#we had a winter storm yesterday

[termytheantisocialbutterfly]

Did my makeup all nice only for my ride to not be able to take me to work lol

[kagemane]

Getting real tired of “Once in a Generation” storms happening multiple times a year

[magic-is-something-we-create]

besties my family has a bar height dining table on our porch and it is Buried Under Snow right now

[peachesofteal]

18+ mdni / dark and twisty, whump

It’s snowing.

You don’t even have to move your head to see in order to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds and feels during a snowfall that blankets everything, houses, trees, mountains, your mind.

You love it. Always have. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It was what drove you to move out here in the first place. Chasing the snow. The feeling of a quiet forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white. The smell of the air the morning before a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the darkness when everything is dampened down by the weight of a million, billion unique, crystallized webs.

Except this snow feels different. It doesn't feel like a velvety white, soft dream world, but a nightmare... one filled with pain, anxiety. Why are you here? What's happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

"You're awake." A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn't as lighting sharp pain shoots through your upper arm all the way to your neck, and you cry out. "Easy." It's the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He's sitting in a chair that cannot possibly be comfortable, watching you.

"Where... am I?" You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to choke back the burn of bile that's racing up your throat.

"Are you going to be sick?" He reaches, stroking a finger down your face. You hold your tongue, unsure, and he must not like it, because he sighs, and then frowns at you. "Tell me."

"No, I don't-" You can't even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving, and he's springing to action shifting you amidst unbearable pain, turning you on your side to where a clean bucket sits, right beneath your bed.

"It's alright, that's it." A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears leaking from your eyes.

"Nnnrgh-"

"I know, I know. Poor thing." He coos, and it sounds so... endearing, so sweet yet... frightening, like the poison of a predator, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

"H-hurts." You cry as he rolls you back into your original position. "It hurts."

"I know it does, sweet girl. We're going to fix it." He dabs a cloth on your face, across your forehead and then down to clean your mouth up, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, concern rife in his features.

"Poor baby. Were ye sick?" You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, encouraging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you've had a few sips with a gentle 'not too much'.

"Who are you?" You smack your lips. The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it's well water, maybe?

"I'm Johnny." He's setting up something, beside you. You can see him organizing something, but can't quite make them out due to your lack of mobility. "An' this is Simon. Or Si. But ye probably won't be callin' him that quite yet." Johnny and Simon. Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can't you remember?

"What happened?" You try again, gritting your teeth against the pain.

"Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about this yesterday? Ye slid off the road, ended up in a thick of trees. Ye're lucky the one didnae impale ye." Impale?

"And you found me?" You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

"Aye, we did. Pulled ye free, brought ye home." Home?

"We couldn't leave you to die, and the storm is pretty bad. Pass is closed." Simon offers as an explanation, and you close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed.

"Thank... thank you." Johnny hums, and then to your complete shock, leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as you blink furiously.

"Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we wouldnae." What?

"Do what?" The broad one, Simon, casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He's got a piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them. Do what?

"Bite down on this, precious." Simon instructs, placing it against your bottom lip, to which you jerk away in protest with a whimper.

"Do what?" You try again.

"We need to set your humerus, and clavicle." Set your humerus? And your-

Oh. Oh no.

"N-no. No, you ca-can't." You stutter, but Johnny gives you a sad look, shifting on the bed to place a hand on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm against your good shoulder, the one that doesn't hurt. His hand is warm, so warm against you, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong... intimate. "Please, don't. Please, please-"

"It's alright." He shushes you, and the pressure against your body increases as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather into your mouth, bracing a hand above your elbow, and below your shoulder on the side that hurts. You gasp for air, fear shaking your body, and Johnny coos at you, telling you you'll be alright, that you're with them now and they'll take care of you, that it will only hurt for a little. "Ye'll probably pass out, bonnie. We'll get the second one done while ye're down, and I already gave ye something for the pain." He assures, like it's supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon's grip.

This can't be happening. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There's a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating agony that's delivered to your arm like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it's way out of your throat. You think you're crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, everything all at once. It hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts-

"We're sorry, we're sorry." Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your mind starting to sever itself from your body, floating away as you slip inside a dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to unconscious as they both stare down at you, sickeningly sweet concern layered overtop the faces of a bear and a wolf, predators licking their maws in preparation, waiting to devour their prey.

[inkskinned]

sometimes i think about the span of human existence and how if you spread your arms out in a long line and said my body is acting as a poem of all the universe's birthdays, the smallest sliver of your furthest nail would be our entire history as humans. and you, doing this, feeling your sternum crack into place because you're-getting-old and all of your bones crunch these days: you are the universe, measuring its own timeline. you're the memory of a starburst saying i gave birth to humans at the tip of my finger.

and i think about how crocodiles have been around for way longer than that fingernail and how sharks have been here forever too and how there are sea cucumbers that understand time like an angel would; their ages so astronomically long that i get dizzy looking down into them. i think about my dog, and how i am so fantastically ancient to him (an impossible number, staggering) and how, at the same time, i can order my life in eras of pets-i-have-loved and how my childhood died when my cat did.

and i wonder if the earth does the same thing, if nature keeps time in epochs. if the tree in the house where i grew up said oh a new family and got upset when one by one we all left for college and left behind our climbing and screaming and birdhouses. that same tree collapsed during a bad storm this winter; heartbroken. the whole inside was a hull, shivering and empty. it missed our roof by a whisper, almost like it held itself together so it couldn't pass a hole into the house it's been looking into for years now. the people who took it away clicked their teeth. it was a hundred years old, at least.

there are things that went extinct in my lifetime. there are memories that don't extend to the tip of the finger. four years ago, for the first time: i saw a bald eagle in the wild. ever since they've been sprouting strangely in my life, their origami frames hunched in a racket of brown feathers. something in the motion of wild animals braced against the new england weather - like we all (all of nature, all of the fingertip) have the same shared hate when it's cold sorrow. like in years and years and years of history we never really evolved a better method than to close your eyes and brace yourself against it.

i saw a butterfly today, staggering drunkenly in the early spring air. it's too early for her other friends. i want to tuck her back into bed and say it's not your time yet! her life like a pinprick in my own. in butterfly school they'd have to stretch out their scales and say - at the end of your furthest wing is where you are in the life of a human. she is in my life, isn't she. something about how my heart seized at the sight of her, so brave and lonely and unfair; and how it snowed yesterday (and will snow again, probably), and how, in spite of that, she was out there and flying.

something about waking up this morning and thinking - i'm too old for this. how my hips and knees and back all make new noises. how the other day at a grocery store i picked up the gloves an older woman had dropped, how she'd laughed and thanked me - i can't bend down like you young folks anymore.

something about the theory that there's been no visible life on other planets because we are too early. that we are the first butterfly of spring. all this bravery. we know it is probably hopeless, and still we go. breathless, the same tactic - we brace against the cold.

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Taglist

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

The rest of the promised week with Stray Kids and the decision that will change everyone's lives.

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl

Exhausted, I managed to sleep through the night.  It was a knock on my door that ended up waking me.

“Breakfast is almost ready.”  Hyunjin said when I bid him enter.

I nodded, yawning, and stretching, curling backwards in my bed.  “Okay, thanks.  I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“By the way you talk in your sleep.”

Freezing I squinted at him.  I had never been told that before, but I’ve not slept in front of anyone but them and Chan on the plane for many years.  “What did I say?”  I kind of dreaded the answer.

He shrugged, still standing in the doorway.  “We didn’t realize you were asleep at first.  You just talked to us like normal.”  He half smiled, trying not to laugh.  “Then you started talking about maroon summer storms and dark warm wood.  Apparently, we smell good.”

I slapped my hand over my eyes.  “Never mind.  I’m staying here.  Forever.”

“Aww, it was cute!  Bin even blushed.”

“You are horrible.”

Hyunjin laughed and stepped further into the room to sway my exposed foot.  “Don’t worry.  You smell good too.  Like flowers, a cold winter breeze, and the pages of a new book.”  He sounded wistful and when I looked, his eyes were glazed and far away.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, turning to leave.  “Nice blue panties.”  He called as he shut the door.

Looking down I realized my blanket had moved when I stretched, revealing my panties and entire left leg.  I hadn’t even felt the cold breeze.

Groaning in embarrassment I flung the blanket the rest of the way off and rolled off my mattress to get dressed and face the day.

They were all sitting at the table again when I joined them 10 minutes later.  As soon as I sat I.N moved to fill my plate.  That must be his job.  As youngest maybe?  I don’t know.

“Ayen, wait.”  Lee Know ordered before a single drop of food touched my plate.  Confused, I.N still listened, putting down the utensils and sitting back in his chair.  “Yesterday when we did this you didn’t seem happy.  Do you want us to keep filling your plate and waiting?”

I was brought up short at the question.  “Aren’t your instincts telling you to?”

“Yes, but they tell us a lot of things until we learn what you prefer.  Right now, they are kind of on the default setting.”  He started to explain.  “The other Alphas liked it when we did this, so we didn’t think to ask you.  But like I said yesterday, you aren’t like the other Alphas.”

I smiled way to brightly for this early in the morning.  But I was happy.  They were starting to try and get to know me now instead of ignoring me and assuming what I wanted based on instincts and their experience with other Alphas.

“Thank you.  For asking.  Seriously, it makes me very happy that you did.”  I watched Lee Know turn pink before continuing.  “And no, I don’t like this.  It makes me feel used.  I don’t mind if you want to wait until we are all sitting to eat, but I would rather you not wait for me to be served and start eating before you do.”

“We can do that.”  Everyone nodded in agreement.

Then, a bit haltingly – like he was arguing with himself – Lee Know took a scoop of eggs and then ate a bite.  Everyone followed with varying degrees of struggle.

“Don’t worry.  It will get easier as our instincts adjust to your preferences.”  Chan soothed when he saw I looked worried.

I just nodded and started getting my own food.  As we ate various Omegas added food to my plate, but they did it with each other too, so I was fine with it.  In fact, I joined in.  The first time I added food to I.Ns plate he about exploded in glee.

“JYP texted me.  You still haven’t unblocked him.  He’s worried.”  Chan said as he pulled me away from the table so I wouldn’t help clean.

“Oh yeah!”  I had fallen asleep last night with my phone still trapped.

Taking out my phone I immediately unblocked the number so I wouldn’t forget again.

JYPs reply was almost immediate.  What Chan said must’ve been true.  He had to be worried if he was so quick to reply to me.

“He okay now?”  Chan asked.

I looked up from my phone and realized he had led me to his room.  His scent saturated every corner.  And it was surprisingly clean.  Neat and organized.  I always thought when he wasn’t on live or camera in here it would be a bit messy.  A typical bedroom type of messy.

“So, what are you up to today?”  I asked sitting in his desk chair.

Chan fell back on his bed, bouncing slightly.  “I’m scheduled for a live shortly and I wanna work on some songs, but nothing other than that.”

I smiled evilly.  “I’m so going to watch your live in the other room and troll you so hard!”

“I’ll troll you right back, watch me!”

I scoffed.  “You won’t even know which ones me.”

“I’ll just troll all the trolls then.”

“Good luck with that.”  I nearly ran from the room.  “Guys!  Guys!  Help me troll Chan on his live!”  I shouted, running towards the living room.

“Way ahead of you.”  I.N replied.  He was sitting on the floor in the living room, laptop sat on the seat of the couch.

“I will cancel my live!”  Chan threatened from his room.

“No, you won’t.  You will make STAY sad!”  I pointed out.

“They’ll get over it!”

“This is why you aren’t my bias; you flake!”

“HA!  I’m on to you!  I am your bias don’t lie!”

“You.  Wish.”

“You argue like you’ve been married 30 years.”  Hyunjin said as he joined I.N and me in the living room.

“Backup has arrived!”  Changbin called holding his phone above his head and folding into a chair.

“You’re outnumbered Bang!”  I cackled, giddy.

Despite his threat Chan did go live a short time later.  And I immediately began my trolling session by commenting on several of his more iconic embarrassing quotes and asking him to do those annoying things all fans ask idols that embarrass them.  I even caps locked aggressive compliments and pick up lines.  He was so red and flustered the entire time.  And the others joined in, making him worse.

Truth be told I had not had so much fun in a very long time.  I.N and Changbin matched my troll comment for comment perfectly and I was smiling so hard it hurt.  Sides cramped from laughing.

Before today I had never even dared comment on a live or do anything more than send likes.  Even that made me blush and hide like the person who was live could see me.

As soon as the live ended, Chan came running from his room and tackled me, pinning me and tickling my sides mercilessly until I.N and Changbin managed to free me, pulling me to safety as I gasped for air and Chan grabbed after me.

“You 3 are the worst!”  Chan declared.

“Oh, you loved it!”  Changbin argued cradling my upper half in his arms.  I was still out of breath from the tickle attack.

“Turds.”

I snorted at the weak comeback.

“I’m honestly not sure who is corrupting who here.”  Hyunjin mused from his spot.  He was failing to hide his amusement at our antics.

“I think there is a healthy amount of corrupting all around.”  I mused poking at him with my foot and giggling when he swatted it away.

“You are all equally awful.”  Lee Know shook his head at us, but he couldn’t stop the small smile on his lips.  I stuck my tongue out at him.

“You are all so loud!”  Han complained from his room.  “How is anyone supposed to get any work done?”

I groaned.  “You are on hiatus!  Stop working!”

“Never!”

Shaking my head I relaxed into Changbins arms, looking up at him.  I was trying very hard not to fangirl over any of them holding me or touching me, but damn did my heart race every time.

Momentarily I wondered if I was truly crazy.  Here I was in the position of 10 entire lifetimes.  I had the opportunity to be a part of Stray Kids.  Id practically have saved them if I stayed.

And I would have so many adventures.  See so many places.  Meet so many people.  And do such amazing things!  But only if I gave up everything I currently am.  Everything I worked for nearly all my life for.  It felt like such a huge loss either way.

“You smell sad again.”  Changbin observed.

I shook my head.  “Sorry.  I was in my thoughts.”  I took a deep breath to shake my melancholy.  Then I squinted and poked at Changbins chin.  “You know, this isn’t your best angle.”

Lee Know snorted and Changbin rolled his eyes and dumped me onto the floor unceremoniously.  I squeaked in protest.

“Who looks good at that angle?”

I shrugged.  Chances are there was someone, but I couldn’t say who.

“Speaking of looking good – are you going to do a photoshoot with us?”  I.N asked.

“Sure, if you want.  I have enough gear to get decent photos.  Nothing like your normal photos, of course.  I’m not as professional as the photographers you usually deal with.”  I answered as I crawled my way onto the couch next to Hyunjin.

And that’s how I spent the next several hours taking various photos of every Omega but Seungmin.

Seungmin had refused to leave his room unless he had to – claiming he was too busy to socialize.

But the rest of us had a blast.  Taking photos, solo and group, in nearly every room of the house.  They even changed outfits several times.  It had been a while since I had had so much fun doing my job.  I loved my job and enjoyed it, this just emphasized how much I truly loved being behind a camera.

It also emphasized exactly how much I’d be giving up if I stayed.

That night, after dinner, I hooked up my laptop to the TV and the 7 Omegas gathered to watch me edit their chosen photos.  Then they each posted the photos on their accounts.  I made sure to heart each post.

“Which ones your account?”  Felix asked showing me his phone so I could point my account out.

“It’s this one.”  I clicked the profile.  “Yah_its_y/n.  But you can’t follow me.  Everyone can see who you follow.”

“We won’t.  We just wanna stalk your page.”  Felix promised.  I rolled my eyes.  It was only fair though since I regularly stalked theirs.

My profile was boring anyway.  There weren’t even a lot of selfies.  It was mostly my photography and videography.

While they went through my profile I caught up on news and updates on Stray Kids.  I was several days behind on the gossip and fan made edits.

