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warnersister · 1 year

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Gonna give you a baby (smut)

The Beatles x Reader, Paul McCartney x Wife! Reader

Summary: you and Paul have fertility issues, the three men with a thing for you see this as a great opportunity to lend a helping hand. -> hate this one didn’t write it well🤧

Warnings: mentions of infertility, pregnancy, filthy smut, five-some, degrading (slut, whore, etc), hand-jobs, oral (f+m receiving), just a lot.

Requested by: @jill-smith-123

You and Paul had met in the early 50’s. Your family had moved in just down the street from him and the 10 year old McCartney was awestruck from the moment he laid eyes on you. The next day, he’d showed up at your house, to which your less-than-pleased father had answered the door, with a bow-tie and bouquets of flowers he’d taken from your mother’s new garden, to ask you to accompany him to the local youth centre for disco night.

He’d bought you a sherbet straw while he puffed on candy cigarettes before pecking your lips with tight-shut eyes mid way through you dining along to The Andrews Sisters’ song your mother had on vinyl.

When you were each a bit older, you’d accompanied Paul to the cavern club sitting in the front row as you’d hummed along with him, his eyes never drawing away from your own. Then he’d take you for dinner, a real fancy restaurant that his uncle owned, and he said that he’d pay - but it was always on the house.

Eventually, another three boys had somehow weaselled their way into your life and the product was an up and coming band: The Beatles. John Lennon, George Harrison, Pete- (scratch that) Richard Starkey and your boy Paul McCartney. And it was no secret that the three also had a thing for you - between the constant bickering and playful flirtations, Paul brushed it off because he always knew in the end that you were always his, and he was always yours.

Especially when he proposed on your twentieth birthday in 1962. Beatlemania crazed the nation and it wasn’t long before scandalous magazines began to accuse the boys of unruly acts and Paul was no different. And realistically, Paul saw the only way fit to prove his innocence to you was to ask for your hand in marriage. With your father’s approval of course… (?)

The fame never concerned you, nor did it necessarily appeal to you either - so you’d had a small ceremony in the local church, doors locked for a healthy gathering of your closest family and friends and an after party conjoined with a reception in the Cavern Club into the early hours of the morning.

“Y’know love, I never read a rule that said your first night had to be with your actual husband.” George had whispered into your ear, smirking at you after seeing the look on your face. “Not her first night.” Paul responded, hints of jealously in his tone as he threw you over his shoulder and off to his car.

That was also the night you’d discovered Paul’s intense breeding kink. His hips pushing into you at a bruising rate, lips failing him as he stuttered out his desire to see you full with his children.

But that was the problem.

“Am I the problem?” You’d asked Paul as you buried your face in his neck, crying after umpteen times, you still weren’t pregnant. “No, no, not at all dove.” He caressed your back gently. “We’re just going to have to be moved patient and keep trying. You’re perfect.” He said softy, cupping your puffy face between his hands, looking you over with a concerned gaze.

“Hey, woah woah woah what’s up lovey?” John asked as the other band members entered the room. They all ran to your side, helplessly watching the tears roll down your cheeks. “I can’t get pregnant.” You sniffed, hiccuping as the tears continued to flow. Ringo’s hands cupped yours as his sad eyes looked into yours. “Maybe there’s just not enough.” He said and your brows creased.

“Y’know our offer is always on the table.” George’s continued. “What offer?” You asked, confused. “Y’ mean you never told her, paulie boy?” John cocked his head. “No, cause I know what you lot are like.” “What y’ on about?” You ask again. “All of us.” George said. “Y’ mean-” “all of us at once.” John took your chin between his fingers and squatted down to where you were sat. “Wrecking y’ can handle us, dovey?” Shocked, you look from John to Paul who had a knowing smirk frowning on his lips. Without thinking, you nod at them. Suddenly, you were swept off of your feet and into the arms of John. “Let’s make you a baby.”

A king size bed was certainly not big enough to support the five of you, but in the boys’ desperation, you certainly managed. You were placed down gently on the bed, soft covers enveloping you as the four starved men looked down at you with lustful eyes. Your clothes were practically torn from your body, apparently them being to impatient to allow you to get undressed properly.

Paul caressed your hair gently before leaning into kiss you, as you begin to feel light kisses and licks on your breasts. You look down to see John staring back at you, a cheeky grin on his lips. He bit your nipple harshly and you hissed, screwing your eyes tight and throwing your head back. “Better get used to that if y’ want a baby.” George said, tracing his hand up and down the sensitive skin on your inner thigh.

Then all the delicious contact went again and you groaned, searching for the friction they were giving you. “Y’ want a baby? Y’ gonna have to let us get undressed first.” George chuckled. When they were undressed, John situated himself between your legs. “Oi, shift she’s my missus I’m having the first go.” Paul grumbled. “And the reason she can’t get pregnant.” John replied smugly, but was shoved out of the way by your husband. “Y’ gonna show em what a good slut y’ are for me, hmm?” He asked, fingers wandering down your thigh and towards your heat, beginning to pump them at an agonisingly slow pace.

George yanked your hair back and forced you to look at him, your mouth falling agape in the process. “Y’ gonna be good for us? Gonna give old Paulie a baby?” He taunted, rubbing himself a few times before forcing his length into your mouth. Gagging slightly, you tried your best to open your throat in the position you were in.

A heat built up inside of you, warmth rushing as you chased your high but it was soon stripped from you. Unable to complain, the disheartenment was soon replaced by something much larger - you and Paul groaned simultaneously, George doing the same as you sent vibrations flying through his cock.

After a while of Paul’s bruising pace, you rest his unwavering hips stutter as he released into you, you doing the same and realising all over him. George pulled out of your mouth and thrust himself into his hand a few times before also cumming. “Such a filthy whore.” Paul taunted, enamoured by the drool leaking from your lips.

“My turn now, birdie?” Ringo asked and you hummed, still dazed and coming off of your high. “He asked you a question. You being a disobedient slut for him?” John asked and you shook your head no. “Y-yes, your turn Richie.” You managed to stutter out.

His dick hardened at his routine nickname, needing no time to prepare you so without warning, sliding himself straight in. He let out a big breath of air at the feeling of your soft wall enveloping him. He began thrusting at an agonisingly slow pace, you in turn, crying out in desperation. “Patience now, doll.” Ringo told you. “Good things come to those who wait.” He took his time with you, not knowing when an opportunity like this one would come again.

Your head fell to the side and your eyes connected with John’s, who looked down at you with a small shit-eating grin. He leant down and licked your ear love, whispering gently “gonna give me a hand job while you let your husband’s friend take you?” You moaned at his question but nodded at him, raising your hand to rub up and down his hardening cock, swiping the tip a few times to use his pre-cum as some sort of lubricant. You pulled away and spat saliva into your palm, beginning to jerk him off at a faster rare. “Isn’t your first rodeo, is it dove?” John asked with a chuckle. “Got you well trained, haven’t I chick?” Paul said, leaning down to latch his lips onto yours.

Your high came excruciatingly slow, Richard building up the pace to the point he could no longer take it and took you animalistically, only stopping to release his seed deep into your womb and felt you cum over him. Waiting long enough for some of it to sink in, he slowly pulled out and kissed at the cold air attaching his sensitive member.

John released into your hand and felt his cock re-stiffen at the sight of you licking your hand clean. “Fuck. Me next.” He said, walking around the bed to your feet and positioning himself between your legs, feeling yourself being manoeuvred like some inhuman marionette. He moved you until your face was in the sheets and back arched for him, arse and sweet warmth on display for him. “Can’t let any of their cum get out, can we love?” He’d asked tauntingly, nails digging painfully rough into your hips.

He slipped in quickly, cock twitching at the sound you made, sensitive from the numerous rounds you had been put through. “Can’t believe Paul gets to keep you all to himself. A little slut all for him.” He said, staring to pepper kissed down your back while his hands found your breasts. Your arse was unquestionably bruised, as was your neck from the way Ringo and George were sucking at either side of it. John let out his load deep inside of you, full ovaries feeling themself being stuffed by the liquid trickling down into them.

George had waited so patiently for his turn, so patient with a so painful hard-on that he was going to make you regret giving him. Seeing himself torture you would be enough of a reason to make himself wait a few more moments. He spun you around and returned you into your back, kneeling down to kiss and worship the skin of your inner thighs, yet never close enough to provide the friction you so-desperately needed.

He kissed and sucked at your clit, thumb coming up to rub it as his tongue delved deep into your walls, making you cry out at the sight of their cum on his tongue. He thrust it into you a half a dozen more times before standing up and forcing his elongated cock into you. You hissed, pained by the repetitive beatings your intestines were receiving.

“Such a good little brat for us aren’t you?’ Paul asked, staring down at you as if a predator staring at its helpless pray. “Yes, ‘m good.” You repeated, doing as you were told as he tapped your chin to tell you to open it. You parted your lips and allowed your husband to force his dick into your already sore and throbbing throat.

George’s hips snapped at a consistent and quick pace, eyes not deferring from yours as he watched you take his bandmate’s cock so well. “Take him so well, don’t you dove?” He asked, praising you as you hummed and Macca moaned. George put his thumb onto your overstimulated clit and pressed down harshly. You cried out but tried your best to keep your throat open. “That’s if, keep it open.” Your husband taunted. And with a few more final thrusts, George cummed inside of you as you did the same, Paul releasing deep down your throat and you refrained from coughing - instead harshly swallowing and wiping the remaining resales from your mouth with your tongue and the back of your head.

“You were such a good girl.” John said, petting your hair gently and pecking your forehead. “Y’ alright, princess?” Ringo asked and you looked up at him and smiled with a nod. “Definitely gonna give Paulie boy a baby for being so good.” George added as he strolled your leg comfortingly. You enjoyed the praise you were receiving, letting the men manoeuvre you so you were in Paul’s lap. With your eyes shut, you felt yourself being lowered onto his cock and you hissed in both oversensitivity and surprise. You looked at your husband with tired eyes. “Don’t want any of it to go to waste.” He said with a wink and cheeky little smile. “Thank you.” You mumbled, drifting to sleep on his chest their quiet conversation turning into distant white noise.

A week or two later, your head was in the toilet bowl as Paul pulled your hair back into a make-shift pony tail and caressed your back at seven in the morning to let you be sick. “It’s alright love, think you’re coming down with something.” He said, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead to check for a fever. It was winter after all and your unreliable immune system was no match for England winters. “I’ll take you to the pharmacy, yeah?” And you’d nodded, wiping your mouth and letting him lead you out to the car.

You weren’t sick, unless your count baby fever. You were pregnant. Pregnant with a child. Pregnant with Paul’s(?) baby. The two of you were overjoyed and as were the rest of the boys when they found out, although offering if you wanted to have two in there just to ask, not minding the sight of you naked and belly swelling with a child.

And eight and a half months later, two weeks premature, your water broke at midnight. Paul sped to the hospital, mentally timing the distance between your contractions to tell the midwife when you got there. After a while of pushing, swearing, breaking Paul’s fingers, and him nearly dainton at the sight of the head coming out of such a small area, at seven minutes past 8, your son was born.

The boys all crowed around, in awe at the new baby in your arms. “He has his mother’s chin.” Paul notes, grinning from ear to ear. “And his fathers face.” The lads then piped up. “And Ringo’s droopy eyes-” George stated but was Vito off by the man himself “oi, oh yeah actually he does. And John’s nose.” John hummed. “And George’s eye colour and ears.” You all began laughing.

