#mclennon x reader

[bealtesharrisonmacca]

John x reader

“Tied down”

(Idk if it should say tied down or tied up but wtv)

18+

Summary: Reader is tied to bed (willingly) and John takes full control.

You feel kisses running down your body. All the way from your mouth to your thighs. Johns lips feel like firework each time they touch you. You want to grab his hair or just hold onto him. To guide him to where you need him most. But you can’t. Your hands are tied to the bed, and so are your feet.

It has always been a fantasy of yours to be tied down, but you never dared to mention it to John. But it was actually he who brought it up during sex a while back. Well, he initially said it as a joke or as dirty talk, but your reaction to his words made him eager to try it.

And so here you were. Tied down to the bed with John hovering over you.

John’s hands getting closer and closer to your clit, but each time he got near he retracted his hands and continue kissing your body.

“Yer so wet for me, practically dripping and I’ve barely touched you yet” John says in a teasing manner.

You want so badly for him to just pound into you, but the suspense he’s building is making your back arch. He finally gives a soft kiss to your clit, causing your hips to buck against the feeling. He chuckles a bit.

John smirks at you as he lowers his face down, just above your heat. You try to push your hips to his face but you’re stuck where you are. John loves watching you beg for him. He loves to see you all worked up when he takes control.

“J-John I” you stutter, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But you need him inside you so badly.

“What do you want love? Use yer words” John grins as his face is still just inches from you, his hands pushing your hips harder into the bed, leaving him in complete control of your body.

You reluctantly muster out the words he so badly wants to hear. “I need you John, please, I want you” The words come out loud in moans.

“Good girl” John says before pushing to fingers into you as his mouth starts working your clit. You let out a relived and satisfied moan. Your hands grab a hold of the rope that’s keeping you to the bed. Tightening your grip each time John flicks his tongue. His fingers working wonders inside you.

You feel your climax building up quicker than you thought, and John notices. He pulls his fingers out and leaves you yearning for more. A frustrated moan escapes your lips. You open your eyes to see him begin to unbuckle his belt. The bare look of his stiff cock sending shivers down your neck.

John leans over you and harshly kisses your lips as his hands goes to your breast’s. Your moans sending vibrations right to his crotch. He groans in your ear while kissing your jaw and neck. Your hands are aching to touch and feel him, but you love being at his mercy.

Without warning John slams into you, not letting you adjust before picking up a fast pace. Moans escape your mouth like a faucet. The pleasure is almost overwhelming. Your body shakes and fidgets as he thrusts forcefully inside you.

“You feel so fucking good y’know, you take my cock so well” John pants out as he stills inside you to catch his breath. You attempt pushing your hips against him but he slams you down against the bed and he thrusts inside you again. His cock filling you up so good. Your walls tighten around him as you feel yourself reaching your orgasm.

“Are ye going to cum for me love” John says as a question even though he knows you are. And with those words you let yourself go, cumming all over his cock as he continues thrusting inside you searching for his own release. You feel slightly overstimulated but after a few thrusts he cums inside you. Filling you to the brim. He pulls out as heavy breaths escapes your mouth’s. His eyes locked on your glistening pussy which is leaking with juices. He traces two fingers into your, still overstimulated, pussy, and brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Taste yourself”

You obediently start licking his fingers clean and you moan at the sensation. John loves seeing you like this. His cock nearly stiffens again at the sight.

John unties you and you immediately bring your hands to give him a tight embrace.

“I missed touching you” you say in a slight giggle and you cuddle for a while before falling into a deep sleep.

~

(Okey so this is my first John x reader story, hope it isn’t the worst thing in the world)

(Just a reminder, I do take requests and I’m kind of in need of some new inspiration heheh)

[theflirtmeister]

I just got an ad on ur blog for some AI chat fic writing where it was miguel spider-man x reader. The algorithm has got you all wrong. It should be Ivan Simon x reader.

shocked and offended that tumblr is advertising Miguel spider man on my blog, it should be TERRIBLE ai generated saw porn where u get to lick hoffman's tits

[weirdo09]

i stole this idea from my beloved phoebe aka @eggo-owl

send me asks bout my wips, please 🙏🏾

i wish - a bywheelclair series fic

georgia - a byler song fic(either mike or will’s pov)

funeral - a s2 mike song fic

kids - a platonic madwheeler song fic

rebel girl - a elmax song fic

p.u.n.k girl - a byler song fic(will’s pov)

mi princesa - a wheelclair fic

everything’s fair in love and soul chap 4 - a bywheelclair fic

want a coffee? - a byler 90’s au fic

envy - a bywheelclair fake dating to actual dating fic

a coffee for three - a bywheelclair fic/series

half court - a byclair fic

love me do - a mclennon fic requested by @finalgirlharrison

will the wise - a will byers x gn!reader fic

tags: @eefonline @atbyler @delusional-dingus @evil-gay-person @over-rated-cheese(🫶🏽) @xhavibee

[piastrisversion]

my commissions for fanfics are open!! put ur commission in my suggestion inbox and i'll write it and post it on here!! im only comfortable writing gn!reader or m!reader fics w/ other m/gn characters!!

[underground-legionary]

About myself and this account

Dear visitor of this blog, welcome to my hearth.

Feel free to stretch your limbs and enjoy the ride.

This page has a plethora of purposes, but none of them too serious.

Firstly I have felt a sudden urge to write again, which hasn't happened in a while. In this way I would like to challenge myself creatively

Secondly I would like to find like-minded people and create a comfort space for myself (and maybe someone else) out here, on the internet, a little cranny to relax in - call it whatever you wish.

I am interested in the following fandoms, and am willing to demonstrate attempts at writing with various degrees of success write both fanfic and self-insert bits for:

The Beatles (McLennon, John Lennon x reader, Paul McCartney x reader, George Harrison x reader (sorry Ringo stans))

Bob Dylan (Bob Dylan x reader, Dylarrison)

Joan Baez (Joan Baez x reader)

Oasis (Liam Gallagher x reader, Noel Gallagher x reader)

Pathologic (Classic/2) (Burakhovsky, Burakh x reader, Dankovsky x reader)

Disco Elysium (most likely just shitposts)

The list is not exhaustive and will be updated as the page gets more posts. I will not be strictly curating the contents - that would be way too exhausting and defeats the purpose of having a little brain dump in a digital form. Here and there I might post pictures I like or random thoughts on various topics.

