall across from her since she sat down. Her hands lay in her lap trembling, while her limbs ached.

Suddenly the white double doors to the waiting room burst open, the sound covering the low murmur of the television hanging on the wall. Her mind was vaguely aware that whoever was rushing through them was probably here for her… for him.

She couldn’t bring herself to move though. Her will to do anything but wait long gone.

Alice Cooper's concerned and weary face appeared before her, bringing her one step back from whatever brink she was on.

"Betty," her mum spoke in a quiet voice, brimming with maternal empathy and true worry for the Jones boy she can developed a fondness for.

Her sore and swollen eyes snapped to her mums, she registered the pressure of manicured hands on her knees.

Her stare was far off.

"How is he?" A low voice murmured from behind her mother and it was only then that Betty registered Archie, Fred. She didn't know which one asked but they were both sporting furrowed brows, tight jaws and pained eyes.

Her voice was raw and vulnerable when she spoke. "He's-" she choked on the word a sob coming up instead-no tears though, she had none left- as her mind flooded with images of blood Ava sounds if heard failing.

Her eyes shut as she took a deep breath, reopening them and shaking her head.

"I don't know."

Archie nodded collapsing in the chair beside her and running his hands over his face aggressively.

Fred mentioned something about finding coffee for them squeezing her shoulder as he walked past.

"I'm so sorry Honey," Alice whispered, brushing some of her daughter’s unruly blonde hair behind her ear.

"I'll see what I can Find out," she promised dropping a kiss to her forehead before rising to her feet. And briskly trekking off.

Betty slumped back in her seat, her eyes finding the wall again. Her fingers tugged at the hem of her flannel...his flannel. The darkness encroached on her, smearing her organs, creating a gaping space in her chest and a black hole in her stomach. She had never felt so empty and alone in her life as she did in that moment in the sterile hospital waiting room with her mother down the hall and her neighbour and best friend sat in the chair to her left while the love of her life fought for his.

And that darkness -the one she was learning to recognise, understand and even embrace a little- had never terrified her as much as it was now. Because even though he exuded darkness and mystery he was her shade of light. He wasn't blinding colour, he wasn't the glossy enhanced image of a fantasy. Rather he was the spots of white in their old movie, the loan star in the ebony sky, the lighter shades that made Noir captivating as they contrasted with the dark. He was real and beautiful and enlivening in a subtle, organic, necessary way.

Archie let out a heavy sigh next to her and Betty meekly turned her head toward him. His brown eyes were conflicted and somewhere in the back of her mind she recognised he was wrestling with words; a trait she couldn't help but notice was so antithetical to his best friend, the lump in thrust grew, the darkness spread.

"Are you..." the red head trailed off upon taking in the state of his best friend. She looked vacant, distraught, lost.

He felt so hopeless seeing her like that. It only served to twist the knots he was already feeling in his stomach for his brother further.

"He died Archie." Betty said after a moment, her words stark in the clinical, depressing silence of the room.

His eyes bulged and his mouth fell open as he stared at her, waiting.

"In the ambulance. His heart it... stopped."

Archie fought back a sob as his body went rigid with the image of Jughead's lifeless body infiltrating his mind. He could only grasp at what Betty must have felt like actually seeing it.

"He was dead and I-" her voice was quiet and hollow and it was far more haunting then any cry of wail ever could have been.

"God Betty, I'm so sorry," Archie implored, moving a hand down to search for hers in a grasp of comfort.

Her hand was trembling and sticky. Archie looked down in confusion. He audibly gasped as he took in the sight of her pale skin soaked in blood. The dry crimson coating he fingers and staining her nails.

"Betty..."

The broken girls eyebrows creased in lack of understanding before following his gaze. Her hands were covered, her shirt-his shirt- was too, tainted with his blood, drenched in sin. Her chest ached, and she felt the same burning she had felt in her abdomen when the bullet ripped through his body, hit her again.

"Oh."

And then she broke. The physical proof of what has occurred evoking her anguish all over again. Tears stung her eyes and fell down her cheeks and to the floor while her body wracked with grief and wrought with pain followed suit, collapsing from the chair. Her chest heaved and her throat closed up. She couldn't get air in her lungs and the stale atmosphere was suffocating her. Her fingers tore at the alternate wrists, trying in vain the scrape and scratch the blood from them. The horrific beeping of flat lines echoing in her brain; "We lost him!" On a loop.

Archie fell beside her lost and hurting and totally unsure of what to do. He was in shock and inept and his own heart was breaking for her. Breaking for his brother and his best friend who has been through so much hell and managed to stand strong and were now literally falling around him.

Suddenly Mrs Cooper and his dad were there. The distressed cries of the girl on the floor drawing their attention. Alice was on the ground in an instant picking Betty up and encasing her in her arms as if she were a child. She held her tight attempting to hold together all the broken pieces threatening to fall.

"He died" Betty sobbed into her mother’s chest over and over again. Alice just held her tighter whispering soothing words in her ear despite knowing nothing could appease a broken heart and a worried soul of someone young and in love.

Eventually Betty's hysteria settled down and she was left in a heap of tear stains, blood marring and breaths heaving but allowing of oxygen.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," Alice spoke softly in Betty's ear, cautious of her fragility.

"No I can't leave." Her green eyes were panicked and scared.

"He's still in surgery and will be for a while," her mother tried to reason, wiping Betty's cheeks and helping her up to her feet. She still looked apprehensive.

"I'll let you know if anything happens I promise" Fred soothed gently and Betty sighed nodding her head slightly and offering Archie a look of apology before letting her mother guide her toward the bathroom.

Once inside the safety of the ladies room Betty slumped against the counter. She noticed her mother’s clothing then sweat pants and an old sweatshirt. It was strange to see Alice Cooper liberated from heels and blouses and Betty felt a painful pang in her chest at the affection her mother had for her boyfriend to rush to the hospital in such a state and a trickle of graciousness for her unwavering devotion to her daughters.

