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missskzbiased · 3 years

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The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

///

You are a superhero.

Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

“Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

“Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

— That you couldn’t show at your work.

Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

… And speaking of which…

Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.

It also wasn’t the point right now.

The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

Not at all.

“Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

“What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

“Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

“You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

“Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

“Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

“No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy” He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

“I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

“Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

“We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

“What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

“Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

“It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

“You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

“That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

“As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

“Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

And now what?

“So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

It was practically a silent threat.

In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

“The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

“Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

“I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

“Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

“I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

“We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

“Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

“Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

“Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

“Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

“He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

“Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

“N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

“Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

“That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

So you grind on his leg for dear life.

“You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

“Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

“Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

“Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

For who you become when lust overcomes you.

The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

“Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

“W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

“Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

“W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

“Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

“Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

“So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

“Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

And… Post.

Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

Yeah, right… You just posted it.

Chill.

You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

And this was priceless.

Or maybe… It was priceless.

As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

Don’t panic, Y/N.

You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

That’s right…

You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

Finally!

The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

It was fun to talk to Weasel.

He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

His fantasies.

Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

“That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

“You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

“I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

“Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

“I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

“First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

“What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

“I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

“No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

“But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

“That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

“Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

“Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

“If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

“What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

Great… He would never let you live it down.

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Rebloggable Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Tag List

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makeste · 3 years

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hello! I’ve seen some debate as to whether the 2nd meant allies in general would bolster izuku and although I do think that’s true (ofc any sort of support system that he lets himself rely on would bolster him) I feel like if that was what was meant it would’ve been made clearer? maybe instead of just katsuki showing up, the final panel would’ve had several students burst onto the scene. what are your thoughts?

agreed. and incidentally this is another big reason why it's not Toga. if it was her then Horikoshi wouldn't have devoted any time to OFA II's little hype speech. it just makes it kind of pointless, unless this whole time we've been sleeping on Toga's hidden ability to bolster Deku lmao.

but anyways, yeah. and I mean, Two's commentary here is really just acknowledgement of something we've long since known already. Kacchan is the one who will ultimately be able to reach Deku. we don't actually need a piece of dialogue to tell us this, because the manga has been showing it to us since day one. his resume is fucking stacked. I mean, let's go through it.

he is mean.

I love this you guys. I honest to god love it. because the thing is, if you ask anyone what Kacchan's absolute worst quality is, this would be the obvious answer, right? "he's an asshole" lmao.

but that's exactly what we need right now!! someone who's not afraid to tell it like it is, and won't try to sugarcoat things. someone who's not afraid to argue back and risk hurting someone's feelings. because right now Deku is walking all over anyone who can't do that. All Might tries to feed him lunch and he's like "nah I'm good, anyways bye." Endeavor tries to tell him to rest and he's all "I'm fine" and fucking hangs up the phone. nuh uh. enough of that. what we need is someone who will call him out on his shit. "hah!? don't tell me you're fine when it's obvious to anyone you can barely stand on your own two feet, dumbass."

he is stubborn.

kind of ties into the other thing, but yeah. right now we need a bullheaded asshole who won't take no for an answer if he thinks he's right. good luck trying to sweet talk your way out of this one, Deku.

he understands the situation.

this one is important, because in fairness, simply standing in front of Deku and saying "you shall not pass" isn't gonna be enough to actually accomplish anything here. ultimately he's going to have to be able to reason with Deku too. and so in that respect, it certainly doesn't hurt that Kacchan is someone who understands the OFA situation as well as anyone, and has always had clear judgment about it. he understands the threat of AFO ("they all died young"), and he understands the burden of All Might's legacy. he knows what Deku is dealing with, and that's going to give him an edge when it comes to finding that elusive-yet-critical talk no jutsu knockout blow.

he's been where Deku is now.

Kacchan knows a thing or two about burdens. granted, they've more often than not been ones that he's put on himself, but that didn't make them any less heavy. Deku right now is struggling not just with his feelings of responsibility, but also with all of the misplaced guilt that's feeding into it. AFO is targeting him. if innocent people get caught in the crossfire then that's on him. every minute that AFO stays out there getting stronger and causing more chaos is all on him, because he hasn't defeated him yet. and so on and so forth.

and Katsuki knows what that's like. because he blamed himself for what happened to All Might. that feeling of "if I'd only been stronger" is one that he's intimately acquainted with. that feeling of blaming yourself, of not being able to look someone you care about in the eye because you think it's your fault they got hurt. this is something he knows. this is a road he's already been down. and so if Deku tries to pull any "you don't understand" nonsense, Kacchan is uniquely situated to immediately shoot that shit right down.

he's immune to low blows.

lol I keep thinking of all the different counterarguments that Deku could make, and all the different ways in which Kacchan is perfectly equipped to handle them. anyway, so this particular thing is a very recent development, but very fortunately timed. so as we all know, Kacchan was a first class dick to Deku during their childhood. something which Deku, with his abnormally kind and forgiving nature, has never once confronted Kacchan about, even though he would have absolutely had the right. but anyway, so here's the thing though -- right now I fully believe that Deku can and will do or say just about anything in order to get Kacchan and the others to leave. and that includes hurting them in order to save them. so it would not surprise me at all if Deku goes as far as to throw Katsuki's old, cruel, selfish behavior back in his face as part of a last-ditch effort to get him to back down. desperate times and all that.

and maybe there was a time when that actually would have worked. but here's the other thing -- we know something Deku doesn't. namely, that Kacchan has recently leveled up emotionally and has finally unlocked his atonement quest. he finally understands that it's not all about him. which means that it doesn't matter even if Deku pulls out the big guns. he may hurt his feelings, but he's not going to scare him off, because Kacchan's focus right now is on atonement, not forgiveness. he's not doing this for a pat on the head. he's doing it because it's the right thing to do. and no amount of insults will be able to sway him from that.

he learned from the best.

I said this in another post a couple of weeks back, but yeah. Angsty Nomad Deku has nothing on early Kacchan in terms of pushing people away. early Kacchan was the motherfucking king of pushing peeps away. if you so much as LOOKED at this kid in such a way that SUGGESTED you might even be THINKING about possibly trying to save him, he would straight up throw a ten-year hissy fit lmao. Deku's "All Might, you don't have to tag along anymore"s ain't got SHIT on all of Kacchan's "STAY BACK DEKU"s and "I'D RATHER LOSE!!!"s and "OMFG HOW DARE YOU BE THE ONLY PERSON TO TRY TO SAVE ME FROM THIS RAMPAGING SLUDGE MAN WHO'S ABOUT TO SUFFOCATE ME TO DEATH"s. Kacchan is the undisputed goat here lol.

but anyway, so what this means is that he has accumulated a whole HOST of iconic lines and fateful parallels which he can throw back in Deku's face at a moment's notice. and the best part is that he learned it all from THIS EXACT MOTHERFUCKER, RIGHT HERE. what is Deku even gonna do!! argue against his own past actions?? "well, uh, I guess now that you mention it I should have just sat back and watched you die all those times" OH REALLY?? YOU DON'T SAY. THAT SOUNDS SO CONVINCING.

and so guess what, Deku -- if Kacchan was worth saving, then you're worth saving too. it's an ironclad argument. congratulations son you played yourself.

he always wins.

okay so real talk, we all know that what's really driving Deku right now is his fear of losing people. he's helpless against that. he saw Kacchan get stabbed right before his eyes and it fucked him up. he saw all these other people getting hurt and killed because he couldn't save them, and he straight up could not deal with those emotions at all. he's scared. he's more afraid of that happening again than of anything else. and AFO knows that, and that's why he's resorted to his current tactics, which have isolated Deku even further and caused him to push even All Might away.

what Deku is missing right now, and what he needs to have restored, is trust. trust is the antidote to fear. and when you're as scared as Deku is, it takes an extraordinary amount of assurance in order to ease those fears. basically you don't want to place your faith in anything less than an absolutely sure thing.

but Kacchan is exactly that. this is the exact type of situation that Kacchan's "aiming for the top" overkill confidence was made for. he's the one who never loses!! the hero who's going to surpass all other heroes!! Deku inherited All Might's compassion, but Kacchan inherited his determination. Kacchan is someone who brings reassurance. his confidence is unwavering. and in the end, I think it will be strong enough to pull even Deku back out from the darkness.

he is strong.

Kacchan is Deku's rival in every sense of the word, and I fully believe he's capable of matching him step for step even now. and so Deku can try to push him away, but Kacchan is capable of withstanding that force and staying his ground. Deku can try to run, but Kacchan still has him matched for speed. and as a last resort, Deku can even try to defeat him -- but Kacchan won't ever concede to defeat.

and all of this ties back into what I was saying about trust. because Kacchan is strong. strong enough not to die. strong enough to live. strong enough to not make others worry about him. and that's what Deku so desperately needs right now in order to finally let go of his fears. Deku needs someone who can get him to trust in others again, and to do that, he has to be able to trust in their strength.

and last but not least...

he has a secret weapon up his sleeve.

several, as a matter of fact. his hero name reveal. his apology, if he chooses to give it now (though I could see him waiting for a more sincere moment, rather than whipping it out now when it could be misconstrued as a manipulation tactic). but perhaps most importantly...

never underestimate the power of an iconic role reversal. because that's what I'm getting at here, if it wasn't clear lol. this probably would have worked better if I had a picture of him actually reaching out to Deku. but I mean, that's kind of the point lol. I don't have one because he hasn't done it yet. BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE. good luck withstanding that, Deku.

so yeah. look at all that. he really is a one-man Deku-saving army. which is not to say that the other kids won't have a part to play as well, or that it's not important for them to be there, because it is. but as far as the lead role goes, it's Kacchan. like that astronaut meme guy says. always has been.

oh and as a bonus he was smart enough to finally leave the mask at home today lol. LET DEKU SEE THE SINCERITY IN YOUR EYES. YESSSSSSS.

#bnha 318 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

played salty, playing sweet ||| seonghwa x reader

summary: you and seonghwa have a frenemies relationship—you’re friends, but boy do you bicker 24/7. one day though, seonghwa takes it a step too far. genre: angst! fluff at the end bc happy endings! warning(s): foul language at someone (2x f**k, 2x a**hole), a remark that makes fun of someone’s intelligence word count: 2390 an: sorry this is a bit late anon! i hope it was worth the wait though, i didn’t want to give you something that wasn’t quite good enough, so i figured an extra day wouldn’t hurt too much in the long term

~~~

“well at least i didn’t fail one of the easiest exams in the year.”

seonghwa had said it with a humorous glint in his eye. he’d turned away from you, watching the world outside go by aimlessly, all because he couldn’t handle looking at you too long, lest his heart fall out of his chest. you’d already caught him blushing once. it had been while eating ice cream in the park with hongjoong, when he’d spontaneously decided to tag along. as the drizzle rolled back yet left the odd heat behind, you’d made a mad dash for the truck, longing to do what you hadn’t done in so long. once the chocolate was in your hands, you had dived in while not paying attention, eyes fluttering off to the side to listen to hongjoong (seonghwa couldn’t remember what it was about, no doubt the exaggerated hundredth challenge eden had made him do back in predebut) and ended up with a dollop on your nose. the guffaw that fell from your lips was adorable, as you cackling, “what an idiot!” all while seonghwa stood, mesmerised by your happiness. he wished he could make it happen more often, and yet all that he could ever say was teasing remarks, which only ever worked on the odd occasion.

trapped in his memory, the corners of his lips, that had risen to the point he was very nearly laughing all over, again didn’t twitch as his head whipped round at the slam of a door.

eyes wary, seemingly aware of the wave of chaos that was about to crash upon the dorms, he looked to where you had been, and then nervously about the rest of the living room.

“y/n?”

there was no sign of you. all that his eyes met was the disappointed glare of his bandmate, slouched and curled so small on the sofa he was entirely easy to miss.

“you gone fucked up, hwa,” hongjoong announced simply to him.

“what...?” he stared at him, elfin eyes wide watching him closely. all while he himself was still lagging behind. “wait what—”

“you should go after them.”

his face fell into stony fear as the dread sank into the pit of his stomach, as heavy as lead. the jigsaw pieces began to slowly fit together. “go after...? but, they...”

he looked back to the empty archway where your beautiful figure had been just seconds prior, a baggy clashing jumper pulled over mustard sleeves and a black denim pinafore. it wasn’t your favourite outfit, he knew that, but he had to admit it was one of his. not that he’d ever gotten close to admitting a sliver of those thoughts to you. he’d never even harmlessly complimented you on it. or anything you wore, for that matter.

“let me put it this way hwa. if you don’t go and treat my best friend right for once i will make you.”

he knew that the leader was pulling his stern-dad-face that wasn’t convincing nor terrifying in the slightest, but seonghwa didn’t care. he was too busy cursing and leaping to his feet. he didn’t even bid him goodbye as he tore past.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

you sat hunched on the park bench, wrung iron icy at your back while the sun seemed desperate to vex you, piercing through a convenient gap in the clouds and straight into your eyes.

with shudders heaving through your body your fist remained tight at your mouth. the faint hisses of your frantically silenced cries were growing louder and stronger, and yet the woman strolling with a push chair down the path nearby still did not retrieve her child from the old-fashioned pavilion.

you shook your head slowly as you curled over, your forehead meeting your knees in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. the last thing you needed was a genuinely concerned stranger--their kindness would have you all-out balling like a child in an instant.

still, it would all come out at some point, in one form of another, and despite your wishes you didn’t get to dictate when.

“why would you say that, why would you say that, why would you say that,” you wailed in a whisper to yourself, the face of the man who had spoken engraved in your mind beyond erasure. maybe it was the place you were in that made it so strong, since this had been the place where you had eaten ice cream during the summer. despite all of your doubts and worries and constant analysis of the words he teased you with, there was no other explanation to the smile he had that day. there was no teasing in the way he grinned, nor was there anything less than sheer tenderness within it, and it was the one thing that held you tethered to whether you could be more than just the bantering friends you clearly already were. on the other hand, maybe it was just your lovesick state, exaggerating the tiny inflections of incessantly replayed memories, as the latest thing he’d said surely would cancel all that sweetness out.

a whimper released from your throat and you very nearly fell over the knife edge when your name was called over the late october air.

your head flew up before you could stop it, gaze bleary and encrusted with tears as the voice you heard lifted your spirits, only to let them plummet again like a rollercoaster.

he was running across the grass towards you, no coat to cover his arms, dark locks blustered about his face by the wind, before his feet were pounding the paving, coming to a slow and then a stop.

“y/n, i—”

as soon as he was stood before you, catching his breath with blushed cheeks and his onyx eyes searching yours, all those cries that you had blockaded within you burst through.

“you fucking asshole!” you screamed, words choked with sobs as you lurched to your feet. “you asshole! why the hell would you even go there?!”

seonghwa looked more winded than you did, heart crushed at what he’d done to you.

“do you forget i have feelings or something?!” you cried. your nails dug into your palms, the adrenaline pumping through your body beginning to shoot only up to your head. “do you know how hard i worked to study for that... that stupid... paper, i—”

it felt like all the blood in your body was trapped inside your skull at that moment. the realisation of rest of the world around you hit square in your gut, and your words gave way much like your feet did, leaving you to collapsed back onto the bench, your voice only giving sound to quiet sobs.

for a minute, he stood at the other side of the path in silence, guilt eating him up as he looked at the consequences of his cowardice. hongjoong’s words echoed in his head, as he despaired. there’s no way she’ll like you back now, he thought. taking a deep breath however, he made his way cautiously over to you, one step at a time. it was his fault, and it was time to take responsibility. he could still fix this situation, and that was much more important.

“y/n, i am so sorry,” he began gently, “back when your results came, i saw you smiling about it, laughing it off, i thought it was fair game...”

he reached the edge of the bench and the space left. it was big enough for him to fit, almost perfectly, but he continued to stand, a little distant to give you space. “i’m sorry, i should have listened to my intuition more, been more careful, should’ve paid closer attention.”

no matter how afraid i am to, he added in his head.

“i never meant to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean that it’s... all ok,” he finished, apologising once again, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he nervously waited for any response.

even with your head bowed you were absolutely stunning, how your hair caught the bright autumn sun and accentuated the beautiful face he knew so well. tear stained only made the urge to hold you stronger, to make you laugh more powerful. how had he gotten into this mess.

“why did you have to say that, seonghwa?” your words were threadbare, lilting like distant birdsong made up only of mountain echoes. your tears had not quite dried, cheeks rosy from the wind and his mistake, but your breath was more stable. “why do you always have to tease me? why can’t you... just say the nice things, the sweet things?”

he wasn’t aware of just how much of a leap you had made, and how your heart threatened to burst from your ribs at the dangers you had proposed for yourself. with fortune on your side however, they did not come, and seonghwa continued, discarding the urge to back down against what he had done for so long prior.

“i want to say them, i always do,” he explained hesitantly, trying to push through the murk of the truth and continue with the revelation he had discovered, “i was just... so afraid.”

“of what?”

your question was so simple and yet he couldn’t answer straight away. swallowing thickly, with it heavy upon his tongue, he tried his best. “of you not liking me back. of being made to look like an idiot for thinking i had...”

the wind rustled the trees who gossiped about the scene below by their roots. your eyes glanced up to see the mother and child nowhere to be found and you couldn’t help but wonder at what point they decided to leave, or whether they fled from the drama at all. you didn’t dwell on it though, there was no way you could with your crush stood waiting patiently for you to speak. he looked much like a kicked puppy, though he was trying to retain his cool by avoiding your gaze fully. although, he never looked away.

“you looked like an idiot anyway,” you finally answered, waiting for him to respond with a retort and assume everything was ok. but he didn’t. he remained quiet, waiting for you to finish. “just for a different reason.”

he nodded at that.

it never truly dawned on you that the play that you were enacting was actually for one, a confession, and two, real. that wouldn’t actually come until you opened your eyes an hour later after falling asleep upon that bench. instead, you continued to drift through reality, flowing with what felt right.

catching onto the fact he was waiting for your call, you shifted just slightly across the bench to beckon him to sit.

he perched on the edge of the iron at your side, a fair distance between you as he finally tore his eyes away, letting them settle across the small hills of the park. there wasn’t anyone in sight, the sun having gone in and leaving the cold to continue its infiltration into your bones.

thus, you shuffled across the bench, a fair bit in reality that he didn’t notice until the very end, when you were about to lean into to him.

“y/n...?”

you rested your head on his shoulder, the warmth he seeped reigniting your icy skin and fending off the numbness that had taken root there without you knowing. it felt natural to be there, laying against him, and he seemed to think so too, as he made no effort at all to stop you. in fact, he shifted himself further back, giving you more room, and let out the air he had gathered in his lungs for a blow he never received.

“i like...” you began, though you were stopped by the need to clear your throat, your sobbing having left it dry, “your leather jacket, back home. it looks so comfortable and... badass.”

you felt him look down to you, though you made no effort to crane your neck up to see what his expression was. you were quite comfortable enough where you were. soon though, he caught on. “i like your outfit today. it suits you really well.”

the joyous rush seonghwa felt after complimenting you was ineffable.

“your voice is really good. it’s so soft and clear.”

“i think your laugh is sweet. it’s adorable and i can’t help but smile when you i hear it.”

“i think you’re cute.”

“i think you’re gorgeous.”

a chill caught your shoulders and a shiver melded with your shy giggle that followed his words. within moments though, his arm is around you, holding you closer, protecting you from the autumn cold. it felt so right to finally be nice to one another, and tiredly staring off at the buffering canopies beyond, you regretted all the time you had wasted dancing around the subject in favour of the status quo.

“isn’t this much better?” you murmured finally, glancing up to catch a glimpse of hi handsome face at a new angle. “playing sweet?”

he peered down to meet you, a small smile upon his plush lips. it wasn’t as grand as the one on that bright summer’s afternoon, but it felt sincere all the same—etched with nerves from where he had bitten anxiously, teasing at his cheeks, a box grin in the making.

his hand, somehow hot against the approaching winter, rose to softly rest against your temple. he traced spirals into your skin there, delicately as if the wind could brush them away, before lifting to the corner of your eye. you’d long since finished crying, your eyes and nose tinted rouge—it would have been something that you would’ve been ashamed of, but the man’s doting caress was enough to push it far from your mind. despite the disappearance of your sorrow, the chrysalis of a tear, near complete, resided there. and so he wiped it away with the tip of his thumb.

shy at his touch, you ducked your head away from his tenderness, choosing to bury your nose in his neck instead. you felt his laugh roll through you, deep and calming, as his arms held you secure at his chest. and there, in the face of the cold autumn, you decided that you could stay like that for a bit longer.