Whoever’s paternal child this may be, he was certainly a gift you yourself, your husband, and the three men who tagged along with you.

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tocrackerboxpalace · 1 month

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Flying - Chs. 12 & 13 Update

Summary: It’s August 1966, and The Beatles are flying to America for what would be the final tour. When the plane instead goes down over the Atlantic, the group has to struggle to survive.

TWO new chapters it must be christmas (don't hate me when you find out this is only kind of the case)

re:i swear i'm closing in on some kind of resolution for this. if you've been along for the ride this long, you're a godsend and you deserve some kind of reward. as always, leave a comment to let me know what you think. they really do keep me going <3

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #au #starrison #angst #plane crash au #ao3

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friendofgeorgeharrison · 6 months

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your ring or my ring

Handlemewithcare George Harrison/Ringo Starr Rating G M/M

Remember that ring that George wore between 1962 and 1963? This a story how it came into his possession and how it disappeared.

#yay early beatles time with... angst?!#come here it's good #starrison #george harrison #ringo starr #fanfiction #*mine

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waveofahand · 2 years

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Paul and SOPHIE

Okay, I know this will sound weird, but I just happened upon this pic of Paul McCartney in Spain with some fans. And the girl in this pic is just about EXACTLY as I envisioned Sophie in “Carry that Weight”. She’s just like Dot and like Jane Asher “petite and smoosh-faced” (as Cyn puts it in the story). So... there you have it, readers of that particular story. There is Paul and Sophie. Somewhere I have a pic of what I think Michelle would look like, too.. gotta find it! “CARRY THAT WEIGHT” is part I of a very angsty "hurt Paul, hurt John” 2-part book (still in progress) on AO3. You can read it HERE.

#Paul McCartney #Sophie #Carry that Weight #rape/noncon #Rape recovery #heavy angst #some very funny spots too #George Harrison #john lennon #Drunken priest

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cherry-velvet-skies · 7 months

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Marigolds In The Porch Lights (18+)

Gardener!George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: Smut (FINALLY), but also some Fluff and Angst

Warnings: A poor attempt at a shower sex scene, unprotected sex (ALWAYS USE PROTECTION, Y'ALL), and some kinda twisted feelings I guess idk these two are just constantly teasing each other

Words: 6.4k (I had so much fun with this y'all)

Summary: 1971 era; SEQUEL TO STRAWBERRY LEMONADE; George and Reader finally have their time together; also Geo is not famous in this so I guess it counts as AU lol

A/N: MUST READ STRAWBERRY LEMONADE FIRST FOR THIS TO MAKE SENSE! But honestly the amount of requests I got to make a sequel, anyone who's here has probably already read S.L. (also thank you for all the requests! <3)

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One week had gone by since the blossoming of your new relationship with George, and you could not stop thinking about him. Calling him during the week just for your own pleasures seemed rather selfish, so you forced yourself to wait the full week until his next Saturday gardening job. After all, that wouldn’t be fair to his personal schedule, now would it?

Now, here it was, the fateful Saturday afternoon, and the anticipation was swarming you. You knew that you were always his last appointment of the week, and you would have him all to yourself from now until the sunset. You contemplated walking outside naked to greet him, but quickly remembering that neighbors exist, the idea was obligated to fade away. You still wished you could, though.

You left the gate unlocked, allowing him to let himself in. He was so caring of your space, taking time to lock the gate behind him so as not to allow the opportunity of any unwanted guests. You waited by the patio for him, prepared with another plate of fresh strawberries and a cold glass of lemonade. You made enough for two this time, specifically if those two were going to be staying together for a while.

Upon George’s entry, he eyed the fruity treats reminiscent of his previous time here. Instead of helping himself to a snack, he approached you to place a patient kiss upon your lips, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist as he did so. His other hand held his gardening toolkit, keeping it at his side while you deepened the kiss. George was almost ready to drop the bag and take you in his arms, but felt he should at least accomplish what you’re paying him for first.

“How have you been?” You started, having a bit more courage to talk to him this time. He laid out his tools as he knelt in the grass.

“Doing what I normally do, I guess.” He replied absentmindedly, “Though I was excited to get back here and see how the strawberry seeds are doing.” He flashed you a cheeky grin, and your shoulders instantly floated down to a more relaxed stance. George wasn’t big on expressing his true feelings directly, but he had his own ways of getting his point across. You slowly drifted off, listening to his voice as he spoke, until he stopped, and you realized he was waiting for you to answer his question.

“Pardon?” You squeaked, causing George to tilt his head in confusion.

“You have been watering the strawberries, right?” He repeated, gesturing to the empty space beside him, “The soil looks moist, so I’d say they’re doing well.”

“Oh! Yes,” You giggled, “I purchased a book on how to care for them the morning after you planted it.” A wide smile spread on George’s face, giving you a short nod and happily moving on to the next patch of flowers. You wore a scarlet colored dress today, planning for him to give you a matching rose from your garden. You concluded that you were the one who could determine which type of flower you receive by the color you chose to wear that day. You weren’t sure if George was also aware of this arrangement, or he just enjoyed finding flowers for you too much to notice.

You had treated this time you spent with George almost like your first date. You wanted to know everything there is to know about him, no matter how minor. In the hours that he had been there, you learned that George also knew how to play guitar, and he enjoyed writing songs, but was never really interested in the life of fame and performing to the public, so he preferred not to pursue it. Being a gardener and getting as much time in nature as he could was more than enough to make him happy.

The time went faster than you both wanted it to, partly because this time felt like you had known each other for years. George had even taken the time to show you how to tend to certain flowers, as the rules differed based on the type of plant. He showed you all his tools, demonstrating how to use them and the best places to start to preserve the flowers, as well as any of his personal favorite natural additives to help the flowers grow. You now knew that adding common household items, such as white vinegar or banana peels can give your flowers a speed boost. George even explained how ground coffee could be beneficial to the soil if you decided to start growing vegetables. His wide range of knowledge was better than any purchasable book could provide.

Before you knew it, the sky was growing orange, and the sunset was upon you. More time to spend with George aside from his occupational responsibilities was not completely out of the question, so you hadn’t lost hope yet. That is, until you saw him reach for his bag to start packing up his tools.

“You’re leaving?” You blurted out, not wanting to sound desperate but your body not even giving you a chance to consider your words. “You just got here!”

George glanced down at his watch, eliciting a small chuckle. “I’ve been here for three hours, love.”

“Well it felt like three seconds to me.” You pouted, crossing your arms and slumping back against the tree you were sitting under. “And you said we would do more together next time! That’s what you said the last time you were here!”

“And we did, didn’t we?” George replied, not missing a beat. “Last time, there was much more uncomfortable silence. This time, we had a wonderful conversation.” He paused to remove his gloves and place them in the pocket on the side of his bag, slowly rising from where he was seated in the grass. “That’s a pretty big improvement, don’t you think? It’s something I can cherish, especially since we won’t be seeing each other next week.”

Your eyes widened. Initially, you weren’t sure if you had heard him correctly, but it was true. First you had missed out on quality time with George and now next week he wasn’t going to come by? You felt your heart sink, trying your hardest to keep the tears from escaping your eyes.

“Why not?” You whined, a little louder this time. You didn’t want to sound like you were throwing a tantrum, but it was difficult when that was exactly what you wanted to do.

“I’ll be out of town next weekend.” George replied matter-of-factly, “I’m going to visit my family as one of my relatives is getting married. The wedding is on Saturday, so I’ll be gone the whole weekend.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to do anything that would make him stay. But why? He didn’t do anything wrong, but your impression of how the day would go when he got here was a lot different than how it actually went down. You felt like you were lied to, except that you weren’t. Last week, George said that you would ‘make more time for each other’ this time, and technically, you did. He never said what that time was going to be spent on. Perhaps you two had different ideas as to what his return would bring. But instead, you tightened your chest, putting away that tantrum for your alone time later.

“But I thought-” You stopped yourself, knowing that telling George what you really wanted could potentially lead to unwanted results, especially if he didn't feel the same way.

“Thought what?” George asked, staring at you as you mentally cursed yourself for popping a corner of the lid on Pandora's Box. “Did you have a plan for today?” He was too clever. There was no going back now.

“Well…” You started, feeling a blush creep up onto your cheeks, “Sort of…”

“Oh?” He teased, the sunset casting a brilliant sparkle on those dark brown eyes, “Well, come on then. Out with it.” You pursed your lips, shifting your gaze to the floor. George leaned in closer, the coarse hairs of his mustache brushing against the shell of your ear. “So long as we're pretending I don't already know.”

He knew what you wanted. He was going to make you say it.

You stood concerningly still, almost frozen. It was a battle of wits, but you weren't exactly sure if you wanted to win or lose. If you gave up now, and spilled your guts, would you get what you wanted? Or would George continue to string you along, making you wait anyway just to see you squirm?

George sighed, looking at his watch again. “Well,” he huffed, feigning annoyance, “if you have nothing else to say, I suppose I should be going now.” He kissed your cheek, wedging his hand into your own to leave his complementary petal before making his way to the gate. You couldn't even look at him as he left, feeling too embarrassed. Instead, you looked down at your hand. A rose petal, no surprise. You were about to head inside until you heard George call your name. You partially turned around, still feeling rather conflicted. He was standing on the other side of the gate, pointing towards the patio.

“I'd turn that light on if I were you. It gets rather dark out here.” He waited for you to respond. You slowly nodded, approaching the back stairs. And with that, he got in his car and drove off.

You flipped the switch, watching as the porch light came on. It was a glimmering golden yellow hue, expanding its beam about halfway through the garden. You weren't sure why George told you to put it on, but it did make the garden look brighter. Even when you were angry with him, you would still do whatever he wanted you to.

But why were you angry? George hadn't done anything wrong. You knew he was teasing you, but you didn't care. In fact, there was a part of you that liked it. You felt like he was playing with you without even touching you. Wrapped so tightly around his finger that you felt like it was your life force. It strangled you in the best way possible. Like an invisible leash secured around your neck, and he could pull you wherever he wanted. You were completely and truly captivated by him.

Slipping quietly into the house, you felt like you wanted to cry. The anger had subsided and was soon replaced by a persistent longing. Your disdain towards having to go two weeks without seeing George wasn’t even due to the fact that you were crazy about him. It had become a routine. At this point, you wished you hadn’t been so shy to start a conversation with him the first three times he showed up. That you hadn’t waited until just this previous week. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe you’d be closer.

You didn’t know where to go from there. Part of you accepted this as what it was, and you would see George eventually, while another part of you felt defeated that you wanted to do something about this when you knew you couldn’t.

When you woke up the next morning, your house felt quieter, despite you having always lived alone. Almost like George had been staying in the guest room this whole time unbeknownst to you. Perhaps he was a frequent visitor to the guest room in your brain.

You spent the rest of your weekend like any other weekend: it was another gorgeous spring day, and you loved to sit out on the patio and catch up on your reading while you enjoyed your lunch or an afternoon snack, hearing the faint melodies coming from your living room of whatever record you put on for the occasion. It was the only time you actually preferred being alone. Perhaps it was the only activity potent enough to fill the void of your longing for George.

When night came again, you headed inside, about to shut the patio door when you swore you heard a voice.

You froze, but briefly shrugged it off as being in your head. You looked outside, barely being able to see your garden, but knowing it was only your subconscious. You shut the door, turning to walk away until you heard it again.

