Hell, probably. đťMakayla/Mac ⢠she/her ⢠Mostly Beatles fics at this point ⢠requests are open; any pairing (or X reader)đťMain blog: @kurtsnirvanabrother
Welcome!! This is where I mostly dump all my fucked up fanfics and Beatle fantasies, and occasionally some poetry. I am always updating and posting, so make sure to keep an eye on this! (PS requests are always open and I would love to try some recommendations)
hey ik i sent in a request already but i have another one!! this weekend was really tough for me, i have some medical issues and iâll be ok but itâs been rough to deal with. please forgive me for not going into detail but when i was trying to make me feel better i immediately thought of your writing. do you think you could write something for me? with paul (of course lol) where the reader is in the hospital recovering and theyâre just having a sweet moment together? just fluff, not angst. i would love something happy. thank you so much in advance :))
Hello there:) Iâm so sorry to hear that, I really hope you feel better soon and if you need anything at all, donât hesitate to contact me, Iâll always be heređđ I know you sent the other request first, but I want you to feel better as soon as possible and I really hope this helps!!
The first sounds you hear when you wake up from your hazy, half-dream filled sleep-like state is the rhythmic, high beeping of the machine beside you. If it werenât for that, there would be no indication to you that youâre even alive; your head feels darkly empty, but so full itâs seconds away from exploding at the same time, all you can feel is your dry, tired eyes scanning the blurry hospital room, and it takes you a few laboured seconds to remember even your own name.
Once your vision returns to at least somewhat normal and youâre able to wiggle your toes and fingers under the scratchy sheets of the bed, you take a deep breath and make a feeble attempt at raising your head from the pillow. Immediately, your ears fill with the sound of your own rushing blood and your vision goes almost completely black, and you can tell by the small needle taped to your lower arm that thereâs a reason why you still canât feel 90% of your body.
Just as youâre getting ready to slip right back into that drowse, the sound of frantic, stumbling footsteps through the hall fills your ears and you sluggishly swing your head to the side to face the closed door. The steps grow nearer and louder, and the metallic doorknob jerks to the side. The heavy door flies open and your half-closed eyes are met with the wide, worried eyes of Paul. He, his brow sweaty and his clothes in a complete mess, breathes a sigh of relief but his eyebrows do not lose their tense look of complete fear. You smile weakly at him. At least, you think youâre smiling.
âOh, my god,â he breathes, his voice no more than a whimper. His eyes not leaving you, he swings the door shut behind him and rips his jacket off. âOh my god, oh my god, oh my god,â he still worriedly mutters as he rushes around the room. He runs a hand through his messy hair, and when he reaches you, who is still smiling goofily, his hands hesitate, as if heâs not sure where or how to touch you.
âHey, Paul,â you say, your voice so raspy it comes out little more than a whisper. He leans closer to you, and his hand roughly tugs on the cord feeding to the needle in your arm by accident. It pulls at your skin and you wince a bit, trying your best to make it so he doesnât notice, but as he moves his arm even more it becomes tangled in the many different cords and lines connecting you to machines and such. You canât help but laugh drunkenly at his clumsiness, although worry and embarrassment draws his light brow together and he gets continuously frustrated with himself as he tries desperately to untangle.
When he sees your expression, it seems to calm his tense face and his features soften. He kneels down right beside your bed, his eyes still wide and his gorgeous lips pursed in worry, to put a slightly shaky hand on your cheek. You nuzzle the warm, familiar touch, and it seems to send bolts and rays of brilliant colour rolling throughout your body. He rests his arm on the thin mattress, and his chin on his arm, looking at you with admiration and pure love in his eyes when you laboriously bring your own hand up to grasp his. After a few seconds of trying desperately to keep your drooping eyes open and savour this moment, the grips of heavy, confusing sleep eventually begin to win. When he sees you slowly leaving him, he stands up, careful not to move his hand too much.