~~~

an: idk if i like this yet. probably not.

once again i wrote this in drabble format thinking it would be short but then it was not. like always. why am i even surprised.

masterlist

#seonghwa #ateez #seonghwa ateez #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa angst #ateez fluff #ateez angst #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader fluff #seonghwa x reader angst #ateez x reader #ateez x reader fluff #ateez x reader angst #seonghwa oneshot #seonghwa drabbles #seonghwa imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines

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namjoonspiration · 4 years

Text

Saudade

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: After your parents died, you are the sole heiress to a booming electrical company, and your grandmother has put you to the task of making connections. Although, Park Jimin didn’t seem all too happy to see you.

Word count: 16.8k

Rating: M

Genre: fluff, angst, 1920s AU, non-idol AU

Warnings/Tags: Short, non-descriptive mentions of parental death and miscarriage (i.e. no gore or graphic material); so much angst; mentions of amnesia, apathy and heartbreak; lots and lots of kisses. It’s not really a hardcore story. I purposefully tried to keep my story from being too heavy.

Author’s note: This is my first BTS fanfiction, so please go easy on me. I tried my best at editing, so I apologize or any blaring grammatical errors or word misusage. If you liked it, please leave a comment or a heart. It’ll help me continue forward with my other projects 🥺👉🏻👈🏻Enjoy!

Masterlist

You were the picture of perfect togetherness. Your grandmother had made sure of it. You must present yourself as the rightful heiress to the family fortune if you are to be accepted by these people. Rightful heiress? You’re the only heiress. These people can be quick to judge. No, really? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind all day. The maids had entered your room before the crack of dawn to get you ready for battle for a brunch that wouldn’t start for another several hours.

White satin T-strap shoes with crystal embellishments adorn your feet, which stand in a precise parallel position. White gloves fit perfectly to your fingers, hands fold neatly right over left, which hold your soft pink Chanel purse. Your loose, straight-fit dress of a matching color falls below your knees. Underneath are the ungodly itchy flesh-tone tights that you had despised since you bought them. Your hair, which is painstakingly curled and styled into a bob to the give the illusion of the short trendy hairstyle nowadays, was half-hidden under a white cloche hat. Pearls--all of which tapped with every step into the mansion of magnificent grandeur--adorned your ears, neck, and wrists.

It was hard to focus your eyes on anything in this place. At any point, dark rich colors of purple, red and dark brown jumped out to blind you, making you feel as though the sun didn’t come out this morning. Portraits upon portraits of the family line the walls, along with countless gold plaques. Oddly shaped awards and random busts perch on pedestals. Clearly the people who owned this house--the Parks--were not shy about displaying their achievements in the industry and within their family. But then again, who lived in the East Isles and didn’t have the main entrance of their home brag about their elite status for them?

You didn’t. Yes, because you weren’t a narcissist. You were also “new money.” Your family hadn’t been in the electrical business for generations... People seem to forget it’s still a relatively new thing.

To be honest, you didn’t really care you were here. The pomp and circumstance didn’t make your heart jump or your fists clench. In fact, nothing these days invoked much emotion from you. You’re not sure when you started feeling that way and why it was so prevalent. Maybe it was after your parents passed away a couple years ago. Your grandmother came to live with you to help you transition into your new life. You had asked her repeatedly how your parents died, but she never could bring herself to tell the story. You mourned your parent of course, but after a while, you just stopped feeling most emotion.

So, as you walk behind your grandmother--who was talking to Mrs. Park presumably--you wondered about the food you might get to eat. If anything brought you real satisfaction and pleasure from living this lifestyle, it was the meals. However, you don’t think scarfing down food will win you any points with these people today. Your job was to network today, make connections to build your way up in the world, or so your grandmother had put it. Once again, you didn’t care, but your grandmother very much. did. So, you decided that you would do your best for her. Your apathy may get you most days, but you know in your mind without a doubt that doing this for your grandmother would make her happy, thus should make you happy. Even if you didn’t feel it.

Hopefully, Hwasa, your life-long best friend, is here. She should be. After all, her family doesn’t own the largest portion of the country’s textile industry for nothing. She was always best dressed and loved getting a kick out of the other ladies gawking at her perfectly stitched clothes that were ahead of the trends.

“Y/n,” your grandmother calls, waving at you come forward to her side. You obey, and the butler opens the door, announcing your arrival. Good lord... You felt like fresh meat being served to the wolves. But, of course, the scene before you is masqueraded in pastel colors, silk furniture, glimmering flute glasses, and smiling faces to make the whole situation seem less grotesque than it felt.

You survey the room to find most eyes on you. Ladies piled around the couches in front of the open floor-to-ceiling windows had stopped chattering and sipping their tea. More of them clustered in small groups had stopped their conversation as well, some even daring to give you looks of disapproval. However, there were some that might as well have been deaf to the announcement, much to your gratitude. Young children still run around the room or played their games on the lawn just outside the open French doors. Old men continue with their odious laughter and cigar smoking. Even the young men don’t spare you more than a glance or two.

Except for one.

A young man with dark blond hair dressed in a dark blue suit, gently cradling a flute in his ringed hand. Perhaps more striking than his blue-gray eyes are his full pink lips, which were slightly parted to reveal one slightly crooked tooth in an otherwise perfect row of white teeth. You have never seen a man with a face such as his. But what is even odder is the way his eyes shone as he looks at you.

You tilt your head slightly, holding his stare. What a weird way to look at a stranger.

Your curiosity about his strange behavior only goes so far. Suddenly, the brightness on his face is gone, replaced with a deep frown and a scowl aimed towards his shoes.

So much for trying to appear approachable and “make connections.” You had not learned anyone’s names yet, and it was already going south.

Your grandmother tugs on your arm, steering you over to the ladies surrounding the couches. Then the introductions and small talk begin. You only had enough motivation to explain the premise of your family business and some future projects and contribute to some of the minor gossip being shared. You didn’t want to be doing this at all, but your grandmother had put in so much effort today to make sure this went swimmingly. She was also putting up with it so you and she could continue to live comfortably.

Every so often, you survey the room again. After almost two hours into this, the men have filed out, probably to have a crack at the gaming tables, and the children have been laid down for their afternoon naps. You thought you even needed a nap yourself. Or maybe it was the conversation. In any case, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Once outside the room, you take a deep breath, inhaling the air free of heavy perfume and bad breath. You wonder around the seemingly endless hallways, looking at the paintings and occasional pieces of art. Anything to delay going back to the gathering.

Then, you hear harsh. whispering. Slowly, careful of the noise from your shoes against the floor, you approach the voices and peer around the corner.

To your surprise, it’s your best friend. She is talking furiously with a man, whose back is almost completely facing you, his hand propping himself against the wall not too far from her.

“Hwasa?” You call, stepping out completely from the corner. She jumps at her name, and the man stiffens. She looks over the man’s shoulder in your direction and smiles brightly at you.

“Y/n, is that you?” She steps around the man and greets you with a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you! It has. been way too long.” You relish in the brief happiness you best friend’s hug gives you. Then, your smile falls. She notices when she pulls away and follows your line of vision.

He is looking directly at you. The young man who actually isn’t happy to see you after all. “I must be interrupting something,” you state blatantly. “You know, Hwasa if you wanted to be intimate with the son of the house, you should have demanded he take you to a less-traveled part of the home.”

They both look at you in surprise, and it’s enough to make you cringe. “How did you know he was the son?” Hwasa asks.

“The paintings.” You look around the hallways, twirling your finger. “Kind of obvious.” Hwasa lets out a laugh. The son breathes out a sigh--not sure if it’s relief or something else--and then chuckles to himself. “What’s so funny?” He stops but doesn’t respond. “Hwasa, your man is very rude.”

She smiles sweetly and laughs off your comment, “Oh, he’s not mine. I’m way above his standards. And I don’t like men who can’t bother to be polite and introduce himself properly to a new friend,” she hisses in his direction. “Come on, let’s have a proper introduction.” She grabs your hand to lead you closer to the man. “Y/n, this is Park Jimin. His family is in the metal industry--”

“Old family steel,” you mutter, but both fo them apparently hearing it.

Jimin looks at you curiously, “How’d you figure that? The paintings?”

You shrug, “I just knew that. Maybe it somehow came across my vision when I was admiring all the participation trophies at the door,” you say, with probably a little too much sarcasm. His eyebrows rose, and you saw Hwasa try to hold in a giggle. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park.” I think. “I’ll just leave now, so you two can finish your private conversation.”

Hwasa stops you, her mood cheery again. Probably to mask the shocked and confused feelings coming from Mr. Park. “It’s alright, y/n. I need to do my pleasantries with those in the sitting room. Why don’t you get to know Jimin more? I find him to be one of the more tolerable ones in this lot. I’ll see you later.”

Once Hwasa is gone, you continue to look around the hallway, but Mr. Park is just staring at you as if he’s trying to figure you out. You notice he’s somewhat taller than you, his sun-kissed skin looking even deeper in color in this oddly lit hallway.

“Are you mind-reading skills working?”

He is caught off guard. “What?”

“I was wondering if you had discovered anything about me while you were burning holes into my head.”

He scoffs. “You’re awfully blunt.”

You simply shrug again. The emotionless part of you felt dominating today, so his comments and strange looks don’t affect you. You think back to Hwasa’s bright personality and heart-warming interaction when she greeted you. It sparked some brief brightness in your stoic heart, but only briefly.

He clears his throat, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that has blanketed the atmosphere. You look at him expectantly. He raises his eyebrows in response. “Y/n, may I ask you something?”

“Please address me as Miss Y/l/n as we’ve only just met.” You’re quick to speak. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. You soften your tone. “But go ahead.”

“Would you like to have dinner this Friday?”

“Dinner? Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Park?” You are taken back. What an incredulous question. And he had commented you were the blunt one...

“Uh...” He trails off, confusion rippling across his face. “Yes, I am.”

“Mr. Park, may I ask you something?” You don’t even give him the chance to nod. “When I first arrived, you seemed very unhappy, and dare I say, disgusted, at my presence, and now you’re asking me to have dinner with you?” It seems that Mr. Park is giving you quite the first impression as you feel anger start to flare in your chest.

His eyes widen in panic. “No, y/n--I mean Miss Y/l/n. Please do not misunderstand my earlier interaction.”

“Misunderstand? How could I have possibly misunderstood you when you looked directly at me and appeared as if I insulted you?” You fire back.

“I apologize. It was not like that. You just reminded me of someone who broke my heart.” He rushes out in a hurry to redeem himself. Well, it didn’t seem clear to him that he failed until a few moments later when he squeezed his eyes shut and palmed his forehead.

You practically gawk at him. “I’ll give you the effort of trying to save yourself Mr. Park, but I will not give you a second chance to redeem yourself over dinner.” And with that, you walk off, heels clicking against the mahogany floors.

What a spoiled boy. He’s probably never had a woman reject him before. It brought you satisfaction that you were probably the first. Never has a man looked at you with such distaste and then try to woo you with dinner. You don’t know what he wants from you, but he wasn’t going to get it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the gathering stretched into the late hours of the afternoon. You didn’t see Mr. Park or his parents for the rest of the day. Hwasa grabs you before leaving the party, telling you to meet her for lunch Friday on Brouton Street.

And you do, and it turns into more of a shopping spree than a lunch date. Not that you were complaining. You never complained when it came to shopping and trying on the latest fashion trends out of Europe. You stepped out of probably the thirteenth ship you’ve visited today when you notice it was already two pm, and you still haven’t eaten lunch yet. You were waiting outside the shop while Hwasa was paying for her new bracelet.

You survey the bustling street, thinking about what you wanted for lunch when you spot a pair of men that seem to have all the ladies giggling to themselves and their friends. Even wives are looking twice, much to the discomfort of their husbands who definitely noticed, but weren’t immune to looking a second time as well. As they got closer to you, your vision focuses.

Mr. Park.

You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes at the name. What a surprise. Next to him is a dark-haired young man you didn’t know. They were dressed to the nines, complete with hats and walking sticks--more for fashion rather than function.

They spot you, and the young man gives you a big, boxy smile and a wave. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look around to make sure he wasn’t waving to someone else. By the time you stop looking around, they’ve approached you. The strange young man seems ecstatic to see you while Mr. Park looks embarrassed. Serves him right.

“Hello, Miss y/n.” The young man greets you enthusiastically.

You blink. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” And why didn’t you greet me formally, you wonder. You glance towards Mr. Park. His lips are pressed, hand tightening on your walking stick.

The young man laughs charmingly, but somewhat nervous. “Oh, right. It’s just... my friend, Jimin, here mentioned you!”

“Did he?” You smile, sweetly. Almost too sweetly. Mr. Park’s jaw clenches. “How did you know what I looked like?” You inquire further for the fun of it.

Mr. Park quickly cuts in. “I--we saw you b-back there,” he gestures down the sidewalk. “I said, oh that’s y/n--Miss y/l/n. We met the other day...” He looks anywhere else but at you in the eyes. You narrow your gaze at him.

The store’s door opens with the ring of a bell, and Hwasa joins you. “Taehyung! It’s so good to see you again.” She gives him a quick hug. You notice some of the other women walking around you are gawking or giving her death stares. “I hope your time in Paris was spent well. Have you met my best friend, Miss y/l/n? She’s new to town. Her parents made quite the fortune in the electrical sciences, and she is their sole heir. Y/n,” she gently wraps her arm around yours, “this is Kim Taehyung, a true artist. He has his own exhibit in Paris to display his work. He also dabbles a bit in photography.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kim.” You smile.

“Please call me Taehyung. Mr. Kim is my father,” he laughs, showing off that boxy grin of his again. You have to admit he’s a very charismatic person.

“Alright, but please address me as Miss y/l/n for the time being. I understand Jimin may not have told you my last name, but I would hate to see his rudeness rub off on your seemingly polished character.” You tack on a smile at the end, hoping Mr. Park feels the jab.

Indeed, he does. Mr. Park sputters, muttering “polished” under his breath like it was the last word he’d use to describe Taehyung. You ignore him.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

Hwasa interjects, “Well, y/n and I are famished. Would you both care to join us for a late lunch?” Before you could protest, Taehyung agrees enthusiastically. Hwasa takes his arm, leading the way back up the street. You pout. You wanted to eat with your best friend only, who you haven’t seen in forever. Mr. Park notices your sad expression and offers his arm to you. You simply look down, tightening your grip on your bags before following Taehyung and Hwasa.

Jimin rubs his face in frustration, watching you walk away without a second glance. He can’t keep tiptoeing around you. He made himself a royal fool and an ass last week at the gathering. He needed to fix this if he wanted to get closer to you.

Mr. Park catches up to your side. “Miss y/l/n,” he speaks politely.

“Yes?” You offer.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize if you find my behavior to be untoward. I was not very good at expressing myself the other day, and it bothers me greatly that you would think that I find you unpleasant when I really don’t.”

You consider his words. The apology was genuine, you know that. You also. know that he found you pretty. Or at least Hwasa had told you as much. You complained to her earlier about Mr. Park’s behavior at his. house. She had laughed, claiming it was because he found you attractive. You were confused as to what made her say that. She explained that you were all he could ask about before you found them in the hallway.

You didn’t know what to say. Hwasa wouldn’t lie to you. It certainly made your heart flutter that Mr. Park, an uncommonly handsome man--discounting his behavior--would find you attractive. You can’t say you didn’t stand in front of the mirror for a while after that figuring out what he liked about your appearance. In the end, you credited his odd behavior with the fact he found you pretty. While that did not excuse his rudeness, his present apology has rerouted the course of your thoughts. He genuinely seemed like he was trying to make amends.

“Alright, Mr. Park. I forgive you. I understand that sometimes introductions and first impressions can go awry. Especially if the man finds the woman astonishingly pretty and charming.” You gently fiddle with your diamond earring.

“Pretty?” he asks, chuckling.

You stop walking and turn towards him, “Do you not find me so?” Your tone is accusatory.

He looks a bit panicked. “No. I mean, yes. I--” You take a step closer.

“You what, Mr. Park?” You ask, looking into his blue-gray eyes, which are traveling all across your face before landing back to your eyes. Your brain has already started to take back every meaning you put to his apology.

“I think you’re more than pretty.” He finally breathes out, tension slipping from his shoulders.

Your heart pounds so heavily against your chest, your composure slips. A blush rises to your cheeks, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment. “I apologize,” you say, suddenly your voice much softer.

He didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re very beautiful, Miss. y/l/n.” Oh, your mind blanks momentarily. Now you felt like the fool. Your cheeks become hotter, pulse racing faster. He said it with such nakedness. He didn’t beat around the bush about it or tease you into guessing how you looked in his eyes. You lay a hand on your cheek, surprised at the heat. Hopefully he would think it’s the weather. It has been unusually warm lately. Your flustered state is clearly evident. Mr. Park grins cutely at you. While your head is still swimming, trying to process the abrupt change in your interaction, he gently takes your shopping bags from you before shifting it to hold in his hand that holds the walking stick. He offers his arm again, “Shall we catch up with Taehyung and Miss Hwasa?”

Your eyes snap to his. Your cheeks are still flushed, lips parted.

Jimin thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen.

Suddenly, as if you fell into a drunk stupor but without the disorientation and wild behavior, you feel warm and… fuzzy, like you were covered in a soft blanket. You haven’t felt this kind of happy feeling in what seemed like forever. And he does look incredibly cute with the way he was smiling at you.

Returning the sentiment, you take his arm. The muscles hiding underneath his peach colored suit jacket felt strong in your hands.

You two leisurely stroll, having lost Hwasa and Taehyung after they turned the street corner.

“Do you know where we are eating?”

“This little French restaurant between Main and Central. Le Lacroix Pâtissier.”

He hums contently, “I love their almond croissants and apple tartlets.”

“Really? Those are my favorite dishes! Are those your favorite?”

He shakes his head. “But I had a friend who insisted I try them once, and I ended up really liking them.”

You were pleased. “You have good taste, Mr. Park.”

“Please, address me as Jimin.”

Your smile to yourself. “Okay, Jimin. Since we are moving onto a first name basis, you may address me as y/n.”

He repeats your name. It rolled softly off his tongue. You like how it sounds very much coming from him. And you, without knowing it, tightly your hold on his arm, leaning more into his solid form as you continue to the restaurant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that Friday, you meet Jimin every week for several weeks at the same restaurant. First Taehyung and Hwasa joined you—you insisted Hwasa come with you to keep you from making a fool of yourself in front of Jimin—but after about two weeks, they claimed other commitments. However, you didn’t mind at that point. You grew really comfortable with Jimin. You talked about everything together—your favorite dishes and restaurants in town, your families and their businesses (okay, those were brief topics of discussion), your interests (you found out you both like dancing, upon which he offered to take you to a dance club sometime), your future plans… Of those, which then led course into deeper topics—marriage and love.

It was a strange conversation, and it wasn’t brought up during lunch. He actually had invited you over to his estate for tea and a meal of any foods that you could want—more of a change of scenery decision if anything. You were concerned that your favorite food might not be so favorite if you kept eating it for several weeks on end.

Following the delicious meal, he suggested a light walk outside. He led you out of the back of the mansion to the small private beach. You both kicked your shoes off, walking in the sand, letting the fine, white grains sift over your toes. You two strolled side by side, enjoying the sun’s warm on your faces, the summer air and each other’s company.

Then, Jimin had asks the question. “Has your grandmother proposed that you marry anyone yet?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “My grandmother wouldn’t put that out there. At least not yet. I think she thinks it would be too soon after the accident.”

Jimin turns sharply towards you, concerning etching lines into his handsome face. “Accident?”

You nod sadly. “Yes. My grandmother told me I fell down the stairs several months ago, and I hit my head. She said it had frightened everyone we knew. She was concerned about my recovery from it all. I don’t think I’ll get married until life returns to normal,” you trial off. “But, actually… I don’t really know what normal is anymore. Not after the accident. It’s like I woke up in the completely different world, and I don’t know what I’m doing. There’s always this awkwardness I can’t get past. It’s like I’m walking on eggshells.”

You weren’t sure why you were telling Jimin all this, but you knew you could tell him, and he wouldn’t make fun of you for it. He wasn’t that kind of person. He seemed very open with you, so you supposed that in your heart, you could be vulnerable with him too.

After the silence became too long, you looked up from your feet and saw Jimin wiping at his eyes. “Jimin, are you crying?” You lay a hand on his arm to stop him from walking any further, and step in front of him. He bows his head lower, and you crane your neck to the side to try to see his face. After a few moments, he breathes in deeply, bringing his head up. He looks at you with eyes, pink and puffy from rubbing at them, and a slight upturn of his lips accompanied by a chuckle.