Alice gently removed the shirt and Betty felt the sting of guilt in her chest. She didn't want to be rid of it, she wanted to hold onto him in any way she could but she knew she couldn't walk around with his blood all over her.

Her mother grabbed a wad of paper towel and quickly sponged her down after rinsing it, then reached into an overnight bag Betty has just noticed at their feet and replaced the flannel with another one. It was Jughead's. Betty immediately recognised the barely there scent of cigarettes, deodorant and something uniquely him.

Her eyes met her mother's as Alice buttoned her up; grateful and slightly questioning.

"I know it's your favourite," Alice stated simply, her tone kind and put together in a way only a mother could do to hold strength for their child.

"I can't lose him mum."

"I know."

Betty appreciated that her mum didn't lie to her, especially after everything. But she still felt her heart sunk again into the depths of her hurt. She was exhausted and on edge and so hopeless.

"He's strong Betty. We just have to pray and trust."

Betty nodded, biting her lip and grasping her mother’s hands where they held hers in the sink, scrubbing.

After being satisfied she was cleared of the tainting crimson, Alice tied her hair back in a loose pony tail and then linked their fingers together again.

Betty took a step forward her legs a little more steady now.

They made their way back to the waiting room, finding a small crowd had gathered in their absence.

Archie was in the same seat, Veronica now occupying the one Betty had been in. Her dad and Polly were there too, while Kevin leaned by the window.

Betty startled at the image part of her warming at the proof before her that people did care about him. That he did belong. Something she had always known but none the less was glad of the confirmation.

Her dad moved to her side Squeezing her hand and dropping a kiss to her head. She offered a defeated smile and shuffled to reclaim a seat amongst the group, closest the the doors that his the wards.

Veronica leaned across the pat her knee while Polly came to sit by her side. Everyone seemed to understand this was no time for words, they just simply needed to be there.

They spent hours like that. The morning trickling into afternoon. They took turns getting coffee, going for walks, sourcing food and checking for updates. Betty stayed put not daring to stray father than the window. She was pacing there now.

"Forsythe Jones?" A voice rang through the air of the waiting room now filled with quiet chatter and restless fidgeting.

Betty was immediately in front of the doctor. Breathe baited and heart poised ready to fall apart all over again.

"Is he okay?" She whispered.

"The bullet was lodged in his rips, punctured his lung which collapsed and there was a lot of internal bleeding. We lost him. But he's a fighter. He's got a long way to go and the next 24 hours are critical but we are confident will make afull recovery."

Betty felt the weight lift off her shoulders as her brain processed the doctor’s words. He was alive.

She breathed out finally feeling like her lungs were functioning again and her heart was able to beat once more. She still felt extremely off kilter, but knowing he was safe saw some of her soul ebb away at the darkness and the burn in her heart subside.

"Can I see him?"

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bugheadbelievers #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Heatstroke (Shillam) - Ortega

a/n: it’s ya boi, back from holiday with a very Summery bit of nonsense for u all! love to purecamp for just screaming beta-ing this. hope u all like it and if u do, pls hop into my ask box or pop an ask here to show me some love xo

summary:

“Or…how about we swap shifts? I take yours now, you cover my beach shift later on. Gives you more time to crack on with the nonentities of reality TV.”

Chad looked initially excited then suddenly narrowed her eyes, following Sharon’s quick gaze over to the three girls on the sunbeds, where the pink-haired one in her line of vision was now arguing with the sunbed-reservers. As Sharon snapped her gaze back to Chad, the other girl was now giving her eyes a colossal roll.

“Oh, Sharon, could this be any more of a cliche?”

(4kish oneshot. Sharon’s a lifeguard. Willam’s a dumbass. lesbian au bc it’s me xo)

***

The bright sting of sunlight beamed down onto Sharon’s skin as she frowned, squirted out another huge dollop of factor 50 into the palm of her hand, and rubbed gently at her shoulders. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the heat over here and she cursed as she watched the other lifeguards wander around the poolside, all gorgeous and tanned and straight out of an ITV2 reality show. Sharon was pale and fair, a combination that didn’t mix well with Ibiza in the height of July. She got blisters on her shoulders the first week she came- she’d never been abroad before and thought that one thick layer of suncream in the morning would be enough to last the whole day. Seven days, various baggy t shirts and three full bottles of aloe vera lotion later, she had learned her lesson.

As she cast her gaze over the resort where a healthy mix of sixth form holidayers, wannabe instagram influencers, and 40 year old men with skin the same tone as a gammon partied or swam or sunbathed away, across the way she caught the eye of a girl on the sunbeds who had already been looking at her. She was lying on her tummy and reading a magazine which was resting on the stone tiles below the sunbed. Her gaze had flicked back down to the glossy pages, pink hair falling over her face as she attempted to disguise the fact she’d been looking at Sharon just moments ago. Or maybe Sharon was going crazy, which was probably the most likely option. It had been a couple of months since her ex had broken up with her (okay, five - she was counting) and since Phi Phi, she hadn’t received the attention of any girls and she was starting to go mildly insane. That was part of the reason why she’d even applied for the job at Ocean Beach in the first place- the other was that she desperately needed some sun, and when she got offered the job there she accepted in a heartbeat. A whole season away from home would be weird, but really what was she leaving behind? Her one bed flat and a bunch of potted plants she could barely keep alive?