There were no posts on the new pictures they posted.  But they were just posted, give STAY 5 minutes to gush over them, edit them, then repost them.  It would be fun to see the edits they made to my photos.  I’m looking forward to seeing all the cool versions they come up with.

I was also checking to make sure my existence hadn’t been discovered.  There was the ever-ticking countdown for when Stray Kids either had to be bonded or dissolve forever.

I stared at the countdown for several minutes, not really seeing the numbers.  Instead, I was imagining a life with no new Stray Kids songs or content.  No more watching these 8 amazing people grow and make the world a brighter, better place.

How different my daily life would be without them.  Sure, there would be fanfictions and edits of old content for a while, but that would eventually peter out.  People – fans – would mourn and heal before moving on to the next group.  Just like with the groups this happened to before.  It was a never-ending saga.

I must have been giving off sad chemo signals again because Felix crawled into my lap and nuzzled under my chin, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Signing I started to run my fingers through his hair.  “Sorry.  In my thoughts again.”

“So not happy thoughts, then.”  Chan stated with a twist of his lips.

I shrugged a shoulder.  “Not every thought can be happy.”

On day 4 we played board games.  Monopoly got a little crazy.  Lee Know ended up owning most of the board and the money.  Then he became a mob boss/loan shark when we landed on his property.  That man did not play when it came time to collect either.

Chan had to finally call the game before we killed each other.  Tempers got a little heated.  Monopoly is a dangerous game.

Everyone ignored the fact that Seungmin yet again spent the day in his room.

I was a little confused on why JYP or Chan hadn’t tried to talk me into staying and bonding Stray Kids.  I expected some sort of campaign or negotiations, but besides texting to check in, JYP was quiet and absent.  And Chan avoided mentioning anything beyond tomorrow.

Yes.  Tomorrow afternoon Chan would escort me back to the airport.  I had already taken my suppressant with dinner so I would be safe from exposure by tomorrow afternoon for the flight.

The room filled with sadness at the subtle reminder, but no one brought it up.

That night, as everyone was asleep, I was woken up when someone crawled into the bed with me and wrapped themselves around my sleep soft body, hiding their face in my neck.

Hot steel and fresh water filled my nose, confusing me.  Freeing an arm I cautiously rubbed at Sungmin’s back.  He trembled slightly and something warm and wet hit my neck.

���Seungmin?”  I asked, worried.  Maybe I should get Chan.  Did Seungmin sleepwalk?  Can you cry when you sleepwalk?

He gasped out a soft sob.  “Please.  Please don’t go.  Don’t leave us.”  He begged.

I didn’t respond.  I didn’t need to.  We both knew I had to leave.  Instead, I held him tightly and soothed a hand up and down his back as he cried silently.

The next morning, as I packed and said goodbye, there wasn’t a single dry eye.  Even Lee Know had to leave the room several times only to come back looking suspiciously puffy around the eyes.

And I sobbed the entire time, heart breaking for so many reasons.

But this was the best decision for me.  For my future.  My life.  This pain would fade eventually.  To a dull ache I would grow accustomed to and live with.

And so, with one final tear-filled wave to JYP and Chan, I boarded my plane and flew home.  Back to my normal life I worked so hard for.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr @bookswillfindyouaway @h0rnyp0t @Svmmerstime @jennibahng

[miniversse]

⭑ “snowbound” pt.3 ⭑

╰┈➤ OTHER PARTS ⭑ bang chan x female reader

⭑ content includes: oral (m receiving), hickeys, established relationship, non-idol chan, non-idol reader, work relationship, use of pet names (channie, baby, babe, princess), releasing, mentions of shower sex

⭑ note: last part of this series! i’m gonna miss it loads. not too much build up you can live hehe. lmk what you think!

⭑ minors dni

⭑——————————————————⭑

your hands are wrapped around his hard chest, and your legs were squeezed up to keep you warm from the winter mornings. before your mind could think of what breakfast to make today or what chans schedule will look like, you’re struck with memories of yesterday night, and that you and chan are no longer friends with benefits…

you let your mind relax, taking in the peaceful moment and listening to chans quiet snores. you let your fingers run over his biceps and you left a small pec on them, lingering to take in his morning scent. chan let out a grumble and pulled the blankets up to cover his chest.

“channie~ get up so we can make breakfast”

his head sharply turns to face you, and his eyes were bulging out of his face. it took him a few seconds to also remember yesterdays series of events and his head falls back down on the pillow, letting out a hearty laugh.

“good morning princess”

“‘cmon, i’ll make us pancakes” you jump out of bed and slap his ass jokingly, racing to the kitchen before he can chase after you.

by the time chan came over, you had set the table and mixed up the batter to cook it. his heavy steps approach you from behind and he wraps his arms around your stomach and lets his head fall in the nook between your shoulder and head.

“can we relax for a bit? im still hungover and my body aches”

“don’t we have work today? i barely have time to have breakfast with you and rush home to get ready”

“its newcomers training today, we have a day off” his nose grazes the inside of your neck, the cold metal of his piercing sending chills throughout your body.

you let out a sigh of relief. “thank god, i thought i’d have to get another written warning today”

“even if we did have work, i think we would be too busy to make it. hm?” he lets a breath escape from his lips and it graces your neck. he sucked and nibbled at the skin below your neck, moving his mouth down to mark another spot, your head fell back to fall onto his shoulders and you let go of the whisk, leaving it to chan to mix up a storm inside of you.

“pancakes sound great, but i can start your morning in another way.”

he turns his back to a counter and keeps his gaze on you, waiting for you to act. from day one you could tell that your boyfriend was heavily turned on in the mornings, and he wouldn’t let you go until you obeyed him. so you grab the claw clip next to the long forgotten mixing bowl and twist your hair up.

“come here” he stretches his hand out and brings you close to his body, connecting your mouths together. his body brought you warmth on this cold day, and he would do so for as long as you stay together. you let go from his touch, and brought yourself down, along with his shorts. his cock bulged from his underwear, waiting to be loved. he helps you in stripping his lower body bare.

“be good for me princess. hm?”

you nod, your mouth watering at the sight of his thick dick leaking of precum. you lick it off and plant a small kiss on his tip, warming up to his touch. you notice his breath getting faster and he gets impatient, placing his hand on the back of your head waiting for you to devour him whole. you close your eyes and open your mouth wide, taking him in and adjusting to his size. he lets out a long groan as your mouth dives deeper and deeper to take in his lengthy dick, the saliva coating your mouth covers his length and you continue to suck him with passion.

“holy shit, keep going princess” he whispers and lets his other hand hold onto the counter edge as you moved faster and took more of him in.

you tried your best to not choke on him yet keep him satisfied but it was difficult with him pushing your head further and controlling your pace. you slightly gag and retreat for a moment before you kept going. his head shot back and he let out consecutive grunts and whimpers, attempting to clear his dry throat. his length jerks in your mouth and he moves his hand from the counter edge to helping himself reach his release, pumping his cock as you licked his tip and moved back up again. his endless streams of cum fill up your dry mouth, and you swallow with every release he has. he watches you do so, agaped.

you bring yourself back up to fall on his chest, panting in symphony as you regain your breathing rhythm. his hand rubs up and down your back, planting pecks at the top of your head.

“thank you baby”

his kisses and touches continued in the shower. you promised each other to take separate showers and resist each other but it was difficult when you were both snowbound, and the warm water crashing on the both of you wouldn’t melt that away.

⭑ FIN

⭑ TAG LIST (PM TO BE INCLUDED)

@captainchrisstan

@strayywayy

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

I was over an hour late for the gym tonight, spending the better part of the day in bed staring at the ceiling, and occasionally typing out an apology text to Ash that I would immediately delete.

I had hoped that everyone else would be gone by the time I arrived, but Dawn and Phoenix were still lingering by the climbing machines when I walked in, so I tried (and failed) to avoid them by sneaking up the stairs to the treadmills. Dawn caught up with me before I even reached the first step and knew immediately something was wrong. She insisted on waiting around for me so we could walk home together.

I was annoyed at first, wanting to be alone, but by the time we’re throwing on our sweaters and beanies, I’m glad. Afterall, I’m getting nowhere on my own, just spinning myself in circles. Talking to Dawn is one of those things I avoid until I can’t, and then always wish I’d done sooner.  

“So, what’s wrong?” Dawn asks as soon as we step outside. It’s dark out, making it feel much later than it is, and I can already feel the weight of the season settling in. Winter is always the hardest for me, and Spring is still so far away.

I’m not sure where to start so I just blurt out, “I screwed things up with Asher yesterday.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently, he’s tired of my mixed signals.”

“Have you been giving mixed signals?”

I give her a guilty look as I nod solemnly.

“What haven’t you told me?”

Everything. But it’s too much to get into, and the details aren’t important, and she knows me well enough that I'm sure she can fill in the blanks, so I tell her, “It doesn’t matter,” to which she gives me an annoyed look but let's me continue, “But he got pissed and stormed out. I can’t blame him. I don’t know what my problem is.”

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Please.”

“Have you ever heard the quote, ‘A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it’?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“I get that you’re tired of losing people. And I know that causes you to keep most people at arm’s length. It may feel like you’re protecting yourself, but you’re not. You will continue to lose people if you keep pushing them away.”

“Maybe. But it will hurt less if they leave without getting too close.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“Do I?” It feels true.

“Did it hurt when Asher stormed out yesterday?”

Point taken. “Like I was being ripped apart.”

“So, why are pushing him away? You’re only causing the pain you’re trying to avoid.”

“I don’t want to. Not anymore. But it’s like, I don’t know how not to. I can’t explain it. Just, the idea of taking that step, I feel like it won’t take long for him to see that I’m not who he thinks I am, that he’ll realize I’m not someone he can…” My voice trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Love?”

The mere mention of the word causes my chest to tighten. I feel my mind wanting to shrug off the very idea of it. So impossible that I feel silly even considering it.

“Oh Atlas. It’s not true,” she insists. “That was the kind of shit mom and dad put in our heads. And I get it, I felt like that too for a long time. I just handled it differently. I chased love as if someone else could come in and take that feeling away. But that just made me toxic and clingy and insufferable. It was my own version of pushing people away. And every time they left it felt like proof that I was right, that I wasn’t worth loving. But it wasn’t true, was it?”

“No.”

“It’s not true for you either.”

I understand what she’s saying, and logically I know she’s right, but there’s a part of me deep down that rejects it.

When I try to continue walking, she stops me, placing a hand over my heart, “I love you, Atlas. And not just because you’re my brother. Because you are caring and kind and gentle and loyal and supportive and I could go on forever. Not only are you worthy of love, but it is impossible not to love you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me, and I can tell from the look on her face that she’s sincere. “Thank you.” I reach out and give her the biggest hug I ever have. She’s surprised at first, but hugs me back, squeezing me tight. I don't think either of us realized how much I needed to hear those words. We don't say them often, it doesn't come naturally to either of us, it's usually just implied in the ways we support each other, but maybe we should be saying the words more often. "I love you too."

“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask as we step apart and start walking again. 

“Do you want to be with him?”

“Yes.”

“Then go talk to him. And be honest.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“Then I’ll be here for you. But there’s only one way to find out.”

Prev // Deja vu // Next

[gardenschedule]

Quotes about the Lennon-Mccartney rivalry & John's insecurity

A long one!!

Pre-fame

“Paul was very good,” said Eric [Griffiths, of The Quarrymen]. “We could all see that. He was precocious in many ways. Not just in music but in relating to people.” […] His charm also worried John, according to Eric. “We were all walking down Halewood Drive to my house to do some practising. I was walking ahead with John. The others were behind. John suddenly said: ‘Let’s split the group, and you and me will start again.’ “We could hear Paul behind us, chatting to Pete [Shotton] as if he was Pete’s best friend. John knew we were all his pals, but now Paul was trying to get in on us. Not to split us up, just make friends with us all. I’m sure that was all it was, but to John it looked as if Paul was trying to take over, dominate the group. I suppose he was worried it could disrupt the balance, upset the group dynamics, as we might say today. “I said to him: ‘Paul’s so good. He’ll contribute a lot to the group. We need him with us.’ John said nothing. But after that the subject was never mentioned again.”

Eric Griffiths, c/o Hunter Davies, Sunday Times: A Beatle’s boyhood. (March 25th, 2001)

"It was uncanny. He could play and sing in a way that none of us could, including John," Eric Griffiths recalls. "He had such confidence, he gave a performance. It was natural. We couldn't get enough of it. It was a real eye-opener." After listening to Paul play, John recalled, "I had thought to myself, 'He's as good as me.' Now, I thought, if I take him on, what will happen? It went through my head that I'd have to keep him in line if I let him join [the band]. But he was good, so he was worth having. He also looked like Elvis. I dug him."

Bob Spitz, The Beatles: The Biography, 2005

Mimi remained resolutely unimpressed by anything her nephew composed with his ‘little friend’. ‘John would say, “We’ve got this song, Mimi, do you want to hear it?”’ she recalled. ‘And I would say, “Certainly not… front porch, John Lennon, front porch.”’ What she overheard that clearly wasn’t ‘caterwauling’ became another way of discomfiting John. ‘[He] got very upset with me when I mentioned one night that I thought Paul was the better guitar player. That set him off, banging away on his own guitar. There was quite a bit of rivalry going on there.’

Philip Norman, Paul McCartney: The Life. (2016)

Friends looked to Paul to control the damage, but it was beyond even his know-how. When John “went off like that,” Paul usually waited for the storm to pass or humored John to keep him from turning up the heat. And unbeknownst to Paul, some considered his presence in these situations more problem than solution. “It was obvious that John had big reservations about Paul, too,” says Hague, who absorbed his friend’s harangues during their drinking binges. “Even then, there was great jealousy there. He was all too aware of Paul’s talent and wanted to be as good and grand himself. After a while, you could see it, plain as day: the subtle body language or remarks that flew between them. He wasn’t about to let someone like Paul McCartney pull his strings.”

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

Yesterday

Barrow describes an incident from 1965 where McCartney ran through a dress rehearsal of “Yesterday” for a live evening performance on Blackpool Night Out. “Beatles Book editor Johnny Dean sat in the stalls close to comperes Mike and Bernie Winters and the other three Beatles, and watched Paul in solitary rehearsal on the stage, singing the song to his own guitar accompaniment. At the end, everybody heard John’s loud and decidedly sarcastic comment.” The nasty remark from John was said to upset Paul for several hours afterwards.

Beatles publicist Tony Barrow

At the end, everybody heard John’s loud and decidedly sarcastic comment. He made no secret of the fact that he thought ‘Yesterday’ was a slice of sentimental rubbish, and this led to several heated exchanges between John and Paul in the privacy of the group’s dressing room after the rehearsal.

Tony Barrow, c/o The Best of the Beatles Book (ed. Johnny Dean). (2005)

Following Paul's rendition of 'Yesterday', a comedy link was rehearsed for when the others reappeared on stage: John clutched a plastic bouquet of flowers which came away as Paul accepted them, leaving him holding only the bottom stems. As if to further puncture any pompous formality, John announced "Thank you Ringo, that was wonderful." "The Beatles were in a terrific mood..." Sean O'Mahony wrote in his editorial (Beatles Book #26), "laughing and gagging their way through rehearsals as though they were preparing for a private Beatle People Telly Show for the fan club rather than a national networked performance to millions of viewers." However, he now remembers a charged atmosphere at Blackpool that day after Lennon sarcastically roared "Thank you, Paul, that was bloody crap!" following McCartney's debut of the song during the afternoon rehearsal. If there was any tension it was swiftly diffused as Bryce's photographs reveal the two relaxed and joking in each other's company. Paul and John rode back to London together in comfort that night in Lennon's new black Phantom V Rolls-Royce.

