#you could maybe get an okay paul and george at a push but ringo and john have extremely 20th century faces

[sword-swallower-pin]

We've not even got the casting for the biopics yet but I can already foretell that the iPhone face is gonna be so bad.

Like society has spent the last 40 years systematically breeding out the genes required to make a face like Ringo Starr's (a great tragedy and one of the major signs of the decline of Western civilisation in my opinion) so I think sadly we are beyond the point of getting actors that actually look like them. They're either gonna have to give up and get some twinks in or do some weird Bradly Cooper-esque prosthetics work and I don't know which one I'd prefer

[vivid4am]

Life Goes On (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets his neighbor who keeps playing the same song on repeat. 

Takes place before TFATWS

Warnings: Cursing, suicidal ideation(?), hella Beatles references

A/N: This is my first fanfic in like a long time, so sorry if my writing skills are a little week.

Whoever Bucky’s neighbor was, he loathed them. 

Life really hasn’t been kind to him lately. After being under control by HYDRA for so many years, breaking out and finding his best friend only to be turned into dust and coming back five years later with his then best friend abandoning him to go back in time to be with the love of his life. Yeah, not a good hand was dealt to him. 

The only good thing was being pardoned by the United States government and not being sent to jail for the rest of his goddamn miserable life. 

So here he was, sitting on his living room floor, staring at his T.V. and listening to that godforsaken song his neighbor was playing on repeat. 

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on, bra

La-la, how the life goes on

It was taunting almost. After all the shit Bucky’s went through, he wished his life didn’t go on. Wished he could be like Steve, go back in time and find someone who he could live the rest of his life with. Wished that the United States government did lock him up. Wished that they executed him. 

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on, bra

La-la, how the life goes on

Maybe he can complain to Dr. Raynor about this tomorrow. Tell her that the song almost makes him feel murderous again. Maybe she’ll report him and they will finally lock him up. It’s what he deserves anyway, after all the heinous crimes he’s committed. Bucky laid his head back against the wall and sighed. He then stopped and listened.

Solace and silence. The song was finally over. A smile stretched across Bucky’s unshaven face and he choked out a laugh. It didn’t last long though.

That stupid bass line along with that stupid piano started to fill his ears again.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky said to himself. He knocked on the wall, trying to grab his neighbor’s attention to stop playing that stupid fucking song. 

The song suddenly stopped and a voice came through the wall. 

“Sorry, didn’t realize you weren’t a Beatles fan.” The voice said. 

Bucky didn’t give himself time to think, he just spoke. “I have no fucking clue who they are.” He replied. 

Bucky didn’t get a response. Silence filled his Brooklyn apartment. Then came a knock on his door. Bucky scrunched his face up. Who the hell would come visit him at this time at night? Mr. Nakajima? He pulled the blankets off his legs and stood up, his dog tags hanging off his neck. He peeked through the peephole and saw a girl standing in the hall with a white t-shirt, Cookie Monster pajama pants and her arms crossed over her chest. He sighed and opened the door. 

“Can I-”

“How do you not know who the fucking Beatles are?”

“Excuse me?” Well, maybe it’s because I’m a hundred and some year old man and have never been aware of my surroundings in the 60s before.

“The Beatles! Y’know, John, Paul, George, and Ringo? Abbey Road? Hey Jude? Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club? Here Comes The Sun? The fucking Beatles?” 

Bucky was shocked to be frank. Why was this girl screaming at him about The Beatles? He knew he should’ve listened to what Steve put down in that journal, dammit. 

All he could do was shake his head. “Sorry, no.”

“What were you, born yesterday?” The attitude on this girl was thick. She intimidated him almost, staring into his stone cold blue eyes. 

“No.” Yes.

“Don’t tell me you listen to that shitty Soundcloud rapper bullshit either.” The girl mumbled, pushing her way into Bucky’s apartment. Buck couldn’t help but panic. What if she saw his arm? What would he say to her? Then again, he didn’t really owe her any answers, she was the one who just waltzed into his apartment. 

Luckily Bucky had a grey sweatshirt laying on his kitchen counter. He pulled it over his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The girl stopped in front of his living room. “Nice pad you got here.” She said, admiring his single cushioned arm chair, TV stand and makeshift floor bed. 

“Uh- new furniture coming in, my old stuff fell apart.” He lied, looking down feeling almost embarrassed. “Eh, it’s okay. You’re better than the last tenets that were here.” She said, searching around his apartment. 

“I’m sorry, but- what are you looking for? Matter of fact, why are you in here?” He asked, following her around. Hopefully she didn’t find his knife stash. He wasn’t supposed to have any weapons, but he needed something in case someone tried to break in. He still gets paranoid sometimes. 

“Looking for the source in your shitty taste in music.” The girl deadpanned. 

“I-uh, I don’t listen to music.” 

The girl skidded to a halt. She turned around, shock riddled on her face. “Really? I mean, with that haircut and dog tags, you strike me as a guy who listens to Led Zeppelin religiously.” She then put her hand up. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Led Zeppelin are either.” 

Bucky grimaced at the girl and she sighed. 

“Tomorrow,” She started, “meet me next door at 8, I get off work at 7:30.” She said before walking towards the door. Bucky gave her a confused look. “For what?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The girl gave him a cheeky smile. “So I can show you music.” She replied, opening the door.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” She said before she shut the door. 

“Bucky.” He whispered, but she was already gone.

| Next Part

[frodopotter7]

A Vampire in Hamburg- Part 3

Back to Part 2

Back to the series

George body started to change. He felt how his veins began to pump the wrong blood. He felt how his teeth wanted to come out again. "Hey guy, I'm hungry. Can we finally get something?" "George, it's dark outside. We might be done, but we need to wait till tomorrow. All the shops are closed." George started to panic. "I'm going to check that." "George?" But instead of listening George rushed outside. It started to rain. George felt the heat of his body. In the next minute he would kill. He knew it. He felt how his brain already started to pass out. George needed to be strong. The monster shouldn't win. He spotted a fruit shop. It was about 20 meters away, but George still saw the perfect red apples that where shining with their little raindrops on them. A lady already started to bring them inside. George lost it. Immediately he felt energy inside his body and his feet just ran forward by them self. It was like George couldn't control his body anymore and he just watched how he made the actions. He just watched how his ice cold and hard hands grabbed the scared woman in the neck and pushed he down on the ground. In the rain she couldn't really see George. Only a scary young man, which eyes glowed red in the darkness of the rain. She couldn't scream. George saw how his fingers got long finger nails that pushed out the ladies blood. He watched as he got closer to her body and was about to bite. A bit was surly better than apples. NO! George screamed to himself. He scream to the monster inside his mind. And before he could bite and taste blood once, he just bite himself and smeared his own blood in the blood woman, who had deep scratches from George's hands. The woman passed out and George ran to the apples. His teeth turned into knifes again and like a mindless monster George started sucking all the apples. He needed to energy. He needed to get the control again. The apples calmed George and his blood stoped to nearly boil in his veins. George was so satisfied by the feeling of the juice of the apple, the feeling of his teeth in the fruit, that he didn't even noticed his surrounding nor he noticed that the apples where all empty by now. After sucking them all George was calmer again. He was still in his fruit vampire from by now he just leaned on the box with the empty apples and breathed.

Ringo watched from far away. His moth was open. He couldn't really see anything too detailed because of the rain. Fro him it looked like George had totally lost control and killed the woman. But in reality maybe George wasn't even that far from still losing control. Ringo ran of back to the others. Back into the safe studio. Ringo locked the door and was looking around in fear.

"Ringo, what's wrong? Where is George?", John asked. "Would you believe me if I'd tell you that he is a vampire who just killed a woman." John and Paul looked at each other disturbed and went over to Ringo who had cold sweat on his forehead. "Ringo, are you okay?" Ringo knew it. They didn't believed him. But he also knew that they weren't safe here. "We go back into the cinema! Now!" John fixed the hesitating Ringo on a wall. "Ringo what's wrong?", he asked worried. "Nothing. George just made a joke and will come later. Let's go." John let go and Ringo just grabbed his drum sticks and rushed outside. The other two followed and payed the studio owner. Back into the cinema the atmosphere was still tensed. Paul and John hadn't spoken a word and just went into their 'room'. Ringo got into the backstage of the cinema, where he and George used to sleep. Ringo waited. Ringo tried to calm himself, which didn't quiet work. This beautiful and talented guitarist. The one he had a crush on was a vampire. A freaking killer. He waited long until Paul called him. "Hey, Ringo? Is George back?", Paul seemed in panic too and Ringo heard a lady from the news. "No." Paul dragged Ringo to John, who was attached to the TV screen. The TV was from the cinema owner and John and Paul had lean it. Ringo and John couldn't understand but still the pictures said everything. Ringo saw the woman from the grocery store. She lead lifeless on the ground and the police started to bring her away. Other people talked about something scary. Paul translated with a quiet and scared voice:"They found a dead body of a woman near our studio. She was a owner of a grocery store and just wanted to pack in her stuff as someone killed her. The neighbours saw a man who then attacked her and seemed to kill her with his mouth. Before disappearing into thin air. The woman has two strange dots at her neck and her scratches in her neck, but the police can't explain them self why she dyed." John jumped up and looked with a worried look at Ringo. "Richard Starkey! Where is George? You were the last one to see him!" John pushed Ringo against the wall again. This time harder and it even lifted Ringo's feet up and was nearly chocking Ringo. "RINGO! Where is George? There is a killer outside and George might get killed." Paul grabbed John's arm. "John stop! You will kill Ringo, if you get more aggressiv. He doesn't know." "I don't know.", Ringo cried. Paul started pulling John's arm, but John was too much in rage. "George might be death as well!" "John let go!" "I don't know!" They all yelled at each other.

Suddenly the door of the cinema opened dramatically. A dark man's figure was to see in the darkness of the night. The sky was still crying. "Lads?" A soft and familiar voice stuttered. John finally let go Ringo, who had to catch himself firth of all. "George?!", John and Paul yelled and they came to hug the youngest Beatle. Ringo didn't he was disappointed. He knew who killed this woman and he wasn't on to hug a murderer. So he just leaved back into his room.

"Oh, we were so worried that they killed you." "Killed?" "The woman havn't you heard." "No" Paul and John showed George the news. George skin turned even more pale and his eyes were widened. Had he lost control? He must have. He couldn't remeber what happened after he had eaten the apples. He had lost control. Oh god, he tough, he was a monster. He was a killer. He had murdered a innocent woman. What if he would do it again? What if he would lose control again? What if he acciedently killed Ringo or Paul or John? Paul was still talking to George, but George couldn't focus couldn't listen. "I'm tiered." He went over to Ringo's and his room. He couldn't feel anything besides the cold empty feeling of knowing that you are a monster. He dropped down on the bed and didn't even noticed Ringo till Ringo stood right in front of him. "I'm not scared! What are you going to do next? Kill me as well or are you finally happy?", Ringo exclaimed cold and brave. George looked up to Ringo with worries in his eyes. Did he knew it? God, had he saw him? No, not the innocent and cute Ringo? "I..." "You are a vampire." He knew it. "No not quiet.", George said nervously. "What not quiet? I know it. I know everything. You are the killer. You bite the woman to full fill your own death blood. It is obvious. The sharpie teeth, the pale skin, the sun burn, the red eyes... do you want more?" "Ringo..." "Oh, look." He pointed at the reflection off the mirror he had brought into the room. "I can't see you only me. More?" "Ringo!", George yelled louder than he wanted. Ringo sniffed and shivered by George scary voice. "I'm not a vampire. Not really." "What else are you then?" "I'm a fruit vampire." "What?" "Yeah, let me explain. But please calm down firth. Sit down next to me please." "You killed someone I won't just calm down?" "I know I know but please." "No, you can tell it me like this as well. And I will see if there is any reason to calm down." George had never seen the rather calm and cheerful Ringo so angry and serious. "So Fruit vampires are like real vampires, but I leave from the juice of fruits. I just got into this mess of losing control, because I hadn't sucked any fruits lately." "Where you born like that?" "No, I was transformed as a little boy." "Show me your bites." George opened his shirt and showed Ringo the little two dots on his neck. "Why should someone transforms you if they live from fruits?" "Because they needed something stronger, since they also hadn't had any fruits in a while." "And they got into a blood rush?" "No, but where do you know about the blood rush." "I'm not that stupid as you might think." "I would never think you would be stupid." "Whatever, what happened?" "I got driven over by a car. So he had to transform me or else I would have died." “Isn’t a vampire also dead?” “I’m a fruit vampire not a normal vampire.” “I don’t get the difference.” “So, a vampire needs blood. I need fruits.” “But why did you got into a BLOOD rush.” “Because I hadn’t have enough fruits lately and that’s why I lost control.” “Will you lose control again?” George kept quiet and started at his shoes. “George, will you lose control again?!” “I don’t know. If you drink blood once who knows.”, George mumbled while Ringo carefully got back some steps. “Don’t worry. Right now I’m full with the apples.” “And the blood of the innocent woman.” George didn’t wanted to answer to this. He was already ashamed for his killing. “Is there a help?” “No.” Silence.

“Although.” “What?”, Ringo asked exited. “There is the one who transformed me. Mister Greif. He lives near Liverpool in a castle called Crackerbox palest.” “Liverpool? But, George, we are in Hamburg.”, Ringo sighted. “Yeah, but I know that there are ways to find some sort of portals there.” “Really? So we could go there and he helps you and everything is fine again.” “That would be a plan. But let’s do this tomorrow. I really need sleep now and you would need it too.” “What about Paul and John? Should we tell them?” “No, they won’t believe it.” “But they won’t let us go alone.” “True, maybe we just tell them that it would be only for a gig or we got an invitation.” Ringo nodded and they both ready for bed. This time both made sure that they wouldn’t come to close. Ringo was still scared by George and George was still in shame.

Continue: Part 4

[asphalt-cocktail]

okay sin sunday !! what if reader is feeling really self-conscious and one of the beatles (or all of them 👀👀) just worship the reader’s body and tell them how gorgeous they are,,, and make them cum like 4 times 😳

Oh my god I love this idea! I’ve been thinking about writing something like this so I’m excited you suggested it. This turned out WAAAYYYY longer than I expected. But if you want me to write another one where they have a proper fuck let me know! Because I also have that idea brewing 👀👀👀

Warnings: group sex, smut, oral(f), fingering, some body shaming and confidence issues, body worship

Your ears burned with embarrassment and anger as you pushed your way onto the plane through the crowd of people.

“I can’t believe they’d let someone who looks like that work for them.” The crew of girls snickered as they talked about you, oblivious to the fact that you were in ear shot.

The burning in your ears traveled up your cheeks and spread down the back of your neck as you stood in the tiny plane bathroom and stared at yourself in the mirror. You poked and prodded at your face, your big nose, and lopsided eyes then you smushed your belly in your fingers and let out a sigh. Maybe they were right.

“Hoy, you almost done in there love?” You could hear ringo knocking from the other side and quickly composed yourself.

“Yeah I’ll be out in a minute.” You answered back shortly before you exited.

The rest of the plane ride you sat some distance away from the boys, using the excuse of paperwork and the fact that you needed to get some sleep to not arise any suspicions.

After the plane landed you holed yourself up in the hotel room.

“Don’t you want to have a drink with us?” Paul’s eyes pleaded with you. It was tradition that after you landed you all sat down for a card game and drinks before sleeping the first night in your new hotel room.

You shrugged your shoulders “nah I’m kind of beat after the last flight.” Paul looked at you with a pouty expression and the way johns eyes narrowed as he looked at you told you he didn’t buy it. But neither of them said anything

The following evening as you all rushed to enter the the hotel after a business day of interviews and photo shoots you could hear girls again talking about you, “oh my god those shoes?” and “god can you believe they let her leave with her hair like that?”hammered in your ears.

Your throat felt tight and your eyes burned, a little hiccup left your mouth and you rubbed your stinging eyes with the palm of your hand. George looked at you and squinted his eyes as you all waited for the elevator, “are you... are you crying?” He asked loudly.