Sharon felt something burning on her again, and this time it wasn’t the sun. She slowly, cautiously, turned her head around to the spot she knew the girl was lying down at and, sure enough, she was looking at her again. Only this time she hadn’t turned away and was allowing Sharon to take in her blue eyes, surrounded with last night’s glitter, mascara and eyeliner. On anyone else it would look horrific, but this girl seemed to suit it as if she’d woken up that day and decided to put her makeup on like an Escher painting. She’d evidently put on fresh gloss and her lips were a shining metallic blue, rendering Sharon unable to see what colour they were actually meant to be. She didn’t really mind. The girl’s bikini was like holographic dental floss- the bottoms were practically disappearing between her cheeks and the singular strap of the top had been unclipped and was draped on either side of the girl’s body allowing her to avoid a tan line. Sharon was suddenly glad of the mirrored aviators she was wearing which were allowing her to look at the girl without her knowing- which sounded creepy in Sharon’s head, but she justified it by knowing she hadn’t been the one that started it. Just then, the girl gave her an exaggerated wink, making Sharon thankful for her sunburnt cheeks as she knew she was flushing the same shade as the neon pink bikini that an Only Way Is Essex star was wearing two sun loungers along from her.

“Willam!” there came a loud shout that cut through the noise of two different sets of speakers, as the girl’s head snapped to the side and glared at two other blonde girls (one tall, one smaller) that had appeared beside her. The tall one was speaking. “Girl! We’ve been shouting across to you for like five minutes! What do you want from the bar?"

As the girl dragged her eyes off Sharon she barely had time to overthink about whether she’d seemed reluctant to stop staring or not, as she had to blow her whistle at a group of eight boys on holiday together all seemingly trying to drown each other.

***

Sharon boredly swung her whistle around in her hand, the small metal noise box from hell constantly threatening to fly off its lanyard. She’d been scanning the side of the pool all of yesterday and all morning but she still hadn’t seen a flash of pink hair, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t disappoint her. She didn’t know why this one girl- Willam, Sharon reminded herself- had grabbed her attention so forcefully with just a wink worthy of a Carry-On film and a holographic bikini. Ocean Beach was frequented by beautiful girls with glossy hair, perfect blinding veneers and tans worthy of Greek goddesses, and for the first week she’d lifeguarded there Sharon had felt like a bitch in heat. But Willam was so different to them. She was almost special because she didn’t conform to the classic Ibiza-Barbie beauty standard with her pink hair and messy makeup. Sharon frowned to herself and shook her head before taking a swig from her water bottle. What the fuck was she doing getting so hung up on a random girl she literally hadn’t spoken to yet and who she only knew the name of by sheer dumb luck?

She was suddenly distracted by someone leaning against the lookout, and was ready to blow her whistle into their face when she realised it was only Chad. She’d completely forgotten that her shift was almost over, and it hit her with a pang of disappointment that she hadn’t seen Willam yet. Chad swept her dark fringe out of her eyes and smiled up at her.

"Guess who slept with Rykard Jenkins last night?” she bragged, her poised posture somehow making the whole interaction seem classy. “I’m not naming names but it was definitely me.”

“Oh my God. Is he a minor royal?” Sharon gasped extravagantly, placing a hand to her chest and laughing as Chad rolled her eyes.

“You know he was on Love Island, Sharon,” she glared at her, unimpressed. Sharon gave a chuckle.

“No, you’re right. I did know that. Does he have a thing for girls whose first and last names usually belong to men? Chad, I don’t know how to tell you this, baby,” Sharon stage-whispered down to her friend. “I think he’s gay.”

Chad managed to hold her unimpressed look for all of a second before spluttering out a laugh. “God, you’re the worst. Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

“Because I’m the only bitch in this place that wouldn’t sell your soul to Satan for a bottle of Moet.”

Chad laughed and made to climb up the ladder. “Let me on my goddamn shift, bitch, before I tip this thing over."

Suddenly, something caught Sharon’s eye. Three girls- two blonde, one pink- strutting up to three sunbeds which already had towels on them, flinging them away and replacing them with their own before kicking their wedges off and lying down. Sharon felt excitement catch in her throat.

"Or…how about we swap shifts? I take yours now, you cover my beach shift later on. Gives you more time to crack on with the nonentities of reality TV.”

“Oh, Sharon, could this be any more of a cliche?”

“Shut up! I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Sharon frowned, mentally kicking herself that her second statement should probably have come before her first. Chad raised an eyebrow to indicate she’d read Sharon’s mind. “Look, it’s nothing, okay, it’s just…she’s cute, and I want to get to know her."

Chad gave a laugh and climbed down off the first rung. "Well as long as nobody dies because you’re too busy staring at a cute girl. Which one is she, the legs?”

“No. Pink hair,” Sharon risked a look back over to find that chief-sunbed-reserver-bitch was practically at Willam’s throat. Sharon gave a long blast of her whistle which made the sunbed-reserver drop her towel. “Hey! No reserving! You know that shit!"

As the sunbed-reservers slunk off, Sharon didn’t miss the beaming smile of thanks that Willam was sending her way. She gave a small, self-conscious salute and turned back to Chad, who was cringing.

"A salute? Girl. You’re not fucking Little Mix.”

“Piss off and let me make heart eyes in peace.”

So Chad did, and Sharon tried not to focus too much on Willam because as Chad had mentioned, there were many people here that were already more than a few drinks down despite it being 11 in the morning, so Sharon had to watch that they didn’t stray too close to the pool’s edge. As her gaze drifted back to the three sun-loungers, she saw that one of them was empty. Willam wasn’t there any more, but all her stuff was. As Sharon felt her heart sink with confusion, she was distracted by a deafening cry of “CANNONBAAAAALL!” which was immediately followed by a crashing splash in the water, which soaked many unimpressed Instagram influencers who were trying to perfect their poses on unicorn-shaped inflatable rings. Frowning, Sharon blew her whistle again before she realised who had launched themself into the water- a slick of wet, pink hair floated back to the surface, Willam’s grin plastered over her face, clearly happy that she’d caused the maximum amount of destruction possible. Nonetheless, Sharon had blown her whistle and she had to commit to it.

“No bombing!” she yelled across to her, Willam only glaring briefly at her and shooting her a smile.