To bring a long story to a short conclusion Germans like to say "lange Rede kurzer Sinn". So, to summarize, I shall name this page bits of everything and let it be.

Now is the best time to escort myself out of here.

Yours,

underground legionary.

[kalypsichor]

two of us [ paul mccartney x reader x john lennon ]

summary: Nothing could have prepared Paul for what he sees when he opens the door. There are papers all over the floor, as though someone had swept them all off in a hurry. But that’s not what catches his eye. It’s the sight of you, bent over the desk so prettily on your elbows while John fucks you from behind.

prompt: ok i loved your story BUT what if professor mccartney DID walk in on them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) warnings: threeway, oral sex, s e x, some spanking, professor kinks galore, little bit of voyeurism

well. here’s the mclennon sandwich y’all asked for. part two of this

Something is… off with John.

Paul has never seen his boyfriend so distracted. When they go out for lunch, Paul has to repeat what says two or three times before John snaps out of it and actually listens. And, not to toot his own horn, but Paul is pretty charismatic. It’s why so many bright-eyed freshmen flock to his art history classes, hoping to get a hour just listening to his voice, ogling his pretty smile… only to shuffle out with failing marks. Paul’s class is hard and he’s not afraid to be upfront about it—it’s not his fault if the students are too busy daydreaming about his eyes to listen.

Anyway, the point is that something has been on John’s mind. Paul is determined to figure it out, especially because whenever he tries bringing it up, John gets almost… flustered. And John Lennon does not do flustered. He’s usually the one making others blush. Together, they’re quite the pair.

It’s probably one of the other professors, Paul thinks. They have an open relationship, so Paul doesn’t mind. He just wishes John would tell him who it is that’s got his head in the clouds.

So, naturally, he decides to confront John about it. Paul calls his boyfriend after class and they agree to meet in John’s office before going out for the night.

It’s a Friday night, so any reasonable student would be out getting plastered for the weekend, not visiting professors for office hours. The halls are quiet, dark, dimly illuminated by the dying rays of sunlight outside. Paul’s footsteps echo rather loudly off the tiles as he walks towards the English wing. They’re the only sound in the building. Even the other professors have left, either to get a head start on grading essays or to do some of their own drinking, but he knows John has his office hours for another half hour. Putting them on a Friday afternoon is a rather stupid idea, though, since no one in their right mind would choose Thoreau or Austen over Dan’s Sports Bar. Or, so he thinks… until he nears John’s office.

He almost doesn’t hear it at first, but there’s definitely some noise coming from behind the door. Did John schedule a student appointment right before their own meeting? Paul can’t quite make out what it is, though, so he chances the doorknob. It’s not locked.

Nothing could have prepared Paul for what he sees when he opens the door.

There are papers all over the floor, as though someone had swept them all off in a hurry. But that’s not what catches his eye. It’s the sight of you, bent over the desk so prettily on your elbows while John fucks you from behind.

You don’t even notice the intruder at first. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth falling open in little gasps and moans that go straight to Paul’s groin. John, though, sees Paul almost immediately.

“Hello, Paul.” John’s voice is a little strained, and the sound of it sends your head snapping up and gaping at the man standing at the doorway. “Or, is it Professor McCartney for you, sweetheart?”

John doesn’t even let up his pace so you can barely respond, the feeling of his cock slamming into you almost too much to bear. You should be embarrassed, should be trying to cover up or push Professor Lennon away, but something about the other teacher watching as you get fucked into the desk unravels a hot spool of arousal in your stomach.

“Pro-Professor!” It comes out more of a sigh, one that makes Paul’s grip on the door tighten. “I didn’t-didn’t see- fuck, John.”

Paul shuts the door behind him and steps closer, watching your eyes widen at his motions. Something about the situation settles deep in his stomach and becomes almost… normal. “She calls you John?”

“Only ‘cus I asked her to.” John buries himself deep into your cunt and stills for a moment, catching his breath. It makes you whine and push your hips back, begging for some friction. “You should’ve heard her the first time, Paul. Loved callin’ me Professor Lennon… think it turns her on. Doesn’t it?” John slaps your ass and you whine, nodding your head.

“Pretty little thing,” Paul murmurs. He walks up to the desk until he’s standing right over you and reaches out to cup your face. You lean into the touch, cheeks flushing a pretty pink, and when Paul presses his thumb to your lips they fall open willingly. He can’t help groaning as you suck on his finger, eyes searching his almost like they're looking for approval.

“She takes cock so well,” John says, smirking at the way his boyfriend is completely mesmerized by your mouth. When he starts making shallow thrusts, just pulling out an inch before rocking back into your warm cunt, Paul’s eyes snap to his with a heat he’s never seen before. “Can you take Professor McCartney too, hm? Let him fuck into your pretty mouth while I fuck your pretty pussy?”

You whine almost embarrassingly loud at the thought of both men filling you up. John slaps your ass again and then soothes the red mark with gentle fingers.

“Got to hear you say it, darling.”

It takes you a second, but you gasp out your response.

“Please, please- wanna suck you off, Professor McCar-ah, ah, John!”

You don’t manage to finish your sentence but Paul takes it and unbuckles his slacks. He doesn’t even bother kicking off his pants, just pulls his aching hard cock out of his briefs and rests it against your lips. They part for him easily and Paul’s eyes roll back at the feeling of your warm mouth engulfing his length. When he hits the back of your throat, he stills a moment before pulling out again and then sliding back in. Paul fucks into your mouth at a leisurely pace which is soon matched by John, who takes his cue to start fucking your cunt in earnest now.