Looking Through You: The Beatles Book Monthly Photo Archive

Throughout the Beatles’ 1965 summer concert tour of North America, Paul avoided doing the number on stage, partly in order to avoid further unpleasant conflict with John [and partly because nobody would be able to hear it in open air stadiums full of screaming fans]. it was the danger of giving added strength to the ‘Paul is leaving’ rumour that helped to prevent ‘Yesterday’ from being released there and then as a single in the UK. As Paul knows, it could have been a smash hit at home as well as all over the world but it would have annoyed the rest of the group, and their hostility in such circumstances would have caused him a lot of personal grief which he didn’t need.

Tony Barrow, c/o The Best of the Beatles Book (ed. Johnny Dean). (2005)

"John came to my loft and he was all excited," Smith recalls. "He said, 'I think I finally wrote a song with as good a melody as Yesterday.' Yesterday drove him crazy. People'd say, 'Thank you for writing Yesterday, a beautiful song...' He was always civil, but it drove him nuts."Sat at Smith's piano, Lennon revealed a title - Imagine - but only a smattering of lyrics. For the rest he sang "scrambled eggs" - just as McCartney had when inspired to write Yesterday. "He played it through and asked me what I thought. 'It's beautiful.' 'But is it as good as Yesterday?' 'They're impossible to compare.' So he played it again. And again. And he said, 'You'll see, it's just as good as Yesterday."

Howard Smith (DJ), interview w/ Danny Eccleston for Mojo: The Lennon tapes. (July, 2013)

After a particularly heavy session with the lawyers (he was also fighting deportation) Lennon would flop into his music room, pick up a guitar and tear into a primal-scream version of ‘Yesterday’. Sometimes he tried a little writing of his own. Usually he just sank further into the one Beatles song he never quite got over. Friends would find him sitting in the dark, lost in Paul’s ballad.

Christopher Sandford, McCartney. (2005)

PAUL: [laughs; mock-indignant] No. The worst thing for John was, that he didn’t write ‘Yesterday’, I wrote ‘Yesterday’, and he used to get really quite miffed, because he’d be in New York and he’d go into a restaurant, and the pianist would go du-du-du… [sings tune of ‘Yesterday’] And he’d go, “Oh… [grumbling] It’s Paul’s.”

September 19th, 2019: On BBC Newsnight

“Once we were in a Mexican restaurant, in a back room. We’d just been to see the musical Lenny, about Lenny Bruce. In the main room John spotted this strolling guitar player, which used to be standard in Mexican restaurants. He turned to me and said, “Howard, in five minutes that guitar player is gonna come in, stand next to me and play Yesterday. And sure enough, it wasn’t even three minutes. We had hardly settled down, and the guy came in and played Yesterday, a ridiculous over-the-top version. And I said, ‘John, that really does happen to you everywhere…’ And he said: ‘Everywhere.’ It drove him nuts.”

2013 Mojo article

Well, it’s difficult to choose the favourite. It’s one of my favourites. You look at your songs and kinda look to see which of the ones you think are maybe the best constructed and stuff… I think ‘Yesterday’, if it wasn’t so successful, might be my favourite. But, you know, you get that thing when something is just so successful… people often don’t want to do ‘the big one’ that everyone wants them to do. They kind of shy away from it. So… ‘Here, There and Everywhere’ with ‘Yesterday’ as a close second.

Paul McCartney, interviewed by Scott Muni (16 October 1984).

Here are Paul and John sparring in the dressing room following the remark that John made while they were rehearsing for their Blackpool Night Out TV show in August '65. The sparring between John and Paul continued while they were getting ready for the final recording. John and Paul continue their heated discussion with George as piggy-in-the-middle. The two-handed gesture clearly reveals the mood John was in, but Ringo and Brian still refused to join in the argument. Ringo poured himself a fizzy drink before the final show but John clearly decided he needed something a bit stronger before they went into the television studio.

228 of The Beatles Book Monthly Magazine - John and Paul’s argument after the Blackpool Night Out rehearsal

We never released Yesterday' as a single because we didn't think it fitted our image. In fact it was one of our most successful songs. "Michelle' we didn't want to release as a single. They might have been perceived as Paul McCartney singles and maybe John wasn't too keen on that.

The Beatles Recording Sessions The Official Abbey Road Studio Session Notes, 1962–1970

Productivity

But I was still under the false impression that – still felt, every now and then – Brian would come up and say, “It’s time to record,” or, “It’s time to do this.” And Paul started doing that. “Now we’re gonna make a movie. Now we’re gonna make a record.” And, uh, he assumed that if he didn’t call us, nobody would ever make a record. But it’s since shown that we’ve managed quite well to make records on time. [Now] I don’t have any schedule – I just think, “Now, I’ll make it,” you know. But those days, Paul would say, well, now he felt like it, and suddenly I’d have to whip out twenty songs. He would come in with about twenty good songs and say, “We’ll record next Friday.” And I suddenly had to write a stack of songs, like – [Sgt] Pepper was like that. And Magical Mystery Tour was another one of them.

September 5th, 1971 (St Regis Hotel, New York)

SHEFF: You say you haven’t really listened to Paul’s work and haven’t really talked to him since that night in your apartment— JOHN: Really talked to him, no, that’s the operative word. I haven’t really talked to him in ten years. Because I haven’t spent time with him. I’ve been doing other things and so has he. You know, he’s got twenty-five kids and about twenty million records out—how can he spend time talking? He’s always working.

John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)

You’d already have 5 or 6 songs so I’d think fuck it, I cant keep up with that. So I didn’t bother, you know, and I thought I don’t really care whether I was on it or not, I convinced myself it didn’t matter. And so for a period if you didn’t invite me to be on an album personally, if you three didn’t say ‘write some more songs because we like your work’, I wasn’t going to fight. There was no point in turning em out, I didn’t have the energy to turn them out and get them on an album as well.

John Lennon, MMT sessions

“John did not let Yoko’s foot-dragging slow him down. He kept working on the album, refining songs and coming up with new ones. He joked that he was becoming more and more like Paul McCartney, whose prodigious musical output had sometimes been a source of friction in their relationship. John wondered if Yoko might be feeling intimidated by his current period of fertility, just as he had once been intimidated by Paul’s greater musical productivity. Still, John kept up the pressure on Yoko over the phone, playing her his songs and encouraging her to play hers for him.”

The Last Days of John Lennon by Frederic Seaman (1991)

“He next expressed concern that Yoko was not giving the album her undivided attention because of the many ‘distractions’ she faced in New York, and even made a snide reference to her being surrounded by ‘useless sycophants.’ He again likened their situation to his old songwriting partnership with Paul McCartney, who had always been the more prolific writer and had frequently prodded John to come up with new material. ‘Paul never stopped working,’ John said with grudging admiration. ‘We’d finish one album and I’d go off and get stoned and forget about writing new stuff, but he’d start working on new material right away, and as soon as he had enough songs he’d want to begin recording again. I would have to scramble to come up with songs of my own. I wrote some of my best songs under that kind of pressure.’”

The Last Days of John Lennon by Frederic Seaman (1991)

We only spoke briefly about Paul and his comments at the time were, 'Yeah, well, you know, that's just Paul.' I think John was deeply hurt by their differences and the fact that their partnership wasn't a partnership. He felt the competition with Paul who would come in with 15 songs and want to record them all. John told me, 'I don't want to be in, you know, "Paul & the Beatles". I don't want to be a sideman for Paul. It's not what I want to do anymore.'

David Cassidy on John from Could it be forever? -My Story

Fear of abandonment

I was sort of answering him here, asking, ‘Does it need to be this hurtful?’ I think this is a good line: ‘Are you afraid, or is it true?’ – meaning, ‘Why is this argument going on? Is it because you’re afraid of something? Are you afraid of the split-up? Are you afraid of my doing something without you? Are you afraid of the consequences of your actions?’ And the little rhyme, ‘Or is it true?’ Are all these hurtful allegations true? This song came out in that kind of mood. It could have been called ‘What the Fuck, Man?’ but I’m not sure we could have gotten away with that then.

Paul McCartney, on “Dear Friend”. In The Lyrics (2021).

JOHN: [Paul] even recorded that all by himself in the other room, that’s how it was getting in those days. We came in and he’d – he’d made the whole record. Him drumming, him playing the piano, him singing. Just because – it was getting to be where he wanted to do it like that, but he couldn’t – couldn’t – maybe he couldn’t make the break from The Beatles, I don’t know what it was. But you know, I enjoyed the track. But we’re all, I’m sure – I can’t speak for George, but I was always hurt when he’d knock something off without… involving us, you know? But that’s just the way it was then.

August, 1980: interview with Playboy writer David Sheff

He is the least independent Beatle, leaning upon the group’s strength as a source for his own fundamental security.

Profile of John written by Tony Barrow (Beatles Press Officer) and published in March of 1968.

During the spring of 1968, John was as confused, lonely, and unhappy as I'd seen him in years. Though his relationship with the other Beatles was still free of serious strain, he was seeing increasingly less of Paul and George, both of whom were now pursuing independent lives and interests of their own.

In My Life, Pete Shotton

Insecurities

If you notice, in the early days the majority of singles—in the movies and everything—were mine. And then only when I became self-conscious and inhibited, and maybe the astrology wasn’t right, did Paul start dominating the group a little too much for my liking. But in the early period, obviously, I’m dominating the group. I did practically every single with my voice except for “Love Me Do.” Either my song, or my voice, or both.

David Sheff - All We Are Saying, The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono

Do I want him back, Paul? … [D]o I want it back, whatever it is, enough? Then if it is, you know, I’ve had to smother my ego for you, and I’ve had to smother me jealousy for you to carry on, for whatever reasons there is.

Jan. 13: The Lunchroom Tape

I’ll tell you a story about John. He often used to wake up in the middle of the night and ask me, ‘Why do people cover Paul’s songs so much, but never mine?’ I used to tell him, ‘It’s because you are a talented songwriter. You don’t just rhyme June with spoon. And you are a very good singer – lots of people would be too afraid to cover one of your songs.’ Then I would make him a cup of tea, and he would be okay. I just miss that sort of moment that we had.

Yoko Ono, Q Magazine Awards. (October 10th, 2005)

“[John] was much misunderstood but mostly through his own fault. He put up his brick wall of sheer bravado to screen off a chronic fear of inadequacy.”

Beatles publicist Tony Barrow

“Most people in Britain think I’m somebody who won the pools, you know,” he says drily, drawing on a Gauloise. “Won the pools and married a Hawaiian dancer or actress somewhere. Whereas in the States, we’re treated like artists. Which we are! Or anywhere else for that matter,” he added. “But here, it’s like, the lad who knew Paul, got a lucky break, won the pools and married the actress.”

John Lennon, Melody Maker’s Oct 2nd 1971 issue. (no wonder he was so upset by Too Many People if he internalized the concept of 'a lucky break' this much...)

It was Paul who showed John how to play chords properly, instead of banjo chords, which were all John knew. I think John was quite defensive when he realised that through much of his "career" with the Quarrymen, he had been playing two-fingered banjo chords on a guitar. The thought was tempered by the fact that nobody had noticed. John once told me, "Only that fookin' McCartney sussed me out. I love him, but he's such a good musician I could kill him."

Tony Bramwell, Magical Mystery Tours: My Life With The Beatles, 2005

INT: In this song, in the “I Found Out”, “I seen through junkies, I been through it all, I seen religion from Jesus to Paul.” Now a lot of people are wondering which Paul you were talking about? JOHN: (Chuckle) Whichever one you want to mention. I think the Beatles were a kind of religion. And that uh, Paul manifest or, sort of, I can’t think of the word you know — epitomized, the Beatles and the kind of things that–the kind of hero image more than the rest of us in a way. Like he was more popular with the kids, girls and things like that. So it’s in that way it’s Paul. But it’s also the other Paul, who screwed up whatever Jesus said, that one… It’s a double entendre you know, for all the fanatics who like to play things backwards and hear words of wisdom which nobody ever thought of…

WABC-FM New York, Howard Smith interviews John and Yoko (December 12, 1970).

JOHN: I expected… just a little more, you know. I mean, because if Paul and I are sort of disagreeing, and I feel weak, I think he must feel strong, you know. That’s in an argument. Uh, not that we’ve had much physical argument, you know – more a mental, like when we’re talking— But you would expect the opposition. So called. So I was just surprised, you know. And, uh, I was glad too. [laughs; hesitating] I thought, yeah, I – you know. I suddenly re– got it all in perspective, you know.

Rolling Stone December 8th, 1970

SCHOENBERGER: How is it for an 11-year-old boy to have John Lennon as a father? JOHN: It must be hell. SCHOENBERGER: Does he talk about that to you? JOHN: No, because he is a Beatle fan. I mean, what do you expect? I think he likes Paul better than me… I have the funny feeling he wishes Paul was his Dad. But unfortunately he got me…

John Lennon, interview w/ Francis Schoenberger. (Spring, 1975)

SHERIDAN: I guess he realised somewhere along the way, “Well, I’ve got to do something other than just be a rock ‘n’ roll musician if I want to impress the whole world.” He never saw himself as a very good singer, for instance. INTERVIEWER: Really? SHERIDAN: No. He never saw himself as comparable to Paul McCartney, even. Which, you know, he was playing with a guy, writing songs with a guy whom he thought was better than he was in many ways. So he had this immense ego and this immense sort of – it was like a motor in him that had to go to new lengths and reach new heights in order to impress someody or the whole world or whatever. I think the peace movement – maybe he invented it, I don’t know.

2003: Tony Sheridan

We all went through a depression after Maharishi and Brian died; it wasn’t really to do with Maharishi, it was just that period. I was really going through the “What’s it all about?” type thing – this songwriting is nothing, it’s pointless, and I’m no good, I’m not talented, and I’m shitty, and I couldn’t do anything but be a Beatle. What am I going to do about it? It lasted nearly two years and I was still in it during Pepper. I know Paul wasn’t at the time; he was feeling full of confidence, and I was going through murder during those periods. I was just about coming out of it around Maharishi, even though Brian had died – that knocked us back again. Well, it knocked me back.

John Lennon, interview w/ Barry Miles, (partially) unpublished. (September 23rd, 1969)

We’d be cutting a record and he’d say, “Yeah, I remember trying to do this part in ‘Penny Lane’. I couldn’t play it and I got so pissed because Paul could always learn things so fast.”

Andy Newmark (drummer), interview w/ Rick Mattingly for Modern Drummer. (February, 1984)

When John’s first solo album Plastic Ono Band was released I went down to Tittenhurst Park several times. Sometimes, in reaction to the general dismay over the Beatles’ break up, he would ask rhetorical, and I thought slightly absurd, questions such as “Why should I work with Paul McCartney when I can work with Yoko or Frank Zappa?”, or became irritated when I happened to say “Paul has a good voice”. “He has a high voice,” John snapped back. At others, however, he would admit to an admiration for some of Paul’s songs.

Ray Connolly (journalist), Evening Standard: John... ‘performing flea’ or ‘crutch for the world’s social lepers’. (December 10th, 1970) c/o Ray Connolly, The Beatles Archive. (2011)

“His [John] moods were particularly vacillating when he talked about Paul McCartney. While he might be scornful of Paul’s romantic musical streak on one day, on another he would be insisting, ‘Paul and me were the Beatles. We wrote the songs’ – putting down, by inference, the contributions of Ringo and George. He knew how good Paul was, but he couldn’t hide a rivalry and jealous streak that nibbled away at him. ‘Paul has a good voice,’ I once commented as we were discussing singers. ‘He has a high voice,’ came his instant correction.

Ray Connolly, The Sunday Times Magazine: John Lennon, Yoko and Me. (December 9, 2018)

I was wondering whether the relationship had kind of snapped. I believe it was always there. He was very jealous and so was I and it was all stupidity on the surface.”

Paul (Record Mirror, April 1982).