I’d turn that light on if I were you.

It gets rather dark out here.

You sighed. Even when George wasn’t around, you felt like he was right beside you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry, so you released a noise that sounded like a mixture of both as you flicked the porch light on, not paying it another thought as you headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Monday morning. You dreaded it more this week for some unknown yet obviously known reason. The past few weeks, you would just think about your weekend with George to get you through the boring parts of the day. But since this weekend did not pan out like you thought it would, there wasn’t much to occupy your mind. That was the hard part about all this. George didn’t have a typical nine-to-five. He would have gardening sessions scattered throughout his day. Sometimes he would be booked solid, and other days would be quick appointments for treatments, leaving more time for his personal schedule. Even if you wanted to meet up with him during the week, your strict schedule prevented you from having any time with him. Maybe something could’ve been worked out eventually, but the current state of your brain would not settle for that. You wanted him and you wanted him now.

When you got home that night, the feeling had not left. It was more manageable while you were away, but you felt like you were coming home to a house that was once full of life, only to no longer harbor that same feeling. You had never realized how much life George brought to your daily routine even when you didn’t live together. For a moment, you wondered why this was affecting you so much. Perhaps you were overreacting. You would see George again. It would just be longer than usual until you did. You released a heavy sigh, a sliver of hope that you could push this feeling out of your mind, for at least a little while, had begun to show itself.

Until night fell. You glanced at the back door.

The porch light.

That fucking porch light.

The entire time you lived here, you barely even acknowledged its existence. But ever since George made you aware of it, you think of it every night. Subconsciously, you thought maybe if you were consistent in putting it on every night, he would come back. He would find his way to you, sensing your desire to see him, and you would never be apart again. Never be alone again.

You turned it on again, simultaneously hopeful in your delusional scenario and growing impatient at how long your heart wanted to keep up the act.

The next morning, going by the door to shut the light felt like a walk of shame. What were you waiting for? George had his own schedule. His own life. He would see you when he could. You couldn’t help but start thinking if George was missing you as much as you were feeling every day was so bleak without him.

But yet, that night, you turned the porch light on again. Feeling an overwhelming, compelling urge to stay, you opened the back door, stepping out onto the patio. You stared up at the light, admiring the wonderful golden hue of the small bulb inside its painted glass shade. The shade was brushed in bright yellow, matching the bulb and some other accents of the house’s exterior decor. It seemed so much more prominent at night. It was the only thing visible from far away. A sign of life in the home. You smiled at the thought. You would’ve probably never got around to use it if it wasn’t for George. He truly did bring new life into your home.

Thanks to the light, you could see the first few rows of flowers in your garden surrounding the large tree in the center of the yard. This was your gradient row, as you loved to refer to it as. The row where George had taken many creative liberties, creating a smooth-flowing spectrum of colors around the tree like a color wheel. The warm tones faced the house, showing you your lovely spread of roses, tiger lilies, and marigolds.

The marigolds reminded you of the light. Bright, yellow, and outstanding. It was also one of the only few flowers in your garden that George had not given you petals from. You turned back to the light. You decided it could be your marigold petal. At least for now.

You didn’t stay long. You quickly returned inside, shuffling briskly back down the hall, trying to make it to the bathroom before the tears dripped off your face and down onto the floor.

The following morning, as your fingers brushed against the switch to turn off the light, you let out a loud sob. It had rained in the middle of the night, and the sight outside the back door, one of gray overcast and a messy, muddy garden, made it all feel much too real. You couldn’t hide it anymore. You missed George. Oh, how you missed him. One day a week wasn’t enough anymore. You needed more of him. So much more. More than your own mind, body, and soul would ever know.

You considered taking off work today, as your mangled emotions were surely draining your energy. But realizing that staying home would only twist the knife further, you conceded. It was almost as if any choice that life could make would've been wrong in your eyes. Whether you went to work or stayed home, you felt uncomfortable. If the work day went quickly, you were dreading coming home to face your feelings again. Yet, if the day dragged on, you groaned at the thought of having to endure more time until your fateful reunion with George. You were incessantly unsatisfied. Insatiable, even. The only correct answer was George. You needed him to give you what he had promised you, whether he was waiting for you to admit it or not. At this point, you wouldn't have even cared if you sounded desperate. You were desperate. You didn't care if you had to call him right now and divulge everything you felt. How badly you wanted and needed him. Your brain was chasing a fierce addiction, and George was your dealer.

That night had been the hardest so far. You couldn't even bring yourself to walk down that hall. The light wasn't going to be some magical beacon to signal George. You felt like you were holding onto nothing. You didn't care if the light wasn't on tonight. It made no difference anymore.

You went to sleep early that night. Your main thought process was to sleep as much as you could to make the days go by faster. You didn't even want to think about this Saturday. Your soul felt like it was grieving. But grieving what? George didn't break up with you. Technically, the two of you never even established any sort of declaration of a relationship anyway. But you felt like you belonged together. You were his and he was yours. As sweet as the thought was, you quickly shoved it away as you felt your eyes welling with tears.

You turned on your side to try and sleep when you heard a noise outside. It sounded like a low thud, but fairly close to your house. You shrugged it off at first, until you heard it again a few minutes later, sounding closer this time.

You sat up in bed, overtaken by fear. Living alone, you always worried about having to fight off intruders. Luckily, nothing had ever come of it. Until now.

Grabbing a broom from your hall closet to arm you, you headed into the living room. Your first instinct was to check out the front window, being too scared to open the door.

You peered through the curtains, seeing nothing to the left or right of the door, the street only illuminated by the porch lights of your surrounding neighbors. Of course the universe had to think of a way to remind you of what you were desperately trying to put out of your head.

You closed the curtains, ready to go back to bed when you heard what sounded like wet footsteps coming from your back door.

Oh fuck.

If this really was an intruder situation, you were anything but prepared. You glanced at the back door, hiding behind the hall corner. With your breath held and your muscles stiff as the wooden boards beneath your feet, you took slow steps down the hall. You lurched forward to quickly lock the door, which you normally did anyway but forgot that night as you never actually made it to the door without crying.

Knowing that the lock was safely in place brought you some time. Being closer to the door, you heard another sloshing sound, as well as some angry muttering. With your luck, the intruder slipped on the wet and muddy grass and was now disoriented, leaving you time to- well, do what, exactly?

You hadn't thought this far. Do you call the police? Make a loud noise in retaliation in hopes to scare them away? Armor yourself with throw pillows to burst through the door and use your broomstick to beat them senseless? Your mind was racing. The most reasonable thing to do in that moment, although it hurt quite a bit, would be the answer to whether this was really a life or death situation.

You turned on the porch light.

When the illuminating glow hit the grass below, you saw a person laying there, covered in mud, clearly not anticipating the new biome that had been created in your backyard. You screamed, causing the person to immediately look up at you. Upon making eye contact, you felt your heart spring up into your throat before free falling down to your stomach. You threw open the door, feeling like you were being fled with a million emotions at once, all conflicting each other. You stood there in shock, only being able to choke out one single word.

“...George?”

“I thought I told you to keep that bloody light on! I almost broke my neck out here!” George shouted, but couldn't keep a straight face long enough to be convincing, dissolving into a puddle of laughs back onto the ground. You felt your whole body fill with happiness. You dropped the broom, running out into the yard, slippers and all, squealing all the way before landing on top of him, trapping him in a tight hug.

You kissed him faster than your brain could process what you were doing. The familiar feeling of his soft skin, luscious hair and beard, and plush lips made your whole being swell with euphoria. Your golden yellow silk pajamas were now full of mud, but it didn't matter. George was back here with you. And you didn't need anything else.

“You’re getting all muddy, love.” George giggled, pushing damp strands of hair away from your face.

“I don't care!” You shouted while laughing, pressing loud, wet kisses across his face and neck. George wrapped his arms around you, resting his hands on your waist. You pulled away, staring into his eyes. It may have been late at night, but you felt wide awake as ever. Before you even opened your mouth to speak, you knew there were tears dripping down onto your cheeks. “I didn't think I'd see you again for a while.”

“I planned to stop by before I left, but I didn't have much time during the day.” George confessed. “I wanted to surprise you, but I'm realizing it might have been a better idea in my head.” He looked around the yard, then at his muddy clothes, eliciting a light chuckle. “Thinking about it now, I probably should've called first.”

“I'm just so happy to see you.” You replied, not even hearing half of what he said. You heard he planned to come back for you, and that was all you needed to know. “But I'm guessing your plan involved you being able to see once you got back here. Hence the, you know, porch light.” You averted your gaze, adding a nervous laugh.

“First I tried hopping over the fence, and tripped over that.” George explained, staring back at the gate. “Then I tried to walk quietly, and slipped in that big puddle over there. Not to mention I tripped over the center gradient, so I apologize for that. I'll be sure to fix it the next time I'm around.” He added with a swift cup of your chin and a kiss to your lips. You looked at the tree, seeing the warm toned flowers slightly uprooted, tiny specks of dirt adorning their golden petals. Honestly, that didn't even matter to you. The image of George trying to sneak into your backyard and failing miserably made you erupt into laughter again.

“I suggest you have to get cleaned up now, don't you?” You asked, running a finger through the thick layer of mud adorning his jeans.

“Well, yeah, but I refuse to get your floors all dirty.” George declared. You helped him up off the ground, trying your best to smudge the dirt out of his hair, as well as your own.

“You can leave the clothes in the laundry room. I'll deal with them tomorrow.” You replied. George shot you a look, helping you brush some of the grass off your pajamas.

“So it's already been decided that I'm spending the night, then?” You smirked, not saying anything back. George smiled, sneakily pinching the skin on your waist. You squealed, playfully batting his hand away. You turned to walk back to the patio when he spoke again.

“Even after we get out of these filthy clothes, we still have to get ourselves clean, you know.”

You froze, a chill running through your spine, excitement filling your body. You whipped your head around, grabbing George’s hand and leading him to the stairs. You were about to open the door when he put his arm out to stop you.

“I know you're excited, love, but I still don’t want to bring all this mud into your clean house.” He seemed genuinely concerned by this issue, but at this point, nothing was going to stop you.

“Okay, fine. Easy fix.” You stated, slipping the straps of your pajamas off your shoulders, followed by your underwear. George’s eyes widened as he watched the silken fabric pool around your ankles, leaving you completely nude standing on the patio. The cool air of this particular spring night began to wash over your body, and you shivered slightly. You weren't sure if it was from the sudden breeze, or the tantalizing feeling of this whole situation, but either way, your nipples were completely hard.

Seconds later, George followed suit, removing his muddy shoes, followed by his equally sodden shirt and pants. He stopped at his underwear, feeling a flash of uncertainty. He was no stranger to being nude, but being nude while standing on the back porch of his lover’s house in the middle of their classy suburban neighborhood? That was a new one.

He turned back to you, taking in the sight before him. Seeing your fully bare form, taking one slow drag of his eyes over your lower half, he quickly shuffled off the remaining piece of clothing and tossed it on the floor with the rest. You opened the door, scooping your clothes up in one swift motion, walking a mere few feet and tossing them in the laundry room to be dealt with eventually. You couldn’t be bothered right now. George did the same, keeping his clothes in a neat pile right beside yours, placing his boots by the door. He stood there for a few seconds, gauging your readiness to proceed. With a smirk on your face, you grabbed his hand, leading him into the bathroom.