The almost rhythmic sound of grunts and skin slapping on skin fills the office and turns you on so much it almost hurts. If it wasn’t for John’s hips drilling you into the desk, your legs would probably give out. There’s just something about the two professors filling you up on both ends, something about how filthy the situation is, that ramps up your orgasm almost alarmingly quickly. Tendrils of ecstasy roll through your body, from John’s cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust to the ache of Paul driving his length in and out of your mouth. John starts speeding up, fucking you at a brutal pace with both hands leaving even harder imprints in your hips, and Paul matches him, tightening his grip in your hair. It’s so much, it’s too much, this tingling that’s sweeping from your cunt to the tips of your fingers that are grasping so hard at the edge of the desk, just trying to hold on.

You come with a high-pitched moan, muffled around Paul’s cock, and John follows right behind you, hips stilling as he comes into your still pulsing cunt. You fall onto the desk bonelessly, so tired that you don’t even notice when John slips out and tosses his condom into the bin.

The feeling of fingers probing at your still dripping folds draws a whine from you. You’re still sensitive from just orgasming. But these fingers are different from John’s, softer.

Paul brings his hand to his lips, humming around the taste of your juices. And then you’re gasping, a shudder wracking your body at the feeling of Paul’s blunt tip nudging your entrance. Your cunt is still aching but you already want more, already want to be filled again.

“Well, come on, darling. I think it’s my turn.”

[spaceyantique]

The modern youtuber au is fuelling me everyone thinks John is the chaotic force in the vlogs but then a video’s uploaded of you and John and Paul “y/n, John, did you just ask if I was single?” “Well? Are you?” “We’ve all been together for 5 years!”

OH HO HO do i smell mclennon x reader? i like it a lot.

or say paul’s teasing and he’s like “oh absolutely, i’m on the market and ready to mingle!” and john pouts for like 20 minutes

[mimikyugirl]

I Won't Go Anywhere

"When someone you love suffers, it's as if you suffer twice as much. Paul knew this as soon as he heard Yoko say what had happened."

Warning: This is a FIX IT FIC based on real events surrounding John's death. If you are sensitive to this type of content, proceed with caution. Mention of hospital environments/equipments and guns.

Word Count: 2.6K

.this picture is edited :).

"It's John"

Paul expected to be asked about some absurd news in the newspaper or maybe that Yoko would ask for a visit to cheer up her husband. Her low voice was even more measured than usual, which Paul interpreted as nervousness to contact him or something milder.

"He was... he was..."

He pressed the phone harder against his ear when he realized that Yoko was crying. Her voice seemed to be slowly swallowed up by the static on the phone, and what Paul now realized were exasperated murmurs in the background.

"He was shot, Paul"

When your best friend is hit by such an immeasurably cruel act, it's as if everyone around you is suddenly at gunpoint with an equally unexpected weapon. When someone you love suffers, it's as if you suffer twice as much. Paul knew this as soon as he heard Yoko say what had happened.

Nothing prepares you for the moment you get a call like that. Nothing in the world, not even the most public of fights or the strongest of grudges, could have protected Paul from the sense of helplessness he felt when he heard what happened.

The phone remained glued to his face by sheer reflex as the woman labored over the events of the night before.

Apparently John was taken to hospital in serious condition, with two puncture wounds in his chest.

"He had surgery and is starting to react"

"React" Paul focused for a few seconds on the word, almost as if he heard it all like an outsider.

"How absurd for John to have to react. John was never the type to react" he thought, remembering how the energy from anywhere would bend to Lennon's moods and expressions "John was always the one who caused the reactions."

And that was the first moment where Paul felt angry. Angry that anyone in this world had dared to take John's essence, that something had the audacity to try to take John out of this world. Paul felt even more angry, as selfish as it may have sounded at the time, that something had tried to rip out a big piece of his heart. The piece that has been John's for so many years.

"When can I see him?" It was basically the only thing Paul said during the entire call, because it was basically the only thing he was worried about right now.

There wasn't even a doubt in Paul's mind at that moment about where he needed to be.

Linda was the person to organize all of Paul's hurried trip. She packed some belongings into a suitcase, called George to let him know of Paul's leaving, and made all the necessary connections in less than two days to ensure Paul would be there the moment John opened his eyes.

Because, as cruel as the world sometimes was to dreamers, John would open his eyes and this time he would see nothing but friends.

Paul said goodbye to Linda with a tight hug, a hug that said "I know things are scary, but I love you and I'll be right here when you get back" and headed for the airport already warned that George was in New York and would welcome him to John's house.

The journey dragged on as long as all the doubts that floated in his mind.

The press divided its attention between John's health and what happened the night it all unfolded. The atmosphere seemed tense everywhere, people were hurrying and afraid to turn around in the street and see what John saw; Your freedom being stolen.

"You only start living after you're forty" was what kept repeating in Paul's mind at that moment. He hoped his friend could go on living by those words.

He dodged the flashes and the questions, the intrusions and the headlines that discussed the police's attitude of shooting at John's attacker.

Before he could feel even more alone, Paul found himself right in front of the Dakota, which was a chaos of tributes and protests. He made his way inside quickly with a bubbling sense of dread at being there, where his friend's life had been so trivialized and tried not to look back.

The sounds of the machines greeted Paul immediately when the door opened.

He left his bag on the floor and walked quickly towards the bedroom, which was where the sounds seemed to be coming from.

As soon as he tapped his fingers on the half-open door, anxious footsteps came towards him.

George, with a dark circle under his eyes as big as everyone's concern, greeted him with a gentle smile and stepped to the side of the door for Paul to enter.

"Good to see you, Paul. Did you have a nice walk here?" He asked, bringing some life back to Paul's face for the first time "It took me three pairs of shoes. John will get the bill when he wakes up."

They hugged for long minutes. George, enjoying the feeling of having someone he loved safe in his arms and Paul enjoying the fact that George, like him, knew how cruel it would be to exist in a world without John.

The atmosphere in the room was tense and cold, typical of a hospital, which made Paul feel even more uncomfortable.

The house was exactly as Paul remembered it. Even John's old guitar in the corner of the bed and the peculiar smell of incense didn't seem to have changed in months. Despite the familiarity, it was as if everything was stained with a thin layer of fear. It was like finding a house that had been hastily abandoned by its owner before the war.

The walls displayed photos and drawings by John and Yoko, but now they were the setting for unknown wires and machines that seemed to breathe on their own.