“Calm down, princess, I ain’t Al-Quaeda!"

Sharon tried to stop the quirk that her lips gave. Princess. She definitely didn’t like that as much as her body was telling her that she did.

The rest of the morning seemed to pass way too quickly. Sharon was trying to do her job to the best of her ability but she kept getting distracted and her gaze kept being pulled over to the set of three sunbeds to update herself on what Willam was doing. Namely chatting to her friends and sunbathing. Sharon felt like an idiot, willing her to come and walk past her lookout so she could just happen to strike up a conversation with her. Really, though, what the fuck would she say? Hey, I’ve been weirdly lowkey (highkey) checking you out for the past three days and I already know your name even though we’ve barely exchanged words. Wanna go out?

It turned out she didn’t have to worry as, from the way Willam began to act, it was almost as if she wanted Sharon’s attention. It began when she teetered back from the bar, mojito in hand. She slipped her heels off and made her way into the pool, where she sat her drink at the side and dipped her body into the water. As much as Sharon was taken in by the sight of the neon green faux-snakeskin swimsuit she was wearing and how well it fitted her (definitely not how well it clung to her body), Sharon had to blow her whistle again. Her heart gave a thump when Willam looked over her shoulder at her, straw between her teeth and her damp hair giving a flick.

"No drinks,” Sharon shouted over, unable to stop herself from giving a small smile as Willam rolled her eyes and pouted.

“Who the hell are you, Casper the Nazi ghost?” she yelled back, turning and gesturing to her smaller blonde friend to collect her glass. The girl leant down to Willam and whispered something quietly, the other girl’s face lighting up as if she’d just discovered Uranium. There was the smallest, tiniest glance to Sharon, so small that Sharon wasn’t sure if it had even been directed at her or not.

She soon had her answer.

Around twenty minutes later, and mid-daydream, Sharon was distracted by Willam again. She had floated into her line of vision on a donut-patterned rubber ring, and Sharon was about to admire how gorgeous and tanned she looked when she spotted what Willam had in her hand. Willam seemed to sense Sharon’s eyes on her and she smiled, lifted an enormous, lettuce-and-ketchup filled burger to her mouth and took a huge bite.

The whistle was at Sharon’s lips in around a second.

“Are you serious?!” she found herself yelling over, Willam simply smiling and batting her eyes at her.

“You want some? It’s really good,” she said placidly, Sharon rolling her eyes at her so hard they threatened to roll out their sockets.

“Get out the damn pool,” she frowned, narrowing her eyes at Willam before realising she wouldn’t be able to see them through her sunglasses. Nevertheless, Willam shrugged and pushed herself towards the steps where she evacuated her rubber ring without spilling a single bit of the burger.

Five minutes later, Sharon’s gaze was pulled from a group of lads on their stag do who looked increasingly close to falling into the water by a huge shout.

“HEY ALASKA, WATCH HOW FAST I CAN RUN!"

Before Sharon knew what was happening, there was a blur of pink hair and neon green, as Willam made a pretty successful attempt to imitate Usain Bolt’s first time in six-inch heels. Sharon scrambled for her whistle as Willam came dangerously close to knocking someone who she might have recognised from Ex on the Beach into the pool.

Slightly less attracted to her and now far more annoyed by her, Sharon beckoned the girl over. Willam, for her part, looked more proud than ashamed and she made her way around the cavernous pool over to where Sharon sat perched on the lookout. As soon as Willam reached her and beamed up at her with her perfect teeth however, Sharon’s annoyance faltered. What the fuck was she going to say to her?

"Hey, lifeguard,” Willam quipped flirtatiously, Sharon trying to ignore the tone she’d taken with her and going straight to bollocking mode.

“Right, what the fuck is your problem? You’ve been fighting with other guests, chucking yourself into the pool like a sea lion, taken your drink into the pool, taken a fucking burger into the pool, and now you want to act like Mo fucking Farah? You almost knocked Jess Impiazzi into the water, are you trying to end up in the papers?”

Willam fiddled with the buckle on her swimsuit’s belt, looking faux-coyly up at Sharon from under her lashes. “Just page 3 of ‘em.”

Sharon nearly choked. “Well then stop acting like a tit. You’re at Ocean Beach, not the fucking local lido.”

“Well you appear to be a Drumsticks Squashie masquerading as a human being and no-one’s pulled you up on that,” Willam bit back with a cheeky smile. She had a dimple near her chin when she smiled. Sharon tried to ignore that and her hurt pride as she self-consciously touched the sleeves of her regulation polo shirt.

“One more strike and you’re out,” Sharon attempted a withering putdown but her voice seemed to betray the regret she felt in her voice. She didn’t want to ban Willam- she really, desperately didn’t- but rules were rules, and her manager would come down even harder on her if she continued to let this clownery take place a moment longer. Willam simply gave her a single nod and a flirtatious smile.

“Okay, lifeguard,” she deadpanned, before flicking her hair (which had now gone wavy) over her shoulder and walking off. Sharon sighed. She wished Willam didn’t rile her as much as she did. She wished she was less annoying. She wished her legs didn’t look so good in her wedges as she walked away- fuck, no.

Sharon tried to completely clear Willam from her mind. She only had around ten minutes until her shift was up, she could hold on til then. That was what she thought until she scanned her eyes over the pool and saw a mess of pink hair face-down in the water, her body starfished and floating on top. Willam’s two blonde friends seemed to have noticed Sharon’s initial panicked reaction and had begun shouting.

“Oh my God, Courtney, Willam’s drowning!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alaska, she is! If only there was a…blonde, skinny…kinda pale…lifeguard to come and save her!” the smaller blonde shouted. Sharon briefly wondered how many calories you could burn via eye-rolling. She’d surely lost a pound today through that alone.