âDonât worry, luv,â he whispers, a smile on his lips. Stiffly and careful of all the equipment, he walks around the bed and sinks down behind you. âIâm not goinâ anywhere,â
He swings his feet over to join his body on the mattress, still clad in his iconic black boots. With your last bit of effort, you roll over to your back and lift your neck so he can slide his strong, pillowy arm behind it. You snuggle as close to him as you can, all your worries and pains and anticipations vanishing into the hazy fog until all that is left is his quiet, soothing breathing.
hi, new follower here :) i really like your writing, you're great! i was wondering if you could make an imagine with george where the reader shaves her head and goes to the studio to get george and he's amazed by it, running his hand over her head all loving? thank you so much <3
Hii! Thank you so so much, and welcome haha!! This is such a great idea, I couldnât wait to get started!! I hope you like it, and requests are always open!!
âWoahâŚâ you hear a low, astonished breath from behind you. You whirl around and meet the wondering eyes of George, who had stood up from his folding chair and taken a few steps towards you. His unblinking eyes glide across your freshly shaven head, which you yourself are still not entirely used to, and his thoughtful expression gives away nothing.
âD-do you like it?â You ask with a tentative smile, twisting your neck every which way to give him every possible angle. Even though you had done this completely for yourself and it had made you surprisingly happy, you still want Georgeâs opinion. Even though thereâs no turning back, you think wryly to yourself.
Suddenly, he blinks away his blank expression, and his plump lips break into an unbelieving, amazed grin.
âYou kidding?â He says in a high, childishly excited voice as he hurries towards you to reach an arm out to your head. He runs a tentative hand over the buzzed surface, and you both shutter at the odd, pleasant feeling. You laugh at his reaction, and your giggles intensify even more when he presses his soft lips against the very top of your head, placing both hands on your cheeks, and then scatters more quick pecks anywhere he can reach.
hi!! another request lol this time from the prompt list! could you do 18 with paul (sorry heâs my fave) maybe itâs late at night after a *romantic* night? i just thought the prompt was pure fluff material so whatever you come up with will be amazing! thank you in advance :) iâve loved everything youâve written so far btw
Hii!! Omg thank you I love love this request!!! If anyone else wants to request anything, I find this prompt list really great, and I always love hearing from people!! I know itâs a bit brief, but it felt right just to get to the point, I hope you like it!đ
Prompt #18: âsuch pretty hands,â
Such Pretty Hands
What a night. What an amazing, exhilarating, thrilling night. As you lay flat on your back, the sheets pulled up and laying indifferently over your bare chest, you turn your head over to Paul, laying similarily beside you with the covers draped low across his equally bare waist. His smooth, broad chest, slightly shiny with moisture and heaving quickly up and down, reflects the dim glow of the lamp beside you in an even softer, yellow gleam, and youâre momentarily mesmerized by it.
He runs a hand through his damp, tangled hair and, when his hand is once again free, he moves his whole arm to lay it over your shoulders and slide you closer to his warm, muscular body. You graciously snuggle closer to him. He plants a tender, smiling kiss against the skin of your forehead.
The longer you both lay there like that, your breath steadying and the comforting grips of sleep tugging at your eyelids, the more you realize this is all you need. As long as you can doze off each night in the warm embrace of Paul, feeling his warmth and his love in every movement, bathed in the warm shine of that lamp on the bedside table, you really canât ask for anything else.
Paul sighs contently and his arm lazily drifts over towards you to lay his large hand comfortably on top of your own. Soon, he tenderly wraps his fingers around your hand and brings it up to examine in front of his face. He interlocks his fingers in yours, turns and twists it every which way, a look of leisurely fascination and affection on his sleepy face. He turns his head to face you, and plants another light kiss on your temple before letting go of a content sigh.
âSuch pretty handsâŚâ he mumbles almost to himself, and you giggle as he takes each finger to his lips and gives it a tender kiss. He splays his own fingers out and kindly pushes your wrist towards his so your palms are pressed against each other, your shorter fingers straining to reach his. He smiles a playful grin looking at the contrast between you two, and his fingers slide to the side to wedge them between the gaps and hold your hand tightly.
