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nclkafilms · 4 years ago

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A master’s lacking homage to a masterpiece

(Review of ‘Mank’)

*Warning: contains minor spoilers*

In recent years, Netflix have really upped their awards season contributions by giving either huge budgets, total creative freedom or a mix of these to some of Hollywood's biggest directors. In 2018 Alfonso Cuaron gave us his deeply personal and technically impressive 'Roma'. In 2019 we received Martin Scorsese's long and long-awaited epos 'The Irishman'. Both received 10 Oscar nominations, but both also struggled to invite their viewers fully onboard (The Irishman in particular). In 2020, Netflix is back with 'Mank'; this time giving David Fincher a platform to create a black-and-white love letter to screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz, the often overlooked writer of 'Citizen Kane'. 'Mank' has also received 10 Oscar nominations, but has Fincher learned from Cuaron and Scorsese by making a more inclusive film experience?

In the story we follow Howard, or simply Mank as he is mostly referred to, as he has been asked to write the screenplay for Orson Welles’ first film for studio RKO. Welles has received full creative control of his films and has head hunted Mank to be his writer. Mank - being trapped to his sickbed due to a car accident - is put under pressure by a strict time limit, his secretary Rita Alexander and Welles’ desire to keep Mank away from alcohol, to which he has succumbed for years. It is, however, through numerous flashbacks to Hollywood in the 30’s that we slowly unravel the true inspiration behind Mank’s now historic screenplay for ‘Citizen Kane’. Hollywood is - as the rest of America - suffering the consequences of the recession and the film studios are under pressure from decreasing ticket sales and the threat of a democrat (or socialist as they denounce him as) running for office in California. As hinted at here, ‘Mank’ tells stories of everything from the film industry and the process of writing a screenplay to politics, media and the blurred lines between these industries while adding some remarks on Hollywood’s male dominance along the way and plenty of easter eggs to ‘Citizen Kane’ itself. We rush back and forth between Mank’s writing process and the ghosts of his past, and it is definitely an advantage to either know quite a bit about this period of time or give the film a second watch to fully understand the details of the story.

As Herman J. Mankiewicz, Gary Oldman gives another transformative performance. Oldman is without a doubt an extremely talented actor, who it is always a pleasure to observe. As Mank he gives it everything he has as the drunken screenwriter who after having fallen from the stars suddenly end up producing his best work. His acting when Mank is at his most drunk, most uncontrollable is balancing just on the edge of feeling overdone, and I am having a hard time relating to him in these scenes. It is, however, in his more subtle scenes as when he realises the potential consequences of a quick remark about the power of the film industry in relation to politics or in his final conversations with people about his screenplay, that Oldman shines the brightest. Is it an Oscar-worthy performance, though? I’m not sure.

The other Oscar nominated performance is from Amanda Seyfried as the actress, Marion Davies, the mistress of media mogul William Hearst. Seyfried - as Oldman - gives everything and her character ends up being both more relatable and compelling than Oldman’s titular character. What she does is not overly showy, but she manages to create a character who is both seductive, funny and interesting, when it comes to her trying to find her place in the grand political and artistic puzzle that she has been caught in. The scene in which she refuses to help Mank, not necessarily because she disagress with what he’s asking, but simply to save her face, is in particular well-acted and saying for the character. Sadly, Seyfried is not given that many scenes or material to work with, and as such Davies remains a character that I would have loved to see more of and explore further.

In additional supporting roles, Lily Collins as Rita Alexander, Charles Dance as William Hearst and Arliss Howard as film producer Louis B. Mayer stand out the most. Lily Collins manages to give Oldman some competition in their scenes especially regarding Alexander’s missing husband, Ian. Not unlike Marion Davies, though, Alexander is never explored in depth. We get a much clearer idea of who William Hearst and Louis B. Mayer were. As Hearst, Charles Dance delivers an icy performance as the mighty media mogul, who unknowingly becomes the focus for Mank’s screenplay. Dance is always interesting and his turn as Hearst is no exception. Especially the scene in which he recites the parable of the organ grinder’s monkey is memorable and satisfying to watch. As Louis B. Mayer, Arliss Howard also gives an icy, yet more explosive, performance as a man in power. If I was a film producer who has worked with Fincher, I would probably look in the mirror an extra time after seeing Howard’s performance as Mayer. He - along with Fincher - creates a cynical and often two-faced character, who ultimately follows the money and influence despite preaching about the importance of his MGM family (only to ask them to half their wages in the following scene). As such Hearst and Mayer are used to portray the cynicism and moral corruption caused by money and power; a familiar topic for Fincher, who this time aims his cinematic weapons at his own industry.

Another guarantee from a Fincher film is his impeccable attention to detail and unapologetic perfectionism when it comes to the technical aspects of his films. And ‘Mank’ is no exception; above everything else it is a technical marvel. The vision to create the film as if it was made in the 40’s has been executed close to perfection. The black-and-white cinematography in 2.20:1 aspect ratio (wonder why they went for this rather than 1.33:1) is a feast for the eyes; the addition of reel-change circles as part of the “degrading” post-production of the visuals does feel rather gimmicky, however. I got the “old film” feel without that, but it is without a doubt a detail held dear by Fincher himself. I would have preferred to either not have them or for the film to have been shot on film, though. Especially since the production design is beautiful and manages to create a believable and buzzing Hollywood aesthetic, which didn’t need the additional digital ageing on top. The sound design works better, adding to the “old film” feel first of all because of the fact that it is in mono, but also due to it being deliberately recorded, mixed and toned to sound “old”. It feels less gimmicky than the visual aspects of the film. To round off the film’s sound is a close to perfect score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, who once again proves their versatility by creating a playful score that oozes Hollywood in the 40’s.

Hollywood is also the main focus of the screenplay by David Fincher’s late father; a project close to the hearts of both father and son for years. But despite the endearing narrative of this aspect of the film, I cannot help but feel that the old Fincher’s script is one of the film’s main problems. It simply lacks focus and a structure that aids the story. The film is presented as the story behind the greatest screenplay of all time, but in reality it seems least interested in the screenwriting process. Of course, this holds a meaning too; about the different things influencing a screenplay, but instead it ends up standing on too many legs for it to be well balanced. The flashbacks do tell the overall story of Mank’s screenplay influences, but Fincher’s screenplay seems more interested in the politics, the film industry portrayal and the depiction of Mank’s inner demons. It never fully lands any of these plot lines to absolute satisfaction. The closest is the political story about the sudden invention of post-truth politics or “fake news”, which obviously is a comment to the current political climate. It features interesting thoughts on the ideas behind and consequences of this kind of political work, but it also distances me from the main plot, which is further sidelined by the - obviously deliberate, but questionable - lack of Orson Welles in the story. He is always in the periphery of the story, but never lands as anything but a caricature of the slightly arrogant wonder boy stripping our main hero from proper acknowledgement (for a long time).

Now, let's return to my opening question: is 'Mank' a more inclusive film experience than other Netflix awards season darlings such as 'Roma' or 'The Irishman'? Well… While 'Mank' has been the most entertaining of the three in my eyes, the regrettable conclusion must be a "no". Looking at the individual parts they are all exquisitely executed, apart from the disjointed screenplay, and the film is an immense pleasure to look at and listen to. Ultimately it is just less than the sum of all its individual parts. It has all the components to become a masterpiece, it just never weaves them into one. It is a party that we are never fully invited to. This does not mean that I do not applaud Fincher for sticking to his visions or Netflix for giving him creative freedom, I simply just wish they did not keep me at an arm's length throughout the 131 minutes.

3,5/5

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iatheia · 4 years ago

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EDA reviews Part 5 - books 38-46

Previous part 1, 2, 3 & 4

38) Casualties of War - a lovely story. In form and in function it is pretty much identical to the previous story, and even reveals pretty much the same info verbatim. The plot is similarly nothing outstanding, from ~5 minutes in you can tell pretty much exactly how it is going to turn out. That said, it has a much better atmosphere than the Burning, and Doctor’s characterization is also much stronger. Nice and relaxing, if a bit gory at times, and veering off towards supernatural by the end. 8/10

39) The Turing Test - Wow, these stories keep getting better and better! It is overwhelming and exuberant. Only a handful of books have even attempted to get anywhere near close into the Doctor’s psyche as this one has. Moreover, it has multiple narrators, and all three have a very different relationship with the Doctor, you get into the different facets of his persona, multiplicity of his character. You have a dashing and breathless romantic whose mere presence sweeps you off your feet, a reckless hero, an enigma, at the same time, there is a rather selfish and cruel streak as well. He is a manipulator, someone who knows more than he should and willing to use this knowledge to achieve his aims, willing to play people against each other and show a side of himself that they would be most accepting to see. It is never to the degree of Seven, this behavior is all Eight through and through, the core of his characters never sways, it’s just viewed through a different lens. The previous novels have established these facets, but more on accident, due to lack of consistency between different writers, picking one and going with it. But this is the first one I feel they were actually explored in full, though, certainly, there will be other stories to tackle this in the future as well (Caerdroia in particular comes to mind). An outstanding story through and through. 10/10

40) Endgame - Hot off the heels of the previous one, another fun story - or, at the very least, something that would have been a gem if it had managed to sustain the energy it had at the beginning. Doctor’s claustrophobia and depression were very poignant, and, as much as I loved Stranded already, it does make me look at that story in a new light with a newer appreciation. And, on top of that - this book is funny, the Doctor evading spy agents with ease is the comedy of errors. That said, in the second half there is too much runamock it’s a bit repetitive, not very well organized, they needlessly cross the ocean so many times, the situation at a given location is resolved the second the Doctor shows up on a scene, and it all ends in deus ex machina. The authors note says that the original draft was submitted unfinished, and boy does it show. Still, I had fun with it. 8/10

41) Father Time - It is hard not to notice though that some of the novels come in pairs (or trios). The Burning and the Casualties of War had a lot of overlap. Turning Test and Endgame were both based on political intrigue. And now, Endgame and Father Time, both feature some mysterious entity that know the Doctor from before, with him not knowing who they are. They are even called similarly, “The Players” and “The Hunters”. When these overlaps are so close to one another, it does rather stick out. This ark is not the first time this happened, obviously, there have been a number of stories before that makes you pause and go “wait, you’ve just done this in the previous book, too”. It’s probably more to do with how quickly the books are released one after another, so as the writers discuss some ideas, they end up being in several places....

That said, the first third of the book had me singing its praises. After going through the five stages of grief, and battling against the depression of the previous novel, the Doctor is finally reaching acceptance of his situation, and possibly nurturing hope for the future. It’s exactly the type of a fluffy story I have a weakness for. But then... you have a time skip, which gets all the pacing torn into shreds. Not only the conclusion of the first part is too abrupt, everything falling into pieces as if by accident, but also, none of the things that happened in the first part (or most of the characters that were introduced) matter for part two. It turns into a chess match play by numbers, moving characters across the board almost without any transition in service of “plot”, without much of consideration for their head space, keeping everyone rather ooc. The change in visuals is very abrupt - it’s hard to accept the Doctor as a millionaire business consultant living in a grand mansion, new family situation or not. It’s not just at odds with his bohemian persona, it also begs a question, if he is so famous, what do the UNIT and Torchwood are doing about it? And also, *sigh*. You have a sixteen year old girl, who, in the previous chapter, just been ten. And you decide to spend the next two chapters on little else than musing how “she hasn’t been interested in sex, even though she is SO HOT”, only to decide that she is interested now, actually. It comes across more than a little fetishistic, and the story continues to follow her around with the male gaze. I’m not here to follow sexual exploits of minors - not in a Doctor Who novel. It is utterly unnecessary, doesn’t add anything of value to the plot, not character driven, and made me lose pretty much all of the good will I had from the first part of the story (and I had a lot of it, because the start of it was basically perfect). In the third part, it just turns into a discount Taken story, somehow managing to lose any cohesiveness and suspension of disbelief, and fizzles out in the end. 4/10

Amnesia watch: #7. It’s a bait and switch - the Doctor was just pretending, but I’m counting it anyway.

42) Escape Velocity - I wonder, how much sponsorship did various fast food places paid for this novel....

And we are back with Fitz. I didn’t really say it before, but it was really rather a dick move leaving the Doctor all alone for over a century. I mean, it worked, narratively speaking (more on that later), but, still, in an option between traveling through space & time BUT leaving them alone for that long, without any idea who they are, without any network of support, letting them slowly go mad, only being there for the fun bits, versus staying with them to help them through it all, you are kind of a bad friend. Sure, Compassion was in the driver’s seat, but Fitz didn’t exactly protest all that much, did he? And why 20th century earth? If the conditions for Doctor’s maroonment was that he had to stay somewhere for over 100 years while the TARDIS repaired itself, then any other technologically advanced era that didn’t have two world wars would have sufficed? And, psst, Doctor, your adopted kid has a space armada. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind giving you one ship that would allow you at least space travel, you didn’t have to spend last 11 years on Earth - you could have went traveling, TARIS in tow on that ship, and only checked in at the deadline.

Also, I get it, memory loss is a traumatic experience, and the Doctor isn’t human, and there is a sense of wrongness. But, he has lived on Earth for over 100 years. In that time he had more memories and experiences than any human alive. After a while, this entire thing of “I don’t know who I am” should start wearing a bit thin, don’t you think?

This rant aside, the book is a bit play by numbers. A lot of unnecessary runaround, traveling from London to Brussels and back several times for no particular reason. A rather boring “aliens invading earth” plot that left me checked out for a vast majority of it. Nothing bad about it, but nothing stands out about the plot either. But, it did have several heartfelt emotional scenes - the long awaited reunion, seeing TARDIS interior again, the finale. They were fairly brief, and it’s a bit of a pity they weren’t savored for a bit longer, instead letting the plot get in the way, but the little that was there was nice. 7/10

43) EarthWorld - I was hoping to enjoy this book a bit more than I ended up, I usually am quite fond of Rayner’s works, but I guess it is one of her first books. It’s a bit monotone, landing on the side of quirky, whether it was suited for a scene or not. Also dwelling on the past quite a bit, invoking the imagery of Unearthly Child, War Games, Greatest Show in the Galaxy in a rapid succession, for no specific reason, and then dwelling for quite a long time on several previous novels in a not entirely organic way. Instead of using this as an opportunity so start afresh now that we’re finally back in the TARDIS, it feels like it is focused more than ever on recapping how they got here, especially as the previous novel offered a way out by letting Fitz forget most of the previous “ark”. There were a lot of lovely character moments - but some of it did feel overly gratuitous. Still, it’s a decent book, even if it doesn’t quite reach full marks 8/10.

44) Vanishing Point - Easily the best Steve Cole novel of the ones I’ve ever read and/or listened to. This is the fresh start to the team adventures that I was hoping for. The alien world is interesting, with great worldbuilding (which is actually kind of rare in the novels). A lot of exciting imagery. The characters are a joy to behold. Not just the trio, but the secondary characters too. The first half of the book is basically perfect. It... kind of fizzles out in the second half, never really delivering on its set up in an entirely satisfying way.

A big part of the difficulty of suspending disbelief, though, was Fitz’s leg. I twisted my ankle once. I could barely walk for several days afterwards (so it having happen at a beginning of a trip was Awful), it took months for it to fully heal, and even now it feels more wobbly than the other one. And a colleague of mine ended up getting a special boot, because she keeps twisting her ankle (always the same one). Fitz had twisted his ankle, and then he was shot in the leg. And he is running about mountains and waterfalls almost immediately. 8/10

45) Eater of Wasps - You have to give it to Baxendale, he has a very particular style. Everything described so masterfully you couldn’t help but imagining every single detail, like painting a picture before you. Even though a significant portion of it is body horror that is described exactly as lovingly as the British countryside. Never before has the title been this appropriate. Very careful in setting up the conflict and tension between the protagonists. 10/10

46) The Year of Intelligent Tigers - This story is just nice. Another one with incredible visuals and incredible feelings behind it, exuberant and overwhelming, like a hurricane. The ending is particularly strong. This is peak Eight - a force of nature, alien and unknowable, and yet, you can’t help but being swept off your feet. Stories like this one is exactly why he is the platonic ideal of who the Doctor should be.

Overall impressions so far: This was like a breath of fresh air. The “stuck on Earth all on his own” ark was not only beautifully executed, but it was also badly needed. The last time I was complaining that few novels actually did anything with Eight - he would react to the plot, but never really be affected by anything. And at the heart of it was the issue that the writers, through trial and error, did come to a consensus about who he should be, but rarely took time to actually get into his head - they started out somewhat flat-footedly, and then got swept up in other things. Here, though, they were forced to slow down and focus his undivided attention just on him, what makes him tick if you break him down to the barest essentials - so even after reuniting with the TARDIS and the companions, his portrayal is all the stronger as a result. Rather than merely reacting to the world at large, he is now an active participant.

The companions are great. There is nothing particularly special being given to Fitz to chew upon, but his presence is always welcome, especially with him being as mellow as he has been back in Autumn Mist. What is it about the Doctor that attracts so many companions with an acute case of praise kink, I wonder? Anji is also interesting, and I love seeing what’s being done with her. She slots in perfectly, delivering so sorely missed snark Compassion had in her pre-Shadow of Avalon outings, all the while having a rather unique relationship with the Doctor - acknowledging his eldritch horror moments, being one of the few who does stand up to him. Especially after the last couple of books, I’m curious to see where this goes and how it continues to build.

The books themselves are a significant step up to what was there before, which got pretty joyless for a short while, alternating between mediocre to awful. In this batch, tough? Sure, there are some weaker offerings, but even there there is at least one stand-out scene that makes the book. Even if the plot isn’t exactly the most revolutionary thing in the world, it is being made up with solid character work. Honestly, for any new readers I would recommend just starting with #37 Burning and going from there - at least so far.

#doctor who #eighth doctor #eighth doctor adventures #eda

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

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Box Boy Plurality: 40 Minutes (Explicit)

CW: explicit dubcon, slavery, caning, dehumanization, degradation, brainwashing, creepy + intimate whumper

Tag list: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity--whump--whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump @infested-with-blood

Masterlist

They had 40 minutes, a little less, before dinner would be ready and they would need to put away their toys to go enjoy what Soren made for them. But 40 minutes was plenty of time, and 02 was in dire need of some shaping up.