You opened the shower curtain and turned the water on, feeling the warm steam slowly fill the room. You adjusted the water to a comfortably neutral temperature before climbing inside, leaving space for George to join you. You stayed under the stream of water, allowing it to take its time to rinse all the mud off your arms and legs, and most of it out of your hair, leaving you with a fresher start before moving on to shampoo and soap. You looked over your shoulder at George, who now seemed rather chilly, so you switched places, allowing him to rinse off as well. He had been wearing more covering clothes than you, so there wasn’t much dirt he needed to get off his body, but his hair was a different story. He spent extra time using his fingers to comb through his beard, which seemed to be a prime target for all that grass and soil.

Getting started on washing your body, you had briefly turned away from George to grab your soap. Before you could open the container, you heard a low shudder coming from behind you. You looked at George, who was now staring at you, while sporting quite the erection. You giggled, lightly poking his stomach. “Am I taking too long for you?”

“You know, for someone who wanted me so badly outside, and is now teasing me about having to wait, you’re quite mad, aren’t you?” He stated, glancing down at himself while continuing to rinse his hair. You laughed louder this time.

“I figured we would clean up first.” You said innocently. He chuckled.

“Why do that when we’re just gonna get dirty again, love?”

You bit your lip, holding back a whimper, but the way your legs involuntarily began to clench shut gave it away immediately.

You nodded. “I see. Well let’s get it on then.”

The second you finished your statement, George wasted no time grabbing your waist and pressing his lips against yours. It was a hungry kiss. Passionate. Longing. It had confirmed he missed you just as much as you missed him. You put your hands in his hair, which was now much softer under the water. You were the one to take that passion further, feeling his lips part and allowing your tongue to enter his mouth. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy this, moving his hands from your waist down to your ass, kneading it softly yet with an impatient edge to it. You were tempted to hook one leg over his waist, but the slippery floor beneath you made you fearful of losing your balance, so you refrained. But you wouldn't have even had time to take action, as George quickly pulled away, spinning you around and pushing you up against the shower wall. You put your hands out, both of them splayed out on either side of your head as your cheek made contact with the cold tile. George grabbed your waist again, slowly grinding against you, slightly pressing you between the wall and himself. The contrast in temperature between the cool, flat surface and the steamy air made your head spin before he even did anything else. He leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your earlobe.

“I think you've waited long enough, my beautiful flower.” You moaned softly at his statement as you felt him enter you. Slowly, savoring it just as much as you. It was a bit of a stretch, but you never found it painful. The combination of the warm water and your mutual arousal provided a decent amount of lubrication.

George continued to leave kisses around the shell of your ear and down to your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder. Once he was all the way in, he steadied himself before going any further. “You doing okay, love?” He cooed, patiently waiting for your response.

You sighed blissfully, softly nodding your head and letting out a low “mhm” while taking in all the sensations around you. The mix of everything made you whine in pure ecstasy, feeling so full in the best way possible, not wanting to say or move much in fear of losing your grip on it. You felt like you were in a different world, where it was only you and George, and nothing else mattered. However, you were not in the mood to be kept waiting either, feeling like you were holding your breath a bit, waiting for his next move. You took another deep inhale and exhale, releasing another moan in the interim. “It's okay,” you mumbled, “you can keep going.”

George nodded, starting with a soft, slow pace. Even with shallow thrusts, you were already in heaven. You quickly got lost in the rhythm, hearing his occasional breathy sighs directly into your ear. Hearing him enjoy it just as much as you were only turned you on more. And the more George fell into a rhythm as well, the faster he went. His thrusts became quicker and harder, pushing you up against the wall with each motion. Your moans had just become one long groan of pleasure, the way your nipples dragged across the cold wall with each thrust stringing you along even further.

When you felt that pressure start to build, you couldn't even form a coherent sentence to signal anything, the only word falling from your lips a meek “George...” before a high-pitched whining overtook you again. George shushed you softly, rubbing his thumbs along your waist as he brought you closer to the edge.

“I know, flower. I know.”

What felt like seconds later, you felt your orgasm crash over you, a noise that sounded like a mix between a moan and a scream flying from your mouth, proclaiming your everlasting love and worship of the man behind you, feeling yourself begin to slump against the wall, trying to catch your breath. George finished shortly afterwards, his grip on your hips tightening as he came inside you. He tilted his head back, a low, steady groan signaling his release. He had no choice but to use the wall for support as well, nearly falling on top of you after he slowly slid out. It was times like these you considered turning off the shower head and just filling up the bath instead, as your legs felt like jelly by this point, leaving you with minimal energy to hold yourself up.

Before you could say anything else, you felt George’s hands on you again, running his fingers through your hair. You smelled the familiar scent of your shampoo, feeling it glide through your hair as you closed your eyes again. He held you tenderly, guiding your head to the water, gently tilting it back to rinse the suds from your hair.

Once finished, he started on your body, massaging the soap all over your back, making sure to be careful around any areas that were currently more sensitive than usual. You sighed happily, feeling pampered like royalty, so grateful to have him here with you.

After a few minutes, your legs didn't feel like that of a newborn giraffe anymore, so you turned around to face George, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before taking the bar of soap. “I got it from here.” You giggled, finishing yourself off before starting to help him out as he eyed your shampoo. It wasn't what he used, but it smelled nice, and there wasn’t much of a choice in this situation. He chuckled before squeezing a small amount onto his palm, looking down as you lathered up his chest and stomach.

Once you both had thoroughly cleaned up, you turned off the water and stepped out, fetching some large fluffy towels and equally soft robes to only increase your level of comfort. By now, both of you were free of mud, partially dry, and ever so tired. Wasting no time to climb into bed, you snuggled up against George, resting your head on his chest.

“I'm so happy you came back.” You whispered, placing a kiss right over where his heart is. George giggled, caressing your arm.

“I would've always come back, flower.” He paused with a pensive sigh. “I enjoy every second I spend with you. You give me new life. A new purpose to an already wonderful experience.” You stared up at him, eyes wide in awe. It was the first time he had openly expressed his feelings to you without hiding them behind his usual cheeky humor. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.

“You have no idea how special you are to me.” You beamed, craning your neck up to kiss his jawline, surprised when he turned his face and you landed on his lips instead.

“And you to me.” He replied. You enjoyed the streak of added sappy statements from George, but you knew it was a big step for him, judging by the deep breath he took afterwards, followed by a swift “Let's get some sleep, love.”

“Okay,” you agreed, “but let me just make sure I locked the back door first.” George nodded, getting comfortable on his side of your bed as you hopped out from under the covers, shivering again as the cool night air came back with a vengeance on your naked body. You quickly put your robe on and shuffled down the hall. You clicked the lock shut and went to go back to your room when you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. Something yellow.

You looked around until you spotted it again, sticking out of the side of George’s boot. Bending down to get a closer look, you moved the muddy laces and pulled it out. A tear almost fell down your cheek and you held it between your fingers. A petal from one of your precious marigolds, presumably stuck there when George tripped over them on the way in. You smiled warmly, feeling your heart soar at the idea that George can give you a petal every visit, even if he didn't realize it. Without saying anything, you put the petal in the pocket of your robe and made your way down the hall, trying not to disturb George as you quietly slipped back into bed.

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IT'S FINALLY HERE Y'ALL 😄 I'm so happy I can share it and it was definitely a fun plot to continue!

Taglist: @peaceloveandstarrs @queen-of-stars @nosegoes @cocteautwiny @thatgoesinthere-misshapes

(If you want to be added to my taglist, feel free to send an ask and let me know! 🥰)

#george harrison #george harrison x reader #the beatles #beatles #the beatles x reader #the beatles fanfiction #beatles x reader #beatles fanfiction #george harrison fanfiction #george harrison imagine #george harrison x y/n #george harrison x you #george harrison smut

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sunflowersinthedirt · 4 months

Text

NOW AND THEN | GEORGE HARRISON 🌻

You love sunflowers and George miss you.

Angst (i’m a sad person), mentions of grief, angry issues. May have some sensitive topics to some readers.

English is not my first language and gifs are not mine.

1995: Summer.

Ringo and Paul were playing their ukuleles and conversing in the company of their respective wives. They were almost oblivious to George's presence in that vast garden. Today was a delicate day; they were finalizing the recordings for the Anthology documentary, and talking so much about John left Geo with a bittersweet (or rather, sour) taste in his mouth.

George was one of the few who didn't get to make amends with John before he passed away, and today, despite the sunny atmosphere, George was gloomy and quieter than usual. He was feeling nostalgic. He had remembered things that made him happy but at the same time, saddened him.

It was when he thought of you, looking at the sunflower garden he had planted, that the memories came flooding back. George walked over there, struggling against the feeling of sadness that seemed to take over and fill his chest. He had no idea he was being watched by Olivia and Dhani, who knew about his devotion to those flowers more than anyone. What they didn't know was the reason Geo loved sunflowers so much.

1967:

— Look, me nails and clothes are full of dirt! — Said the girl, laughing and showing her hands. — Only you'd be able to see me all dirty like this.

George laughed.

— I'm worse than you. — He said, getting up from the flowerbed and helping her up. He clapped his legs to get the excess dirt off his hands and clothes, making himself even dirtier. — And you're the prettiest girl covered in dirt I've ever seen. — He confessed, with a cheeky smile.

The girl shook her head.

— Please, love... — She laughed. — You're bein' too nice to me.

He took her in his arms. Neither of them caring that they were dirty with soil in the middle of that garden.

— You know you're gorgeous no matter what. — he said, kissin' her lips. — Thank you for helpin' me take care of this garden. And thank you for lookin' after it when I'm not around.

She smiled and felt her face warm with all the adoration and courtship from the dark-haired man.

— You know I love this garden. Takin' care of it is a way for me to ease the missin' I feel for you when you're gone. — She confessed, George's eyes staring into yours like he wanted to capture every detail of you at all once. You were, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful woman George had ever seen.

You were beautiful because you were you. In your simplicity, in your little mannerisms, in the way you walked... George loved everything about you and wished he could keep you like a porcelain doll so nothin' would ever harm you.

— And I took the liberty of plantin' some sunflowers here. Don't get me wrong, I love orchids, but sunflowers will always be my favorites. — She commented. The warm wind blowing through her long hair made George pull a few strands away from her face.

— They're lovely, darling. I loved them. They made the garden more colorful. — He said. The girl smiled.

— Sunflowers are happy flowers to me. I love them. — She confessed, looking at the flowerbed. She was proud of her work. — And if I ever die, I want you to bring me sunflowers every year. Wherever I am, I'll be happy...

George's smile faded at his beloved's request. It was sudden, a happy moment turned into a melancholy mess in an instant. She was like that: very honest. Not that George wasn't aware that people could die, after all, he had already lost someone that year: his manager, Brian. He and the rest of the band were still stunned by the untimely death of someone as passionate about life as Brian.

— Y/N... — He took a deep breath, stepping away from her touch. He was tough enough not to want to cry in front of her. He didn't like thinking about the possibility of losing her one day. He'd rather go first than see the woman he loved leave forever. — I-I... I think that's a rather morbid wish, don't you think?

The girl shook her head.

— I think it's the sentence we all carry — She concluded. — I'm sorry if I touched on a sensitive subject for you.

— It's alright. — It wasn't. — We need to take a bath and get all this dirt off us.