His arm falls back to his side, still tangled with yours, where it stays until you both doze off to a light, blissful slumber. And when you wake up the next morning, both of your hair even messier than before and your eyes heavy with the tiredness of a well-rested night, his hand still holds yours in its safe grip.
I've read your Beatles fanfiction stories, and I think they're great! As such, I'd like to make a request, if possible. I'd love a story with Paul and a female reader, right after the Beatles break up. He's depressed, he's drinking a lot, he's sleeping all day, and she helps him through it the best she can. He writes a song for her to try and express how grateful he is, and it's "Maybe I'm Amazed." Some angst, but a good deal of fluff too. Please and thank you!
Hi!! Iâm so glad you like my writing, great request!! I hope this is what you were thinking!!
Maybe Iâm Amazed
You had to do something. It wasnât a simple matter of what was best for him, what you thought was right, now you know that if something didnât change soon it would render you both helpless. If you didnât take a hold of his outstretched hands and pull him to safety, he would surely drown in the perpetual sea of empty bottles, of cigarette butts and hazy, drunken days followed by restless, sleepless nights. He would drown in the rough, black sea of depression.
You know the breakup has been extremely hard on him. If anything, you know it better than anyone. It was a blatant fact that The Beatles were not going to last forever to anyone standing on the outside and peering through the metaphorical windows, but to Paul, that bond that the 4 men shared was something that would undeniably last forever. And maybe it was; just because the band had ceased to exist doesnât mean that life will not go on, it doesnât mean that they will never speak to each other again or at least do some sort of reconciliation. You just need to get him to see that. He had devoted an incredible portion of his life to that, and now that it was over, it seems like he doesnât know what to do with himself, like he canât even begin to conceive of a life without the constant of The Beatles, so heâs just given up even trying to. This whole situation has prompted him to do something you never thought in a million years that he would do; he let himself go. Grew a beard. Drank much more than he should have. Just slept and moped around all day. He was not only barrelling down a very dangerous road, but now you fear heâs going to take you with him.
You find yourself beginning to miss the times you used to share before all this, when you would go out with friends, when you would carve an hour or two out of both your days for a slow meander down the road, or around a park. Sometimes, the crisp London air would be filled with laughter and senseless chatter, sometimes all the words would run out and a comfortable silence would settle, which was almost just as nice. You would walk hand-in-hand as long as your legs would permit, and when you arrived home those feelings of comfort and solace would not end.
You have an idea. You raise your voice a bit to call Paulâs name into the silence of your large house, and when he doesnât reply you walk into the living room, where you think he would most likely be. Sure enough, there he is, slumped darkly on the couch reading some sort of book. You hurry over behind him, and he cranes his neck to smile up at you.
âHey, luv,â he says somewhat cheerfully, âwhatâs up?â
âI thought we would take a walk or something, just you and me,â you offer feebly, shrugging your shoulders a bit and giving him a humble smile. He looks at you doubtfully for a few seconds, not completely understanding. He sighs and thinks it over for a second, but you already know that heâs made up his mind. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
âCâmon, Paul, itâll be nice to get out,â maybe heâs just decided to humour you, maybe heâs realized that this is a battle heâs not going to win, but youâd like to think that you had actually gotten through to him. Either way, he agrees somewhat less wholeheartedly than you had hoped.
With your coats and boots on, you set out silently and gaze out at the dark green and yellow landscape stretching around you. Now, on a beautiful and serene property like this, you could walk right off the golden horizon and just keep going. Paul, with his long, curling hair rippling ever so slightly in the breeze and his dark, rustic beard nestled between his face and the collar of his grey coat, wraps his soft, warm hand around yours to lead you down the cobblestone walkway. When you catch up to him, his hand tightens and he begins to leisurely swing his arm as you walk, so close together that your shoulders bump against each other with each step.
You walk together in silence for a few minutes, each occasionally pointing to something that has caught their attention
You place a gentle hand on his broad shoulder and slow your footsteps to a stop, your gaze caught to the west across the wide, verdant field, all the way to where the lush green-yellow meets the bright, golden sensations of the upcoming sunrise. Paul looks confusedly at you for a moment, and when he doesnât seem to notice what had made you stop in your tracks with such a look on your face, he follows your eyes across the landscape. Still he doesnât seem to see it.