Sharon blew her whistle, walked down from the lookout post and lowered herself into the pool where she swam over to Willam, levered her skinny arms around her neck and swam with her over to the poolside. Positioning her on the steps so she was face-up, Willam gave a dramatic gasp for air and fixed her gaze on Sharon.

“Oh my God! That was so fucking scary…I just passed out, I don’t know what happened…”

Sharon tried to ignore the fact that Willam had consciously kept her arms wrapped around her neck. “Very good, Meryl Streep. Get your shit. You’re barred.”

“What?!” Willam cried, her expression contorting into one of outrage and regret stabbing at Sharon’s heart.

“I told you, didn’t I? One more strike. Piss off,” she scolded in as strict a voice she could muster. Willam scrambled on the ground, moved to snatch her towel up from her lounger, and then squared up to her. She was standing close. Too close, because Sharon’s head was being filled with all sorts of scenarios and fuck, things would be made so much easier if the girl took just one step back.

(Of course, Sharon herself could have taken a step back. But where would the fun have been in that?)

Willam’s eyes narrowed, but there was still a playful spark in them that set Sharon’s nerves alight. “You’re lucky you’re cute…” she began, then flicked her eyes down to the nametag on her shirt. “…Sharon.”

With that, Willam flounced off with her friends quickly following her, and the death stares they were giving Sharon were offset by the smell of Willam’s perfume which managed to overpower the chlorine coming from the ends of her hair.

***

No matter how bored she was of drunken holidaymakers, overhearing the sunburnt, bigoted expats talking about Brexit, or the mosquitos, Sharon would never get bored of the sunsets here. Mostly they were the standard beautiful orange with a hint of yellow or red or both, but sometimes whoever controlled the skies threw something truly special up there. Tonight the sky was almost entirely pink, different hues of dark red-pink high in the sky fading into cherry blossom, then baby pink and then a bright white strip where the sky met the sea. The calm surface of the water meant that the whole beautiful scene was reflected against the surface, and a mirror image of the sky shone back at Sharon as she sat against a cushioned sun lounger that was usually reserved for paying guests. She sat and drank it all in whilst thinking about home, and Phi Phi, and what she could have done differently. She didn’t miss her- she just missed having someone to love. Sharon sometimes felt she had too much love and it always threatened to pour out of her, to burst at her seams.

“You just give me the ick, Sharon, you’re too much for me!”

The words still stung, no matter how much Sharon was over it.

Suddenly there was a small thump beside her on the sun lounger and Sharon had to stop her heart rising like one of the parasailers they took out to sea during the day. As she turned, it was as if someone was smiling down on her because there sat Willam, burying her own feet in the sand and swaying a little where she sat. It had been a day or two since Sharon had seen her last and in that time she’d managed to entirely fill her head, regret at having barred the girl completely consuming her. Sharon still hadn’t stopped looking at her, deigning her much more beautiful than the sunset in front of her. She had chunks of glitter in her hair as well as covering her arms, collarbones and chest.

“Hey,” she began, wondering if Willam really had noticed her as she seemed completely intent on entombing her ankles. Willam’s head suddenly gave a lurch to the side and she smiled up at her goofily, making Sharon’s stomach give a dip.

“Oh hey. It’s the strawberry mini milk,” she slightly slurred out, making Sharon laugh despite the jibe.

“Ouch.”

“That’s a joke, by the way. You’re not that sunburned,” Willam followed it up, her eyes seeming to plead with Sharon to never stop looking into them. “You’re more like a…vanilla mini milk.”

“What is this obsession with mini milks?” Sharon chuckled, Willam giving an elongated shrug.

“They’re rich in calcium.”

Sharon wondered if this girl was ever going to stop making her laugh. As she quieted down, she noticed Willam had gone quiet too and she was back burying her feet. “You’ll get sand under your nails.”

“Meh.”

“How was the glitter party, then?”

“Tried to chat someone up from the last series of Love Island.”

“Oh. Very nice,” Sharon raised her eyebrows, wondering why everyone seemed to be obsessed with these manufactured, airbrushed ideas of what an attractive human should look like. To her, none of them had a patch on Willam.

“No, bitch, it wasn’t nice! Because I’m still alone, aren’t I, instead of getting pounded into the mattress,” she mumbled sadly, Sharon’s heart going out to her for some reason. With a stab to her heart, she realised she hadn’t counted on Willam not liking girls.

“Well, you’re not technically alone. Because I’m with you,” Sharon kept her flirting subtle, part of her not wanting to be deterred. She was rewarded by Willam smiling at her shyly. It seemed out of character.

“Well, Sharon the lifeguard. Since I’m not-alone-with-you. Tell me things,” Willam leant forward onto her elbows and her head came just that little bit close to resting on Sharon’s lap. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“JLS have had the most number ones out of any other UK X Factor winner.”

“What?”

“You told me to tell you things. That’s a thing,” Sharon shrugged lightly, the other girl bursting into a laugh that made her sound like a bike horn.

“No, you idiot! I meant about you! I want the first draft of the autobiography,” she giggled, and Sharon’s heart sprang to life.

“Well. There’s not much to tell really. Was a lifeguard at home before I came out here, just working at the local pool. Can’t really tell what’s easier to be honest. Suppose dealing with drunk adults is a little bit like dealing with children,” she reeled off, suddenly self-conscious about how boring her life sounded. Willam didn’t seem deterred.

“How old are you?"

Sharon was going to make a quip about how it was rude to ask a lady’s age, but thought she might have been taking it too far there. "Twenty-seven. Probably too old to be working at Ocean Beach, but-”

“Oh my God, me too!” Willam cried, drunk and happy. As she rolled onto her back she said something that sounded a bit like “No age gap, then.” but Sharon was sure her mind must have been playing tricks on her.

“What’s your story?” Sharon asked, fighting the urge to rest her arm against Willam’s waist.