“The sand and salt keep getting in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Would you like to go back inside?” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m sure I’ll be okay now.” He smiles at you, attempting to reassure you. He blinked away the redness in his eyes. Besides, you look too beautiful in the setting sun for us to leave, was what he wanted to add.

You return his smile. Then, you’re just staring at each other, taking in the colors the evening sky paints on your skins and in your eyes. Then, you ask him, “What about you, Park Jimin? Has your mother arranged you to marry anyone?”

“She did once, to the daughter of a man who owned a successful old railroad company.” He admits.

“Are you still to marry her?”

“No,” he hurriedly states. “I didn’t want to from the start. I eventually pushed it off enough that they let it go. They said they couldn’t wait around forever.”

“Why didn’t you want to? I’d assume a business like that would pile onto your wealth, and she couldn’t have been that hideous.” You inwardly cringe. Why would you try to reason with him?

He laughs, almost bitterly. “You wound me, y/n. To think that I would think about money and looks to be the top priority in finding a wife.” You open your mouth to assure him you don’t think so lowly of him, but he beats you to it. “But I know that’s not like that. You merely considering the things we have to think about in our world. And I know that’s not how you truly think either. I know you wouldn’t marry for money.” You hadn’t realized how close he was until he was gazing intently into your eyes.

“Then what would I marry for?” A soft, curious question.

“Love.” There is no hesitation in his response. He believes it whole-heartedly. Then, he pulls away. “Just as I once tried to do.” He reaches down in the sand, picking up a shell.

You didn’t expect that. “What happened to her?” Jimin’s jaw clenches and unclenches, but not in anger. This was really difficult for him. You suddenly regret asking about it.

Then, he says, “She left. And I haven’t heard from or seen her since three months after I proposed to her.”

“Why would she leave?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think she had a say in leaving, and so she left quietly.” He gently brushes the grains of sand from the shell, exposing its pure white and rose color.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you say after several moments of silence. I’d never imagined that something so horrible could happen to two people in love.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter anymore though. What is done is done, and I can only move forward to find that love again. Except this time, I’m never letting it escape from me so easily.” He sounds resolute, so sure of himself and you can’t help but admire him. He smiles, holding the bonnet shell out to you.

You accept it gratefully, pleased with the small gift. Glancing at Jimin, you see his cheeks have turned pink. Your mouth curves into a smile. You take his hand in both of yours, the shell pressed between your palm and his. His skin feels smooth, and although his hands are smaller than the average, they feel no less strong and comforting. You squeeze his hand lightly in comfort. The bonnet shell imprints a small circle in each of your hands, serving as a little promise of your connection with him. “You’re a good man, Park Jimin. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles at you sweetly. But to his unhappiness, you let go of his hand much sooner than he thought you would. However, it didn’t take long before you realized how much you missed it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t see Jimin for the next week and a half. He left to accompany his father out West for several days to learn more about the family business. When he mentioned it, you couldn’t help but pout, which he immediately felt guilty about. He told you that he’d very much make up for the missed Friday lunch tenfold. He promised the next Friday lunch you two would have all the food, chatter and enjoyment as a month’s worth of lunches. Upon this, you giggled and said you would expect nothing less.

During the days he was out of town, you quickly grew to miss his company. After only missing one lunch, you quickly realized how much more time in the week you wanted to spend with him. Those lunches on Fridays, along with the regular community gatherings, just weren’t enough. You wanted to see him every day. He brought brightness back into your days, made you feel warmth and happiness again. And when he talks with you about the hard stuff in life and is so honest with you, it’s like he’s filling in the empty spots in your life. Where your lifestyle of material and money is only the surface of your being, Jimin looks deeper and sees you as the person you are. He never wants to talk about business or money. He always wants to know about you. And you can’t ignore the way your heart flutters when you’re answering one of those many questions about yourself and you catch him so content listening to you.

He would relax in his chair, head slightly tilted to the side, lips turned up in a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming with interest and admiration. Never once would he look away from you when you spoke. You always had his undivided attention. And the more and more you think about, you love it. His caring heart towards you, his kind words and gentle soul, the ability to be open around him.

But it was also more than that.

You like Jimin so much that you feel you’ve known each other longer than four months. It feels like a lifetime that you’ve known him.

You told Hwasa about it one afternoon while painting in the sunroom of your home, unsure what it meant. She merely giggled at you and said, “Y/n, you’re falling in love. And you know it, too.” You did know in your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel the shock of it all. But also, the doubt given your circumstances.

“But Hwasa, how do I know what love feels like? I feel empty most of the time. I don’t even know if I can know what love is.”

Hwasa stopped you right there, “I know where this is coming from, but you don’t have to you worry about that. No one knows what love feels like until it hits them. Besides, you just told me that Jimin makes you so happy and you miss him so much when he’s not here. Trust me, don’t think I don’t see the moping you’ve done for the past couple days. That’s emotion. You’re feeling everything for him with your heart, and there’s no reason to doubt that, no matter what.” And that was why you loved your best friend so much. She was a grounding force and always has been since the accident. Always a level-headed thinker and confident woman. A true role-model. You gave her the biggest hug, thankful for her friendship. Without her, you thought you would have reasoned yourself out of your love for Jimin.

Finally, after said week and a half, you are walking with Hwasa and your grandmother in The Grand Hotel for a large gathering of all the affluent families in the East Isles.

Of course, you and all the other ladies wouldn’t be in the same room as the men. Instead, the women would be drinking tea, tasting little cakes, gossiping and playing a few rounds of light-hearted card playing while the men ate their hearts out and smoked cigars while testing their gambling skills. They would talk of business, family dealings, blah, blah, blah.

Just as the last of everyone was filing into their respective places, you were trailing behind Hwasa and your grandmother to the tearoom. Then you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You gasp, whipping around to see Jimin with a playful look on his face. Your face breaks into the biggest smile, and he pulls you into an empty hallway in the hotel. When he let go of your hand, you pull him into a hug. “I missed you, Jimin.”

He hugs you back with equal the comfort and emotion, his strong arms pulling you tightly to him. “I missed you as well.” He pulls away and that’s when you noticed his disheveled state.

“Oh, my goodness. Jimin, did you just come from the train station? Your collar isn’t even straight.” You grasp the edges and aid him in fixing it.

“I apologize for the long trip, but it gave me enough time to think about how I’m going to make up for it.” He smirks lightheartedly.

“Oh, really? How?” You asked curiously, smile creeping up on your face. You finish with his collar and brush your hands down his shoulders and arms to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“We’re going on a picnic tomorrow at the best place in the East Isles. I’ll pick you up tomorrow from your house around lunch time.” He looks hopeful about the idea, but you can’t help but figure from the confidence he exudes that he already knows you’ll agree.

You bite your lip to prevent from smiling too much like a fool. “Okay! That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.” You dare yourself and kiss his cheek quickly. You’re about to dash off before he could see your face turn scarlet, but he catches your wrist.

He slides his fingers down to grasp yours before bringing the back of your hand to his lips. They press a soft kiss there. He keeps his eyes on you, and your heart won’t stop fluttering. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he smiled at you in farewell.

You practically skipped to the tea hall.

Once there, you sit with Hwasa at a table with four other finely dressed girls. “Oh, good you’re here y/n. We were just about to start.” She hands you a little stack of cards. All of you begin shuffling and laying out cards onto the table as the game begins.

The red-haired girl dressed in a powdery blue color directly across from you seems smug. Hwasa notices it too. “Something you would like to say Florence?” You remark.

She shrugs her shoulders, but the smirk doesn’t leave her face. “I think I’ll be married by spring.”

“Oh! I suppose congratulations are in order then. Who’s the lucky man?” The petite girl at the end of the table chimes in.

“None other than Park Jimin, of course.” Your blood turns to cold steel in your veins. It takes every effort for you not to reveal too much of yourself. Hwasa stiffens next to you. “What other man is there to marry?” Florence has turned her attention directly to you, eyes flashing with spite. Your eyes narrow only enough that she would notice. What was she going on about? Did she know about the time you were spending with Jimin?

Thankfully, being the well-versed girl Hwasa is in social graces, she merely laughs. “Florence, you are funny. Park Jimin has not committed himself to a woman since he was rumored to be in love with someone almost two years ago.” You felt your head swim. Did Hwasa know about Jimin’s lost love too? She was pretty close with Taehyung, who was close with Jimin. Maybe she only knew the rumor. Regardless, your heated rage turns cold, remembering how devastated Jimin looked talking about her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Florence sneers. “Clearly she is long gone. Or maybe she never existed in the first place. I heard a rumor he was using that as an excuse to get out of his previous arranged marriage anyway.”

Hwasa raises her eyebrows, her gaze scrutinizing. “And now you’re saying you’ve magically brought Park Jimin out of his despair and you two are hopelessly in love?” Hwasa harshly fingered the edges of her cards.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She replies with bittersweet venom. “Try not to get jealous, Hwasa. I’m sure Taehyung will propose to you when he finally impresses your father with a fortune earned from his artistic talents. Although I don’t know how long that will take. I heard his exhibit caught on fire last month, torching most of his work. A shame he will have to start over…” Your eyes snapped to Hwasa. She hadn’t told you about the fire. Nor did she ever mention just how close her and Taehyung were.

“Florence,” Hwasa tosses her cards on the table, the paper landing with a smack on the polished wood. “I need you to get your head out of your ass for a minute and listen carefully to what I have to say.” You are shocked at her choice of words. Some women at the table behind you glare in Hwasa’s direction, but she ignores them. “Firstly, Taehyung and I are not getting married. We are close friends.” Florence falsely pouts. “Secondly, Taehyung has more talent and grace in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body and then some. So, I suggest you shut that trap of yours before you wake up and find every single one of your father’s department stores foreclosed.” Florence’s face was the perfect cross of fear and royal anger. With that, Hwasa straightens her spine and stands up. “If you are confused about what I said, I hope you figure it out because I won’t be repeating myself.” Her red-painted lips are set in a deep frown, most of her rage having left her. She heads for the door, her shoes clacking loudly from her firm steps on the marble floor. Most of the women in the room have paused their games to watch her leave, some even going as far to disapprove of her sour attitude.

“Poor Hwasa. She’ll die an old maid if she keeps that attitude.” Florence remarks with unrestrained smugness. You are ready to slap her into next week for her treatment of your best friend. It’s time she gets a reality check.

“I don’t think you should be wasting your time worrying about the wrong person,” you say coolly.

She scoffs, “Is that right, y/n? If I shouldn’t be worrying about Hwasa, who should I be worried about?”

“Yourself, obviously. I forgot that you can’t put two and two together. I’ll remember next time to spell it out directly for you.”

“Get to the point,” she hisses.

You lay your cards down and fold your hands neatly on the table. “My point is you’re not marrying Jimin. Not in the spring, not in the year, not in your lifetime.” Florence’s face nearly matches her hair color. “In fact, I dare say Jimin doesn’t even know that you are planning to ask him for his hand.”

“I won’t be the one asking, you stupid girl. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me to marry him.”

You force a smile. “If you insist. I’ll just give him a fair warning about his eminent doom tomorrow during our picnic date.” Florence’s expression twists into surprise. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of you, I’ll mention how I accidently walked in on you and—what was his name?” You tap a finger thoughtfully to your chin. “John Withers!” You snap your fingers. “You two were in quite the predicament at his sister’s birthday a few months ago. Petting parties and dancing tongues and all that.” Florence gapes at you like a fish, her face overtaken with terror. The other girls looked at her in shock.

Caught in a lie.

You smirk. Your work here was done. Gathering your purse, you send a wink her way before strutting out of the tea hall. You knew you had hundreds of eyes on you, including your grandmother’s. You know you’re going to owe here an explanation later. Everyone in the room probably heard what you said about you and Jimin, but you could care less. You never had such pleasure in telling someone off.

You find Hwasa standing outside in the hotel courtyard smoking a cigarette. She sees the look on your face as you approach, and she grins wickedly. “What did you do?”

“I may have called her out on her lie and mentioned me spending time with Jimin. You should have been in there. Her face was priceless.”

“That’s my girl,” she takes another drag from her cigarette. “Want one? Special edition tobacco. Tae got them for me in France.”

You consider it, eyeing the delicately arranged rolls in the silver case. “Sure. I think I’ve earned it.” Hwasa laughs, handing you a roll and helping you light it. You feel your body release all the rage and spite with each pull. As you eye the cigarette in your fingers, you can’t help but think about what was said about Hwasa and Taehyung’s relationship. They were awfully close, and you had to admit the idea of them marrying had come across your mind sometimes. You had no idea about Taehyung’s finances or career, or even that his relationship with Hwasa was enough to warrant her father’s attention. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Hwasa; however, at the same time, you knew she’d test her father’s patience to its limits. She’d refuse every single marriage he’d set until he gave up. It didn’t matter if she didn’t marry. She had an older brother who would inherit the family business and take over. You wonder if this was a part of her plan. Even if she and Taehyung didn’t marry, they would be lifelong companions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She said that?” Jimin yells over the vroom of the engine. He throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve never heard such a lie before. I was the one who first caught her and John Withers together. They were having a petting party in the back of his car during a party a few years ago.”

“Really?” You yell back, holding onto your hat. “That’s so disgusting! I’ve seen him before, and he’s so greasy looking.” You make a face of sheer disgust, making Jimin laugh even harder.

“Yeah, he is! But, y/n, are you sure she wasn’t just saying something like that to get a rouse out of you?” He inquires, one hand relaxing on the steering well as he drives. “From what you’ve told me how she acts towards you it seems that way.”

“I have no idea! I really don’t know what the whole point of that conversation was,” you laugh. “Even if she was, I don’t care. I like you a lot Jimin, and I wasn’t about to let some girl try and spread false rumors about you.” You look out the car, trying to hide your blushing cheeks.

“Y/n,” he calls you. You turned your head, looking over your sunglasses at him, with your hand resting against your cheek. You answer with a small hum. Between the road and you, he spent as much time as he could gazing at you. Despite his own pair of dark sunglasses, you could still see joy twinkling in his eyes. “I like you a lot too,” he finally says. It did nothing to slow your racing heart or help you cool down, but you didn’t care. Not with the way he could barely keep his eyes off you.

You bite you lip, barely suppressing a huge smile. You lean back in your seat, gazing up at the blue June sky. It was a perfect day for your picnic with Jimin. Not a cloud in sight. A slight breeze blowing through every now and again to relieve you of the sun’s beating rays. The tall grass fields dotted with white and yellow flowers made soft hushing sounds with the wind.

Soon, you and Jimin arrive at the place he promised was the most beautiful place in the East Isles. And it was beyond beautiful. Jimin opens your door and takes you hand to help you out of the car. He was pleased to see your expression of awe as you took in the scene in front of you.

Flowers of all colors poke through the grass—a luscious green carpet—and lead to a small, crystal clear river. The water flows gently after soft brown rocks and into a pond at the end. Birds chirp, some of them chasing each other in the air before perching on the delicate branches of nearby trees. You think this is heaven.

Jimin grabs a large basket and blanket from the car. You seemed entranced by the scenery, and he giggles at your reaction. He slides his fingers down the back of your hand, breaking you from your trance, and threads them with yours. He leads you further into the grass to a perfect spot partially shaded by foliage. He expertly unfolds a thick blanket onto the grass and unpacks the basket, pulling out plates of all your favorite foods and wine. You kick off your shoes and sit down on the blanket, fixing your skirt to neatly cover your legs.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I just had everything made that I know you like,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You must have been taking notes after our meals.”

“That and I feel like I know you well enough that if I had to guess out of these foods is your favorite I could.”

“Really?” You challenge, chewing on some grapes. “Which one then?”

“The cheese Danish,” he states without hesitation.

“Nothing else?”

“No, just the pastry itself. Even if you were in a new place with the most fantastic patisseries in the world, you would always go with a cheese Danish.” He replies with such confidence. He knew you so well.

You smile in delight. “I see your mind-reading skills have improved Park Jimin,” you tease, grabbing the cheese Danish from its plate and taking a huge bite out of it. Jimin laughs at your expression when some of cheese falls out of the pastry due to your aggressive eating and you try to catch it. He hands you a cloth napkin to wipe your hands.

“You’re going to spoil lunch!” he joked. “I have proper lunch dishes to eat before dessert. Glazed salmon with a spring mix salad and raspberry walnut dressing?” he offers.

“Yes please,” you grab the plate excitedly, your mouth watering at the sight of such a delicious looking lunch. You and Jimin eat through the first dish with ease, both admitting to each other that you each had skipped breakfast this morning in order to eat lots of food during your picnic. Then, you finally got to eat your cheese Danish, savoring every bite. After your stomachs were nearly full, you both drank wine, nibbling on an assortment of grapes, cheese and buttery crackers. You and he moved to the bank of the river, letting the water move soothingly over your feet. Conversation flowed with ease, discussing literally about everything that popped into your mind or led from one topic to another. Somehow you had gotten from topics like how you had a green thumb as a child and how you would be upset every time the birds ate the seeds you freshly planted to Jimin helping a man fix his car when in broke in the middle of downtown the other day. The man offered Jimin to take one of the puppies his dog gave birth too recently as a thank you.

“And you didn’t pick one?” You ask, surprised.

He laughs. “No, I said I didn’t need a puppy.”

“What about me? I wanted a puppy,” you deadpan.

Jimin’s face morphs into bewilderment. “You’ve never said to me that you wanted a puppy!”

You giggle at his reaction, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, Jimin. I don’t expect you to think of me all the time.”

“But I do think about you all time. I should have picked one.” He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and regret.

“Jimin, it’s okay! I was only giving you a hard time.” You push his hand out of the way from his face and gently brush away the hair that had fallen into his eyes.

He watches your face as you focus on fixing his hair. Then his eyes slide to the hat on your head. He hates how you covered your hair with that ridiculous accessory. He knew about your voluminous curls that were pinned and restrained to the current trend. It made him unhappy.

He pulls your hat from your head and tossed away somewhere in the grass. “Jimin, what are you…” you trail off as he begins to pull the pins from under your hair. Somehow, he knew where each one was, as if he’d done it a million times.

As he removes each pin and your hair falls over your shoulders, he keeps his eyes on your face, gazing into the mesmerizing dark caramel color of your eyes. A blush paints your cheekbones. Slowly, you become your real self—the one that Jimin knew so well, but you had forgotten about.

When the last pin was removed, Jimin smiled lovingly at you. “I like your hair down. You shouldn’t wear it up so much. I love your curly hair. It kind of reminds me of one of the puppies I saw.”

“It had soft curly hair like mine?”

“Yes. The man said they were called Lagotto Romagnolo dogs. Ironically, they’re an Italian breed, but I only found that out after I said to the man, they sounded like a type of pasta dish.” Jimin explains, and you laugh softly. Comfortable silence fell upon the atmosphere. The sun warms your back, and the trickle of the river soothes you into an almost sleepy state. You turn your head and lay it on Jimin’s shoulder.

You sit there like that for several minutes, watching nature go about its day, sipping on your wine. Your wine glass then becomes empty, and you say as much. Jimin said he would get you some more, gently laying a kiss against your hair. Any relaxation you felt from the wine dissipates and your nerves spark. You lift your head up, and Jimin swoops in for a kiss on the cheek. He smiles cleverly, grabbing your wine glass from your hand before getting up to fill it with more wine. You couldn’t help tracking him with your gaze. From your sitting position, you finally get a good view of his body, particularly his backside. It’s a nice backside, you thought to yourself. As if he felt your eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder and totally catches you checking him out. He winks at you, and you shyly shift your gaze to the river.

Suddenly, your head feels so fuzzy. Your mind drifts, like you’re falling into a dream. You rub the heel of your palm against your temple, squeezing your eyes shut. When the sensation passes, you open them again, gazing back into the water.

Then, a dream comes to you, and it’s such a vivid dream.

You and Jimin are in the river, splashing water at each other. He wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you to his naked chest, he spins you in circles in the water.

The sensation in your head turns into a pounding, and you gasp at the pain. You lay your hand against your forehead, your skin feeling hot. You feel your pulse beating against the side of your neck. You twist in your seat, craning to see Jimin. He’s putting the cork back in the bottle. He looks up and smiles sweetly at you.

Another dream flashes before your eyes. You see the bodies of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace, kissing and holding tightly to each other. Underneath the woman is a familiar blanket and patch of wildflowers.