You raise a preoccupied hand towards the horizon, and point a finger directly at the bright orange, glowing fat orb. If you squint hard enough, you almost imagine you can see it slowly descending to the line where the painted sky meets the grass.
âIsnât it beautiful?â You breathe, a smile dancing behind your eyes and coming through on your lips. Paul looks into those eyes, seeing the brilliant sunset reflected on their identical glassy surfaces, and puts an arm over your shoulders.
He wonders why the things he often sees reflected in those eyes of yours, like the sun on a bright day, the television late at night, or sometimes even the silhouette of his own face, always look so much brighter, so much more contrasted and saturated, when a smile graces the lips below them. And suddenly, he knows.
âYeah,â he says, his eyes glued on the dazzling pinks and oranges of the western horizon as the sun lowers itself into the sea of green, and brings behind it a colourful twilight. âIt is,â
You sit leaning against the side of a light grey garden shed, watching the sky and basking in each otherâs closeness until the faint remains of the sun have faded away into a blue, starry darkness. When you begin to walk again, only the sounds of your footsteps on thin grass and your quiet, happy conversations accompany you. You canât remember a time when you had felt happier.
2 days later
It has been two days since you and Paul had decided to take a quick, sunset walk around his extensive property. And still, whenever you think about it, you canât help but get into a good mood. You hadnât seen much of Paul in the past couple days, but you can tell when you do see him that thereâs something new; it seems as though some kind of light had broken through his increasingly dark face.
As you consider asking him to accompany you once again later this afternoon, you hear his quick footsteps approaching you. You straighten up a bit, and when he gets closer you see a warm, almost giddy expression on his face.
âI need to show you something,â he says, with the first excited, genuine smile lightening his face that you had seen in what felt like forever. Before you can respond, he eagerly grabs your hand, encasing it in his own rougher, larger one and leading you into the den, filled with a soft yellow light, with a shining black piano nestled in the corner. Your chest immediately fills with an excitement that you had all but forgotten, a shaky, anxious kind of excitement that runs in waves across a room whenever a man like Paul sits down at a rickety piano bench.
He theatrically cracks his fingers and clears his throat, smiling up at you with a familiar sparkle in his dark eyes and a loving smile dancing on his lips. Finally, he lowers his hands to the piano as an air of seriousness encases him. His fingers crawl across the keys, signalling the start of a slow, beautiful melody. Youâre immediately entranced, your eyes glassing over and unfocusing and your jaw slackening. And then, he takes a deep, shaky breath, and begins to sing.
âBaby, Iâm amazed at the way you love me all the time,â
His fingers, already so passionate, pound against the weathered ivory keys of the piano with such force and comfort that you just stand there, temporarily dumbfounded beyond words.
His voice, so intense and raspy, like heâs pouring everything he has into it, radiates around the two of you in soft, smooth, intangible tendrils. You close your eyes and let it encase you, let it invade your head and blow the dust off the newly awoken space in your mind.
âAnd maybe Iâm afraid of the way I love you,â
He tears his attention away from the piano for a second to look into your eyes, his face happy yet unsmiling, loving yet so serious you freeze. Your lips part in complete awe, and only then does he return to the piano.
âMaybe Iâm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time,â
For the entire rest of the song, you stand transfixed, your eyes darting from Paulâs majestic hands dancing across the piano, to his angelic face. Nothing runs through your mind but the beautiful lyrics, so intent on their purpose, and the radiating melody of the full, deep piano. You feel as if this moment canât possibly be real, and if you even flinch it will all go away, but deep down you know that these words would stay with you until youâre old and grey, and they are the last thing left in your mind.
When the final chords ring throughout the room and Paul shakily removes his hands from the piano, he glances up towards you to nervously gage your reaction. You donât know what to say. Paul had written a song. For you. A beautiful, heartfelt, incredibly deep melody just for you, just because of you. He has touched the darkest, most hidden corners of your heart, and invaded them with a warm, shining light just like the painted sunset you had witnessed together only days before. Except you know that this glow will never go out, never eclipse into darkness again.