Paul was the one Beatle who posed any challenge to John’s authority and preeminence within the group. Much as John might have found it easier to handle those who—like George and Ringo—seemed to take it for granted that he was the king of the castle, Paul was the only one he considered more or less his equal. John particularly admired and respected—yet at the same time slightly resented—Paul’s independence, his self-discipline, and his all-round musical facility: all qualities in which John felt relatively lacking.

Pete Shotton, John Lennon: In My Life. (1983)

He grew even more paranoid as the acid took effect, and Derek Taylor ended up sitting by him till well after daybreak. In an attempt to rebuild John's shattered ego, he persuaded him to recount his entire life story, from early childhood onwards. Derek even went through every Lennon-McCartney song, line by line, to demonstrate to John the extraordinary scope of his contribution to the Beatles* music. By the time John and I finally left, John's spirits had been lifted considerably.

In My Life, Pete Shotton

“Bit by bit over a two-year period, I had destroyed me ego. I didn’t believe I could do anything. I just was nothing. I was shit… and she (Yoko) made me realize that I was me and that it’s all right. That was it; I started fighting again, being a loudmouth again and saying, “I can do this. Fuck it. This is what I want,” you know. “I want it, and don’t put me down.”

Rolling Stone

"John's complaint to Paul was actually an attempt to get his songs on to albums without the usual democratic vetting by the others, as the conversation between John and Paul recorded by Anthony Fawcett in September 1969 reveals. John tells Paul: If you look back on the Beatles' albums, good or bad or whatever you think of "em, you'll find that most times if anybody has got extra time it's you! For no other reason than you worked it like that. Now when we get into a studio I don't want to go through games with you to get space on the album, you know. I don't want to go through a little manoeuvering or whatever level it's on. I gave up fighting for an Aside or fighting for time. I just thought, well, I'm content to put 'Walrus" on the "B" side when I think it's much better ... I didn't have the energy or the nervous type of thing to push it, you know. So I relaxed a bit nobody else relaxed, you didn't relax in that way. So gradually I was submerging. Paul protested that he had tried to allow space on albums for John's songs, only to find that John hadn't written any. John explained, "There was no point in turning 'em out. I couldn't, didn't have the energy to turn 'em out and get 'em on as well." He then told Paul how he wanted it to be in the future: "When we get in the studio I don't care how we do it but I don't want to think about equal time. I just want it known I'm allowed to put four songs on the album, whatever happens."

Many Years from Now

Everyone settled down in their seats. Paul McCartney tried to make peace with Chris. Chris said, “Paul sat by me and said, ‘Come on, Chris, let’s be friends….’ “I said, ‘Paul, just get away from me, I don’t want nothing to do with you guys. You know, you pissed me off!” As for Lennon, Chris recalled, “John? I guess he was a wise guy. But I got the sense that, I shouldn’t say this, that he was jealous of who I was or what I did. I don’t know what his problem was, but I didn’t like it too much.”

THE TRUTH BEHIND THE BRAWL BETWEEN JOHN LENNON AND CHRIS MONTEZ IN 1963! EXCLUSIVE!

Lifestyle

I introduced Yoko to John through my own interest in the avant-garde. John wasn’t avant-garde till later. Then John became wildly avant-garde because he was so fucking constricted living out in Weybridge. He’d come into London and say, ‘What’ve you been doing, man, what have you been doing?’ and I’d say, ‘What’ve you been doing?’ ‘Well, watching telly, smoking pot.’ ‘I went out last night and saw Luciano Berio at the Italian Embassy, that was quite cool. I’ve got this new Stockhausen record, check this out. We went down Robert [Fraser]’s, got this sculpture, it was great, dig this. Wow, Paolozzi, great …’ I think John actually said, ‘I’m fucking jealous of you, man’ – he just needed to get out of Weybridge. It wasn’t his wife’s fault, she just didn’t understand how free he needed to be.

Paul McCartney, c/o Jonathon Green, Days in the Life. (1988)

Living in the Asher house gave me the base and the freedom and the independence. That, alongside all the other things, because I wasn’t married to Jane. I was pretty free. I remember John very much envying me. He said, ‘Well, if you go out with another girl, what does Jane think?’ and I said, 'Well, I don’t care what she thinks, we’re not married. We’ve got a perfectly sensible relationship.’ He was well jealous of that, because at this time he couldn’t do that, he was married with Cynthia and with a lot of energy bursting to get out. He’d tried to give Cynthia the traditional thing, but you kind of knew he couldn’t. There were cracks appearing but he could only paste them over by staying at home and getting very wrecked.

Paul McCartney, Many Years from Now

In the beginning, art was what we talked about. [John] told me he thought he was like [surrealist painter René] Magritte. Why? Because, you know, you have the image of Magritte with the bowler hat and the suit, looking very square, but really his work was very surreal and far out. John was living in suburbia, and he was very embarrassed about that, because he felt as if he was not very hip. When he invited me to his house the first time, the first thing he said when I got there was, “I think of myself as Magritte.”

Yoko Ono, New York Times: An exhibition of drawings celebrates Lennon at 64. (October 7th, 2004)

“I was never in the London scene in the 60’s whereas George and Paul be going around to everybody’s sessions, playing with everybody. I never played anywhere without the Beatles. I never jammed around with people at all. Q: Loyalty, or just didn’t interest you? A: No, just shyness, insecurity, and ah, I couldn’t go in a session and play like George plays; you know I have limited vocabulary on the guitar and piano, so what could I do going in with Cream, or whatever they were doing in those days.”

John Lennon interview

The musician countered the perception of Lennon as the only artistic Beatle, asserting his own powerful avant-garde influence on Sgt. Pepper. “I’m not trying to say it was all me, but I do think John’s avant-garde period later was really to give himself a go at what he’d seen me having a go at.”

Paul Du Noyer, The Paul McCartney World Tour Booklet: 1989–1990 (New York: EMAP Metro, 1989)

Women

“Have you noticed that it’s always men with moustaches and beards who ask me for my autograph?” I said I hadn’t but that I’d watch out in future and, sure enough, it seemed he was right. Only men with moustaches and beards asked John for his autograph. “It was always the same,” he said. “Me and George got the guys with beards wanting to know the meaning of life, while Paul and Ringo got the women!” Inevitably, perhaps, a short while later a girl came to ask John for his autograph. Much to our amusement, though doubtless to her amazement, John grabbed her around the waist and sat her down on his knee. “Where are you now McCartney?” he shouted. “I’ve got a girl at last.””

Chris Charlesworth (journalist), Rock’s Backpages: Memories of John Lennon. (2001)

“I idolized John. He was the big guy in the chip shop. I was the little guy. As I matured and grew up, I started sharing in things with him. I got up to his level. I wrote songs as he did and sometimes they were as good as his. We grew to be equals. It made him insecure. He always was, really. He was insecure with women. You know, he told me when he first met Yoko not to make a play for her.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

In the mirror I looked dreadfully pale and drawn. I still couldn’t believe it. John would never be there again. I kept getting flashbacks to when he was young and awkward. He liked women, but was always a bit uncomfortable, a bit nervous in their company – always a man’s man. Paul was beautiful – still is – and I know John thought, ‘God, with him around, I don’t stand a chance.’ It’s one of those things young lads have to put up with. They’re all dead worried about whether or not they’re going to get the girls, and John, as a teenager, saw Paul as his rival. That made him moody, but it was his moodiness that gave the songs they wrote together an edge. When he was four, John had been abandoned by his dad, deserted by his mum and brought up by his Auntie Mimi. He’d always felt rejected, but that gave his writing depth, a darkness. Paul was the counterbalance, the light. You could see this in Paul’s eyes and the girls just tumbled in and were washed away. What John never really appreciated was that he, too, had charisma, and that women did think he was sexy.

Cilla Black, What’s It All About. (2003)

SALEWICZ: Oh, he was presumably very paranoid. PAUL: I think so. I mean, he warned me off Yoko once. You know, “Look, this is my chick!” ’Cause he knew my reputation. I mean, we knew each other rather well. And um, I felt… I just said, “Yeah, no problem.” But I did sort of feel he ought to have known I wouldn’t, but. You know, he was going through “I’m just a jealous guy”. He was a paranoid guy. And he was into drugs. Heavy.

Paul, September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London)

That’s typical Paul [wanting me to stay inside the George V Hotel with the band instead of going out by myself to see Paris]. It’s just so silly of me to stay at the hotel. It’s just that he’s so insecure. For instance, he keeps saying he’s not interested in the future, but he must be because he says it so often. The trouble is, he wants the fans’ adulation and mine too. He’s so selfish, it’s his biggest fault. He can’t see that my feelings for him are real and that the fans’ are fantasy. Of course, it’s the trouble with all boys. When I first met [the Beatles], I liked them all. Then, when I found out that I liked Paul more, the others became angry with me.

Jane Asher, c/o Michael Braun, Love Me Do!: The Beatles’ Progress. (1964)

"Q: "Now that Paul is the only bachelor Beatle, do you find that the girls gravitate more to him than they do to the rest of you fellas? How do you feel about that?" JOHN: "They always did!" RINGO: "Yeah." PAUL: "Well, the thing that we found... We found after all this business, of all the buttons that say 'I love Ringo,' "I love John,' John's were outselling everyone's." JOHN: "A rather distinctive Beatle." PAUL: "A distinctive Beatle.""

Press conference, New York, August 22, 1966

JOHN: Well, uh… [distracted] There was a lot of – [inaudible] I suppose, but I was so full of myself then, I didn’t give a shit what he did. HILBURN: Full of what? JOHN: Full of meself. Centered, in other words. So I just— HILBURN: So in a sense, you weren’t comparing as much as you might have— JOHN: [matter-of-fact] There’s no comparison for me. ‘Cause we’re— HILBURN: You mean comparing artistically, or you mean comparing sales-wise and stuff? JOHN: Oh, sales-wise, forget it. He always had more fans than me, in the Cavern… So there’s no comparison on that level. And on the other level, I don’t think it counts. I think it’s like comparing… I don’t know, Magritte and, er – Picasso, if you want to put it on that level. Or whatever. How can you compare it?

October 10th, 1980 (Hit Factory, New York)

The same popularity, meaning Paul was always more popular than the rest of us, was going down in the dance halls in Liverpool so it didn’t cause any big surprise. I mean the kids saw him, the girls would go ooh, you know, right away.

John Lennon on The Tomorrow Show – 04/08/1975

Breakup/post breakup

"There was amazing competition between us and we both thrived on it. In terms of music, you cannot beat a bit of competition. Of course, there's times when it hurts, and it's inevitably going to reach a stage where it's hard to live with. Sooner or later, it's going to burn itself out. I think that's what happened at the end of The Beatles.

Paul - Uncut, July 2004

I felt sad, you know. I also felt that film was set up by Paul, for Paul. That’s one of the main reasons the Beatles ended, you know, cause... I can’t speak for George but I pretty damn well know. We got fed up with being sidemen for Paul, after Brian died that’s what began to happen and the camera work was set up to show Paul and not to show anybody else and that’s how I felt about it. And on top of that, the people who cut it, cut it as Paul is god and we’re just lying around.

John Lennon: The Rolling Stone Interview, Part One

Though thinking of Paul caused John pain, he could never get McCartney out of his head; Paul’s music was everywhere, and it always made him jealous, even the songs he enjoyed. In Bermuda, John was listening to all kinds of things on the radio, not just the Muzak and classical he listened to in New York. Coming Up, Paul’s hit single from McCartney II, was unavoidable. Every time he tuned in the BBC or one of the local stations, there it was. It began to drive John crackers; every word of the song was addressed directly to him. Ultimately, he came to admire it and draw inspiration from it.”

Robert Rosen, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, (2000)

At that moment, John was at his most unpredictable. Suddenly his fears that his money was going to be taken away from him, that he was going to be cheated, that he had to have as much money as possible, had all come into play. This was also John’s way of resisting the reality that the Beatles were officially about to come to end, and that Paul was about to prevail.

Loving John, MAY PANG (1983)

“The funny part is that I let him get away with it for so long. You know, I used to dread it when he was in town, but I never had the sense to go out to the island or just not answer the door. He’d come striding in with a guitar under one arm and Linda under the other, asking me what was new, knowing nothing was new. Then he’d always ask if I’d heard his latest, which I usually hadn’t. The guitar was so we could sing together, but that was never going to happen. I’d just tell him that I was really busy being a father. He must have seen through that because he’s a father many times over and that certainly doesn’t tie him down. It wasn’t till I told him that I was real busy that if he wanted to see me he’d have to call first that he got the message to leave off. I have your tarot advice to thank for that.”

John Green, Dakota Days. (1983)

COSTAS: if somebody didn’t, mixed in with it all, genuinely love somebody, genuinely care about their feelings about them, they wouldn’t go to the lengths, in whatever strange way, that John did to lash back at you! They wouldn’t hold a pig on the cover to parody you holding a sheep in ‘RAM’! They wouldn’t, you know, call your stuff rubbish and write ‘How Do You Sleep’. They wouldn’t do it! PAUL: Oh, I think that’s right. I think that’s right. He was- he was very hurt, there were people turning him against me. It was his way of defending himself. He was- he was quite pissed off about the ‘McCartney bandwagon’ as he once called it, you know? [mimicking John] ‘Oh, bloody- he’s gettin’ on all the telly, he’s sellin’ records!’ Yeah, he was- he was a jealous guy! But I understood that! That was John! You love it or you leave it! And I stuck with it for many, many years!

Paul McCartney, Interviewed by Bob Costa, 1991.

It was a weird time. The people who were managing us were whispering in our ears and trying to turn us against each other and it became like a feuding family. In the end, I think John had some tough breaks. He used to say, ‘Everyone is on the McCartney bandwagon.’ He wrote ‘I’m Just A Jealous Guy’ and he said that the song was about me. So I think it was just some kind of jealousy. I had to try and forgive John because I sort of knew where he was coming from. I knew that he was trying to get rid of the Beatles in order to say to Yoko, ‘Look, I’ve even given that up for you. I’m ready to devote myself to you and to the avant-garde.’ I don’t know if it’s true. One thing I’m really glad about is that I didn’t answer him back. It’s very difficult to do that when someone is attacking you. But I would have felt sick as a dog now if I had.

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Diane de Dubovay for Playgirl. (February, 1985)

PAUL: He was into heroin, and – see, which I hadn’t realised [the extent of] till just now. It’s all [starting to click a bit] in my brain. I was just figuring, oh, there’s John, my buddy, and he’s turning on me, ’cause he perceives that I’m... “McCartney bandwagon,” he once said to me. “Oh, they’re all on the McCartney bandwagon.” And to me, I was just releasing a record, okay. So you can call it the McCartney bandwagon, but it’s no harm. It’s no more than anyone else does when they put out a record. And yet things like that were hurting him, and looking back on it now I just think that it’s a bit sad really.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London)

Lennon’s jealousy of McCartney continued throughout the rest of his life. Lennon’s staff at the Dakota, where he spent his final years, attest to frequent tirades about his former partner. In his personal journals, Lennon wrote about Paul “almost every day” according to author Robert Rosen, who read the diaries in 1981 after they were stolen by Dakota employee Fred Seaman. When asked, in 2010, about the most disturbing takeaway of the diaries, Rosen replied “That’s easy. His jealousy of Paul, his love of money and his obsession with the occult.”

Robert Rosen

RR: Obviously I knew about the rivalry with McCartney, and the jealousy, but I think the extent of it...how often he thought about McCartney, and how jealous he was...I found that pretty shocking. I found it shocking that he was so into money. And the emphasis that was put on the occult was pretty shocking. The extent that they got into it.