“Look at you,” Ren intoned, noting the little ways 02 listed into their palm before holding himself still again. He was good at hiding it. How much he wanted to be touched. He was good, but they were better. “You just need someone to take you in hand, don’t you?”

“Processors tried,” 02 grit out, fingers trembling where they dug into his own thighs. “Turns out I’m a handful.”

“You really do think you’re so terribly cute, don’t you?” Ren asked disdainfully, taking their hand away. They pulled the retractable cane out of their skirt pocket and hit the button that sent it springing out, the snap making Soren jump and 02 tense, eyes wide.

“I believe you’re familiar with this particular tool? You’ll have to forgive my coworker; he clearly did not know how to use it properly.” 02’s jaw worked and he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. They were careful only to watch him in their peripheral, keeping their eyes on the cool, black painted metal in their hands.

“He used it plenty.”

“Mike is… charming, for a certain value of charming, but I do believe he couldn’t have effectively used this if his life had depended on it.” They stroked their hand down the cane, barely catching any friction against the pads of their fingertips, a caress, almost. Goosebumps rose along their skin, a pleasant sort, while their shoulders tingled with excited anticipation. They turned their head, just a hair, and laid their eyes on 02 with a pleasant sort of smile, their body still turned in around the cane. “Don’t worry,” they purred, “I’ll use it properly. This will hurt, but this is a necessary first step to fix you, 02.”

“I don’t need fixed!” 02 asserted, almost shouting.

They were out of practice (they should really go to the gym more, ugh), so it was a 50-50 shot they were toying with. But at 02’s defiance they snapped their wrist and brought the cane to a halt just a breath beneath the tip of his jaw, air currents catching, 02’s whole body jerking with fear. But he stayed on his knees. What a delicious dichotomy.

Success made Ren’s lips curl, having avoided knocking 02 in the jaw unintentionally, and they took an easy, pleasant tone when they said, “If that were true,” they stroked the tip of the cane along his jaw, watching the muscles twitch, “you wouldn’t have said so.”

Ren witnessed a struggle, 02’s body shifting only once, but his nostrils flaring, his eyes darting between the cane and Ren’s face, the gears of his little maggot brain positively whirring. In the end, what won out was 02’s desire to jerk his jaw away from the cane and spit, “Fuck you.”

They caned him on the arm, just below the shoulder, and were gratified with his cry of pain.

“This will hurt you,” they repeated, voice measured and calm, circling around him with slow ease, “but it will fix you.”

“I don’t need--” 02 yelled, cut off with a high cry of pain when they brought the cane down on his back.

“Hush, 02,” Ren murmured, as though to comfort. “I only want a plaything; this doesn’t have to hurt. As soon as you learn how to mind that nasty tongue of yours,” they brought the cane down again, satisfaction shivering through them, making their chest squeeze and their eyes momentarily close, “this will all be so much better.”

Not that Ren wasn’t having fun, at present, but it was important to give little fleas like 02 a goal to work towards.

“No,” 02 gasped quietly, with a mirthless chuckle, “No it won’t.”

“Do not disagree with me,” Ren ordered plainly, bringing the cane down again. 02 cried out in pain, and midway through it evolved into a scream of rage.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you assholes--AAH!” Ren brought the cane down twice, one for each slight.

“02,” Ren said with a little huff. “I am not Mike; refrain from treating me like him. Each time I punish you can and will be linked to a misdeed, and each misdeed you do will be met with punishment. I’m reliable, and you’ll learn that soon enough.”

“Oh, gee, thanks Exalted!” 02 gasped, his forehead pressed to the floor, now, thin frame heaving with his rapid breaths, sweat giving his skin a pleasant sheen and aggravated red bright on his back. “Thank you so fucking much for letting me rely on the fact you’ll beat my ass whenever I don’t do ‘good enough!’”

“You’re welcome,” Ren said cheerily, whacking him with the cane again. Their arms were going to get tired, if they had to keep this up all week. “That was for the sarcasm.”

“Fuck you!” 02 sobbed, crying now. They struck him again. The cane was heavy, metal, and, well, a cane. It wasn’t meant to be an endurance tool; carelessness could easily fuck up a person’s ribcage or, if striking somewhere vulnerable like a fucking chump, a person’s organs or spinal column. The bruises they’d already left would be heavy, dark, painful with each movement of his core or arms, and uncomfortable to stand or walk with. They were surprised he’d lasted this long. Precious, sweet, delicate Soren wouldn’t have made it past the first blow before he would be begging for mercy--not that Ren would ever hurt Soren like this, of course not! But it was fun to know that they had a more durable plaything, now, something stupid and spiteful that would grant them every excuse to be as mean as they could possibly want.

“If you vomit from pain, you’ll be the one to clean it up,” Ren commented, nudging the side of 02’s face with the cane’s tip and admiring the flushed, wet mess they found.

“I’d rather v-vomit than,” 02 gasped and swallowed, choking down his sobs, “l-lick your fucking boots,” 02 rasped, and Ren rolled their eyes. They stomped on the back of his head, slamming his face into the concrete, and raised the cane high, high above their head. He cried out, in fear, in pain, in the exhaustion that came with both, his dumb mouth pushing his body to its limit, and, for the first time since his arrival at Ren’s doorstep, tried to physically struggle away. But he was too weak for that, now. He was injured and feeble and Ren felt on top of the fucking world, delighted grin on their face.

“Exalted!” Soren cried, colliding into them, pressing his lithe little body up against theirs and gripping at the front of their blouse. They blinked, shocked, and momentarily forgot all about 02 beneath their foot. “Exalted, p-please, he’s just, just having a hard time, adjusting, please, you’ve taught him good, Exalted, it’s just that he’s--a, a s-stupid m-m-mutt. Y-You have better, um, better things, you could do, than, um, w-waste your time on, on a w-worm.” Soren begged with his wide, pretty eyes, full of fear, his brain just barely moving fast enough to keep up with his mouth, and Ren barked a laugh at hearing him talk like that. He was… terribly transparent.

“Oh, my little angel?” they asked, letting the cane dangle loosely by their side and caressing his face with their free hand. “And what ‘better things’ could I be doing?”

Soren took one, then two quick, rushed breaths, and then lifted up onto his tiptoes to kiss Ren. They hugged him one-armed around his waist, holding his body in place as he pressed into them so sweetly. Cute and submissive and acting just like he did when he wanted it. When he pulled away, he smiled at them, and he was such a bad liar, every ounce of it looked forced. But Ren didn’t mind. Ren kind of liked it.

He tugged at them, by the sleeve of their blouse, by the waistline of their skirt, and coaxed them over to the thick, heavy metal pipe that ran from the floor to ceiling of their laundry room. They let themself be gently pushed up against it, fully aware of what Soren was doing. But they let it happen. If Soren wanted to sink down so neat and gracefully onto his knees and tug down their skirt and underwear, why should they stop him? If he wanted to spare 02 the punishment he rightfully deserved, well, they’d have plenty of opportunities to punish him later. Why not let Soren take Ren’s cock into his mouth? Why not lean back against the pipe with a pleased hum and a hand idly caressing Soren’s cheek?

They deserved this, honestly. To get a nice little go-around with a bad mouthed brat, followed up with Soren sucking them off. It was a decadence. They were drooling. They were brimming with electric energy from the caning, and it was all too easy for that to shift south with beautiful, lovely Soren at their feet, slender fingers cupping their balls and anchoring himself on their thigh.

“Exalted?” Soren asked, slipping off of their cock and staring up at them with his big brown eyes. “Will you grip my hair?” he asked, his hand covering the one they had on his cheek, as though to keep it from moving. He was very, very obviously trying to coax them into putting away the cane, probably made nervous by its continued presence--or wanting to spare 02 the nerves. But, well, why not let him coax them? They were in an indulgent mood.

And Soren was good with his mouth. They retracted the cane and let it drop on top of their skirt on the floor, gripping him by the hair and forcing him down their cock. He knew how to hollow out his cheeks, how to run his tongue up along the underside of their dick, the pressure and strength that felt best when he fondled their balls. He was so, so good at sucking dick, and another pleased, satisfied part of Ren reared its head. He’d been decent, when they’d first started fucking him, but his skill had grown exponentially since his purchase. They were responsible for this skill. They had been the one to make him like this, mold him into this, teach him and shape him to their will.

“Pretty bird,” Ren praised, head leaned back against the pipe, and when they slit their eyes open, they smiled. 02 was watching. Horrified. Disgusted. Guilty. Rapt. He couldn’t look away, they were sure.

“Such a good mouth, Soren,” Ren praised, the words directed at 02. He looked up at their face, and flinched, still lying on the floor in agony and weakness. Unable to spare himself the pain, unable to stop Soren from rescuing him from his own idiocy.

They dragged it out. Each time they would get close to their orgasm they would pull Soren off, make him mouth along the side of their cock, reminding him to breathe. They would, if the surge hit them too fast, too close, sometimes press Soren’t face into their hip, holding him there, crooning at him about how good he was doing, how wonderful it felt. They praised him loudly, frequently, a reminder to both pets that good behavior was rewarded. Sure, Soren had interrupted them, presumed he might manipulate them, but his knees would pay the price for that; they weren’t worried.

And 02 got to watch and hear all of it, in useless pain, and Ren finally let themself come, to that thought specifically, to the knowledge that they ever so thoroughly owned both of these boys. And the fact that there was nothing either of them could do about it.

“Oh, perfect timing angel,” Ren praised, stroking his jaw as his throat worked, listening to the alerting beep from the kitchen. They turned their eyes fully on 02 and grinned. “Time’s up!” they announced cheerfully, making his eyes blow wide again, and a keen rose off him.

“Oh don’t be such a little bitch, mutt,” Ren scolded lightly as they raised their skirt back around their waste, sliding the cane into their pocket as Soren wiped at his mouth. “It’s just dinner. Get up.”

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theunderdogwrites · 4 years ago

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2020: The Year I Lost My Ass

Well, we reached the end of that toilet roll only to start another one, because that is what we do for as long as we are allowed to continue revolutions around the sun – we keep going.

2020 was a terrible year for so many. My brain is incapable of processing the number of losses suffered on a global scale. Be it jobs, security, rights, sanity, relationships or life. My brain is not just incapable of these calculations, it has plain refused to entertain those thoughts on behalf of my heart. My heart, that sensitive little blood pumping work horse who not once allows itself to stop. Thank goodness.

I don’t believe the majority of people are willing and able to bring themselves to fully comprehend what was lost in 2020.

Here is a list of a few more losses suffered last year:

- People lost their shit. And over the most ridiculous things like toilet paper, having to wear a mask to secure toilet paper and being held to the consequences resulting from not wearing a mask when asked to while attempting to purchase toilet paper. Pause for a moment and let that last sentence hang around in your mind. 2020 made that happen. I didn’t make it up! Recently I saw a news piece showing a man (40’s) lying down on the floor in a Costco to protest being asked to wear a mask. He spoke loudly, he beat his hands at his sides and wildly kicked his legs when an employee asked him to get up. Now, I am not judging for I too have participated in such behaviour MANY times. Granted I was three, but hey… some of us mature faster than others.

- People lost their damn minds. 2020 should be dubbed “The Year of The Karen”. For those of you not in the know about the Karen phenomenon, here is a description courtesy of Urban Dictionary:

“Karen is a pejorative term used in the United States and other English-speaking countries for a woman perceived as entitled or demanding beyond the scope of what is appropriate or necessary. A common stereotype is that of a white woman who uses her privilege to demand her own way at the expense of others.’

Basically, a Karen is a I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER type person (There is a male equivalent, but it seems no one can agree on the name… Chad, Terry, Kyle, Kevin, Steve). You can often find a Karen on her cellphone calling the police to report a black man who lives in her neighborhood, simply living his life in her neighbourhood. I didn’t make that up either.

More recently a Karen was videoed in a UPS store claiming that she didn’t have to wear a mask because that space was government property and not a private business. Would it be safe to say that most Karen types suffer from a lack of oxygen to their brain? Possibly. But that would involve science and Karen types DO NOT enjoy hard facts.

As always when I download my thoughts into reality, I must go within and search myself. Am I a Karen? My immediate answer is: no fucking way. I can honestly say I’ve never once asked to see a manager or called the police to report someone eating their lunch on a park bench. I do not enjoy confrontation. Unless there is a bully involved. Then I will drag that person to hell with me. I much prefer discussion over going straight to the ‘I triple dog dare you!’ approach to the world. (If you got that reference, you are my new favourite) Because that is who a Karen really is… someone who jumps right to the most extreme action in order to satisfy their need to be superior. Truly, we should feel sorry for these people because instead of engaging they’re raging. And how awful must their insides feel… always full of anger, fear and self doubt. I say instead of judging these Karen types or putting them on blast on social media, we should hug the shit out of them. Just grab them and squeeze as hard as you fucking can until they stop talking. Peaceful solutions my friends, peaceful solutions.

- Pets lost their faith in us. Children a close second. If you are a proud owner of a pet or a child, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

I’ve always operated under the notion that my cat loves it when I’m home and hates it when I leave. 2020 has taught me it might be the other way around. Because our animals are, well, animals we just believe our presence is the greatest gift in their lives. Remember when you were old enough to be left alone by your parents and once you had the taste of that kind of freedom, you just wanted more of it and couldn’t wait for them to go out? I feel it’s like that with our pets now. We might not think animals have a routine or preferences or enjoy some alone time, but we’d be wrong.

I think at first our pets were thrilled. If we are home more it means more time for prolonged petting, walks and the opportunity to ritualistically train us to respond to their caterwauls for more food and treats than normal. But then as the weeks of lockdown and working from home increased, so did our pets desire to kill us in our sleep.

I’m pretty sure my cat has asked me several times using her feline glare: “why the fuck won’t you just leave?”. It would be naïve of us to assume we don’t disrupt their day with our constant noise making and snacking and scotch drinking that leads to a good buzz that leads to showing too much affection to our pets. To the point where they run and hide when they see us coming. Please tell me I didn’t describe just my own experience.

There is such a thing as everything in moderation, we know this, so I think it can be applied here. People, get away from your pets. Give them the space you often desire from human beings. Because if you don’t, that random turd in your shoe could be pointing to a much larger, more alarming problem you’re about to encounter.

I had the absolute blessing of being able to assist in caring for and raising of my three nephews (12,9,6) for the last 11 years. So, when I say: ‘children are always watching us’, I feel I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been mimicked so often by these young boys that I’ve had to pause due to mortification. Children will hold you accountable without even knowing it. I’ve had some behaviours of mine corrected by a 5-year-old and let me tell you, it stings like hell.

As adults, when our world was thrown into turmoil because of Covid-19, we looked to our medical health professionals and our politicians for guidance. Basically, we searched for those who would lead us. The children – looked to us. And while many adults handled this responsibility the best they possibly could, many more failed miserably and displayed attitudes I can only describe as juvenile, damaging and pathetic. I suppose it doesn’t help if the people the adults are looking to for help are themselves - juvenile, damaging and pathetic.

When I say we still have not grasped just how much has been lost over the past year, I’m hinting at integrity, compassion and creditability. Three vital qualities you’d hope people want to instill into their children. But if they themselves are unable to display such valuable traits, what does this say for the children who are looking up to them as an example on how to act when life gets challenging?

For myself in 2020, I gained by losing.

When they locked our gyms down for four months last spring, I came close to being one of those people who lost their shit. While people were moaning about wearing a mask for 20 minutes in the grocery store, I was contemplating if murdering those people could be considered a cardio exercise and would that hold up in a court of law.

To reflect on that time period now (especially since our gyms are closed AGAIN at the moment) the loss of the gyms brought me the knowledge of how important the routine of going to and being in the gym is to my mental health. I won’t launch into how I feel about shopping malls being open and gyms being closed despite their proven benefit to one’s overall health because then I really will lose my shit.

People always say getting to the gym is the hardest part and once they’re there it’s easy to workout. And for many that is the truth, but for me it’s all a part of the workout. Getting to the gym is the psychological effort. Putting in the work at the gym is the physical. You can’t have one without the other. I became so pathetic that I’d often walk to the closed gym from my house, stare at the closed doors and then walk home. 1.5 hour round trip. True story.

Remember a few years back everyone became obsessed with that Netflix show ‘Tidying Up with Marie Kondo’? It is the show where that lovely woman from Japan showed us all how to declutter our homes by getting rid of anything that didn’t bring us joy. Those acid wash jeans from 1989… sit with them… hold them close to your chest… if they don’t make you happy, remove them from your space. Well, the same idea can be applied to people and ideas and even feelings. And 2020 was a great year for simplifying our lives. I’ve heard so many people talk about how they can’t wait to get back to ‘normal’… not me. I’ve already started my ‘new normal’.

The loss of drama has gained me peace and a better understanding of the importance of remaining true to who I am instead of trying to please others in hopes it wins me points. Because it doesn’t. Because its inauthentic and only brings you more loss and more drama. And anxiety. And sleepless nights. And an overall sense of hatred for everyone. 2020 gave me the option to no longer care about the things that don’t make me happy and to embrace the process of letting all that stupid bullshit fade away.

It was a year of gained focus.

It was a year of gained appreciation.

It was a year of gained gratitude.

It was a year of gained love for myself.

I’m going to leave you now, but not before I share one of my favorite songs by the Tragically Hip:

In A World Possessed by The Human Mind

Just give me the news

It can all be lies

Exciting over fair or the right thing at the right time

Everything is clear

Just how you described

The way it appears, "A world possessed by the human mind"

Then I think I smiled

Then I think you said, "it's fine"

And quietly I dressed, in a world completely possessed by the human mind

We're in awe of no one

We've none of their fear

Fighting's goin' nowhere and we stay right here

Where everything is quiet

A little super dangerous

"In the shadow of the law and with colours of justice"

Then I hope I smiled

Then I'm sure you said, "It's fine"

They got no interest in a world completely possessed by the human mind

Everything is quiet

A little super dangerous

Quiet enough to hear God rustlin' around in the bushes

Oh, but it was you

Girl, I was so afraid

You said, "You shoulda seen the look on your face"

Then I hope I laughed

Then I hope I said, "it's fine"

And quietly undressed in a world completely possessed by the human mind

Oh it was you

Girl, I was so afraid

You said, "You shoulda seen the look on your face"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgXphurrsE0

#2020 #covid #lockdown #gym #marie kondo #the tragically hip #karen #petsarefamily #peace

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ghostking-wenning · 5 years ago

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Radishes, Chapter 6.2

This one’s a 2-part! Enjoy!