“ ’M a receptionist for some company in the Shard. AK…C…VIP or something like that,” she waved a hand dismissively, and Sharon laughed.

“What do they do?”

“It’s a payments ecosystem,” Willam said dryly, Sharon holding in her laugh for about a second before it came bursting out of her.

“You definitely made that up.”

“Bitch, they definitely made it up! Nobody knows what the hell it means,” Willam cried out defensively, before shifting uncomfortably. “No one knows what it means, but it’s provocative. This isn’t comfy. Hang on.”

Before Sharon knew it, Willam’s head was in her lap and her heart was fluttering dangerously quickly.

“So how come you’re out here?” Sharon asked, taking her mind off her impending heart attack. She felt Willam shrug.

“Same reason everyone’s out here. Holiday. Escaping my boring fuck of a life.”

Sharon gave a laugh. “I think most people are out here to get famous.”

“Well in that case, I ain’t most people.”

There was a pause before Willam spoke again, in which Sharon, against her better judgement, brought her hand up to tangle in Willam’s hair. She could have imagined it, but she thought she heard Willam give a little purr of happiness. Willam broke the silence all too quickly.

“The sky looks like the lesbian flag.”

Sharon looked up at the rapidly receding sun and took it all in. “I guess it does.”

“Representation,” Willam punched her fist in the air weakly. Sharon’s heart gave a jolt as if she’d just been pushed down a water slide.

“As in?” Sharon heard herself asking, willing her voice not to sound too hopeful. She fully expected an answer that was akin to Oh I love the lesbians! Pink is pretty!

“As in, I’m getting the representation I deserve?” Willam gestured as if it was obvious. Sharon didn’t dare believe what she was implying.

“Oh, you’re a lesbian?” she asked casually. Except it didn’t come out as casual as she’d hoped.

Willam turned over so her head was peering up at Sharon, unimpressed. “Oh don’t tell me you’re some homophobic bitch, because I had you pegged as a butch top and I’ve never been wrong before in my life.”

Sharon’s mind immediately burst into the Hallelujah chorus.

“No! No, no, no. I mean I’m not homophobic. And I’m also gay,” she shrugged, trying to ignore the angels with trumpets that were blasting in her ears. She gave a snort as she realised what Willam had said. “Butch?”

“Oh yeah, girl. Butch as fuck. Embrace it.”

There was a quiet pause in which Sharon didn’t stop playing with Willam’s hair and Willam began drawing against Sharon’s skin with her fingers. Willam was the one to break it.

“What 'bout you, bitch? How come you’re out here? You gonna be on Baywatch?” Willam spoke too-loudly, interrupting the moment.

Sharon gave a small sigh. “I broke up with my girlfriend. Well, no, she broke up with me. Moved out of her flat. Got one of my own. The job came up and I had nothing to lose so I just went for it.”

“Damn. She’s a fuckin’ idiot. What was her name?"

"Phi Phi,” Sharon said, the words sounding all wrong in her mouth. She was glad when they were out of there.

“She sounds like a bitch,” Willam shifted so that she was comfortable and her fingers could continue to make patterns against Sharon’s legs. Sharon should have moved further away. She didn’t.

Sharon twirled a lock of pink around her fingers, eager to change the subject. “So wait, who was the Love Islander that-”

“Megan from season four. She’s by far the hottest girl to ever grace the show and she’s bi so I thought I was in with a shot,” Willam pouted up at Sharon. “Turns out she likes brunettes. You look a lot like her actually.”

Sharon gave a laugh that hoped disguised the fact that her pulse was racing. She barely knew the girl, but simultaneously she felt as if they were old acquaintances. They had some sort of inexplicable connection, which sounded crazy but Sharon felt it was true. “Comparing me to the most attractive girl ever on Love Island. High praise.”

“No, you’re the most attractive girl to exist ever,” Willam slurred out, Sharon’s pulse now surely breaking every speed limit to exist.

“You barely know me, Willam,” she laughed softly, trying not to let the regret tinge her voice too much. Willam narrowed her eyes at her as she stared up.

“How d'you know my name, bitch?”

Sharon froze. She tried to turn it on Willam. “Well how do you know mine?”

“It was on your fuckin’ nametag,” Willam laughed, curiosity still in her eyes. Sharon covered her face as she realised she would have to reveal what a massive fucking stalker she was.

“I heard one of your friends shouting on you the other day. Committed it to memory. That makes me sound weird, and it is fucking weird, but I just-"

Sharon was cut off as Willam pushed herself off Sharon’s lap and moved to sit close beside her. Their bodies were touching and some of the glitter from Willam’s leg transferred onto Sharon’s, a little part of Willam that was stuck to her. Willam tucked her hair behind her ears and looked towards the sand in an uncharacteristically demure gesture.

"You know I’m coming on to you, right? I don’t mind spelling it out if you can’t tell,” she said, sounding more sober now than she had throughout the entire conversation. Sharon wasn’t sure what to do next. She didn’t really think she would get this far, happy with admiring Willam from a distance. Now this seemed all so real and possible and not just images Sharon had conjured up in her head before she went to sleep.

“You’re drunk as fuck.”

“So were my parents when they conceived me and bitch, here I am,” Willam shrugged, nudging her shoulder against Sharon’s own. Sharon let out a laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to convey.”

“I’m saying fuck my blood alcohol ratio and kiss me, goddamnit,” Willam muttered.

Without too much more encouragement, Sharon leaned in and did exactly as she was told. Willam’s lips were soft against hers and the way she took control made Sharon think perhaps she wasn’t as drunk as she was painting herself out to be. The kiss was slow and lazy, as if they had all the time in the world, and for a moment Sharon was convinced time really had frozen around them as they could have been kissing for seconds, minutes or hours. All she knew was that she never wanted to stop.

Willam rested a hand on Sharon’s thigh as she pulled away, smiling gently. Sharon hadn’t seen Willam look shy often. This was definitely a first.