âOh, Paul, itâs wonderful,â you breathe, not trusting yourself to speak. Your eyes well up with glimmering tears of awe and happiness. Seeing your reaction, Paul slowly stands up from the cushy bench and you immediately fall into his open arms.
âI thought you might like it,â he mutters, and you can tell just by his voice that heâs smiling. He wraps his arms so tightly around you that you can barely breathe, but you wouldnât have it any other way, and picks you up so your feet dangle a few centimetres off the ground. Your hands wrap around his neck to steady yourself.
âThank you,â he whispers, in a weak but meaningful voice right into your ear. Those two words carry so much weight, so many things unsaid but understood just the same. A loud gulp and a shaky sigh from him tell you heâs not letting go any time soon, and you couldnât be happier.
me, to my housemates, one of whom is a thermal engineer: if someone had hypothermia, is the best way to warm them up âspoon themâ, or âcuddle chest to chestâ? I feel like it could be either â spooning is the classic warming position, and you warm up the colder part, but spoon the front and you insulate the skin with the largest temperature delta
housemates: [fervent, serious debate]
me, after a couple of minutes: to be clear, this is for a final fantasy 7 fanfiction scene where my character got really cold, the stakes arenât high in getting this completely right.
housemate: does the hypothermia exist sheerly as an excuse for the cuddling?
me: that is the only reason hypothermia exists in fanfiction.
so i asked my momâs boyfriend, who is a paramedic, and he recommended that for hypothermia, you cuddle chest-to-chest, BUT if you are digging in to survive a blizzard, spooning is preferable
Yayyy! Could I request maybe a Paul imagine or whatever style youâd wanna do with it! Where possibly he thinks you like John and it gets a lil angsty? Only if your comfortable with that and thank uuuuu!!!
Hii! Omg I love this idea!! I tried to make it as brief as I could lol, I hope this is what you were thinking:
There was very obviously something wrong. Whether Paul was trying to make that obvious, or he was just terrible at hiding it, you arenât quite sure, but it doesnât change anything. Something is clearly bothering him.
âPaul, whatâs been wrong with you? The past few days youâve been a littleâŚâ you struggle to find the right word, a word that wouldnât necessarily be offensive, but still get your point across, âoff,â
He glances up at you in a surprisingly troubled sort of glare, and grumbles, âwhy donât you ask John?â He had obviously meant for you not to hear it, but your eyes widen in shock and hurt when you do, like you had been slapped across the face. Immediately and without hesitation, you connect the dots; Paul is making a fairly blatant accusation, and you stammer to find the right words to respond.
âPaul, what are you saying?â You ask as seriously as you can. Paul looks worriedly at you, his eyes wide and concerned.
âI didnât mean it that wayâŚâ he mumbles. You know a man like Paul would never do anything to hurt you intentionally, nor would he ever really believe that you could ever have eyes for anyone other than him. That being said, you canât help but still feel the slightest bit offended. You will admit, you and John have gotten quite close over the time you and Paul had begun to date, and maybe John did have some kind of feelings for you, but you had done your best to pretend you didnât notice his slight advances in order to not only save his feelings, but to keep Paul from jumping to the conclusions you fear he just had.
âPaul, you know Iâd never do anything like that,â you mumble.
âI know, itâs justâŚâ he searches his brain for just the right words, and you wait patiently while he does. âI can see how John looks at you, and I know him,â the finality and helplessness in his voice indicates that thatâs all heâs going to say towards that topic, but he walks silently over to you to tentatively wrap his arms around your waist. When you donât pull away and instead smile very subtly, he becomes a bit more comfortable.
âPaul, I need you to trust me.â You say sternly, but you are very careful not to sound angry. âI love you. Every morning when I wake up, I make the choice to be with you. If I ever doubted that for one minute, I wouldnât be here; the last thing I want is to hurt you.â He nods his head slowly in eager agreement.