An Interview with Robert Rosen

On one McCartney photo, Lennon scribbled the words, “I’m always perfect” as coming from McCartney’s mouth. He drew a Hitler-style moustache on another photo of McCartney. In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding�� and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said. But in a final tender moment, the Observer said, Lennon wrote under a photo of himself with McCartney: “The minutes are crumbling away.”

Associated Press: Lennon’s resentment of McCartney reflected in book notes. (July 20th, 1986)

So we went through a lot of those problems. But the nice thing was afterwards each one of them in turn very, very quietly and very briefly said, ‘Oh, thanks for that.’ That was about all I ever heard about it. But again, John turned it round. He said, ‘But you’re always right, aren’t you?’ See, there was always this thing. I mean, it seemed crazy for me because I thought the idea was to try and get it right, you know. It was quite surprising to find that if you did get it right, people could then turn that one around and say: ‘But you’re always right aren’t you?’ It’s like moving the goal posts.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

So, here we sit, watching the mighty Dylan and the mighty McCartney and the mighty Jagger slide down the mountain, blood and mud in their nails. Well, that’s the way the world is, ha ha ha, that’s the way the world is, oh yes. The difference between now and a couple of years back is that whenever there was a new thing out by any of the aforesaid, I used to feel a sense of panic and competition. And now, I just feel like even the last few months it’s changed. I would send out for their albums or something just to hear it. There doesn’t seem any point now. Let’s take a break. How do we break? Just put it off. Still, even now, talking about them or thinking about them is still really being involved in it, because the ultimate dissociation would be not even to know they had an album out! [laughs] But now at least I get pleasure in it instead of panic. The main pleasure being of course that it’s all a load of shit. So I suppose I’ll always feel competitive with them, because they were from that same generation, but when I hear something like “Pop Muzik” by Robin Scott or the Blondie single, I really enjoy it, you know. I don’t feel competitive about it.

Lennon audio diaries

“They [Lennon & McCartney] saw each other again in 1977. The Lennons and McCartneys ate dinner together at Le Cirque, Paul’s favourite French restaurant in New York. John regretted going; it was a loathsome night. Paul and Linda blathered on and on about how perfect their lives were, how they had everything they’d ever wanted, and how they were as happy as they’d ever been. Something very paranoid suddenly occurred to John. Maybe Lorraine Boyle was spying on him for the McCartneys! He woke up the next morning still feeling disturbed; he consulted the Oracle. Swan assured him that Paul and Linda were frustrated and unsatisfied. Their marriage was in trouble, he said, predicting it would break up within the year. Lately Swan’s visions had been astonishingly accurate. Relieved, John began composing a song—a little ditty, really, that would never be released—in praise of the Oracle’s powers. But he still couldn’t understand why Paul and Linda had been together for as long as they had. There appeared to be a psychic connection between John and Paul. Every time McCartney was in town, John would hear Paul’s music in his head.”

Robert Rosen, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, (2000)

We agreed that if the press got hold of this record we’d pull the plug on it. I’d tell the musicians that John wasn’t sure if he could do it. He was very, very insecure. He didn’t think he had it anymore, you know. He thought he was too old, he just couldn’t write, he couldn’t sing, he couldn’t play, nothing. It took a while.

Jack Douglas on working with John Lennon on Double Fantasy.

“Yoko was an extremist and was even more intense than John taking any idea or comment of his to the limit. If, for example, he complained about any of his fellow Beatles she would hint that that Beatle had always been an enemy implying that John should never deal with that person again. Her extreme positions fascinated John and help him take his mind off himself but when she became self-involved and paranoid herself -her paranoia usually dealt with her career, her fame and the fact that even though she had always been famous everyone conspired to keep her from getting even more famous- he had no place to turn. His insecurity about his solo career, his childhood, his relationships with the other Beatles, the way the public perceived Yoko overwhelmed him and he became more and more involved with drugs.”

May Pang, Loving John (1984)

Klein, on his first meeting with John: “I thought John was losing confidence in himself, and I really didn’t know who had written exactly what, so I couldn’t give John the encouragement he needed. If Paul was really the main factor in the making of records — I mean, if things were really going to fall apart without him — I needed to know that and be able to deal with it. It turned out, of course, that John had written most of the stuff. He’d forgotten a lot of what he’d contributed … John wrote … 60 or 70 percent of Eleanor Rigby. He just didn’t remember till I sat down and had him sort through it all … Everybody thought McCartney was the genius songwriter who did it all by himself and it wasn’t true.”

Allen Klein, Playboy: A candid conversation with the embattled manager of the Beatles. (November, 1971)

Few people disagreed, however, that McCartney always cared deeply about Lennon’s opinion of him. He was still insecure enough on this point to invite Andy Peebles, the Radio 1 DJ who interviewed John the weekend before his death, to join him early on the morning of 10 December. Peebles went to AIR, where he found Paul both ‘deeply shocked [and] obsessed about what John and Yoko had said about him.’ An irony not lost on Peebles, among others, was that Lennon himself had repeatedly tried to find out what Paul had thought of Double Fantasy. “For public consumption,” says another of his final interviewers, “John seemed not to care. The fact that he mentioned McCartney’s name on average ten times an hour suggests otherwise … The strong feeling was that Paul and Yoko were the only two people in the world whose approval he gave a toss for.” Time passed. Paul locked the door of his home studio and played (Just Like) Starting Over, the first single from Double Fantasy. Top volume. For days.

Christopher Sandford, McCartney. (2005)

He became so jealous in the end. You know he wouldn’t let me even touch his baby. He got really crazy with jealousy at times.

Paul McCartney, “off the record” conversation with Hunter Davies. (May 3rd, 1981)

“If you do two LPs there might be a little change!” John laughs. “But until then I don’t mind. When she wants the A side, that’s when we start fighting.

John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: Yoko Ono and her sixteen-track voice. (March 18th, 1971)

John as a solo artist didn’t sell a lot of albums compared to Paul McCartney. That bothered him. So did the adulation that Paul received when he’d go out on the road, which was all rightfully deserved, in my opinion. 

Friends, Forever: Elliot Mintz On His Decade With John And Yoko

Paul's competitiveness

“My role in [Tug of War] was to goad Paul a bit. I think when he and John Lennon split up, he missed John’s goading enormously. It’s almost like they collaborated by means of competition. John would often say cruel things to Paul and Paul would come back and say, ‘I’ll show him what I can do,’ and Paul could be equally cruel to John and then John would come up with something. Despite the love they had for each other, they would still egg each other on in a funny kind of way. I think Paul missed that spur.”

George Martin, interview w/ Paul Grein for Billboard: Martin/McCartney ‘Tug’ team scores. (February 2nd, 1983)

SMITH: Were you closer to any one of them than the others? GEORGE M.: Not really – certainly not in those days, no. Gradually, as things changed, then they went into their little spheres and they became much more – the rivalry between John and Paul became much more marked. So they were never great cooperators. They were never great – they were never Rodgers and Hart. They never collaborated in the sense of sitting down to write a song together. One would have the idea for a song, and take the other guy and say, “Look, I need your help here on this line, can you give it to me?” And that was the way they collaborated. And generally speaking their songs were pitched against each other, [in the sense of] “Well, you’ve written that, hey, listen to mine,” so it was a competitive collaboration. And it was valuable nonetheless, because – in fact Paul misses it terribly now. He misses that spark of John being rude to him and saying, “You can’t write that, Paul, that’s awful,” you know. He needs that. And only John could say that most effectively.

October 22nd, 1986: George Martin

"Paul McCartney was the most competitive person I've ever met. John [Lennon] wasn't competitive. He just thought everyone else was s-h-*-t."

Ray Davies

TV GUIDE: At the time of Wings, how competitive were you with your former Beatles band mates? PAUL: Really competitive. I don’t think any of us would have ever admitted it. I know we would listen to what each other was doing and [think], “Oh, my God, that’s good.” I know for a fact John did once with [my] song ‘Coming Up’. It was on a documentary, I think, about John, where his recording manager at the time said John listened to it and went, “Oh, I’ll have to go back to work.” I found that a very nice fact that I egged John into doing something.

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Lisa Bernhard and Steven Reddicliffe for TV Guide: Listen to what the man says. (May 1st, 2001)

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac #4 : Lil guy vs storm

Chapter 4 here we go, my finals are almost ending so I have more time now. Mac doesn't do well in storms, luckily he has a local Monkey King ready to make him feel better.

Sun Wukong was by nature a monkey of summer. His undercoat was thin, almost nonexistent, made for heated weather. He was also fond of the sun, not because of some sort of narcissistic tendency, but because he loved to nap in warmed grass. As such, he always thought of the other seasons as the lesser ones, he didn't loathe them per see, but he thought nothing of them. Now though, he was beginning to hate winter, not because of the cold or the shortened days, but because he hadn't seen his lil roommate since winter began.

Macaque was a closeted person, he didn't reveal much about himself, more than once he prefered tricking the sage over engaging in any sort of conversation with him. But still, he at least ate the fruits Sun Wukong left behind for him. Now though, since the beginning of winter, the fruits were left untouched no matter the kind, and no matter where the sage put them. It was as if the lil guy wasn't even leaving the walls of the mansion anymore. Sun Wukong wondered, for a second, if he was in hibernation. He hadn't heard of any sort of monkey needing hibernation, but the world was vast and Macaque was the first of his kind he ever saw. He did know of the existence of little people, the fae-people were reputed to be particularly small, but he never heard of a monkey, specifically, being this small. And he usually knew a lot about monkeys.

The sage was staring at one of his mansion's wall, wondering if Macaque would forgive him if he tore it down. He knew it was dramatic, and that he shouldn't be this worried, but still he couldn't help it. He hated being powerless in the face of his own worry. Sun Wukong sighed and picked up the plum pieces he cut for the lil guy yesterday, they were left untouched. Plums were supposed to be Macaque's favorites, his lil ears always fluttered in joy when he ate a plum, it was disheartening to see the fruit uneated. The sage softly knocked on the wall, trying to reach the black-furred macaque, but like always he was left unanswered. Sun Wukong's gaze fell on the wooden cabinet put beside his wooden bench in one corner of the living room. He knew one of Macaque’s holes, or gates as he called them, was inside the cabinet. They were always in the most shadowed corner of the house, behind furniture or inside a cupboard. The sage had been quite impressed when he discovered such a delicate network of gates inside his own mansion. Of course, Sun Wukong wasn't aware of all the gates inside of his mansion, but he managed to discover a good portion. He was at least partially sure that he knew of all the gates on the first floor.

Sun Wukong bit his lips, some part of him wanted to shrink and slip inside of the wall to search for Macaque, but another part of him frowned in disgust at the idea, not wanting to invade his lil roommate's privacy. He didn't want to ignore Macaque's boundaries, but at the same time he wanted to make sure the other was fine. The sage left after a few minutes of lingering, heart heavy inside of his chest.

He ultimately decided that he would go inside of the walls if he had no sign of life after another week.

He finally saw Macaque four days after, in the dead of the night, during the beginning of a particularly brewing storm. Sun Wukong was in the living room, coddled against his troop as they waited for the storm to end. They created a large nest with all the soft fabrics (not eaten by time) they managed to find. The living room was the largest room of the mansion, mainly because it merged with the adjoining kitchen (there was no wall between both rooms, creating a very vast space). Sun Wukong lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at the kitchen, something was in there. He decided to leave the nest once he saw the very familiar outline of a shadowed body. He passed by the stone table put between the living room and the kitchen and approached the lil guy rummaging through his cupboards.

Of course, it was Macaque. The lil guy wasn't dressed in his usual leaves, instead he was wrapped in a thick reddish fabric, something the sage recognized after a few seconds, it was a piece of the curtain hanging in the east wing of the mansion. He was cutting pieces out of some lingering plums with his claws, and putting them inside of his leaf bag.

Usually Macaque instantly knew when he was approaching, this time though the black-furred monkey didn't even flinch when the sage stepped in the kitchen. Sun Wukong furrowed his eyebrows, confused by the macaque's odd behavior.

“You're okay there lil bud?” Asked Sun Wukong, as quietly as he could to not startle the lil guy and awaken his slumbering troop. Macaque flinched and stilled for a few seconds, he turned towards him with something akin to shame swirling in his eyes. He looked rough, to say the least. His fur was a mess and there was a lingering red in the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, just hungry.” Mumbled Macaque, he threw a worried glance at one of the nearby windows and fastened his bag, ready to leave. Sun Wukong opened his mouth, ready to hold him back and ask what was wrong but he was cut by the reasoning sound of thunder. The bolt pierced the blackened clouds, bleeding out in the dark night like an infected wound. Sun Wukong watched, stilled, as Macaque whimpered and curled on himself, burying his head in his paws.

“A-are you okay?” This was a stupid question, of course the macaque wasn't okay, he was whimpering. The sage looked around not knowing what to do, for all the tricks and magic he learned under his former master, he never bothered to learn something as inconsequential as healing magic. He greatly regretted that choice now.

The thunder was still exploding in the confine of the sky, Sun Wukong wondered if he could go out and fight it, maybe beating up the god in charge of storms would appease the sky and resolve the situation. He had half the mind to realize this wasn’t a very good idea and, in a spur of impulsivity, scooped up the lil guy and ran towards the west wing. If he remembered correctly, the west wing was the area with the thickest walls in the mansion, he hoped it could muffle the howls of thunder somehow. Macaque was almost weightless inside of his palms, the sage was afraid to break him if he put too much pressure on him.

He barged in the west wing and rushed towards the bed. He passed by the finely carved mahogany tables and carefully put the macaque in the middle of the bed. He grabbed nearby pillows and blankets and arranged them around the lil guy, creating some sort of tangled nest to comfort him. Macaque buried his snout in the blankets, almost slipping under it. Sun Wukong yielded to his instincts after a few minutes and climbed on the bed, curling around the nest protectively. He learned that, as the Monkey King, monkeys tended to feel safe around him, especially when he was curled around them.

Try as he might, the great sage wasn't able to close his eyes the whole night. Some part of him wanted to keep watching Macaque and make sure he was alright, another worried he could roll around in his sleep and accidently crush the lil guy. He never dared touch the black-furred monkey, worried about his boundaries, but cooed and chirped anytime the other whimpered in distress. Eventually, the storm died down and Macaque uncurled, he slowly blinked, eyes glazed over with a veil of tears and looked around him. His eyes widened when they fell upon the sage.

“Hey, you're feeling better?” Asked the King, as softly as he could to not hurt the other sensitive ears.

“Yeah… hm…thanks.” Mumbled the macaque, the tip of his ears reddening in embarrassment.

“Is this why you don't come out in winter? Because of the storms?”

“Maybe… also they're too many people in the house during winter.”

“So why did you come out last night?” Questioned the King, one eyebrow raised.

“I didn't have any plums left and it's…plums are comforting.” Whispered the macaque. “Whatever, I should go.”

“Wait !” Sun Wukong didn't really have anything to say, but he would hate to see the other go this soon. He racked his mind in search of something to say. “You know, if you need help, you can ask me or something. Either for storms, or other things. W-we're neighbors aren't we? Or roommates or something… Point is, I can help you. If you want.”

Macaque looked at him, gaze unreadable, before turning away with furrowed eyebrows, as if he had troubles believing the sage's words.

“I'll… keep it in mind.” Muttered the black-furred monkey before disappearing in a flurry of shadows.

The sage was particularly happy when he found out, later that day, a peach with a hydrangea petal on top of it in the middle of his living room. He was certain those were gifts from the macaque, they had hints of his smell on them after all.

Sun Wukong decided right then that it was the best peach he ever had, more delicious than the immortal ones.