Then, it’s gone and so it the pain. Jimin’s face with creased with concern. He jogs over, abandoning the wine glasses. He kneels in front of you. “Y/n, what’s wrong? You look hurt.” He searches your face, your arms, your legs, your torso. But he finds nothing wrong with you.

That was because nothing was wrong.

You were remembering. Everything.

You pull Jimin in for a kiss, and your world bursts into a kaleidoscope of memories.

All of them were so vivid.

Your parents. How your father’s electrical business took flight. The money and the new lifestyle that came with it. Hwasa and the dance clubs. The parties and gatherings for tea. And then Jimin—he was in most of them.

The first time you met him, almost five years ago, similar to the situation months age when you “first met” him at his estate, being presented as new money. Except he never looked away from you when you walked in the room. He looked at you with the gleam in his eye like he does now, as if he’d fallen in love with you right then. And you too had found it difficult to look away. He was so handsome. Dressed in a black suit, with the pants so perfectly fitted that it made his legs look unbelievably long. His hair was styled to expose his beautiful face to the world. It was much darker back then, making his blue-gray eyes even more striking.

You had met him every chance you got. You were both inseparable. He was always so polite and sweet. Then, one night he confessed to you under the moonlight at the architectural park downtown and gave you the best kiss of your life. You secretly met up for picnics and boat rides, soaking in the luxurious things in life together, making happy memories. And you fell deeply in love. You had even gone to this place—the meadow with the crystal river. Jimin insisted taking a swim, immediately stripping down. You were worried someone might catch you, but he owned this land and assured you that no one would disturb you two. You looked away when he removed all his clothes before entering the water, and you insisted Jimin do the same. And he did. You remember the exhilaration thrumming in your bones when you removed the last of your undergarments. Never in your life had you imagined that you would be walking in a meadow and swimming in a river stark naked, much less in front of a man you weren’t married too.

When you got in the water, it was chilly, and you had said as much. Jimin had offered to warm you with a suggestive smirk. You had felt boneless at the thought but decided to tease him instead. You smiled mischievously before splashing him with water. Thus, a water battle ensued, and he ended up capturing you in his arms and tickled you to death. After admitting that you teased him on purpose, he finally stopped tickling you and insisted he just hold you in the water. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you rested your head on his solid chest. He pulled you around the pond, humming and laying the occasional kiss on your head. You complained that you were getting too cold and hopped out of the water onto the picnic blanket.

You flopped down on your back, smiling up at the sky. Jimin laid down next to you on his side, head propped up on his hand so he could look at you. Water droplets fell from the ends of his dark wet hair and collected on his skin. You turned your head towards him and offered a soft smile. You reached your hand closest to him and brushed it soothingly on his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes, which were slowly taking in your body. His eyes had grown darker with passion each passing second. Eyes locked on yours, he placed his hand over your heart, feeling the fast racing of it. Jimin saw your expression change, more reflective of his. “Jimin.” Your hand moved to his full lips, stroking the bottom one with the pad of your finger. “Please.” He leaned forward, kissing you passionately. Jimin conveyed his love with every touch.

Your one and only true love.

You feel your soul rush back into your present body, pulling away from Jimin. You were breathless and panting. His eyebrows are scrunched together in worry, eyes bright with fear “Jimin, I remember. I remember everything,” you rush out.

A million emotions flash across his face—happiness, sadness, confusion, fear, joy, pain, relief, but love outshines all of them. Tears form in his eyes that quickly fall down his cheeks. You feel your own tears on your face.

He cups your face in his bands, thumbs wiping away the tears. “What are you feeling? Tell me.” He speaks so softly, and it breaks your heart.

“Everything. I remember everything that I couldn’t from when my father’s company succeeded until now. I can’t explain it. I remembered things. I didn’t feel like I had any gaps in my memory before. It’s like I couldn’t remember that I was missing memories of you, my parents and my friends.

“I… I didn’t just fall down the steps, did I?” You ask. He shakes his head gravely. “I was in a car accident.” And as you explain the details, you see it clearly in your mind’s eye.

You were driving home with parents after a weekend getaway to the coast. Your dad was stressed and needed to get out of the city. After the weekend was over, you were riding in the car with your parents back into the city. Your dad was driving the car over the bridge when another car smashed into your family’s vehicle. Everything happened so quickly, you don’t remember seeing your parents. All you remember was falling so far, so fast and then hitting the ground before blacking out. Then, you woke up in the hospital with your grandmother by your side surrounded by doctors.

“My parents died that night, didn’t they?” Your voice cracks with the question.

Jimin frowns deeply. “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“I already knew they were dead, but not how they died or when.” Then, you see their faces in your mind. “Mom… Dad…” you sob, covering your mouth to prevent from crying out. The full force of the loss hits you. Jimin quickly situates you into his hold, grounding you while you grieve for your parents.

You remember the family meals and time you spent together; the happiness on dad’s face when the business took off; the times when your parents got on your nerves, and now you wish you hadn’t argued with them so harshly; all the times you had mom-daughter and dad-daughter conversations. It all ended too soon.

You’re not sure how long you cried before you finally calmed down. Jimin was rocking you gently, cheek against the top of your head. The sun had started to go down. Jimin finally speaks, his voice forlorn.

“I went and saw you in the hospital. I heard what happened the next day. I hadn’t seen or heard from you. I called your house so many times, but no one answered. So, I went over there, and your staff had gotten a call from the police. They said your parents had died in the crash. I grieved for them.

“But you had managed to survive. Somehow by some miracle, you landed on a wooden platform not too far below the bridge. I thought they were going to say you fell in the icy water and that they wouldn’t find you. They took you to hospital, and you were unconscious.

“I visited you every day. I brought you your favorite flowers. I held your hand and told you everything I loved about you. And that I wanted you to wake up so badly so I can hear your voice and fully convince myself that you were still here. You didn’t wake up for almost a month. When you did, I was on my way to see you. I heard your voice from down the hallway. I was so excited. Finally, I could hear your voice again and kiss you. But, as I got to the door, the doctors had been explaining your condition to your grandmother.

“You suffered a serious brain injury and had amnesia. They assessed you couldn’t remember what happened in the last two or three years with other long-term memories having been forgotten. They found you could no longer associate emotions with most of your memories anymore. After the doctors left, you had already fallen back asleep. Your grandmother saw me and stopped me at the door. She knew that I had heard everything, and she insisted that I stop visiting. You hadn’t asked for me, and that based on the doctor’s evaluation, it was unlikely you remembered me at all. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I should have been in there, trying to help you remember, but your grandmother forbade it. And, in the end, she was right.

“You had just gone through so much, a lot of it you didn’t remember. You didn’t need me, someone you would have thought was a stranger, to come in and try to convince you that we were in love. It wouldn’t have brought you back. I wanted you to love me, not because I told you, you did, but because you do. I wanted to give you the chance to discover love again. Whether it was with me or not.

“It killed me to see you walk into my house again, several months after the accident, and reintroduce yourself and everyone pretend as if they didn’t know what a wonderful person you are. That day a couple months ago, when I had seen you… It was like seeing you again for the very first time. Then I was reminded I had lost you, but you were still here, not knowing that you still had me in the palm of your hand.” He softly circles his fingertips on your palm. “Besides,” he smiles ruefully, “what would you have done if I came up to you and said I was your fiancé?”

You hiccup from your tears, “Fiancé?”

Jimin swallows thickly, nodding. “Yes. I had proposed to you that Christmas. We were in the sitting room in front of the tree. We were just sitting there. You were looking at the candles and ornaments on the tree, commenting how pretty they were and that you’d want Christmas to be this beautiful and peaceful in your own house one day. When you said that, it made the ring that I had kept in my pocket for weeks feel heavier, and my heart was racing so fast I thought you would have thought something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. I was with the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman in the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the future she was talking about. So, I got down on one knee and asked you, y/n y/l/n, to marry me—to allow me the honor of cherishing you every single day until our last.”

“And I said, ‘Yes, I will marry you.’” You sob, but it’s happy tears.

“And I kissed you and told you I would never leave your side ever, no matter what came our way. I guess I just hadn’t imagined that, that something would come so quick and with so much loss.”

You looked deep into his eyes, soothingly caressing the side of his face. “I’m here now Jimin. And I promise I’ll never leave you again.” You had forgotten the most beautiful moments in life—your memories of your parents, Hwasa, and Jimin—but you didn’t know that you had. And ever so slowly, Jimin was bringing you back to him.

However, despite your promising words, he was holding back something. He got choked up again, fresh tears shining in his eyes. He let out a shuttering breath, “Y/n, there’s something else about those months leading up to the accident.”

You trembled, anxiety lighting every nerve. “What is it?”

He covered your hand on his face with his and wiped at his eyes with his other hand. It took him a few moments to gather himself to say it, and it came as a shock—

“You were pregnant.”

Your world stilled and began to spin. “I was pregnant…” You repeat it quietly to yourself. Your mind spun into the kaleidoscope of memories again. You remember you hadn’t asked for your napkins at the beginning of the new year. You remember telling your mom about your missed cycles and explaining to her that you and Jimin had already been together before. You hadn’t told Jimin yet because you didn’t want to tell him until you saw a doctor and said it was official. And you and she were going to tell your father about it, but he was so stressed when he got home. That was the Friday of the weekend getaway. You both decided that you would tell him together when you got back home on Sunday you when he was in a better mood. Except that never happened.

“The doctor had said you were 12 weeks along. It made sense. After I proposed to you that night, we made love, but we decided not to use protection that time. I was so excited I didn’t think to ask if you were taking a contraceptive medicine. I assumed you were, so I didn’t think about it. You didn’t even show at all during those 12 weeks. The only way the doctors found out was because you miscarried. The trauma from the accident was too much for your body, so the baby…” Jimin couldn’t say it, breaking down into sobs. It was still too much for him to talk about.

And for you. You began to cry as well. “I’m sorry, Jimin that I couldn’t protect our baby.”

Jimin hushed you immediately, looking deep into your eyes. “This wasn’t your fault, y/n. You have to know that and believe that. I would never blame you for what happened. I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me because you weren’t ready to yet. And that’s okay. I mourn our son or daughter every day, and I still love them as much as when I found out they had existed and as if they were here.”

You cried for the loss of your parents and the pain your grandmother felt of losing her son and daughter-in-law. You cried for your unborn baby. You cried for Jimin, who had to hold in everything he knew and felt so you could figure out who you were again. He could have told you he was your fiancé but didn’t because he wanted you to love him and accept his love without controlling your heart.

“I know we’ll never be the same people before the car crash, but that doesn’t matter. I would go to the ends of the Earth for you, y/n. And if that meant we would have to start over and fall in love all over again, I would do it a million and ten times more. I was reminded of things about you that I had forgotten that I shouldn’t have and the little things in the experiences that we have together that made me love you all the more. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jimin. Even when I couldn’t remember anything, I was falling in love with you.” He kisses you passionately, quickly muttering about he waited so long to hear you say those words again. Your faces are warm and wet with tears. You each kiss them away on the other’s face until they are gone. “I don’t have enough words to describe how incredibly patient and loving you are with me. You didn’t deserve to go through all of this.”

“Neither did you. We just know now that our love has conquered all. It has transcended tragedy, doubt, heartbreak and stolen memories. You’re mine, and I’m yours; and I’m never letting you go again.” You kiss each other sweetly, the pain of the past melting away with each press of your lips. Neither him nor you were sure how long you stayed perched in his lap just brushing kisses across each other’s lips and whispering promises.

“You know,” you start, brushing his hair from his eyes, “there’s no way I’m letting you leave me tonight to go to your too-far away house. You’re going to go to sleep with me in my bed tonight, and the night after, and the night after, and—”

He interrupts you with a laugh, his eyes squishing into cute crescent moons. “That sounds like a fine idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After quickly shoving the picnic basket and blanket into the car, you and Jimin drove to house. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night. You had been gone practically the entire day. You wondered if your grandmother was worried.

Thankfully, when you tiptoe through the house, your hand holding Jimin’s, the only person you encounter is Hwasa, who had been staying with you the past couple days ever since she got in a fight with her parents. She sees your intertwined hands and says, “Finally you two confessed your feelings. I was concerned I was going to lose my bet with Tae. Although, y/n, I would keep the noise level down, your grandmother is sleeping—”

You didn’t even give her the chance to finish before you pull her into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Hwasa. For being the greatest friend ever.” Hwasa returns the hug. She looks over your shoulder at Jimin, who simply winks at her. Even in the dark of the night, you and Jimin appeared radiant. “We have so much to talk about, Hwasa. But let’s do it tomorrow morning over breakfast.”

She beams at you, finally understanding what was going on. “I’ll be up bright and early. You two get some sleep, and I’ll phone Tae in the morning to bring some extra clothes for your guest. Goodnight, you two.” She exits the corridor, her silk kimono floating behind her like an extra shadow.

Once in your room, you and Jimin collapse on your bed. The only sound was the delicate chorus chirped by the crickets out in the garden by your window. You gaze at each other, listening to the other’s breathing, until you both fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jimin meet your grandmother and Hwasa in the seating room the next morning. Taehyung had stopped by briefly to drop off Jimin’s clothes. He said he gave the excuse to his parents that Jimin was stayed the night at his house after a much-too-fun game of pool. The staff had laid out extra breakfast and tea per your grandmother’s request. There was a lot that needed to be said before life could move forward.

Your grandmother and Hwasa explain the whole point of the plan they had set when it was discovered you had amnesia. It was very similar to why Jimin agreed to go along with it. It was to let you rediscover yourself and grow into a new person that fit the life that you knew. Nothing would have been more miserable than being told who you were and what you had to do. It was difficult getting the community around you to agree to it, but in the end, most felt awful about the terrible ordeal you’d been through. Everyone loved your parents, who were honest and hardworking, so they decided that if pretending to meet you again for the first time was the best way to help you recover it would be so. Thus, began your new journey.

You talk through the difficulties you had. The emptiness and loss of emotion that came with the “gap” memories your brain had created to lessen the trauma. This world hadn’t felt real to you in most aspects until you had more interaction with your best friends and lover. Even though your head had forgotten your memories with them, your heart had known them. And you were so grateful you had Hwasa, Jimin and Taehyung to anchor you back. You can’t say that you desperately wish to turn back the clock to change the events that happened. Firstly, that would be futile and a waste of energy. Second, although your parents have passed on from this world and entered paradise, you know you will see them again someday. You’re happy that your memories came back and you have those to remember them by.

This whole journey has only grown your love and appreciation for every moment and person in your life.

After many hugs and tears with Hwasa and your grandmother, Jimin politely asks if he could have a moment alone with you. Hwasa walks arm-in-arm with her out of the room, beginning to chat away about Paris. Before leaving, Hwasa looks over her shoulder and smiles at you both. You smile back at her, pink coloring your cheeks.

Jimin stands from his chair and holds his hand out to you. You take it, him helping you to your feet. He gazes at you, seeming focused and determined. You grow a little shy, and giggle. “Quite the morning, right? Probably one of the most eventful breakfasts in my life.”

“Yes, I think so too,” he states, but sounding only half-present. He’s engrossed in memorizing the features of your face, and the brightness that is radiating from you after just rediscovering who you were. He thinks that you only get more beautiful with each passing day.

He presses a kiss to your cheek with plush lips, the softness of it drawing a light gasp from you. His lips move closer to your’s, pressing another kiss to your cheek, but firmer this time. His steady hands come up to hold your waist. You tilt your head towards his, your lips brushing his as they come in for a third kiss. You’ll never get used to this. The passion with which Jimin shows you, even with the most delicate of touches. Your hands slide from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him closer.

When Jimin breaks the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he can. You lay your hand against his, fingers gently stroking through his hair in comfort. It occurs to you for a second that he might not believe that you’re really here, that you remember everything about your love for him. “Jimin, I promise I’ll never go far away again. I’ll stay so close by your side you’ll start to think you’ve got a second shadow.” You whisper to him. He chuckles against your neck. You feel him relax against you, his weight growing heavier in your arms. Then, he’s letting go of you, sinking to the ground.

To get on one knee.

“I know you won’t, y/n. And I promise I won’t be the only one who thinks they have a second shadow.” He smiles at you endearingly.

You laugh at the turn-around of the joke, but you feel hot tears already prickling at your eyes. Happy tears.

“You’ve already heard most of what I’ve wanted to say for so long, so I’ll keep it short and get to what I’ve really wanted to do since you came back into my life. Y/n… Life had thrown us a huge curveball, but we made it out on the other side. Never did I imagine that when I met you again that I would mess up so badly,” he tells you, and you laugh at the memory. “I was just so in love with you, and I didn’t know how to act around you without wanting to convey my love. And then, you called me rude and refused dinner, and even though you were made, you were so beautiful when you were. Of course, that didn’t help me get my thoughts straight because I was so head over heels for you. Then, the next opportunity came to make it right, and I knew I couldn’t miss my shot to be around you again. I’m so glad I didn’t because I know you’re the only person in this entire world that makes me feel the way you do. And, if you’ll allow me again to honor and cherish you for the rest of eternity…”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a velvet box, not once taking his eyes off of you. Jimin opens the lid to reveal the diamond ring that once made a home on your left hand. Details of his first proposal to you rush in for a moment. Between that memory and the present, Jimin still looks very nervous, albeit in an endearing way, but wears all of his love for you on his sleeve.

“Will you marry me, y/n?” The tears finally escape his eyes as he asks you for the second time, one of the most beautiful questions in life.

“Yes, Jimin. Always.” You sink to your knees in front of him, hands reaching to pull Jimin in for a passionate kiss. He wraps you against him tightly, dropping the velvet box to the floor. You both kiss for what seems like forever between the two of you until you hear a very Hwasa-like cheer from outside the door. You and Jimin, pull away laughing.

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on your engagement finger. He marvels at it, “You make this ring ten times more radiant,” he grins cutely, earning another laugh from you. “I’m serious! When I was picking one out, I was concerned that I’d never find one that matched your bright spirit, and then I realized that it was impossible. No diamond or gem will ever shine brighter than you.” He lovingly pinches your cheek.

You pinch his in return. “You’re so cheesy. I love it,” you smile at him and kiss him again. “Let’s get married next week. I don’t want to wait too long. I think we’ve done enough waiting.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’ve already got the best place in mind for our honeymoon.”

“Really? Where’s that?”

He smiles knowingly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are married on the following Tuesday, only five days after Jimin’s proposal. The news of your marriage had hit the papers the next day, thanks to the Parks who were finally happy to see him finally getting married. Between Mrs. Park and your grandmother, everything from flowers to food and cake to wedding favors was planned to perfection. Hwasa called in every favor from the best dress designers in the city to create the most beautiful gown imaginable. It was very necessary, she explained when you had said you only needed a simple gown. And she was right. Because when you walked out of the church on Jimin’s arm on that bright sunny day in June, you looked like royalty in the photos. Many citizens in the city were excited to finally see a big wedding happen again. They cheered and tossed flower petals when you and Jimin descended the church steps to head to the car for reception.

The next morning, you and Jimin left home together when the sun rose for your honeymoon. You briefly rode to the airport, where you and Jimin boarded a small plane. You asked him repeatedly where he was taking you, but he would simply grin and kiss your hand. He was probably much more excited than you, if that was even possible. You felt as if you’d been on a high for the past week since the proposal. Life couldn’t have been any better.

But, of course, it got even better.

When Jimin said you both had finally arrived, you are pleasantly surprised.

Santa Bella Island.

You’d heard about it before from friends and family. Crystal clear, blue waters with warm, white sand speckled with seashells. Pleasant summer weather that was a tad hot during the peak of the day but left a gentle breeze by the time the sun fell in a cascade of pinks, oranges, and purples. The sunrises were even better.

You stood against the threshold of your private villa, drinking in the morning sun as it started to peek from the ocean’s horizon. You sipped quietly on a cup of tea, letting the sun’s early rays warm your skin. Jimin was still sleeping on the bed, body wrapped around the sheets, which were sufficiently wrinkled from last night’s late activities. You giggled to yourself, fingering the silk of your robe.

It was so perfectly peaceful here. Birds chirped happily as they began their morning songs. The waves lapped softly on the sand. The palm trees swayed with ease. Jimin was snoring softly on the bed, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips parted. You couldn’t believe that you get a whole month of this with your husband.

Husband. You smile to yourself. That will never get old. It brings warmth to your cheeks every time you think about it. You murmur the word to yourself, testing out how it rolls off your tongue. It was so strange to say, yet it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your husband must have heard you. Caught up in the sunrise, you’d only heard soft footfalls against the wood floor that signaled Jimin’s wakefulness. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back to rest against his bare chest. His head rests on your shoulder, tilted to nuzzle against the side of your neck. “Good morning, my lovely wife,” and he places small kisses along there.