In a corner near the bed, Paul saw a scrawled drawing with some rainbows and what appeared to be the family's cat. The signature in the corner said that the big "Get well soon dad I luv you" came from Sean and that the big bouquet of John's favorite flowers came from Pattie. Wherever Paul looked, every corner of the walls and every surface that wasn't occupied by a machine, he saw a little more love. Whether from George's pile of origamis or from the photos and cards of John's close friends, the room flooded with positive feelings.

"Surrounded by friends, indeed" Paul thought, feeling less intimidated by the aura of the house now.

The sun was shining brightly through the open window, directly into the center of the room. From the top of John's apartment there was now only sunshine and a few white clouds.

When his eyes finally gathered enough courage to rest on John, Paul had to hold back tears for the thousandth time that day. John's face was covered by a large breathing mask, connected to the noisiest machine in the room. He looked cruelly pale and thin, as if each hour connected to the machines actually represented months of treatment. Paul remembered the round, red cheeks of the boy who ran beside him on stages, who spent entire weekends huddled in the same bed as him and the contrast almost made him want to look away.

"He's fine, Paul" George said, squeezing one of Paul's hands as if he knew exactly what he was thinking "He's just sleeping now."

Paul sitted on the ledge of the window with George, feeling for the first time that he could breathe. The feeling was as if he spent all these days, all the moments after the call, holding his breath.

"I wasn't sure what I was going to find when I got here" George whispered, as if afraid to wake John "But it was really hard to see him like dat."

The sound of a deep cough caught their attention.

"It's not exactly easy to open my eyes and see that hideous shirt too, y'know" John whispered, his eyes could barely stay open for more than a few seconds "Bloody hell, Harrison, that's what you were going to wear on my funeral?"

George's eyes watered as he walked to the bed and bent down to take John's hand. He leaned his forehead against them and planted a tender kiss, leaving a small trail of tears imprinted on John's hand.

Paul could only stand there and revel in the situation. It was the worst possible scenario and the first thing John did when he woke up was to provoke smiles.

"You were out long enough for me to forget why I don't like you" George said, unable to contain his smile through the tears "Don't spoil it now."

John had a subtle smile on his face, the most he could manage in that state and Paul watched the scene quietly. He didn't even notice that his face was also wet with tears as his friend slowly came back to life.

"Paulie is here too" George whispered "Yoko is in the living room."

"What about the kids?" John asked, his voice almost as low as the wind passing through the window.

"They didn't come back here after..." George started to say but hesitated "I'm sure Yoko will explain better than I do, but everyone is fine."

"How long was I out, then?" John asked, finally keeping his eyes open "For Paul to get here it must have been at least a few hours."

"Just a few days, John" George completed, pulling up a stool to sit beside the bed and leaving one for Paul as well.

Paul approached cautiously. For the first time it occurred to him that maybe John didn't want him there.

"When I woke up and saw you two sitting there, I thought I was dead" John said, pointing with difficulty to the window "I thought "If these two are here I must be delusional or dead."

He chuckled behind his mask and George quickly joined in "Surely you wouldn't have woken up in heaven then, my friend."

"Paul has that look of someone who doesn't know what to say" George announced "It's the same face he used when Brian changed something at the last minute" John agreed with a laugh "The face of McCartney who lost control of something."

"I don't think there's anything in this situation that I could control, unfortunately" Paul said, joining his hand with George's and John's on the bed "John, I..."

"I know, my friend" John interrupted him, squeezing their hands even more "I know well."

Eventually John managed to sit up and even drink some water. Yoko joined them and made the calls to let everyone know that John was already awake and fine.

The atmosphere got even better after a few doctor visits and after John had removed his mask, as he was able to breathe well on his own.

"Do you remember anything?" George asked seriously, analyzing John's expression "Did you feel something?"

A few hours had passed, Paul and George were sitting on the floor with some empty food containers next to them.

"I just remember hearing someone scream. The cops came and took someone down" John remembered "After that it's all a big void... and then I was here and you were stealing the cookies someone sent me."

"Did you eat the cookies someone sent to your half-dead friend?" Paul asked, needing to stifle his laughter.

"You saw dat?" George exclaimed in surprise "Well it's not like you were gonna eat them before they got soggy and gross, innit?"

They went through a round of laughter before John continued.

"I wasn't afraid to die, for some twisted reason that only God knows. But I..." John caught his short breath and continued speaking with effort "I was afraid I lived too fast...maybe even too slow, y'know."

Paul understood, in a way. John had always been concerned about living his life to the fullest. With all the Beatles years and fame, John felt that an invisible brake had come to exist under his life. "Either I accelerate past the point and lose control or just stay in the same place" That's what he used to say.

George was leaning against the window watching John carefully. He was checking his watch insistently, waiting for the moment Ringo would arrive and the group would be complete.

"Sometimes we think we can waste our time running around alone" John said, patting Paul's hand "Until you realize there's no such thing as living alone, just dying alone."

"Jeez, Johnny. This looks like a funeral with you talking like dat" George said, making his way to the bed to sit next to John "And we already know you won't die for at least another fifty years, so you can cut the crap."

John tried not to laugh at George but ended up just getting into a long string of coughs.

"What I mean" John said, with some effort "Is that happiness is only real when shared, and I'm sorry I spent so many years trying not to be a part of your happiness."

Paul, who was much quieter than usual, felt like screaming. He felt like screaming to the world that John Lennon was alive and that he loved him.

So that's exactly what he did.

Paul ran to the open window and suddenly began shouting at the winds. It didn't take long for George to join him. They screamed until the fans on the sidewalk began their own chorus of "JOHN LENNON IS ALIVE AND LOVED!"

They returned to the interior of the room in a mixture of laughter and tears to the side of John's bed, who also had a wonderful expression on his face.

Ringo arrived a few hours later, along with a stuffed koala and some of John's favorite candy. As soon as he stepped into the room, he burst into tears so intensely that he couldn't even see John's face properly.

"I knew this was going to happen" George muttered, walking towards his friend to guide him to John, who was making fun of Ringo's crying face.

Paul passed the drawings and cards that had been sent to John, and together they debated what the best gifts were.