2.5K, Rated G, modern au, NingXian etc

***

Qionglin sat bolt upright in his bed. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his body, the sheets tangled around his legs. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed. A dream. It was just a dream! Oh, but what a dream it had been. Wuxian on his knees before him, looking up at him as he… oh god. Qionglin clapped his hand over his eyes, as if that would block out the memory of that vision.

Tentatively, he stood on shaky legs. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he hadn’t made a mess of his sheets, aside from wrinkling them beyond recognition. Sure, he’d had raunchy dreams before, but never like this! Never so long, with such detail, with a specific person that he actually knew! They weren’t even boyfriends yet! They had only recently shared their first kiss! Why would his brain conjure up such naughty imagery? Such naughty sensations?

He shivered remembering the feeling of Wuxian’s hands… and mouth… all over him. It had felt so real, even though he’d never done any of … that. His dream had even replicated the scent of his cologne, the flavor of his favorite wine. Heat coiled in his belly as he remembered the way he squished him against the wall, leaning his whole body into him. Then all that heat immediately rushed to his face when he remembered the way he had simply submitted to Wuxian’s ministrations, baring his throat like a dog to a wolf.

Really? He asked himself. Is that what I’m into? A wave of dread and shame washed over him when he heard an echo of the words “good boy” whispered in his ear and remembered how much he loved it.

“Oh god,” he groaned aloud. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again…” What a shame that was, too, they were such beautiful eyes. Especially when they were fixed on Qionglin with that searing heat as he--

“Nope!” Qionglin said, forcibly derailing that train of thought. A cold shower. That’s what I need. He peeled off his sweat-soaked nightclothes and headed to the bathroom. In the mirror, he was almost surprised to find his neck and chest exactly as they always were, not mottled in lurid red marks. He couldn’t bring himself to look any further down, so he hopped into the shower and turned it on full-blast, hoping the water would pressure-wash his filthy mind. He didn’t even flinch at the cold.

He lost track of time, but he eventually calmed down. He dried off and redressed himself in clean pajamas. It was still several hours before he needed to be awake. He laid down on the couch, so he wouldn’t have to change his sheets for the moment.

Mercifully, the rest of his sleep was dreamless and deep. He woke to the sound of his phone chiming. He had a message from his sister.

“Happy birthday, little brother!! I love you! We still on for dinner tonight?”

Oh god it’s my birthday! In an instant, all traces of sleepiness vanished. Somehow he’d entirely forgotten his own birthday. Am I seriously that clueless? He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Thank you, jiejie! Yes, of course, I’ll meet you at 7!” He replied, tacking on a few heart emojis.

Granny didn’t allow anyone to work on their birthdays, so he had nothing to do until dinnertime. He slumped on the sofa and stared at the ceiling until his phone pinged again.

“Bring that little punk boyfriend of yours. I have to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

He knew Qing well enough to read between the lines: “This is not a request.”

He didn’t even bother pointing out that they weren’t technically boyfriends yet.

Usually he would be elated to spend time with Wuxian on his birthday, but a) Qing could be … intense… he wasn’t sure if he was ready to introduce them yet, and b) he was convinced Wuxian would somehow read his mind and discover what a weird pervert he was. Maybe he’s busy! Maybe he won’t even come. He tried to reason with himself, but that actually just made him sadder.

It took a couple of hours to build up the courage to text Wuxian. He was a lot of things, sure, but he wasn’t a psychic. (Right? That would be crazy… right?) If Qionglin could just keep his cool, he’d never have to know about his dreams. He took a deep breath and opened the message app.

“Hey, Wuxian! Are you busy tonight?” He cursed the way his fingers shook as he typed.

Not five minutes later, his phone beeped.

“Nope! What’s up?”

Fuck.

“I’m having a birthday dinner with my big sister, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us!” He decided not to mention that Qing wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Wait, is it her birthday or your birthday??”

“Mine.”

“What?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me!!”

“Happy birthday!!!!!!!!”

“I forgot! I’m sorry!” It was fully true, but that didn’t make it less ridiculous to admit.

“FORGOT? Wild. Anyway I gotta go find you a present! Can’t wait to see you later!” A string of kiss emojis followed, and Qionglin giggled in spite of himself.

He gathered himself quickly and responded. “You don’t have to get me anything!!”

“Too late! I’m already out the door! See you later byeeee!”

A minute later, Wuxian texted again. “Wait, where and when am I seeing you?”

Qionglin snickered softly, an endeared smile growing on his face. He sent Wuxian the map link and enjoyed about four minutes of peace before remembering why he’d been so nervous about texting Wuxian in the first place.

Panic hit him like a train. Several trains, maybe. His heart skipped and his fingers tightened around his phone so hard his hand shook. Calm down, he tried to tell himself over the alarm bells clanging in his head. Calm down!! Through sheer force of willpower, he evened out his breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he repeated like a mantra.

He walked briskly to his bedroom, pointedly ignoring the rumpled sheets on his bed and snatched his anxiety medication. He popped one in his mouth and hastily gulped some water, and sank into his desk chair. Leaning back, he shut his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to calm.

Something to focus on, that’s what he needed. Something hands-on. But if Granny caught him working the fields, she’d chase him away with a rake -- it had happened before. So he decided on target practice. He grabbed his bow from its stand in the living room and marched out to the woods.

In a small, round clearing were a line of painted wooden targets he’d made himself. He liked to warm up starting from 30 meters, then progressively back away. He took a deep breath as he lined up his shot, shoulders flexing as he drew the bowstring back. The middle target, dead center. He exhaled slowly as he released the arrow, which made a satisfying thunk as it sank exactly into the center of the target.

After landing perfect bullseyes into each target, he backed away to 40 meters, then 50 and so on. He felt perfectly centered; there was nothing in this forest but him, his bow, and his breath.

He leapt about a foot in the air when his phone chimed in his back pocket. How was it already 5 PM!? Where did the time go? He thought, as he began to gather his arrows. It was well past time to get ready. He hurried back to his house, where a fat orange barn cat woke from its nap on Qionglin’s rain boots. It made a curious prrt noise as it fixed big yellow eyes on him. This was the one his little cousin had dubbed “Cheese.”

“Hello, Cheese,” he greeted, stooping to scratch behind its ears. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside.” Cheese purred and pawed at the door, but didn’t put much effort into following him inside.

Hanging up his bow, he realized he felt much better, as if his thoughts sorted themselves out on their own. It was just a dream. It’s perfectly natural, and he’ll never even know! And if he found out somehow, I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t blame me at all. It was magical, almost, how archery relaxed him, even as it wore out his muscles. (His medication probably also helped, but he liked to think it was mostly archery.)

He washed his face, and pulled back his hair, fussing with the locks that were too short for his half-ponytail. Poking through his closet once again, he wondered if Wuxian would say anything if he wore the ghost shirt again. He decided against it, instead opting for a grey striped shirt and a dark blue cardigan that he thought looked pretty sharp. He may not have a lot of nice clothes, but he thought maybe he was getting better at dressing well. Well-ish, at least, he thought, tugging on his comfy-but-ugly sneakers, but it was those or work boots.

He checked his pockets and whisked out the door to his car. He would probably still be on time.

He was not.

Fifteen minutes late, he scurried into the restaurant and scanned the room for his sister. At least for his birthday she might not scold him for being late. Soon enough he found her, looking polished and perfect as ever, in a tasteful dark red dress with her long black-tea-colored hair in a sleek braid. Across from her was none other than Wuxian, Qionglin realized with a start. What-- how did she find him? Why-- oh god what are they talking about?

He stood stock-still for a few seconds, until Wuxian laughed brightly, the sound spurring Qionglin forward. As casually as possible, he strolled over and plunked down beside them. With any luck he’d missed the awkward small talk and Qing inevitably giving Wuxian the third-degree about what he does, and his intentions with her little brother.

“S-sorry I’m late,” he said, offering a sheepish smile.

Qing looked like she wanted to say something about it, but Wuxian beat her to it.

“No worries! Happy birthday!” He said, grinning and reaching for Qionglin’s hand.

“Mhm,” Qing agreed. “Happy birthday, hun.” She patted his cheek fondly, and he blushed, unable to hide his cheesy grin at the attention.

“Thanks…” he mumbled. “Um, so, I guess you’ve already met, so I don’t need to introduce you. I-- I hope you weren’t waiting too long, though.”

“Not at all! Your sister was just telling me about how cute you were when you were little,” Wuxian said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Qionglin’s head whipped around. “Qing!” He complained, exaggerated betrayal written on his face.

She smiled deviously. “What? You were adorable! You used to hide behind me and follow me everywhere like a little duckling.”

Qionglin groaned and buried his face in his hands while Wuxian giggled.

“He’s still adorable,” Wuxian said. “Absolutely too cute.”

“Yep.” Qing nodded.

Well, at least they’re getting along… Qionglin thought. The rest of the evening went in a similar fashion, the two of them teasing him affectionately and relishing in his embarrassment. After dinner, they sat around chatting over glasses of wine. Qing reached into her purse and produced a small envelope.

Qionglin carefully opened it and read the card. Tucked into the corner was a gift card to a ritzy clothing shop.

“I’ll take you shopping next weekend, if you’re free.” Qing promised.

“Mm! Thanks jiejie,” Qionglin said leaning over to give her a one-armed hug.

“Ooh, my turn!” Wuxian chimed in. From inside his jacket, he pulled a little bundle wrapped in red tissue paper. He handed it over, grinning proudly.

Qionglin untied the silver ribbon holding it together, and the paper unraveled. Inside was a packet of heart-shaped candies and a set of charming pins shaped like monsters: a werewolf, a sea serpent, an alien, and a ghost, much like the one on his t-shirt. Qionglin’s heart threatened to burst in his chest. Faintly blushing, he gazed up at Wuxian, who was watching him intently, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you…” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “I love these.”

Wuxian’s face split into his signature dazzling grin. “I’m so glad! I noticed you don’t accessorize much, and I thought maybe it was because jewelry would get in the way of farm work or whatever, so I figured pins might suit you-- I even made sure to get the kind with extra-sturdy backs so they won’t fall off!”

Qionglin chuckled shyly. “That’s… really thoughtful. Thank you,” he repeated.

Qing scoffed lightly. “Way to show me up,” she said looking pointedly at Wuxian, but she was smiling. She gave a small, approving nod. Apparently Wuxian met her expectations well enough. She stood gracefully and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Well, I should get going, but you two have fun, okay? Dinner’s on me.” She bent slightly and gave Qionglin a firm hug and kissed the top of his head.

Then she walked around him and extended her hand to Wuxian, who shook it graciously. She leaned in and whispered something to him that Qionglin couldn’t hear.

Wuxian’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he blanched. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured weakly.

Qing flashed Qionglin an indulgent smile and bid them both goodnight, before sweeping away, paying the bill and leaving, her heels clacking decisively.

Qionglin cleared his throat awkwardly. “S-so that’s my sister,” he said tentatively. “I hope she didn’t say anything rude.”

Wuxian laughed, light and breezy, like he hadn’t just looked scared out of his wits. “Nothing unusual, anyway. Just the shovel talk-- and a quick one at that. Very efficient. She’s cool, though!”

“Isn’t she?” Qionglin agreed wholeheartedly. “I-I’m glad you got along okay. She seems to approve. Of you, I mean. Of-- of us.” He felt his cheeks color slightly, savoring the word us.

Wuxian smiled again, and squeezed Qionglin’s hand. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around.”

When they finished their wine, they took a walk through a park to sober up. The moon was just beginning to rise over them as they strolled leisurely, hand-in-hand.

“So, how old are you now? 23?” Wuxian asked, somewhat out of the blue, stopping and stepping off the paved trail.

“Mhm, exactly.” Qionglin said, following him into the trees. “Why?”

“For this,” Wuxian answered. He tugged Qionglin closer and cupped both sides of his face, then began peppering him with kisses, everywhere he could reach. Qionglin spluttered and tried to pull away, but Wuxian was unstoppable. He seemed determined to cover Qionglin’s entire face in a layer of kisses. “20,” he murmured, kissing his left eyebrow. “21,” he kissed the center of his forehead. “22,” he kissed the tip of his nose. “23,” he whispered, and at last kissed Qionglin’s lips, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tight.

When they finally parted, Qionglin was breathless and practically vibrating. He hid his face in Wuxian’s collar and snuggled close. Wuxian chuckled lightly and nuzzled his hair. “Happy birthday, Qionglin.”

#mdzs fic #modern au #farmer's market au #ningxian #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #birthday fic!#my writing #my art

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chrisbbaegopayo · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Your Breath (Stray Kids: Stalker AU) ➻ Chapter 1

Genre: Thriller, Angst, Gore, Mystery, Suspense Characters: Stray Kids, OCs Word Count: 2.8k Warning: This story will contain elements of gore, on- and off-screen abuse, torture, mental illness, and stalking. It will feature themes that are not suitable for all ages, readers discretion is advised. Each chapter will have its own specific warning.

The story takes place in the main character’s third year of university. The prologue will detail information before the story takes place. Happy reading!

------------------------------

During the summer, she spent most of her time hanging around Jisung, and throughout her time spent lazing around the house and marathoning movies on both of their to-watch list, the two had engaged in casual conversations like regular friends. However, the topic of her supposed secret admirer never came up, and naturally, Jisung never suspected something was wrong. Her perky attitude kept him from knowing what was going on, and plus, she felt certain that once the new semester rolled around, the secret admirer would be out of her hair.

Plus, spending time with Jisung made her feel safe.

Jisung, who had worked at the local movie theatre, sometimes would offer her discounted movie tickets thanks to his employee discount, and sometimes, they would hang out at a nearby diner or cafe. They would laugh at random things that the older boy had encountered at his job, including a woman who bought both popcorn with extra butter and two slushes only to dump it all on him because her son was being particularly playful that day.

It took a while to get the butter smell out of his hair.

She laughed for a long time, with Jisung staring at her incredulously after that.

Jisung did say that thanks to the mishap, he was able to leave work to clean up—"to avoid affecting the overall atmosphere of the theatre,” as his manager told him. He was grateful for that. Jisung was never penalized for the mishap, and the lady apologized profusely for her oversight.

Jisung had a bunch of other funny stories that he told her in the course of the summer vacation, and some good news as well.

Though Jisung at the movie theatre, his main goal was to fund his own music career. Despite being a talented musician, he had never had any luck getting his music out there. He told her that on certain days, when he wasn’t working, he would be working with another friend, producing music that he wished people would listen to.

He had shown her several of his mixtapes, but other than a few supportive fans—her included—his career at making music never really lifted off the ground. But it seemed to be better now that he was able to purchase some advanced and better technology to help him make music that that had better sound quality.

His partner, Seo Changbin, who also shared the same dream, came from money and was rich, but Changbin’s parents were too worried about his condition to allow him to become fully engrossed in the music world. Nevertheless, whenever he had time, Changbin would make his way to Jisung’s house to dip his hand back into the music world, much to his parents’ chagrin. However, Changbin’s parents made it abundantly clear that they were not going to fund Changbin’s music career should he choose to pursue the path—which is to say, though they didn’t openly dissuade him from doing so, they weren’t encouraging him to do so, either.

After all, Changbin was born with hearing disabilities, and knowing that fact alone made Changbin even more admirable in Jisung’s eyes. Changbin had great rhythm, a great sense of style, and an ear for something more—something that Jisung did not excel at.

To further add insult to injury on Changbin's part was that he also had a weak heart, so the exposure to loud and brash noises could incapacitate him to some degree. The boy was already suffering from one disability, but this was a totally new monster to tackle. Changbin still loved music, and the louder the better. He pulled a weird "loud music can train my heart to withstand more" crap to his parents, something that Jisung had a hard time believing.

Jisung often talked to her about how life was kind of unfair—to give a guy this kind of unmatched talent and give him an equal amount of handicap that would deter him from utilizing his talent to its fullest…

...is truly ironic, in a sense. But Changbin seemed to make it out just fine.

“Life is full of adversities and obstacles,” Changbin told Jisung a few months into their friendship and partnership, “but the most important thing is to know how to navigate through and past the roadblocks in life that dares to keep us back.”

And through the summer, it felt as though she was given insight into Jisung’s life like never before.

On the last week of summer vacation, as she was getting her things ready for the new semester, he asked about her. It was also the first time in a long time that he had asked her about her own schooling experiences.

She was tempted to tell him about her secret admirer, but she decided against it and talked about the crazy amount of homework she would be expecting come third year, and joked about how she was going to have no social life. Of course, she was kidding, and he knew that.

“Nothing too exciting, you know, this and that,” she said, almost dismissing the idea that her life could get interesting. “Come on, to a plain girl like me? I’m as mundane as you can get.”

Jisung gave her an ‘are you kidding me’ look as he rolled his eyes, clearly not convinced. She only stuck out her tongue in retaliation.

She didn’t lie, she just didn’t tell him the whole truth. But he was clearly not going to be satisfied with that answer, this she knew for sure.

“My friend told me about how she walked into the wrong class acting like a diva and argued for five minutes with the teacher before realizing that she was supposed to be in the classroom next door,” she started, recalling the incident. “It didn’t help that she had been awake for more than 40 hours and was pumped off of energy drinks her brought bought her.”

Jisung chuckled, almost sympathetic. “And then?”

“She became more aware of her surroundings after five minutes of arguing—I think it woke her up and she nearly ran from the room. The funniest thing was the professor’s reaction to her running, his mouth was open the whole time, almost in a disgusted manner,” she said, hardly holding in her laughter. “My friend avoided that professor for a whole half a year before she apologized to him. He had half-forgotten her by that point.”

By then, Jisung burst into fits of laughter. It took him a while to calm down.

"Dude, these stories are gold," he said, in between chuckles. "You literally need to convince your friend to go audition for stand-ups. It's going to be a full house with stories like these."

She nodded in agreement, wiping the stray tears from her eyes. "I know, that's what I've been telling her, seriously, so much raw talent for the entertainment industry. But she just keeps on telling me that other people won't find her funny and won't pay to see her even if she tries."