“Good morning, my darling husband. Did you sleep well?” Your free hand comes up to stroke his hair.

“I did,” he murmurs against your hair. He reaches over your shoulder to take the cup from you and set it on the table. He wraps both arms around your waist from behind you, fingers massaging your skin through the silk of the robe. “Although, I was hoping I would get the chance to wake you up in a very husband-like kind of way,” he says coyly. You giggle, biting your lip. You hold your left hand closer to your face.

The two white diamond rings—for your engagement and wedding—glitter perfectly in the morning sun. You marvel at the striking beauty of them.

“My forever is with you y/n.” Your husband whispers in your ear.

“You’re my forever Jimin.”

#bts #bts fanfction #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin x reader #taehyung #hwasa #the great gatsby #1920s #jimin fluff #jimin angst

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

WIP #46

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @janetm74 who actually asked for ‘Thunderbirds, 31′ but 31 isn’t TAG so we’ve got the closest TAG one instead. (top tip: wips are mostly arranged alphabetically by fandom and the TAG wips are 46-59!)

It was really only a matter of time before someone hit Scott!whump, wasn’t it? Snippets of this one have actually appeared in previous ask games, so you get the whole thing this time (because I don’t remember which bits I’ve already posted). Fun fact: this was my first attempt at Virgil’s PoV!

There was always something wrong about Scott in Thunderbird Two. Of all the Tracys, he was the least likely to travel in the green behemoth that was, in Virgil’s private opinion, the heart of International Rescue.

And yes, that included John.

Gordon was his co-pilot, his wingman, his back-up. For all that the aquanaut was, well, an aquanaut, there was honestly no-one else Virgil would rather behind the controls of his beloved girl if he was needed elsewhere. Heavy lifting, or – his least favourite – medical duties could sometimes pull him elsewhere, and in those moments his immediate brother would take the helm with a joking smile but steady hands that would never let anything befall Two (if only, he thought from time to time, because without Two Four would be grounded).

Alan was all nervous energy, a genius pilot but too cocky for Virgil to ever be truly relaxed when Two was in his hands, but it was far from uncommon for his youngest brother to be perched behind him, screens and panels showing readout after readout as he assessed situations and started remote assembly of pods when time was particularly of the essence. Sometimes, often, he knew Alan desired the speed of One, but he also liked his comfort and short of pulling Three’s own seats into One (a feat done once, never repeated), there was no comfort as a passenger of their first response craft. Or even as the pilot, in Virgil’s opinion.

John was an unusual passenger, unlikely to be Earthside for a mission – and even if he was, quickly wrapping things up and ascending back to the lofty heights of Five and the world at his fingertips – but when he was Earthside, well, Thunderbird Two was his ship of choice. He didn’t pilot her, for all that he was trained, but no matter what Scott would mutter, John was stubborn about always using Two to get to the danger zone. Something about reckless flying and too much gravity. Virgil couldn’t truly say he understood, because John’s aversion to gravity had never been a point in common between them, but he did at least appreciate that Thunderbird One was fast, and generated far more Gs than any atmosphere-bound craft had any right to make.

Statistically speaking, Scott did travel in Two more than John did, but as he didn’t spend over three hundred days in the year off planet, Virgil wasn’t quite so fussed on the literal numbers. Scott in Two always, always meant something was wrong. Maybe One was out of action (again) but Scott wanted to be on the rescue anyway. Maybe the world was conspiring against them, and Scott just wanted to be with his brothers rather than haring off at triple their speed and leaving them alone and vulnerable (Virgil knew that really One was more vulnerable than Two, although his eldest brother could never see it that way).

Or maybe, the worst wrong of all that always lined Virgil’s stomach with lead and dried up all the saliva in his mouth, Scott wasn’t fit to fly.

John was hovering, holographic form always a little too dull to accurately capture his brother’s vibrancy. Gordon had flight control, gloved hands firmly on the yoke as though he was her designated pilot. Alan had co-pilot, booted feet reaching the floor with little difficulty nowadays – he would out-grow Gordon soon – as he flicked switches in uncharacteristic silence.

Virgil was in the medbay, scanner clutched in his hands like a lifeline as it told him nothing that he wanted to hear, and many things that he didn’t.

Scott was in the medbay, doing nothing.

Danger dogged their steps with every rescue. They knew that – had always known it, even before the Zero-X blew their father sky-high as he tried to save the world – but it never made it any easier when it got closer than normal.

As normal for them was less than a second’s escape – buildings collapsing the moment their trailing foot left the threshold, planes erupting into fireballs the instant they leapt clear – closer was barely possible. Closer was a Thunderbird coming home with deep gouges. Closer was broken bones and terrorised faces.

Closer was their eldest brother lying motionless in his ‘bird’s medbay because it had taken thirteen minutes to find him after the snow roared down.

Avalanches were a messy business. Survival rates were low, some of the worst odds International Rescue ever faced, and there was no denying that their own past experience did nothing to help whenever John uttered the word in a brief. This one shouldn’t have been too bad, as far as snow monsters went. Out of season, with few people in the huts that dotted the lower reaches of the slopes and fewer still outside. Ten people were reported missing.

They found nine, all fortunate and breathing, before the second one struck.

Alan had been in Thunderbird Two, holding her steady in the air because the large Thunderbird would have done more harm than good if she’d landed and providing a much-needed birds’ eye view of the danger zone. It had been entirely due to the combined information from him and John that had let them find the nine lucky people so quickly.

Gordon had been on triage in the hut deemed safest in the event of a second avalanche. Virgil had just reached him with rescuee number nine when it had struck.

Scott had been heading up the slope, travelling scant inches above the snow via jetpack, searching for person number ten. One’s drones had been with him, scanning furiously even as John hijacked them to give Five even more data than the space station had already obtained from other means. Those same drones had given them a glimpse of blue, grey and white all jumbled together before going dark.

It took two minutes for Virgil and Gordon to force their way out of the semi-buried but still standing hut. One more for Alan to configure a pod and tentatively lower it from the module even as they realised their original one would take too long to excavate from the snow. In those three minutes, John had triangulated all the data he could amass from Five to provide the most viable search area.

Five minutes to find a body, cold to the touch. Rescue number ten had never stood a chance. Face down and neck broken, he would have been killed almost instantly during the original avalanche.

Fifteen minutes was the time limit. Nine people had already defied it, surviving anything between half an hour and an hour under the snow before International Rescue reached the scene and dug them out. The Tracy family never had that much luck, and an avalanche was their own personal hell. They knew, in that cold-fist-closing-around-their-hearts way, that Scott would not be number ten.

Twelve minutes and the pod’s heat sensors showed yellow-green in a sea of blue.

Thirteen minutes and their eyes showed them blue in a sea of white.

Scott had been wearing his helmet when the avalanche struck. As Virgil knelt to ease his limp, cold, but breathing body from the frigid prison, he’d thanked their parents for that fact silently but profusely. Still intact, the helmet had stopped snow clogging his airways, and had enough of an air supply to stop Scott from suffocating to death in the thirteen torturously long minutes it had taken them to find him.

In the medbay, scan finished, Virgil finally removed the life-saving gear. The detached feedback from the scan told him as much, but he sighed resignedly when there was no response. Scott didn’t gasp dramatically as his recycled air supply was replaced with the real deal, nor did lightly closed eyes snap open.

“How is he?” John asked unnecessarily as Virgil’s hand lingered under brown hair longer than strictly necessary after lowering the now helmetless head back down onto the stretcher.

“Cold.” Virgil humoured him, knowing full well that John had been desperately analysing the results of the scan as they occurred. Their suits were well designed for the varied environments they found themselves in, and while Scott had shown up far, far too cold in their initial search for him, as soon as they’d got him into the security of Thunderbird Two the hint of a shiver had taken hold and Gordon had encouraged it with a single blanket.

Scott’s uniform was somewhere in the middle as far as easy to remove International Rescue uniforms went. While Gordon and John’s specialist environments necessitated almost vacuum-tight uniforms, and Virgil and Alan had heavy-duty but therefore less clingy attire, Scott wore a streamlined flight suit that didn’t adhere precisely to his body but wasn’t exactly loose either. Still, the zip tugged down easily enough and Virgil manipulated his rag doll of an eldest brother out of the tough material delicately before clearing away any leftover snow trying to chill him further and cradling him in blankets.

John watched in an agitated silence, the distance between their physical bodies never so apparent as when one of them was hurt and he was twenty two and a half thousand miles away. Sooner rather than later, Virgil knew the space elevator would be docking at Tracy Island, but before John could leave Five he needed to get One nestled back safely in her hanger.

The Thunderbird had escaped the avalanche by never landing, set to an autopilot hover by Scott upon his arrival to the danger zone because despite being smaller than Two, her VTOL posed just as much of a risk to the stability of the snow. With Gordon at the helm of Two, and a universal desire for the whole family to be together landing Alan in the co-pilot seat rather than their brother’s Thunderbird, it was up to John to remote pilot her home.

Hypothermia was not the only issue Scott had been hit with by the avalanche. None of them had done the exact calculations – John might have done, but if he had he hadn’t shared them – but Scott had been swept a fair distance by the sheer might of the snow and the journey had been far from smooth. Something had knocked him out in the tumble – what, Virgil couldn’t begin to decipher – and while his ribs were miraculously okay, thanks to the support of his flight suit, his left arm was bent awkwardly. Already, beneath the blankets, his skin was blossoming in the reds and purples of early bruising.

“Any change?” Alan asked, his hologram flickering into existence beside John’s. Gordon was just visible at the edge of the projection.

“He’s warming up,” Virgil assured them, eyes never leaving his eldest brother as shivers slowly intensified. “No sign of consciousness, though.” He leant forwards, running his hands gently through gelled hair. The scan didn’t indicate a concussion to accompany the rest of Scott’s injuries, but with no evidence for why he was remaining unconscious barring the hypothermia itself, Virgil needed a more hands’ on check to reassure himself that there would be no further complications.

“We’re almost home,” Gordon chipped in. “Make sure you’re both ready for the landing.”

“F.A.B.”

Securing Scott was easy, straps looping over him and cinching tight but not too tight against the stretcher. The temptation to stay standing beside him, watching like a hawk for any sign of change – good or otherwise – was strong, but John made a small noise in the back of his throat and Virgil forced himself to take the two paces away from the stretcher and collapse into a fold-out seat.

“Thunderbird One has landed,” the astronaut informed him, and Virgil managed something that was almost a smile.

“See you soon,” he said, and John returned the almost-smile before floating with purpose. With the limitations of the holograms, it was difficult to tell where he was headed, but Virgil knew there was only one place John wanted to be.

Their landing was soft, softer than Gordon had ever managed before, and Virgil shot out of his chair and back to Scott’s side as soon as he felt the wheels connect solidly with the runway. The touchdown had done nothing to disturb him, eyes still softly closed. His skin was pale, and the shivering was still gaining in intensity, but Scott’s face was as peaceful as Virgil had seen it since the Zero-X.

He pulled the scanner back out, running another one just for something to do as Gordon taxied them back into the hangar. Scott’s temperature had risen marginally, still too cold but headed in the right direction. He adjusted the blankets cocooning him as Thunderbird Two finished her rotation and the hydraulics either side of the module whirred into action, raising the body of the craft.

Someone had remembered to call ahead – a flash of guilt coursed through Virgil as he realised that should have been his job – because as the module door lowered, letting in the orange flickering light that indicated mechanical movement in the hangar, Grandma was standing there, arms crossed and finger tapping nervously. She didn’t wait for the door to finish lowering, jumping into the module as soon as she could and heading straight for them.

“What happened?” she asked, wrapping an arm around him firmly for a moment before taking the final step to Scott’s side and tutting at the results of the scan.

“Avalanche,” Virgil responded, even though he knew she knew. Old hands that had yet to lose most of their dexterity pulled at the blankets, exposing Scott’s throat enough for her to press two fingers to his pulse. “Nine survivors, one fatality.”

“Broken arm and extensive bruising,” she mused, light fingers dancing over her eldest grandson’s body as she confirmed the scanner’s results for herself. “His suit protected him from the worst of it. Let’s get him inside.” Virgil nodded, reaching out to activate the hover jets on the underside of the stretcher before releasing the clasps that held it to the wall. Hurried footsteps indicated the arrival of his younger brothers, finished with their flight checks and anxious to see their eldest brother.

“Is he awake yet?” Alan asked, blue eyes filled with hope. Virgil shook his head as Gordon placed a hand on the youngest’s shoulder.

“Your brother will be fine,” Grandma assured them all before he could find the words to explain Scott’s condition. “A little battered and bruised, and rather cold, but some rest and home cooking will sort him right out, you’ll see.”

Gordon’s mutter that home cooking would do more harm than good wasn’t as quiet as he’d clearly intended, but Grandma ignored the slight as she put a firm hand on the hovering stretcher and started to guide it towards the house. Virgil paused, checking his two younger brothers over thoroughly. Alan was pale, shaken at the sight of Scott’s limp body, while Gordon headed over to the discarded uniform and picked it up.

“He’ll be alright,” he told them. Both nodded sharply. “John’s coming down; Alan, why don’t you go meet him?”

Neither asked why John was coming down if Scott was going to be fine. It was a much appreciated fact that sometimes a hologram wasn’t enough for reassurance, and none of them would ever begrudge John the chance to be there in person. Alan nodded again and left.

“I’ll clear up here,” Gordon said. He was feeding the damp uniform through his hands, most likely unconsciously. Damp, half-melted snow littered the module, and the remaining pod. “Go help Grandma.”

Virgil didn’t protest, although he gave Gordon a final look over before turning to leave his ‘bird. They all needed to feel useful, finding something to do while they waited for Scott to wake up. He would have cleaned his ‘bird himself, but Gordon’s order had been a hidden plea: I want you with Scott.

“I want her spotless,” he said instead, and Gordon laughed.

“Yes, yes,” he dismissed. “Now go help Grandma keep Scott in bed.” Because that was going to be the hardest task of all. None of the Tracys made for a good patient, but Scott was the undisputed worst patient of all. Alan and Gordon would try for subtle, the elder blond with more success, escape attempts made when they were left alone for too long. John hid in Five, well-practiced in manipulating holograms to make him appear healthier than he actually was – although the arrival of EOS had put a stop to that particular trick. It was the thing that had finally got her into Scott’s good books. Virgil himself knew that he gave his brothers a little too much grief, largely because he knew how to treat his own ailments better than they did.

Scott didn’t bother with subtlety. The moment their backs were turned, and sometimes not even then, he would be forcing himself up and out of bed, determined to carry on working no matter what. He’d never been a good patient, but it had only worsened since their Dad’s crash. Knowing why didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Not bothering to change out of his uniform, he ran after Grandma and the stretcher, catching up with them just outside the infirmary doors. Scott was still unconscious, a fact that bothered him considering there was no sign of injury that would cause it, but it made transferring him from the stretcher to the soft bed far easier. A pile of warm blankets were gently tucked around him, mindful of the broken arm.

As Grandma fussed with an IV line, more a precaution than a necessity, Virgil turned his attention to the limb. It was a clean break, simple enough to reset and splint. Scott let out a noise of complaint as the bones were dragged back into place, and both he and Grandma immediately looked at him. Brow furrowed, hazed blue eyes flickered open.

“Scott?”

“Vrrgg?” his eldest brother slurred, eyes slowly focusing on him. “Whh..?”

“We’re home,” Virgil told him, resting a hand on the blankets over where Scott’s right shoulder was buried. “The rescue’s over.”

Scott blinked at him slowly, the haze of confusion not quite leaving his eyes.

“Rsscu?”

“Let’s focus on getting you warmed up for now, Scott,” Grandma cut in, smoothing his hair back gently. She gestured sharply with her other hand – hidden from Scott’s view – to the reset arm. Virgil took the hint, returning to strap it up, knowing that he’d need to mix up a proper cast for it if he wanted any chance of it healing properly with Scott’s reluctance to rest of any length of time.

“Buh-”

Scott’s protest was cut off by the door slamming open, the pitter-patter of Alan’s booted feet flying into the room. Behind him, at a more sedate pace, John followed, turquoise eyes raking over the scene in front of him sharply.

“Is he awake?” Alan asked, skidding to a stop by the bed. “Scott?”

“Ara?” Scott started. Virgil lunged up to stop him as he made his first attempt to get up.

“No, Scott,” he said firmly. “You’re still too cold.” Scott didn’t fight him, a sign that he was still confused. It didn’t go unnoticed by either Alan or John, the former losing his smile and the latter narrowing his eyes for a moment.

“Go get yourselves changed,” Grandma told them. “He’ll still be here when you come back.” Hoping she wasn’t including him in that order, Virgil busied himself with fussing over Scott, fixing the blankets he’d dislodged and hushing any attempts to ask about the rescue.

“It’s over,” he repeated as his two brothers left the room with orders from Grandma to also locate Gordon and make sure he got changed, too. “Stay still.”

“Virgil,” Grandma warned, and his shoulder slumped. “You too, young man. You’re still wearing some of the snow.”

He hadn’t noticed, but when she mentioned it he realised that the creases of his uniform still carried damp white.

“I won’t be long,” he promised Scott, who looked at him with wide blue eyes. They reminded Virgil of Alan. Usually it was Alan who reminded him of Scott; he didn’t like it the other way around. “I’ll bring you back a drink. Think you can manage that?”

“Drrnk?”

Virgil sighed, and turned to Grandma.

“I’ll bring him something,” he told her and she nodded with a tired smile.

“You do that,” she said. “Now go get out of that wet uniform before you catch a chill, too!”

With a last look at his brother, still too pale but thankfully shivering properly at last, he forced himself to leave the room.

When it came to Grandma, there were fights that could not be won, and unspoken orders to be heeded nonetheless. It was not as simple as tugging off his uniform, throwing on some casual clothes and running back into the infirmary with a warm, sugary drink in hand served with a straw to sip it with, so he begrudgingly threw himself under a hot shower, allowing his own body to warm up after too long in the snow himself, albeit not buried like his big brother. Still, a shower did not have to be long to be effective, even if he would usually take the time to let his muses grow amongst the gentle hiss of pouring water, and within five minutes he was thoroughly warm and worming his way into clean clothes. A quick blow with his hair dryer got the worst of the water out of his hair, but he forwent the gel to return it to its usual style. Certain younger brothers might have a field day about his hair not being carefully sculpted, but a certain hypothermic older brother was worth a little bit of pride.

John had beaten him to the kitchen, a hot squash – blackcurrant and apple, from Scott’s personal stash – steaming on the counter. Virgil glanced around the room to make sure nothing was broken.

“You haven’t taken it in?” he asked, wrapping a hand around the container. It was almost hot to the touch. John shrugged.

“I’d drop it,” he said, plucking a blue straw from the collection in the cupboard and neatly dropping it into the top of the cup. Virgil couldn’t disagree with the possibility and scooped it up, straw bobbing in the dark liquid, before continuing on to the infirmary.

Alan and Gordon were there, both out of uniform as per Grandma’s orders, and trying to get a laugh out of Scott, if their antics were anything to go by. Scott himself, Virgil was pleased to see, appeared less confused than when he’d left.

“I have a drink for you,” he announced, passing it to Grandma as he perched on the bed by Scott. “Think you can manage some sips?” Scott was still shivering but managed a grateful smile.

“Will i’ tas’e goo’?” he asked, still too cold to pronounce his words properly. Virgil gently brought the head of the bed up slightly before propping Scott up in a more upright position with the use of many pillows. Gordon helpfully readjusted the blankets as Alan crawled onto the bottom of the bed.

“It’s from your own stash,” he promised, taking it back from Grandma and holding the straw to his lips. “John made it hot, so be careful.”

“’M alway’ ca’ful.” Scott mumbled the biggest lie Virgil had ever heard before accepting the straw and taking a sip.

“If you say so,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help keep him in place as he drank. He was still cool to the touch, despite the blankets wrapped around him firmly.

Scott hissed as the liquid entered his mouth, and Virgil tightened his grip even as he rolled his eyes.

“I warned you,” he said lightly, as John entered the room and perched on the end of the bed, watching Scott carefully. Scott took another sip, more cautiously the second time.

...tbc one day..?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #wip excerpt #virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy #thunderwhump

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leah-halliwell92 · 4 years

Text

You Were Lucky...Good for You

Summary: Sirius sticks his foot in his mouth...again.

Scene for something in the future…maybe.

Trigger warning! MENTIONS OF RAPE AND CHILD ABUSE. Don’t like don’t read.