Paul gently measured John's temperature every hour and George read and reread the entire list of medications that needed to be administered. Despite having a medical team on hand, they wanted to know if any medicine could be used by them to get as high as John.

"Take yer eyes off my medication, you perverts" John mocked "I took two shots just to get access to morphine. No one is going to take that away from me."

When the sun began to say goodbye to the horizon, Yoko began to prepare makeshift beds for all of them, side by side with John.

When Ringo and George said their goodnights, and the only sound to be heard for long minutes was the machines, Paul surreptitiously got up from his bed.

He dodged Ringo, on the floor by the window, and George, on a folding bed next to John.

"Are ye awake, John love?" He whispered, looking at the spot where he imagined John's face to be in the dark.

"I'm right here" John whispered back, opening one of his arms in an invitation for Paul to join him.

Paul pressed himself against John's chest on the bed, feeling his friend's ragged breathing.

"I'm sorry, John" Paul whispered, feeling his eyes fill with tears again "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

John just held Paul as tight as he could "I'm here, Paulie. It's fine already. I won't go anywhere."

And even though Paul knew he really was okay, even though John's grip was as real as his own beating heart, he couldn't help but think of a reality where everything turned out differently. Where all he would want is to spend another day exactly this way:

Lying with John, burying himself in his existence.

"I'm not leaving you ever again" Paul whispered.

"Good" John replied "Because I wouldn't let you do it anyway."

[outerbanks-headcanons]

HEADCANON #7

Topper’s number one Spotify artist for 2020 was BROCKHAMPTON.

[themagicalmysticalboy]

um here’s a three chapter, completed, fic i wrote like a year ago and never published. Smile Away

[singtotheskiies]

single:

taken:

still not over paul mccartney’s fucking eyelashes: ✅

[weirdo09]

doing this again cuz i need the attention <3

my wips in order from newest to oldest

family man - a older byler fic

teen idle - a mike wheeler song fic

electric - a bywheelclair 2000’s au series(possibly also rewriting)

anti-hero - a mike wheeler song fic

my girlfriend is a witch - a byler song fic

the misadventures of mike wheeler - a mike wheeler centric byler fic

a lover boy and his killer queen - a byler fic

tired - a mike wheeler song fic

movie date - a s3 byclair fic

bang(two shots & you’re dead) - a platonic madwheeler + byler & elumax fic

mi amante - a byler 90’s au series: chapter two

cupid hit me - a bywheelclair modern au series: chapter one

be my muse - a will byers x black!male!reader fic

i wish - a bywheelclair series: chapter two

you love me? - a mike wheeler x male!reader fic

new guy - a mike wheeler x black!male!oc modern au fic

georgia - a byler song fic

funeral - a s2 mike wheeler song fic

kids - a platonic madwheeler song fic

rebel girl - a elmax song fic

p.u.n.k girl - a byler song fic

mi princesa - a wheelclair royal au fic

everything’s fair in love and soul - a bywheelclair modern au fic: chapter 4

want a coffee? - a byler 90’s au fic

envy - a bywheelclair faking dating au fic

coffee for three - a bywheelclair series

half court - a byclair fic

love me do - a mclennon fic

will the wise - a will byers x gn!reader: based on s3

(p.s: you can shoot me an ask bout them)

tags: @foodiewithdahoodie @willelfanpage @unprofessionalprofessional @cgi-heart-eyes @evil-gay-person @xhavibee @adorewillbyers @atbyler @eefonline

[ringobean]

Can we talk about how sexy Bongo is, taking off his vest?? 🔥😳🥵

[kalypsichor]

ménage à trois [ paul mccartney x reader x john lennon ]

summary: There’s only one bed and none of you speak French.

prompt: k hear me out mclennon sandwich BUT ITS ON THE PARIS TRIP SO IS JUST YOU THREE IN THE TINIEST BEDROOM + a request for reader’s wet dreams waking paul up warnings: this is a threesome babey 🥪🥪🥪

masterlist

guess who’s never had a threesome? me. guess who accidentally drank a shit ton of coffee and didn’t go to bed till six am writing this?? also me. i’d appreciate any feedback y’all have bc @spaceyantique​ beta’d this for me like a darling but my illiteracy knows no bounds

There’s only one bed and none of you speak French.

Paul tries, but between his wild hand gestures and the receptionist’s increasingly confused looks, he’s getting nowhere. John more or less just flirts with her. You tolerate about five minutes of it before dragging them away from the front desk.

“Sorry,” you offer to the receptionist, and you’re pretty sure it’s the first word she’s understood in the whole exchange.

The three of you stand at the foot of the bed for a bit and just. Stare at it. The hotel room is long but narrow, with the bed at the very end of it literally touching three walls. Whoever designed it was obviously at the end of his wits. The bed would be roomy for one person, cozy for two, but three? That’s pushing it. Still, there’s not even a couch in the room, so when you all look at each other it’s with a wordless understanding.

“I sleep on the right,” John says. He claims his spot as such and immediately stretches out, not even taking off his shoes. You wrinkle your nose but choose not to say anything. Paul wrinkles his nose and does.

“Don’t be disgusting, John.” Paul toes off his boots and clambers onto the left side. “There’s a lady present.”

John grins and twists around, dangling his feet in Paul’s face. “Talking about yourself in the third person, eh?”

You’ve locked the bathroom door by the time they start fighting but the walls are thin. There’s a thump and a shrill screech. Laughter. More shouting. Your reflection frowns back at you, eyes tired and hair a mess, and you take your time showering. In true European fashion, it’s a tiny, miserable affair. Your elbows keep knocking into the walls. The water runs cold before you even finish shampooing. It’s a mad dash to put on your pajamas before you freeze your tits off—except even that goes awry when you realize you forgot to pack them. The only things you can find are a soft tee shirt and shorts, which are a bit shorter than you’d like to be wearing but will have to do.

To top it all off, when you step out of the bathroom, they’re still lobbing shoes and insults.

“Boys, please! It’s one in the morning!” Two pairs of eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, then back at you. “Can you at least pretend to be adults?”

Paul has the decency to look a little scolded. John, on the other hand, leers at you.