You blinked hard and felt hot tears run down your cheeks “no.” You said weakly and quickly rushed I to the elevator as the doors slid open. You crossed your arms over your chest and your lips pressed into a tight frown.

“What’s wrong?” John pressed, putting an arm in your shoulder.

You shrugged it off and walked off the elevator, thankful to hear it ding and see the doors open to the floor your room was on, “I’m fine.” You hiccuped quickly walking off.

When you got to your room door, you fumbled you with your keys before you finally broke and let out a soft sob, hoping the boys were far enough away that they couldn’t hear.

“Oh, come on love, we only want to help.” Ringo said staring at you with his droopy blue eyes.

Your lip quivered and you let yourself in, the boys followed shutting the door and turning towards you. You covered your face with your hands feeling Johns firm arms embracing you in a tight hug. His broad body surrounded you, making you feel comforted and protected from the mean words that dug I to your brain.

“I feel ugly.” You choked out, crying and leaving tear stains on Johns suit jacket.

You could feel their eyes burning into your back as John tried to soothe you, rubbing your back softly. The awkward silence told you that they didn’t know how to react, “what makes you think that?” You could hear George swallow thickly after he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words with military precision.

“The girls outside always say bad things about me.” You said finally pulling away and moving to sit on the edge of your bed, John followed holding your hand in your lap. You played with his fingers, tracing them and admiring the callouses and roughness of his palms.

“What girls?” Paul asked

“She means the ones downstairs.” George answered

You sheepishly looked away from them, “I don’t know why you guys keep me around, I’m no good.” You huffed out.

Paul gaped at you, “what do you mean no good?” He scoffed.

“Well there was the time I told you the wrong time for the interviews back in New York and we showed up on the wrong day, or the time I forgot ringos cymbals at the venue, or when I tripped over your guitar stand in the studio and knocked all the papers over.” You whimpered softly and rubbed your eyes, feeling more tears forming, “you guys should really get someone prettier who is more organized.”

John squeezed your hand, “a forgotten cymbal and some messed up papers are hardly a thing to get fired over. Hell Neil didn’t strap our guitars down and they busted all down the high way and we didn’t even fire him.” His hand cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him, “and don’t ever say you aren’t pretty.” The way he stared at you told you he was deadly serious.

You swallowed thickly and placed your hand over his, “Brian wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were worth it. You know how much of a perfectionist he is.”

Ringo hummed in agreement, “I knkw it’s easier said than done, but don’t listen to those girls out there. They don’t have anything on you okay!”

Paul nodded his head, “very easy on the eyes, love” he said and gave you a quick wink.

Your face felt hot and you quickly looked away and played with the hem of your blazer, rubbing the stiff fabric between your fingers, “I don’t know, they always say my hair looks bad and that I’m ugly or my nose is too big.” You still felt bad thinking about their words.

“Well do they know that you wake up two hours before everyone else to take your hair out of your funny little curlers every morning?” John asked

Your face whipped over to him, “how do you know I do that?”

Johns face flushed and he shrugged, “I hear you rummaging about when we get those fancy villas.” He admitted. He swallowed thickly and looked at the three other men.

The silence told you that they were conversing. It was something that only they seemed to be able to do with eachother, talk with looks they only they understood.

Paul cleared his throat before the silence could get uncomfortable, “here why don’t you lay back and if you wanted we could show you. You know how much we appreciate you.”

You could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck and spreading across your cheeks, “what, what do you mean?” You asked.

John put his hand on your shoulder, “let us take care of you, yeah?” His eyes searched your face for any uncertainty.

“We can stop anytime you like.” Ringo added quickly.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head, “Okay, I can do that” you said more to reassure yourself that you weren’t going crazy.

John sat back against the plush hotel pillows and patted his legs, encouraging you to settle between them. You hesitated for a moment and looked at the three men standing in your room trying to decide if they were taking the piss. The nischevious glint in Paul’s eyes wasnt the same as when he and John were scheming, no it was something you’ve never seen before.

You crawled over and laid against John’s chest, admiring how his body was soft and firm. You let out a shaky gasp feeling his hands rubbing your arms and brushing your hair out of the way, he tipped your chin back with his forefinger and placed a timid kiss on your lips.

The kiss was nothing you’d expect from big tough John. It was soft and sweet, like he was kissing for you to enjoy and only you. You let out a soft whimper and craned your neck at an awkward angle, wanting to take in more of him. He pulled away and smiled devilishly at you seeing your flushed face and dazed eyes.

All at once you felt the bed dip around you and you suddenly remembered there were three other people in the room. You felt a wave of embarrassment begin to wash over you.

Paul nudged your legs open with his knees and you hesitantly spread them open, now overwhelminlgly aware of how your cloths had begun to stick to your skin from sweat. When did it get so hot?

You reached to unbutton your blouse but your hands were caught between George’s long slender fingers. He gave you a kind smile and worked your buttons, placing soft kisses down your chest as each button exposed more and more of your skin. Your stomach twitched and you saw George hovering over your exposed tummy “don’t” you quickly said in a panicked voice.

George nuzzled his face against your soft tummy and kissed it, “please don’t be nervous, you’re gorgeous.” You could feel his lips moving against your skin and shivered at his words.

The three men removed the remainder of your cloths with soft touches and kind glances that reminded you this was about you, not them; and soon you were bare before them.

Paul slipped to the side while Ringo took his place. Paul placed little kisses along the outside of your spread legs while Ringo’s fingers lightly raised up them, the cool metal of his rings burning against your hot flesh. You squirmed as they both got closer and closer to your core. You watched with anticipation as both boys hungrily eyed you.

To your surprise Ringo was the first to act, swiping on of his thick fingers and gathering your slick on them before he inserted one into you. You let out a weak sigh and your walls twitched when you realized that George, John, and Paul also let out soft sounds of satisfaction and watched as Ringo’s thick finger pumped in and out of you with ease.

Your mind began to swim, feeling Paul kissing and sucking on your thighs and hips before kissing the top of your mound. Your hips jolted with surprise and your squirmed feeling the tip of his tongue expertly flick against your swollen clit.

You bit your lip hard and struggled to keep quiet, while staring at the two men at your lower half. Paula tongue traced rapid shapes against your clit as Ringk inserted another finger, “Jesus Christ,” you hissed out loudly, your back arching against John and your shoulders pressing into him.

John hummed and nuzzled your neck, kissing snd sucking on the sensitive skin, “love those pretty little sounds you make.” He whispered heavily in your ear. You shivered and tried to maintain your composure, but all sensibility was lost upon feeling George’s rough hands kneading your breasts and peppering your collarbone and chest with wet kisses.

Your mind began to swim with overstimulation, George’s hot mouth sucking and swirling your nipples against his tongue while Johns hand eagerly took to pinching and twisting the neglected ones while he whispered things that would make even the most foul mouthed sailors blush. Paul’s talented tongue flicking and lapping at your clit while ringos thick fingers pumped in and out of your soft wet walls.

George trailed kisses up your neck and jaw before placing an opened mouthed kiss on you, it made your toes curl feeling his tongue rubbing against yours while John kissed your neck. You brought your hand up to rub George through his tailored suit pants. He broke the kiss and lightly pulled your hand away, “this is about you” he said softly. He was so close you could feel his lips lightly brushing against yours as he spoke snd feel his hot breath on your face. “You look gorgeous like this, you knkw that right” he asked after placing a quick succession of lingering kisses in your lips, “taking us so well, suck a good girl, bloody brilliant”

Your face scrunched up and your walls twitched around ringos fingers. You were close. Heat began to build in your belly and your thighs flexed, “I-”you could hardly recognize your voice as you struggled to find your words.

“You gonna come for us?” Ringo asked, the pace of his fingers speeding up.

You let out a breathy whine and bucked your hips. Your hands traveled from George, to John, to Paul, unsure of where to ground yourself. Finally you settled with one hand in Paul’s hair, pushing his face closer to you while the other hand gripped John’s hand tightly. Paul’s lips lewly smacked as he sucked your clit and he let out a satisfied him, “Oh fuck” you huffed out.

Your breathy mains climbed in pitch and your back arched until suddenly your mind went blank and your skin felt like TV static. Your walls clenched around Ringos fingers as he and Paul worked you through your orgasm. Your mind felt fogged over like the morning after too much drink and your thighs felt sticky from your mess.

John, or was it George? Someone kissed your temple and you let out a content sigh, much too exhausted in that moment to open your eyes and check.

“I think you’ve killed her,” John said, cheeky as ever.

You hummed and arched your brow as it to say “I’m still here” and lazily opened your eyes.

The first face you saw was Paul, his pouty lips red and wide eyes hanging heavy as he placed an opened mouthed kiss on your lips. Paul’s were almost analytical, You could taste yourself on his mouth and moaned into the kiss. He eagerly swallowed up your sounds before pulling away and kissing the tip of your nose. A gesture so innocent in comparison to your prior actions.

You hadn’t noticed ringo left the room until he returned to the room with a warm washcloth. As attentive as ever, he cleaned your mess from your thighs. As he finished you grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, the way he kissed was wildly different from John, Paul, and George. The way John kissed you was tender, he kissed you for your pleasure while George’s were fiery and passionate. Paul was analytical, like he was always trying to get one step ahead of you as though it were a competition. But ringo he was soft, his mouth moved against yours with care, for a moment you forgot the rest of the boys were in the room. He smiled for a moment and pulled away.

Once your light and airy high passed you sat up from John’s chest. John looked at you “i don’t to ever hear you say bad things about yourself again.” He said like a mother scolding a child. His serious facade passed and a ghost of a smile played on his lips “if you do we might have to do this again.”

You smiled and let out a small laugh, “i don’t know if I’ve gotten the point across maybe I could use another reminder later.”

George grinned, “we’ll have to check with our fab assistant to see if it fits into our schedules.”

[beatles-slash-fiction]

Beatles ot5 in which two of the boys gets rewarded at the same time, maybe with a double sided dildo 😳😳

It’s not very often at all that John gets to share a reward with Ringo.

Usually he’ll either be rewarded on his own or with the other three lads, so it’s quite rare for him to share a reward with just one other person.

But John and Ringo voluntarily covered some interviews last week while Paul and George were sick with stomach flu, and it turns out that even though it was bloody exhausting, it was definitely worth it because Brian is keen to reward them.

When Brian invites the two of them up to his hotel suite, John knows it’s going to be a sexual reward. And that’s absolutely fine with John; anything involving Ringo and sex is bound to be lovely.

“Hello, boys,” Brian welcomes them and gives them each a kiss. “I think you’re going to enjoy what I have planned. Take off your clothes and have a seat. I’ll make you a drink.”

John raises an eyebrow at Ringo. Brian usually only gives them a drink just before he’s about to explain a punishment to them that he knows they’re going to feel uneasy about.

“Is there something we should be worried about?” Ringo asks as he shrugs off his jacket and reaches for his shirt buttons.

“Not at all,” Brian chuckles. “Look, I thought we’d try something a bit different tonight. The drinks are just to help you relax. I thought we’d try something special as the two of you have been such good boys.”

Such good boys.

John knows he should find praise like that patronising, but it still makes him feel warm and fuzzy every time Brian says something like that.

John takes a seat on the bed next to Ringo once they’re both naked, and gratefully accepts a glass of whiskey from Brian, which he downs in one go.

Ringo does the same, and Brian grabs an object from his luggage and plants it on the bed in front of the boys.

John frowns as he stares at it. It’s a sex toy of some kind, but he’s not quite sure what it is exactly. He’s no prude, but he finds himself blushing.

“What is it?” Ringo asks hesitantly. “It looks like a...dildo? But it doesn’t look like ones you’ve given us before.”

“It is indeed a dildo,” Brian chuckles. “But it’s a double-edged dildo.”

John turns even redder. The implication of this is clearly that Brian wants them to use this together.

“I thought this was supposed to be a reward?” John frowns. “And yet you’re expecting us to stick a fucking monster double-sided cock up our arses?”

“I’m not expecting you to do anything,” Brian says softly. “If you really don’t want to try it, then just say so. It’s no problem at all and this is your reward. But I am asking you to trust that I’ve picked something I think you’ll like. John, I know you don’t like to admit how much you enjoy penetration, but you seem to particularly enjoy it with Ringo and myself. The two of you seem to be particularly trusting of each other when it comes to acts like this. So I thought this might be something fun you could do together without worrying about the other two being around to watch you.”

John knows Brian has a point. If he doesn’t do this now, John knows he’s only going to go back to his own hotel room and wank while fantasising about buggering himself on this thing at the same time as Ringo.

Ringo squeezes John’s hand. “I’m up for giving it a go if you are? I think it will be hot. Especially with Brian watching.”

“Fuck it,” John says. “Let’s do it.”

“Stop anytime you want to,” Brian says, handing John a bottle of lube. “Just do whatever feels good.”

John looks at the bottle of lube awkwardly, then at the dildo, then at Ringo. He looks so beautiful.

“You know how to do this,” Ringo says softly, almost cheerfully, straddling John’s lap. “Foreplay first.”

John moans as their semi-hard cocks rub against each other, and he squeezes Ringo’s hips as the older man presses their lips together. It’s a slow kiss at first, but it quickly becomes heated, and John remembers why he loves sex with Ringo so much. Ringo is so easy to be around, and John never feels like he has to be on his guard.

Ringo’s fingers wrap around John’s cock and stroke firmly, and John squeezes Ringo’s rear gently, skimming his fingers over the smaller man’s entrance.

“We could just do this,” Ringo suggests, nuzzling John’s neck. “This is really nice.”

It is nice, but John knows it could be nicer.

They spend a few minutes pleasuring each other, and John is vaguely aware of Brian watching them from an armchair in the corner. The atmosphere is very safe and relaxed.

“You’re such a pretty lad,” John blurts out, caressing Ringo’s cheek. “So lucky to have you.”

Ringo smiles softly. “So are you. You’re so beautiful, John.”

John reaches for the bottle of lube with trembling fingers, his whole body burning with arousal. “This might be easier if you’re on your back.”

John gently tips them over so that Ringo is on his back, giving the smaller man’s thigh an appreciative pat as Ringo spreads his legs.

“Relax, Rich,” John says, just as he’s said so many times before. He coats his fingers generously with lube before slowly nudging one inside Ringo.

Ringo sighs and his eyes flutter closed. John leans down to lick his nipples, fingering Ringo slowly with one hand and stroking his cock with the other. John fingers Ringo slowly, adding more fingers as he opens his lover up gently. He’s eager to get to the main event, but at the same time he doesn’t want to hurt Ringo and he wants to make this as good as possible for him.

“I’m ready,” Ringo says in a trembling voice. He glances at Brian. “Should I prep John first or do we put the thing in me first?”

Brian smiles encouragingly at them. “Let me give you a hand. It might be easiest to get the toy inside you, Ringo, and then I can help John.”

John gently removes his fingers and grabs the dildo, coating one end in lube as Brian joins them on the bed.

“Nudge it inside him very slowly,” Brian instructs. He grabs a pillow and eases it beneath Ringo’s hips. “Let us know if it hurts, Ringo.”

John carefully positions the dildo at Ringo’s entrance, before pushing it in gently.

Ringo sighs and arches his back as the object slides into him. He sighs John’s name and squeezes his free hand as John works the toy inside him slowly. He looks absolutely fucking beautiful.

“Okay?” John asks gently.

“Yeah,” Ringo moans. “So good, John.”

“Good lad, Ringo,” Brian praises. “Now relax just a minute while I get John ready.” He coats his own fingers with lube and grabs another pillow. “Alright, John, now copy Ringo’s position. Lie opposite him.”

John does as he’s told, the nervousness from earlier returning. He takes deep breaths as Brian starts to finger him carefully.