It was a quiet spring morning at headquarters, the house was quiet and settled the portrait of Old Walburga was quiet without the need of spells for once, the birds were chirping and a breeze and sunlight were making its way through the kitchen via an opened window. It was early enough for the house to still be asleep, considering that it is the last leg of the summer holidays, so you took this as a chance to bask in the calm before the storm that is the pre-term school supply shopping madness.

Amelia had just finished brewing a pot of tea and was sitting at the large table just basking in the silence and morning peace before the house’s resident potion’s master made his way.

“Good morning,” she says with a small grin.

He nodded in return looking calmer than she’d ever seen him while at Grimmauld’s.

Amelia was glad he felt at ease around her, knowing the patience it took to be living in your childhood bully’s home for part of the summer under Albus’ request.

The peace shattered when Sirius and Remus entered the room. Remus nodded a greeting at the two of them and took a seat to read the day’s newspaper. Sirius on the other hand, sat down quietly at first which was good.

Amelia noticed a glint in his eye when she spotted him not so subtly sparing glances in your direction. It didn’t take long for him to start...

“She could do better you know Moony,” he began a smirk on his lips.

Remus to his credit did not react, this spurred Sirius on however.

The animagi went on and on about how not only could she do better in general, but a hell of a lot better than ‘Snivellous’ and “his obvious leanings towards the dark arts and the ties he has to the death eaters”.

“Shut up!” Amelia yelled having had enough of Sirius’ bullying and Remus’ complacency.

“I’m right ab–“

“Stop,” she said forcefully, “What are you so peeved about? That Severus realized his mistake and is and has atoned for them? Or that your dear friend Peter sold out the Potters without remorse?”

She cast a wandless ‘silencio’ on him not wanting him to interrupt. The air thickened with magic as Amelia tried to contain from letting her emotions drive her magic to lash out at him.

“Just because the dark arts as a topic intrigued him didn’t make him a bad man, just because he experimented and looked into some of those theories doesn’t make him a dark wizard and just because he is a slytherin doesn’t make him any less of a human being than you are,” she stopped and took a deep breath before looking at him coldly as she occluded enough to get her point across, “You grew up in a dark home and ran away to get away from all that which is understandable. But you have no idea what it’s like to grow up in a muggle home where your life is threatened from the moment you’re born.”

Sirius continued to glare at her from his seat while Remus looked at her quietly clueless…what he usually looks like when he doesn’t want to be a part of something.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up in an abusive home with no such opportunity as that? Do you have any idea what it’s like to go home summer after summer from what should be a safe place back into your own personal hell?” She stared at Sirius who seemed to be coming to the same conclusion she was making, “And do you have any idea what it’s like to feel unsafe in the very place that promises to protect you?”

Remus paled at the image she was painting for them.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea…no idea what it’s like to feel like you’re in danger day in and day out not only at Hogwarts but out of her as well. You have no idea what’s it’s like to feel like you’re being hunted every day for being different,” she said before leaning back in her seat and casually asked, “Do you know what its like to come home from school and be greeted by your father who takes you to the farthest room from the door and lock you in with nothing but a door flap for food and water? Do you know what its like for said father to bring ‘friends’ over to ‘play with’? To have bruises on your wrists and ankles from the binds that tied you to a dirty mattress?”

Remus blanched at this and from her peripheral vision she saw an already pale Severus go even paler. But Amelia’s gaze was connected to Sirius’ who paled at the implication she made as he shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. You ran away from your own hell and despite having your face blasted off your family tree, you inherited vault after vault holding your family’s fortune. Meaning, just because you managed to run away from your hell and landed on top, that doesn’t mean the rest of us with our own will be granted the same opportunity,” she said calmly before downing her now cold tea, “And the next time you even DARE call him a coward, think about all the lions that hide behind false bravado to do things their way.”

“What about your mother?” Remus asked gently.

“She passed away when I was three, cancer I think,” she said with a sigh.

Amelia lifted the silencio from Sirius and went to get up when the mutt couldn’t just leave well enough alone.

“Why are you defending him so much? We’ve always known that Snivellous will always follow his lord,” Sirius said childishly, “Only a coward would stoop so low.”

“Sirius stop,” Remus said his heightened senses telling him that trouble is here and ever present in the light that lit I her eyes and the electric feeling of wild magic dancing around them.

Severus stared at Amelia in awe as she retook herr seat and practically nailed down a now fearful Sirius with a look

“No, only a coward would stoop so low to bully someone smaller than them,” she said voice hard, “A coward is someone easily intimidated by someone else’s achievements over your own prompting said bullying episodes, on top of beating on a classmate from another house because of not being a lion.”

“He called Lily a mudblood!” Sirius yelled.

“Sirius stop!” Remus yelled as the temperature in the room fell.

“Oh now you stop him,” she said coldly before Severus could jump in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Remus asked affronted.

“Because a coward is being the spectator of an attack three to one and does nothing to stop it,” she said looking at Remus in the eye, “Being brave and courageous is standing up for others when they are clearly in need of help. Not to mention Evans took the use of a word too far. It is a hurtful word, but she saw this as an opportunity to dump him and took it when she noticed that he didn’t fit her image anymore.”

“They knew I was werewolf,” Remus said his eyes going yellow showing the wolf in him.

Amelia lifted a brow at him clearly unimpressed with the show of dominance and said, “So what? Were you too much of a bitch that you not only couldn’t come to the aid of another student but confront a group of bullies because you were scared of being ousted as a wolf? Now I know you’re a Gryffindor, but you must have some sense of self preservation. If that had been the case then you could have ousted them for having the marauder’s map.”

The pair’s eyes widened and she smirked.

“I have a feeling that that would’ve been call for expulsion for all of you for that map alone,” she said looking at your clean and nicely manicured nails, “Because not only is it an invasion of people’s privacy but it is very nice tool for stalkers and creeps. Any of our classman could have worked a way around your little password and used it to not only stalk people but cause irreparable damage to them…like rape and murder. But you’d know all about the second one…”

Remus looked at a now very pale Sirius and asked, “What does she mean by that?”

“He hasn’t told you then?” Severus asked sardonically, “I thought you love birds told each other everything.”

“What does she mean Severus?” Remus asked patience clearly wearing thin.

“It means wolf that he deliberately lured me into the shrieking shack on one of your full moons,” Severus said and walked out having had enough of them for one day.

“You did what!?” Remus yelled at Sirius.

“He was snooping around!” Sirius said hands up as he shrugged, “Had to teach him to keep his large nose from where it didn’t belong. It doesn’t matter anyway Prongs was there and nothing happened.”

“So not only are you inconsiderate of another student’s life but your own friend’s as well?” Amelia asked him even more unimpressed with Sirius than she was before, “Did it ever occur to you that should have Severus been bitten or killed it would have been an automatic death sentence for Remus?”

Sirius paled at this but didn’t respond.

“And you’d have gone to prison for a crime that you are actually guilty for,” she said crossing her arms, “Thinking of it now, you aren’t guilty for the deaths of Lily and James Potter. But you have done your time for the attempted murder of a student and endangerment of another.”

With her piece said, Amelia stood leaving the men to behind to bicker as she went in search for Severus.

//00//00//00//

Like and reblog people it really helps! Let me know if you want to be tagged for any of my fandom writings!

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Tag List: Tag list: @disneymarina @hoefordarkness @thebeautyofdisorder @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @toooftenobsessed @smailaway @lady-sigyn, @therealcountdracula1931 @lokiisbrucebanner @197863451 @always-severus-stan @miranak @nanasoo @thehallowsden, @kraehell @glamrockmonarch @zealouspickleeggdragon @xbreezymeadowsx

#severus snape x oc #sirius black #remus lupin #Harry Potter fic #part of a future fic #this just came out of nowhere

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goose-books · 4 years

Photo

(original image credit to @/theyshane on unsplash)

a month or so ago the wonderful and very sharp-fanged @yvesdot said i should make a post about the process of Working On A Podcast - what, exactly, does that entail? and so today i set down upon your table a long post about the process of this podcast, its unique struggles, and What Comes Next!

for those of you who are new here: a modern tragedy is my podcast-in-progress, a loose retelling of three of shakespeare’s plays (romeo&juliet, hamlet, and macbeth) set in a modern-day high school. or, alternatively, “so so much drama localized inside a few overlapping friend groups of gay* people”

post under the cut!

tag list (ask me to be added/removed): @piyawrites @harehearts @bisexualorlando @guulabjamuns

*well. gay people and indrajit “macbitch” chopra. never let it be said i don’t have cishet rep 😤

what i mean when i say “podcast”

sometimes when i say, “i’m writing a podcast,” people get the wrong idea - they think i’m going to sit down, maybe with some friends as guest stars, and talk into a microphone for an hour. what i really mean is that i’m writing a fiction podcast - something like an audio drama, if you will.

i’ve had this story concept for a long time (since i realized i was gay, actually. sometime around my coming out i was like “...sapphic romeo and juliet. oh i’m a genius”), but it never really worked as a novel. my inspiration for making it a podcast was the penumbra podcast! which i am not caught up on but which dragged me shirt-collar-first into the world of podcasts. [blowing a kiss to mars] for juno steel.

i will admit that i actually... haven’t listened to a ton of podcasts. mostly because my incredibly helpful attention-deficit brain said listening to things is impossible forever. but let me tell you that starting to write AMT in script format worked immediately. and in hindsight? it makes sense. i mean, i am retelling some of the most famous plays of all time... why not get a little theatrical with it?

the process so far

the podcast is drafted! all 16 episodes of it. all... 176k words of it... only took me a year and a half...

i have my main cast together! AMT has a lot of side characters, not all of whom are cast yet, but my main recurring squad is gathered and i love them all VERY dearly. (also, the population of people i know irl is 75% theater kid. so i think i will be able to figure out the side character thing.)

within the group of voice actors, i also have three assistant directors, a term i use loosely because mostly i just mean… those are my right hand men. the main folks i bounce ideas off of and the main folks i have helping me organize all of this. i’ve said multiple times that i’m just the keyboard monkey and would be hopelessly out of my depth without my beloved assdirectors. (shoutout to @asimpleram, the only one who uses tumblr, you are my best friend and i love you oh so much)

i also have two “bootydirectors” who gave themselves that name and that’s just the people who know the most about recording technology and acting. thanks kings

right now the scripts have been sent out to some sensitivity readers and i am currently editing! (both with regards to sensitivity reader feedback, and also just editing the plot and character arcs in general.) (if you want me to send you AMT and you’re willing to give me your thoughts i will straight-up send it to you honestly just know it’s LONG)

i actually did not consider that writing this might be uniquely hard before i started

fun max tip: if you look too far ahead down the road and realize the breadth of the project you’re taking on you’ll freak yourself out so just dive into things headfirst without checking both ways or considering your actions!!! [i am giving you a double thumbs up from behind my monitor]

i have never written anything like AMT before! it has been an experience! there have been some unique struggles!

working with other people is harder than i expected! which is not about my group, all of whom are lovely people. it is about me and my little OCD rat brain that hates letting go of control. even though... an inherent part of writing a script... is that at some point other people will be involved... wild, i know.

9 main characters! AMT has 9 main characters. this is somewhat excusable because the whole thing is episodic and more like a season of a tv show than a novel. but still. 9 main characters. why did i do that

i’ve never written episodically before, so i’ve had to figure out how to fit the plot into appropriately spaced intervals. there are three running plotlines (one for each play), and they’re all parallel and eventually convergent. so everything’s happening at once and it’s… hard to make episodes that aren’t just “max threw a bunch of scenes together because they were happening at the same time.” (i will admit i’ve defaulted to chronological order when spacing episodes, so the timeline doesn’t get confusing. but i hope each episode is cohesive on its own.)

balancing the tragedy and comedy in tragicomedy has been… interesting. i do to some degree feel like AMT’s gone darker than i initially imagined it; while it’s a high school retelling of these plays (and thus there’s no. there’s no murder. the only person who dies is isaac’s dad and that’s six years precanon), all three plays deal to differing degrees with suicide, among other things, and it felt… disingenuous not to write about that from a modern high schooler’s perspective.

i can guarantee a long-term happy ending for AMT! i cannot guarantee much about what’s in the middle. (there are sixteen episodes; one of my directors likened episode 7 to a five-act play’s third act, when things really start to… hit the fan. he’s right and i’m obsessed with thinking about it that way)

the massive amount of time i have been working on the thing: i started writing this podcast in january 2019. i finished writing it this past summer (2020). that’s two summers that have passed without my recording it (which is obviously easier to organize in the summer… or it was before covid but you get my point). this is… a little disheartening? i don’t know; oftentimes i underestimate how long writing projects will take me. what it comes down to is my urge to put out content vs. my urge to make it perfect…

…especially since i’m technically competing with one william f. shakespeare. (the f is for fucking.) i mean, dear old billy shakes DID write the plot out for me ahead of time, which i appreciate, but still…

AMT is absolutely consumable if you don’t know the first goddamn thing about shakespeare’s works. that said. i assume some of the people who will listen to it are shakespeare enthusiasts, casual or otherwise, and that’s a little terrifying! AMT is a shakespeare retelling, but i’ve made these characters very much my own, and i suppose i worry about how others will approach that, and whether they will disagree with my interpretations, or the way i’ve adapted the plots, and so on and so forth... i just have to live with this one, honestly. i think i could edit AMT for a thousand years and probably still find something to change about it, so i will simply have to get over myself.

that said, i don’t regret the amount of time i’ve spent on it! i think the time i’ve taken to draft and edit these episodes has been well worth the wait; i’m genuinely very happy with what i’ve created, and whether or not you agree with, say, my interpretation of a modern hamlet family dynamic, i hope it’ll still be enjoyable!

so what’s next?

as i said earlier, the scripts are currently in the hands of sensitivity readers, and i’m editing!

over the summer, the cast met on zoom frequently to read through and rehearse scenes. and i will not lie it was the most fucking fun i’ve had this entire wretched interminable year. i am constantly charmed and befuddled by the feeling of Listening To My Words Read Out Loud By A Human Voice and also i love my friends so very much

we have a tentative plan to gather the cast (socially distanced and responsibly, of course) over thanksgiving break to make some actual stabs at recording! i am too afraid to concretely promise AMT Episode 1: Fortune’s Fool by the end of 2020 but like… i’m not NOT promising it! send me your finest vibes. we’re close.

#max.txt #amt tag #the amt cast has a blursed discord server which i have not posted a link to publicly because it’s mostly people i know irl #but if you're one of the folks who's read all of amt which is... a few of you... and you want into the server... dm me #we used to use it to organize rehearsals but now that school's started it's mostly just been me complaining about editing i won't lie #max shouts into the void in his personal liveblog channel while 90% of the cast is offline #anyway i reread this post like three times to make sure it makes sense because i'm illiterate <3

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ink-and-flame · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 7: Kink Cafe 3

Kinktober Day 7 Prompts: Caning Teasing ~ Anal plug (public, under clothes) ~ Public exposure Fandom: Original Tags: Exophilia, m/m, femoboy, teasing, anal plus, public exposure, public oral Pairing: Orc(m)/Elf(m), Alinar/Zar

[Author’s Note: I had waited to find a good set of prompts to continue Kink Cafe. However when picking prompts I wasn’t paying attention. I have replaced Caning with another randomly selected kink. As someone with experience in BDSM, and with caning, it is not something I enjoy or want to write at this time. I understand if it violates the spirit of kinktober, but I did try to make sure not to include extreme or triggering kinks and that also means for myself. I hope you all understand]

The first day of the Kink Cafe had been a resounding success as far as everyone was concerned. Both the group running it and everyone participating had an incredible time and when it was time to close down the cafe portion of the event there was quite a bit of grumbling. Scenes were allowed to wrap up, and people were encouraged to continue enjoying each other throughout the night. Since the entire building had been rented for this event there were no areas where clothes were required and that scenes were not allowed within reason. Some types of scenes were limited to certain areas, only to avoid causing any damage to the property, fire cupping in particular had a space outside to prevent any accidental fires from starting.

Alinar had been hesitant to move away from Zar when they had finished at the table. As much as the elf had wanted to be fucked right there by the orc, that wasn’t in the cards. Eventually it had been just the two of them left and despite ample preparation, Zar didn’t fit and wasn’t comfortable forcing the issue. The orc still made sure that the elf had a mind blowing orgasm, with promises of future attempts, but Alinar was not feeling patient.

To make up for it he slipped under the table and took the orcs cock into his mouth, even though they really should have finished their scene and moved on. Alinar wasn’t taking any chances, he had wanted to make sure the orc never forgot him. He used every trick he had to push the orc past his control until that thick ridged cock was lodged deep in his throat. Alinar was hard again just thinking about how it felt to have something so big inside him. The amount of cum was also a shock and he came close to choking if he hadn’t pulled back.

They separated for the evening, though Alinar wanted to ask if he could stay with Zar for the night, but that felt too much like overstepping so he had gone to his own room. When the morning light pushed through the curtains Alinar was already awake and eager to see Zar again, though he was nervous. What if the orc was no longer interested. It was clear that males were not his preference and maybe whatever magic had pulled them together yesterday, only worked once.

With nervousness filling him Alinar dressed for the day. Slipping on his blank collar and apron. He would be working the cafe again, or that was the plan. If Zar asked, then Alniar would drop everything for the orc. Participation was voluntary and there were more than enough subs at the event to fill in when people needed breaks or formed connections and wanted to explore. The organizers made sure to provide enough volunteers so that the cafe would not be understaffed.

Heading downstairs slowly Alinar looked for Zar but did not see him. He did see the minotaur that had been with the orc, but not the orc himself. Heaving outside to the cafe, Alinar signed in for his shift and began to wait on tables. At first it was easy to lose himself in the experience. The flirting, the teasing, the gentle swats on his rear as he walked by, but as time passed Alinar found himself looking for the orc and filling with disappointment when he wasn’t there.

When it was his break time the elf slipped into the building and looked around. Checking out all the areas where scenes were likely to be happening, all the places where people were encouraged to gather and Zar wasn’t there. Heading out to the side yard, the elf finally saw the orc. Naked, laying on a chair in the sun next to the pool. Skin glistening with sweat or maybe oil. It was a sight to behold. All those hard muscles contrasting with the softer curve of the orcs stomach. The thick hair covering what seemed like every inch of his broad body. Alinar was aroused and he was just looking.

An idea sprung into the elfs mind and he rushed back to the cafe and made a suggestion that some of the servers with nothing to do, should serve light drinks over at the pool area since it was a particularly hot day. The idea was met with enthusiasm and he, along with some other subs, loaded up trays with a variety of refreshing fruity drinks and carefully headed over to the pool area.

Alinar worked to be first over so that he could be the one offering Zar a drink. Heading over to the orc with purpose the elf smiled. It appeared Zar was asleep, and he cleared his throat lightly. “Would you care for a cool refreshing drink?”

Zar had drifted into a light doze on the chair and opened one eye behind his sunglasses only to spy the pretty boy elf from the day before. His lips quirked up in a smirk, emphasising his tusks. “Couldn’t get enough of me I see?”

Alinar felt his skin flushed being called out so clearly. Was it that obvious? Of course it was obvious, but really? “As you can see we are offering drinks around the pool.” He gestured to the other servers.

“Uh huh, you just happened to end up over here near me.” Zar smirked and glanced over the drinks taking one that looked interesting “So, how long did you stare at me before you decided to bring me a drink?”

The blush was darkening and the elf could not hide his own embarrassment. He stuttered but ended up just not saying anything at all. Maybe this had not been the best idea. Zar seemed far more amused, more interested in teasing him, than in interacting as they had the day before.

“Don’ frown like that. I was only speaking in jest. I liked to throw you off your game. You seem so composed, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, you are quite attractive all flushed like that. Why don’t you finish serving drinks and then come back over here to join me ok?”

Alinar felt a thrill go through him as he nodded and tried not to rush through serving the others around the pool. It had been a clever idea, something the organizers liked enough to have a small drink cart moved over by the pool so refreshments could continue to be served. With no drinks left Alinar headed back over and invited himself right into Zar’s lap.

The orc chuckled and placed a large hand on the elfs hips. “Well, just move on in why don’t you?” His laugh got louder as he set the drink down and nipped the elf on the shoulder. “Keep going like this and I am going to take you home with me. Dress you all pretty and make you service me every night.”

“I only wish” Alinar slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, that was not meant to be outloud.