“I think someone cut a few centimeters off your shorts, love. Not that I’m complaining.” He winks and you decidedly push down the fluttering in your stomach.

All in all, it takes another hour for the three of you to get to bed. Paul insists on showering first, which leads to another argument that takes five matches of rock-paper-scissors to be resolved.

(Paul gets the first one. John calls a two out of three and wins that. Paul calls a three out of five and wins that. John accuses him of cheating and gets called a sore loser. You end up shoving Paul into the bathroom while John is looking for another shoe to throw.)

If your mother knew you were squeezing into a bed with two boys, she’d throw a fit. Especially if she knew that you couldn’t stop thinking about how rosy Paul’s cheeks looked when he stepped out of the shower, or the fact that John is bloody shirtless. No, it’s best that none of this gets back to your folks at home.

“Comfortable?” John asks. Both boys are facing outwards and you’re lying on your back, trying to ignore the warm bodies on either side of you.

Paul shifts his arm and nearly elbows you in the boobs. “I feel like a sardine,” he says.

“Try sleeping in the middle,” you retort. “It’s like being in a sandwich.”

That earns a laugh from John, which turns into a contagious yawn.

“We should go to bed,” someone says, but you’re already drifting off.

***

John’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so when he wakes up and it’s still dark out he’s very confused.

He’s also a lot warmer. Sometime in the night, John had turned and pulled you flush against his chest. His nose is pressed into your hair, one leg thrown over your hip. John rather likes the feeling of cuddling so close, but he knows it’s not the most appropriate position. He goes to move when he hears a quiet noise.

“John…”

… oh. So that’s what woke him up.

You’re moaning, soft little sighs and whimpers that go straight to John’s cock. You’re having a wet dream… about him. He wants to pull away, knows that this is wrong, but then you’re grinding against him and all thoughts fly out the window. John’s hips find yours and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. God, he’s rutting against you like a teenager but it feels so good he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed.

“John?”

John’s eyes snap open and he freezes. Your voice is different, clearer. You’re awake now. It’s like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over his head and he jolts away from you.

“Sorry, I didn’t—“

His apology cuts off because you’re suddenly moving, pushing back into him. The soft curve of your ass presses right against John’s cock. All the air in his lungs rushes out and he gasps out your name.

“Is—is this okay?” he asks. He wants to make sure, needs to.

“Yes,” you reply. It’s more of a plea, and it’s all John needs to start moving again.

The hand that’s on your stomach trails down and slips under the waistband of your panties. John groans when his fingers find your slick folds.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” John rocks his hips into yours. Your hair is still damp from showering and when he breathes in, the scent—lavender—sends a rush of arousal through him. “Were you dreaming about me?”

You can only whine in response because John is slipping a finger into your cunt. His thumb finds your clit, rubs gentle circles that send flames of pleasure licking up your body. It’s already so much, too much, not enough.

“Didn’t know you were such a filthy girl,” John growls and you arch into his touch. “What was it about, hm? Were you dreaming about this? About getting fingered while Paul is sleeping right there?” His words tear a gasp from your lips. “You’re gonna have to be quiet or you’ll wake him up, birdie. Unless that’s what you want…”

“It’s a little too late for that.”

John can’t see very far, but he doesn’t need to in order to make out Paul’s face on the other side of you. His pupils are blown wide, eyes trained on John’s hand still moving under your clothes. And John… likes it. Being watched. It should be weird, should feel wrong because Paul’s his best mate, but then his eyes find John’s and the hungry look in them tears a hot blaze of arousal through him.

Somehow, his voice is steady when he speaks. “You want a taste?”

Paul’s mouth falls open and he nods. Without a second thought, John pulls his hand from your pussy and lifts it to Paul’s lips.

The sight of Paul licking your juices from John’s fingers is quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Second only to the look on Paul’s face when you hesitantly wrap your hand around his cock and start jerking him off.

“Fuck,” he groans. His eyes flutter closed, head tips back and bares the curve of his neck. John wants nothing more than to bite into it, to mark Paul, but you beat him to it. And John, who’s never liked feeling left out, lets his hand drift back down to you. This time, he curls two fingers into your cunt. You clench around him and your grip involuntarily tightens on Paul, whose hips jerk forward at the feeling.

God, how John wishes he could see your face. You’re sure to be so pretty, cheeks flushed, lips parted around gasps, eyes watching Paul’s cock in your hand. Still, he can hear the noises you’re making, and that’s almost just as good.

It’s not the most comfortable position, really. Your wrist feels awkward at this angle, with Paul being so close to you. And John keeps breathing in some of your hair. But the intimacy, the heat, the rush of adrenaline makes all that fade away. The filthy sound of John thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt, Paul’s high, almost feminine sighs. John’s grunts as he rocks against your body, breathe hot on the nape of your neck.

Paul gasps something unintelligible but you know what he’s trying to say. You start pumping him even faster, letting the sound of his cries spur you on. You want to taste them, you think, and it doesn’t make sense but you lean forward anyway and capture Paul’s lips in yours.

The movement changes your angle. John’s fingers curl against something in you that burns white hot, electric in your veins. His thumb presses into your clit and then you’re cumming, moans falling from your lips to Paul’s as he follows you over the edge.

“Fucking hell,” Paul breathes.

You can only nod. Your mind is still floating somewhere in the stratosphere. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this, both high and irrevocably grounded, pressed tight between two bodies thrumming with warmth.

“I’m gonna… clean up a bit,” you mumble when you’ve caught your breath. While you stumble off towards the bathroom, Paul reaches and finds John’s face in the dark.

Despite the fact that he’s just had a threesome, John suddenly feels shy. It’s intimate in a different way, how Paul’s fingers trace the bridge of his nose, outline the curve of his lips. And when you come back, weight dipping the mattress slightly, the warmth of your body settling behind him is so gentle that John is scared he’s only imagining it.

Paul doesn’t say anything, just pulls John forward and kisses him. It’s a chaste brush of the lips, but combined with the feeling of you nipping at his bare shoulder sets John’s nerves ablaze.

“I—“

You shush him and run a hand down his spine, thumbing the waistband of his joggers. “Just relax, John. It’s okay.”