Brian was right earlier. John doesn’t like people seeing him being vulnerable, but he enjoys being vulnerable. Or at least, he does with certain people. He likes being so intimate with someone that he doesn’t have to pretend or put on a show. That’s what he feels right now.

“Are you ready, John?” Brian asks softly.

“Yes,” John replies immediately.

He closes his eyes as Brian lubes up the other end of the dildo, and slowly pushes it inside John.

It’s always weird being penetrated by a toy instead of a person. It’s cold and lifeless and feels a bit awkward, but this is different because it’s an experience that he gets to share with Ringo.

It’s a bit awkward getting a rhythm going at first, but Brian instructs them to just do what feels natural. John and Ringo end up propping themselves up on their elbows so they can see each other, and then they just go for it.

They both slowly start working themselves up and down on the toy, maintaining eye contact as they build a rhythm. It’s clumsy and awkward and they end up laughing as they get used to the sensation, but eventually they manage to move in a way that works for them. John clutches the sheets as the pleasure burns in his belly.

He can see the pleasure on Ringo’s face too, and that makes the whole thing even more arousing. John tries to match the rhythm of his hips with Ringo’s, and the pace becomes so frenzied that the mattress is bouncing with their movements. Ringo is making little noises as he nears orgasm, and when he meets John’s eyes, it’s all over.

John cries out as he comes, his orgasm sending shockwaves through his body. He squeezes someone’s hand, and he’s not sure if it’s Ringo’s or Brian’s.

When he looks up, he can see Ringo has finished as well; spurts of cum lining his belly as he breathes heavily. Brian gently eases both of them off the toy, quietly praising them as they catch their breath.

“Such good boys,” Brian says as he wipes them both with a wet cloth. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Christ yes,” Ringo says happily.

“Yeah,” John says shyly, surprising himself. “It was really good.”

“Well maybe I’ll keep this reward in mind for future then,” Brian chuckles. “Don’t go boasting to Paul and George though; you’ll make them jealous.”

Brian lets them spend the night in his room, and he even sleeps on the sofa so that John and Ringo can cuddle in the bed alone.

John thinks about the toy that Brian has safely put away in the nightstand, and wonders what other good behaviour might warrant another similar reward.

[mysweetgeo]

Do You Want to Know a Secret ? (Part 7)

Summary: Reader and George have been best friends since they were kids, but when The Beatles got big, they were forced apart. What happens when George returns for a couple weeks wanting their friendship to return to normal?

It was a few days before you saw George again, and you knew his time back home was running out.

Fearful that he’d leave in three days and soon forget you again, you called him asking him to come over for drinks, something you’d have done a few years ago when you would snag a bottle of vodka from your father’s liquor cabinet and replace what you’d drank with water.

You’d gone to the liquor store and gotten a large bottle of vodka, and stopped at the grocery to grab a couple bottles of coke to chase the alcohol with.

You were wearing a green velvet mini skirt with a white blouse tucked into the waistband when George arrived, you’d told him just to come in and lock the door before he came upstairs.

“Hey,” you said with a grin as you held up the large bottle of vodka.

He smiled in return, “Hello, love,” he replied, sitting beside you on your bed.

“Straight up or mixed?” You asked, holding two square scotch glasses.

“I think I’ll do with just a coke for right now, let me settle in,” he said with a laugh, taking the bottle from your hand when you handed it to him.

“Suit yourself,” you mumbled before taking a shot straight from the bottle, your face contorting as the liquid burned its way down your throat.

He laughed at the face you made before noticing the Bob Dylan album you had on the turntable. he hummed at this realisation, “I quite like his tunes, don’t you?” He asked.

You nodded, “I do, lotsa bluesy ones on this one,” you replied, setting the bottle down as the disc came to an end. “What would you like to listen to?” You asked as you stood, removing the disc and placing it carefully back into the sleeve.

“Doesn’t much matter to me, whatever you’d like,” he replied, taking a sip from his coke.

You nodding, humming to yourself as you sat on the floor to look through your albums.

“You mind if I listen to With The Beatles again? I quite like All My Loving and haven’t been able to get it out of my head in days,” you said, grabbing the album and standing to place it on the turntable.

“‘Course not, just cover your ears at my tracks, they’re ear piercing,” he joked.

You walked back over to your bed as It Won’t Be Long began playing, “that’s not true George, I like all three songs that you sing on this album, your voice is quite soothing,” you said honestly.

He gave you a half smile and looked down at his lap, “No need to kiss up, love, you can admit it’s terrible—don’t go soft for my benefit.”

“‘m not George, honest. I adore your voice,” you said, lifting his chin so he would look at you, “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“But you’d lie about something else?” He asked, teasing you.

You hummed in response, “Oh definitely, don’t ask me about your guitar skills, I wouldn’t be able to hold back.”

He grinned, a loud laugh escaping his mouth.

You smiled, realising your hand was still touching his face and suddenly it burnt you to be this close.

You removed your hand and placed it in your lap, smiling when you heard All My Loving begin to play.

You hummed along with the tune before joining Paul’s vocals, “And then while I’m away, I’ll write home every day, and I’ll send all my loving to you.”

George couldn’t contain the loving smile that spread across his face as you sang, “Your voice is lovely, (Y/N), just as lovely as I remember it being,” he spoke during the small instrumental break.

You flushed, “Oh hush, Geo, I’m no Paul McCartney—or George Harrison for that matter,” you said with a laugh.

He snorted when you’d said his name, “And I’m no (Y/N Y/L/N).”

You rolled your eyes as the song ended and Don’t Bother Me began playing, “You wrote this one, yeah?” You asked.

He nodded, “Terrible isn’t it?”

You shook your head, “On the contrary—I quite like this one, it’s got a darker mood that I cannot get enough of,” you said. “Who is it about?” You asked, looking over to him.

He just shrugged, “Not sure, maybe a bird,” he mumbled.

You nodded, not pressing him any further, “Fancy a shot now?”

He nodded, taking a gulp from the bottle, his face also contorting in disgust as a disapproving groan escaped his mouth.

You laughed, and took one right after him, which didn’t burn nearly as much as the last one you’d taken, though you chased this one with a sip of your coke.

You groaned and stood to flip the record, but grinned when you remembered what the first song on this side was.

“Why’re you smiling like that—you look absolutely mad,” George asked.

You tried to supress your smile, “You’ll see,” you said, coming to sit beside him again.

Well I’m gonna write a little letter, gonna mail it to my local DJ

George groaned as his voice filled the room, causing you to let out a laugh, your body pressing into his as you tried to contain it.

“Sing it for me Georgie!” You exclaimed, after your laughter had subsided.

He rolled his eyes, “You know my temperature's rising and the jukebox blows a fuse, my heart's beating rhythm and my soul keeps singing the blues roll over Beethoven and tell Tchaikovsky the news,” he sang, his eyes on you the entire time.

It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, his voice wasn’t an exact match to the record, but it was incredible to be sitting across from George, and having him sing to you, and only you—it made you want to kiss him, but you knew you couldn’t do that without consequences.

He continued to sing, reaching over and grabbing your hand, only adding to the warm feeling that bubbled in your stomach.

You tried to push away the feeling as it intensified, and suddenly you were too close to George and it took everything in you to pull away for a second, breaking eye contact with him as you covered what you’d done by grabbing your coke and holding it in your hands.

George tried to his his hurt expression as you took your hand away from his grasp.

The song ended soon after, and you sat silently as the rest of the record played.

You got up to change the record, deciding to play your copy of Please Please Me.

“This okay with you?” You asked, holding up the sleeve as you put the needle on the disc.

George hummed in response, taking another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

You leaned against your wall observing the cover art for a few moments, your eyes lingering on George and his sweet baby face.

“Who’re ye lookin at Paul or John?” You heard him ask from across the room.

You looked up and met his eyes, “Neither,” you answered honestly.

“Ringo then? Didn’t exactly peg him as your type,” he said with a half-hearted laugh.

You shook your head, “He’s not,” you answered.

“Surely you weren’t looking at me?” he asked incredulously.

“You’ve got a baby face, Geo,” you replied, turning your attention back to the album cover, flipping it over to observe the back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“That you look young,” you reply, not looking up from the back cover.

He huffed and took yet another swig from the bottle, putting the top back on the bottle and leaning back on your bed.

Soon enough the first side was over and you flipped the disc before taking a large sip from the bottle and laying beside him on the bed.

You smiled when Love Me Do began to play, “I remember when you first released this one,” you said.

He nods, “Feels like so long ago,” he says.

“Can’t believe its been nearly three years,” you said, sighing contentedly.

He only hums in response, leaving the two of you in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as the song plays out.

You’ll never know how much I really love you

You’ll never know how much I really care

All of a sudden you were welcomed with a stirring of feelings in your stomach as a forgotten memory comes back to you.

He pulled you close to him, leaving barely enough room to breathe, and began to sway you back and forth.

He sang softly in your ear, “Do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell? Oh, closer.”

You felt yourself pressing yourself closer to him, aching for him to tell you.

“Let me whisper in your ear,” he murmured breathlessly in your ear, “say the words you long to hear.”

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, softly kissing your neck.

You sighed in content, allowing him to attack your neck and jaw with kisses.

“Oh, George,” you mumbled softly.

George’s lips moved to your cheek, progressively moving towards your mouth.

You let out a groan when he pulled away, “Can I kiss you?” He murmured.

All you could do was nod, your body aching for his touch, your lips yearning for reciprocation.

You looked into each other’s eyes before George pressed his lips against yours, and your world stopped.

You gasped, sitting up and covering your mouth, looking at George, who seemingly had realized the same thing.

His eyes were wide, looking at you and not knowing what to say or do.

The song played out as the memory played in your mind, his hands on your body burning you as it played out.

You stood up, not knowing what to do with yourself, beginning to pace as you thought the entire moment over in your mind.

George watched you pace back and forth, not wanting to interrupt or say anything wrong.

All of a sudden you stopped and just stared at him, not caring that the music had stopped.

“Why did you kiss me?” You asked.

He looks at you, not quite knowing how to put his feelings into words.

After a moment, he spoke up, “‘ve been mad for you for years, (Y/N),” he said softly.

You felt tears in your eyes, “Years?” You choked out, it almost came out as a whine.

He nodded, confirming what he’d said as he stood up to meet you where you stood in the center of your room.

“You didn’t tell me, George, I-I’ve been trying get over you for years now,” you stuttered, anger coursing through your body. “How dare you keep that from me! I had a right to know!” You yelled, pushing him away from you.

“(Y/N)-“ He began but you interrupted again.

“No, George, I loved you for years—years, George. And then you left, you left and you didn’t even try to contact me or anything! No calls no letters, not even a bloody hello!” You raged, pushing at his chest as you cried.

“Years?” He asked, grabbing your wrists and holding them.

“Yes, years! What part of that don’t you understand?” you yelled, trying to get your wrists free.

“If I’m not mistaken you didn’t speak up either! And last time I checked—love is a two way street,” he yelled back, dangerously close.

“George you don’t get it! You left! You left me here and you just went!” You cried, fighting the grip he had on your wrists.

“You didn’t stop me!” He yelled in your face, maintaining a tight grip on your wrists.

“How can you say that! You know I could never stop you from leaving! What was I supposed to do? Tell you not to go? Even if I did—you’d have resented me for stopping you, the nerve you have to say that,” you said, as you stopped fighting his grip.

“I would have, y’know, I wouldn’t have gone if you gave me a reason to stay,” he says in a deep voice as he released your wrists.

“I wouldn’t have let you even if you tried,” you said quietly, not looking him in the eyes.

It was quiet for several minutes before you spoke again, “I think you should leave, George,” you said in a small voice.

“What? Why? We can work this out—“ He began to step towards you, but you interrupted him by putting a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“I need time, George, you have to give me time,” you said, backing away from him.

“(Y/N),” he said softly, if you weren’t so close you might not have heard him.

“No, George, please,” you begged, opening your door for him.

He looked at you before beginning to make his way to the door, but not before standing in front of you and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered, turning and walking out the door.

After he’d left, you closed your door, holding the handle for a moment, “I love you, too,” you murmured.

[themagicalmysticalboy]

Iveneverrequestedanaskbeforesryifimlikeawkward

Anyways can you write a mclennon and theres a thunderstorm or something and the power goes out and one if them gets all scared and clingy to the other and they’re scared and it ends with cuddles? I love your writing btw <33

a/n: ah! thank you so much! hope you like this one too! ended up being a lot longer than i thought it would lol

Going to Kansas City...

Going to Get My Baby Back Home

The last note of Long Tall Sally tore from Paul’s throat and blasted into the exuberant crowd as the concert came to an end. He was smiling like mad as he looked between his bandmates and the people in the stadium. It was strange to not see every seat full but he didn’t care at all. There was too much adrenaline coursing through him to give it a second thought. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he sent a few thank you’s into the mic.

John held his shoulder and waved with him before going towards the speakers so they could prop their instruments up with the other equipment. “Fucking fantastic,” he yelled close to Paul’s ear.

“Aye, Eppy looks satisfied,” Paul yelled back and nodded to just off the stage where their manager stood.

With another smile and a pat on the shoulder, they both broke into a trot to the locker rooms, George and Ringo on their heels. Paul was still waving the whole way until they descended into the tunnel. Cool air hit his face like a blessing from above. They slowed to a slow stride to catch their breath.

Everyone was soaked in sweat and panting. They had every right to be dead tired but the electricity of the performance wasn’t about to wear off. Paul surmised they had a good 30 minutes before they were absolutely dead on their feet.

“Was weird hearing our own music. ‘Bout forgot what we sounded like,” George said as he wiped at his forehead with his sleeve.

“Small crowd and we still got paid out the arse for it. Screw a day off.”

Paul thought a day off still would have been nice. With it raining like it was when they landed, though, there wouldn’t have been much to do. Might as well make some more money. Maybe that’s why the crowd was so small - all that rain and wind kept people from arriving. It didn’t really matter -money wise- if 30,000 or 10 people came, though. The deal was at a set rate and they got paid the same either way.

“Glad to hear it was worth it, John.”

Paul turned on his heels, walking backward, to find Brian trailing behind. “Aren’t you glad we kept saying no? Got us far.”

“We should start refusing things more often,” Ringo chimed in, tapping the air with his drumsticks.

“All fab and gear and whatever,” George came up and grabbed Paul, jumping to put all his weight on Paul’s shoulders before turning him around and pushing him forward.  “but let's get the hell out of these clothes and get some kip.”

There was a general agreement between laughs and jests. They set off to the dressing room while Brian went to ready their ride to the hotel. When they finally found the room in the maze of a stadium, the airconditioning was even better than in the hallways. A fan in the corner hit them as they walked in and sent Paul’s hair on end. He collapsed into a chair at the first opportunity and yanked off his boots, not bothering to unzip them. Taking the boots to the clothes rack, he undressed and hung his outfit up accordingly. When he was happily redressed in a t-shirt and jeans, he looked on at the mess John and George were creating. 

George’s clothes were on the floor, surrounding a chair that managed to not so much as catch a sock. Whereas John’s clothes trailed from the door to the vanity. He was mostly undressed, wearing only unbuttoned pants and a tie, as he searched for his clothes. Paul eyed him indulgently as he moved about the room, feeling something between annoyed and pleased. At least Ringo had made a good faith attempt, clothes messily placed on their hangers with boots sat beside Paul’s.

Paul marched over and untied the tie around his neck. “How did you even manage that?”

“I like to keep a mystery.” John’s eyes were soft and dream-like.

“Save it for later, you two,” George exclaimed and made a fake vomiting sound.

 Rolling his eyes, Paul leaned into John and picked up his discarded suit jacket, revealing John’s pile of plain clothes. “Looking for these?”

John laughed mockingly and snatched up his jumper. He had just pulled the thing on when the lights flickered out. The breath of the building cut out before wheezing back to life and illuminating the room again. John let out a low woah as they all eyed the ceiling.

“Mal blow a fuse unplugging the speaker,” Ringo joked, his gaze still fixed on the lights.