Zar just stared for a moment, tilting his head. “Huh…”

The orc looked more and more thoughtful as the elf looked more and more mortified. Shrinking into himself. “Look, guys are kind of a new thing for me.” Zar admitted and saw the elfs ears droop. “But I have to say, I don’t hate it. New or not, you are different. Something about you just.. Just does it for me.” Zar ws stroking Alinars thigh softly, fingers brushing under the apron. “I don’t hate the idea, but I don’t know that I could just walk away from women either.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I know plenty of people that like both. I prefer men, I always have, but there have been women that knew how to touch me, or that I have felt strong emotional bonds with. I am not asking for forever.” Alinar admitted and seemed a bit lost. “It doesn’t even have to be more than this weekend.” He wanted more, but knew that would be reaching, pushing, maybe asking for too much.

Zar looked thoughtful. “I honestly thought about asking if it was ok to exchange information, to see each other after this.” He lifted a hand, running his fingers through the elfs soft hair. “I wasn’t entirely joking when I said I wanted you to come home with me.”

“I can share.” Alinar blurted out and then sucked in his breath biting his lip. His mouth was betraying him. Showing his desperation. Something about Zar had captured him. It was infatuation, it had to be simple infatuation, but it was strong and insistent.

The orc laughed loudly and shook his head. “You are something else, and don’t tempt me. I like having multiple partners. Something about the intense stimulation doing it for me, but also, orcs grow up in communities. We have large extended families, we share duties, fortune, success, and failure, happiness, and sorrow. It is unlikely for an orc to be in a relationship with just one person and not have some form of support as well. Sure monogamy happens, often too, but just as often are there relationships with multiple partners.”

Alinar was learning more about orcish culture in this one conversation than he ever had in his past. It was refreshing and thrilling to learn so much. It just made him like Zar more and made him want to spend even more time with the orc, learning everything he could. Not just about Zar himself, but his culture as well.

“I could be ok with that.” Alinar admitted. The idea of a close knit community, of people helping each other, of sharing and warmth. It was alluring, tempting, for someone as solitary as himself.

“How about we worry about all that later, and just focus on enjoying the weekend, but is that a yes to seeing each other after this, at least in a casual sense?” Zar wasn’t ready to jump into anything serious, but he wouldn’t mind exploring this new experience more, and a weekend really wasn’t long enough if he was honest.

Alinar settled against Zar with a smile. “Deal. Let's spend the weekend getting to know each other and then, when this is over, continue with that.” There was no need to jump into anything serious, it was clear they both were interested in pursuing something and willing to take it slow.

The weekend was a success, the kink cafe event going over better than anyone expected. Most of the people involved ended up leaving with new friends and lovers, some in new relationships. Others had used the event to build on the relationships they already had, and everyone agreed that this should be at least a yearly event if not bi-yearly.

As much fun as he had, Alinar wished that he and Zar could have gone further with their explorations. Penetrative sex still had not occured, but that didn’t mean they didn’t find other ways to tease each other and bring each other over the edge. The elf was just growing a bit impatient. Every time he saw Zar’s dick he wanted that thick ridged monster inside of him.

Being at home, alone, Alinar found he missed Zar’s warmth. The feel of that large, muscular, hairy body pressed against him, wrapped around him. Zar was larger than life in Alinar’s eyes and he realized that he might be far more attached to the orc than the orc was to him. When it came time to actually contact Zar, Alinar felt nervous. What if he changed his mind and didn’t want this to continue.

When Zar suggested a public outing, something to test the elfs limits, Alinar was excited. Zar wanted to do a little public play with the elf. Something that surprised Alinar as he assumed Zar would not want anyone to know that he was suddenly sexually attracted to males. Though, Alinar could easily pass as a woman if he wore certain types of clothing, and when he brought it up Zar sounded a little more excited than expected. They came to an agreement. Alinar would dress in a more feminine style, but not specifically try to pretend he was a woman. If he was misgendered while they were out, that was not their problem. Zar also wanted him to wear a plug. Preferably something a little more feminine, and he eluded to wanting to see Alinar in women's undergarments. All of this Alinar was not only ok with, but had the items on hand to easily fulfill the request.

Packing a bag Alinar headed over to Zar’s place, wanting to bring a few options and let Zar finalize his look. His long hair was already styled delicately, pulled up with some strands free around his face. A light application of makeup to bring out his eyes and color his lips. The rest was just casual, not wanting to risk any of his options getting messy on the way.

When he arrived Zar embraced Alinar, pulling the elf into a kiss that had both men a little breathless and more than a little aroused when it was over. It was a surprise, but a welcome one and Alinar allowed himself to be tugged back into the bedroom.

“Are you wearing it?” Zar was curious as he looked at the bag.

“No, I thought you could put it in me, and then help me pick my outfit.” Alinar blushed when he saw Zar’s cock visibly throb at the suggestion. His worries that Zar would lose interest fading away for now.

“Get naked, and lay on the bed. Get the plug out, I have some good lube here unless you have one you prefer?”

“No, I am sure yours is as good as any. This plug can be used with a variety of lubes so it should be fine.” Stripping and laying on his back Alinar set the plug on the bed next to him.

Zar joined him on the bed, the bottle of lube set on the nightstand as his large hands smoothed over the elfs shapely legs. “You really are beautiful Alinar. I don’t want you to think for a moment that anything has changed. You have opened my mind to something I never thought of before, and there is no going back, and I couldn’t be happier about that.”

Smoothing his hands along the elfs body Zar helped him position his legs and the grabbed the lube. Using one hand to help position Alinar, the other was used to carefully apply lube to the elfs pucker. They had spent time working with their fingers to help prepare Alinar before and discovered it was easier for the elf to start and the orc to join in, as one of is fingers was thicker than two of the elfs. It seemed the elf had already prepped himself somewhat and Zar smiled.

“Eager I see? Can you take the plug like this or do you need more preparation?”

“I can take it. I was wearing a smaller one around the house while packing to help.”

Nodding Zar lubed up the plug watching it glisten. It had a delicate lavender jewel in it, the end shaped like a heart. The orc smiled and swirled the tip around the elfs opening, teasing and watching the smaller man squirm before pushing it in slowly. Zar wanted it to be him. He wanted to be inside Alinar so badly that they both groaned when it finally slid into place and settled snug between the elfs cheeks.

“Fuck that is so hot, you have no idea how badly I want to just hold you down and rut you. Who knows, maybe a day of wearing this one might be enough to prep you. It seems bigger than the one you had over the weekend.”

“It is, this one is newer and I have been working up to wearing it. I have one size up from this, if this isn’t enough, we can always work up to that, and then see if it helps with penetration.” Alinar offered.

Zar liked the idea and helped Alinar up before going to wash his hands. “Pull out the outfits, I would like to have lunch soon.”

Alinar pulled on some delicate panties, a light cream color with lace details and a ribbon at the back. Zar clearly enjoyed them and asked Alinar to walk around the room and pick up a few things. The elf chuckled but obeyed. He wanted to be perfect, to show Zar what a good sub he could be. The outfit they ended up choosing was a pair of pants that fit the elf in a way that accented his more feminine hips. The shirt had a built in bustier that cinched at the waist and gave Alinar the illusion of curves and a small bit of cleavage. The rest of the shirt was flowy and slightly open at the top.

Overall the look was androgynous but leaning heavily towards the feminine. Zar would have had to look twice to be able to tell Alinar wasn’t a woman, and the reality was, if he didn’t already know the elf was male, he honestly would not have been able to tell.

“You are so lovely, let’s go before I change my mind and keep you here all to myself.” Zar guided Alinar out gently by the arm.

They enjoyed their lunch together, the server referring to Alinar as miss, and neither bothered to correct him. It was a little joke they were enjoying. How many people mistook Alinar for a woman and how long it took for anyone to actually figure out that he wasn’t. As it stood, so far only one person seemed to notice that Alinar might not be female, but they did not seem sure and clearly wanted to say something but didn’t.

After lunch they went for a walk and the plug was teasing the elf in a way that was making him desperate for release. He wanted Zar to fuck him, to milk hos prostate, and he didn’t care who saw. Of course they had to be careful and it was difficult to remain calm. When Zar suggested a movie Alinar felt it would be the perfect opportunity to relax. Since he would be sitting still the stimulation would not be as intense.

Of course he should have expected something was up when Zar insisted they sit far in the back of the theater and did not seem to care what movie they chose. Alinars suspicions were confirmed about thirty minutes into the film. He could feel a large heavy hand running up his thigh and over his crotch. Alinar squirmed causing the plug to shift and he had to bite back a moan.

Zar leaned over. “If you can stay silent, I will let you cum.”

Slowly Zar undid Alinar’s pants and slid a hand inside. He groped the elfs cock and stroked it slowly. Between the position and how dark it was, it would be impossible for anyone looking to tell exactly what was happening. It was clearly sexual, but gave no indication of what genitals were involved.

Alinar was determined to show Zar that he could take orders, and fought to be silent as his cock was teased. It wasn’t the same as a normal hand job, the position was awkward. It meant the stimulation wasn’t as direct and was more teasing in nature. It kept him on the edge for almost the entirety of the movie. The longer it went on the more desperate the elf became before he broke and whispered to Zar.

“Please”

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching them. Zar leaned down and took the elfs cock into his mouth in one smooth motion, swallowing the entire length and sucking hard. He could feel Alinars hips thrust up only once, as the elf desperately grasped his hair and came in his throat.

Miraculously the elf had remained mostly silent, only a quiet choked off grunt could be heard. Sitting up Zar smiled and put his arm around Alinar pulling him close into a cuddle as the elf readjusted his pants. They had been seen, Zar noticed a couple much further down the row watching them. Clearly they weren’t bothered by it as they seemed to be up to their own little risky activities. Feeling a bit playful Zar waved at them and then turned back to the film with a smile.

Maybe tonight would be the night. He would invite Alinar to stay and he wouldn’t give up until he was deep inside Alinar and the elf was screaming his name.

#exophilia #orc boyfriend #orc x elf #M/M #Kinktober 2020

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silent-era-of-cinema · 4 years

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Clara Gordon Bow (July 29, 1905 – September 27, 1965) was an American actress who rose to stardom in silent film during the 1920s and successfully made the transition to "talkies" in 1929. Her appearance as a plucky shopgirl in the film It brought her global fame and the nickname "The It Girl". Bow came to personify the Roaring Twenties and is described as its leading sex symbol.

Bow appeared in 46 silent films and 11 talkies, including hits such as Mantrap (1926), It (1927), and Wings (1927). She was named first box-office draw in 1928 and 1929 and second box-office draw in 1927 and 1930. Her presence in a motion picture was said to have ensured investors, by odds of almost two-to-one, a "safe return". At the apex of her stardom, she received more than 45,000 fan letters in a single month (January 1929).

Two years after marrying actor Rex Bell in 1931, Bow retired from acting and became a rancher in Nevada. Her final film, Hoop-La, was released in 1933. In September 1965, Bow died of a heart attack at the age of 60.

Bow was born in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn at 697 Bergen Street,[9] in a "bleak, sparsely furnished room above [a] dilapidated Baptist Church". Her birth year, according to the US Censuses of 1910 and 1920, was 1905. The 1930 census indicates 1906 and on her gravestone of 1965, the inscription says 1907, but 1905 is the accepted year by a majority of sources.

Bow was her parents' third child, but her two older sisters, born in 1903 and 1904, had died in infancy. Her mother, Sarah Frances Bow (née Gordon, 1880–1923), was told by a doctor not to become pregnant again, for fear the next baby might die as well. Despite the warning, Sarah became pregnant with Clara in late 1904. In addition to the risky pregnancy, a heat wave besieged New York in July 1905, and temperatures peaked around 100 °F (38 °C). Years later, Clara said: "I don't suppose two people ever looked death in the face more clearly than my mother and I the morning I was born. We were both given up, but somehow we struggled back to life."

Bow's parents were descended from English, Irish and Scottish immigrants who had come to America the generation before. Bow said that her father, Robert Walter Bow (1874–1959), "had a quick, keen mind ... all the natural qualifications to make something of himself, but didn't...everything seemed to go wrong for him, poor darling". By the time Clara was four and a half, her father was out of work, and between 1905 and 1923, the family lived at 14 different addresses, but seldom outside Prospect Heights, with Clara's father often absent. "I do not think my mother ever loved my father", she said. "He knew it. And it made him very unhappy, for he worshiped her, always."

When Bow's mother, Sarah, was 16, she fell from a second-story window and suffered a severe head injury. She was later diagnosed with "psychosis due to epilepsy". From her earliest years, Bow had learned how to care for her mother during the seizures, as well as how to deal with her psychotic and hostile episodes. She said her mother could be "mean" to her, but "didn't mean to ... she couldn't help it". Still, Bow felt deprived of her childhood; "As a kid I took care of my mother, she didn't take care of me". Sarah worsened gradually, and when she realized her daughter was set for a movie career, Bow's mother told her she "would be much better off dead". One night in February 1922, Bow awoke to a butcher knife held against her throat by her mother. Clara was able to fend off the attack, and locked her mother up. In the morning, Bow's mother had no recollection of the episode, and later she was committed to a sanatorium by Robert Bow.

Clara spoke about the incident later:

It was snowing. My mother and I were cold and hungry. We had been cold and hungry for days. We lay in each other's arms and cried and tried to keep warm. It grew worse and worse. So that night my mother—but I can't tell you about it. Only when I remember it, it seems to me I can't live.

According to Bow's biographer, David Stenn, Bow was raped by her father at age sixteen while her mother was institutionalized. On January 5, 1923, Sarah died at the age of 43 from her epilepsy. When relatives gathered for the funeral, Bow accused them of being "hypocrites", and became so angry that she even tried to jump into the grave.

Bow attended P.S. 111, P.S. 9, and P.S. 98.[13] As she grew up, she felt shy among other girls, who teased her for her worn-out clothes and "carrot-top" hair. She said about her childhood, "I never had any clothes. ... And lots of time didn't have anything to eat. We just lived, that's about all. Girls shunned me because I was so poorly dressed."

From first grade, Bow preferred the company of boys, stating, "I could lick any boy my size. My right arm was quite famous. My right arm was developed from pitching so much ... Once I hopped a ride on behind a big fire engine. I got a lot of credit from the gang for that."[15] A close friend, a younger boy who lived in her building, burned to death in her presence after an accident. In 1919, Bow enrolled in Bay Ridge High School for Girls. "I wore sweaters and old skirts...didn't want to be treated like a girl...there was one boy who had always been my pal... he kissed me... I wasn't sore. I didn't get indignant. I was horrified and hurt."

Bow's interest in sports and her physical abilities led her to plan for a career as an athletics instructor. She won five medals "at the cinder tracks" and credited her cousin Homer Baker – the national half-mile (c.800 m) champion (1913 and 1914) and 660-yard (c. 600 m) world-record holder – for being her trainer. The Bows and Bakers shared a house – still standing – at 33 Prospect Place in 1920.

In the early 1920s, roughly 50 million Americans—half the population at that time—attended the movies every week. As Bow grew into womanhood, her stature as a "boy" in her old gang became "impossible". She did not have any girlfriends, and school was a "heartache" and her home was "miserable." On the silver screen, however, she found consolation; "For the first time in my life I knew there was beauty in the world. For the first time I saw distant lands, serene, lovely homes, romance, nobility, glamor". And further; "I always had a queer feeling about actors and actresses on the screen ... I knew I would have done it differently. I couldn't analyze it, but I could always feel it.". "I'd go home and be a one girl circus, taking the parts of everyone I'd seen, living them before the glass." At 16, Bow says she "knew" she wanted to be a motion pictures actress, even if she was a "square, awkward, funny-faced kid."

Against her mother's wishes but with her father's support, Bow competed in Brewster publications' magazine's annual nationwide acting contest, "Fame and Fortune", in fall 1921. In previous years, other contest winners had found work in the movies. In the contest's final screen test, Bow was up against an already scene-experienced woman who did "a beautiful piece of acting". A set member later stated that when Bow did the scene, she actually became her character and "lived it". In the January issues 1922 of Motion Picture Classics, the contest jury, Howard Chandler Christy, Neysa McMein, and Harrison Fisher, concluded:

She is very young, only 16. But she is full of confidence, determination and ambition. She is endowed with a mentality far beyond her years. She has a genuine spark of divine fire. The five different screen tests she had, showed this very plainly, her emotional range of expression provoking a fine enthusiasm from every contest judge who saw the tests. She screens perfectly. Her personal appearance is almost enough to carry her to success without the aid of the brains she indubitably possesses.

Bow won an evening gown and a silver trophy, and the publisher committed to help her "gain a role in films", but nothing happened. Bow's father told her to "haunt" Brewster's office (located in Brooklyn) until they came up with something. "To get rid of me, or maybe they really meant to (give me) all the time and were just busy", Bow was introduced to director Christy Cabanne, who cast her in Beyond the Rainbow, produced late 1921 in New York City and released February 19, 1922. Bow did five scenes and impressed Cabanne with true theatrical tears, but was cut from the final print. "I was sick to my stomach," she recalled and thought her mother was right about the movie business.

Bow, who dropped out of school (senior year) after she was notified about winning the contest, possibly in October 1921, got an ordinary office job. However, movie ads and newspaper editorial comments from 1922 to 1923 suggest that Bow was not cut from Beyond the Rainbow. Her name is on the cast list among the other stars, usually tagged "Brewster magazine beauty contest winner" and sometimes even with a picture.

Encouraged by her father, Bow continued to visit studio agencies asking for parts. "But there was always something. I was too young, or too little, or too fat. Usually I was too fat." Eventually, director Elmer Clifton needed a tomboy for his movie Down to the Sea in Ships, saw Bow in Motion Picture Classic magazine, and sent for her. In an attempt to overcome her youthful looks, Bow put her hair up and arrived in a dress she "sneaked" from her mother. Clifton said she was too old, but broke into laughter as the stammering Bow made him believe she was the girl in the magazine. Clifton decided to bring Bow with him and offered her $35 a week. Bow held out for $50 and Clifton agreed, but he could not say whether she would "fit the part". Bow later learned that one of Brewsters' subeditors had urged Clifton to give her a chance.

Down to the Sea in Ships, shot on location in New Bedford, Massachusetts and produced by independent "The Whaling Film Corporation", documented life, love, and work in the whale-hunter community. The production relied on a few less-known actors and local talents. It premiered at the Olympia Theater in New Bedford, on September 25, and went on general distribution on March 4, 1923. Bow was billed 10th in the film, but shone through:

"Miss Bow will undoubtedly gain fame as a screen comedienne".

"She scored a tremendous hit in Down to the Sea in Ships..(and).. has reached the front rank of motion picture principal players".

"With her beauty, her brains, her personality and her genuine acting ability it should not be many moons before she enjoys stardom in the fullest sense of the word. You must see 'Down to the Sea in Ships'".

"In movie parlance, she 'stole' the picture ... ".

By mid-December 1923, primarily due to her merits in Down to the Sea in Ships, Bow was chosen the most successful of the 1924 WAMPAS Baby Stars. Three months before Down to the Sea in Ships was released, Bow danced half nude, on a table, uncredited in Enemies of Women (1923). In spring she got a part in The Daring Years (1923), where she befriended actress Mary Carr, who taught her how to use make-up.

In the summer, she got a "tomboy" part in Grit, a story that dealt with juvenile crime and was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Bow met her first boyfriend, cameraman Arthur Jacobson, and she got to know director Frank Tuttle, with whom she worked in five later productions. Tuttle remembered:

Her emotions were close to the surface. She could cry on demand, opening the floodgate of tears almost as soon as I asked her to weep. She was dynamite, full of nervous energy and vitality and pitifully eager to please everyone.

Grit was released on January 7, 1924. The Variety review said "... Clara Bow lingers in the eye, long after the picture has gone."

While shooting Grit at Pyramid Studios, in Astoria, New York, Bow was approached by Jack Bachman of independent Hollywood studio Preferred Pictures. He wanted to contract her for a three-month trial, fare paid, and $50 a week. "It can't do any harm,"[15] he tried. "Why can't I stay in New York and make movies?" Bow asked her father, but he told her not to worry.

On July 21, 1923, she befriended Louella Parsons, who interviewed her for The New York Morning Telegraph. In 1931, when Bow came under tabloid scrutiny, Parsons defended her and stuck to her first opinion on Bow:

She is as refreshingly unaffected as if she had never faced a means to pretend. She hasn't any secrets from the world, she trusts everyone ... she is almost too good to be true ... (I) only wish some reformer who believes the screen contaminates all who associate with it could meet this child. Still, on second thought it might not be safe: Clara uses a dangerous pair of eyes.

The interview also revealed that Bow already was cast in Maytime and in great favor of Chinese cuisine.