He changed the subject and took her by the hands so quickly into the house that she didn't have time to breathe and tell him what had been bothering her. Not that she wanted to tell him, knowing that George would do everything he could to take that away from her and that would cost him a lot.

Four months later:

She was sick and no one knew except John, her best friend. When George received that phone call at the studio, something inside him knew it wasn't good news. Although the news hit him like a speeding car, he couldn't feel anything about the fact that you had told John and not him that you were in the terminal phase. The electric guitar fell from his hands, making a loud noise that pierced the acoustic walls of the studio. He wanted it all to be just a nightmare.

He blamed himself a lot. It was obvious that her thinness wasn't normal, but he was so busy with the recordings of the White album that he was living on autopilot. He fought with John. He wanted to punch John.

He wanted to hold back his tears, he didn't want to yell at one of his best friends... But John knew George had been holding back his tears since Brian's death. It was George who held down the fort with the media when Brian died because John couldn't speak.

And losing you was unbearable... And when he remembered that you had asked him to bring you sunflowers, he wanted to tear out every single flower from that garden and set it on fire.

For the first time, gardening had become a distaste for him. Geo was immensely devastated. He swallowed his pride, made peace with John, and asked his friend to accompany him on your wake. George wanted to fulfill your last request despite all the anger and sadness bottled up in his chest about those "damned flowers."

And so, every year... He brought you sunflowers. He would plant a flowerbed on your grave if it would bring you back.

Present: 1995, Summer.

George sighed. His chest seemed full of that anguish from the past, and to remember you and John now with a bitter taste in his mouth was devastating. He put on a brave face. Mentally, he made a small prayer that your spirits could find the peace you so sought in life. George had married someone he liked, had a beautiful family, but you never left Geo's heart and Friar Park. There was a part of you there, and it was those vibrant yellow flowers.

— Sunflowers are happy flowers to me. I love them.— He remembered what you had said. He no longer hated them because they were a sweet reminder of you. It was the color that was missing from his life, and in a way, it was there, almost spiritually cheering him up.

George wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his jacket, which by this point had already flooded his eyes, making his vision blurry.

— I will always love you. — He said to himself, hoping that you, Brian, and John could hear him wherever you were.

#the beatles headcanons #the beatles x reader #the beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfiction #george harrison x reader #george harrison imagine #the beatles imagines #george harrison headcanons #george harrison fanfic #george harrison #paul mccartney #ringo starr #john lennon #beatles fandom

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panakinthedisco · 3 months

Text

PART 2 | TICKET TO RIDE ━━ Joel Miller

summary: becoming the president of the class is the most stressful thing that joel miller ever did in his life but then, you made it bearable.

author's note: i'm shookt with the amount of likes with this mini-series huhu so here you go! if it's your first time in here, please read the part 1 of this series <3

other notes: au, elementary teacher!reader x contractor!joel, no outbreak!joel miller, sarah lives, single dad x teacher, eventual smut but this is a slow burn romance, maybe angst? reader is a fan of the beatles and a mccartney girlie while joel is a george harrison stannie! age gap (reader is in the middle of 20s x joel miller in his 30s), sarah being a cute matchmaker to her dad!

word count: 4.4k

A few days had passed since the PTA meeting, and you were still adjusting to your new life in Austin, Texas. The town was unfamiliar to you, and the job offer had been the only one available at the time. Thankfully, your cousin lived in Austin and had kindly offered you a place to stay. The apartment wasn’t large, but it was cozy and gave you a sense of security in this new environment.

Settling into your new role at the school, you found that the staff and students were welcoming. The school itself had a warm, community-driven atmosphere that you appreciated. Your class was manageable, and you even began to grow fond of your students. They were eager to learn and showed respect in the classroom, which made your job easier and more enjoyable.

One student, in particular, stood out to you: Sarah Miller. She had a natural curiosity for science and was always eager to help. During science classes, Sarah often assisted you in arranging the flasks and beakers on the shelf, her enthusiasm evident in the way she carefully handled each piece of equipment.

One afternoon, as you were setting up for a lab experiment, Sarah approached with a smile. “Do you need any help?”

You returned her smile warmly. “That would be great, Sarah. Could you please arrange these beakers on the top shelf?”

Sarah nodded and began to carefully place the beakers in their designated spots. As she worked, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her assistance. It made the transition into your new role smoother and less overwhelming.

“How are you finding Austin so far?” Sarah asked, her voice full of genuine curiosity.

You paused for a moment, considering your response. “It’s been an adjustment, but I’m starting to feel more at home. My cousin has been a huge help, and the school is wonderful. I really enjoy teaching here.”

Sarah beamed. “I’m glad to hear that! You’re a great teacher. Everyone in class really likes you.”

Her words warmed your heart. “Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot to me.”

As Sarah carefully placed the beakers on the shelf, you couldn’t help but notice how meticulous and dedicated she was. Her assistance was invaluable, making your adjustment to the new job much smoother. You watched her for a moment, grateful for her help and impressed by her enthusiasm.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder at you, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Have you had a chance to visit any places around Texas yet?”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “Not really, Sarah. I haven’t had much time to explore. The only place I’ve really been to is the grocery store near my apartment.”

Sarah giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know, there’s a great place for horseback riding just a mile away from here. My dad has a truck, and we go there sometimes. Would you like to join us?”

Her suggestion took you by surprise. It felt a bit unusual to be invited out by a student, especially since you were still getting to know them. You felt a mix of flattery and apprehension, unsure how to respond.

“That’s very kind of you, Sarah,” you said politely. “I’ll think about it.”

Sarah nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but you could see the gears turning in her mind. She returned to her task, her expression thoughtful.

Internally, Sarah was plotting. She adored you and knew her dad had been lonely for a long time. What better way to help both of them than by arranging a casual outing? She envisioned them enjoying a day out, her dad relaxing and having fun, and you, seeing a new side of Texas. Maybe, just maybe, her plan would help bring a bit of happiness into both of your lives.

As you continued to prepare for the lab experiment, you couldn’t help but think about Sarah’s suggestion. The idea of horseback riding sounded fun, but the prospect of spending time with Sarah and her father outside of school felt a bit strange. You appreciated the gesture, though, and couldn’t deny a small part of you was curious about the experience.

Later, as you walked around the classroom, checking on the students and ensuring everything was in place, you found yourself thinking more about the invitation. Sarah’s enthusiasm was infectious, and her desire to share her favorite activities with you was touching.

As the day went on, you decided to keep an open mind. You could see how much Sarah cared about both her father and her teacher, and maybe this outing could be a chance to bond with her and better understand the community you were becoming a part of.

“Alright, everyone, time to wrap up,” you announced, bringing the class to a close. As the students gathered their things and prepared to leave, Sarah gave you a bright smile, and you couldn’t help but return it, feeling a sense of warmth and connection.

As you watched the students file out of the classroom, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. The hustle and bustle of the day was winding down, and you found yourself alone with your thoughts. The adjustment to life in Austin had been challenging, to say the least. Moving away from your parents was a difficult decision, but the job offer had seemed like a beacon of hope at the time. Now, you weren't so sure.

Loneliness had become an unwelcome companion over the past few weeks. Your parents had been supportive, encouraging you with words of wisdom and confidence, assuring you that you could thrive on your own. But their words felt distant in the face of your current reality. Each day felt like a test of endurance, and even the small victories were overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of isolation.

The faculty room, a place that should have been a source of camaraderie and support, only intensified your feelings of being an outsider. You were the youngest among your colleagues, and their close-knit conversations left you feeling invisible during break times. They had their routines, their inside jokes, and you often found yourself on the periphery, unsure of how to break into their circle.

Your thoughts drifted back to Sarah Miller. She had been a ray of sunshine in an otherwise cloudy experience. Her genuine kindness and eagerness to help had been a lifeline. When she invited you to go horseback riding with her and her father, it had been the first time anyone in Austin had reached out to you in such a personal way. The invitation felt like a small crack in the wall of loneliness that had been building around you.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, staring at the now-empty classroom. The idea of spending time with Sarah and her father was starting to seem more appealing. Maybe it was a chance to break out of your shell, to connect with the community, and to find a sense of belonging that you desperately needed.

"Why not give it a try?" you thought to yourself. "It’s just an afternoon, and it could be fun."

The image of Sarah’s bright smile flashed in your mind, and you felt a flicker of hope. Her invitation was a small gesture, but it held the potential to change the trajectory of your experience in Austin. Maybe, just maybe, it was a step toward finding the connections and support that you had been yearning for since your move.

You packed your things, the classroom now quiet and still. As you walked out, you made a silent promise to yourself: you would accept Sarah’s invitation.

Life as a teacher continued for you. The final bell rang, and the bustling energy of students packing their bags and heading out the door filled the classroom. You busied yourself with tidying up, ensuring everything was in place for the next day. As you straightened the books on your desk, you glanced up and were surprised to see Joel Miller standing in the doorway.

Your eyes quickly took in his appearance—typical flannel shirt, worn out jeans, and work boots covered in a thin layer of dust. He looked as though he had come straight from a job site. Despite his rugged appearance, there was a certain warmth in his eyes that you found comforting. You gave him a friendly smile.

"Mr. Miller, come on in," you said, motioning him into the classroom.

Joel stepped inside, looking slightly out of place in the tidy, structured environment of the classroom. Just as he was about to speak, Sarah and her friends came up behind him, chattering and laughing.

"Hey, Dad," Sarah greeted, a playful glint in her eye. "I’m going to hang out with Maddie for a bit."

Joel turned to her, a familiar, fatherly concern in his voice. "Alright, but remember, Uncle Tommy is picking you up before dinner. Don’t be late."

Sarah nodded, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Got it, Dad." Then, she glanced at you and back at her father, her smile growing wider. "And Dad, don’t forget to shoot your shot."

Joel looked momentarily confused, his brows furrowing. But then he caught the way Sarah glanced at you, and understanding dawned on his face. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he turned back to his daughter, trying to maintain his composure.

"Sarah, you need to go," he said firmly, though his tone was tinged with embarrassment.

Sarah laughed, a light, carefree sound, and gave him a quick hug before skipping off to join her friends. You watched her go, feeling a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Turning your attention back to Joel, you could see he was still slightly flustered by his daughter’s teasing. You decided to break the ice.

"So, you’re here for the field trip plans, Mr. Miller?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joel scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile forming on his lips. “You can call me Joel, Ma’am. And yes, here are the plans.” Joel handed you over a piece of paper, and it’s handwritten by him. Ever since the PTA meeting where he was elected class president, the responsibility had weighed heavily on him. He had no idea how to organize a field trip, and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself in front of you, the new teacher. Earlier, Joel sat at the dining room table, papers strewn about in a chaotic mess. He rubbed his temples, staring at the tentative plans for the upcoming field trip.

His brother, Tommy, wandered into the room, a look of confusion on his face. "What’s got you all riled up, brother?" he asked, eyeing the disarray on the table.

Before Joel could respond, Sarah chimed in, a knowing smirk on her face as she drank her hot cocoa. "Dad’s trying to impress the new teacher," she said, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Tommy's eyebrows shot up, and he plopped down beside Joel, his expression turning into one of playful mischief. "Is that so? Trying to impress the teacher, huh?"

Joel sighed, feeling a flush of embarrassment. "It's not like that," he muttered defensively. "I'm just trying to get these plans sorted out. Also, she seems younger, you know?"