They stood there for a moment longer before going back to getting dressed and lounging. John got himself together and dressed rather quickly. Paul watched him closely but didn’t question him. When George and Ringo took a seat on either side of Paul, John was pacing the floor and tapping his thighs.

“I’m going to look for Brian. He’s taking too long.”

Paul stood. “John,” But he was gone before any protest could be made. “Great. I’ll go and get him.”

George propped his feet up on the table, taking one of Ringo’s drumsticks to spin between his fingers. “He’ll be alright. Maybe he’ll even get Eppy to tell us what’s going on.”

Paul weighed his options and dropped into the seat at the vanity. “Would be nice to know what’s keeping him.” Tapping at the maroon-painted wood, he noticed John’s glasses wrapped up in his tie. Paul held them up, pulling the tie off. “He’s got his contacts in, hasn’t he?”

“Took ‘em out, actually.”

“The git. He’ll never find his way back here if he doesn’t run into Brian.”

“Probably couldn’t find his way back with the specs. They’ll find each other though.”

Ignoring the advice, Paul was half out of his seat when a nerve-rattling bang sent him falling back. His breath hitched in his throat, his muscles tense and pulling against his skin. Ringo and George were just as stunned, leaning forward on the couch. Slowly, as if they might evoke more banging if they made a sound, the three walked to the door. Howling screams echoed outside, becoming more clear as Ringo placed his hand on the knob. When he opened it, a gust of warm and humid wind rushed into the room. The low howling wind whistled up in pitch.

There was a small set of stairs to their left that led to double doors. They were flung apart like unfolded lungs, rushing all its oxygen into the building. Outside, the parking lot was shrouded in a haze of heavy rain that made the street lights radiate a halo’s glow. They, consequently, did nothing in the way of providing actual visibility.

“That’s probably not very good.”

The lights flickered off and on again, making Paul grip the back of Ringo’s shirt. “No. Probably not.” His mind was a racehorse running through a blank expanse.

George pulled him back into the room. “Come on before we get sucked out the door.”

Steadying himself and pulling back the reins on his mind, he pointed to the other two. “I’m going to get John. Stay here in case Brian comes ‘round.”

“Can’t recall a single time when splitting up has been a good idea,” George said with a raised brow.

“Well, John’s already gone and done it. I’ll make it an even split at the least.”

No further argument was made and Paul went into the hall to find a few staff members going towards the open door. They took no notice as he went the opposite way. The once comforting cool of the hallway moved from humid stuffiness to icey cold in a matter of a few steps. He turned at the first opportunity and heard both doors close with a clank. At least that was handled. 

Once he knew he was on the path to where they had originally come into the stadium, he called out, “John! You around?” There was no reply. Down the next corridor, there was another employee sliding a bolt into place at the exit doors. They rushed off, leaving Paul alone. He called out for John again.

“How the hell did I get back here?” John was standing behind Paul, one hand on his head, the other on his lower back. “I went in a circle…”

“These might have helped.” Paul brought over the glasses and slid them on John before grabbing his shoulders. “Better?”

John stuck his tongue out and shook off Paul’s hands.

“Aye, welcome. Now come on. Eppy’s probably this way.” The doors at the far end of the hallway banged against their bolts, rattling from the forceful wind that pushed through the cracks. “Let's pick up the pace, yeah?”

John only nodded, speed walking ahead while Paul struggled to keep up. He was a good 6 feet in the lead when the lights cut.

“Fucking hell.” Paul was getting tired of this finicky electricity.

“Paul?”

“Yeah. Haven’t disappeared.” He might as well have. The dark that blanketed the building was dense and consuming. He had no way to see anything at all.

“Where are you?”

“I’ve got my arms out. Just walk back towards me.” Having the clack of their boot heels would have been nice at the moment. Their sneakers were far too quiet to make out the location by. Regardless, John’s strong grip wrapped Paul’s bicep. “There we- oh-”

John’s arms wrapped underneath Paul’s, pulling them together by the shoulder blades. His head was buried into the crook of Paul’s neck. More banging echoed somewhere in the distance and John held tighter.

“Hey,” he gently rubbed circles over John’s back. “We’re alright, y’know.”

“I don’t like this.” John shook his head against Paul, trembling in his arms. His heartbeat was wild in his chest, thumping against his ribs so forcefully that Paul could feel it too. He had seen John like this before but only a handful of times. It sent Paul’s alarm bells off. “Paul, I can’t- I-”

“Okay… Okay. Let's sit, then.” They parted briefly and Paul led him to a wall so they could slide to the floor. “Come here.” John pressed against him, head on his shoulder and hand in hand.

Without the hum of electricity, the wind completely filled the deafening silence, only interrupted by the bang of doors and distant footsteps from the level above. Though that did let them know other people were somewhere, it gave an already ominous atmosphere that last nudged into horror. Paul might have been scared himself but he couldn’t think of anything other than John’s panicked breathing and shaking hand.

“I’ve got you, okay? We’re not going anywhere, neither of  us.” John didn’t respond. “You need to breathe, love. Take a deep breath for me, please.” They breathed together - slow inhale and even slower exhale - over and over. “That’s good.”

He was shaking less when he fell into Paul. “Shouldn’t there be backup lights?”

Paul chuckled softly. “You’d really think.”

“You think it’s a tornado? Mal said this was part of Tornado Valley… Or was it Alley?”

“Tornado Alley? Only in America, I swear.” His fingers were still tangled in John’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp. “They got a state-designated for hurricanes too?”

“Actually, I think they do. Maybe Florida.”

Paul let out a wholehearted laugh. John slowly worked his way into one too. “Can’t wait to be back in England. I’ll take rain and no sun every day over whatever this all is.”

“Yeah…” Another clatter of metal echoed from the dark and John tensed.

Paul gave a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “And we will get back. In one piece too. Storms can’t stick around forever.”

They settled into a mutual silence as the aches of sleep crept into their bones. John ran a hand up and down Paul’s thigh and Paul held his head against his shoulder. They both jolted every now and again but were fairly still for the most part. Any footfall that was above them stopped some time ago. At least that had calmed John’s nerves a bit further. Though Paul found it more frightening now that they were gone - not that he’d dare to voice that. 

He was too tired to be scared anyway. The nonstop concerts and traveling exacerbated the stress of all of this and left him numb. It was safe to be numb now. John felt slack against his shoulder, finally at peace. A weird tranquility slipped through his skin and sunk into his bones. The darkness deepened as his eyes fluttered shut.

“What are you doing on the floor?” A drawled voice drifted into his dream. “Paul.”

He grumbled and opened his eyes, only to be attacked by searing light. He sucked in a pained breath and shielded his eyes to look for the source of the voice. Squinting, he could make out George coming down the hall. He blinked away the sting and stretched a bit. John’s head was on his lap, still fast asleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled on instinct, rubbing any leftover sleep from his eyes. “John, love. Wake up.”

“Come on before someone sees you both all snuggled up like.”

John copied Paul’s wake routine down to the “Morning.”

 “Yeah, yeah. Morning, morning.”

After some much-needed stretching, George hauled John to his feet though it was more for show than actual help. Paul followed, leaning on the wall as pins pricked at his sleeping legs. “How long have we been gone.”

George was taking the lead. He turned his head back to say, “Well, it’s past midnight. They just got the power on not even 15 minutes ago. I’d say you’ve been missing for three hours.”

Both men only grunted a response, swaying sleepily as they walked.

“Wish it was longer,” John groaned.

“Aye. I’m still wiped.”

“The storms passed enough to get to the hotel. Both of you can get back to your snuggling soon.”

A smile twitched at Paul’s lips. “Good.”

[kalypsichor]

lonesome tonight [ paul mccartney x reader ]

summary: You’re drunk and oh so pretty wearing that little dress. Paul doesn’t know what to do with you. 

prompt: Headcanon idea:) what would Paul do when the reader got wasted? + Can I request a hc where the female reader crashes at Paul’s place? Tysm! warnings: nuthin’ but Paul respecting women

you asked for headcanons. i got carried away. also, this is just a fic, but quick PSA: never go out drinking unless you have a sure way to get home!

Oh, but you look so pretty under the blue lights.

The rest of the Beatles have disappeared to... who knows where. Paul thinks that he saw George pull some girl into the loo. As for the others, well, Paul can hardly concentrate when you’re pressing your body into him like that.

“Soooo handsome,” you say, grinning up at Paul, eyes glazed. “You’re so handsome, Paulie. Paul. Paulie. Do people call you Paulie?”

“You can call me whatever you want, darling.” God, your dress is so short. It barely tickles your thighs, and after all your drinking and dancing it’s been inching up all night. 

“Hm, how about James?”

“Absolutely not.” Paul pretends to be incredibly offended, frowning at your giggles. “Anything but James.”

You seem genuinely disappointed by this. No, you’re devastated—at least, that’s how you look, with your mouth all pouty like that.

This is ridiculous. Pouting is Paul’s thing. But you’re pulling it off far better than he could, Paul thinks. Paul also thinks that he’d very much like to feel those lips on his... and then you’re trailing a clumsy hand up his chest and Paul jumps as though he’s been electrocuted.

“Okay, that’s enough. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Nooooo!” Now this is a real pout. “No! Th’night is young, Paul. C’mon, let’s... let’s dance!” You try pushing yourself from the bar and stumble, catching yourself on Paul’s arms. “Okay, maybe no dancing. Uhhhhhhhh, oh! Another drink!”

"Make that a water, please,” Paul tells the bartender, who nods and places the glass on bar. Paul snatches it up and brings it to your lips. Not unlike a toddler refusing vegetables, you turn your head stubbornly away.

“You’re no fun.”

“You’ll be thanking me tomorrow morning. Come now, take a sip. For me.”

“For you,” you grumble after some hesitation and allow him to tip the glass to your mouth. Some of it spills down your dress... your short, pretty little dress... and Paul tears his eyes away before his dick can get too interested. Down, boy.

“Alright, home now.” Paul practically has to drag you out the door, probably because you’re getting to your sleepy phase of drunkenness. Outside, the brisk night air makes Paul hiss and wish he’d brought a thicker jacket. But you’re shivering, how could you not be wearing that, so Paul shucks off his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders. 

Fucking hell, it’s cold. Paul waves over a cab and helps you into the back seat. He’s halfway in after you when he remembers… he has no fucking idea where you live. 

“Love, what’s your address? Love?” 

You’re passed out cold. Paul swears something nasty enough that the cabbie shoots him an unimpressed look in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry, sorry. Will you wait a minute?” Paul ducks back out. His eyes catch on a familiar mop of hair and he sends a prayer to the heavens. “Ringo! Hey, over here!”

The drummer pushes off the brick wall, cig still smoking in his hand. “Leaving already, Paul?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m taking her home.” Paul gestures at you and Ringo leans down, looking into the cab. “You don’t happen to remember where she lives, do you?”

Ringo takes a long drag and exhales slowly, the smoke rendering his face hazy for a brief moment. “No, sorry mate. Why don’t you just take her to yours?”

Paul feels a flush come over his face. “Wouldn’t that be, erm, improper like?”

The other man snorts. “It’s not the Victorian era. Improper. ‘Sides, I’ve seen how you two look at each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ringo gives him a long, searching look. He only finds a blush on Paul’s cheeks and nothing more, although that could also be the chill. “Nothin’. Just take her home, Paul. You’re gonna freeze out here.” 

And with that, Ringo turns and leaves. He stomps out his cigarette before heading back into the club and Paul stares at the doorway, trying to process his words. The way you look at each other…?

“Oi, you coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Paul jumps into the cab and, head spinning, tells the driver his address. The ride is short, and soon enough Paul’s opening the door on your side. 

“You awake?” he whispers. No reply. Fuck it, he thinks. Paul scoops you up, bridal style, and tries to ignore the implications as he carries you over the threshold of his flat. 

Any romantic thought Paul might’ve had flies out of his mind as soon as he walks inside. He almost breaks three vases in the dark, stubs his toe rather nastily on the doorframe of his room, and practically cries in relief when he can deposit you onto the bed. 

For a moment, Paul just stands and looks at you. The moon is hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds tonight, so the only light in the room is from a lamppost on the street below. It casts a warm, orange glow across your face and sets a jewel of a glint within your eyes…

Paul realizes with a jolt that you’re awake. “Hey,” he says softly. The word sounds strangely loud in the otherwise silent room.

You only stare back, although a smile curves across your lips. He loses himself a bit in your expression before shaking himself out of it.

“I’m going to take your shoes off, okay?”

You nod. Paul unbuckles the strappy heels and sets them beside the bed. He’s still kneeling on the ground when you reach out suddenly and run a hand through his hair. Paul freezes. It feels so nice, even with the ground digging uncomfortably into his knees, and he has to resist the urge to relax into your touch. Against the voice purring in the back of his mind, Paul pulls away. 

“You should sleep,” he says, standing up.

He’s halfway across the room when you call out his name. 

“Won’t you sleep with me?”

Heart suddenly pounding in his throat Paul turns and looks at you. You’ve sat up in bed. The jewel in your eyes is a diamond, he decides, one that twinkles almost dangerously in the dark of the room.

“What?”

“I want you.” The words are simple and sleepy, lacking any lust yet dipped in an honest tone, but they still send a jolt down Paul’s spine. “Don’t you want me?”

Paul lets his eyes wander down your body—from your alluringly messy hair to your lips parted in question to the seductive dip of your dress’s neckline. 

“Not tonight,” he says, and is a little taken aback at how much he means it. There’s nothing arousing about you, not right now. Not when you’re this drunk and not when your eyes can hardly focus on Paul as he retreats from the room.

Just as he’s about to close the door behind him, Paul pauses. “Sleep well,” he calls softly into the room. He chances one last look at you to find you passed back out, cheek smushed into his pillow. 

The couch isn’t the most comfortable place ever, Paul admits as he sinks into its hard cushions. But he wants to be there when you wake up, wants to guide your stumbling feet to the kitchen table where he’ll make the best hangover breakfast ever for you. And he can’t do that if he’s in the guest room. No, Paul will have to settle for the purple couch that only Ringo could lie down in without his feet hanging over the edge. The couch that John had thrown up all over last time you all got gloriously wasted. You’d laughed so hard, cheeks aflame in a way that did the same to Paul’s heart, before hurling too. George, Paul remembers, had told him it was nothing some baking soda and a vacuum couldn’t fix. After that, though, the couch has never felt the same—there’s a certain smell to it and the cushions are all stiff. 

Funnily enough, though, sleep comes easily. 

- - -

were you expecting smut? NO! NOT WHEN ONE PARTY IS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF ALCOHOL CANNOT TRULY PROVIDE CONSENT! duh.

[wincestisasincest]

Okay hear me out... An image of time travel Beatles in 2020 meeting reader, a really young teenage singer like Billie Eilish. I feel like they would coach her on avoiding rabid fangirl crowds like sweet older brothers which makes her go "🥺". Just a thought 💚💫

Ahh! Sorry this took tooooooooooo long to answer, I was thinking of something to write.

************

You snapped a picture, angling the camera in a way that captured your stylist's intricate braiding perfectly. This was a lot fancier than you would normally wear, however, you were never afraid to be extra for awards. You would be accepting your first Billboard Music Award this night, as your first record had gone platinum almost instantly, and you had to look your best. Besides, looking confident helped hide how nervous you actually were. 

"Car's 'ere, (Y/N)." The Scouse accent slipped through the doorway into your hotel room. You could already tell from the sweetness in the voice that it was George, gently warning you of what was to come. 

"Yeah, hurry up girl! We've got an award to accept, have you heard?" John's rambunctious personality also stood in the doorway, eagerly waiting for you to finish up. 

They were waiting on you, of course. Ever since they had popped into the year 2020 out of nowhere, they'd fallen into your poor, beleaguered hands as the only person who would could tolerate their nonsense while still remaining sane, partially because you were on that same line of nonsense yourself. 