“How much have you actually had to drink?” Sharon asked, remembering her earlier thought.

Willam let out a splutter, suddenly blushing. “One malibu and coke and four glasses of water.”

“Bitch!” Sharon exclaimed, Willam descending into chaos-inducing laughter beside her.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be into me! Easier to pass off a failed seduction attempt when you’re drunk. I’m a good actress, what can I say,” Willam laughed, punctuating her final sentence with a shrug.

Sharon was suddenly filled with a swell of affection. She put an arm around Willam as the other girl rested her head on her shoulder.

“When do you fly home?"

"Got another week here,” Willam muttered, sounding suddenly tired.

“I want to get to know you,” Sharon said quietly, as if she was afraid that words would ruin everything. The sun was almost completely set now, the pink sky being overcome with black.

“I want you to rail me on my balcony,” Willam shrugged, and Sharon could tell she was only half-joking.

“There’s time for both those things,” Sharon kissed Willam on the top of her head, afraid to move her.

“Mm,” Willam nodded, her voice coated in sleep. Sharon didn’t know what time it was. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She enjoyed existing in this little time-exempt bubble with Willam, where flights home didn’t exist and real life was a distant memory.

“We should get you back to your room, baby.”

“Mmh, no. Wanna stay out here with you.”

So they both stayed on the sun lounger, Willam soon falling asleep and Sharon staying alertly awake until the black sky and platinum stars turned into blue and white with a yellow orb, not wanting to waste a single second in the company of the pink-haired girl asleep with her head on her lap and hoping that the upcoming week would drag slower than any she’d ever known.

#rpdr fanfiction #shillam #sharon needles #willam belli #lesbian au #oneshot #ortega #heatstroke

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delightfully-daisy · 7 years

Photo

CHARACTER SHEET: DAISY AUDREY ELOISE CANARD

And she's been living on the highest shelf... Oh, and they come unstuck Lady, running down to the riptide Taken away to the dark side

[TW: sexual assault mentions; eating disorder mentions]

STATS

Birthday: 14 January 1995

Hogwarts House (Primary): Ravenclaw

Hogwarts House (Secondary): Hufflepuff

Myers-Briggs: ESFJ

Enneagram: Type 3

Height: 5’4

BACKGROUND OVERVIEW

Mother: Lilian Ophelia Marie Harcourt Canard

Father: Jacques Didier Canard

Mother’s Occupation: lawyer—business law

Father’s Occupation: stockbrocker

Family Finances: quite wealthy—combination of old money on both ends, as well as parents’ own ambitions and finances

Birth Order: middle child

Siblings: Nicolas Etienne Jeannot Canard (24); Andre Leon Charles Canard (19)

Other Close Family: Aunt Cecile on her dad’s side (who has a girlfriend and is like super cool and a movie producer); she has another aunt on that side who has two kids her and Nic’s ages but I don’t have my notebook on hand so I cant look up their names oh well; Lilian is an only child

Best Friend: Clarke

Other Friends: Annette Grant, Hermes Petros, Toulouse Bonfamille, Stanley Schell, Abby and Tabitha

Enemies: Tito? Lol she thinks so :C

Pets: a cat named Sabrina! Her family also has two dogs named Gigi and Fifi

Home Life During Childhood: her parents were both very busy, but she and her siblings were very close and her dad made a huge insistence on family time when they were together; to this day they have a designated week in late July and winter where they go on vacations together; she’s very close with Nic and her dad; Andre can be a bit of a brat; she clashed with her mother a bit growing up but she’s starting to understand her more

Town or City Name(s): Paris, France

What Did Her Bedroom Look Like: very nice and spacious, big windows with a nice view, she has a canopy bed, everything is in pastel colors, lots of whites and pinks—nothing too loud, everything soft like a Rococo painting, a big walk-in closet, a nicely lit vanity, the artwork in there is carefully selected, everything has its place

Any Sports or Clubs: did newspaper also probably a creative writing club; used to fence and do ballet, but quite around 13/14 years old

Favorite Toy or Game: loved paper dolls

Schooling: one last semester at Pride U; probably did some pretty expensive private school in Paris

Favorite Subject: Composition, Art History

Popular or Loner: Popular!

Important Experiences or Events: was sexually assaulted at 17, her then-boyfriend lied about it and harassed her for months after

Health Problems: undiagnosed anxiety, lowkey makes herself throw up after eating sometimes also

Culture: French

Religion and beliefs: Raised Catholic, she wants to believe in a benevolent God but does not really like the Catholic church; she wants to believe in the goodness of people

PERSONALITY

Bad Habits: worries, limits her food intake a lot haha, has a tendency to keep her emotions inside before lashing out, cries a lot

Good Habits: uh, organized, keeps up with her fitness, ambitious, kind-hearted (in her own way), stylish

Best Characteristic: determined—once she sets her mind on something or someone, she will not quit

Worst Characteristic: scared—her number one limitation in life is that she is too scared to take chances/take risks/do anything without security

Worst Memory: the whole sexual assault thing and also the night she broke up with Tito

Best Memory: oh gosh, probably getting her bike back

Proud of: not much lol, uh maybe her fashion sense, she’s like really insecure though and attributes all her successes to other factors, poor bby

Embarrassed by: e v e r y t h I ng have you seen how much this girl blushes

Driving Style: she’s a fantastic driver—fast, daring, drives stick-shift in heels, cuts tight corners on her motorcycle, she’s fab, best driver of my characters (except maybe for Eva, but that’s cuz Eva has heightened reflexes lol); does have a tendency to speed, but doesn’t do it except on isolated roads

Strong Points: determined, hard working, kind-hearted, stylish

Temperament: gosh im not sure its like a mix of sanguine and melancholic

Attitude: outwardly, confident and determined; inwardly, really fuckin’ anxious and insecure about everything