Whether it’s your words or the soothing touch, John’s body almost melts, curving into yours. At the same time, his lips seek out Paul, who pulls back with a glint in his eyes.

“You haven’t even come yet, have you?” Paul asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Does it fucking look like I have?” John grumbles. Your hand trails across his waist and cups his erection and suddenly John can’t come up with anything witty anymore. He keens and bucks into the touch.

“So this is what it takes to get you to shut up.” You giggle when John’s attempt at protesting is muffled by Paul’s mouth.

“Guess we should do this more often, then.”

[spaceyantique]

five’s a crowd [beatles x reader] part eight

chapter summary: You’re just trying to get through this whole Tinder girl business because it’s NOT affecting you in the slightest. John nurses a particularly cranky hangover, and Paul is the kind of person that drinks milk straight from a glass, apparently. George’s pajamas don’t make this business any easier and Ringo’s heading out for mystery reasons early this Sunday morning.

word count: like 2.1k of i don’t even know what

warnings: sexual implications. drinking, a hangover, general bad language

asterisks correspond to footnotes!

masterlist 

parts one | two | three | four | five | six | seven (oh my!)

“Care for a drink? You’re sulking.” Paul’s standing over you with a shot glass in his hand. As always, he has a talent for seeing straight through people.

“Course. And I’m not sulking,” you say, taking the glass from him. Paul scoffs. 

“Sure, Jan. If looks could kill, that poor girl would be dead.”

God, if only they could. Paul would definitely be right. 

You’re holed up in a booth at the back of the Cavern Club Bar, gripping an empty glass a little too tightly for comfort. George and Maureen are both standing around a table just across the room, his arm loosely draped over her shoulders. Ringo’s on her other side and they all look like they’re having too much fun. You think of how it felt when he put his arm over your shoulders and try to ignore how they practically feel frostbitten now in comparison. She’s not even mean, you think. Hating on some girl you don’t know because of a boy is not good feminism.

“Can I sit?” Paul asks, and you’re forced to tear your eyes away from the happy couple.

“What?” You ask, but he’s already shoving you aside. 

“Lovely place, isn’t it? Much nicer than most of the nightclubs ‘round here. Always thought it would be a treat to perform up there.” Paul nods to the bar. You follow his gaze with a confused look, and he sighs with a smile, then props his head up on his interlaced hands to look at you expectantly.

“What?” You repeat stupidly.

“Drink up,” Paul says, and you do, shuddering at the burn. Tequila.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You say. “You’re usually giggling over John by now.”

“I’m being the best friend in a rom-com. The gay best friend, nonetheless. And I think you should go talk to that guy at the bar.” Paul gestures to a man standing near the stage. He’s tall, but not unnaturally so. He’s wearing a jean jacket and sporting a mess of dark hair to rival John’s untidy mop. 

He’s no George, your brain sneers immediately, and you almost want to scold yourself out loud. 

“Look, dahling.” Paul affects a flamboyant upper-class drawl, and you crack a smile. “There’s no reason you can’t have fun too.”

“You sound like Freddie from upstairs.”

“‘S true,” Paul replies, back to his normal self. “I know how you feel about George--”

“I don’t know what you mean--” you start to say, but Paul holds up his hand to stop you.

“Please let me finish my cliche speech! I know how you feel about George, but you haven’t had anyone to spend the night away with in a while, if you catch my drift.” Paul raises his eyebrows at you and the Pout transforms into a smirk. “So get over there. Don’t make me get John to force you to.”

“God, no. I’ll talk to him,” you say, and Pauls grins, before heaving himself up and disappearing behind a clump of people, probably to suck John’s face off.

As you make your way across the room, George can’t help but notice. He tells himself it’s because the bar is relatively uncrowded, but it’s more than a passing glance. He feels his cheeks heat up as his stomach erupts into butterflies, but Maureen’s laugh from beside him draws him back to reality with a shockingly sobering effect. Still, that cold feeling in the pit of his stomach only gets stronger when he notices where you’re headed.

The man at the bar flashes you a smile as you get close, and you put on your best one in return. 

“Hey,” is all he says.

“Hey,” you say, immediately cringing at the general awkwardness. Okay, so you’re out of practice.

“What’s your name, dolly?” Dolly, really? Still you give him your name and ask for his.

“I’m Eric Clapton. Are you a student around here?” 

All in all, Eric’s sweet, and despite seeming a little like an overgrown fuckboy at first glance, he seems to drink his respecting women juice now. He laughs at your (terrible) jokes and teases you in that flirtatious way, but each time he speaks you find yourself slightly disappointed at the lack of Scouse accent in his words.

Sure, Eric’s sweet, but you don’t take him home that night.

***

The following morning begins much like plenty of others. You’re munching on a bowl of cereal in the kitchen with one of your new textbooks open on the table in front of you and a safe distance from the coffee machine. Ringo shuffles around making his breakfast, his mightily messy hair floating in a cloud around his head. John’s also at the table, severely hungover, his knees to his chest, wrapped in a blanket like a gremlin. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and bitching about the noise anytime anyone speaks.

“Fucking bullshit,” Ringo declares out of nowhere. John hisses at the noise while you turn to see him attempting to mount the countertop. “George keeps putting the fucking sugar in the top cabinet. How ‘m I supposed to get up there?”

“Grow longer bones,” John mumbles helpfully*. Ringo shoots him with a glare and continues trying to climb onto the counter.

“Spent all me growin’ power on my brain, thanks.” 

“And what a big brain it is.” John cracks a grin at his own joke and you roll your eyes.

“Where is George, anyway?” You say, trying your hardest to seem nonchalant. John wiggles his eyebrows at you anyway, grinning like a chimpanzee. You slam your textbook shut and he winces at the sound. For a few seconds, you’re engaged in an intense war of making rude faces back and forth.

“Oh, maybe writing in his diary?” Paul’s entered the kitchen now too, looking overall far too bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked for the volume of alcohol he consumed last night.

“Does he really have a diary?” You ask, and John and Paul share a meaningful glance that you don’t have time to decipher. Ringo’s breakfast sandwich (toast, tomato, and cheese) is done, and when he places it on the table, John lurches forward with a hand over his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” is all he says before he disappears towards the bathroom. Paul, cheerily pouring a glass of milk, makes a sympathetic face at John’s retreating form.