âI feel the exact same way.â He says in a slightly raspy, heartfelt voice so deep and filled with seriousness it surprises you a bit. âYâknow it was just me, right? Iâm jusâ being paranoid, I donât wanna lose you,â you permit yourself a warm smile, your head still hung a bit low but your eyes angled upwards to meet his.
âHow can I make it up to you?â He asks, placing his tender fingers under your chin to bring your face closer to his. You hope the look in your eyes tells him you have a few ideas.
so i feel that this request is a little different. and stick with me lol it took forever to get the wording to make sense. lately i feel like my friends have been distancing themselves from me and that they donât want to be friends with me anymore, and itâs been making me really sad lately. do you think you could write something where like the reader is going through this or similar and paul (of course lol) tries to be understanding and help? maybe he finds out âcause heâs so close with the band and reader is like âi wish i had thatâ or something
ik itâs a very random idea and you can make it whatever is easiest for you!! thank you!! :)
Hii! Iâm so sorry that you feel that way, youâre such a nice person, you deserve to be around people that treat you right and make you feel good about yourself.
If youâre ever feeling sad or lonely, Iâm always here, and you can talk to me whenever you want đđ
New Friends
(Crappy title I know but I couldnât think of anything haha)
âCome on, itâll be fun, trust me,â says Paul in his low, reassuring voice as he drives you both down the busy road towards the studio. He had finally succeeded in dragging you along to a session, much to your dismay and embarrassment. He had wanted to take you for so long now, but you had always found a way to get out of it. Until now.
Your sigh, not at all convinced, but smile at his attempt anyways.
âCâmon, luv, you need a break,â he says as he pulls into the parking lot. Okay, you can give him that; life had been a lot lately, and maybe this was just the thing you needed to just take a step back for a second. Maybe being around some new people, just forgetting everything else and goofing about with Paul and his mates would do you some good.
You walk hand in hand through the doors to the studio, and the other 3 men are already waiting patiently, warning up their instruments for a few hours of playing. When you walk in, heads turn and 3 warm, genuine smiles welcome you both. Paul nods at the men with a look you werenât supposed to see, warning them to behave.
âPaulie, whoâs the lady?â Asks John, with a sly look towards Paul and a wink at you.
âWatch it,â Paul replies, recognizing that look instantly and shutting him down. John looks at you and rolls his eyes, and you canât help but laugh.
The boys rehearse and goof around for an unknown amount of time, and you laugh along with them the entire time. By the end, you have gotten to know each one of them at least a bit more, and Paul had made a wonderful introduction. You couldnât tell for sure yet, but you think they like you quite well, and you certainly like them, too. You find yourself startled at your excitement to come back, and you can tell by the smug, satisfied look on Paulâs face that youâre not hiding it well.
Quite suddenly, Paul stands from the chair he had been sitting in and sets his bass in the empty seat, stretching with his hands as high as they would go.
âAlright, Iâm makinâ tea, anybody want some?â He asks, already standing in the doorway to the small kitchen. 4 hands shoot eagerly upwards in unison, and he chuckles a bit before turning and getting the kettle ready. His quiet, musical whistling fills both rooms, along with the occasional metal clanging of the kettle and stove.
âYâknow, he really likes you,â George plops down in the chair beside you as soon as Paul is out of sight and leans sideways towards you, speaking in a low, sly tone. He looks up at you, awaiting your reaction.
âReally?â Is all you can manage. âHow do you know?â
âOh, he wonât shut up about you,â
âEvery song he writes, itâs, oh, waitâll Y/N hears this one, and, oh, sheâd love this. Itâs exhausting, really,â
A warm smile spreads across your face, and you feel the blush in your cheeks. All 3 men seem very pleased by your reaction.
At that moment, Paul strides in, distractedly fixing a button on his shirt. When he looks up at you 4, each wearing identical, silent expressions, he raises one eyebrow in suspicious confusion.
In perfect unison, the other 3 burst out in knowing laughter, all slyly glancing towards you with identical looks that say, this never happened. Paul lets the subject go and leans over to hand you your tea. Then, he plops himself down beside his friends again.