Weakness: she’s so insecure and not good with criticism and she’s soft little flower it is easy to crush her

Fears: everything—not being good enough is the main one though

Phobias: see above lol

Secrets: not too open about the whole sexual assault thing for obvious reasons, also he like harassed her for months afterwards

Regrets: every romantic relationship she’s ever had because it makes her seem stupid and heartless and foolish

Feels Vulnerable When: uh always? When she’s being emotional, tbh, since she’s been told to restrict that

Pet Peeves: people who assume she’s dumb, people who assume she’s shallow

Conflicts: oh gosh where to begin—the fact that she wants the world to be this good, ideal place where she has the ability to help it, but the reality that class differences/prejudices in other areas are very real and very hard to overcome; her own desire to do more with her life, but knowing that rejecting her family’s values would not be good, and she really loves her family; navigating being a soft woman in a world that otherwise respects hard, sharp ones

Motivation: She wants to be successful and to make a change in the world.

Short Term Goals and Hopes: Graduate, get a good job somewhere in a big city.

Long Term Goals and Hopes: Rise to the top of her career, hopefully get married at one point.

Sexuality: bisexual

Exercise Routine: goes to spin class three times a week, does a barre class twice a week, weight training the other days, very committed exercise schedule

Day or Night Person — Day.

Introvert or Extrovert — Extrovert.

Optimist or Pessimist — Pessimist, though she tries to be optimistic to other people.

LIKES AND STYLES

Music: girly pop, MUSICALS—she’s a huge musical gal, sings in the shower all the time. Loves taylor swift, knows that its problematic to love taylor swift, but does so in that well #feminism way that’s also lowkey problematic ahaha. Her iTunes is mostly musicals and pop and some classical music too, she likes ballet music.

Books: classics and romance novels; also some trashy YA romance; went through a John Green phase in her high school years; her favourite book is The Bell Jar. She also reads those like “Oprah Book of the Month” club books and enjoys them. Gets most of her reading list from bestsellers lists.

Magazines: VOGUE aka the Bible; also Cosmo and Marie Claire and other high-fashion magazines; whatever the French equivalent of Time is, but also Time; started a subscription to the New Yorker whilst she was in NYC and keeps up with it

Foods: has a sweet tooth—loves chocolate. Chocolate-covered strawberries are her favorite. She thinks she can handle spicy, but she can’t really.

Drinks: Margaritas are her cocktail of choice; she loves champagne and lattes

Animals: cats! Also she loves swans and thinks its so romantic that they mate for life, but she won’t admit that lol

Sports: follows Formula One racing tbh and also fencing

Social Issues: Feminism! (she’s like lowkey a bit of a white feminist) Magick Rights! (lowkey also a bit of a problematic activist in everything; she’s trying though) Also involved in environmental issues!! (she works on a turtle fund thing with Stan)

Favorite Saying: “I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.” – Audrey Hepburn

Color: Pink!! Any and all shades! Also likes a nice rose-gold. Fond of pastel colors in decorating.

Clothing: Has a very classy, preppy style; lots of skirts and blazers; usually always in heels; most everything is designer and high-end; she takes pride in her style; she also dresses more on the conservative end, but does own a few sexier pieces

Jewelry: very classy, never overdoes herself with jewelry; simple pendants and studs

Games: played the Sims a lot, played racing games with her brothers, Mario Kart fan too

Websites: Instagram—also has a finsta bc she’s hip; tumblr; Pinterest

TV Shows: Downton Abbey, Sex and the City

Movies: The Devil Wears Prada!! (Also Titanic)

Greatest Want: To be successful and make a difference in the world

Greatest Need: To overcome her fears

CURRENTLY

Home: lives in Castle Suites in a very luxurious one-bedroom flat

Household furnishings: everything is impeccably decorated, lots of pastels and golds, there’s a big window in the living room (which has like white furniture and soft lights everywhere, big white rug on the floor, lots of throw pillows), her room has a big bed with lots of pillows and her closet is organized by type of clothes and colour

Favorite Possession: her car

Most Cherished Possession: her motorcycle

Married Before: Nope.

Significant Other Before: Tito (rip); asshole French boyfriend, Michel

Children: n/a

Relationship with Family: huge Daddy’s girl, but Daddy is also very busy and not super around all the time and she doesn’t really confide in him; very close to older brother, Nic, sometimes they feel like they are the only people in the world they can trust; younger brother has a strained relationship bc he can be kinda douche but they love each other; relationship with mother is---complicated, they are very similar and often butt heads because of their differences though and Lilian thinks she knows what’s best etc etc and Daisy is just starting to see her mom in a new light

Car: BMW, she also has a motorcycle

Career: journalism student, editor-in-chief of campus magazine: Social

Dream Career: editor in chief of a fashion magazine that also has like a huge philanthropy side

Dream Life: said career, has not given much thought to the like actual life part of it, but ideally she’d like to be married to the love of her life and have two kids as well

Love Life: uh imma get back to you on that

Hobbies : reading, dancing (she loves dancing), driving, sketching fashions, cleaning (lol), amateur baker, used to be a fencer, writing (she used to write short stories but has not in a while)

Guilty Pleasure : those trashy Harlequin romance novels….

Sports or Clubs: Social, PrideU’s premier campus lifestyle magazine; probably involved in like journalism clubs

Talents or Skills : she’s a great dancer and a fantastic driver; also a good writer

Intelligence Level : she is great auditory learner, very sharp and quick to pick up what she listens too; writes the best out of my characters; reads a lot too; not great at sciences or math, but she tries her best and the hard work pays off; a fan of history, but only as it relates to cultural stuff (wars bore her); the most emotionally aware of others of my characters, can read people well

Finances: wealthy—parents are wealthy each from their individual families and from their own careers, pay for their children

#about #today is a daisy day i feel like ive neglected my beb #character sheet #this is the best i could do gif wise

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