On July 22, 1923, Bow left New York, her father, and her boyfriend behind for Hollywood. As chaperone for the journey and her subsequent southern California stay, the studio appointed writer/agent Maxine Alton, whom Bow later branded a liar. In late July, Bow entered studio chief B. P. Schulberg's office wearing a simple high-school uniform in which she "had won several gold medals on the cinder track". She was tested and a press release from early August says Bow had become a member of Preferred Picture's "permanent stock". Alton and she rented an apartment at The Hillview near Hollywood Boulevard. Preferred Pictures was run by Schulberg, who had started as a publicity manager at Famous Players-Lasky, but in the aftermath of the power struggle around the formation of United Artists, ended up on the losing side and lost his job. As a result, he founded Preferred in 1919, at the age of 27.

Maytime was Bow's first Hollywood picture, an adaptation of the popular operetta Maytime in which she essayed "Alice Tremaine". Before Maytime was finished, Schulberg announced that Bow was given the lead in the studio's biggest seasonal assessment, Poisoned Paradise,[51] but first she was lent to First National Pictures to co-star in the adaptation of Gertrude Atherton's 1923 best seller Black Oxen, shot in October, and to co-star with Colleen Moore in Painted People, shot in November.

Director Frank Lloyd was casting for the part of high-society flapper Janet Oglethorpe, and more than 50 women, most with previous screen experience, auditioned. Bow reminisced: "He had not found exactly what he wanted and finally somebody suggested me to him. When I came into his office a big smile came over his face and he looked just tickled to death." Lloyd told the press, "Bow is the personification of the ideal aristocratic flapper, mischievous, pretty, aggressive, quick-tempered and deeply sentimental." It was released on January 4, 1924.

The New York Times said, "The flapper, impersonated by a young actress, Clara Bow, had five speaking titles, and every one of them was so entirely in accord with the character and the mood of the scene that it drew a laugh from what, in film circles, is termed a "hard-boiled" audience", while the Los Angeles Times commented that "Clara Bow, the prize vulgarian of the lot ... was amusing and spirited ... but didn't belong in the picture", and Variety said that "... the horrid little flapper is adorably played ..."

Colleen Moore made her flapper debut in a successful adaptation of the daring novel Flaming Youth, released November 12, 1923, six weeks before Black Oxen. Both films were produced by First National Pictures, and while Black Oxen was still being edited and Flaming Youth not yet released, Bow was requested to co-star with Moore as her kid sister in Painted People (The Swamp Angel). Moore essayed the baseball-playing tomboy and Bow, according to Moore, said "I don't like my part, I wanna play yours." Moore, a well-established star earning $1200 a week—Bow got $200—took offense and blocked the director from shooting close-ups of Bow. Moore was married to the film's producer and Bow's protests were futile. "I'll get that bitch", she told her boyfriend Jacobson, who had arrived from New York. Bow had sinus problems and decided to have them attended to that very evening. With Bow's face now in bandages, the studio had no choice but to recast her part.

During 1924, Bow's "horrid" flapper raced against Moore's "whimsical". In May, Moore renewed her efforts in The Perfect Flapper, produced by her husband. However, despite good reviews, she suddenly withdrew. "No more flappers ... they have served their purpose ... people are tired of soda-pop love affairs", she told the Los Angeles Times, which had commented a month earlier, "Clara Bow is the one outstanding type. She has almost immediately been elected for all the recent flapper parts". In November 1933, looking back to this period of her career, Bow described the atmosphere in Hollywood as like a scene from a movie about the French Revolution, where "women are hollering and waving pitchforks twice as violently as any of the guys ... the only ladies in sight are the ones getting their heads cut off."

By New Year 1924, Bow defied the possessive Maxine Alton and brought her father to Hollywood. Bow remembered their reunion: "I didn't care a rap, for (Maxine Alton), or B. P. Schulberg, or my motion picture career, or Clara Bow, I just threw myself into his arms and kissed and kissed him, and we both cried like a couple of fool kids. Oh, it was wonderful." Bow felt Alton had misused her trust: "She wanted to keep a hold on me so she made me think I wasn't getting over and that nothing but her clever management kept me going." Bow and her father moved in at 1714 North Kingsley Drive in Hollywood, together with Jacobson, who by then also worked for Preferred. When Schulberg learned of this arrangement, he fired Jacobson for potentially getting "his big star" into a scandal. When Bow found out, "She tore up her contract and threw it in his face and told him he couldn't run her private life." Jacobson concluded, "[Clara] was the sweetest girl in the world, but you didn't cross her and you didn't do her wrong." On September 7, 1924, The Los Angeles Times, in a significant article "A dangerous little devil is Clara, impish, appealing, but oh, how she can act!", her father is titled "business manager" and Jacobson referred to as her brother.

Bow appeared in eight releases in 1924.

In Poisoned Paradise, released on February 29, 1924, Bow got her first lead. "... the clever little newcomer whose work wins fresh recommendations with every new picture in which she appears". In a scene described as "original", Bow adds "devices" to "the modern flapper": she fights a villain using her fists, and significantly, does not "shrink back in fear".

In Daughters of Pleasure, also released on February 29, 1924, Bow and Marie Prevost "flapped unhampered as flappers De luxe ... I wish somebody could star Clara Bow. I'm sure her 'infinite variety' would keep her from wearying us no matter how many scenes she was in."

Loaned out to Universal, Bow top-starred, for the first time, in the prohibition, bootleg drama/comedy Wine, released on August 20, 1924. The picture exposes the widespread liquor traffic in the upper classes, and Bow portrays an innocent girl who develops into a wild "red-hot mama".

"If not taken as information, it is cracking good entertainment," Carl Sandburg reviewed September 29.

"Don't miss Wine. It's a thoroughly refreshing draught ... there are only about five actresses who give me a real thrill on the screen—and Clara is nearly five of them".

Alma Whitaker of The Los Angeles Times observed on September 7, 1924:

She radiates sex appeal tempered with an impish sense of humor ... She hennas her blond hair so that it will photograph dark in the pictures ... Her social decorum is of that natural, good-natured, pleasantly informal kind ... She can act on or off the screen—takes a joyous delight in accepting a challenge to vamp any selected male—the more unpromising specimen the better. When the hapless victim is scared into speechlessness, she gurgles with naughty delight and tries another.

Bow remembered: "All this time I was 'running wild', I guess, in the sense of trying to have a good time ... maybe this was a good thing, because I suppose a lot of that excitement, that joy of life, got onto the screen."

In 1925, Bow appeared in 14 productions: six for her contract owner, Preferred Pictures, and eight as an "out-loan".

"Clara Bow ... shows alarming symptoms of becoming the sensation of the year ... ", Motion Picture Classic Magazine wrote in June, and featured her on the cover.

I'm almost never satisfied with myself or my work or anything...by the time I'm ready to be a great star I'll have been on the screen such a long time that everybody will be tired of seeing me...(Tears filled her big round eyes and threatened to fall).

I worked in two and even three pictures at once. I played all sorts of parts in all sorts of pictures ... It was very hard at the time and I used to be worn out and cry myself to sleep from sheer fatigue after 18 hours a day on different sets, but now [late 1927] I am glad of it.

Preferred Pictures loaned Bow to producers "for sums ranging from $1500 to $2000 a week" while paying Bow a salary of $200 to $750 a week. The studio, like any other independent studio or theater at that time, was under attack from "The Big Three", MPAA, which had formed a trust to block out Independents and enforce the monopolistic studio system. On October 21, 1925, Schulberg filed Preferred Pictures for bankruptcy, with debts at $820,774 and assets $1,420. Three days later, it was announced that Schulberg would join with Adolph Zukor to become associate producer of Paramount Pictures, "catapulted into this position because he had Clara Bow under personal contract".

Adolph Zukor, Paramount Picture CEO, wrote in his memoirs: "All the skill of directors and all the booming of press-agent drums will not make a star. Only the audiences can do it. We study audience reactions with great care." Adela Rogers St. Johns had a different take: in 1950, she wrote, "If ever a star was made by public demand, it was Clara Bow." And Louise Brooks (from 1980): "(Bow) became a star without nobody's help ..."

The Plastic Age was Bow's final effort for Preferred Pictures and her biggest hit up to that time. Bow starred as the good-bad college girl, Cynthia Day, against Donald Keith. It was shot on location at Pomona College in the summer of 1925, and released on December 15, but due to block booking, it was not shown in New York until July 21, 1926.

Photoplay was displeased: "The college atmosphere is implausible and Clara Bow is not our idea of a college girl."

Theater owners, however, were happy: "The picture is the biggest sensation we ever had in our theater ... It is 100 per cent at the box-office."

Some critics felt Bow had conquered new territory: "(Bow) presents a whimsical touch to her work that adds greater laurels to her fast ascending star of screen popularity."

Time singled out Bow: "Only the amusing and facile acting of Clara Bow rescues the picture from the limbo of the impossible."

Bow began to date her co-star Gilbert Roland, who became her first fiancé. In June 1925, Bow was credited for being the first to wear hand-painted legs in public, and was reported to have many followers at the Californian beaches.

Throughout the 1920s, Bow played with gender conventions and sexuality in her public image. Along with her tomboy and flapper roles, she starred in boxing films and posed for promotional photographs as a boxer. By appropriating traditionally androgynous or masculine traits, Bow presented herself as a confident, modern woman.

"Rehearsals sap my pep," Bow explained in November 1929, and from the beginning of her career, she relied on immediate direction: "Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it." Bow was keen on poetry and music, but according to Rogers St. Johns, her attention span did not allow her to appreciate novels. Bow's focal point was the scene, and her creativity made directors call in extra cameras to cover her spontaneous actions, rather than holding her down.

Years after Bow left Hollywood, director Victor Fleming compared Bow to a Stradivarius violin: "Touch her, and she responded with genius." Director William Wellman was less poetic: "Movie stardom isn't acting ability—it's personality and temperament ... I once directed Clara Bow (Wings). She was mad and crazy, but WHAT a personality!". And in 1981, Budd Schulberg described Bow as "an easy winner of the dumbbell award" who "couldn't act," and compared her to a puppy that his father B. P. Schulberg "trained to become Lassie."

In 1926, Bow appeared in eight releases: five for Paramount, including the film version of the musical Kid Boots with Eddie Cantor, and three loan-outs that had been filmed in 1925.

In late 1925, Bow returned to New York to co-star in the Ibsenesque drama Dancing Mothers, as the good/bad "flapperish" upper-class daughter Kittens. Alice Joyce starred as her dancing mother, with Conway Tearle as "bad-boy" Naughton. The picture was released on March 1, 1926.

"Clara Bow, known as the screen's perfect flapper, does her stuff as the child, and does it well."

"... her remarkable performance in Dancing Mothers ... ".

Louise Brooks remembered: "She was absolutely sensational in the United States ... in Dancing Mothers ... she just swept the country ... I know I saw her ... and I thought ... wonderful."

On April 12, 1926, Bow signed her first contract with Paramount: "...to retain your services as an actress for the period of six months from June 6, 1926 to December 6, 1926, at a salary of $750.00 per week...".

In Victor Fleming's comedy-triangle, Mantrap, Bow, as Alverna the manicurist, cures lonely hearts Joe Easter (Ernest Torrence), of the great northern, as well as pill-popping New York divorce attorney runaway Ralph Prescott (Percy Marmont). Bow commented: "(Alverna)...was bad in the book, but—darn it!—of course, they couldn't make her that way in the picture. So I played her as a flirt." The film was released on July 24, 1926.

Variety: "Clara Bow just walks away with the picture from the moment she walks into camera range."

Photoplay: "When she is on the screen nothing else matters. When she is off, the same is true."

Carl Sandburg: "The smartest and swiftest work as yet seen from Miss Clara Bow."

The Reel Journal: "Clara Bow is taking the place of Gloria Swanson...(and)...filling a long need for a popular taste movie actress."

On August 16, 1926, Bow's agreement with Paramount was renewed into a five-year deal: "Her salary will start at $1700 a week and advance yearly to $4000 a week for the last year."[78] Bow added that she intended to leave the motion picture business at the expiration of the contract, i.e., in 1931.

In 1927, Bow appeared in six Paramount releases: It, Children of Divorce, Rough House Rosie, Wings, Hula and Get Your Man. In the Cinderella story It, the poor shop-girl Betty Lou Spence (Bow) conquers the heart of her employer Cyrus Waltham (Antonio Moreno). The personal quality —"It"— provides the magic to make it happen. The film gave Bow her nickname, "The 'It' Girl."

The New York Times: "(Bow)...is vivacious and, as Betty Lou, saucy, which perhaps is one of the ingredients of It."

The Film Daily: "Clara Bow gets a real chance and carries it off with honors...(and)...she is really the whole show."

Carl Sandburg: "'It' is smart, funny and real. It makes a full-sized star of Clara Bow."

Variety: "You can't get away from this Clara Bow girl. She certainly has that certain 'It'...and she just runs away with the film."

Dorothy Parker is often said to have referred to Bow when she wrote, "It, hell; she had Those."[109] Parker in actuality was not referring to Bow or to Bow's character in the film It, but to a different character, Ava Cleveland, in the novel of the same name.

In 1927, Bow starred in Wings, a war picture rewritten to accommodate her, as she was Paramount's biggest star, but was not happy about her part: "[Wings is]...a man's picture and I'm just the whipped cream on top of the pie." The film went on to win the first Academy Award for Best Picture. In 1928, Bow appeared in four Paramount releases: Red Hair, Ladies of the Mob, The Fleet's In, and Three Weekends, all of which are lost.

Adela Rogers St. Johns, a noted screenwriter who had done a number of pictures with Bow, wrote about her:

There seems to be no pattern, no purpose to her life. She swings from one emotion to another, but she gains nothing, stores up nothing for the future. She lives entirely in the present, not even for today, but in the moment. Clara is the total nonconformist. What she wants she gets, if she can. What she desires to do she does. She has a big heart, a remarkable brain, and the most utter contempt for the world in general. Time doesn't exist for her, except that she thinks it will stop tomorrow. She has real courage, because she lives boldly. Who are we, after all, to say she is wrong?

Bow's bohemian lifestyle and "dreadful" manners were considered reminders of the Hollywood elite's uneasy position in high society. Bow fumed: "They yell at me to be dignified. But what are the dignified people like? The people who are held up as examples for me? They are snobs. Frightful snobs ... I'm a curiosity in Hollywood. I'm a big freak, because I'm myself!"

MGM executive Paul Bern said Bow was "the greatest emotional actress on the screen", "sentimental, simple, childish and sweet," and considered her "hard-boiled attitude" a "defense mechanism".

With "talkies" The Wild Party, Dangerous Curves, and The Saturday Night Kid, all released in 1929, Bow kept her position as the top box-office draw and queen of Hollywood.

Neither the quality of Bow's voice nor her Brooklyn accent was an issue to Bow, her fans, or Paramount. However, Bow, like Charlie Chaplin, Louise Brooks, and most other silent film stars, did not embrace the novelty: "I hate talkies ... they're stiff and limiting. You lose a lot of your cuteness, because there's no chance for action, and action is the most important thing to me." A visibly nervous Bow had to do a number of retakes in The Wild Party because her eyes kept wandering up to the microphone overhead. "I can't buck progress .. I have to do the best I can," she said. In October 1929, Bow described her nerves as "all shot", saying that she had reached "the breaking point", and Photoplay cited reports of "rows of bottles of sedatives" by her bed.

According to the 1930 census, Bow lived at 512 Bedford Drive, together with her secretary and hairdresser, Daisy DeBoe (later DeVoe), in a house valued $25,000 with neighbors titled "Horse-keeper", "Physician", "Builder". Bow stated she was 23 years old, i.e., born 1906, contradicting the censuses of 1910 and 1920.

"Now they're having me sing. I sort of half-sing, half-talk, with hips-and-eye stuff. You know what I mean—like Maurice Chevalier. I used to sing at home and people would say, 'Pipe down! You're terrible!' But the studio thinks my voice is great."

With Paramount on Parade, True to the Navy, Love Among the Millionaires, and Her Wedding Night, Bow was second at the box-office only to Joan Crawford in 1930. With No Limit and Kick In, Bow held the position as fifth at box-office in 1931, but the pressures of fame, public scandals, overwork, and a damaging court trial charging her secretary Daisy DeVoe with financial mismanagement, took their toll on Bow's fragile emotional health. As she slipped closer to a major breakdown, her manager, B.P. Schulberg, began referring to her as "Crisis-a-day-Clara". In April, Bow was brought to a sanatorium, and at her request, Paramount released her from her final undertaking: City Streets (1931). At 25, her career was essentially over.

B.P. Schulberg tried to replace Bow with his girlfriend Sylvia Sidney, but Paramount went into receivership, lost its position as the biggest studio (to MGM), and fired Schulberg. David Selznick explained:

...[when] Bow was at her height in pictures we could make a story with her in it and gross a million and a half, where another actress would gross half a million in the same picture and with the same cast.

Bow left Hollywood for Rex Bell's ranch in Nevada, her "desert paradise", in June[120] and married him in then small-town Las Vegas in December. In an interview on December 17, Bow detailed her way back to health: sleep, exercise, and food, and the day after[122] she returned to Hollywood "for the sole purpose of making enough money to be able to stay out of it."

Soon, every studio in Hollywood (except Paramount) and even overseas wanted her services. Mary Pickford stated that Bow "was a very great actress" and wanted her to play her sister in Secrets (1933), Howard Hughes offered her a three-picture deal, and MGM wanted her to star in Red-Headed Woman (1932). Bow agreed to the script, but eventually rejected the offer since Irving Thalberg required her to sign a long-term contract.

On April 28, 1932, Bow signed a two-picture deal with Fox Film Corporation, for Call Her Savage (1932) and Hoop-La (1933). Both were successful; Variety favored the latter. The October 1934, Family Circle Film Guide rated the film as "pretty good entertainment", and of Miss Bow said: "This is the most acceptable bit of talkie acting Miss Bow has done." However, they noted, "Miss Bow is presented in her dancing duds as often as possible, and her dancing duds wouldn't weigh two pounds soaking wet." Bow commented on her revealing costume in Hoop-La: "Rex accused me of enjoying showing myself off. Then I got a little sore. He knew darn well I was doing it because we could use a little money these days. Who can't?"

Bow reflected on her career:

My life in Hollywood contained plenty of uproar. I'm sorry for a lot of it but not awfully sorry. I never did anything to hurt anyone else. I made a place for myself on the screen and you can't do that by being Mrs. Alcott's idea of a Little Woman.

Bow and actor Rex Bell (later a lieutenant governor of Nevada) had two sons, Tony Beldam (born 1934, changed name to Rex Anthony Bell, Jr., died July 8, 2011) and George Beldam, Jr. (born 1938). Bow retired from acting in 1933. In September 1937, she and Bell opened The 'It' Cafe in the Hollywood Plaza Hotel at 1637 N Vine Street near Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles. It closed in 1943. Her last public performance, albeit fleeting, came in 1947 on the radio show Truth or Consequences. Bow was the mystery voice in the show's "Mrs. Hush" contest.

Bow eventually began showing symptoms of psychiatric illness. She became socially withdrawn, and although she refused to socialize with her husband, she also refused to let him leave the house alone. In 1944, while Bell was running for the U.S. House of Representatives, Bow tried to commit suicide. A note was found in which Bow stated she preferred death to a public life.

In 1949, she checked into the Institute of Living to be treated for her chronic insomnia and diffuse abdominal pains. Shock treatment was tried and numerous psychological tests performed. Bow's IQ was measured "bright normal", while others claimed she was unable to reason, had poor judgment and displayed inappropriate or even bizarre behavior. Her pains were considered delusional and she was diagnosed with schizophrenia; however, she experienced neither auditory nor visual hallucinations. Analysts tied the onset of the illness, as well as her insomnia, to the "butcher knife episode" back in 1922, but Bow rejected psychological explanations and left the Institute. She did not return to her family. After leaving the institution, Bow lived alone in a bungalow, which she rarely left, until her death.

Bow spent her last years in Culver City, under the constant care of a nurse, Estalla Smith, living off an estate worth about $500,000 at the time of her death. In 1965, at age 60, she died of a heart attack, which was attributed to atherosclerosis discovered in an autopsy. She was interred in the Freedom Mausoleum, Sanctuary of Heritage at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California. Her pallbearers were Harry Richman, Richard Arlen, Jack Oakie, Maxie Rosenbloom, Jack Dempsey, and Buddy Rogers.

#clara bow #silent movie stars #silent era #silent hollywood #silent cinema #golden age of hollywood

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