Jisung seemed to have eased up on the laughter, but still, maintain that tiniest hint of mischievousness. "Well, people are missing out. They're golden, golden. She just needs to find the right crowd."

"Like your music career?"

Jisung huffed. "Hey, I resent that. My music career seems to show signs of promise, I gained two listeners on SoundCloud the other day. And just the other day, I gained 10 more subscribers on YouTube. I'm on fire!"

Although she was very supportive of his music, she never let up a chance to tease him about it—all in good fun, of course, and he knew that.

"Hey, new listeners on both platforms! That's always good news. It's not much but it's something, right?" She stood up, back facing the television, looking down at Jisung, who was lazily sitting on her couch. "What's say we celebrate with some soda?"

Jisung scrunched his nose in disapproval. "Soda? Again? We have that every day. I bet you're just thirsty."

She laughed. "Yeah, you're right, but hey, I thought of you. You got to give props to me for that. You want me to just ignore you while I drink all the soda in the fridge?"

Jisung crossed his arms in front of his chest in mock anger, "what am I, chopped liver? Give me a soda!"

"Okay, okay," she chuckled as she made her way to the kitchen and poured two glasses of soda from the fridge. "One Coca-Cola for Jisung, coming up!"

Jisung raised his arms in the air, cheering. "Yeaaaah!"

At that moment, her phone buzzed, startling her. She managed not to spill anything, props to her. The message would have to wait until she brought the drinks back to the living room.

Once Jisung had the drink in hand and she had hers, she dug the phone from her pocket, curious as to who texted her—she figured that it would be her friend, and it was, the same friend who was not quite awake when she stepped foot in the wrong class—incidentally, the same friend who gave her a little lecture when she found the note written to the gift-bearer/secret admirer.

"Do you want to hang out tomorrow?" There's a new cafe opening, and I heard they sell incredibly delicious pistachio crepe cakes!"

She smiled to herself as she settled her drink on the glass table and took a seat on the armchair. She looked over to Jisung, who was drinking the cup of coca-cola she had given him a brief moment ago.

"Can I bring a friend?" She texted back. Maybe Jisung might benefit from going to cute places once in a while.

"Hey, Jisung?"

He looked up at her from his cup. "Hmm?"

"Do you want to go to a cafe with me and a friend?"

Jisung thought for a moment. "Which friend?"

"Sooji. The same friend who walked into the wrong classroom and argued with the professor for five minutes straight." She paused and then added. "Yeah, that friend.”

Jisung's eyes lit up a little. "Sure! Where? What time?"

She shrugged, "Let me check if she replied."

The sound of a 'ding' and she knew her friend sent a reply.

"Maybe noon? It's the one with floral decor, pale yellow storefront banner, and it says "Petit Pâtissier" on top. You can't miss it. It's where the Korean bakeshop used to be."

She looked up at Jisung as she relayed the information. "It's downtown, where the little Korean bakeshop used to be, you know, the one that we used to frequent back when we used to live downtown? Yeah, it's closed down and a new cafe opened up there, called "Petit Pâtissier. At noon."

Jisung thought for a moment. He didn't need to be at work because he had the day off, and Changbin was with his parents doing some checkup so he would have spent that day by himself anyway. "Sure."

A ding interrupted her mid-cheer, and she checked back at her phone.

"Is it the hot friend?"

She flushed, and immediately fired back a text profusely rejecting her idea that Jisung was hot.

"NO! I do not have a hot friend! What the heck, Sooji!” "But yes, noon sounds great." "And his name is Han Jisung. Not hot guy."

The reply from her friend was almost immediate.

"Oh, that friend." "But wasn't he the hot friend?"

She kept on gawking—she did not know that Sooji found Jisung hot, what, what, what the heck?

"Whaaaa??" She replied. "Since when did you find him hot what when where how what why? Spill the tea, sis."

Jisung, who sat near her, was staring at her in confusion. "What was that?"

She side-eyed him as a grin made itself to her face. "My friend thought you were hot."

Jisung stared at her in disbelief. "Hey! I'm good looking!"

She could only laugh. "Yeah, she said that earlier, sheesh. But come on, her taste is always pretty questionable, let's be real."

Jisung rolled his eyes then and there. "Sureeee, you always say that."

She stood up and stuck out her tongue at him. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

It was then that her phone made a 'ding' sound, and she stared down at her phone, curious as to what her friend said.

"Nope, my lips are sealed!" "But if he's coming tomorrow, then maybe we could talk about how hot he is." "I'll tell you when we hang out, again. Between us girls," Sooji wrote.

She giggled.

"Okay you better tell me!"

She stuffed the phone in her back pocket as she stood up, and then made her way to the kitchen, where she could refill her drink.

The phone 'ding' ed with another notification.

Normally, her friend wouldn't reply that fast, but she figured that Sooji would probably fire back with some comment along the lines of, "I'm serious" followed by a few exclamation marks, almost determined to prove her point.

But it wasn't Sooji. It was a bunch of random numbers. Was it some sort of telemarketer? Had they switched over to text now?

Unsure, she opened the text, and she yelped, dropping her cup to the kitchen floor, smashing it into multiple pieces.

Jisung, who was in the living room, dashed around to the kitchen. "What happened?"

Quickly, she placed her phone, screen down, on the counter and pretended to busy herself with the mess she had made. "I, um, I dropped my cup, I didn't have a firm grip."

Jisung could not find out. "Really, I'm okay."

Too bad it was just her spirit that had been broken.

Jisung had a feeling it might be more than what was on the surface, but he didn't press further and helped her clean up the broken glass. "Be careful, ok?"

She nodded wordlessly.

The two returned to the movie, and even though Jisung had picked out a scary movie for the two of them to watch, she wasn't all that into it, and the scary parts within the movie seemed more prevalent to her. It felt more real. Eventually, the scary movie felt a little too much for her to handle, and she pleaded with him to switch the movie.

"Could we switch the movie? Please?"

Jisung complied, but instead of putting on a different movie, he closed off the screen altogether before joining her on the couch.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head, almost painfully. "Nothing…really. I'm just out of it today."

He didn't want to press her earlier about whatever spooked her earlier, but now, it was a little more evident that something big was bothering her.

"Don't give me that crap," he said. "I know when you're extremely unsettled by something."

Something about 'how long have I known you for?' stuff.

She didn’t speak for a long time.

"I saw a scary advertisement," she tried again.

Jisung was still not buying it. "Really? How about you tell me what's really bothering you?"

There was a moment of pause, with the two just staring at each other, neither of them saying anything.

She entrusted him with every other secret, why not now? It made no sense of Jisung, and he felt as though she had been through this strange transition and became a totally different person—provided that she had been busy with school, but she had taken to be more secretive about everything, and he didn't like this change. Not at all.

"(Y/N)," he started, hesitantly, "are you in trouble?"

Her eyes widened—of all the question, why this one? Should she even tell him what was going on? She felt her resolve waver as she melted into a pool of insecurities.

"I—"

He only pressed further, and she felt she was backed into a wall—because why out of all the people, why her?

"Y/N, if you're in trouble, you need to let me know, really, is it school? What's going on?"

She shook her head.

"No...I..."

There was a long pause before she continued. "I just have some trouble with...someone, I guess."

He looked worried. "Who?"

What should she tell him? My secret admirer, who has been giving me gifts since the beginning of the year and making me really creeped out? No way, he'd go crazy. Someone who was pulling a year-long prank on me by sending me presents? No way.

"You're making me really worried." Apparently, she wasn't answering fast enough. "Seriously. You know I'm always worried about you."

She stared down, and fiddled around with her shirt, unsure of what to say.

"You promise you won't get mad?"

He gave her a bewildered look. "Why would I get mad?"

"I don't know. I just..." her voice trailed off, and he leaned in, almost in anticipation.

"Jisung, I..."

-----------

Boom! Chapter one completed! Next week’s chapter might come a little late, but I promise there would be some other visual aids, such as the conversation featured here!

If anyone has any questions regarding the plot, I can answer them! I know it’s not too far into the story yet, but I promise I won't give any spoilers! I might also add more interactive aspects of the story to give it more interaction worthy content, but for now, it will stay static. Thank you for reading!

42 notes · View notes

seimeiyuzu · 6 years ago

Quote

Yuzuru Hanyu- How popular he is in Japan?

David Fieldman

(Yuzu is popular all over the world, right?)

This text is touching and interesting:

“Japan's hero Yuzuru Hanyu has two Olympic golds - and eight bodyguards

Bishōnen is a popular term in Japanese anime, meaning a beautiful young man whose appeal is universal. In PyeongChang, a bishōnen returned to the ice rink with grace and made history by sweeping the gold in men’s figure skating in back-to-back Olympics, reenacting a feat achieved 66 years ago.

The beautiful young man from a “different dimensional world,” also a term from Japanese anime, was Yuzuru Hanyu. At the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics, Hanyu, considered the prince of figure skating, rose to the stature of king. And in the PyeongChang Winter Games, Hanyu, despite the obstacles placed in his path and is close to becoming a legend.

This is a Tencent Sports exclusive on the behind-the-scenes life of the “figure skating prince” who resurrected a 66-year history in PyeongChang. The charismatic Hanyu, who was instrumental in the upsurge in the popularity of figure skating in Japan, was undoubtedly one of the the saviors of the box office of the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympic Games, as well as the ‘cash cow’ of Japan’s sports sector.

Recreating a legend

The place was the Gangneung Ice Arena, the date February 17.

The ice was like a silver plate, giving off a bedazzling shine. Yuzuru Hanyu gracefully slid to the center of the silver plate, making the thousands of spectators at the site, together with his fans watching him perform on TV, catch their breath.

This was PyeongChang. The winner of the gold in men’s singles figure skating in the Sochi 2014 Winter Games was here to go for the second Olympic gold he had been long dreaming of. If he succeeded, he would reenact history after 66 years, becoming the sport’s first two-time men’s champion at the Winter Games since Richard Button of the United States in 1952.

Hanyu’s PyeongChang tour had a smooth start. In the short program on February 16, he stunned the audience by perfectly gliding to Chopin’s Ballade No.1. The zero-error performance fetched him a high score of 111.68, approaching his season’s best, 112.72.

After the event, Hanyu was deluged by Winnie-the-Pooh plush toys rained down on him by cheering fans. The number “111.68” instantly became the most searched word online in Japan. Figure skating fans across the world began to look forward to the birth of a legend. On February 17, when the free skating event would be held, would Hanyu make history?

In the free skating event, Yuzuru Hanyu chose classic Japanese music Seimei, the soundtrack from the film Onmyoji. It was a decision that he had made two seasons ago. Skating to Seimei, in every move that he made, even in every breath, Hanyu no doubt identified himself with the protagonist of the story, 10th-century astronomer Abe no Seimei, a character who was wise, valiant and ready to protect others.

“I am the onmyoji,” went the music, onmyoji literally meaning an embalmer. “If not me, who would be Seimei protecting the dead from evil spirits?”

When the music played, Hanyu’s delicate performance at the center of the silver plate was sheer magic, casting a spell on his audience.

He started with a quad Salchow, steadily landing on the ice on his right blade. It triggered a volley of applause. Most spectators did not realize that it was only one month ago that he had resumed training on ice and just three months since injuring his right ankle while preparing for the NHK Trophy.

A faultless quad toe loop followed. Then he made a triple Axel jump, which was also a success. After that, he reeled slightly while landing a quad toe loop but immediately steadied himself with competence, smiling.

After his final spin, Hanyu landed at the center of the silver plate and stood still. This was it! Then he clutched his fists, bent his head toward the ground and bowed to the stand. The judges showed their appreciation of his performance by awarding him a high score of 317.85.

Once the score of the last skater Shoma Uno was given, Hanyu clinched his championship with the highest tally. The brave but quiet young man burst into tears, murmuring “Thank you” in Japanese at the cameras.

‘A big heart under a lissome figure’

“In the past, I went through a lot, becoming almost like an amine book character that gets injured again and again. Even three month before the Olympics, I had a serious foot injury. I am a human being, not god. It was incredible how so much misfortune happened to me.”

At the press conference after the award ceremony, Yuzuru Hanyu said he had turned his own life into a passionate anime.

Born in Sendai in Japan, he still remembered the painful impact of the horrifying tsunami and earthquake that hit northeast Japan. Even on that joyful night when he successfully defended his championship in PyeongChang, he remembered the trauma.

“There was no water, electricity or gas,” he recalled.

What devastated him was the loss of the ice rink in Sendai. To a figure skater, losing his training ground means losing everything.

He had no choice but to turn to his primary school teacher in Yokohama. When he left Sendai, he cried and told his teacher: “I am tired. Is it possible for me to continue my career as a figure skater?” Since then, his teacher began taking him to compete in every game across the country to provide him with training opportunities. It was the support of the audience and ice rink operators that made him succeed in Sochi.

In Sochi, Hanyu realized his dream of winning an Olympic gold in figure skating. After that, he claimed two silvers in the World Championships in 2015 and 2016. In the 2017 World Championships, he stunned the world once again.

“A lonely king.” That was how Hanyu was seen among the global figure skating community before the 2017-2018 Olympic season.

However, fate never allows superheroes an easy and straight path to success.

During a practice session for the NHK Trophy on November 9, 2017, Yuzuru Hanyu injured his right ankle while attempting a quad Lutz.

On November 10, 2017, Hanyu missed the NHK Trophy. December 14 was the day he was supposed to return to practice on the ice. However, it was announced that the skater was suffering from inflammation of his Achilles tendon and ankle bone.

On December 24, the Japanese Olympic Committee released the list of figure skaters for the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Games. Yuzuru Hanyu had made it to the list with his impeccable performance. The others chosen along with him were Shoma Uno and Keiji Tanaka.

When Hanyu became injured, his fans across Japan went to the Go’o Shrine in Kyoto, a poplar shrine in Japan for those seeking good health or to ward off bad luck, to pray for his recovery.

Finally on January 16, 2018, the good news that Hanyu had resumed practice on ice came from Toronto, Canada, where Hanyu lives and practices. It was less than a month before the opening ceremony of the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Games on February 9.

On January 13, Hanyu did his first practice on the official ice rink after arriving in Gangneung. During the 40-minute session, he made 21 jumps, eight of which were quads including the toe loop and Salchow. But he could execute only five of them successfully. On January 15, he did his free skating item to the accompaniment of the Seimei soundtrack. This was the first time he did a quad in front of the world media after the NHK Trophy accident.

Until 8:30 a.m. on February 17 when the free skating competition was held, he had not decided on the final composition and whether he should perform his best but the most difficult move, the quad loop. In five hours, he performed his full set of free skating moves, which included three kinds of quads for safety reasons, changing the quad loop planned in the beginning to a quad Salchow.

Even though he won, his right foot had not fully recovered. When jumping on the podium, he carefully avoided landing on his right foot. At the press conference, he expressed his appreciation of the people who had extended a helping hand to him over the past years. However, he didn’t say whether he would try to be the figure skating champion three times in a row by taking part in the Beijing 2022 Winter Games.

“I will have surgery and get my injured foot treated,” he said.

A perfectionist’s regrets

“I love that powerful heart under his enchanting appearance,” Japan’s Sankei Shimbun’s figure skating correspondent told Tencent Sports in PyeongChang. Yuzuru Hanyu is “a real different figure from a different dimensional world,” the journalist said.

“NO MISS!” “111.68 points!” “Perfect!” On February 16, after the men’s singles short program, these entries made their way in quick succession to the list of Japanese hot words on Yahoo. After the free skating, Hanyu had been saying repeatedly that he had failed to come up with a zero-error performance. “I still have too many shortcomings,” he said with regret.

But within 24 hours of February 16, his performance was described by the Japanese media as being “zero error,” “perfect,” and even “top-ranking,” which must have been the perfectionist’s revenge for his lapses in Sochi four years ago.

“I know the taste of the Olympics.” “I’m going to avenge myself for the Sochi Winter Olympics tomorrow,” Hanyu said animatedly many times during interviews after the men’s short program.

The 2014 Sochi Olympic Winter Games saw the 19-year-old crowned in his Olympic debut. He performed gracefully and calmly, garnering the highest score in the men’s singles short program at the Winter Games (101.45). However, in free skating, he was slightly nervous and made some mistakes. So his performance could not be described as perfect. Though he finally defeated Canadian Patrick Chan, who had bagged three consecutive world championships, Hanyu said after the Games that he was not satisfied about his performance, even “very depressed.”

The night at Sochi revealed Hanyu’s perfection complex. He admitted that he wanted to know “the taste of being a real champion.” “No matter when and where in the future, I will have a perfect interpretation with zero error like Evgeni Plushenko did.”

After the Sochi Olympics, Hanyu published his autobiography Blue Flames II, in which he further explained his “ideal.” The reason why he held Plushenko as his idol and hero was that the Russian never lost in any contingency or won on the basis of a miraculous one-time victory. Hanyu was obsessed with being supreme and invincible.

In this book, Hanyu shared a rarely shown old photograph. It was of him standing before a Christmas tree, a personable young boy with a touch of melancholy in his eyes.

That was the winter of 2004. The nine-year-old was obsessed with Plushenko, showing his admiration by even having a retro mushroom haircut like the Russian’s.

The young boy was fascinated by the idol’s performance in the Salt Lake City 2002 Winter Olympic Games though at that time, Hanyu was only seven years old. Five years later, when he took part in the Japan Junior Figure Skating Championships, he looked to carry himself in the graceful style of Plushenko.

Hanyu moved up to the seniors at the age of 17. Whenever he met the Russian emperor of figure skating, Hanyu would quietly consult Plushenko on the secrets of the quad jump or the Biellmann spin. Plushenko always encouraged Hanyu, saying, “Beat me!” “Overtake me!” In Sochi, Plushenko was injured in an accident before the short program, but he accidentally witnessed the rise of the Japanese figure skater.

“Perhaps I used to be his idol, but now, Hanyu is my idol. He is a genius!” Plushenko remarked.

On hearing that Hanyu was injured before the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics, Plushenko, by then a loyal Hanyu fan, rooted for him, firmly believing Hanyu could retain his title.