++ idk why making memes for this Au is so funny, it's just is

Mac disappearing the whole winter without warnings :

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[etraytin]

Postcards From the Dusty Mountains

Took the kiddo out yesterday with me when I went a-volunteering because he is getting very tired of not having anything to do. You know it's getting bad when a guy misses school and is tired of being on his computer all day. I'm not being sarcastic either, I'm deeply sympathetic to his plight and I wish he could get back to school and the friends he was making and the brand-new boyfriend he's been taking those first cautious romantic steps with. He already had to live through COVID homeschooling for two years, and now this. Ugh. I have heard rumors that they are hoping to open the schools back up on October 21, which means two more weeks closed, but it could be worse. So many places still don't even have power, much less water.

Anyway, I took him with me and we went down to a food distribution in Swannanoa. They got hit very very hard, and we spent a couple hours helping a Chick-Fil-A volunteer team from Atlanta hand out hot chicken sandwiches and bottled water. In normal days I don't have much to do with Chick-Fil-A because I don't like their politics, but when the matter at hand is giving hot food to people who've lost their homes, you put the politics aside. I just wish the rest of the country was able to do the same, because I am extraordinarily tired of people thinking of North Carolina as a "battleground state" when the battle we are fighting right now is to keep people alive as the weather starts to turn cold and the water lines stay broken.

Today was busy because I actually managed to keep a doctor's appointment I have been waiting a month for, which was quite a pleasant surprise! The doctor's office is in Hendersonville, so the fact that they were open for business and that I was able to get there are both things that I might have doubted a week ago. I also had an appointment with a local HVAC outfit about getting a whole-house standby generator installed so that next time we have a power outage, we can at least power the fridges, the well pump, the dehumidifiers and my CPAP, with maybe some left over for laptop charging. The price he quoted me for everything except the propane tank and line was $11,000, which was not exactly unexpected but still a big ol' yikes. The good news is, his company bought several of the right size generators before the storm so they would have an inventory, so I could theoretically have a generator before winter really sets in. Highly tempting.

In the afternoon, kiddo and I went out to do more helping. If nothing else has become more apparent over this week, it's that we were and continue to be so, so lucky. Of all the teachers at my husband's school, we are the _only_ family who are still in our own home with all our utilities back up. We are the only members of our extended family in the area who have power. We are part of a tiny fraction of households in the region who have potable water coming from our taps. Given all of that, we decided that we were going to take my final paycheck from canvassing and put it into a community that was not lucky at all. Our Lowes got restocked big time this week, so I was able to go in and get a propane tank, a gas can, a huge box of contractor bags, a straight rake, a shovel, and a gas-powered chainsaw with two cans of fuel for it. We also raided our own house and took our own three shovels and straight rake, our garden cart, some very cute hiking boots I bought but hadn't worn yet, eight packs of bath wipes and two of our cell phone power banks and drove the whole thing down to Black Mountain.

Black Mountain is very close to Swannanoa and was also hit extremely hard by the storm. We didn't go around touristing, but even on the main roads we took we could see devastation everywhere. Everywhere the water touched was drenched in toxic mud, which has dried over the past two weeks into an awful choking dust that covers everything. It blows on the wind and rises with every passing car. As we drove I took the opportunity to explain how the search and rescue paint marking system works to Kiddo, because their bright green graffiti was on all the half-destroyed houses we were passing.

There's an outdoor music venue in Black Mountain called Silverados that has been turned into a massive distribution center. Hot meals were being passed out in the front, while the rear was a busy hive of organizing and distributing supplies. We went there and dropped off all our items, where they were carted away into an absolutely teeming hub of supplies and volunteers. We asked if they needed any more help today, but they definitely had enough willing hands. I think my dad will laugh because I finally did get the chainsaw he talked me out of, but then gave it away before it even left the box.

With a little time on our hands, we went back up north and visited our favorite grocery store, the one that sells lightly-expired canned and boxed food at greatly reduced prices. We were very happy to see that they'd come through the storm unscathed except for a lack of internet, and stocked up on more of the seemingly endless supply of Old El Paso meal kits that they sell two for a dollar. Cheaper than buying tortillas and taco seasoning, lol! We also visited the local record store, which opened for regular business hours despite the circumstances as well, and bought a couple of records because we want them to stay in business even though times are tough. It was, overall, an extremely successful outing.

Sometimes the world here in our house feels tantalizingly close to normal, an endless weekend where we are just waiting to go back to school and work. But just driving into town and seeing all the places closed for lack of water is enough to destroy that bubble, and driving thirty minutes in any direction is like stepping into a different world. Marshall, Spruce Pine, Swannanoa, Black Mountain, the River Arts District. Dozens more places that I have not seen and probably couldn't even get to if I tried. I'm very afraid for what is about to happen in Florida, for their sake and for ours. Appalachia has a long history of being forgotten about when bad things are happening. I really hope it doesn't go that way again.

[falafelluva]

; 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 II - 𝐤. 𝐲𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐳 ✮

summary: long distance can be challenging, especially when a busy schedule is involved.

warnings: idek

author’s note: part I

The following day felt like an eternity. After the phone call with Kenan, you had spent the night tossing and turning, replaying every moment in your head—you understood that he was under immense pressure, but it didn’t make his words any easier to swallow.

Around noon, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from Kenan,

“Can we talk?”

To nobody’s surprise, he didn’t follow up with any details, leaving you feeling anxious and uncertain. You didn’t respond immediately, unsure of what to say or how to feel.

Later that evening, you were sitting on your bed, in a warm hoodie—Kenan’s hoodie to be exact, staring at the wall, when you heard a soft knock at the door.

Your heart raced as you looked toward the sound. You always got nervous whenever somebody would knock at the door, whether it was announced or not.

Tentatively, you stood up and walked to the door. When you opened it, you were met with the sight of Kenan, standing there with a slightly sheepish expression, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His hair was a bit messy, and he looked like he’d just woken up from one of his usual naps.

“Kenan? What are you doing here?” you asked, confusion swirling in your mind.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quickly, looking down at his shoes for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “Can we take a walk and uhhh… talk it out or something?”

You hesitated, the tension from your last conversation still lingering in the air. But something in his eyes told you he was serious, and perhaps a walk would help clear the air.

“Okay, let me just grab my coat,” you said softly, turning to the side to grab a winter coat, not taking any risks before stepping out of the door.

The evening air was cool and refreshing, a welcome contrast to the storm of emotions from the day before—as you both walked in silence for a moment, you could feel the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you.

Finally, Kenan broke the silence, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I was just… overwhelmed. Everything’s so intense at camp, and I took it out on you.”

You glanced over at him, noticing the sincerity in his eyes. “I get that, Kenan, but it hurt when you said those things. I just want to be there for you.”

He nodded, looking guilty. “I know. I didn’t mean it. I just felt like everything was crashing down around me, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I should’ve just talked to you instead of shutting you out.”

You both walked a bit further in silence, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily between you. “It’s just hard being apart,” you admitted finally. “I want to support you, but I need you to let me in.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s not easy for me either,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I could handle everything, but I realized I need you in my corner. It’s just… different without you here.”

The honesty in his words warmed your heart, and you felt some of the tension start to ease. “I want to be there for you, but you need to communicate with me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Right, right. I’ll do better,” he promised, looking serious for a moment. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”

As you continued walking, you felt a sense of hope blooming between you. “So, are you staying for a while? You were supposed to be at camp, right?”

He chuckled lightly, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “Yeah, I was, but I decided I needed a break. Plus, I couldn’t just let you be upset over my dumb comments. I had to come see you.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile breaking through despite the earlier tension. “So you just ditched camp to come here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, shrugging casually. “But honestly, seeing you is worth it.”

‘how sweet.. I guess’ you thought, holding back a sly grin.

As you both walked a bit further, you felt the chill of the night air seep through your jacket. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Noticing, Kenan slowed down and looked at you with a faint smirk. “Really? With a jacket on?” he teased, and before you could reply, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth.

You leaned into him, feeling your heartbeat steady as he held you close. The two of you sat down on a nearby bench, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the night.

He didn’t say anything more, just kept his arms around you, his chin resting on top of your head as you watched the stars overhead.

In the darkness, it felt like the world was just the two of you. The silence was no longer heavy but comforting, a space where you could both let go of the tension from the past day.

After a while, Kenan murmured softly, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you… for being here, even when I mess up.”

You closed your eyes, taking in his words and the warmth of his embrace. “Just promise me you’ll let me in next time,” you whispered.

“I promise,” he replied, holding you a little tighter. And as the night stretched on, you both sat in that quiet space, knowing that no matter what challenges came your way, you’d face them together.

“Am I really an inconvenience to you tho?” you asked, making Kenan groan out loud— you always had to push his buttons no matter how sweet the moment was.

“No, please shut that sweet mouth of yours, being a smartass is not a good look on you..” he muttered, his thumb slightly rubbing over your cheekbones—making you giggle and just lean into his touch, deciding to just let things be.

oh how you love that man.

[wndaswife]

the warmest season

wanda maximoff x gn!reader

tags: fluff, slight angst, mentions of a car accident, slight sexual content.

word count: 3008

summary: After an accident that leaves you bedridden for the remainder of December, Wanda is assigned to be your at-home nurse.

gif credit to creator.

It happened because of something stupid and entirely avoidable should you have been paying attention to your surroundings. 

A series of things happened beforehand: telling yourself you’d get your winter tires done once you had the time, going out in the midst of a storm to submit a report to your boss whose office was a town away.

For a while, you’d get stuck on the fact that if you had simply declined, you’d never have gotten into the accident. But weeks of being bedridden told you that holding that regret so close was fruitless. It didn’t heal you faster, didn’t make the days and nights spent doing nothing but sleeping any less tiresome.

Your nurse steps into the kitchen where you’re reading with a cup of tea in hand.

A bright smile forms on her face when she lays her eyes on you. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” Wanda says cheerfully. You greet her with a smile. She lifts three bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter and huffs out softly. She pushes her hair back behind her ears and begins to unpack the groceries while looking up at you. “You’re up early.”

You put your book down and reach over to one of the bags, carefully unloading everything onto the counter one by one. “I got some pretty great sleep,” you tell her, dividing the groceries between produce and things for the pantry.

She takes a few things into the fridge and looks over her shoulder at you. “Your ankle isn’t bothering you at all, is it?” she asks. 

Yesterday, Wanda drove you to the hospital to get your ankle cast removed after having it on for weeks.

Shaking your head, you hand her a container of cream cheese. She takes it from you and stores it in its place.

“Good,” she says and closes the fridge before moving onto unpacking the last grocery bag. “We should take a walk later today since you’ve been off your feet for so long. The snow finally melted a bit so we can start off by walking down the street.”

“Down the street?” you repeat. “Can’t I do something around the block, at least?” 

Two days have passed since Christmas Day, and you’ve been cooped up at home ever since you were released from the hospital on the third. Even before then, the most of the outdoors you’d gotten was from an open window in your hospital room which was closed after no more than six minutes of being open.

Sometimes Wanda let you sit out in the backyard for a little while, but because the snowfall had been relentless as of late, she wouldn’t risk having you get a cold, so you stayed inside more often than not.

Wanda shook her head. “No,” she answers. “Not yet. You might have your cast off, but your fracturing was rather intricate. I’m sure you remember. I don’t want you to put any more pressure on your ankle than necessary until your next check-up.”

You slump down in your seat and begin folding up the empty reusable grocery bags silently.

Wanda stares at your forlorn reaction to her words, a guilty pang spreading through her chest at the sight of you.

Over the last few weeks, she had seen how prone you were to feeling down. She couldn’t blame you.

You had told her once during the time you spent with her that you weren’t very close to your family, and you hadn’t been to a Christmas dinner with them in years. So instead, you’d developed a habit of prioritising work to the point where having time for your family wouldn’t have been feasible anyway. It was easier to see it that way.

But because of the accident, you hadn’t been able to do any work either.

You’d tried a few times, but you were always so heavily fatigued and weak to finish anything significant. In some ways, Wanda was thankful you were spending more time focusing on taking care of yourself rather than working on anything else, much less for a boss who hasn’t even sent you so much as a concerned email when it was him who had called you out into the snow storm that day.

“I can drive us around instead,” Wanda offers and you suddenly feel yourself in the likeness of a sulking child. “We can go to that restaurant you really like, but we’ll have to order out. It’s not recommended that you put any unnecessary sort of stress on your body just yet."

You straighten in your seat and stand to store the folded bags under the sink. “No, it’s fine. Down the street sounds good,” you say. “Thank you for the groceries.”

The next few hours of the morning are occupied joyfully as you sit in the kitchen talking with Wanda, talking about nothing in particular.

She makes herself scrambled eggs and you a small omelette of the size you requested, both filled with mushrooms, red peppers, and diced carrots and bacon. Because you didn’t want it cooked into the omelette, Wanda makes you eat half of her canned tuna to ensure you got enough protein.

She sits across from you on the kitchen island counter, retelling her Christmas spent with her family while you nod and make a few comments here and there. She tells you she’d love it if you could meet them, and that both her twin brother and parents have gotten increasingly curious about the patient she’s been spending so much time with.

You silently question why they would know how much time Wanda spends with you, but the thought is left behind when she reaches over with her fork, slicing a bit of your omelette onto it and bringing it to your lips. 

“Here, take one more bite,” she tells you after she’d noticed you were finished with your breakfast. “I’ll finish the rest.”

You move your head forward and take the piece of omelette from her. Wanda slides the fork out from beyond your lips carefully and takes your plate.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” she inquires with a smile, looking up at you from her stacked plates. “You have me until six.”

You suggest to your nurse after swallowing your last piece of your omelette, “Nothing, really. Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sounds cool,” she says, her smile growing so her eyes wrinkle at their corners. She forks the last bit of your omelette into her mouth and carries the dishes into the sink. 

While she washes them, you approach her and give her your empty glass. She takes it with a smile and steps to the side, closer to you. 

“Do you shower today? Or tomorrow?” she asks. 

“Today.”

Wanda places a washed plate on the rack to the right. “I bought the plastic wrap for your cast,” she informs. “I’ll help you put it on before you get into the shower. Do you need my help with anything?”

You shake your head. “I think it’ll be much easier now that I don’t have the ankle cast,” you ponder aloud.

“I think so too,” she agrees and begins washing the cutlery. “Let me know if you need anything. I won’t be too far.” Wanda looks over at you with a warm smile that makes you flush and scratch at the pad of your thumb with your fingernail. 

You nod.

Once Wanda is finished washing the dishes, you decide to shower first before you start the movie together.

With an arm around your waist, an instinctive act of assisting a patient turned into something like a display of affection, Wanda helps you ascend your staircase. 

You don’t really need her help in going up the stairs anymore, not after your ankle cast was taken off. You had no problems going down this morning before she came to your house.

Wanda must also know you know longer need any assistance in going upstairs anymore. She was the nurse, after all.

But neither of you say anything as her hand tightens around your hip when you take that last step onto the second floor. 

She sorts through a plastic case she brought with her in your bathroom while you get undressed in your bedroom.

The way Wanda’s eyes dart down your partially-uncovered body is not lost on you. A towel is wrapped around your chest that conceals you down to your mid-thighs. She’s seen you this way countless of times before, though her eyes seem to linger a bit longer every time. 

Wanda clears her throat and you see her jaw clench before she gestures to the edge of the bathtub. 

You take a seat there and Wanda takes the wrap out of the case. She unwraps it and you lift your arm up. The stretchy material fits your hand like a fingerless glove. Wanda leans down, one hand circled gently around your wrist and the other tugging the wrap up above your cast.

From this angle, you can clearly see down her loose t-shirt. You don’t have enough time to look away before your eyes run down her exposed clavicle, and the swells of her breasts and her black bra.

Wanda turns away to take surgical tape from the box on top of the toilet lid and you focus on cooling your flushed cheeks. Her hand snakes up the length of your arm and she holds the end of the cast wrap in place while she tears the tape from the roll with her teeth. She places the roll down and tapes the end down with her free hand. She wraps a few more strips of tape around the edge of the wrap to ensure no water can come through before she finishes.