They'd supported your music career when no one else would, both through practical and emotional advice, and so finally, when you had "made it," as they would say, it only made sense for you to invite them to see you claim the glory. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming." You shouted back, taking one more glance at yourself in the mirror. Your red dress, while wonderfully elegant, was still short enough to perform in, and thankfully, since you were so young, you were spared from having a plunging neckline this season. 

Without another moment to consider your trepidation, you stepped into your black heels and clacked out into the hallway. George was already down the hall, constantly looking back, being dragged along by John, who was muttering about "them leaving without us." Paul, meanwhile, patiently stood with Ringo in front of the door adjusting his cufflinks. Ringo smiled at you. 

"You look radiant, love." You could see the pride glinting in his eyes. "Thanks, Rings. Though this will be an absolute pain to walk in." You lifted up one of your legs before regaining your footing on your heels. 

"I never got how you birds managed to move around in those. It's a right torture device." Paul was still fiddling with his cufflinks. 

"Worth it for the style." You flipped one of your braids over your shoulder before continuing down the hallway, flanked by Paul and Ringo. 

The elevator trip down reminded you that the two lads across from you were not nearly as nervous as you were, which didn't make a lick of sense to your 17 year old brain. Especially as "Best New Artist" you had to make an impression, and there was no room for mistakes. It wasn't just the news reporters, but the rabid army of fans that were known to loiter outside the building. 

You huddled into the long black limousine, across from John and George. 

"Well, look who finally decided to show up." John quipped, though George just smiled earnestly. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am." You retorted, taking part in his elementary humor. 

The driver turned the ignition, and the car lurched forward, your stomach with it. You attempted to look out the window so you could have some peace of mind, but all you could see was the bustling city of LA, so starkly different from your hometown. Everyone but you seemed to be handling the weight of this situation perfectly. 

"Nervous?" George grinned from the other side of the car. 

"A little, I suppose." You were still peering out the window. 

"Ah, don't worry about it! You've handled worse!" Paul gave you a small smack on the arm. 

"Yeah, I guess so." Your amazing confidence that they had all come to expect from you was not shining through anymore. 

"And besides, if anything goes wrong, we'll be there!" Ringo was so wonderfully optimistic it hurt sometimes. 

"Yeah, we are experts in the field, after all." John added. 

"Music, maybe, but this is different." You turned back to them, folding your arms protectively. 

"No it's not! Who d'ya think started all a' this?" John gestured around to the slowly amassing crowd as you got closer and closer to the awards venue. The camera flashed in your eyes, and onlookers creeped behind each other trying to get some glimpse as to who was behind those windows. 

"Yeah, ours are just old now." Ringo nodded sagely. 

"Hell, it was almost worse then, because no one knew what to expect! That amount of fans was-" 

"Wait a minute, you were famous?" You interrupted Paul, who smirked playfully. The car chuckled. 

"Famous for sure. They thought we were gods. At the very least it's nice to be back in a world where you don't mean much to most people." George adjusted his tie. 

 "Helpin' the next generation of youngins." John took on the voice of an old lady with that last word. 

"Well then, what wisdom have you to offer?" You didn't expect them to think of things that quick, but the responses were almost instant, each band member going off individually like firecrackers. 

"Stick with your body guard."

"Don't try to shake hands or touch them. They may pull." 

"Look them in the eye. They'll be satisfied after that." 

"Watch out for people throwing things." 

"Focus on an object in the distance." 

"Don't let them get near your hair." 

"Don't trip." 

"Walk in the center." 

"Let your the staff do the pushing and the shoving." 

"Photos are good, but the only ones that will matter are the ones that the reporters are takin’." 

"Don't look directly at camera flashes." You felt dizzy, as each of them leaned in closer to you to offer their sage advice. The semicircle around you was full of lunatics, that's for sure, but experienced lunatics none-the-less. 

"And above all," Paul said, "Don't be caught alone outside the venue." 

"'S practically a death sentence." John agreed. 

"I hate to say it, but especially if you're a bird. Be careful." George looked you in the eye. Ringo was looking out the window. 

"This is it." Ringo turned from the window to look at you. 

"Yes it is." You took a long, deep breath. The car stopped. Your heart missed a beat.

A man in a a suit with long, white coattails approached your car and opened the door. The lads clambered out first, before the man offered you a hand as you stepped out of the limousine. 

The first thing that met your ears was a wave of screams and cheers. You squinted, and could no longer mix camera flashes with just the lights of the venue. You tried to stand up tall but your legs felt wobbly. One step forward. You could feel it. Your knees were about to buckle. Your vision started to get dizzy. One half of your body weakened and slipped a little as your heel pulled. 

An arm caught yours and supported your stance, keeping you upright on your heels.

“Don't faint on me now, birdie." John spoke in your ear. There was no need to whisper, as there was no way anyone but you would hear him over the noise. 

You smiled to yourself. Surrounded by your four favorite boys in the world, you took another step forward, this one far more confident than the last.

[bohemian-rhapsody-slash]

John frowns as he looks round the room, observing the utter chaos that’s been left behind.

Drawers have been left open with the contents thrown across the floor. Bookcases have been overturned. Pictures have been removed from the walls. No corner of the flat has been left undisturbed.

Paul is sitting with George on the floor in the corner, trying to comfort the younger man as they sort out some of his old family photographs, which have been removed from all the photo albums and thrown carelessly in piles all over the place.

Thank god that neither George nor Ringo had been here when it happened. John shudders to think of how much worse this could have been.

John heads into the master bedroom where Ringo is trying to push the wardrobe back into place, and he quickly gives the other Dom a hand.

“It’s very odd for a burglary, isn’t it?” John asks with a groan, the effort straining his muscles. “It’s a very secure building, so whoever did this knew what they were doing. They must have targeted you, knowing that you live here. But it’s weird...it doesn’t look like they took much? They just made a big mess searching around for stuff.”

Ringo swallows, not quite meeting John’s eyes. “From what I can tell, they actually only took one thing.”

John raises an eyebrow. “And what was that?”

“I bought George a diamond necklace for his twenty-first birthday,” Ringo says, a faraway look in his eye. “For him to wear when we’re out and we have to be in disguise. It’s probably the most valuable thing in this flat. We only keep it in one of our drawers; it’s not even locked up. And they didn’t even take it. They opened the drawer and found it, and they just left it in there.”

John frowns. “So what did they take?”

Ringo finally looks John in the eye, and he looks scared. He actually looks frightened.

And that’s when John realises that maybe this isn’t the straightforward burglary he’d assumed it was.

“Do you remember,” Ringo says quietly, “that drawing you did of Paul, a little after you first claimed him? The one you showed me and George and Paul got all embarrassed about it?”

John nods. He’d somehow convinced Paul to pose nude for him after they’d become an item, and he’d been rather pleased with the resulting sketch.

“George liked the idea of it,” Ringo says, his voice thick, “so he asked me to draw him like that. And I did. And that drawing...is the only thing that was taken.”

A moment of silence passes between them.

“It could have been crazy fans,” John says slowly, the cogs in his brain turning. “They’d love something like that.”

“Then why didn’t they take anything else? We’ve got loads of Beatles stuff here. And like you said, whoever got into this building knew what they were doing.”

“So...what? You think someone broke in here for a bit of blackmail material?”

Ringo shrugs.

“Okay,” John says gently. “Well, let’s say they did. That’s clearly the only thing they could find which they thought could be used against you. You two are careful. You don’t have photos of the two of you and you make it look like the spare bedroom is in use. And as for that drawing...if it ever did get out, you could just say that it was drawn by a sub that George was seeing.”

Ringo hangs his head and says something inaudible.

John frowns. “Eh?”

Ringo looks up, his eyes shining with tears. “I said...I signed it. My name is at the bottom of that drawing. It’s got my signature on it.”

His voice cracks, and John has never seen his friend look so miserable.

The first thing that comes to his mind is how could you be so careless. But then John thinks of how he felt when he did that drawing of Paul, and the way that Paul looked at him that set a fire in his belly. John is just as helplessly in love as Ringo is, and he knows that love can make you do stupid things sometimes.

So instead he pulls Ringo into a hug and holds him while he sobs.

“It’s okay,” John says as reassuringly as he can manage. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

[mcrvellouslystcrk]

Date Moves

Paring: Paul McCartney x Reader

Words: 1941

Rating: T I guess? 

Author’s Note: This is hugely based on that episode of Friends where Rachel and Joey go out on a date when she’s pregnant, although the reader here is not. Also didn’t proofread a lot cause yolo yknow :) 

You were having a really bad week.

 Stumbling in the living room, you could not care less about your dark circles, your tangled hair or the holes in your old jogger pants despite the four men sitting on the sofas.

 “Is there some scotch in this damn place?”

 The boys exchanged some concerned looks as you fell on a nearby armchair. Ringo approached you and tapped your shoulder.

 “What’s going on, love?”

 “Nothing.”

 “There’s obviously something going on.”

 “I said it’s nothing.”

 You hummed softly. Paul got up from the couch and lightened a cigarette.

 “Y/N, why don’t we go out tomorrow evening? I’ll take you someplace nice. These three can’t make it to the movies anyway.”

 You looked up from the pillow you had buried your face in.

 “What?”

 “Hey, it’s Brian you should be attacking, birdie,” John said while poking your side with his toes. “Macca is the only one who’s free tomorrow, and that’s just because he’s a suck-up.”

 You frowned.

 “I’m going to pretend I believe you…but I don’t.”

 “Oh, you know we love you!” George shouted from the kitchen.

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you answered with a small smile. “Paul, you’re my new favorite.”

 Passing by him, you gave him a quick hug before joining George in the kitchen. As soon as you left the room, John hit Paul with a cushion.

 “Oh man, I can’t believe how chicks dig you. We almost could see a drop of sweat running on your temples when you asked her out.”

 “I didn’t ask her out. She thinks we’re just friends,” he added with a painful whine.

 “Mate, that’s just bloody sad. Why don’t you tell her?”

 “Can’t.”

 “Give me ten pounds and I’ll do it for ya.”

 “I’m with you, John, but he’s got to tell her himself,” Ringo intervened. “Why don’t you become your usual, suave you?”

 “Because it’s Y/N we’re talking about!”

 “Yeah, so? You’ve liked her since forever, and I’m sure she-”

 “Who?”

 Their heads turned simultaneously towards the sound of your voice as you were putting on your jacket. John was about to open his mouth but Paul violently pinched him from behind and Ringo slowly moved forward, his boiling cup of tea dangerously tilted over John’s trousers.

 “His aunt Mimi, you know, she was always kind to me and always sends me postcards, and, you know…”

 You hesitantly smiled at them before walking to the door.

 “Call me?” you asked Paul.

 “No need. Be ready at 8.”

__

 You checked yourself for the last time in the mirror near the front door before grabbing your keys and exiting your house. There, on the few steps leading to the sidewalk, was your date, standing still and grinning like a madman.

 “Aw, look at you all dressed up for your best friend,” you exclaimed, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

 “Anything for my favorite midget.”

 His grin grew wider while he messed up your hair, earning a small shriek from you – this took me half an hour you git! – as you tried to restyle them. You sent him a dirty look but he laughed it off and offered you the bouquet of flowers he was hiding behind his back. Purple tulips. You softened at the sight.

 “So, where shall we go?”

 “I was thinking maybe that place near Carnaby Street, you know, the one with the fancy menu?”

 “Sounds great! But don’t you think we should’ve booked first?”

 Paul shrugged, hands in the pockets of his tuxedo.

 “Already did. Pattie told me you wanted to go there,” he explained to your raised eyebrows.

 You smiled to yourself as you entered the car.

 “Thank you for doing this,” you mumbled.

 “Hey, it’s a great idea. Couldn’t leave you alone today. And you were right the other day, we don��t spend much time together anymore, and…I rather miss you.”

 Your heart skipped a bit as you slightly punched him on the shoulder.

 “I rather miss you too.”

 __

  “-and then we set the condom on fire!”

 “You didn’t!”

 “We did, and trust me, you don’t want to try that.”

 You chuckled and looked around you. Your table was secluded from the others, giving you some well-thought privacy to avoid any fanatical attacks. The jazzy music gave the restaurant a black and white New-York vibe that you always longed for late at night in front of the television.

 “You know, there has always been something I wanted to ask you. I’m just so curious…”

 “About what?” Paul asked while serving you some more wine.

 You shrugged, a little embarrassed but continued.

 “What are your moves?”

 “My what?”

 “Your moves, you know, on a date – a real date. You must have a sort of routine, right?”

 “Bold of you to assume I need dates to get girls. They keep throwing themselves at me.”

 Half amused, half exasperated, you threw your napkin at him.

 “Oh, come on.”

 He looked down to hide the smirk that was growing on his lips.

 “I don’t have any moves…”

 You scoffed.

 “I don’t buy it. A guy like you must have some moves.”

 He raised a cheeky eyebrow.

 “And what would ‘a guy like me’ be?”

 Devastatingly handsome. Excessively perfect. The owner of my heart.

 “You know… A flirt.”

 His lips formed a mockingly hurt ‘o’.

 “Is that what you think of me?”

 You narrowed your eyes, shooting him another come on glare. He laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

 “Okay, okay. I don’t know, I have various ‘moves’, as you like to call them, that I gradually display over the course of the night and see whether they work or not. But they generally do.”

 You took a bite of your plate and moved your head to the left, thoughtful.

 “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that. I can’t roast you with so little information.”

 He smiled brightly and, gently taking you free hand, began rubbing it with his thumb. He looked at you, head slightly tilted, and moved just a tad forward.

 “You know, I wanted to wait till the end of the evening to kiss you but you look so beautiful that I can’t resist.”

 Your gaze fell from his hazel eyes to his lips, and let out an honest giggle.

 “That’s so stupid, but I almost leaned in.”

 “You totally checked me out, though.”

 “No…”

 He shrugged, visibly satisfied with himself.

 “Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

 You rolled your eyes but could not hide your nascent grin.

 “Anyway, that’s all you got?”

 “No, I sometimes have a bottle of wine or something ‘sent from a fan’”

 “And it works?” you asked, truly concerned about the intelligence of the female gender.

 “It does when I combine it with ‘Oh my god, this is so embarrassing, I just want to live a normal life!’”

 “Oh, you poor little famous man!” you exclaimed, punching him across the table.

 “And what do you do?” he enquired, slapping your hand away.

 You took a sip of your wine, languorously, and gently patted your humid lips with the napkin. Paul opened his mouth to stop you but you took your lipstick and began putting it on with a deliberate slowness. He froze as he watched the cardinal red stick move on every curve of your mouth, matching the depth of the wine. Without breaking the established eye contact, you pressed your two lips together to even the colour and slightly bite your lower lip before offering him a playful smile.

 “Fair enough,” he nodded appreciatory.

 “I know it’s nothing, but I usually get a response. Especially when I combine it with other things.”

 He moved his hand to ask for the check, which came almost immediately. At times like that, you found yourself wondering whether it was the quality of the restaurant or the fame of your entourage that caused up the speediness and promptness of the service.

 You moved to reach for your purse but felt an iron hand block you.

 “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you pay?”

 “Oh come on, Paul! This isn’t even a real date!”

 “Y/N, this doesn’t need to be a romantic rendezvous for me to be courteous.”

 He paused and looked around.

 “However, that candle-lit table feels pretty la vie en rose, no?”

 “I guess.”

 The orchestra had moved on to a softer, more exotic tune. You recognized the first notes of The Girl From Ipanema as you both got up and walked to the door.

 But I watch her so sadly, how can I tell her I love her

Yes I would give my heart gladly

 You both looked down as the song’s volume gradually decreased, both lost in your thoughts. Having decided you would leave the car there for the night, you had been strolling for a few meters when he broke the casual silence.

 “That was so fun.”

 “Well, that’s because you never went on a date with me before,” you snickered gingerly and placed your arm around his, feeling emboldened by the alcohol.

 “Is that so?” He murmured, looking down at you.