After Hanyu succeeded in defending his title, Plushenko, who won the Olympic gold medals twice but could not defend his championship, sent his best wishes, saying, “I am proud of Hanyu! He is amazing.” When Hanyu was asked at the press conference whether he had finally overtaken his idol, he replied modestly, “I am still far behind.”

Winnie-the-Pooh

To what extent can a sports star’s popularity impact certain events and the development of the related economy? Hanyu is a sterling example.

In PyeongChang, Hanyu was undoubtedly the hottest and most sought-after name.

Figure skating has a tradition of the audience throwing plush toys at the end of a skate. After his performance on February 16, his favorite cartoon character Winnie the Pooh began to rain down on him.

“This is not rain, it is hail! A storm!” It almost turned the Gangneung Ice Arena into a sea of plush toys, making even veteran sports journalists from all over the world speechless.

Hanyu, Asia’s first Winter Olympic champion in men’s singles figure skating as well as the youngest Olympic gold medalist in that category, won the title of “Japan’s most favorite male athlete” in 2017 by virtue of his formidable strength, winsome appearance and the support of his large number of fans worldwide.

On February 11, Hanyu was mobbed by a large number of fans as soon as he arrived at Incheon International Airport. The next day, during his first official public training, Hanyu stayed at the ice rink for only 15 minutes, but attracted more than 100 reporters. Half an hour before the training, more than 50 cameras from 15 television stations from around the world were in place, and the latecomers didn’t even have a place to stand.

On the third day, Hanyu held a press conference. The conference hall, which could accommodate 100 people, was crammed with more than 150 media outlets, and the crowd spilled over into the corridor. Such spectacular scenes have long been a commonplace for the Japanese media. In the summer of 2017, Hanyu’s new season programs disclosure conference held at his perennial training base in Toronto, Canada, attracted dozens of Japanese media outlets all the way from the other side of the globe.

In the short program on February 16, Hanyu made his official appearance for the first time since disappearing from the public for 100 days due to his injury. His fans from Taiwan, South Korea, Vietnam and Japan turned the stadium into his home court and showcased a magnificent cosplay.

“Hanyu has fans all over Japan, and even the world, from all genders and ages. There are also spontaneously formed fan clubs in countries like Italy and Russia,” a loyal fan of Hanyu said.

In PyeongChang, there was a feeling of family solidarity among his fans though they came from all over the world.

On the day of the short program, a girl from Taiwan got up at 3 a.m., left her hotel at 4, and began to line up to see Hanyu’s official training from 5. During the break, she got a surprise gift - a Winnie the Pooh plush toy, given by Hanyu’s fans from the Chinese mainland.

After the special press conference, journalists from the BBC, Japanese television stations and Chinese media outlets began to interview each another, turning the conference to a “global fans (journalists) meeting.” In order to interview Hanyu, media outlets worldwide, including the BBC and Reuters, sent Japanese-speaking journalists.

Entourage

On February 17, when the press conference for the gold, silver and bronze winners was held, after the 30-minute question answer round, it was finally time for the photo session. As photographers flocked to the champions, Hanyu swiftly pushed aside the nameplates and water bottles in front of them, then put his arms around Shoma Uno and bronze winner Javier Fernandez of Spain, flashing his signature ingenuous smile.

It was not just removing the nameplates and water bottles for photographers’ cameras; it was the manifestation of his natural character, unpretentious and spontaneous.

He doesn’t regard himself as someone special, even though crowned double Olympic champion.

How does Yuzuru Hanyu win so many fans across the world? One small gesture may hold the answer.

While 1,000 readers may have 1,000 interpretations of Hamlet, Yuzuru Hanyu has one universal evaluation. The Hanyu reporters met in PyeongChang was an icon who regarded himself as an ordinary person, a heartthrob who was humble and polite.

After the short program on February 16, a photograph taken by the Japanese media went viral among Chinese online users, who exclaimed, “Hanyu is so wonderful!” It was during the interview of Hanyu’s fellow skater Shoma Uno. Hanyu sought to avoid taking away the limelight from Uno and to avoid the cameras, the Sochi gold medalist, the most shining star on that day, bent down and literally crept away from the stage, smiling shyly when he stood up finally.

And in another gesture, after the short program, Hanyu gently picked up a strawberry cake from the sea of Winnie the Pooh bears. “I will eat well, save energy and prepare for the free skating tomorrow,” he said. At the press conference, he considerately looked after Shoma Uno, who sat next to him, quietly telling him, “Don’t be nervous.” From time to time, he also helped Uno adjust his headphones which was relaying the simultaneous interpretation.

Every time Hanyu attended a press conference after a competition, he would always show consideration for the reporters who had been waiting for a long time and rush to meet them. “Please give me a minute,” he would say, bending down to remove the blades still attached to his boots. Then he would look at the media with a smile, and begin to answer every question seriously and sincerely.

“I cannot compare myself with Plushenko or Uno,” Hanyu said, calmly responding to the overwhelming applause he received after winning his second Olympic gold.

“Uno is three years younger. It seems I am in a slightly awkward position. Rather than competing, I would like to enjoy skating for as long as possible and hope other top skaters come up with more perfect performances,” he added.

His clear vision and crystal-transparent soul has won him numerous fans.

Unlike other athletes, Yuzuru Hanyu came to PyeongChang flanked by eight bodyguards. To ensure Hanyu’s safety, the Japanese Skating Federation had specifically requested the Japanese Olympic Committee to accord him “the highest Olympic privileges.”

Yuzuru Hanyu was the only athlete who came to PyeongChang with bodyguards. When his flight landed, he himself was taken aback by the treatment. As some foreign media commented, it was like escorting some invaluable gem.

Besides bodyguards, the Japanese Olympic Committee also arranged a press officer and a professional nutritionist team exclusively for Hanyu. The nutritionist team was formed in 2012 with professionals from the Japan Institute of Sports Sciences to ensure Hanyu took sufficient nutrients to be able to undertake the high-energy practice sessions. To the best of this writer’s knowledge, Yuzuru Hanyu is the only winter sports athlete who enjoys the privilege of having a press officer exclusively for him. Previously, only Kosuke Hagino, Japan’s competitive swimmer, had such a press officer. Even the famous Japanese footballers Keisuke Honda and Shinji Kagawa did not have such a privilege.

His popularity is also reflected in The New York Times. After the short program, a New York Times reporter grabbed the opportunity to interview Hanyu at the media section. In an unprecedented move, the media officer of the Japanese delegation permitted the reporter to ask two questions.

It was not the first time that Yuzuru Hanyu made headlines in The New York Times. The first time was in the Sochi 2014 Winter Games when the 19-year-old won the gold in men’s figure skating, creating a sensation among his fans worldwide. Later, the magazine hailed him as “Michael Jackson on the Ice.”

Box office hit

After Yuzuru Hanyu won his second Olympic gold, Japan’s All Nippon Airways (ANA) immediately put up an advertisement featuring him on Japan’s largest website Yahoo, saying there must be some reason for his power, like the reason ANA was the ideal airline for everyone.

When Yuzuru Hanyu claimed the gold in the Sochi 2014 Winter Games, he signed up with ANA as his sponsor, and endorsed Procter & Gamble products and Sendai Tourism. His fee for shooting a single advertisement rose to 50 million yen ($470,000) and recently, to 80 million yen ($752,000), equaling the fee of famous Japanese female figure skater Mao Asada.

On 2017 New Year’s Eve, Yuzuru Hanyu debuted on television as the judge of the 66th NHK Kohaku Uta Gassen, or Japan’s New Year singing contest. This further increased Hanyu’s popularity in Japan, giving him the potential to overtake Japanese tennis player Kei Nishikori in popularity in the future.

The charismatic Hanyu is not only the cash cow of Japan’s sports sector, but also the savior of the box office of the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Games.

As a result of his overwhelming popularity, anything he does not only affects the mood of his fans around the world, but also impacts the organizers, sponsors and suppliers of every major figure skating event. Hanyu’s withdrawal from the NHK Trophy, the ISU Grand Prix and Japanese national championships because of his ankle injury caused direct losses for these events.

Within 48 hours of his withdrawal, the rating of NHK Trophy’s prime time broadcast dropped sharply. The average rating declined to 6.7 percent from the 16 percent in the previous year, when Hanyu was the champion. In December that year, the ISU Grand Prix held without Hanyu also witnessed a decline in rating from 17.6 percent in the previous year to 14 percent. The sales of the sport’s derivatives also suffered.

Under such circumstances, Hanyu’s fans, eager to watch the brilliance of the figure skating maestro again, could only pin their hopes on the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Games.

Since the beginning of 2018, the South Korean media had been reporting that Yuzuru Hanyu may not compete in the group games or the Pyeongchang 2018 Winter Games revenues may face a bleak prospect as a result. However, the International Olympic Committee answered this by presenting a clip, titled Yuzuru Hanyu, who is your opponent? on its official television station, which was well-received. Obviously, the purpose was to increase the revenue of the PyeongChang 2018 Winter Games.

According to previous reports by Lanxiong Sports, a Chinese online sports industry services provider, only 61 percent of Pyeongchang 2018 Winter Games tickets -- or 655,000 -- had been sold by the end of December 2017. However, the organizing committee said tickets for figure skating sold out as early as March 2017, bringing in revenue of 680 million South Korean won ($637,800).

During the Pyeongchang Games, over 10,000 Hanyu fans came to Gangneung, where the figure skating events were held. The 2,000 tickets sold out within hours of being up for sale.

“Hanyu’s remuneration is expected to rise by 1.5 times at least, if not be doubled, after he won the gold in PyeongChang,” a journalist from Asahi Shimbun, one of Japan’s largest daily newspapers, told Tencent Sports.

Although new figure skaters will come to the fore one after another, the emergence of the next Yuzuru Hanyu is still a distant possibility. Will Yuzuru Hanyu take part in the Beijing 2022 Winter Olympic Games? It depends on whether his injured right ankle fully recovers in the coming years.”

www.quora.com

#yuzuru hanyu #the best figure skater ever #yuzu #winnie the pooh

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wehaveabucky-archive · 6 years ago

Text

In Love We Find Ourselves

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: around 3.5k

summary: when bucky decides to take a break from the superhero life, it takes a while for him to fall back in love with doing things but as he does, he finds himself falling for someone else too

warnings: fluff, slow burn-ish

masterlist

After everything had died down and the world was sufficiently satisfied with its saviours, the Avengers had the opportunity to go back to normal. It was a rare and occasionally contested privilege – that those who had arguably caused a lot of damage to the world were given a free pass. But given that the circumstances were pretty much life or death, the overwhelming consensus was that these mortals and immortals would be allowed to integrate back into society however they chose.

Some, like Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, could not give up their superhero personas. Whether that be because they couldn’t imagine doing anything else or because they were genuinely eager to protect humanity and its values at all costs, most returned to their jobs before. After all, a major threat may have been defeated, but there would inevitably always be evil threatening good and someone had to be there to stop them.

At first, Bucky had felt guilty for wanting to start a normal life. He’d spent his life fighting; on the right side and the wrong. Despite the world’s embrace after the incident, Bucky didn’t feel he deserved it. He still carried a lot of guilt with him from his past. Events came back in flashes and his life felt, at least for a while, like a fragmentation between the day to day and a window into someone else’s life.

Except it never was someone else’s life.

He felt no connection to the feelings or the motives behind the events that played in his mind, but it was his hand pulling the trigger; his fists throwing the punches, and he didn’t know how to cope with that.

But despite this guilt, an overpowering sense of detachment from himself caused him to sit down with Steve one day and ask if he could spend some time away. Indefinitely. He just felt he had to figure out who he was. He wasn’t the Bucky of the 30’s and 40’s. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier of the 20th and 21st century. He wasn’t the Bucky that fought alongside the Avengers in battle. These were Bucky’s he’d learned to be and they were Bucky’s he couldn’t force himself into anymore.

Steve understood. Selfishly, he had wanted Bucky to fight alongside him like before. But what Steve wanted more was for his friend to be happy in himself and if this is what he needed to be happy, Steve had no right to stop him.

The others were equally as supportive and everyone that could have a helping hand in making sure Bucky was comfortable, did so. There were those who set him up with an apartment in Brooklyn. Those who showed him movies and books and TV shows. Bucky appreciated everything but eventually he felt it was better that he stumbled around alone – falling into things he loves rather than being lead like he had been.

And so slowly, the people helping trickled out. They tried not to be offended, and Bucky did his best to make sure they knew he appreciated everything they were trying to do. But all he wanted was Steve and even, reluctantly, Sam.

Bucky found falling into things he loved hard at first. His defences were still up and that made him a lot less open to the variety of things he could love. He started familiar. He went to Elderly Orientated showings of Humphrey Bogart movies. He wore white shirts and formal trousers. He shaved his beard and cut his hair and slicked it back.

For the first few months, he didn’t even own a TV. But that meant he read a lot. He found a small library and took out book after book – so much so that he was in every day. He read everything he could. From classical fiction to crime novels. History books spanning the years he’d missed. Biographies and plays and political commentaries. Anything he could get his hands on.

Bucky visited the library so much that they offered him a job. Doing menial tasks like refilling the water machines, restacking shelves, assisting those who couldn’t find what they were looking for. Eventually he moved to manning the desk, organising events and restocking. He even found enjoyment in reading stories to the kids. It was a distraction from the occasional plights the still plagued him.

His falling into things found him falling into Y/N. Quite literally actually. A month after he’d got the job at the library, he was brave enough to start exploring more of the city he once knew. He’d walked the streets at night after nightmares. He’d paused in front of many shops and restaurants he considered trying before walking away, defeated by his demons.

But one day, he stood in front of a coffee shop he walked past numerous times on his way to and from work, and considered walking in. It was cosy looking and littered with bookshelves. It was never heaving, but sometimes it was full enough that it looked like the perfect spot to hide away for a while.

Sam had bought Bucky a coffee machine as a moving in gift – a gift Bucky had used as an excuse not to go into these coffee shops. But the chalkboard menus he observed from the window with an array of options appealed to him. He hadn’t tried much other than the standard black coffee. Maybe he’d get that pumpkin spiced latte Steve was always on about…

That thought willed him into the café before his brain could fully comprehend what he was doing. One minute he was outside in the cold, staring in, and the next he was inside in the warmth, listening to soft music as the scent of coffee and cake invaded his senses. Knowing he couldn’t just run back out, he approached the counter warily. A young man with a beard and tattoos asked for his order. In the end, Bucky was too scared to ask for the Pumpkin Spice Latte and ordered a flat white to go, waiting at the end of the counter for it to be ready.

“Here you go.” The man handed him the cup with a smile and Bucky smiled back, muttering a thank you. As he turned, he wasn’t aware of the woman approaching from his left, her head buried in a book. She yelped as she collided with Bucky’s hard frame and Bucky stumbled back. But no control over his own body could control the coffee cup that had slipped from his gloved hands and was heading towards the woman who had bumped into him. It luckily landed a little short, but a bit splashed onto her black apron and shoes.

The café silenced as they watched the exchange and Bucky stuttered, trying to form an apology but the woman beat him to it.

“I am so sorry.” She gasped, picking up the cup up from the floor and gesturing to someone behind the counter to mop the spilt coffee up. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Bucky admired her then. The way her hair fell and eyes shone. She was mesmerising. He managed to catch the name on her badge before she went to join the bearded man at the counter – Y/N.

“It’s okay.” His voice was surprisingly level. “I wasn’t looking myself.”

She smiled and gestured towards the front of the queue.

“Please. Let me get you another coffee. Anything you want. On the house.”

Bucky glanced at the coffee on the floor and then at the menu and then back at Y/N. She smiled and a confidence swelled in him. He found himself smiling his most charming smile back, taking his hat off.

“What would you recommend?” His voice was sultry and low – a tone he hadn’t heard himself use in a long time. Y/N blushed and bit her lip to hide a smile, leaning on the counter.

“The White Chocolate Mocha is really good.” Her voice matched his in seductiveness and Bucky felt his heart quicken, his confidence wavering for a second at the look in her eye but he soon regained composure.

“Well. I think I’ll take one of those then.” He moved back to the end of the counter as she moved to make his drink. Her hand reached towards the to go cups and then she hesitated, turning back to him.

“To go again?” She asked and Bucky smiled his charming smile again.

“No.” He looked at a table in the corner and then back to her. “I think I’ll stay.”

Since that day, Bucky came to the coffee shop every day before work. He started out ordering black coffee, occasionally a white chocolate mocha, but eventually Y/N started serving him things that weren’t his order. Coffees flavoured with Cinnamon, Caramel, Mint, Vanilla. Each time something new.

The coffee came with something else. Flirting. It was a flirting style Y/N found refreshing. It was the kind she’d seen in old movies. She didn’t realise that it was the only flirting Bucky had remembered to do. Nevertheless, sparks flew between the two as they ordered coffee and before long, Y/N began sitting with Bucky as he drank his coffee, drinking her own.

They talked about mundane stuff at first. The progression into actual conversation was a slow one for Bucky. He was fine with odd comments about the weather and the flirting. But conversations involved a lot more self. And his self wasn’t something he was totally aware of yet. Y/N sensed this and approached topics carefully. She never probed into his life deeper than he allowed. She asked about his job but never what he did before, that seemed to be a touchy subject. She asked about his friends, but never ventured to learn how they conducted their lives. Only about how they’d affected Bucky’s.

It was an approach Bucky appreciated more than she’d ever possibly know and even though she hadn’t tried getting deeper, eventually Bucky had let her in. He told her of the Avengers. Who ‘Steve the punk’ and ‘Sam the asshole’ really were. He told her of the 40’s and the parts he remembered after. Their once ten-minute exchange often turned into over an hour and Bucky had to start coming in earlier before work.

It wasn’t just Bucky that was the topic of conversation. Bucky was eager to learn about Y/N too. The mundane stuff at first too. She owned this coffee shop. She lived in Brooklyn. Her friends were called ‘Rachel the painter’ and ‘Saul the record shop owner’. He learned of where she grew up. How many siblings she had. Her parents. Where she’d studied. Who broke her heart. Why she was scared to love again.