When she straightens, her eyes find your face and the concentrated furrowing of her eyebrows dissipate into a concerned expression. 

“Did I hurt you?” she asks, stepping forward and placing a hand on your upper arm.

You look up to her and shake your head, hastily saying, “No, no, no.”

“Is the wrap too tight?”

You shake your head again.

“You look a little flustered,” Wanda notes.

“I’m fine. It’s hot in here.”

Your nurse runs her hand down your arm then reaches behind you to turn the tap on. She runs the shower, playing with the handle a bit as she feels out a cool temperature for you.

“Okay, come up,” she says quietly. She places an arm on your hip and takes your hand into hers, lifting you from the edge of the bathtub. “Is that too cold for you?”

You feel the running shower water with your hand. “It’s perfect. Thank you,” you tell her. When you turn your head to look at her, Wanda’s face is only a few inches from your own. 

Her hand on your hip raises to your shoulder. She brushes your hair back behind your shoulder so it spills down your upper back and leaves your neck and chest exposed. 

You hear your breath begin to quicken alongside your heartbeat and you try your best to steady yourself lest Wanda think you’re overheating in her arms.

Suddenly, she lets go of your hand and steps back from you.

“I’ll give you some space,” she hesitates. You watch her pack her things back into the plastic box she came with. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be just downstairs.”

And with that, she leaves the washroom, closing the door carefully behind her.

You pull your towel from your body and set it beside your sink.

The cool water from the shower makes you feel as if the tension from earlier, thick enough to have slickened your skin with layers of nerves, could slip down from your body and into the drain with ease. 

You take care in ensuring you avert your wrapped arm from the shower despite the covering around it as you could already envision Wanda’s panic if she were to find her wrapping hadn’t properly cared for your cast. 

You don’t notice that the very thought of it has made your cheeks flush a warm pink until the cool shower brings a refreshing downpour onto your face.

Wanda is sitting on the couch with your book from earlier in her hand when you head back downstairs after your shower. At the sound of you descending the staircase, she turns. 

“Feeling better?” she asks, eyes following you as you approach the couch and take a seat beside her.

“Better,” you say with a reaffirming nod. 

You threw your cast’s wrap out in the washroom, observing your wrist’s cast in detail to ensure it stayed dry in the shower.

Wanda does the same and you smile when she brings it up to her eyes. Satisfied, she lays your hand back in your lap and pulls herself closer to you so your arms brush against each other.

“Anything you’re thinking of watching?” she inquires, taking the television remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“We should watch a Christmas movie,” you suggest, pulling your legs onto the couch and leaning back comfortably.

In what seems like a response to your act of bringing your knees up to your chest and getting comfortable on the couch, Wanda leans into you.

She smells good.

The next few minutes are spent deciding on a movie while Wanda cuddles close to you, looking over her shoulder at you occasionally with a curious glint.

It is not even halfway into the movie when you end up stuttering out a quiet, “Wanda. Can I ask you something?”

She hums and looks over to you.

“Don’t you ever feel, like, a little taxed that you have to come here almost every day and take care of me?” you question.

Wanda looks completely bewildered at your question, her eyebrows pushing together as she straightens and detaches herself from your shoulder. You feel a chill where her warm body used to be. “No. It’s not taxing at all. It’s my job, you know. I do it for a living,” she answers.

At the rationality of her answer, you just nod. “Right. Okay, yes,” you say, almost more to yourself than to her, before looking back to the television. “It’s a job.”

Though you’ve started watching the movie already, decidedly focused on something else and having moved on from the question, Wanda continues to look at you. You can see her face and her unmoving stare from the corner of your eye.

While you question whether it would be better to look over to her and acknowledge the way she’s staring at you, Wanda moves close to you again. Her hand reaches up to the back of your neck and you bristle momentarily. Her fingers play with the wisps of your hair and your shoulders untense.

“Why do you ask that?” she asks, her voice quiet and indicative of sincere curiosity and something intimate.

You stutter, trying to find your words to answer the unexpected question, “N-No reason, really, I was just curious about-”

Warm slender fingers are placed against the side of your face, redirecting your attention over to Wanda’s face. The corners of her lips tug upwards slightly at the sight of you, and she urges you to continue with lifted eyebrows.

But you can’t find your train of thought, not once you’d lost it when Wanda’s touched your cheek.

“I wish I could have spent Christmas with you,” she whispers. She’s smiling again, wider this time.

With an embarrassed smile, you look away. “You don’t mean that,” you say. “It’s boring here.”

Her head tips to the side. “You have a bit of a problem with keeping eye contact, Y/N,” she teases. 

Your ears feel hot and your fingers tremble around your knees. 

Were you sick?

Wanda made sure you never went out without both a jacket and a sweater if she ever let you go out in this weather at all.

You’d felt normal this morning and this afternoon.

“Y/N,” she whispers. 

At the sound of your name, hushed on Wanda’s lips and said like a quiet prayer, your head turns quickly.

The last thing you register is the scent of the nurse’s perfume before her soft lips are pressed against yours. Wanda’s eyes flutter closed, and her fingers that had been playing with your hand are now wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you into the kiss.

You can feel her soft exhale on your upper lip.

She looks so pretty.

Your eyes run over the freckles on her face that you hadn’t noticed until now.

When she pulls away from the kiss, your lips parting with a soft pop, green eyes flit over your face. At your frozen expression and parted lips, her face forms into something concerned and regretful when it comes over her that she had completely missed the mark.

What would happen now that she forced a patient to kiss her?

What would happen to her relationship with you?

She pulls away from you, averting her gaze and moving to stand up. 

Her wrist is seized by a stubborn hand, and she’s tugged back down to the couch where you lean up and kiss her, eliciting a small squeak from the surprised nurse.

Slowly, she settles back down on the couch. Wanda leans forward, placing her hand on your knee and squeezing softly. Her lips leave yours to kiss your cheek, then your jaw.

“Isn’t it… breaking some rule to kiss your patients?” you suggest teasingly.

You feel her grin against your temple. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she says and raises a gentle hand to your face, making you look up at her. She breaks out into a fit of giggles as you wrap your arms around her hips, pulling her on top of you as you lay yourself down onto your back.

“Deal,” you affirm, burying your nose in her soft hair while Wanda kisses up the column of your neck with a wide grin.

[thefreaksrunthisshow]

Darling, It’s a Winter Wonderland

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x You

Summary: Decorating for the holidays with your best friend and roommate Eddie Munson leads to some boundaries being overstepped when the power gets knocked out by a winter storm.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Friends to lovers, dry humping, dry orgasm, masturbation, thigh riding, if I missed anything lemme know!

Word Count: 2,690

Masterlist

“Please explain again , why are we decorating the house for the holidays? It’s too much work to just be up for a month!” Eddie huffs, his eyebrows furling together as he untangles a string of Christmas lights.

“Because I like feeling festive!” you giggle, holding up two wreaths trying to decide which one to put on the door to your room and which one to hang on your front door. “And, I never complain when you go all out for Halloween!”

“Touché,” Eddie smiles and finger guns toward you before directing his attention back to the tangled mess of lights. He curses at the difficulty of getting out of a particularly stubborn knot.

“Plus, here. I made a special wreath for your door.”

Eddie takes the wreath you held out to him. “Bats and skulls with red and green Christmas ornaments? Fuck yeah!” He fist pumps and you laugh as he jumps up and rushes to attach the wreath to his bedroom door.

Eddie has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. Ever since that day in kindergarten when you had won against him in a race across the playground, the two of you had been inseparable. Now, as college freshmen, you were roommates in your own little apartment down the street from your school and you couldn’t ask for anyone better to live with. In fact, the two of you were pretty inseparable; Eddie would barely even let you go to the bathroom alone and there had been many nights where he sat down on the floor chatting away while you took a shower.

Eddie’s heavy footsteps returning to the living room wake you out of your daze.

“The snow’s starting. How many inches are we supposed to get?” you ask, peeking through the blinds to view the snow drifting down outside.

“Six, I believe,” Eddie says nonchalantly, not looking up as he sorts through the Christmas tree ornaments and attaches hooks to them.

“Fuck, we are going to be snowed in aren’t we?”

“Probably.”

“Ugh!” you groan. “Thank god we stocked up on groceries yesterday.”

“I fucking hate the snow,” Eddie shivers just thinking about it.

“Same,” you agree, collapsing onto the couch.

“Oh! Where do you want these lights?” Eddie asks, holding up the newly untangled lights with a smile. He had almost forgotten he had finished untangling them since you had distracted him by handing him his snazzy new Christmas wreath. He was always like that; forgetting to finish one thing when something else came his way and distracted him. You are pretty certain he has a raging case of ADHD but the bastard won’t go get any help for himself.

“We can finish up tomorrow. I’m tired.”

‘... and horny,’ you think, not daring to say it out loud.

Apparently, you didn’t even have to say it, something about the faraway look in your eyes tells Eddie all he needs to know.

“Oh, come on.” Eddie hums your name. “I know that look. Who were you supposed to bang tonight?”

“Fuck off, Eddie!” you scowl. Of course, Eddie is correct. You did have a date tonight and planned on getting laid but your phone had buzzed early this morning with a text calling it off. Whether they had canceled due to the snow or because they felt things weren’t working out, you don’t know.

“Woah! Easy there!” Eddie throws up his hands defensively. “You know I’m right,” he taunts with a wink.

“I hate you.”

Eddie dramatically falls to the ground where he pretends he’s bleeding out. “No, you don’t! You know you love me!” he exclaims, through narrowed eyes still lying on the floor. His tongue falls out of his mouth as he plays dead.

“Whatever, Eddie,” you huff.

Eddie sits down on the couch next to you as you pull yourself up into a seated position with your arms holding your legs to your chest. “I could… help you out,” he mumbles, his eyes flickering to you and then to the floor.

“Ed, that’s unnecessary,” you say, waving him off but his offer has you squeezing your thighs together a bit and he takes notice. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that you can. These walls are pretty thin, sweetheart. I’ve heard you plenty of times. I just figured I’d offer,” he shrugs with a little chuckle. He pats his lap, “Come here if you wanna, otherwise go take care of it yourself,” he smirks.

You shake your head; you know you shouldn’t but it’s been too long. You try to say no and wander off to your room, but your body seems to have a mind of its own right now.

“Fine,” you huff, straddling him. Your hips immediately begin rocking into him, searching for some relief.

“That’s right. Be a good girl and use me,” Eddie whispers into your ear and his words light a fire deep within you. He knows exactly what he is doing to you and his own breathing grows a bit irregular as you continue grinding on him. He does his best to hold back his own hips from bucking along in rhythm with yours but he fails.

You close your eyes and focus on the growing sensation in your stomach as you feel Eddie’s hard cock rub against your clit. Even through the layers of clothing, the pressure feels so good that you let out a little moan. The sound is music to Eddie’s ears and he has to swallow down his own moan out of fear of scaring you off. He doesn’t know if you’ll ever take him up on this opportunity again and he’s sure as hell going to savor every moment of it.

“Fuck, this feels so good,” you mutter. You bury your face in Eddie’s neck as you approach your climax before pulling back with a jolt as it pulses through you. You ride out your orgasm on his thigh with your forehead resting against his, your eyes screwed shut and your mouth slightly agape.

Your euphoria doesn’t last long and it quickly turns into a bit of panic as you practically jump off of him when you feel a bit of your climax gushing out of you and begins to seep through your pants. You sprint to the shower hoping that Eddie hasn’t noticed, but he decides to follow you anyway.

“Where you running off to?” he jokes but there’s an underlying tone of worry in his voice. “Was it that bad?” He blocks your way to your bedroom so you can’t get to your bathroom within it.

“I need to shower, Ed.” You attempt to brush him off; you’re embarrassed that you just got off on your best friend's lap and that you actually liked it so much that you require a shower now.

“Shit. Are you a squirter? Fuck, I never knew that about you,” he taunts, licking his lips and eyeing you up and down with a seriousness you can’t quite place.

“That is none of your business,” you snarkily reply as you push past him and lock yourself in your bathroom for a quick shower.

Eddie can’t help himself; as soon as you are out of his sight he retreats to his room and immediately shoves his hand down his pants to take care of his leaking cock. He digs around in his bedside table and lathers himself up generously with lube, pretending that he’s coated in your slick. He works himself mercilessly, pumping his length quickly. He’s never come in his pants from just dry humping before but your pretty face had him holding his breath so that he wouldn’t. He comes with a loud grunt and his come streaks out hot and thick into his underwear. He takes a moment to calm his shaky breaths before he tidies himself up and hopes to god that he can play it cool and you won’t notice the sweat-soaked hair around his face.

To his relief, you don’t seem to notice when you arrive back to the living room fresh out of the shower.