 He was so close that you felt his breath intertwine with yours. You gulped and turned away. Letting out a few coughs, you glanced at him while keeping a respectful distance between your two heads.

 The walk went by just fine. He cracked up a few jokes and you laughed, and then told some more as you passed through the lively city. London at night was as bustling as it was in the mornings, but the dark sky and the delightful company provided some sort of serenity that seemed impossible to normally find.  

 When you arrived in front of your house, your feet were hurting, but you could not care less. You were caught in that after-date glee that made everything feel so marvelously perfect.

  “So, what are Paul McCartney’s end of the night moves?”

 He met your gaze with a bright smirk.

 “Well, first of all, I make my lips irresistible.”

 Your lips already are irresistible.

 “How?”

 “This better stay between us but…I use a softening lip balm,” he sheepishly admitted.

 You giggled, actually surprised by the statement.

 “Oh, man, I’m going to have so much fun with this.”

 Paul gently pushed you on the side and you would have tripped if he was not still holding you.

 “Anyway…”

 You locked eyes for a moment. He put his hands on your hips, slowly leaning in. You could not help staring at his lips, not caring anymore about the consequences of your actions. Backed up by the alcohol and the thrill of the moment, you decided to move even more forward.

 “Oh God, just do it.”

 “You’re half drunk. If I kiss you now, I won’t stop at that.”

 “Who says I’d want you to stop?”

 You grabbed his collar and pulled him closer, plunging on his lips. The kiss was soft, yet fiery from the taste of the red wine. Your hands wandered from his hair to this torso, making him pull you closer.

 Lacking air, you softly broke away and let your fingers linger on his jawline. He gave you the most shattering smile, and you shivered as he proceeded to place butterfly kisses all over your face and neck.

 “I hope you know what you’re doing to me,” you muttered, your hands sliding to his chest, sensing the soft fabric of his pullover.

 He laughs at your swollen lips and dreamy eyes.

 “Y/N, I love you. Can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

 “Well, that’s really convenient, because I love you too.”

 Let’s just say your week had gotten a lot better.

[goldenwilliamson]

Okay so I'm obsessed with beatle!reader concept. So I was wondering if maybe you could write something to do with beatle!reader and george having heaps of chemistry and all the others think they should be together and all the media also questions them about being together then maybe George says 23A “I think I love you.”?? thanks love! Love your writing :)

pairing: george harrison x reader

summary: everyone thinks beatle!reader and george should be together but they’re in a bit of denial

warnings: mentions of sex that happened in the past and allusion to it 

word count: 1804

“Friends or Flame: George Harrison and Y/N Y/L/N,” John reads the recent headline of the magazine. The headline is paired with a photograph of you and George sat in a restaurant together last week enjoying a meal after a day in the studio. 

‘Spotted in London restaurant: George and Y/n of The Beatles enjoying a romantic dinner together. The prevailing question is are they friends or lovers? They confidently tell the media that they are not romantically involved, but the chemistry seems strong. In the photograph the two are pictured leaving the restaurant together, George with his arm held strongly around Y/N before hopping into his famous mini cooper adorned with psychedelic paint. 

What do you think of the couple? Let us know by writing in...’

The story reads and John says it out loud for the five of you to hear, each of you laughing at it.

“Why must they always insist that we are a couple?” You say.

“Well you two do act quite romantic sometimes,” Ringo says, and you and George make eye contact with one another, laughing again.

“How so?” You ask.

“Well for starters, you two out for dinner together, George with his arms held firmly around your waist. If I didn’t know any better, I’d probably agree with the bloody magazine,” Paul explains and you shake your head.

“Do they not understand that females and males can share platonic dinners together?” You say.

“You two just act like a couple but, it’s not their fault that you two have chemistry.” John says and Ringo and Paul nod.

“It’s just cause we’ve known each other for so long,” you say, looking to George to back you up, but he is looking away just drinking his tea in silence. 

“It’s probably because you two fucked that time in Germany,” John says and George nearly spits out his tea. You push John on the shoulder, scoffing. 

“Oh shush! That was when we were children and it was a mistake that we don’t speak of, John,” you tell him defensively. Yes, you and George had slept together when you were both 17, but you were kids with raging hormones sharing a bed together both drunk in Germany what did they expect to happen?

“Yes John, stop being jealous,” George says jokingly, speaking up finally. 

“Oh I’m not, we were all in the room and basically experience the whole bloody thing with you,” John says, never letting the two of you live that moment down.

“Let’s just forget it ever happened alright, that didn’t mean anything and doesn’t effect this so called ‘chemistry’ you believe George and I have,” you tell them.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Paul says, nodding and the others laugh with him. Including George, the cheeky thing. 

“I guarantee if you and Paul slept together you would have the same type of chemistry that you and George do. It can only come from sex and the media knows that. You’ve done it to yourself,” he says.

“Alright, let’s just drop this please. I don’t really care for this conversation or what the media wants to believe anymore,” you say, standing to head back into the studio. But it’s a lie, you did care, just as you cared for George. It’s not as though you’ve been pining after him since you were 17, sure you fancied him for a bit when you were kids but that went away. It’s recently come back in the last 6 months though and you don’t know how to make it go away. 

You walk back down and work on some stuff in the studio by yourself while the other four hang around upstairs for at least another ten minutes. You take the time to have chat with Brian who too brings up the magazine.

“You two do look quite cute together,” he tells you and you roll your eyes, Brian always tries to play matchmaker for you, sending you on dates and that doesn’t stop when it comes to you and George.

“Oh not you too Brian,” you say to him.

“What? I think you would be lovely together. I think you know that too, and I think he does as well. I see the way you two look at each other, you can’t deny it,” he says, making you smile. But you shake your head and look to the floor. 

“Wouldn’t it just ruin the dynamic but? I try to push the feelings away because I don’t want it to interfere with the band,” You tell him being honest now, as you know you trust him to keep it a secret.

“Darling, I don’t think it would ruin anything. The two of you already act like a couple and everyone here can see it, you two getting together certainly wouldn’t make a difference,” he says.

“Plus he is the most handsome out of the lot,” Brian adds with a wink which makes you laugh.

“You’re not wrong there,” you tell him, and soon the four boys come waltzing in ready to begin recording again. 

“What were you and Brian talking about?” George says quietly, coming over to stand near you and plugging his guitar into the amp by your side. For a moment you’re worried he overheard you, but you can tell he’s just being curious.

“Oh was just talking about business stuff, it’s boring,” you lie, shrugging your shoulders.

“Right,” George nods, looking away to the other boys. 

The session goes by quicker than normal tonight for some reason, maybe it’s because you have so much running around your mind. Most of the thoughts revolve around George. You think of about 50 different ways you could tell him how you feel, but not one of them seemed correct. You conclude that you should just leave it and let it fade away naturally until you no longer have feelings. Maybe if you wait for him to get another girlfriend, that seemed to help you get over him last time. 

“Did you lot want to come over for some drinks?” George asks you all and even though you expect everyone to say no and that they just want to go home, all the boys agree as do you. 

You all drive your cars in almost single file the whole way to George’s house in Esher. You arrive last of all of you seeing as you don’t speed like the rest of them. You try to mother them often about how unsafe speeding is, but they never listen. 

The five of you sit spread around in George’s living room couches sipping on wine and beer for a couple of hours. You don’t often do this, but you all spent the time reminiscing on your childhoods together. Little stories and moments you guys could remember. It made all of you laugh your assess off thinking about the stupid things you all used to get up to. 

Everyone begins to peel off slowly, Ringo heading home first, then Paul and John getting up to leave around the same time. You decide you should probably head home too, but you were dreading the drive back into London. 

You and George walk out of his house, trailing a little behind Paul and John. You turn to look at him.

“It’s really annoying that you live in Esher because I really do not wanted to be driving into London right now. I’m so tired I may fall asleep at the wheel,” you tell him. 

“Stay if you want,” he tells you and you raise an eyebrow.

“Would that be alright?” You question.

“Of course, don’t be silly. I like the company,” he tells you, nudging you softly with his arm.

“Alright,” you smile, “Thanks Geo.”

You two see John and Paul off.

“Aren’t you leaving as well,” Paul asks before hopping into his car.

“She’s gonna stay the night,” George explains for you and Paul raises his eyebrows.

“Once again, the two of you confuse us as to why you aren’t in a relationship already,” John says, sliding into his car and closing his door. 

“Ah don’t mind John. Have a good night you two,” Paul says with a wink getting into his car as well and driving off with a wave, trailing behind John who you see starts quickly down the long road into George’s property.

The two of you make your way back into his house side by side and decide to go to bed. You head towards the spare bedroom while George walks around the house turning off the lights and lowering blinds before coming to the spare room too, resting on the door frame and watching you pull the sheets back on the bed.

“Why don’t you just sleep with me tonight? It’s cold and I like someone by my side,” he says and you obviously don’t decline.

“Sure,” you say and he smiles, turning to walk down the hall towards his room and you follow him. 

“Here,” George says passing you a shirt, “For you to sleep in,” he says.

“Thanks,” you tell him before turning around to get changed. You weren’t afraid to change in front of George, he’d seen everything before. 

He turns the light out and the two of you climb into bed together, George wraps his arms around you and pulls you into the warmth of his body, a feeling you love.

“You know the boys may be right about that stuff today,” he says into your ear, and although you can’t see him, you roll around to make the two of you face to face.

“About the magazine things?” You ask.

“About us, seeming like a couple you know,” he says and you nod for a moment.

“I mean I can see where they might get it from,” you laugh a little bit trying to ease the tension. 

“Can I tell you something? Just to be completely honest here,” George asks.

“Of course, you can tell me anything,” you tell him, awaiting his response eagerly.

“Well I think I love you, y/n,” he says hesitantly and you feel a wave of joy roll over your entire body. 

“Really?” You grin. 

“Yeah,” he almost whispers.

“I love you too,” you mutter back to him. 

“Really?” he says mimicking you as he laughs a little bit.

“Really,” you tell him.

“Well where do we go from now?” He asks, holding you a little bit tighter.

“I don’t know,” you laugh, “I feel like nothing has changed except we’ve spoken a few words to each other,” you tell him.

“I feel the same way,” he says laughing.

“I guess the boys were right then,” you tell him.

“I guess they were,” he agrees.

“Shall we have a do over of that night in Germany then? Without the other three in the room,” you offer in a whisper.

“I think that’s a marvellous idea.” 

[noroger]

Can you write a lil story with 22 and 25 with the Beatles? Maybe you are American and meet the boys and they all fall for you? You could add whatever you’d like :))) Thanks! ❤️🥰

22. “that’s it, i’m marrying you”

25. “come back here you little shit”

Thank you for your request love,, i really hope this is okay for you:)

Being in liverpool was fantastic, you had only been here for 2 days and you had already settled in quite nicely.

You were currently situated on the grass under a tree of a park you wandered to when you went exploring a little, the wind blew softly and the sun was shining brightly.

You sat under the tree with your sketch book which had all your current ideas in. Your new idea consisted of a gold fabric jacket with flower patches on it.

As you zoned out of your surroundings you came more focused on your detailing work.

You almost didn’t notice the brown haired boy who had found himself a seat beside you on the grass, until you heard a voice speak up which startled you.

“Hello there love” The accented voice spoke.

When you flicked your eyes over you noticed a man squinting his eyes from the sun to look at you as a cheeky smile was placed on his face.

“Hello” Another voice spoke from your opposite side from where the other boy was, there sat another man with the same hair and accent but a slimmer face.

“Oh um hi” You shifted a bit as you felt both their eyes on you.

“Ahh an beautiful American, didn’t think i’d seen you before” The first one spoke.

“What ya got there” The second one asked as he peered over your shoulder and when he couldn’t see it properly he took it from your hands.

“Oi George give that back!” Another voice spoke which made your eyes widen, how many of these boys with the same haircut and accent was there.

But the demand of giving it back didn’t go to well with the man who had took your sketch book as he took off with it telling the other man to come get it.

“I’m terribly sorry about this madam, im Paul” The first one who was originally beside you spoke has he held out his hand which you slowly slotted yours in place to fit his, you were still a bit baffled at what was even happening.

“The one who’s just took off with your book is George, the one who’s running after him- oop never mind, the one who just fell over is John and” The man who introduced himself as Paul stopped to look around with a confused gaze as he scanned the area.

“Ahh there he is, the big man on the seesaw is Ringo” He pointed off into the park at the man who was currently sat at seesaw that was far too small for him.

“It’s nice to meet you, i’m Y/N” you smiled at the nice gentleman which he returned.

A loud yell of pain interrupted your conversation which made Paul roll his eyes.

“Excuse me a moment please” he spoke as he got up and walked away.

You saw the the men he said was George and John, John had George in a headlock as he scrambled to get free from Johns hold with your sketch book still in his grasp, you hoped it didn’t have many damage or grass stains on it.

“Lads! Stop acting like fools and come meet the nice lady” Paul smacked John over the head and ripped George from his hold. “And give me that” he took your book.

“Ringo! Let the child have the swing!”

One by one they all joined Paul and started to walk your way once again.

“Hello again i’m Geor-“

“Already told her”

“Sorry about this idiot taking your book” John spoke has Paul handed it back to you which made you breath out in relief that it was unharmed.

They all sat down at the grass beside you with crossed legs as they all looked at you with bright expressions.

“What brings you to liverpool then?” Paul questioned which made the other boys squint in confusion not knowing that you were American.

“I’m looking for new inspiration, i’m a fashion designer” you answered.

“Think you could design something for us?”

“I don’t think that would be very difficult seeing as you all are wearing black suits” you giggled quietly which made all their hearts swell with the beautiful sound.

“That is very true” John laughed as he slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“How about we all go get some ice cream, George’s treat from stealing your book” Ringo spoke which made George groan in annoyance for having it pinned on him, he didn’t mean to make a bad impression on you he just wanted to annoy John.

You nodded in agreement and Paul held out his hand to help you up which you grabbed it and thanked him.

You all made your way into the ice cream parlour and all of your eyes searched over the flavours to choose from.

“Hello sir could i please have a vanilla cone please, oh and with a flake!” George spoke to the man.

“Vanilla. how boring” John mocked him which led to another bicker which made you roll your eyes in amusement.

“Oh yeah and what flavour are you getting huh?”

“Strawberry obviously” John spoke as pushed pasted George to tell the man his order.

“That’s still boring John” Ringo copied his actions by ordering a Chocolate cone.

“You all are boring, all of your orders are plain” Paul said. “I’ll have mint chocolate chip please sir and what about you my love?” he asked you.

“Yeah let Y/N decide which flavour is the best!” John crossed in arms and glared at the other guys.

You laughed at how silly they all were and gave your order of a vanilla cone.

“That’s it, i’m marrying you” George rushed out with a big smug smirk and cocked his eyebrow at all the other boys as you sided with him on the best flavour

After you guys had ordered your ice cream you sat on the benches outside of the blue shop and spoke for what seemed like hours, about their band which you faultily hadn’t actually recognised, and about your plans for staying here.

You told them that you should probably start heading back to your place since the sun was starting to get lower and you had a moving van coming to your apartment early in the morning to deliver all your belongings.

You said that you’d love to meet them again and hopefully see them perform which made then happy that even though their first impressions weren’t the best, they still scored.

“Could I have your number then love?”George winked

“Yeah me too-“

“She obviously only wants to talk to me-“

“I was the one who suggested the idea-“

“How about I write it down on one piece of paper that way you can all have it, i don’t see it making sense writing it down four different times” You interrupted their bickering with an amused tone in your voice.

You took a piece of paper from your sketch book and wrote your number down on it and outstretched your hand for one of the boys to claim it.

“Give me that-“ George exclaimed as John took the paper and tired to stash it in his pocket for himself.

“Come back here you little shit!” Paul exclaimed as Ringo snached the paper quickly and ran off with the number they had all been bickering about letting out a big laugh as he did so.

The boys were something else you shook your head with a laugh as they all took off after the boy, all yelling their goodbyes.