“I should make sure he’s alright,” he says, before going to the cabinet to pick out a cereal. 

“Are you going to?” 

“Well, y’know, I don’t really want to.”

You’re about to repeat Paul’s y’know back to him to tease him before you see which cereal he’s picked out.

“Do NOT touch my goddamn Rice Krispies, you fuck!” 

“Just one fuck,” Ringo says, mostly to himself. 

“But I want them! I’m hungry!” Paul pleads, using the Pout and his droopy eyes to their full potential.

“But I paid for them! And there’s plenty of other cereal!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see your name on them!” 

“Look again, bitch!” You demand, and he does. Sure enough, you’ve Sharpied your name onto the top flap.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Paul mutters, placing the Krispies in their rightful place.

“John’s fine,” Ringo announces. “He’s just sent me a TikTok. And he also told me he’s changed my contact to “Mango Bongo,” so I suppose he’s alright.”*

You and Paul both scramble for your phones to change his name to something equally ridiculous. You settle on “Dingo Presto: Magician Extraordinaire.” Not your best, but it’ll do.

Paul settles at the table where John was sitting before, grouchily eating Cap’n Crunch.

“Paul,” you say. “Why the hell are you eating cereal with milk and drinking a glass of milk at the same time?”

“Strong bones?” Paul shrugs.

“You’re a heathen,” Ringo says, straightening up and brushing the crumbs from his lap. “I’m going out, so I’ve got to get ready.”

“Where the hell are you going on a Sunday?” You ask.

“I’ve-- I’m-- I’ve started dog walking on Sundays,” Ringo stutters out.

“Interesting,” Paul comments before loudly slurping on his milk.

“That’s a job from a damn sitcom! That��s like one of Spencer’s jobs on iCarly!” You call after Ringo, but he’s already disappeared into his and George’s shared room. You almost catch yourself trying to peek inside to see if George is asleep there. Ringo wouldn’t go in if Geo had company, would he?

“That’s odd,” Paul says, and you’re a bit surprised to see he’s as confused as you are. “Wonder if he’s going to see someone.”

“Maybe,” you agree. “The university doesn’t have any classes on Sundays, too.”

As you contemplate Ringo’s departure, John shambles back in with even messier hair. He’s still wearing the sunglasses, but looking less pale and overall gargoyle-ish.

“So, how was that guy last night?” Paul asks, and the look he gives you is indecipherable.

“We left separately, if that’s what you’re asking,” you reply, before adding,  “John, you’d better still those fucking eyebrows before I tear them off your face.”

“Aggression! You wound me, birdie.”

“Why didn’t you go off with him? You looked like you were having a good time,” Paul asks, taking another gratuitous sip of his fucking milk.

“Who are you, my mother? I just didn’t want to,” you say, perhaps a bit too harshly. You open your textbook again to a random page and start reading, more to make a point than anything else. 

“George left alone too, in case you were wondering.” John’s comment affects you more than you’d like to admit, zapping through the early morning fog in your brain and making you feel electric.

“Why would I wonder about that?” You ask, but John just smiles that rat-bastard smile. Paul’s sly grin matches John’s, and you slam your textbook closed a second time, again for emphasis.

“You two fuckers are up to something. And you’re not good at hiding it,” you huff.

“Up to no good, my pretty?” John cackles in a spot-on impression of the Wicked Witch of the West. 

“Yes, you’re up to no good! I don’t like it.” You place your cereal bowl in the sink and hoist your stack of textbooks into your arms. As you leave the kitchen, you catch snippets of their conversation.

“You’ve butchered it--” Paul’s hushed whisper.

“Well, now we’ve got them both--” John’s pointed drawl. “So don’t worry--”

Fucking assholes, the both of them. You pass the tiny living room to head to your bedroom and nearly run straight into George.

He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed. His eyes are still a bit swollen from sleep, and you can see the imprint of the creases on his pillow on his right cheek. His curls are smashed on that side too, while the hair on the other side of his head sticks out like half a halo, glowing in the morning sunlight that streams through the living room window. You also notice almost immediately that he’s shirtless, and the pajama bottoms he’s wearing are untied and loose around the waist. They sit low on his hips, exposing a trail of hair on his abs and the top of a v-line that leads--

You exercise every bit of willpower you have to reset your gaze to eye level.

“Good morning,” you force out, trying to sound casual.

“Morning,” he says, and you feel a fluttering somewhere underneath your collarbones at his deep, gravelly, morning voice. Neither of you speaks for a moment, and you’re suddenly thankful to be holding your books over your chest because they provide a shield between George’s gaze and the deafening thumping of your heart.

“Ringo’s just gone out,” you blurt, if only to break the awkwardness.

“On a Sunday?” You shrug and nod at the same time in reply. What the hell is wrong with you? Speak! He’s your friend!

“John and Paul are in the kitchen, so I’m going to do my work in my room.”

George nods, glancing towards the two bastards. You nod again (idiot) and start to make for your room.

“Did you--” You turn back at the sound of George’s voice, already feeling breathless. “Were you here all night?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You?”

“Yeah.” He gives you a little smile and nod before you continue to your room. Once inside, you close your door and lean back against it, feeling almost dizzy with relief. 

Little do you know, George is still standing exactly where you left him. The strange cold feeling that settled deep in his stomach as he watched you talking with Eric is starting to thaw now in the bright morning sunlight. Still, if you could see his face, you’d agree that the smile on his face is a thousand times brighter.

***

footnotes:

*from this post

*This joke is partially from Finding Nemo. Nemo is called several different names throughout the movie by Dory, including Fabio, Pedro, Harpo, and Elmo. I shall not be accused of joke stealing!

five’s a crowd tag list: @1-2beeble​ @beatlevmania​ @theclassicsl​ @withthebeables​ @thasbooooooi​ @geostarr​ @report-abuse​ 

[paulliestarkey]

okay but

paul's eyes

paul's smile

paul's voice

paul's hair

paul's hands

paul's bass

paul's john lennon

reblog if u agree