“Come on, let’s get back to decorating. You could use a distraction.” Eddie pulls you off the couch despite your protests and shoves the Christmas lights into your hands. He himself could also use the distraction before he does something he might regret and changes the status of your friendship forever.

~~~

“All done?”

“All done.”

“Darling, it’s a winter wonderland in here and it’s making me sick to look at it,” Eddie playfully gags.

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics, it’s not that decorated. All you did was put up the tree, fitted with white lights and ornaments, a Christmas wreath on the front door, some lights strung up in the hallway, a set of decorative placemats and dish sets on the table, and of course the two wreaths on both of your bedroom doors; it’s not as over the top as Eddie is making it out to be.

Eddie is sitting down next to you on the floor as you finish stacking up the gifts under the Christmas tree when suddenly, a loud POP goes off outside and the house goes dark. Your eyes meet in the darkness, and you both rush to the window to see what is happening. Peering through the blinds reveals that one of the power poles on the street seems to have been knocked down and the trees along your road are swaying violently in the wind.

“Jesus H. Christ! Really?” Eddie shouts, clearly annoyed.

“Shit,” you mumble. “Ed, it’s late. How soon do you think they can send a crew out to get this fixed?”

“I’d say first thing tomorrow morning… if we are lucky.”

“Fuck. It’s freezing outside and we don’t have a generator. We are going to freeze to death tonight. We better go put on some more layers,” you say rolling your eyes.

Once you've put on several more layers of clothing, you and Eddie are both sitting on the couch, cozy under blankets and eating a warm and quick dinner that Eddie prepared with his propane stovetop out of his van, which he usually uses when you go camping together. It’s really surprising how quickly your house chilled down without the heat on and how deathly quiet it is as well but at least the warm food is helping you stay semi-warm right now.

“If you would get your cold-ass feet out from under my ass, I would highly appreciate that!” Eddie screeches, halfway joking but also very annoyed.

“Never!” you laugh. “My toes are about to fall off!”

“Then go put on some socks, shithead!”

“Eddie, that hurt my feelings,” you fake sob.

“Shut up,” he taunts, gently hitting you on your shoulder.

You snuggle down on the couch closer to him, craving any sort of warmth. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight. You know I can’t sleep if it’s too cold.”

“Looks like we are going to be bunking together tonight,” Eddie smiles devilishly.

“No way in hell! You are an awful bedmate.”

You cringe thinking back to all the times the two of you had shared a bed before when you absolutely had to. Eddie stole the covers whenever there was a sleepover or a camping trip, and he literally suffocated you by lying on top of you. You don't really find the offer out of the ordinary, but there's something different about it tonight that makes you slightly turned on.

“It’s either we share a bed or we freeze to death, sweetheart. It’s your call,” he shrugs.

“God, I wish you weren’t right.”

Eddie smirks. “I’m always right.”

“Not always!”

“Fine. 80% of the time, then,” he laughs.

Reluctantly, you follow Eddie to his room after supper. Much to your disappointment, the electrical company had sent both of you texts with an estimated time for the power to be fixed and it wasn’t what you had hoped for. Yet again, Eddie had been right; the company was suspected to have it fixed by early tomorrow morning.

“Stay on your side of the bed, Eddie, or I swear to god you won’t wake up in the morning,” you jeer, rolling over on your side to face the wall.

“But, babe! You know I like to snuggle,” he pouts, immediately spooning you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“If I wake up and you are on top of me, we are going to fight. Goodnight, Ed.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

A few hours later you both wake up shaking from the cold and attempt to stay warm by piling on more blankets, but it doesn’t seem to help.

“You know what we could do?” Eddie asks in a low voice.

“What?”

“We could… sleep naked,” he suggests with a smirk.

“Hhhhmmm. Lemme think…,” you put on your best fake thinking face before dropping it as you continue, “fuck no, Eddie!”

“Come on! More skin-on-skin contact means more heat! I would like to not freeze to death tonight! I’m still so young! I can’t die yet! You really wanna be the cause of both of our deaths?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you respond, scooting as far away from him as you can but he follows you and hugs you tightly in his arms.

“It won’t change anything between us, princess if that’s what you’re worried about. This is about survival.” Eddie nuzzles his chin on your shoulder.

“Edward Munson! If you get any funny ideas, I will personally kill you myself. Got it?” you taunt, rolling over to look him in his chocolate eyes and pointing your finger at him. Judging by how wide they are, he is terrified. He knows all too well what you are capable of having sent quite a few boys who tried to make unwantad advances on you to the hospital sporting various injuries.

You leave both of your underwear on as your strip and snuggle back up together, clenching your teeth in annoyance at how Eddie was somehow right - yet again. It really is a whole lot warmer with more skin-on-skin contact. You are really growing tired of him being right about everything lately.

Somehow you both manage to sleep most of the night until you are awoken sometime later to gentle rocking on your backside. Your eyes snap open as you realize that Eddie is humping you in his sleep. Boy, are you going to give him hell for this in the morning! Or at least that was the plan until he starts uttering short moans into your ear and you find your hand wandering to rub gentle circles around your own clit. The sounds he is making are just too delicious to ignore.

You try - you really do try - to keep your hands to yourself, but as Eddie’s noises and rocking increase you find your hands wandering his body. Its innocent light touches at first; his hips, stomach, and back, but he soon wakes from his slumber catching you in the act.

“Hmm, it seems I should have been worried about you keeping your hands to yourself, you naughty girl,” he chuckles in a deep, sleepy voice.

“Ed, you were the one humping me in your sleep!”

“Shit, sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“It was kind of… hot,” you reply hesitantly. “The noises you were making… eh forget it.” You roll over and close your eyes, praying sleep takes you over and Eddie won’t remember this conversation later. It seems that Eddie is fully awake now though and your luck has run out.

He peppers a few light kisses on your bare back. “What was that now, beautiful?”

“Nothing,” you whine as he continues kissing up your neck. Your breath catches in your throat when he nuzzles closer to you and whispers in your ear.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he growls, nipping at your ear.

There’s something so seductive about the way he purrs in your ear.

And, you don’t tell him to stop.

To hell with your friendship. That's a problem for future you.

[crappymixtape]

baby, it's cold outside

REQUEST → @sattlersquarry, A VERY MERRY MIXTAPE ❝ what about 🎁 exchanging presents with steve?? i just know he’s a thoughtful gift giver! – it's been snowing all day, enough to snap the power lines and make the lights go out, and when steve comes over to build you a fire you can't think of a more perfect time to exchange gifts | ( 0.0k – just honestly pure fluff, modern!steve x reader )

B A B Y, I T ' S C O L D O U T S I D E 🎶 baby it's cold outside, frank sinatra & dorothy kirsten

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…

Frank Sinatra’s voice drifted across the living room and you shot a glare at the record player.

“Oh, shut up already,” you muttered, glancing out the window to find the snow on the sill had piled up another half inch.

It was going to be historic the weatherman had said yesterday. A storm of which the likes Hawkins hasn’t seen in years! And he wasn’t kidding. It dumped fourteen inches of snow in three hours and even though your crotchety old landlord had dug out the walkway to the street, all that work would be undone in another few hours by the looks of it.

Your mom had called twice already asking if you had enough soup? Enough toilet paper? And, honey, you should have gone to the store yesterday! We could be stuck all weekend! Your retired electrician father lectured you on what to do if you lost power. Something about being able to use the gas stove even if the electric cut out, but honestly all you could think about?

Was Steve.

Steve and how you’d promised him you were going to exchange gifts this weekend before your families got all tied up in Christmas and dinner and ham, and as you looked out the window again a scowl twisted across your lips.

Stupid winter. And snow. And Christmas. And cold. Then, before you could throw more profanities at the weather outside, the lights flickered.

Off, on. Off, on. Off.

Really off.

You sucked in a gasp, heart racing in your chest, hammering against your ribcage as you slowly felt your way through the inky black hallway toward the kitchen where you’d left your phone. Dammit, where was it? You knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but you'd never admit it – still being scared of the dark.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Your phone lit up from the counter, giving you just enough light to cut the rest of the distance to the kitchen – thank god – and when you picked it up a single word beamed up at you: Steve.

Your heart raced even faster, but not because of the dark.

“Hey,” your voice was quieter than usual and you instantly felt like an idiot for letting the power outage get the best of you.

“Oh–hey,” his tone edged on concern, “Are you okay? I was just gonna see if you still wanted me to come over.”

“In this weather? No, way. It’s fine. I’m totally fine,” you tried to be confident, but who were you kidding. It sounded pathetic.

“Totally fine?” he echoed back, unconvinced, and it pulled a sigh from your lungs.

“No. The power’s out.”

“Power’s out? Shit. You got a flashlight? Batteries? Maybe some candles? Damn, babe. Is it cold? I’m coming over.”

“Steve wait! I–” but he was already gone.

It didn’t take him long to get there, and he’d never tell you but he blew the stop sign at the corner, the tires on his BMW sliding against the snow before throwing it into park outside your house.

You poked your head out the door as he rummaged around in his trunk, snow piling up again along your walkway. If he stayed even an hour he’d risk getting stuck.

“What are you doing?” you called out into the snow.

“Brought supplies! Get back inside, s’too cold!” he hollered back, your mouth firming into a line.

“I’m not helpless you know!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know!”

Arms full, of what you couldn’t see, Steve elbowed the trunk shut and awkwardly tromped through the snow to your door.

Had you liked winter even a tiny bit more the scene before you might have been pretty. Picturesque. Street lamps dark and roads quiet. Snow falling silently atop the already glittering ground. A beautiful boy coming up your walkway with a bundle of wood under one arm and a blanket under the other. Soft, white snowflakes clinging to the swoop of hair that fell out from under his beanie into his eyes.

Okay, maybe winter wasn’t so bad.

Arms wrapped around your torso, your lips tugged up into a smile as he finally made it to the top of the steps.

“Hi,” came out a little quiet, a little impish, and it made him smile right back.

“Hi.”

“What’s the plan for that?” you pointed at the bundle of wood and his brow furrowed.

“Make a fire? You don’t have any heat, which–” he nudged you with his chest, “–get back inside, you’re letting all the warmth out.”

Steve kicked the door shut behind him before toeing his boots off and walked across the living room to the fireplace. The one you’d never used. Yanking his hat off, he knelt down with the bundle of wood and started to dig around in the rolled up blanket.

First came a rolled up newspaper for kindling and then, as the blanket fell open, a small, brightly wrapped present with a tiny gold bow on top tumbled out.

He remembered.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and it was like he could sense it, looking up at you with those big brown eyes. Hair a mess, lopsided smile pulling at his lips, cheeks rosy from the cold and god, every bit of him was perfection.

“Got a box of matches? Or a lighter?” he asked, hands still gloved as he started crumpling up balls of newspaper and setting them at the bottom of the fireplace.

“Oh–y–yeah,” you stumbled over your words and reached up onto the mantle for the matches. Even after being together for almost two years, he was still making you trip over yourself.

“Here, this should catch easy,” he tipped the tops of the wood together and took the matches from you. Struck one on the brick chimney and brought the flame back to the paper where it caught and crackled. Licked up the wood and washed the room in a warm glow like an Indiana sunset in July.

He grinned up at you, “See?”

“Pretty good, Harrington,” you couldn’t help grinning back, failing to hide the lovesick look on your face and Steve soaked it all up.

“Mmhm,” he hummed proudly and stood from the floor to press a kiss to your forehead before moving to tug off his coat and gloves.

Your boyfriend.

The one who drove across town to build you a fire.

The one who took the time to wrap your present so perfectly.

The one who still wore his old Hawkins Athletics sweater even though it had holes in it.

The one who didn’t give a shit if his thick wool socks were tugged up over the legs of his sweatpants.

The most perfect combination of sexy and dorky and he was all yours.

Grabbing your hand he pulled you into him. Hands wide and warm as they settled on your hips. Pressed his chest to your back and admired his handiwork as the heat from the fire crept up your legs.

“Much better,” he said hooking his chin over your shoulder. Then, tone softening, he murmured, “Sorry your power’s out…didn’t go how you wanted, huh?”

You grumbled a bit, pouted and nestled into him more.

“No.”

“Poor thing,” he kissed you again, pressed his lips to your cheek, and just as you leaned into it he loosened his hold on you. The absence of his touch made you ache, but before you could protest he was bending down to grab the bright, cheerful looking present still sitting next to the fireplace.

Holding it in his hands he turned back to you and smiled. Warm like summer. Eyes like honey, flecks of gold and amber and so full of fondness.

“I’ve been holding onto this since–” his nose scrunched up in thought, “–shit, almost a year?” His cheeks grew pink as he rubbed at the back of his neck and chuckled at himself. A low, warm thing as he held the gift out to you.

Your brows furrowed together in thought as you worked to try and figure out why he was so flustered. What he could have found a year ago? Where had you been?

Eddie’s show at the Tin Bucket? No.

Flying down to visit Robin and Nance in San Diego? Maybe?

Your road trip to Chicago or the train ride to Minneapolis?

Looking up at him your fingers picked at the tape. Slowly unwrapping it as you wracked your brain trying to figure out what it could possibly be and Steve just beamed at you. The same, silly lovesick look you’d just given him, and a small laugh pushed itself from your lungs.

“Steve, what is it?”

“Just open it.”

You huffed a tiny sound of frustration and dropped your gaze back down the box. Fingers moving a bit faster now to unwrap it, pulled the paper away to reveal a small jewelry box and your chest squeezed tight. Eyes flicking up to look at him as his name fell from your lips, a quiet sound of reverence as he bit back a smile.

“Go on,” he whispered, so you clicked open the box and there in the low light of the fire, a tiny gold chain glittered bright in the orange glow.

Your grandmother’s locket.

The one your grandfather had given to her so many Christmases ago.

The one she’d given to you before you and Steve had started dating.

The one you never took off after she passed away that same summer.

The one who’s tiny hinge had cracked, little gold panels swinging broken like the way your heart felt.

The one that sat atop your dresser because it was too expensive to fix and–

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you bit your lips in to try and stifle the strangled sound that had crept up your throat, but Steve was right there. Hands steady as he carefully took the necklace from the box for you.

“Here.”

His fingers brushed softly against your skin as he laced it around the nape of your neck. Closed the hook and gently pressed it to your chest, fixed and polished and shining like it had the first time it’d been gifted.

You could feel yourself falling apart, could feel the tears falling freely down your cheeks now and Steve pulled you in close. Wrapped his arms around you and held you tight, held you together.

“I love you,” you said into his sweater, voice cracked and wobbling as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

crappymixtape™ •steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[markjelol1112]

Mark his drinking problems a Mark and Karina story P2

Warning: 18+ drunken failures sex spanking fingering

Mark was asleep same as Karina but while he is sleeping he was thinking about s*x so he try something but what he did was for Karina amazing she was sleeping for a moment while Mark try to find his d*ck to do something everyone was sleeping so they don't even hear or even see it so Karina don't even mind it but Mark found something but he didn't notice that he is In Karina her p*ssy and he started fingering in Karina her p*ssy and she started moaning

Oh yeah it feels so good." Karina said while moaning

And Mark was fingering deeper in Karina her p*ssy that's se moaned loud but nobody heard anything of it Mark was fingering so good in Karina her p*ssy that her p*ssy was getting wet

I'm going to c*m." Karina said again

And all of her wet p*ssy came out of it

Oh yeah that was great oh my god." Karina said again

The next morning Mark had a headache of being drunk yesterday and finding out that he was fingering Karina in her p*ssy last night

What the f*ck have I done oh f*cking lord." Mark said again

As Daniël came in and was in shock

Mark what the f*ck happened here the floor is completely wet what have you done." Daniël said again

I don't know the last thing I remember that I dreamed that I was having s*x with someone else to make Ningning jealous on me that's all." Mark said again

As Mark and Daniël cleaned everything up before the others know what happened Killian came downstairs and saw that Mark and Daniël where cleaning the floor

Guys what the f*ck are you cleaning." Killian said again

Mark I think you can explain what happened I guess." Daniël said again

I don't remember it what happened idiot." Mark said again

As everything was clean Giselle Winter Thomas and Ningning came downstairs to see what's going on

Good morning guys." Thomas said again

YOU I WILL SPEAK WITH YOU FOR A MOMENT." Mark yelled again

Uhm is he still drunk." Thomas said again

No just a headache now." Mark said again

That's because you where drunk yesterday idiot." Daniël said again

I don't drink alcohol you idiot." Mark said again

You drank 15 bottles of beer yesterday because of Ningning." Daniël said again

Oh shut the f*ck up." Mark said again

Guys can you be quiet Karina is still sleeping I don't know what happened to her but I think she had her best night ever yesterday when we were sleeping." Ningning said again

Shut the f*ck up you I didn't tell you to talk." Mark said again

Mark calm down." Thomas said again

And Mark slapped in Thomas his face

YOU STOLE HER FROM ME YOU F*CKING IDIOT NOW YOU MAKE ME THINKING OF A OTHER PERSON." Mark yelled again

STOP IT OKAY IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT ME AND KARINA BROKE UP YESTERDAY BEFORE I WAS WITH NINGNING TO A ROMANTIC MOVIE NIGHT FOR US 2 THAT AND IN FACT THAT I NEVER LEAVE KARINA BEHIND ME YOU SON OF A B*TCH." Thomas yelled again

Guys please let me sleep." Karina said again

And she opened her eyes and realised that she did something

Uhm why am I half n*ked can someone explain this." Karina said again

While the boys turned around and Karina put her underwear and pants back on she felt weird

Well why you all looking at me." Karina said again

Maybe you should where cleaner clothes." Winter said again

As Karina go to her room and thinks what happened last night while she is undressing herself Mark has a little problem in his pants

Uhm Mark something down in your pants is looking at you." Daniël

What do you mean with AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH oh my god I need to go to my room." Mark said again

Instead of running to his room he runs upstairs

Mark your room is there not upstairs." Killian said again

Karina was still looking at her n*ked body grabbing her t*ts sometimes and still thinking who did something last night but she didn't lock her door of her room and all of the sudden Mark stormed in her room without knocking

Oh my god what's going on and Aaaaaaaaaah oh sorry I didn't notice that you where here and n*ked I'm gonna leave you bye." Mark said again

Wait maybe I can help with that problem from your d*ck in your pants." Karina said again

And she locked her door of her room and put Mark his pants of and his underwear too

Karina what are you planning to do." Mark said again

Just a little thing." Karina said again

And she started to s*cking Mark his d*ck and Mark grabbed Karina her hair and make it go faster

While Karina was s*cking Mark his d*ck she was also fingering herself after she s*cked Mark his d*ck Karina throwing Mark on her bed and put his d*ck in her wet p*ssy and started moaning while having s*x with Mark

Oh yeah do you feel good bby." Karina said again while moaning

Oh f*ck yeah I feel I need more and more and more do it bby do it bby." Mark said again

The end P2