âYou guys seem so tight,â you laugh.
âYeah, you could say that,â replies Paul jokingly, as John ruffles a mocking hand in the younger manâs seemingly perfect hair. Before long, all four grown men are on the floor, laughing and joking and playing like children.
You had always seen yourself as a bit of a loner, but you would be lying if the way you had been treated before hadnât hurt you, hadnât taken its toll on you. Lately, it had seemed as though the people you thought had been closest to you had been distancing themselves, like they were trying to cut you out of their lives. You couldnât help but think it was somehow your fault, but struggled to figure out why. These increasing feelings of loneliness had been beginning to get to you, and you had the helpless feeling that your life was changing right before your eyes, but there was nothing you could think of to do about it. It seemed like lately, a lot of the change hadnât been all that good, but it had made you a lot more appreciative of at least one change of which you had been grateful time and time again; Paul. He had come into your life at the perfect time, and had introduced you to the kind of lifestyle and sense of friendship you had been searching for. Watching the way these 4 lads talked with each other, the way they played and teased and made fun and fought, but also the tremendous amount of love behind everything. They would do anything for the others.
âGod, I wish I had something like that,â you mumble, a warm, humourless smile painting your face. Paul looks over towards you, and distances himself from the roughhousing to stride over to you. He drapes his arm heavily over your shoulders and pulls you in towards his warm body.
âHun,â he says, his intelligent, loving eyes leaving yours to start proudly at the 3 smiling men in front of you. âYou do.â
Recommendation: @riverxxxo Iâm so sorry it took this long, I had to take care of some other stuff before I could get to you. Anyway, hopefully this is what you were thinking, but I know this wasnât your only idea, so if this one wasnât quite what you were thinking or if you still want me to try the other one, just tell me.
Summary: reader comforts George after he gets a black eye.
âGeorge, stay still!â You nag for probably the fifth time, putting your free hand on the back of his head to steady it so he wonât pull away again. Bunched up in your other hand is a faded white cloth you had soaked in cool water from the tap, and he winces each time you try to dab it on the small cut just beneath his eye. âI need to clean it before you can put ice on it,â
âGeorge, stay still!â You nag for probably the fifth time, putting your free hand on the back of his head to steady it so he wonât pull away again. Bunched up in your other hand is a faded white cloth you had soaked in cool water from the tap, and he winces each time you try to dab it on the small cut just beneath his eye. âI need to clean it before you can put ice on it,â
When the cut is finally clean, you lean back to examine his face before picking up the frozen bag of peas you had set down beside you.
âHow do I look?â He asks in a mockingly tough tone, raising one eyebrow and then wincing at the soreness. You chuckle, and put a hand to the side of his face.
âHmm, itâs gonna swell,â you say. He huffs a disappointed sigh as you hand him a small mirror that had been sitting on your dresser. He holds it up to his face and examines his eye, already shifting from the sunken, white complexion to a puffy, darker one. You expected that that eye of his would turn every colour of the rainbow before the bruise finally faded away. He turns his face every which way, carefully inspecting his eye and the small red cut below it. He doesnât seem impressed.
âMakes me look tough, donât ya think?â He asks in a purposefully low, husky voice. You canât help but burst out in laughter, and before long heâs giggling along with you. You shake your head with a smile and push the bag of peas into his hand, and he gingerly holds it up to his face.
âYâknow, that was pretty brave of you,â you admit. âdefending your friend like that,â
He shrugs shyly with a proud, yet still modest smile.
After a moment, he takes the bag from his face (the swelling had gone the slightest bit down, but the colour was still steadily darkening, as you had expected) to look directly at you, one eye deep and filled with love, the other swollen half-shut.
âThanks for takinâ care of me,â he says with a crooked half-smile. You break out in a humble grin, which only makes his smile grow wider.
so i was listening to some 80s paul and was inspired lol my idea was itâs been a few years since the beatles have split and heâs making his solo music but he starts doubting himself and his music and the reader supports him or something and is like âyouâre paul effing mccartney of course your music is great!â (but like better said than that lol) i dunno i was feeling this idea (iâm sorry if itâs confusing!!) i trust you to make something awesome!!