One day, Bucky came into the coffee shop without his gloves on. Just to see what she’d say. She didn’t react when his metal arm reached for the coffee cup. She still came to sit with him. The next day, when he reached over the table for a napkin with his metal hand and accidentally brushed her own, he froze. He expected her to flinch. He expected her to move back in her chair and curl away from him. Y/N could tell this and instead wrapped her fingers through his and ran the pad of her thumb over the knuckles on his metal forefinger, an action that stuck with Bucky for a long time.

The suggestive flirting developed into something else then – something deeper. It was whispered compliments and declarations of appreciation. Y/N found herself getting lost in Bucky’s blue eyes and, despite telling herself she would never fall for someone as hard as she did again, she found herself falling harder than she’d ever done before.

The touches grew more and more bold. Hand holding was a staple start to their conversations. Bucky would watch her fingers caress his own gently – metal and flesh. But sometimes, she’d sit on the arm rest of his chair as they talked and wind her arm around his shoulders. He’d look up into her Y/E/C eyes and lose track of his words. Y/N never seemed to mind though. She’d pick up a useless conversation that had no answer nor direction, just to make Bucky comfortable with staring at her lips for a while.

When he left the shop, Bucky sometimes became bolder in his actions. He began touching Y/N’s arm as a grateful gesture. That developed into a hug that lengthened as the days passed and then eventually, it became a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek that left a warmth that lingered with Y/N until his next visit.

After a month of this growing exchange, Bucky brought Steve and Sam to the coffee shop. They had returned from their most recent mission. Bucky wasn’t allowed to know where or why. He no longer had, nor wanted, that level of clearance anymore. They’d come by his apartment on a day he was going to work. Steve noted his schedule and found it odd that Bucky was leaving for work two hours earlier than he should’ve. After pointing this out, Bucky had caved, not telling them about Y/N, but about her coffee shop and how he liked to go there to read before work.

“Well if a coffee shop has reeled you in, we have to see it.” Steve had said and Bucky found himself walking beside his two friends to Y/N’s shop. When Bucky entered, before his friends, she didn’t even try to conceal the warm smile she always gave him when he entered. She was about to set right to making Bucky the newest blend of coffee they had in when she noticed the two men behind him, taking off their scarves and patting Bucky on the shoulder. She raised her eyebrow at Bucky who smiled apologetically.

When they reached the counter, Bucky leaned slightly forward and Y/N did too, not afraid to show affection in front of his friends. Bucky was a little warier and his teeth gnawed his bottom lip nervously.

“So, this must be the punk and the asshole.” Y/N glanced at Steve and Sam and Bucky blushed but chuckled.

“Hey, pal,” Steve protested, nudging his friend. “You better not have been ruining my good reputation here.”

“Yeah, darling,” Sam joined in, “Don’t believe a thing this jerk says.”

“A punk, an asshole and a jerk in my coffee shop. Isn’t it just my luck day.” Y/N winked at Bucky. She took Sam and Steve’s coffee order and then asked Bucky if he was having the usual. He nodded, sending her a grateful smile.

“What’s your usual?” Steve asked as Bucky lead them to his table in the corner. Sam had thought they would wait at the end of the counter but apparently, he was wrong.

“A surprise.” Bucky stole a glance towards Y/N who was busy making coffees. Bucky’s friends were keen to talk about how he’d been getting on and they asked him questions about work. Bucky told them about his promotion, an event that had happened whilst they’d been away and then told them in great detail about the book he’d just finished about New York gangsters in the 40’s. Steve had scoffed at that.

“And your love life… any developments there?” Sam asked. Bucky didn’t need to answer, the way his eyes flitted to the girl carrying a tray of coffee to their table gave him away.

“Here you go, boys.” Y/N set the coffees on the table and paused. Bucky knew she was considering staying and the swell of confidence she always distilled in him made him bravely reach to touch her fingers with his own. Sam and Steve didn’t notice the small action as they sipped their coffees, but they did notice Y/N sit on the arm of their friend’s chair and wrap her arm around his shoulder. Bucky visibly relaxed under her touch and smiled up at her. Steve and Sam found themselves smiling at the two and it irritated Bucky – he thought they were mocking.

“What?” He frowned but his friends shook their heads and started a conversation. They sat for a while, learning things about each other. Bucky, knowing all this already, distracted himself by drinking his coffee and relishing in the feeling of Y/N’s hands in his hair. He was so distracted that he hadn’t realised the topic of conversation had moved onto himself until the group laughed and Y/N looked down at him. Bucky realised Steve must’ve told the story of Coney Island and glared.

Y/N was called away for a second to deal with something behind the counter and Bucky felt instantly cold without her around. His friends noticed how his longing gaze followed her away.

“You seeing this girl?” Sam asked and Bucky blushed.

“I… No… not exactly.” Bucky managed, sipping his coffee. Steve rolled his eyes.

“You should be. You like her. She likes you. Ask her out for dinner.” Steve commented and before Bucky could protest, Y/N was returning with a smile. He wanted to, there was no denying it. All he could think about was taking her to dinner and romancing her. He wanted to know that the little touches and hugs and kisses on the cheek meant what he wanted them to mean. But as the hour passed, no word was brought up about dinner and when Bucky had to head to work, Y/N hugged him and it remained a mystery.

Steve and Sam had been frustrated at his cowardice but didn’t want to push him too hard. There were so many good things in his life at the moment and they didn’t want to make him second guess anything. A week later, they’d left for a mission and Bucky fell back into his usual routine with Y/N.

It was Christmas before Bucky saw Steve and Sam again and his relationship with Y/N was no closer to a dinner than it had been when they’d left. If she was growing impatient with the seemingly pointless flirting and touching, Y/N never showed it and was never perturbed by it. Whenever she had girl’s nights recently, they’d tease her about the man that never made a move. They’d tell her to find a guy with balls.

At first, she’d smiled and taken it, convincing herself they didn’t know nor understand Bucky. But recently she had been defending him. The more she spent time with Bucky, the more fragile she realised he was. Strong and brave, yes. But also, incredibly fragile. And if waiting three years for him to ask her on a real date was how long it would take him, she would wait that long.

As you waited, Bucky learned to fall in love with more things. He’d got Netflix and written every movie you suggested down, watching them all after work. He never watched a movie you didn’t suggest. There was probably something that could be read into that, but he didn’t think to do so. He just watched the movies and asked for more. He also adopted a puppy – a Corgi he named Ghost – and became increasingly jealous of the poor thing when Y/N showered her with love whenever Bucky brought her to the coffee shop. But Ghost was the best thing for him at night. She woke him up when he was having a nightmare and let him cuddle her or just stroke her head until he fell back asleep. She’d get him outside even on his lowest days – because he knew he had to walk her.

When Bucky walked into the coffee shop two weeks before Christmas, Ghost trotting along beside him, Y/N was completely oblivious of Steve and Sam stood behind him. She was too busy running to scoop the excited Corgi into her arms and shower her with affection. Ryan, the hipster barista, took Bucky, Steve and Sam’s order as Y/N grabbed the dog treats she now stocked in for Ghost from behind the counter, the dog barking excitedly.

“Hey, now Ghost.” Bucky squatted so he was eye level with his puppy. “It’s rude to just go around demanding treats like that. Quiet it down a little.” Ghost whined but stopped yapping, tapping her paws impatiently on the tiled floor. When Y/N emerged with the dog treats, Ghost began panting, eager to please.

“Sit, Ghost.” Y/N commanded and the dog cocked its head. “Sit.” Ghost finally understood, plopping her backside down onto the tiled floor, eyes fixed on the treat. Y/N beamed, bending down to give the treat to the puppy, who ate it excitedly. Now eye level with her, Bucky smiled at the barista.

“Morning.” His heart skipped at the way she looked at him but he managed to control his voice.

“Morning.” Y/N stood and lead the boys over to the usual table, sitting on the arm of Bucky’s chair as usual.

#bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fluff #the winter soldier fluff #fluff #bucky fluff #bucky #bucky romantic #bucky slowburn #romantic #slowburn #bucky oneshot #oneshot

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soft-sarcasm · 7 years ago

Text

jung taekwoon: mint.

Pairing: jung taekwoon x reader.

Summary: Taekwoon decides to be a tease at the wrong time and a war ensues.

Genre: smut, fluff, some dry humping, oral, taekwoon being a little shit and getting what he deserves.

Word count: 7+k.

a/n: so, this happened. I’ve been planning this for a little while and I don’t know if I really succeeded in conveying my idea in a cohesive way but oh well. I hope you enjoy.

Finally, the menthol burn was relieved from your mouth as you spat out the green liquid that had turned acidic during it’s time swishing about, your tongue feeling oddly like it had been both scalded and bleached all at once. You blanched, expelling the final remains as you once again found yourself questioning the sanity of your decision to purchase this particular bottle of mouthwash even when it had been advertised with an awfully foreboding slogan, one that should have been enough of a warning for your mornings to come. It still remained on the bottle that haunted your bathroom cabinet, printed in boisterous bold on a danger red label that read with little to no discretion ‘DEATH BY MINT: NO GERM OR TASTEBUD LEFT ALIVE.’ The product stayed true to its marketing and you couldn’t deny its affectability, as molten mint historically beat caustic coffee when it came to one's breath, a truth that made enduring the torture more endurable.

Face pinched in lingering distaste, you retreated back to the still of your bedroom, each step bearing a conscious caution in hopes of staying as quiet as possible so to not disturb the ominous lump that protruded from the white duvet of your bed. 05:30 am was early for just about anyone but especially for someone who had only returned from a tediously tiring training session at roughly 2:40 am. Or at least you think that was the time your phone had showed last night when you checked it with sleep blurred eyes after being awoken by your boyfriend’s arrival home in the wee hours of the morning.

It was now your turn to skulk around, making the effort to remain as close to soundless as you could while you gathered your things to leave.

While Taekwoon’s schedule almost always ran late, you were always starting early. 04:50 coffees and 06:15 buses that sleepily shuttled you in the direction of your University’s Anthropology department that you would haunt for the rest of the day. In contrast, Taekwoon was known to leave slightly later, only to arrive home in the late 20:00s or early 00:00s.

It wasn’t as if your daily roles were set in stone, never to alternate or act in reverse, it was not a rare occurrence for Taekwoon’s day to start hours before yours could even think of beginning and in turn, for yours to end hours after his came to a close. But more often than not it was you pressing the early morning kiss of farewell to his forehead while he returned the gesture later in the final moments of the day. Your relationship was routinely a cycle of hellos and goodbyes with rarely any sort of filler in between, a side-effect of both participants leading extremely work heavy lives.

You had learned to not really mind it. Though undoubtedly there were times when it was frustrating, it was just something you had come to cope with. You had come to terms with that even during the times where you were in the same city, sleeping in the same bed, cyber connections were used to replace the absence of physical ones. You weren’t all that deterred, you could have as extensive of a conversation with Taekwoon over chat as you could in real life, sometimes it could be even livelier with the addition of memes and emojis. The lack of frequent in-person moments were manageable by when they did in fact occur and the unfathomably strong bound you and Taekwoon had formed during your two years of dating.

In the middle of twisting your scarf around your neck in hopes to battle the cold wind that the weather report promised was waiting for you outside of your apartment, there was a stir and a soft voice barely heard over the silence of the room. “You leaving?”

You straightened from your hunched position that you had originally assumed to put on your shoes and had ended up holding for the convenience of lethargy. There was an audible pop that you knew was from your knee invoking a wince, another reminder that you did not have enough stretching in your daily routine. Cautiously, you made your way over to his side of the bed, only to be met with the endearing sight of ruffled hair, and barely open eyes framed by white covers that he had evidently pulled up past his nose. When it came to morning Taekwoon, there were few things that could crush your resolve quite as quickly.

“Afraid so,” You muttered, voice still muted so to not go above a certain volume that would wake him further. “You need to sleep; your alarm is only in a few hours.”

There was a groan followed by the rustle of Taekwoon further snuggling himself into the covers, “I don’t want you to leave so early.”

You made an empathic sound because you really didn’t want to leave him, you’d much rather join him back in the warm blankets and never leave. But there was a group presentation that wouldn’t start itself and you were the only one that seemed to be determined to get anything done out of the four other people who were meant to be doing it with you.

“I don’t want to either. But,” You began with a hopeful tone, “I’ll hopefully be able to finish early today and then we should have the entire evening!”

You couldn’t be offended when you received no enthusiasm to equal your own from Taekwoon because it seemed that he was already halfway gone, head barely managing a nod against the pillow and you couldn’t stop the overly fond smile that touched the lips you used to plant a light peck to his temple. The touch was feathery and did little more than make him stir ever so slightly before you were floating out of the room and out the door, the hope that perhaps maybe you would be done early and would be able to spend a rare night home with your cuddly boyfriend making the 06:15 bus that much more bearable.

Hopefully.

11 hours. 11 fucking hours, that’s how long it had been since you left Taekwoon cuddled up in your bed and only after 11 hours were you now finally arriving home.

The overbearingly fresh taste of menthol in your mouth had long been replaced by one of stale, machine coffee and frustration. Each minute spent away from your ever��cosy apartment had felt like an hour within itself, the presentation preparation taking far longer than you had previously anticipated. At the start of the day, you really thought it would only take 4 maybe 6 hours max to finish all of your individual and your group work, especially with how early you had gotten there, ready to start so you could get the break you had earned after the last 2 weeks of 12+ hour days.

But as it had been made painfully evident; that had not been the case.

Instead, it had taken you and your group all day to come up with some sort of presentation that was due in a matter of days, the preparation made all the more difficult by the fact that only 2 out of the other 4 members of your group had even bothered to do their work.

11 hours later and you were ready to implode.

You were tired, hungry and in need of a shower to wash away the fatigue of the day, but most importantly, you were horny a fuck and that was all due to your ever loving boyfriend and the unintentionally arousing photo he had sent you earlier on in the day while you were halfway through cleaning up a mess that wasn't even your to begin with. Without any caution of what may be inside, you had opened the photo attachment, assuming that it was just another one of the many selfies your boyfriend routinely sent you throughout the day.

This had resulted in you being completely unprepared for what waited for you. As an idol, part of Taekwoon's job was to be attractive and you were painfully aware of just how beautiful he was after two years of dating. But even after spending that much time together, you were yet to become immune to when he fully displayed his looks and shit, did that photo put him on display.

Gone was the mess of sleep puffed cheeks and mussed hair that he had been sporting when you had left him that morning, that adorable mirage had been replaced by one that would surely lead to your eventual death. Already sharply edged eyes had been further daggered by strong eyeliner, his hair had been perfectly styled up and away from his face and his pink lips were pulled into a small sultry pout. And while the photo was primarily of his face, there was also his collar bones sticking from underneath his white shirt and the glimpse of the ever impossibly tight leather trousers that he frequented for stage performances. All in all; he was devastating and it had taken you far too much effort and control on your part to simply lock your phone and move on. The caption hadn't helped either. Tagged along with the overly enticing photo was simple enough sentiment but paired along with such an image was captivating to the point that you couldn't get the typed out words from your head.

'i'll be waiting for you when you come home.'

Simple, plain, nothing that should have made you clench on air and have your head swim but fuck, you had never been able to get enough of Taekwoon and from your reaction, you had your doubts that you ever would. But finally, you would get able to satisfy your desire if Taekwoon's text sent at a much more reasonable time then it was time was any indication, he was home and ready for your arrival.

When you had left earlier that morning, the plan for the evening had been one full of tender lounging and the consuming of whatever delicious food was at your disposable. Now, there was something very different that you wanted to eat.

The door all but shuddered with the amount of strength you used to force it open after punching on the security code into the keypad, hands unable to help your efforts as they were currently filled with the assigned reading that you should really be getting finished tonight. But instead you were too focused on your boyfriend and there was no way you were going to be able to concentrate on anything else. You made hasty work of discarding your outer layers of clothing and shoes, hoping that your message that you had sent a little over thirty minutes ago when you had been leaving had been a fair enough warning for him to be aware of what you were coming home for.

11 hours, a group dominated by lazy wastrels and one photo had worn your patience down to a thin wisp, so depleted that it was all but nonexistent at this point. You didn’t care if you were being abrupt or borderline out of character. You were energised with a new sense of purpose and drive, set on the idea of all but mounting your boyfriend; you could only hope that he was prepared.

Though by the sight of him casually draped over your armchair, phone in hand as he aimlessly scrolled and still dressed in those infuriating leather pants, it seems that you hadn't been clear enough in the thread of texts that in your opinion had bled with desperation and frustration. He simply lifted his head at your arrival, completely dismissing your simmering stare as he met your gaze with one of indifference, an ever subtle smile on his lips.

"Hey babe, how was your day?" He asked ever so casually, locking his phone and stretching his hands casually above his head.

You couldn't help but follow the movement, feeling even less in control at the small glimmer of revealed skin you received as his shirt was slightly tugged up his stomach. If you only knew Taekwoon briefly, you wouldn't see him as being the teasing type due to his rather permanent unresponsive exterior and softly spoken words. But fuck, after two years of being in a relationship with the lanky minx, you knew better. The boy was a fucking tease when he wanted to be and you could only pray for his own safety that he didn't have any plot already in motion because you were not in the mood.

"Shit.” You summarised, the word all but snarled, “And your photo didn't make it easier you little fuck." You were then slamming down the rest of your things before pulling off your jumper as you made your way over to where he was on the couch. The only movement on his part in comparison was made to pull himself up against the arm of the sofa so that he was in sitting position, unfazed by your overly direct assault.

He hummed in response, tugging on your wrist when you were close enough so that you were clambering onto his lap, torso barely covered by the thin shirt that removing your jumper had left you in. He took a movement to pad his fingers up your bicep, each touch feather like. "That bad huh? Sorry babes."

You huffed, tired of this little charade when you knew that your intentions were clear and he was simply toying with you. So with little more pretence, you slammed yourself into him, hands wrapping into those deliciously soft, black tendrils as you fused your lips together, the contact resulting in the instant gratification of your need both being slightly sedated but also amplified. He was clever enough to return your enthusiasm, though he was definitely letting you do all the work as you nipped and sucked, his long digits curling at the nape of your neck, gently rubbing the skin.

"Someone a bit needy today?" Taekwoon chuckled during one of the few instances you released his mouth to take a breath, you were easily irritated by his voice but were reassured by the near pant in his tone that he was quickly becoming just as riled up.