[mccartneysbass]

mess around

pairing: george harrison x reader

word count: 2.1k im trash who never edits,,,,sorry,,

request: Could you do a fic where the reader has known the boys for ages and George really likes her but doesn't know what to do so he asks the boys for help but there more of a pain then a help but it ends with George and reader getting together . Hope this is ok

Liverpool, 1952

Having recently moved to Liverpool, you decided that going to the nearby store would be an easy task. ‘What could go wrong? It was just a short walk’ Well that’s what you thought at first, now you were currently wandering around, every minute that passed you began to panic. You were sure that you were never going to find your home and were going to be stuck wandering the streets forever lost.

“Oi, you lost?” You heard someone yell out. You looked around trying to find the source of the voice until finally laying eyes on a boy roughly your age with a scowl on his face.

“You’ve passed my house 6 times. You lost?” His voice seemed to soften but the scowl remained on his face.

“Uh, yes,” you said taken by surprise, “I just moved here. I thought I knew where I was going but I think I took a wrong turn and no—” you nervously babbled on.

“Do you know your address, maybe I can help you out?”

“Yes, I think it's on Monkswell Drive? Maybe it was road? I know it was on Monkswell,” you replied hopeful that he would you.

“Ah, I see. You’re in the right area. It is just a block over,” he said nodding.

“I’ll walk you over. I’m George. So you said you just moved here?” He continued on while giving you a slight smile. It was then that you realized that he was cute, the dark hair and intense eyes made your heart skip a beat.

**

It was the morning of the first day of school and you found yourself trudging along anxious and lost in thought. You didn’t see the boys in front of you had made an abrupt stop and subsequently rammed into him. He stumbled forward taken aback by the sudden interaction, while you ended up on the ground hissing at the pain.

The boy quickly went over to you and helped you get up, “I’m sorry about that, are you okay?”

“YN?” You looked over to his friend and realized that it was George, you could feel a small blush spread across your face.

“Hello, George. I’m sorry, I got distracted in my thoughts,” you said to the boy next to George.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m used to people falling for me,” he said,  his grin taking over his face. You giggled in response to his cheesy pickup line which had earned an elbowing from George.

“Ignore Paul, he fancies himself way too much. You lost again, YN?”

“I’m not but even if I wasn’t I have you to guide me,” you said smiling at him. You could see his usual serious face lighten and crack a smile, “Yeah, yeah. Walk with us to school.”

“So YN, tell me more about yourself,” Paul singsonged as he placed an arm around your shoulder. George who placed himself on the other side of you only rolled his eyes and pushed his arm off of you.

London, January 1964

“Can we hurry this up? YN is going to be here soon for lunch,”

“We know George, you can’t bear to be apart from them for so long,” John mocked him.

“It's obvious you like them, why haven’t you asked them out?” Ringo piped in.

“He’s afraid of getting rejected.” Paul continued with the others. Though that one struck way too close to George, he was afraid of ruining your friendship. He was sure though that you felt the same way about him but there was always that lingering doubt, what if had been reading too much into things?

“Yes, I like them a lot, okay? I just, don’t know how to tell them,” he said frustrated with the situation.

“Oi, that’s what we're here for. We will make sure the two of you get together.” John puffed out.

Attempt #1

John absentmindedly shuffled the cards in his hand, “Listen here Georgie, your wise and handsome mentor is speaking. All you have to make them jealous, then you confess to them,”

George nodded, already planning how to go about it.

**

George had invited you to come on set and play a small role in their first film. You were excited, you could have never imagined ever being on a movie set let alone actually act in one. Upon arriving you were immediately swooped in hair and makeup and met your co-star for the scene, Pattie Boyd. You had seen her pictures in magazines and were taken aback by just how much prettier she was in person.

When the time came for the scene, both of you giggled and played the role of awe-struck teenagers. After every take, George would slink up to Pattie and ignore your every comment.

With every look, George sent Pattie it was like a knife twisting in your gut. It left a sour taste in your mouth. They were both gorgeous people, of course, they would find each other, you couldn’t bear it any longer and decided to wander around the set in hopes of a distraction.

“YN?” You heard a familiar voice call out.

“Neil?” You said excitedly, having not seen your friend for the past months, he was one of your oldest friends alongside George and Paul. Neil had been running all over the place doing errands and filing paperwork that you hadn’t had the opportunity to catch up with him these past months.

“What are you doing over here YN? I thought you would be with George and the others?”

“Just thought I would explore the set, distract myself for a bit. Er— George is a bit busy with his latest catch of the week,” you said bitterly.

Neil was about to respond when George jogged up to the both of you, “I have been looking for you YN! Did you get lost?”

“I’m surprised you even noticed I left. Actually, Neil and I were just leaving to get lunch, have fun with Pattie.” You said dismissively while grabbing Neil’s arm and pulling him away; leaving George confused and distressed that his plan didn’t work as he had imagined.

Attempt #2

“YN, loves flowers right? In the movies they always shower them with flowers, it always gets them.” Ringo said in between drags of his cigarette.

“Ringo, you’re a genius I’m going to call the florist right now,”

Calling the nearest florist to your work George ordered the most extravagant set of bouquets to be delivered to your office.

**

“Is this supposed to be an ominous threat, Harrison? Out of everything in the whole world you send me chrysanthemums? Really?” You all but yelled into the phone, you were sniffling and your eyes were watering so much that it seemed like you were crying.

“What do you mean, YN?”

“The flowers, you know -achoo- the only thing on this earth - achoo- that I’m allergic too,” you said in-between sneezes.

“I told them to specifically not include those,” he bemoaned.

“Yeah well, I think you got your messages crossed because that’s the only thing they sent,” you sniffled out.

Attempt #3

“Girls are usually all over me, I never have to do much,” Paul dismissed George’s inquiry, which only earned him a silent glare.

“You could write them a song,” he mulled.

“Wow, I can’t believe I never thought of that. It is not like there are several other songs I have written about them,” he said tapping Paul’s head.

“Well make sure you take them to dinner, you know romantic. Then whip out your guitar and sing it to her,” he replied swatting George’s arm away, “and after you could always whip something else out Georgie, they would love that,” Paul snickered out.

**

George had called you over to his place for dinner, “Are you sure you’re not going to try to murder me with some more chrysanthemums?” You teased him. It had been a couple days after the incident and your horrible case of hay fever had finally calmed down.

“No, no. I have something I want to show you and I have food as well.”

“Ooo all you had to say was food.” You eagerly responded.

“Is that all I am to you YN? A means to get food?”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way Geo,” you teased lightly.

**

George had gone way out for the dinner that night. You had thought it was it was going to be one of your usual lazy dinner nights but he had cleaned up his flat and had set candles everywhere.

“Am I at the right apartment?” You questioned, unsure of what was happening. He was dressed amazingly as always, you never could understand how he made anything work. He went the whole way and even pulled out your chair, “Are you okay Geo?”

“Is it wrong that I want to treat you every once in a while?” He quickly responded. Conversation throughout dinner had flowed as usual, from reminiscing about your shared childhood to the events that happened at work or the studio. Once you had finished eating he ushered you over to the sofa. He turned around hastily and accidentally knocked over one of the many candles he had set; it went unnoticed by you and George.

“I wrote this song thinking about a certain person and I want you to be the first one to listen to it,” George explained while fixing his grasp on the guitar.

“It is on fire.” You said mouth agape.

“I haven’t started but thank you,” he retorted.

“No, the table is on fire,” you exclaimed, getting out of your seat on the sofa and searching for some water or anything really to put it out. After minutes of you and George scrambling around trying to put out the fire the two of you just played on the sofa laughing about the entire situation.

“This is a missed opportunity I could have had one of the firemen carry me out.” You ruefully muttered, a laugh threatening to fall from your lips.

London, July 1964

George stood exasperated with not only himself but with the others as well. For months he had been trying to tell YN how he felt about them but every time he tried something went wrong or it ended up being interrupted.

“I think I’m going to give up,” George dejectedly mused. Both Paul and John cried out:

“No, you can’t give up!”

“I’ve got money on this George.”

Ringo stayed quiet as he looked to where you had entered the studio, the others unaware of your presence. You were visiting George over at EMI studios for your daily lunch rendezvous, you had moved along with him and found yourself a job in the city not far from where George worked. For the most part, you made lunch for the both of you and went over to the park by the studio to eat, and on some occasions, you went out to a local cafe. Work was a bit slow today so you decided to break for lunch a bit earlier than usual, which was how you found yourself overhearing George’s confession.

“Every time I try it just gets worse. At this point they probably hate me. I wish it was easy to go up to them and just say: YN, ever since you got lost back in Liverpool you found your way into my heart and I have been an idiot to not realize that I have loved you.” Upon hearing his confession you dropped the bag containing lunch you had prepared for the both of you.

“Is that why you have been acting so strange the last couple of months?” You said shocked. George turned a shade whiter at the realization you had just heard his confession, thoughts swirled around his head and he could hear his heartbeat in his head. You worriedly moved closer to him seeing at how pale he had gotten, “Georgie?”

Feeling your hand on his forehead he snapped out of it and grabbed your hand, “Yes. Everything I said was true and I would shout it from the rooftops for you,” “Please don’t, considering your track these past months you would fall off. You didn’t have to go through all those schemes, you could have just told me,”

“And would you have said?” He said leaning into you.

You could feel his breath on you, “Yes.” At your response he pulled you into a kiss, one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your head pulling you deeper into the kiss.

[johns-prince]

John died believing his love for Paul was unrequited.

John died, leaving Paul to feel forever doubtful and insecure about John ever truly loving him.

John left this world by force, before either of them could fully confront each other and just, talk, alone. Sure, their relationship was patching up, but it was still in the process of going back to how it was, all those years ago.

Because John and Paul couldn't be satisfied just being work mates, partners in a band-- it didn't work before, so why would it then?

But the world is cruel, and unjust, and John's ticket to Ride was punched in far too soon.

Considering how insecure and self hating John was, how little worth he actually placed in himself... Do you think, they would have finally just, face to face, no bars between, told each other that they loved them? That maybe John needed to hear it much more than Paul, even maybe, after John had died?

This time, no alcohol numbing their senses to loosen their ambitions and lips-- they say "I love you," probably during their first few recording sessions, trying to get their footing and generally just mussing about. And it's said after a particular goofing off, by who, who's to tell?

Would it get painfully quiet? Would Ringo be there to witness it? Perhaps, like in all their recordings, if it was John to respond, it'd be up in the mic', funny grin that reached his eyes, and nose scrunched up, humming back in that exaggerated scouse, "'n I love ye too Paulie."

A joke, maybe, a tease, Paul wouldn't be able to say, because he's just said that, with a stupid grin after laughing his stupid laugh at John being stupid on purpose to make everyone, specifically Paul, laugh. He wants to die, wants to roll it back and mask it as a joke John should have called him out on. But John is John, so of course he doesn't.

But if John had said it first, with his grin shrinking to a bashful sneer, trying to hide behind his glasses but still keeping eye contact with Paul-- would Paul be the one to call him out as a joke? Or would Paul, no mind to the mic' or Ringo or anything, just crossing his forearms across the side of his bass, resting his chin upon them and as if on purpose, gazing up through still thick eyelashes, like an arrow to John's old heart which he swore died long ago, even before the Beatles broke up. "Sod off, Lennon," Paul would say, perhaps bearing himself deeper into his hairy forearms, fighting a blush, breaking contact with a John who couldn't hide his hurt even if he tried. He wasn't young anymore, he couldn't.

When Paul glances back up and sees the face, the face which he really couldn't bare to see so broken, that's when Paul man's up, swallowing thickly as he mumbles, muffled, "I love you."

And it's something barely picked up on the audio, but John caught it, caught it like a bolt of lightning to his chest, which felt as if it'd combust with how deep a breath he took, sighing it out in relief.

"Funny, me ears must be failin'--" Paul would snort, trying to hide the turnup of his lips, watching a now healthy flushed John tap at one of his ears. "Coul'ya speak't again?" John might be blind as a bat, but he wasn't deaf, madman couldn't be.

And Paul would refuse, shaking his head like a flustered school girl, face scrunched up in embarrassment.

*C'mon Macca, once more t'wont hurt ya "

"first time nearly did me in--"

"oh, no need to be coy laddie"

"John I'm warnin' ya--"

"say it again--"

"I'll cripple ya I will, n won't go visit ya, I won't!"

But John wouldn't give, he might back off, but he wouldn't give. And Paul wouldn't expect him too.

And Ringo, well, perhaps he wasn't there, but he was there to see the after effects, see these two old rock and rollers like himself, harmonizing like the old days, staring straight into each other's eyes with no breaks as they fiddled with lyrics and melodies. Like rekindled lovers, Ringo might have thought, might have teased. The marriage is back on!

And maybe, it'd be a start, a start to them frequently telling each other "I love you", "I've always loved you", "Paul, it's just me, I love you," "oi, I love ye ya daft old man!"

And man, what if George had come around too? Not just to visit, but play. He would notice too, and he'd be happy, happy for his two stupid friends.

On days where John was moody, acidic in nature, sharp tongued and out for blood because he feels so useless and stupid and weak and ugly and unloved so everyone must feel it too-- Paul isn't joking when he nudges his friend and says, without breaking eye contact, "I love you, ya know?" And maybe John would be silenced by that, or maybe he'd sputter and try to come up with a nasty comeback because he's just that deep in the shit. "I know you, John, know you don't mean to be a right bastard, at least not always-- so accept that I love you, that you're loved, and will be remembered as the right bastard to which Paul McCartney loved and devoted most of his lifetime for."

Now that, that would get John, and John, face cracking, always fighting not to cry after Paul says such things. Because how can John really argue with that? Sure, Paul isn't at his side all the time like John would like, and Paul loves Linda, adores her, and his kids (even John can see why now with clearer eyes and less shrouded heart) but John would be lying if he tried to argue Paul didn't give John almost his whole life. He still was, sitting here with him, trying to bring him back up from drowning in himself.

Paul had always been there, no matter what, no matter what John said or did-- to him! --Paul was there, the git.

And man, when Paul is feeling insecure, insecure about his music and abilities, doubtful of John loving him as he once believed and still tries too-- because the media still tries to start some drama, tries to dig up old shit and pick at old wounds. Even when John tried, tried so hard to swallow everything back he said, apologize for what he did, explain that he was just jealous, he didn't mean it, he was just hurt and felt abandoned and betrayed but it was all just in his head... It still gets to Paul, from time to time.

And if Linda or other friends couldn't get him out of it, let it go, they'd call up John. And he'd be there, drop everything for his best mate, his unrequited lover. And John, never very serious even during these times, would barge in, stare down Paul, and for a second, it's like they're back at forthlin, Liverpool.

"Don't listen to them Macca, it's all rubbish." Snort, unamused, brooding Paul who perfected the eyeroll.

"You're one to talk, John."

And John, bristling at that because Paul's right, John is one to talk about not listening to the tabloids.

So, he'd stomp over, and wherever Paul would be slouching, slouch right up next to him, graceless and all gangly limbs which one arm wraps about Paul's neck and pulls him into John and even though Paul is squirming and gruffly telling John to sod off-- John tells him, muffled by Paul's hair, "I love ya, you stupid git." And Paul might still for a bit, red faced from being angry and flustered. John's grip would slacken, giving Paul the ability to push back and finally look up at John, stuck between glowering and downright glaring.

"if you'd like, I can go straight to the press and tell 'em that, tell 'em I'm queer for old Paul--" now Paul would have to laugh, incredulously, shocked, pushing away again to distance himself from John, who's now arm thrown across his shoulder, the hand is gripping at his bicep. "--i imagine that would give them something new to squawk about, no more of this ''John envies Paul and hates his granny music--''"

"but you do," Paul would interject, glaring now as the hurt seems to be clouding his eyes again.