FINALLY
It certainly took me long enoughđ¤Łđ¤Ł
Ok Iâm so sorry it took me so long but here it is and I hope you like it!! I always love your requests so much đđ
If only you saw yourself the way I do
(Ps I hope you donât mind some light swearing lol)
âPaul?â You ask tentatively as you walk into the living room. He whips his head up to look at you, trying to put on a pleasant face even though you can see the frustration behind those eyes. âEverything alright?â He nods with a smile, but scoots over graciously on the padded bench when you reach him. You sink down directly beside him and he lays his head moodily on your shoulder.
âPaul?â You ask tentatively as you walk into the living room. He whips his head up to look at you, trying to put on a pleasant face even though you can see the frustration behind those eyes. âEverything alright?â He nods with a smile, but scoots over graciously on the padded bench when you reach him. You sink down directly beside him and he lays his head moodily on your shoulder.
âGod, I donât know why this is so hard,â he mumbles. âIt used to be so easy, I donât know whatâs wrong with meâŚâ
âNothings wrong with you,â you reassure him, putting a gentle hand over his shoulders. He sighs, not completely agreeing with you.
âPaul, just give it a minute. Itâll come.â
âIâve given it almost a month!â He says, raising his head to look at you with worried eyes. He shakes his head in defeat and turns his attention back to the piano. âYâknow, if this was, say, 20 years ago-â
âPaul, you have to stop thinking like that.â You interrupt him firmly. It seems as though lately, heâs been saying things like that quite a bit. Heâs beginning to doubt himself more and more as the days of endless writing and rewriting drag on, and you struggle to find a way to show him what the entire world thinks of him, not just as an ex-Beatle, but as an incredibly talented solo artist. All he does in response is look up at you with those sad, puppy dog eyes, his face unsmiling and the sides of his mouth pulled downwards. He shakes his head again.
âHonestly, I donât even know why I try anymore,â he says shortly, almost as if he had regretted saying it before the words even left his mouth. He looks away, hoping you hadnât heard, and attempts to stand up to occupy himself with something less frustrating. He rubs his eyes in exasperation, but you snake a hand around his upper arm to keep him still as you stand quickly up.
âYouâre Paul fucking McCartney!â You exclaim. He looks at you with a kind of appalled confusion, as if you had just told him that two and two made four. And suddenly you get it; he doesnât see himself in the same light that you do. While you see him as a practical musical genius, an incredibly smart, talented, amazing man, he sees himself as a regular has-been whoâs just been grasping at straws these last few years, someone who canât seem to let go of the life he lead all that time ago, someone who should just accept that things will never be like they used to be, and maybe he should just stop trying. You canât bear to see what this has done to him, how much he truly misses his mates.
âY/N, have you ever thought that that just isnât enough anymore?â He sighs, hanging his head and looking up at you with stern, flaming eyes. He splays his hands out at his sides in a helpless gesture, but your grip on his arm doesnât loosen one bit.
âNo.â You say defiantly, not breaking his gaze even though you can tell heâs incredibly uncomfortable. âNot for one minute.â You take a deep breath and pull him back down to the cushy piano bench.
âI just wish you could see yourself like I do. Like everyone else does. You need to stop being so hard on yourself; I love you so much and it hurts to see you like this,â at least that seems to break through to him. He looks downwards and one side of his mouth turns up in a rueful smile. âYouâre the most talented person I know, Paul. Your music does so much for so many people, you canât stop! I know it seems really hard right now, and I know you might think youâre not making a difference, but trust me,â you give his hands a tight, reassuring squeeze, âthis is what youâre meant to do.â
You put a hand on his back and patiently await his response. When he raises his head to finally look into your eyes, he is wearing a small, slightly teary-eyed smile. He leans slowly forward, his eyes sliding shut as his lips softly touch yours. After a second, he pulls away to wrap both arms around you.
âThank you,â he says in a quiet, genuine voice that cracks near the end. âFor everything.â