Tommy laughed, clapping Joel on the back. "You’re making excuses, man. I’ve never seen you this worked up about anything before. Sounds to me like you’re more interested in her than you’re letting on."

Joel shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "She's just trying to do her job, and I don't want to make things harder for her. That's all."

Sarah giggled, leaning against the doorframe. "Sure, Dad. Whatever you say."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, still grinning. "Look, Joel, it’s okay to admit you find her interesting. But you can’t stress yourself out over this. We’ll help you figure it out. It’s just a field trip. Goddamn, you’re a lot more stingy to this rather than talking to the grumpy old man across the street that you almost cussed out."

Joel glanced at his brother and daughter, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude. He appreciated their support, even if their teasing was relentless. "Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Let’s figure this out together."

They spent the next hour brainstorming ideas, Tommy throwing out suggestions with his usual carefree attitude while Sarah chimed in with practical advice. Slowly, the plans started to take shape. Joel felt the tension in his shoulders ease as they worked through the details. At least, he had an initial idea for your class’ field trip.

As the last of the students filtered out of the classroom, Sarah gave her father a mischievous grin before heading off with her friends. Joel watched her go, feeling a mix of pride and trepidation. Once the room was quiet, he turned his attention back to you, taking a deep breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to you.

"This is, uh, the rough draft of the field trip plans," he said, his voice a bit strained with nerves.

You took the paper with a warm smile and gestured to an empty chair nearby. "Why don’t you grab a seat Mr. Miller? We can go over this together."

“You can just call me Joel, Maam,” you nodded and looked through the paper.

Joel hesitated for a moment, but then he dragged the chair over and sat down beside you. You unfolded the paper, smoothing it out on your desk, and pulled out a pink ballpen from your pocket.

His eyes shifted from the paper to the colorful array of pens spilling out of your pencil case. The case itself was decorated with playful designs and a few strips of washi tape, each adding a personal touch that he found unexpectedly charming. He watched as you reached for your pink ballpen, your fingers deftly maneuvering it as you made notes on his rough draft.

As you started scribbling on the paper, Joel’s brow furrowed, a look of concern crossing his face. "Am I doing something wrong?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You looked up, noticing his apprehension. "Oh, no! It’s just a habit of mine," you explained with a reassuring smile. "I like to doodle while I think. Helps me focus."

Joel nodded, relaxing slightly. He watched as you continued to make notes.

He couldn't help but smile as he observed your methodical yet creative approach. The pink ink swirled across the paper, punctuated by little stars and hearts that danced around your comments and suggestions. Joel was taken aback by how much personality you injected into such a simple task. It was endearing.

As he continued to watch, he found his gaze drifting towards you. He tried to be subtle, but his eyes traced the curve of your hand as it moved, the way your brow furrowed in concentration, and the gentle way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought. There was something soothing about your presence, a quiet confidence that he hadn't expected.

Joel's attention was momentarily drawn to the scent of vanilla that wafted towards him every time you moved. It was light and sweet, complementing the warmth of the room and adding another layer to the growing sense of comfort he felt in your company.

He shifted in his seat, trying to focus back on the task at hand, but his eyes kept returning to you. The way the afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, catching the strands of your hair and casting a soft glow around you, made it hard to look away. He was struck by how natural and unassuming you were, yet there was an undeniable spark that drew him in.

As you scribbled another note, you looked up, catching Joel's intent gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words. You broke the silence with a warm smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "You okay, Joel?" you asked, your voice soft and kind.

Joel cleared his throat, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. "Yeah, just... watching you work. It's impressive."

You laughed lightly, “Thanks, Joel.”

Returning to the paper, you continued making notes, occasionally glancing up at Joel to ensure he was following along. He tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to the little details—the pink pen, the vanilla scent, the way you looked so at ease in your element.

After a few minutes, you paused, tapping the pen thoughtfully against your chin.

"I really like your idea of taking the kids somewhere engaging and interactive," you said, turning to look at him. "Rather than just going to a zoo or a museum, something hands-on will be much more memorable for them."

Joel’s eyes widened in surprise. "You really think so? I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea."

You nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. Kids learn best when they’re actively involved. It’s a great way to make the experience more meaningful."

Joel felt a swell of pride at your words. He had spent hours agonizing over those plans, and hearing your approval was incredibly validating. "Thanks," he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "That means a lot."

You returned his smile, your eyes twinkling with encouragement. "We’ll just need to iron out a few details, like permissions and logistics, but overall, I think you’re on the right track."

Joel leaned in closer, his confidence growing. "Alright, let’s do this then."

For the next half hour, the two of you worked together, discussing various aspects of the field trip. You appreciated Joel’s practical insights and his willingness to listen to your suggestions. He sat beside you at the small, cluttered desk in the classroom, the map of Austin spread out between you. His rough draft of the field trip plans was covered with your colorful scribbles, and now you were both leaning over the map, discussing potential locations.

"What about this park?" Joel suggested, pointing to a green area on the map. "It's got a nice picnic area and some trails. The kids might enjoy that."

You nodded thoughtfully, considering the idea. "That sounds great. It would be good for them to have some outdoor time."

As you both continued brainstorming, you glanced up from the map and remembered something Sarah had mentioned earlier. "You know," you began, "Sarah mentioned something about horseback riding. She invited me to come along with you two."

Joel's eyes widened in surprise. "She did? What exactly did she say?"

You smiled, recounting the conversation. "She said you have a truck and that there's a place just a mile away. She thought it would be fun if we all went together."

Joel chuckled softly, shaking his head. He knew what his daughter was doing and it’s not even subtle anymore but he did notice that you had no idea what his mischievous daughter was doing. Before he could say more, you interrupted, your eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "Actually, I'm interested. It sounds like a lot of fun."

Joel was momentarily speechless. He hadn't expected you to be so open to the idea. Gathering his thoughts, he finally managed to say, "Well, that would be great. I think it could be a lot of fun, too."

As you both continued discussing the field trip, you glanced at the clock on the wall and realized how late it had gotten. "Oh wow, it's already seven in the evening," you said, surprised. "I think we've done enough for today."

Joel looked at the time and nodded. "Yeah, we should probably call it a day."

As you started packing up your things, Joel looked at you earnestly. "Let me take you home," he offered. "It's getting late, and I don't want you walking home alone. This town has its share of people who might take advantage of someone new."

You hesitated, not wanting to be a bother. "I appreciate it, but I don't want to trouble you."

Joel shook his head firmly. "It's no trouble at all. I insist."

Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, you nodded in agreement. "Alright, thank you, Joel. I appreciate it."

Together, you left the school, the evening air cool and refreshing. As you walked to his truck, you felt a sense of camaraderie growing between you. Joel opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, feeling a mix of gratitude and curiosity about where this new connection might lead.

As Joel drove the truck with you in the passenger seat, he suddenly glanced over at you and asked, "Is it okay if we drive through McDonald's? It's for Sarah."

You smiled and nodded. "Of course, that's fine."

The drive to McDonald's was accompanied by a comfortable silence, punctuated by the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of papers from the plans you had been working on together. Joel broke the silence, his voice warm and curious. "So, where are you originally from?"

"I'm from Louisiana," you replied, a hint of homesickness in your voice. "This is my first time being away from my family."

Joel nodded, his expression empathetic. "I know it can be tough, especially when you're used to having them around. Just a piece of advice, though: don't walk around at night alone. And if you need anything, you can call me anytime."

You appreciated his concern but didn't want to be a bother. "Thank you, Joel. I don't want to impose, especially since you have a busy work schedule."

Joel waved off your concerns. "It's no imposition at all." He reached out to the dashboard, retrieved a calling card from his company, and handed it to you. "My number is on there. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

You took the card, touched by his kindness. "Thank you, Joel. I really appreciate it."

A few minutes later, the truck pulled into the McDonald's drive-through. As you approached the ordering kiosk, the cashier's voice crackled through the telecom. "Welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order?"

Joel leaned over to the speaker and ordered, "I'll take two Big Macs and fries, please." Then he turned to you. "And what would you like?"

You hesitated, not wanting to add to the order, but Joel's encouraging nod made you feel more at ease. "I'll have a chicken burger, please."

Joel relayed your order to the cashier. "And a chicken burger as well, thanks."

As you waited for the food, Joel glanced at you with a smile. "Louisiana, huh? Must be quite a change coming to Austin."

You nodded, thinking about the differences between the two places. "It is. But I'm slowly adjusting. Your daughter, Sarah, has been a big help since I came to the class."

Joel chuckled. "She's a good kid. Always looking out for people."

The truck rolled forward to the pick-up window. The cashier handed over the bags of food, and Joel passed them to you to hold. As he paid and received the change, you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of admiration for him. His kindness and willingness to help made the transition to your new life a little bit easier.

"Thanks for doing this, Joel," you said as he pulled out of the drive-through and headed back towards your apartment.

"No problem at all," he replied. "I'm glad to help."

When you finally reached your apartment, Joel parked the truck and turned to you. "I'll walk you to your door."

You nodded, appreciating the gesture. As you both got out and he walked you to your apartment, the evening air was filled with the quiet chirping of crickets. When you reached your door, you turned to him with a smile. "Thanks again, Joel. For everything."

"Anytime," he replied, giving you a reassuring smile. "Have a good night."

"You too," you said, watching as he made his way back to the truck.

As you entered your apartment, the cozy familiarity of the small space greeted you. You placed your bag on the kitchen counter, the scent of vanilla lingering from your perfume. Joel Miller's calling card was still in your hand, and you set it down next to the fruit bowl, taking a moment to reflect on the evening.

Joel Miller. He was an enigma. In the classroom, his rugged appearance had caught your eye: the typical flannel shirt, worn-out jeans, and work boots—he exuded a blend of ruggedness and reliability. You remembered how he had seemed hesitant but determined to discuss the field trip plans, his deep voice carrying a hint of nervousness. Despite his rough exterior, there was a gentleness in the way he interacted with you and his daughter.

You recalled his strong hands pointing out locations on the map, the subtle scent of sawdust and pine mingling with the vanilla of your perfume. His genuine concern for your safety had touched you, and his easy smile had made you feel at ease.

But then you shook your head, trying to dispel those thoughts. Joel was a parent, and you were a teacher. It was inappropriate to think of him in any other way. You needed to maintain professionalism, especially since Sarah was one of your favorite students.

You made your way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. The cool tile floor under your feet grounded you as you leaned over the sink, splashing your face with cold water. The shock of the cold helped clear your mind. You stared at your reflection, droplets of water clinging to your skin.

"Cut it out," you muttered to yourself, gripping the edges of the sink. "He's just a parent. Focus on your job."

You took a deep breath and stood up straight, grabbing a towel to pat your face dry. The lingering thoughts of Joel Miller needed to be pushed aside. You were here to teach and not to get distracted by the rugged charm of one of your student’s parents.

You walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, opening your laptop to review tomorrow’s lesson plans. Immersing yourself in work was the best way to push those thoughts away. As you typed away, you reminded yourself of your priorities: teaching, supporting your students, and adjusting to life in Austin.

Everything else, including your confusing emotions about Joel Miller, would have to wait.

Whatever that even means for you.

CONTINUE READING: PART 1 | PART 3 ━━ AVAILABLE ON AO3

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #*writing #pedro pascal #alternate universe #joel miller x female reader #sarah miller is alive #no outbreak!joel miller #contractor!joel miller

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harrisonarchive · 8 months

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Harry Nilsson, Chris O’Dell, and George, circa 1973 or early 1974.