No, John wants to say, sure I envy you because you're, you're great Paul, you're picture perfect! And I really don't hate it, I just said that because I felt rejected and hurt and angry-- didnt you see that? I told them that I did. I can't hate anything of yours Paul, because it's yours.

So, John would have to bite the bullet, always did when it came to easing Paul's mind on his insecurities and doubts that John himself put there. It was the least John could do, the bastard.

"oh alright! So maybe, maybe because I love you-- wouldn't, wouldn't that mean I love your granny music too?" Now that, that would get Paul, eyebrows going up. "Why John Winston Lennon--"

"and I'm not saying it again!"

Paul would let out something close to a breathy laugh, no longer pushing against John but just, sitting with him, sides slotted together.

"Why not call the tabloids and tell 'em that? That you, John Lennon--" Paul could be a downright tosser, with his playful grin and boyish eyes.

"Paul..."

"--are actually queer for me granny music!"

Laughter, always laughter. Big smiles and scrunched up noses and crinkling at the corner of eyes.

Okay, I've made myself sad.

[themagicalmysticalboy]

Hi. Can I request hurt!John story? I thought it could be based on his car accident in 1969 but let's change some details of it - he was driving alone and ended up seriously injured. You can begin with Paul and the others arriving to the hospital after receiving the news... or whatever you choose 😉. So angsty story with some mclennon (but not necessarily; they can be just friends).

a/n: the thought of writing yoko has kept me from ever writing this request. But imma write it and pretend she doesn’t exist 😜. also I have no self control so this story goes through a lot more than just Paul showing up at the hospital hehehe

Nobody has to guess that baby can't be blessed/‘Til he finally sees that he's like all the rest/ With his fog, his amphetamine, and his pearls

He Breaks Just Like a Little Boy

John had thought himself rather fond of Scotland. He had visited many times before for pleasant vacations and stops to meet family. But in all these years and through all his visits he had never actually driven its roads, having the luxury of a driver. On his solo trip, he remembered exactly why his arrangements were as such.

The sky was dripping with fog that crept down from the foothills, reaching out with thick claws that effortlessly encapsulated the road. The small apertures between the paws of fog were filled with mist that left sheens of dew across the windshield. With his wipers going at a steady metronome's pace he flipped between high and low beams, unsure which way was worse. Mimi had surely told him the correct answer but his nerves and general troubles with driving had him dumbfounded. 

The road ahead appeared completely deserted so he had no concerns with continuing to flip back and forth. The distraction of the lights left room for error in the ways of speed. He was pushing 20 over the determined limit. In these conditions the absence of a speedometer, or in the event of ignoring one, it was impossible to determine how fast the world outside was passing by. John kept at his pace, even when he had settled to keep his lights on low beams.

In his vain attempt to see more than two meters ahead, he hunched forward with squinting eyes and tense muscles. Music was playing at an almost unperceivable volume, turned down multiple times over the course of the descent into fog.

Entering another aperture of mist, he relaxed, letting himself blink properly and his fingers release from their bleached white grip on the steering wheel. Once his eyes had opened again, a set of disembodied lights sent him rigid. His senses were set on blast: eyes wide open and bursting with color, the taste of copper coating his mouth, the smell of his leather interior and cigarettes somehow amplified. The intense sensations did nothing to harbor a coherent plan.

He reacted on gut instinct as the lights were backed by the shape of a car. Horn blaring, he jerked the wheel to the side. It was almost instantaneous that his stomach jumped to his throat, body leaving the seat to press harshly into the seatbelt. He was a feather made of lead.

**

In the late hours of the morning, Paul finished readying himself for a trip into town. He grabbed up his keys and wallet and made for the door. Before his escape could be made, the phone rang. He lowered his lids and shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to decide if he should answer it. With a resigned roll of the eyes, he jogged to the phone. 

The words that came through the line left no room for pleasantries, throwing blades that sliced through his reality and let it drain from around him. Pressure built against his skin with each sentence, heart pounding through his limbs.

His voice was void of emotion when he asked, “Have you told the others?”

“You’re the first I’ve called,” Cynthia replied. Cynthia. That's who was talking. Paul had not even processed her voice.

“Okay.”

He hung up, one arm left limp at his side as he gnawled at his fingernail. The world was not coming back to him. It had bled out and left him stranded, unable to move or react. Echoes of what Cynthia had said reverberated off the walls and assaulted his ears.

“... an accident… He’s in surgery… They don’t know if…if…”

Everything ushered back into color like a punch to the gut, leaving him stumbling into actuality. He fell into a chair and caught his breath.

 He had to get to him. He had to leave.

Rushing back to the phone, he threw together the fastest trip to Durness humanly possible. The trip, though only an hour and change by plane, was excruciating. Void of distraction, or want of, Paul was shedding strings of sanity like a dog’s winter coat. Nothing was fast enough until it suddenly was all too quick.

Once in the last leg of his journey, a small taxi cab, he began to dread the thought of arriving. Though still a few miles away, the antiseptic smell of the hospital was already pungent in his nose. The cramped waiting spaces and grim reality would tug and drag on his psyche. 

And he was not proven wrong. He had arrived first but it wasn’t long before George and Ringo filed in. They all shared anxious glances upon entering the private room they were ushered to but didn’t speak a word.

George ended up slumped in a seat, head in hands, as Paul stood and tapped his foot, his mind still shifting in and out of focus. It was Ritchie that had broken the eerie stillness. He was biting down hard on his lip, pacing the room. As if he had just realized the other two existed, he jumped when his path crossed Paul’s.

Paul’s eyes were dead in their sockets but Ritch’s pinged over his face with something desperate that made Paul want to conjure a sort of reassurance. He fell severely short, only able to muster a thin lipped hint of empathy.

George came in for the save. Paul, too engrossed in his own turmoil, barely noticed him getting up and moving towards them. He took Ringo into a tight hug that was warmly reciprocated. They both breathed in one another before breaking. He patted Rich on the shoulder then turned to Paul.

He hadn’t the heart to tell his friend he’d rather be left alone and was consequently enveloped into his arms. And maybe it was for the best he had not stopped him. Something calming and familiar shallowed a hole in his heart. George’s ever-comforting presence should never be put to question. He hugged George back with a grim intensity that surprised himself. It cracked a dam but did not break it.

“Don’t lose hope.” With that the hug was broken, leaving Paul with a warm heart and cold body.

In time, they all sat together on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, backs to the wall. Coffee cups and ashtrays were all around. The TV that sent extra illumination to the room was widely ignored, set at a low volume. At some point, a doctor had come in to update them. John was under close watch but out of surgery. It hadn’t done much to put anyone at ease but it drove in the hope George was keen to stoke. 

So they kept at their quiet conversations and heavy silences. The atmosphere was so odd. No one was bringing up the band dissolving. No one was arguing. Instead, a rather blissful suffering blanketed the room. At an excruciating crawl, night was arriving, the sky drifting from blue to inky black. 

Everyone was growing tired from their adrenaline crash, staring at nothing with half lidded eyes. Ringo had taken the plunge and was asleep on Paul’s shoulder. Paul’s arm was wrapped around George and George was slumped back to stare at the ceiling.

With a steady knock at the door, they were startled back to life. As the doctor came in, the three rose to their feet with varying speed.

“Good evening-”

“He’s alright, yeah? Can we see him?”

“We’ll get there, Mr. Harrison.” The doctor collected himself and looked over a messy chart. “Mr. Lennon is recovering as expected. I can’t go into detail, seeing as you aren’t blood, but his injuries were less serious than we first thought.” He looked up at the trio. “He’s asking for visitors in the morning. Have you any idea of relatives arriving?”

“His aunt, at the very least. I’d assume his son and ex-wife as well,” Paul answered cordially.

“I’ll let him know, then. Now, if you wish, you may sleep here. Blankets and pillows can be gathered. But there is a hotel only a mile away.”

They looked between one another and came to a silent agreement. “We’ll stay.” The luxury of comfort would gladly be dispensed of.

Sleeping in the cold and bare room sent Paul back in time. He felt 18 again, sleeping in a backroom in Germany with George nearby and Ringo in the place of John. At least he’d been able to sleep easier then- full of beer and dead tired from performing. Now, it took a long time but sleep finally crept into his eyes.

Though Paul was the last to sleep, he was also the first to wake. He gathered coffee and fresh carts of cigarettes before George or Ringo so much as stretched. As he waited for them to wake, he watched the news. At the moment, the camera was pointed to frame an audience gathered with candles and signs. All with well wishes to John scribbled and painted across them. 

“Have we traveled back to ‘63?” Ringo’s voice was full of sleep as he pulled himself off the floor.

Paul was glad to learn he was not the only one feeling the blast from the past. With a nod of acknowledgment, he poured Ringo a cup of coffee from the side table. Leaning back in his seat, he handed him the cup. Ringo pulled a cigarette from his pocket before taking it and mumbled a “Ta.”

It wasn’t long before George woke as well, leaving them staring at the TV that switched between actual news and coverage of the crowd outside.

“Think John’s enjoying this?”

“Think? I know. Deserves the treat of it, anyroad.” Paul huffed.

“We’ll find him off his head with pain meds waving from the window if he’s left alone too long.”

“Flashing the crowd with the backless gown on his way to bed.”

Lifting their spirits with some senseless banter, the wait for their turn to see John was less dreadful. Any bittersweetness, though, drained from Paul’s being when it came time to actually see John. Much like the journey to the hospital, the tail end of his wait for John was coming all too quickly.

They were filed out of the small room and his heart was fading with every step. It did not want to leave the strange safety of the room and Paul could not blame it. It was set and done and nothing dangerous happened. Now he was ushered into a terribly galvanizing and risky endeavor of a fresh space and unknown circumstances. As the door came to view, his heart fast tracked to full opacity and shot into his throat.

George and Ringo looked so painfully normal in comparison to how Paul felt. Surely all they were thinking of was how happy they were to see John. Not how scary it might be to see him broken. Not how one word could fuck everything up. 

The desire to pivot on the spot and run was shamefully present when the doctor held the door for them. Paul was last in line and heard the cheery greeting from Ringo before so much as seeing the foot of the bed. 

His eyes darted down to stare at George’s heels as he entered the threshold, following their path until he found a seat. Paul meandered in, jumping when the door shut behind him. He stopped in his tracks. 

“Glad the guests could finally be bothered to gather. Now the party can really start.”

With the sound of John’s voice pulling at his chest, Paul finally looked up to find him staring directly at him. He was right there, covered in scratches and bandages. There was a cast on his arm, a bruise over his eye, and a large swath of gauze peeking from the neck of his gown. His face was blushed with color, nonetheless, looking as alive as ever. When he truly looked at John he found himself wanting to cry. Why? He couldn’t have explained it to anyone but he knew the feeling swirling inside. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and gave a thin lipped smile.

“Think you’ve done enough partying without us,” Ringo said while he sat at the only other seat in the room, leaning an elbow on the bed. A smile was splashed across his face.

George leaned back pleasantly. “This is why I never let you touch my car, you know.”

John huffed. “I don’t think I’ll be touching a steering wheel ever again.”

The words were all lost on Paul. He couldn’t stop staring into John’s eyes until he finally broke contact to speak with George. Feeling uneasy in the center of the room, Paul moved to the wall, looking John up and down until he’d memorized every cut and bruise. His fingers were filled with pulsing blood, the sensation gathering up his arms as the moments passed.

No one looked at him or asked him anything. He was just a fly on the wall, chewing on his nail. So there was no warning when George and Ringo stood up. Paul jolted back to reality and stood up straight, ready to follow them out.

“Can you stay?”

”Hmm?” Blinking wildly, Paul noticed John was speaking to him.

“We’ll be back in the prison cell,” Ringo quipped before shutting the door on them.

The urge to sob spiked again. He gulped down the lump in his throat and let out a shaky breath. “Hi.”

“I look that ghastly, do I?”

Paul stared at his awkwardly shuffling feet and offered a breathy laugh. “No.” His voice cracked with the single word and burning tears sent pins into his eyes. Something in the moment sent his dam crumbling down.

Alone with John, he found absolutely no reason to hold back. So he didn’t bother. Fully absorbed by his presents, he took long strides to the now empty seat, falling into it. Without losing John’s gaze, he gently took his hand, feeling the rough cuts as he rubbed circles over the back.

Tears tracked down his face. His lip quivered. His heart brimmed full like a tidal wave crashing to shore.

“Hi,” he said again, this time with a voice damp with dejection. He sniffled with a painful smile stretching the corners of his mouth, threatening to rip from the center. He reached out to brush John’s hair from his face with a shaking hand. “You scared me, y’know?”

John pulled his hand away and Paul could feel the tidal wave retreating. He sucked in an aching breath. Rejection.

It all came back, though, when John held the side of his face, losing his fingers in Paul’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

With a fickle laugh, Paul nuzzled his head closer to John’s hand. “Don’t apologize- not for that.”

John’s head tilted as he pet Paul’s hair. “‘Bout thought you didn’t want me any longer. Seeing me all banged up and bruised. And that stare of yours. That should be categorized as some sort of weapon.”

A soft cry, that was supposed to be a laugh, rose from his throat. He leaned forward, hovering over the seat, and gently kissed John’s chapped lips. John fully reciprocated, fingers gripping his hair ever so slightly.

When they parted, poignantly slow, Paul swung his legs into the seat so he could comfortably rest his head on John’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can ever stop wanting you.” His fingers ghosted circles over John’s heart. With a concerted effort, he tried to be as gentle as possible with his battered lover.

They sat in sweet silence as John burrowed his cheek into the top of Paul’s head.

“Really though, was it that scary? Seeing me like this? You didn’t even speak when the other lads were in.”

More tears were threatening to close Paul’s throat. He gripped John’s blanket. “I thought I was scared to see you. But I don’t think I was. I was scared of myself more, y’know?”

“Can’t say I do.”

Paul pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I was afraid of messing up. I just blanked when I saw you hurt like this. I’ve never- I just want to do... New things. New things are scary.”

John rubbed his shoulder blade, soothing him to loosen up on the blanket. “And look at us now! Crying like babies all over each other.” John’s had traveled down to Paul’s bicep. “Guess we were both scared.”

“God. This wasn’t even the scariest bit- not by far. Getting that damned phone call. Thought the world was falling out from underneath me.”

John was kneading at Paul’s skin. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought I was never going to see you again,” He confessed. “Soon as the car went off the ledge, I could only see you and Julian in my head.” His voice was gruff and strained, muffled by Paul’s hair.

“It feels unreal, almost. After all this. Both of us in this room. Both alive. Lennon and McCartney, the dream team- or whatever bullocks.”

Paul felt the rumble of laughter in John’s chest and more tears poured out of him. He glanced down and noticed he was soaking the thin fabric of the gown. He almost felt bad but suspected that John’s tears were dampening his hair. Fairtrade.

“Yeah. Whatever bullocks.”

They quieted for a brief moment before Paul adjusted himself to be closer to John. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No.” A kiss graced the top of his head. “Can’t feel much with these painkillers, really. Besides, my shoulder’s not my biggest issue.”

Paul hummed curiously. 

“Go this real groovy gash down my chest,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue as he coaxed Paul off his shoulder to pull up the neck of his gown. “Here.”

A trail of gauze led down his chest and to his stomach, which was completely wrapped with the stuff. Paul wiped away his tears and peered a little further down. His brow raised and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Aye. At least your willy made it out in full form.”

“Off it,” John dragged out the words like a warning, pressing the patterned fabric to his chest. “Horn dog.”

Paul only giggled, pressing his lips to John’s again. John sighed into it before guiding Paul’s head back to his shoulder, fingers running through his hair.

Betrayed by his own mind, Paul thought back to that meeting. I want a divorce. He pulled in a harsh breath. They had drifted that day, so far from one another. Building it back had been painstaking and soul crushing. “I’ll never let you lose me again.”

“Really, now?”

“Yes.” His tone was serious. “You’re not allowed. Whether or not we’re cross with each other, we won’t lose one another, alright?”

John hummed into his hair. “Sounds fine to me.”