There was none of the softness that had been the genre of your morning interaction, your overly tedious day had long ago rid you of those feather-light notions. You were ready to get this show on the road so that the ache you had felt nearly all day could be sedated and you could finally relax. Taekwoon just needed to get with the programme.

“I’m not in the mood Taekwoon,” You cut the words against his lips, refusing to detach yourself as you ground yourself against himself in emphasis to your statement.

The little shit had the audacity to smirk, even when you could feel him become increasingly hard through the tight confines of his leather trousers, “I think you’re most definitely in the mood.”

You couldn’t help but hit his chest in retaliation for both his joke and the frustration it was currently causing you, especially as he now had changed his tactic to craning his neck just far enough back that you couldn’t fully reach his mouth. Growing more and more irritated, you decided to take matters into your own, capable hands, allowing your fingers to trace down the counters of his chest from your place now leaning back, legs still on either side of his waist. You kept your gaze locked with his, an unspoken challenge when you were grabbing onto him through his trousers and his resilience visibly withered.

A look of coy satisfaction now played on your face as you stared him down, all but begging for a word of snarky defiance as your expert fingers fiddled with the thick zipper, his body stiffening underneath you. “And what about you, babes?”

It was this cockiness that would be your mistake, becoming overconfident due to his reaction and the control being in the top position gave you. You were too consumed in your small victory to the point that you actually let out a shriek of surprise when Taekwoon abruptly changed your positions so that you were evidently pressed between the firm couch and his somehow firmer body.

“I’m always in the mood for you, darling.” He purred against your slightly gaped mouth, giving your bottom lip a teasing bite before he settled on making a clean descent down your body, mouthing at every part of exposed skin as he went.

You arched into his touch, back bending to his will when his hand found the band of your legs as he continued his assault on your collar bones and neck. He made miraculously quick work of removing them with only one hand, your underwear ending up dragged alongside them as you assisted in the process with a buck of your hips and a corresponding wiggle to make the process more seamless. He seemed pleased with your eagerness, not that it should have been at all surprising at this point, but wisely chose to not comment on it, instead continuing his working down of your form, his large hands pushing up the fabric of your undershirt so that he could gain better access to your abdomine.

You were keenly aware that the hand that had once been gripping your hip had now disappeared in between your legs, this change being made evident by the fingers that were now creeping up your thigh, closer and closer to where they were needed most. Finally, they arrived and the sound that escaped you was somewhere bordering on a sigh of both pleasure and relief.

Despite the touches being infuriating light, the smallest ounces of pressure that were applied to your clit with every tantalising swirl of Taekwoon’s thumb was enough to have your hips canting in appreciation and search for more. “You’re so wet,” His tone would have led some to believe that he was surprised when in fact you knew he was taunting you and you fucking hated it that your body was reacting in such a way that it made teasing you so easy for him.

“Jus-” You had to pause as one of his fingers slipped lower, resting at your entrance and you gripped the couch arm behind you for support to refocus yourself, “-t get on with it.”

He hummed in slight recognition of your order, too busy watching that movement of his fingers on your slick core to give you his full attention. “Get on with what? I’m going to need you be you’re more specific.”

“Fucking piece of shit,” You snapped, though the anger came out more breath then fire as he decided when you opened your mouth to speak was the perfect time to apply a slightly larger amount of pressure onto your increasingly sensitive clit. “If you don’t do something more substantial then fiddling about down there I will actually murder you.”

“My word, someone sure is impatient,” He tutted and for a second you thought he was going to continue teasing, your mouth parting, ready to slice him into ribbons. But then an ethereally long finger was inside of you and you actually forgot how to speak.

Clarity remained out of your reach because the fog of incoherence was thickened when a silky smooth tongue was coming into contact with your clit and you were near blacking out. After all this time, hours of frustration, finally.

You couldn’t stop your hips from moving forward, didn’t even try to halt the hand that worked on its own agenda to tangle itself in Taekwoon’s hair and push down in hopes of somehow getting him closer than he already was.

After two years of being intimate, Taekwoon had perfected the art of unravelling you. He knew that you could take two fingers as easily as you could take one, knew that sucking and nipping at your clit actually sometimes was enough to make you near lose your mind. He knew that when your vocabulary solely contained his name and a few, panted curse words that you were close.

He knew that when you started moving frantically, hips grinding down onto his lips and your entrance clenching every moment that you were ready to cum, that you were going to come in a few moments. He knew that you were on the spiral, that you were a second away from fully being gone and finally claiming the satisfaction you had been aching for.

He knew all of this and more, and yet just as you were gasping out, preparing yourself to plummet down and dive into the realm of stars and release; he fucking stopped.

One moment, you were repeating how you were about to cum and then abruptly, any and all pleasure was wrenched from your grasp. Leaving you high, dry and fucking pissed.

Your back contracted, resulting in you all but sitting up and you were met with Taekwoon’s overly satisfied face, his cockiness and indifference evident by the way he licked the remaining wetness from his lips and simply purred, “Sweet.”

Irritation was replaced by absolute rage and you actually seethed your next words, each one containing the force to flatten walls. “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

“Awe,” Taekwoon continued to patronise, “Is someone upset that they didn’t get to cum?”

You didn’t know if Taekwoon had momentarily lost his mind because he seemed to not understand the deathly lethal glare in your eyes as you stared him down. Though it did seem you pulling yourself into a sitting position and further away from him seemed to knock some sort of clarity into him.

How fucking dare he.

Taekwoon was a tease, you knew that well enough. But it was rare that he ever went far enough to the point that he actually denied you your release, he usually favoured bringing you over the brink over and over and over again. It had never been particularly easy to get yourself to that point with past partners; it had taken some work even with Taekwoon in the beginning when you were both still discovering each other. But he usually knew that if there was one thing you did not stand for, it was orgasm denial. Especially if you had been suffering from pent-up frustration all day which made this blow all that more damming.

“You’ve fucking done it now,” You stated, voice a chaotic cocktail of chilling calm and fiery rage. You were ready for this torture, this game that Taekwoon had unintentionally started, even if he continued to seem none the wiser to it, blinking in slight confusion.

His brow furrowed in question, “Done what?”

A look of destructive delight took control of your features and you leaned forward so that your next words were spoken directly into Taekwoon’s ear, your closeness allowing you to feel the way his body stiffened, “Started a war.”

Perhaps a war wasn’t the correct term for what progressed for the next few days; war would suggest that both sides had an equal chance at winning. Instead, it was more of a siege on Taekwoon’s self-restraint and you revelled in every moment of the unbridled control.

It wasn’t as if you spent the entirety of the following days teasing the shit out of him in every way you knew would make him eventually crumble, you simply chose your moments, each one leaving enough of a lasting impression to carry over until the next. While Taekwoon hadn’t fully grasped the ramifications of his actions until the following day, he had definitely been suspicious when you had suddenly pulled back, declared war and then refused any and all of his advances without any further explanation.

The first day you had played dumb, playing off any suspicion as effortless as breathing, going about your routine as if nothing had happened.

The second day was the one that set the tone for all those to follow. You simply ignored all of his lingering gazes and leading questions during dinner, shrugging off his grab at your waist that you knew was a wordless proposal for some late night activities, disregarding the prospect with a casual step away from his grasp. You had left the kitchen while he finished tidying up under the pretence of taking a shower, leaving him alone with the suds feeling more confused than ever with your rare shift in character. If there was something you were almost always down for; it was sex, especially with how exceptionally needy you had been only a little over a day prior. And now you were too tired? But while he was meditating on your behaviour over the soapy water and half-clean plates there was a sound that pierced through the veil of pattering water from the shower; a moan. Then there was another and another, only for the apartment to be suddenly filled with the sound of your pleasure.

All Taekwoon could do was wait for you to finish, poised at the end of your shared bed, still smelling of dish soap and confusion. Though instead of answering his questioning gaze when you entered back into the room, wearing a lofty smile and overtly sedatedexpression, you went about wordlesslydressing yourself for bed, Taekwoon unaware that the prolongued amount of time you took to shimmy into your night clothes was all a conscious decision. He had been completely defenceless to your planned assault later that night when you had both settled down on your respective sides of the bed, your routine peck to his lips contorting into something far more foreboding.

Your lips had found the shell of his ear, tracing the lobe as you curled up behind him so that there wasn't a whisp of seperation, tongue peeking out to swipe at the skin as a hand slinked down to find his crotch where you applied a deliciously detrimental amount of pressure that had him all but gasping at the abrupt contact. Teeth had sunk into his soft flesh, the grip on him intensifying so that his focus was disrupted between your hand and your voice, “Touch this without permission and you won’t be touching any of me for weeks.”

And then you were gone, back faced to him, eyes closed in bliss as you faked sleep, smile so soft and peaceful that it was almost difficult to see the malice that lurked beneath.

By day four, Taekwoon was on the verge of conceding and caving and while he wasn't entirely certain as to what he was being punished for; he was more than ready for the torture to be over.

The night before he had come home horny from the risqué photo of you in your favourite lacy black and white bralette and matching panties that you had sent to him a few hours before his practice session was finished, the dance rehearsal made all the more difficult by his raging boner that he knew without your mercy wouldn’t be receiving any sort of relief. His worries were further confirmed when he reached your room, enticed by the muffled sounds of some sort of activity. He had opened the door to reveal you spread across the bed, clad only in the ensemble you had sent him a sample of and skin covered in sweat as you reclaimed the hand that had been stuffed in your underwear only moments before. There had been no oxygen in his lungs as he watched with unabated interest as you pulled your slick covered fingers into your mouth, retaining eye contact with him throughout as you gave the digits two deep sucks before removing them.

“What a shame- I just finished.”

He couldn’t even last a week, five days was all he could manage before he was at his breaking point. Even though he was almost certain he hadn’t been putting up any sort of fight the entire week, instead allowing you to do completely as you pleased with the weight of your threat hanging over him like the knife of a guillotine. All he had done was not attempt to touch you, or himself for that matter, but apparently that wasn’t all you wanted. You wanted him crippled and tripping over himself, begging for a forgiveness and relief only you could grant. Sure he could have perhaps gotten off at work, but it wasn’t just the paranoia that you would somehow find out that had stopped him from him even attempting such a thing, there was also a piece of him that was thriving off of this dangerous denial.

Every bat of your eyelashes, every coy and brief brush of your body had been a weapon to get him to where he was now, continuously pacing the length bedroom while waiting for your arrival from your friends dinner, ready to omit and atone for every one of his crimes.

You were struggling with the handle of your bag that refused to detangle from your coat when you entered the room, slightly surprised to see Taekwoon standing before you, expression a beautiful concoction of frazzled and desperate. Your demeanour instantly shifted, air similar to that of the one Taekwoon had foolishly worn all those nights ago.

How the tables do turn.

“Taekwoon,” You drawled, setting down your bag as you nonchalantly breezed past him in favour of the wardrobe so you could finish undressing yourself. “I didn’t expect you home so early.”

“Finished practice early,” Was his response, voice thick in a way that you knew even with your back turned to him meant his pupils were blown and his jeans were tight.

The twist of your lips was instinctive, having to consciously remove it in effort to remain coy as you shouldered off your coat, revealing your leather skirt and tight blouse ensemble to be devoured by Taekwoon’s hungry eyes that you could feel were trained to each of your deliberate moves. “That’s nice,” You spoke into the otherwise silent room, “You’ve seemed a bit tense lately.”

His answer was quiet, so much so that you almost missed it under the gritted teeth and implications. “I wonder why.”

You hummed in a way you both were aware was posed sympathy, slipping your shirt over your shirt so that your upper half barely concealed the scraps of wispy material and lace that made up your bralette while your lower half remained concealed under the like faux leather. You turned, unsurprised to find his gaze down, it taking him a moment longer to meet your eyes.

“You alright over there?” You asked, a laugh threatening to escape at the way his eyes narrowed at your taunt that you played off with a life-threatening amount of ignorance as you stepped closer, placing a purposeful pointer finger on his collarbone, “You seem a bit- out of it.”

He remained silent, just watching as you picked and prodded at him, your expression never wavering from its mirage of civility and curiosity even though you knew the cause for his current state; you were the cause. You watched him struggle with the words, his inherent stubbornness causing his words to come out near choked, “Please.”

You batted your eyelashes, delight curling within you at the mere utterance of one word, you stepped closer, leaning in as if you hadn’t heard him, “I’m sorry; what was that?”

You admired the tensing of lithe muscle under the thin material of Taekwoon’s white shirt as his fists clenched at his side to both ground himself and to restrain from touching you, enamoured with how close you were, how good you smelt and how you were literally in arms length and he was powerless. It had been days since a touch from you had been anything more than fleeting and he hadn’t even attempted to initiate anything ever since you had set the rules that had never been truly set but he had somehow known to follow. The ball had been entirely in your court as he had made a futile play of resistance if you could even call what he had been doing resistance; you hadn’t even given him enough power to even resist. He had just been forced to endure and it seemed that that endurance had finally come to an end.

“Please,” He repeated, his broad chest that you had begun to slowly trace with your nail, “Let me just, fuck, let me just touch you.”

You let out a noncommittal noise as you scrapped your nails against the fabric of his shirt, focusing more on your fingers then his eyes that followed each of your movements especially as your hand begun to wander lower, toying between the hem of the article clothing and the waist of his jeans. “And just why, should I let you do that? Especially when you were so rude to me before.”

“I’m sorry,” He gritted out, coherency depleting due to how close you were to where he needed you most. “-just let me touch you.”

“So you understand,” You continued to drag on, tongue peeking out to swipe at your lips. All of sudden you were harshly cupping him in your hand making him bolt as if struck by lightning while meeting your gaze, your hand began to make assertive circles over the front of his trousers. “And why exactly, are you sorry?”

“Because I was an idiot,” He answered immediately, his choice of words being confirmed to be correct as you hummed in agreement. “Because I stupidly thought that I could be a total dick and get away with it.”

You nodded your head, entranced by the way Taekwoon’s hips all but buckled forward when you added slightly more pressure, though it still wasn’t enough, especially because Taekwoon knew there was no way you were going to let him cum. “So, what-” You pressed your thumb to what you knew was the head of his dick causing Taekwoon to nearly slump forward, “-have we learned?”

“That I should know -fuck-” He broke off into a whine when you gave him another tentative squeeze, “-when I’m being a tease and when I’m being an idiot. And I’m also, sorry, I’m so so so sorry.”

“Good,” You purred against the skin of his neck, pressing your tongue down to the juncture, relishing in the total relinquishing of control Taekwoon was currently exhibiting as he restrained himself from grinding into your hands and grabbing at you like you knew he wanted to. Taekwoon was everything but passive and it was rare that there was a time you ever felt completely in control. But right now, you were bathing in it. “Now Taekwoon; fuck me.”

“Yes.” Came his winded reply before your mouth was being consumed by a fire that made you almost step back in surprise, teeth and tongue instantly being added to the mix.

Your tongue swept against him, eleciting a beautiful whine from Taekwoon as he worked on herding you in the way of the bed, working on the zipper of his jeans while he hurriedly rid himself of the fabric. He was making all the moves, doing all the work, but you still remained in control, the fact evident in the way you pulled back, the cry of loss from Taekwoon causing a grin to spread its way on his face.

You slowly removed your skirt and underwear as Taekwoon finished removing the remaining articles of his clothing. It was as if the site of your entirely naked form set him off into some sort of dive into madness and utter desperation because you were suddenly being flipped over so that you were bent over the bed, the gasp that escaped your lips at the abruptness increasing in volume when two fingers were sliding into you.

You had to stifle a moan, gripping the sheets in search of some sort of support. You needed to ground yourself, just because Taekwoon had you bent over on his fingers didn’t make this any less your game. “If you’re not going to fuck me properly; I’ll do it myself and make you watch.”

That alone was enough to send Taekwoon in frenzy, the head of his dick finding your entrance before he was thrusting in and you were fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back into your head in ecstasy.

“Fuck,” He cried out from behind you, his voice close with how was he hunched due to the overwhelming sensation of finally being inside of you. “Fuck you’re incredible.”

“I know,” You panted, hands scrambling for purchase. “And I expect –shit- for you to get me exactly to where I was the other night and this time- actually finish the job.”

You could only assume that he understood because your answer was a powerful thrust that had you moving forward and had your back arching. There were few things you liked better than being fucked by Taekwoon and you would be lying if you hadn’t missed the feel of his dick during the last five days.

“I’m not gonna last,” He gasped, his hips never stopping for a second while you met him in the middle with your own.

“I dare you to cum,” You snarled, the air stolen from your lungs as he hit a specific spot. “You’re going to have to try harder.”

This seemed to spur him into action because suddenly there was a loss of his cock inside of you and instead you were being flipped over, the absolute devastation of his expression enough to have you keening as he loomed over you. There was also a certain renewed determination in his gaze as he pinned you down, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he supported his weight on his arms that he placed on either side of your head.

“You’re the fucking devil,” He stated, his words punctuated by thrusting himself entirely into you causing your nails to instinctively search for purchase on his shoulders where they bit down into his skin. He rolled his hips again and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched in turn, “You’re also a fucking tease, punishing me for not letting you cum when you wanted it, making me suffer over nothing.”

“You’re- fuck-,” Your thought was broken by the cry from your lips as he hit your spot directly, too far gone to really be that fussed with the seemingly switch in control, you were finally getting what you wanted and fuck if it hadn’t been fun getting here. “-the one who started all this, you’re the real tease here.”

His grin touched your lips as he pressed them down to yours, let out a moan of his own as you clenched down on him. “Maybe, but fuck you really did a number on me.”

“Seem pretty okay to me,” You snarked, making defiant eye contact despite the fact that you were so close to cumming you could actually taste it. “What you did was also an asshole move and you know it.”

“And I think you did a pretty thorough job of making me pay for it.”

“I could have done more.”

Then there was a pinch to your clit and you were ready to cave. There was some satisfaction that even though there had seemingly been a shift that happened often happened between you and Taekwoon when it came to who was in control, you couldn’t help but notice the look of concentration on Taekwoon’s face that revealed that he was struggling not to cum.

You clenched down just to see his reaction which was a glare sent in your direction, you would have revelled further in satisfaction if it weren’t for the overwhelming pleasure that hit you when a thumb was pressed down to your clit. Sensing your climax, Taekwoon’s thrusts became more frantic, coherent sentences being replaced by broken sentiments of pleasure and desperation for release. It took only a few more moments before you were greeted with a blinding orgsam and you were sure you were crying out Taekwoon’s name.