In later years… “We ended up in Tramp [in London, 1984]. I was with George [Harrison]. Harry [Nilsson] was there and Ringo was there. And it got really quite late. And for some reason we challenged the Italian waiters to a ‘Volare’ sing-off. We all climbed on a table and they all climbed on another table. And we tried to sing ‘Volare’ louder than they could. It was really funny.” - Eric Idle, Nilsson: The Life of a Singer-Songwriter (2013) “Then there was the time at Harry Nilsson’s funeral. Every songwriter was there – Jimmy Webb, Paul Williams, Van Dyke Parks, George, the list of people was scary and it was the day after the last big L.A. earthquake. So we are all sad and sullen and standing around the grave and George goes. ’[Expletive] You.’ And we are all shocked and we thought he was having some kind of angst. And then he says, ‘That was always my favorite song.’ [Hudson sings a la George] ‘You’re Breaking My Heart, Tearing it Apart, Well [Expletive] you,’ so then we all joined in and sang it.” - Mark Hudson, The Gibson Interview, July 26, 2010 By the way… the Son of Schmilsson album cover features a photo taken at Friar Park. (x)

#Harry Nilsson #George Harrison #Chris O'Dell #Eric Idle #Mark Hudson #et al.#'Volare' sing-off :)#fits queue like a glove

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racfoam · 2 years

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🫧 Rac’s Masterlist Of Snippets 🫧

(last updated: 6th April, 2023)

BTS Dh Part 2

nynn snippets

graveyard add-on

what-if, Voldemort kisses Harry on the graveyard (Read the Warnings!)

Hermione Defending Harry (4th Year)

nynn Harry meets Movie Voldemort (Graveyard)

Voldemort licks Harry’s wound (Graveyard)

Sirius’ reaction to Harry crushing on Cedric

Cedric gives Harry clue about the egg + Moody reacting to Hedric

Fred & George’s nickname for Voldemort

Voldemort Faces The Dursleys Pt 2 (what-if)

Voldemort shows Harry he can fly

Harry dreaming of Voldemort

Harry’s Letter 1

Harry’s Letter 2

Sirius' reaction to Harrymort getting together

Harry & Voldemort Summer of 6th Year

Harry hears Voldemort laugh

Harry & Bellatrix Ministry fight (5th Year SPOILERS)

Harry under Amortentia (6th Year)

Harry almost gets attacked by McLaggen, Voldemort & Ron team up (6th Year)

Harry & Voldemort, Harry & Slughorn (6th Year)

Scene with Mirrors (SPOILERS)

old fashion vs new fashion

no towels, walk naked (SPOILER for 7th Year)

Flashback Scene - Slughorn Meets Voldemort after he was refused the DADA position (6th Year)

Harry & Voldemort talking about Slughorn, Slughorn is the father that STEPPED UP 😤 (6th Year)

Harry high on Liquid Luck (6th Year)

Voldemort calling Harry beautiful (SPOILERS 5th Year)

Harry being beautiful (6th Year)

McLaggen eyeing Harry during Quidditch Practice (6th Year)

Harry vs Snape (SPOILERS 6th Year)

Harry asking Voldemort for help with homework through the soul bond (5th Year)

Harry using the soul bond during Potions (5th Year)

McGonagall murdering Umbridge (5th Year)

Hedwig is accepting bribery

King's Cross Meeting

Harry talks to Sirius after the Atrium (SPOILER)

Voldemort & Barty (SPOILER)

Slughorn hugs Harry (short)

Harry & Sirius during Ministry fight (short)

Fred & George teasing Harry

Two Apples (SPOILER)

Harry's Quotes in 5th Year (SPOILER)

Death Eaters (SPOILER)

The Quaffle Incident (SPOILER)

Harry dreaming about kisses (SPOILER)

Bellatrix meets Harry

what Slytherin Locket is doing during nynn

Voldemort & Dumbledore Face Off Atrium (SPOILERS)

“I lie to myself.” (SPOILERS)

Harry asks Voldemort about his anatomy

Harry & Voldemort 6th Year Summer

Harrymort cuddles (6th Year)

Muttons (be proud)

Reference Pictures for Voldemort in nynn

Fem Harry Reference Pictures

nynn Deathly Hallows AU

escape from Ministry

Harry going into the Forbidden Forest

"I'll blow it up!" The Trio

Nagini in Godric's Hollow + nynn Voldemort stealing cupcakes

Harry flying on Ili

Seven Potters Polyjuice Scene

Dursleys packing + fight at Malfoy Manor

Harry's no good 17th Birthday

Harry & Hedwig after sky chase, Harry is so done with everything

Voldemort & Death Eaters celebrate Harry's homecoming

nynn Voldemort raises Harry AU Masterlist

nynn Lily & James alive AU

Harry is too chill and very hungry after dementor attack + Lily & Harry heartwarming scene

James & Harry

future son-in-law

all the times Voldemort calls James dad, and the time James calls Voldemort son

nynn James survives, Voldemort Wins AU

nynn Lily survives, Voldemort wins AU

nynn Professor Gaunt

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

pt 4

snowball fight

Gaunt gets jealous

Harry finds out Gaunt is Voldemort

pt 6 kiss™

nynn Same Age, growing up together & 1st Wizarding War

Tom & Harry’s first meeting written by Anon

Tom sneaks into Harry's dormitory

Harry & Voldemort moments during 1st Wizarding War

Lily & James discussing whether the Dark Lord has a wife

when Voldemort & Harry argue

Voldemort tells Harry about the Prophecy

Halloween 1981

Dolohov returns with baby Voldemort in 1983

Voldemort decides not to kill Harrison

Harry & Voldemort raising Harrison (angst)

Harrison says his first words

Harrison meets Hermione (Harmione)

Harry & Voldemort + 17-year-old Harrison going to meet Hermione's parents

last thought, last breath

- Canon Compliant, Harry surrenders in Forbidden Forest, Voldemort discovers Harry is a Horcrux, Captive Harry, Dark Fic

Narcissa is too sober for this

Harry tries to get drunk, Voldemort stops her

The Dark Lord wants his birthday gift (Mature themes)

your fingers seek mine (Masterlist)

generousity - Harry Time-Travels to 1st Wizarding War AU (Masterlist)

#masterlist #harrymort #tomarry #female harry potter #snippets #harry potter #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle

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tocrackerboxpalace · 30 days

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Flying - Ch 14 Update

Summary: It’s August 1966, and The Beatles are flying to America for what would be the final tour. When the plane instead goes down over the Atlantic, the group has to struggle to survive.

new chapter! first all-4 perspective, so, i hope i got a good bit in?

p.s. i got way off track of my outline for this fic so if anyone has any recommendations for how much longer (like, time-wise) this should go on, please let me know. i'm (very!) open to suggestion

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #au #starrison #angst #plane crash au #ao3

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friendofgeorgeharrison · 4 months

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snapshots of our love

Handlemewithcare George Harrison/Ringo Starr Rating T M/M

George decides to take photos of him and Ringo in a photobooth. Which makes him realize that he loves Ringo more than he lets himself acknowledge.

#ngl i really like this one. go read it #young boys in love with a lot of fluff and sprinkle of angst. what can you want more #george harrison #ringo starr #starrison #fanfiction #*mine

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adriennefrombrooklyn · 10 months

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Content to Whisper (18121 words) by carolynhidthecake Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: The Beatles (Band) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney Characters: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison (The Beatles), Ringo Starr, Brian Epstein Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Paul POV, dumb boys in love and shit at talking about it, Eventual Smut, References to Shakespeare, Pyramus and Thisbe, Around the Beatles, Porn with Feelings, Bottom Paul, Bottom John, Paul has anxiety that's it that's the fic Summary: Rehearsals for the Pyramus and Thisbe performance have Paul thinking about John and what he wishes they could be together

heeeeeeey so, remember this?

IT'S DONE

a full TEN MONTHS after I posted the first chapter, but here it is, I hope you all like it *runs and hides*

#turns out writing while working full time and taking a college course and job hunting is not that chill #seriously grateful for everyone's patience and I totally understand if anyone just forgot about this one #my writing #John #Paul #John x Paul #if we can't be lovers we'll never be friends #John Lennon #Paul McCartney #beatles fic #bugs fic

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cherry-velvet-skies · 9 months

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Within You, Without You (18+)

George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, all the things

Warnings: A very short sex scene, power play if you squint, slight nipple play, convos about insecurities and low self confidence and stuff like that

Words: 3.2k

Summary: 1967 era; You need to find a way to relax, and George offers to be your guide through tantral meditation

T/N: Domine- Latin for master; used from a place of utmost respect

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You had tried everything. Anything that would help to decrease your stress levels. These past few weeks had been tough on you, and all you wanted was for your brain to quiet down for a bit. But nothing seemed to work, no matter how hard you tried. So, you thought of the only thing that even had a shot at clearing your head: meditation. And lucky for you, you had just the person to teach you.

For someone with his level of experience, George was very well versed in the art of meditation. He had been given the tools to get to a place where he was comfortable practicing on his own, and that was really all there was to it. And he was more than happy to pass on any amount of his knowledge to you.

"Most people start out in the position you see most often, which is sitting on the floor with your legs crossed." George instructed as he sat down next to you, demonstrating the position. You couldn't help but stare at the wide variety of decor placed throughout the room. George had a specific room that he would go only to meditate. Apparently, having a designated space is supposed to enhance your chances of successful meditation.

You had half expected the room to be devoid of color, but it was quite the opposite. It looked as though all the wonderful colors of the rainbow had performed an interpretive dance across the walls, twirling and swinging about in perfect harmony. This was not the environment you had in mind.

"I always thought meditation was supposed to be about clearing your mind." You stated. "That's why most yoga studios are painted white." George gave you a confused stare.

"Meditation is about clearing your mind of negative energy. Not blanking it out completely." He replied, smoothing out the carpet fibers beneath his feet. "Meditating in a completely white room is not going to help you at all. You should be surrounded by things that are going to positively stimulate your brain." He looked around for a moment, admiring his own decor before turning back to you. "Although positive stimulation looks different for everyone, an assortment of colors is the most natural form of it."

“So is meditation always done this way?” You questioned, honestly having no clue where to start. George always had so much knowledge to share, and it wasn’t that you had no interest in meditation. You often felt that it wouldn’t work for you, but realized that you would never know if you never tried.

“This practice is the best entry to meditation. But once it comes more naturally to you, you can do it from anywhere at any time,” George explained, “To reach an optimal mental state for meditation, it does take much more than to sit cross-legged and close your eyes. It’s about reaching an internal piece, which would then translate to the physical body. However, the key is to start small.” He motioned towards several fluffy pillows on the floor beside him. “If the floor is too hard, you can use one of these.”

“And by doing this, I'll just…feel better?” You asked, getting comfy on one of the pillows. There were several colors, the one you chose being a soft orange.

“Well, not exactly.” George chuckled, He was always so patient. “You have to incorporate your mind as well. Like I said, clearing your mind means clearing negative energy. The best way to do that is to think of a place that brings you comfort and imagine that you’re there. To get in touch with both your mind and your body.”

You sighed. That was always your problem. You felt like you were too much in your own head and needed an escape. How were you supposed to be one with your mind if you didn’t even want to be in there in the first place?

“I just know what’s going to happen,” You whined, “I’m gonna get frustrated and it’ll have the opposite effect on me.”