“Fuck,” He moaned, his thrusts carrying you through your high, his own being advanced by the way your walls pulsated around him. He allowed you to be fully taken over by your orgasm for as long as he could before he could no longer bear it. “Please- fuck- please- can I cum?”

You hummed, “Yes.”

His shoulders visibly slumped in relief before he was rolling his hips into yours with a renewed vigour and moments later, he was groaning out your name as he fully spiralled.

Your mouths met in a messy but coaxing kiss, love pouring through each slide of tongue and lips. His body blanketed yours as he relaxed, all strength drained from his arms resulting in him no longer being able to support his own weight.

There was a few moments of content, silent connection as you simply enjoyed the feel of each other, making up for the lack of intimacy that had been provoked by the last couple of days.

“I can’t believe this all started because I didn’t make you cum one time,” Taekwoon tsked, his skin all but glowing under the clear, heated water of the bath you had both recently moved into.

His comment was returned by a splash and an insulted scoff, “That one time just happened to be after I had the most tiring day and had been sexually frustrated because of your fucking leather-clad ass.”

He let out a laugh while swatting away the continuous flashes of water, undeterred by your weak assault. “You could have just said that instead of going on this mission to make me beg to just touch you.”

“But it was so much fun,” You pouted, poking at his bicep. “And don’t even try to lie and say you didn’t enjoy it, I felt your dick, I know everything.”

“Are you somehow implying that my feelings are entirely controlled by my dick?”

“Would somehow I be wrong?”

#vixx #leo #vixx scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop #leo scenarios #taekwoon scenarios #vixx smut #kpop smut #leo smut #taekwoon smut #writing

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strangerthings-nstuff · 7 years ago

Text

Distance - Part Three

Steve Harrington x Henderson Reader

Summary - Returning from college for winter break, Y/N is faced with the stinging pain left from her break-up with Steve Harrington.

Word Count - 2,478

Warnings - mild swearing, angst (duh), flashback (duh), Billy being an ass (duh), and I think that’s all folks.

A/N - This is my second attempt at posting this, I tried about an 40 minutes ago and then Tumblr crashed and deleted my post, getting rid of all my edits, BUT HERE IT IS! I know you guys like it so far, so I really hope your enjoying the way I’m continuing the story. Also, tag list is being moved to the bottoms since it’s grown like 20 times larger (thank you so much.) Please let me know what you think in my ask box! Makes me super happy annnnnddd motivates me to write! On that note, READ AWAY!

Part One Part Two

“Just ignore him and drive away, Steve…” You begged, praying you wouldn’t have to witness a fight tonight. Your stomach twisted at the thought of Steve unconscious on the ground. He turned to face you, eyes full of anger.

“What, Y/N, and let him win?” he started. “Let him know he can just do whatever the hell he wants, and no one will stop him?” He stared at you, waiting for an answer. You didn’t have one, you knew Steve was right. Max stopped Billy once last November, after he beat the shit out of Steve, and he laid low for a few months. After that, he was back to his old, shitty self.

“I know, you’re right, okay? But-”

Tap, tap, tap.

Billy Hargrove had a wicked smile plastered on his face, peering in from the driver’s side window. He stepped back, crossing his arms against his chest, waiting for Steve to make a move. Steve looked at your pleading eyes one more time before swiftly getting out of the car. You hopped out right after him, planning to interject if things start to get physical. “What are you doing at my house, Harrington?” he said in an amused tone, almost mocking Steve.

Steve broadened his shoulders slightly, taking another step forward. “Taking care of your sister that you left on the side of the Goddamn road, Hargrove.” He replied, his voice filled with disgust.

“She deserved it.” He spit back, “Thought she could hit me and have no consequence.” You clenched your hands at his words, angered by his pure lack of kindness.

“From what I understand, you deserved it. I would say being a racist ass deserves a good slap in the face sometimes.” Billy scoffed, spitting on the ground.

“Mind your own damn business, Harrington.” He said, pushing his fingers against Steve’s chest. You took a few quick steps forward, so you were right behind Steve. Moving to the side a bit, you reached your hand to Steve’s shoulder, tugging gently on it before he could reply to Billy.

“Come on, Steve, let’s just go.” you pleaded. Steve looked at you momentarily, considering your words, until Billy started speaking again. He was staring right at you, a smile appearing on his tanned face again.

“Back with Harrington so soon, Y/N?” your gut twisted at his words, mostly because they couldn’t be further than the truth. “Got tired of screwing all the city boys?” Steve stiffened at his comment, the thought of you being with other people making his heart feel heavy, more than it already was just being around you, knowing you weren’t his anymore. He had figured you would move on eventually, but he hadn’t fully thought it through.

Billy’s next words didn’t make Steve sad, no. They pissed him off.

“Too bad, you know.” He took a few steps closer, just a foot in front of the two of you, completely ignoring Steve. “If you hadn’t ran back to Pretty Boy over here, I could’ve shown you a good time.” You shivered as he ran his hand down your arm. “Still can, Sugar.”

You pushed his arm off of you, “You’re disgusting, Billy,” was all you managed to say before Steve’s anger got the best of him. He harshly shoved Billy, causing the unsuspecting boy to stumble backwards before balancing himself.

“Get the hell away from her, you piece of shit.” Steve’s voice was raspy and broken, he was flustered. Billy laughed bitterly, glaring at Steve’s quickly reddening face.

“What is it, Harrington?” He said stepping up face-to-face. “Worried that you can’t satisfy her like I would?” His voice was confident, too confident. “Upset because you know that I can make her scream my na-” You flinched as Steve punched Billy square in the jaw. Billy reacted quickly throwing a punch back at Steve, missing him at first from blurred vision and Steve ducking, but landing the second one right on Steve’s left eye. Your heart speed up, you couldn’t watch Steve be beat unconscious like last year. The thought of Steve’s broken face was enough to send adrenaline through your veins, and without thinking you flung yourself in between the twos boys.

“Stop!” you shouted, voice frantic and pleading. A look of worry flashed across Steve’s now bloody face, and he instinctively pulled you into him, attempting you block you from any hits Billy was going to throw. You looked back at the curly haired menace to see him ready to shove Steve again. You pushed your hand against Steve’s chest, pulling yourself from him grasp, reaching the other hand out towards Billy. “I said stop!” You shouted again, gaining both of the boys attention. “Not here, not now.” you deadpanned.

Billy groaned loudly, “Get out of my way, Princess,” the words glided out of his mouth in a dark tone, not at all intending the word princess as one of endearment.

“No, Billy.” You were nervous, god were you nervous, but you held your ground. “You’re parents are home, yeah?” you said, causing his face to drop. “I’ve seen your dad drive that car around. So, why don’t you leave us the hell alone, and I won’t run up and knock on the door explaining why Max was home so late tonight, alright?” Billy froze in what you thought might have been fear and quickly snapped out of it, spitting again, although this time it was red with blood. “This isn’t over, Harrington.” He said firmly before walking up his driveway, sliding in his car, and slamming the door. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders knowing that Steve was safe, for now, and that Max didn’t have to deal with Billy tonight.

You and Steve returned to his car, driving away in silence. You were playing with the hem of your sweater as the street lights flashed past your window, thinking of something, anything, to say to him. So much was running through your brain, so many emotions weighing down your heart, but you couldn’t form any words. You thought about turning the radio on, but before you could Steve broke the silence. “I could’ve handled it, Y/N.” You looked over at him, waiting for him to continue. “You shouldn’t have thrown yourself in the middle of us like that, you could’ve gotten hurt.” He brought his brown eyes to yours for a second before averting them back to the road, but not quick enough for you not to notice his eye, which was getting darker and darker by the minute.

Your heart speed up, but not out of sadness, out of anger.

“No, Steve. You did get hurt.” You raised your voice at him. “What if Billy had left you out cold on the ground, or worse?” Steve rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but you continued before he got a word in. “He doesn’t have limits, Steve! Don’t you get that?” You took a deep breath. “God, you can be so stupid sometimes!”

He scoffed, not believing what he was hearing. “You’re calling me stupid? You’re the one who threw yourself in front of a full on, seething Billy!” He tried to look at you as much as he could without swerving of the road. “Like you said, Y/N. He doesn’t have limits.”

“I did what I had to, and it worked!” Steve’s car slowed as you approached your house, pulling in the drive-way. He slammed the car in park, turning to face you as your body jolted forward and back from his sudden stop. “It worked this time, but now you’ve gotten on his nerves, and you’re a target too!” His eyes were wide, chest moving up and down faster than usual from yelling.

“I panicked!” You argued back. “I’m sorry that I care about you, Steve!” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. Steve’s face went soft as your eyes got glossy from nerves, and the weight of what you had just said. It was obvious to both of you, from the moment you opened the door and he was standing there earlier that night, that there were still lingering feelings. Whether they be ones of anger from you for Steve breaking up with you, regret from him for the same exact thing, or just a pure longing to fix the awkward brokenness that stood between you two, it was something.

“When he hit you, I-I didn’t know what to do…” You shook your head, worried you would sound stupid.

“Y/N…” He whispered, voice cracking a bit. You wrapped your coat tightly around yourself, getting ready to walk out of the car.

“Never mind, it’s stupid.” You spoke lowly. You got out of the car, mumbled a goodnight to Steve, and slammed the door shut. A tear rolled down your cheek as you ran up your driveway, finally letting yourself cry after a whole night of holding it in. You were about to open the front door and flee to your room before Steve grabbed you by the arm, turning you to face him, your teary eyes meeting his.

You laughed at Steve’s stupid joke as you walked up your driveway, hands intertwined with his. He stopped in front of your door, and your heart sped up, knowing what usually happens at this point in a date. “So, aren’t you glad you finally agreed to go out with me?” He said giving you a charming smile. You wished you had said yes sooner, in all honesty, but you had to make sure he was done healing from his break up with Nancy. When he had asked you a few days ago, for the fifth time in the span of a month, you had finally said yes.

“Yes,” you smiled, “I actually am. Although, let’s hope Dustin doesn’t interrogate you for an hour before our second date,” you said swaying your intertwined hands, laughing gently. Steve’s smile grew wider.

“There’s gonna be a second date?” He said in an amused tone. You felt your cheeks flush, and you dropped your gaze to the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice. You mentally cursed yourself. It was just Steve, why were you so nervous?

“I hope so, Harrington.” You said, hoping to hide your nerves. He squeezed your hand, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m sure we can arrange that.” He whispered as you looked up at him, gaze flickering down to his lips, and back up to his face. Just do it, Y/N. You want to kiss Steve, so kiss Steve.

Despite your self convincing, you chickened out.

“Goodnight, Steve.” You said leaning up to kiss his cheek. You smiled at him once again before turning around to open the door, only, you didn’t reach it. In the blink of an eye, Steve pulled you back to him and pressed his lips to yours. You were shocked, but it was only a few seconds before you were kissing back, arms wrapped around his neck. His lips were soft as he kissed you slowly, the cold January air felt like nothing compared to his warmth. He pulled away after a few seconds, both of you breathless.

“Goodnight, Henderson.”

It was different than the last time he had unexpectedly pulled you towards him on your porch, so different, but it didn’t stop your stomach from twisting in a nervous knot. “Y/N, I’m sorry.” He began, “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation, really, but… God,” he winced as he remembered Billy’s words as if they were ripping through his chest like the first time.

“Got tired of screwing all the city boys?”

“If you hadn’t ran back to pretty boy over here, I could’ve shown you a good time.”

“I couldn’t let him get away with what he was saying to you…” He ran his hands through his hair habitually, “And what he did to Max? It’s just not okay… it’s not right.” He gently wiped your tears before continuing, his touch just causing more to fall down, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you in the car, but I care about you too… and when you put yourself right in front of Billy’s rage, you scared the shit out of me,” He admitted. “If Billy had put his hands on you, Jesus... I would’ve lost it.” You shook your head and looked down, wiping the tears off your face. Steve wrapped his arms around you, and you broke. You sobbed quietly, cursing yourself in your head for being so emotional. “Hey, hey… it’s alright.” He whispered, running his hands gently through your hair.

“No, it’s not.” You mumbled against his chest, trying to control your sobs. “I-It’s not okay, and you know it.” You hiccuped, and he moved his hand down to your back trying to soothe you. “It’s weird, it’s awkward… God, why is it so awkward between us?” You questioned, pulling back slightly to look at him. He sighed, shaking his head.

“You know,” he started, “I think it’s because you still have my maroon sweater.” He said with a straight face.

“What?” You questioned, confused.

“My maroon sweater, Y/N. You never gave it back. You know… I think it’s causing a real divide between us.” You tried not to laugh but you couldn’t help it, making Steve’s heart skip a beat. He missed that laugh. You shook your head, trying to be be serious.

“I’m not kidding, Steve.”

“I know, I know,” he looked down at the ground, thinking to himself before speaking again, “It’s gonna be weird at first, really weird, I mean we’ve seen each other naked, Y/N.”

“Steve.” You warned.

“Sorry, I’m kinda, like, nervous? I don’t really know what to say... “ His voice was sincere, and you could tell he was struggling just as much as you were.

“Me neither.” You admitted. He looked up at you, thinking to himself. He couldn’t date you, he told himself he wouldn’t let you be burdened by him in college. He told himself he needed to stick to his promise to himself, to do what’s right by you, to be selfless. So what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just pretend like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t the most important part of his life just four months ago.

“How about this,” he suggested, “I know it’s gonna be hard, but we can’t just avoid each other, Dustin invites me over like, everyday.” You listened, curious as to where he was going with this. “We care about each other, and we did before we started dating too… so why don’t we just try being friends again?” You knew he was right, you couldn’t avoid him, and you didn’t want him out of your life either. You sighed, nodding your head.

“Friends?” He asked.

“Friends.”

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iabsolutelyresentthiswebsite · 7 years ago

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The Last Jedi Sin #13

I alluded to this in the prior point, Sin #12, but this is also something that deserves its own point.

13. The Last Jedi is BORING

So I had seen TLJ twice before watching it with my little brother and well, less than 40 minutes in, he looked at me with a certain look.

"How long is left in the movie?” he asked, face-palming.

I hovered over and said- almost apologetically, “About two hours...”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Oh my God. It feels like I’ve been watching this twice as long as I have.”

And this is yet another problem with The Last Jedi...it is just so fucking boring.

I have never, as a Star Wars fan for as long as I can remember, been legitimately bored while watching a Star Wars movie. The first time I watched it, I was dissatisfied, but visually entertained. The second time I watched it, I was able to semi-enjoy it because I was watching it with a friend, who was also not enjoying it so we made inside jokes in the theatre. Only afterward, did I find how uninterested I was in the content and how little I actually fucking cared about what was being shown to be for the second time. And when I watched it with my little brother, I was completely uninterested, except for the throne room scene, which I can fully say is the only satisfying scene in that entire movie.

Christ, I am so fucking bored while watching this movie.

When I watch a movie I really like, especially Star Wars or Star Trek, I don’t like it when even my basic needs to go to the bathroom or the need to eat take me out of the world I’m watching. I allow myself to be fully engrossed in the world. Every now and again, may I check my phone for texts? Sure, but my phone is typically face down and frequently, I lose my phone while watching a movie I really thoroughly enjoy.

While watching The Last Jedi with my brother, I was legitimately looking for things to keep my attention. I was on my phone about 65% of the time, I left the room at least 4 or 5 times for the sole purpose of wanting to get away from the movie, and the movie...was not holding neither of our attentions.

I, nor my brother, has ever experienced this with Star Wars.

My brother actually told me after the movie, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked, confusedly.

He just shook his head and said sorrowfully, “I thought you were exaggerating when you said how bad this movie was. I thought you were just being you about it. This movie is legitimately bad. Nothing happened. It was...the most small-minded view of Star Wars I have ever seen. This...I don’t even know what to say.”

He was dumbfounded by how poorly executed this movie was and how badly it was written. We had a discussion afterward about the characterization of each of the characters and we are in full agreement, except on one or two issues, which are minor at best.

This movie is so boring because there is no plot to be spoken of. There are themes, but you cannot make a plot from themes alone. You cannot make a plot from shallow and unprecedented “character development”, which in many cases, was character regression. That’s not how this works.

Nobody is going to be interested in a story where all the characters you love aren’t there anymore because they had to be changed to fit the narrative.

Fucking Rian Craig, you change the narrative to fit the characters.

It’s just so fucking boring because we were watching a movie about nothing in the middle of no one whom we care about’s story, where nothing logical is happening.

My brother said, “Even the Kylo-Rey arc they were trying to push was unconvincing because they have absolutely nothing to do with one another. Her being a nobody shoots down any possibility of salvaging a convincing and satisfying arc. Them falling in love is so insulting to Star Wars.”

After you get past the hype that was for Star Wars Episode VIII, any interest in the movie is shot because frankly, you don’t fucking care what Rian Craig decided should happen to these characters because it doesn’t make sense. What he decided should happen is so unsatisfying. What he decided is so insulting.

It’s the hype that is making people think this movie is great. There is no other explanation. I can’t even focus on this movie because of how boring it is, nevermind remain engaged for two and a half hours of bullshit half-plots and characterization that does not make any narrative sense.

Was it pretty? Yeah! Was it well-acted? Sure! Was anything else good about it? Hell to the fucking no.

I truly believed that I was being sooooo unfairly harsh to this movie after the first, and even the second time seeing it, but I am constantly validated by people and by this fucking movie itself that I actually need to be more harsh because there is nothing good in this movie.

There is nothing going on. There are no characters we care about. There is no universal consistency. There is just bad writing, bad characterization, bad direction, bad everything all around and I am fucking furious at this movie because of how mad it makes me that they dared to pass this travesty off as Star Wars, one of the most beloved franchises in history.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN BORED WHILE WATCHING STAR WARS UNTIL NOW.

...so, hey....I guess Rian Johnson did accomplish something that Star Wars had never done before.

#the last jedi sins #tlj spoilers #tlj is boring #anti rian johnson

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curtiskyle · 4 years ago

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avilalily94 · 4 years ago

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From What Does Premature Ejaculation Usually Result Stunning Ideas

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