George blinked at you, pursing his lips. “Can you at least try, love?” He offered, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here if you need me.”

You couldn’t help but smile. George’s genuine desire to help you truly did make things easier, but it was your stubborn brain that wouldn’t put in the effort. It technically wasn’t entirely your fault, but it was hell to live with. But George was right. Not trying meant shutting out the possibility of finding a solution. He didn’t want you to do it just to please him. He wanted you to want to do it. To do it for yourself.

“Alright.’ You said, exhaling sharply. “I’ll try.”

George smiled warmly, adorable fangs on full display. He didn’t have to do much to help you get ready as you were already in position. He stood off to the side, waiting to begin his part of the process as you settled into a comfortable zone. You did everything he said. Crossing your legs, closing your eyes, and relaxing into a decompressing posture. You drew in a deep breath, exhaling and trying your hardest to release any tension along with it.

After you closed your eyes, you felt George continue to stand around you, assessing your method of choice. You decided to go with the traditional method, despite your earlier qualms about its lack of stimulation. You figured that maybe less was more, and that by trying to calm your body down to an optimal level, you would achieve your desired outcome. But of course, without fail, once you tried to focus on finding a sense of tranquility, your thoughts took over and you were back where you started.

“I can’t…” You said shakily. “I can’t do it.’ You still hadn’t opened your eyes, because you knew if you did, there would be no stopping the flow of tears.

“Perhaps you need something else to focus on.” George replied, standing behind you now. He placed his hands on your shoulders and waited there for a moment. You didn’t tense up or try to move away, so he proceeded. He slid his fingers up and down your neck, gently squeezing your muscles as he went. You still kept your eyes closed, but furrowed your brows in confusion. To you, this seemed like the most inopportune time for a shoulder massage, but refused to object. You trusted that George knew what he was doing to some degree.

“Think of yourself as if you were facing them directly.” He announced, implementing a new kind of tactic, “Give them advice on how to achieve your goal right now.”

“George, what are you doing?” You interrupted, “How is this supposed to make me relax for meditation? The last thing I want to be thinking about is how I view myself.” George removed his right hand from your shoulder and placed his index finger at the base of your head, slowly tracing down your spine. You shivered, feeling like electricity was flowing through your body. “How did you do that?” You whispered, a slightly shudder moving through your voice as you spoke. “Why did I feel that?”

“We often find it hard to look within ourselves for answers, especially if we feel we aren’t qualified to give them. The vision of speaking to someone else helps to translate that motivation into an exterior perspective.” Classic George. You ask him a simple question and he gives you the secrets of life.

“Okay…” You breathed, “But when I look at myself, all I do is criticize them, whether it’s a mirror or a clone.” You were close to giving up, and it was clear George was running out of options. He remained stationary, his hands never leaving your shoulders. He sighed, thinking for a moment before making any sudden movements.

Mere seconds later, George resumed his shoulder massage, but instead of maintaining his posture, he bent down, mouth level with your ear. His voice was not above a whisper, his tone dripping with a new and improved delightful idea.

“Tell me how to help you, my Domine…”

You froze. This was the only thing that actually got you to sit up straight. You opened your eyes and turned to look at George only for him to shush you and turn your head back to stare at the wall in front of you. He kept his left hand cupped around your jaw, making sure you didn’t move it again, but there was no discipline. His grip was quite loose. You ideally could’ve gotten up and walked out if you truly wanted to. He wasn’t keeping you there.

“You know latin?” You mumbled, still perplexed at his new name for you.

George chuckled. “I know many things. All are useful at some time or another.” He pressed into your shoulders, his smile growing as you released some tension in the form of a strained whimper. He leaned to your ear again.

“If you can’t tell yourself what to do…tell me instead.”

You froze, but your following response was done with no hesitation. It was methodic. Robotic, almost. You adjusted your posture, locking into your newfound confidence.

“Make me feel good.” You whispered, knowing no additional details were needed. George went straight to work, placing his fingers at the back of your neck, towards the base of your skull. “Make me feel that sensation again.” You added, not knowing how to describe it but already feeling addicted. You wished it could flow through your body on command, giving you a boost at any time of day. You pretended as if you were alone, eyes closed and rhythmic breathing as his hands explored your body. A small sigh left George’s lips, exhaling a small puff of air onto your lower back while his fingers wisped across your spine. Every touch felt like a feather, as if he was there but he wasn’t. He truly gave you the illusion of peaceful solitude, merely being an assisting spirit to guide you in your journey of inward and outward reflection.

“Move to the front.” You announced, and George stopped in his tracks. Your initial reaction was to withdraw, fearing you sounded too demanding. Too commanding. Too strong. But you remained stationary, awaiting your lover’s next move. You heard him shuffle, and the new shadow in front of you, changing the amount of natural light billowing onto your body gave you the confirmation that your orders had been followed. George inhaled another long breath, ostensibly entering his own corresponding headspace.

“All I wish is to please you, my dear.”

Your body gave into the scene, falling back onto your palms while still keeping your legs crossed. You arched your back, pushing your chest towards him, giving him a compensatory level of control in this otherwise hierarchical situation. After a while, George began to drift off as well, taking in the sensation across your torso as he massaged your chest and pressed small kisses across your shoulders. You didn’t expect him to take to this so easily, but it seemed like second nature to the two of you. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way.

What mostly came to your surprise was when George’s fingers brushed over your nipples through your shirt, causing your hips to jolt involuntarily. You still weren’t sure if that was intentional or not, but there was certainly an additional advantage. He was testing you, waiting to see if it was what you wanted. Technically, you had complete control over what he would do next, yet he knew that if he took matters into his own hands, you wouldn’t stop him. You wanted it more than ever. You wanted to tell him to just have his way with you. And you knew you absolutely could. He knew you could. He would do whatever you wanted him to. But it wasn’t about what he wanted. It was all about how long you could fight the urge to tip the balance. To realize that the one who submits all power is truly the one in control. He was giving you the chance to be demanding. To be commanding. To be strong. The power play was absolutely diabolical.

“Do that again.” You choked out, trying your best not to sound desperate. George knew exactly what you wanted. So he did it again, but softer. More enjoyable. More deliberate. And by telling him what you wanted, he knew you had acquired a new goal. And you wanted to see how far he would go to please you.

“Make me feel confident.” You sighed. “Make me feel powerful.”

“I can’t do that, dear.” George replied without missing a beat, thumbs still slowly dragging back and forth across your nipples. “That has to come from within.”

You whined. The closer you got to what you wanted, the harder it was to keep up the confidence. You thought choosing the route of pleasure would be easier for you, but it was the same old story. Entering with a confident facade was simple. But the deeper you went, the more you wanted to back out.

“It doesn’t feel like me.” You breathed. George moved his hands to your waist, opting for a soft massage to ease the level of stimulation.

“Don’t lose it,” He whispered, “You were doing great.” You didn’t respond, slowly being dragged back inside your own head. If this had any shot of working, George knew he had to keep you grounded. “We both know this is something the real you wants.”

You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts into a neatly folded pile. Based on your personal skills, it looked more like a lumpy pile of laundry, but at least it was all together. You tried to imagine that you were alone again. That your only company was yourself. And for the first time, the person staring back at you was a true reflection. Still in your own world, you whispered so that only you could hear.

“Give me what I need. Give me what I want.” But George heard you loud and clear, assuming his role and getting you to the end. He resumed his deliberate touching across your chest, and you immersed yourself in it as if it were your own. You don’t know how long it went on for, but all you knew was that you never wanted it to end. George moved as if he was giving a deep tissue massage to your soul. Everything you said, he did. Everywhere you wanted to be touched, he did. He didn’t need to understand your rhyme or reason. Whatever your body was calling out for needed to be answered. The real you needed to be heard.

Eventually you felt a bout of pressure begin to build inside you. The longer it went on, the stronger it felt. Lately, the concept of pleasure had been one form of stress relief you couldn’t rely on. Try as you must, you couldn’t bring yourself to the edge. But this time was different. In his newfound role, George had bestowed upon you the virtual reality of physical pleasure. It wasn’t sex. You didn’t want sex. Throughout this entire session, you had never once asked him to touch you in your most intimate place. This was about stimulation. But if it ended in an orgasm, you were more than satisfied with that.

And you felt it. It slowly rose, like a high tide during a full moon. The soft light bouncing off the rippling water like your body started to shake, the glorious light of your soul trying to break out of your skin. Though he sensed you nearing the edge, George didn’t speed up. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t change anything. He stared at you as your head tipped back, small moans leaving your lips. You couldn’t say anything else to direct him, but there was nothing left to say anyway. The pleasure had peaked, the wave reaching a new height. It came crashing down onto the shore, your orgasm flowing through you. You released with a gasping shout, your exclamation nothing short of the highest praise for George and his intricate touches. Your arms could no longer hold you up, and your elbows buckled, sending you falling backwards onto the floor. George caught your head before you made contact, lowering you down the rest of the way. He rubbed small circles on the soft skin of your stomach just above your waistband. You sighed, your breathing slowly returning to normal as your lover began to leave small kisses on your right shoulder. You giggled, celebrating the fact that your new goal had been accomplished: it was the first time you had ever come untouched.

George laid on the floor next to you, head tucked in your neck and one hand flat over your stomach, patting it in a slow, rhythmic fashion. “You need anything?” He whispered, poking your ear with his nose. You shook your head no, not wanting to move from this position, which included having him next to you. You rolled on your side to face him, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. “I do have one question, though,” you mumbled, still in your post-coital haze, “does meditation usually lead to sex?”

George chuckled, slinging his arm over your hip to brush his hand over your back. “That is called tantra, love. It uses multiple forms of stimulation simultaneously, and yes, sometimes it does result in pleasurable situations like these.”

You smiled, pondering the topic. “So it’s meditation in the form of pleasure? But how does that relate to me feeling more confident?”

“It’s all about unlocking your true potential.” George replied, pausing briefly to perfect his explanation. “You felt confident. That’s mental stimulation. And paired with the physical stimulation, it provided enough emotional stimulation for you to have a powerful release.” He stared into your eyes with a mixture of love and gratitude. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to own up to it yet, but having you tell him what to do was also an example of mental and emotional stimulation. One that he had not been able to find on his own. The concept of joint meditation was something mutually beneficial.

“So when can we do it again?” You mused, earning a light chuckle from the man beside you.

“Whenever you want, my Domine.” George teased, seeing how you shivered at the recurring mention of your new title. He took the pillow that you had been using as a cushion and urged you to lift your head, placing it on the floor underneath you, watching as you sunk into the plush fabric. You smiled warmly, watching him take another pillow from the pile beside you, both of you get comfortable on the floor. The carpet was soft enough, but the addition of the pillows made for a fine place to have a nap. Eyes softly closing as the warm sun cascaded through the window and blanketed your nearly sleeping forms, your voice came as a barely audible whisper.

“Did you enjoy having me be in charge for once?” George smiled, not bothering to open his eyes to respond, but hearing your statement loud and clear. He thought for a moment before answering, but there was technically no need. He was no stranger to an apparently not so new experience.

“You’ve always been in charge to me, my dear.”

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Happy new year y'all! 🥰🥰🥰 To kick off 2024, I figured I would finally finish up the last fic that was featured in that poll I made however many months ago that was lol also I will say that this is my first smut fic so pls go easy on me 😅 I'm sure I'll get there eventually BUT other than that I hope you enjoy! 😁

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