The other night, I had a dream where it was my birthday and my family hadn't bought me anything, and asked me what I wanted since.. y'know, they had NOTHING to give me..
Annnddd as a joke I said "to crack Paul McCartney lmaooo" AS A JOKE, I always joke like that with relatives, and my mom said "okay"(???) and got in the car with me and drove me up to Atlanta and just dumped me off on a doorstep and said "come home tomorrow" and just DROVE OFF??
So.. like, I'm just standing there, completely confused, everyone was just casually walking past me without a word and it felt like 20 minutes with me just standing there, I had no phone, nothing
And the freaking door opened and PAUL FUCKING MCCARTNEY WAS THERE!? like, prime, early, 1964, 21 year old Paul... and I'm obviously freaking tf out and like sweating n shit, and he like walks me in and he's wearing a yellow sweater and purple slacks (???) and showed me around and it smelled SO GODDAMN good in there.. like, cigarettes and faux, cheap leather... like a Macy's??
and i was SO awkward like the WHOLE time I was there, and the rest of it is pretty foggy, like idk what he said or anything but the main thing i remember was him kissing my neck and the feeling of his sweater like it was SO vivid it was insane..
and, yes, we did crack, but i will not go into detail because.. no.
so, i guess that whole "sleeping on stomach makes freaky dreams" n shit was REAL because I woke up drooling face-first into my mattress sweating like a pig
safe to say I'm now yearning for him like he's my late husband
Hiiiii, I bring you photos of The Beatles! And some fun facts :
John and Paul sometimes thought they could communicate with each other in their dreams, and they would get up high and stare at each other until they were essentially mind meld: “They liked to put their faces very close together and stare, without blinking, until they felt themselves dissolving into each other, almost erasing any idea of themselves as distinct individuals.”
From “John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs”
Do you know that in 'Love Me Do' there's a harmonica? Well, I know it's obvious but it serves the purpose of the fact I'm about to tell you, The harmonica in the song that Lennon plays, was it really stolen, in a moment of carelessness he stole it and with it he played Love Me Do.
In the photo where Neil Aspinall is playing with The Beatles it was because George Harrison had tonsillitis, sometimes he replaced them in rehearsals and such when someone got sick, in this case it was because George was sick.
I hope you liked the facts! If I made a mistake in anything, let me know in the comments, have a beautiful day!!
You've been the secretary in Paul McCartney's studio for a few months now: handing out drink orders, opening mail, filling out forms, and fulfilling miscellaneous duties around the office. It seemed that Paul tried to avoid you for the most part, but one day things change.
CW: power imbalance (secretary x boss), NSFW, oral, boot worship, language
Word Count: 3.7k
A/N: I took some creative liberties with song and pop culture references that i thought were cute or silly so keep an eye out😉
You scooped up the binder of Paul's mad writings in your arm and grasped the edge of the drink caddy in your free hand, carefully lifting both items from their place on your cluttered desk and carrying them through the back of the office. You stopped at a few offices to drop off orders with a smile before finally making your way to the end of the hall where the studio resided. Leveraging the binder's weight against your forearm, you tapped the door with your knuckles and waited for the familiar sound of Paul's soft Liverpudlian accent. "Come in." He called. You responded by pushing the handle down and opening the door with your back. "Good morning, sir, how--" you began only to be silenced by a slow finger being raised in your direction from the other side of the room. Once you set down the binder and remaining teas, you realized you had been welcomed into a small group working on Paul's newest project. You didn't hesitate in trying to make yourself as little as possible and slipping into a corner, watching the process in silent awe.
You only had this position for a few weeks at this point, but even you knew being allowed to watch this little game occur was a rare honor amongst workers not directly involved in the creation of his music. The most likely explanation was that the men had expected you to leave immediately and simply failed to notice your continued presence; the alternative was that Paul and his posse had suddenly decided a subpar secretary was worthy of watching the process. Regardless of the true nature, you hid away and eyed each of the musicians pick away and test out different chords until they began to file out and take their cups with them. Your continued presence earned you some confused looks, but no comments.
Paul was the last to do so. In fact, he hardly stirred from his place seated behind the music stand where he scribbled down lyrics and glared over the strings of his guitar. "Bring me my tea. Will ya, love?" He finally muttered after a few minutes.
The sound of his voice jolted you out of your stupor, and you hurriedly jumped to your feet to grab his cup and the binder. "Yessir, sorry for the disturbance before." You kept your head lowered as you scurried over to the older gentleman and set both items at his side. When his calloused, veiny hand reached out to grab the cup and lifted it to his lips, a small grimace appeared on his face. Yours, however, immediately dropped. "Something wrong, sir?" Paul gave a deft chuckle and placed the cup back down. "Bit cold... and missin' the soya milk."
Shit. You had been late coming back with the orders in the first place and that threw you off, but you really should've thought to hand out orders when you barged in on their rehearsal... that was probably what earned you those strange looks. You bit the tip of your index finger and shook your head, scooping up the cup in your hand and spilling a non-negligible amount of the lukewarm liquid on your arm. At least you had room for his milk now. "I'll take care of it right away, sir, I apologize."
Paul looked you up and down with an unreadable expression-- a notion you had taken notice of in the few interactions you had with him-- and pulled a few tissues from a box nearby to wipe off your arm. The act took you by surprise, but you didn't dare deny it as his firm hands moved along your forearm. "Don't sweat it, love. But next time I might recommend coming in before we start playing around in here. The younger men here tend to be a little less forgiving about cold drinks than I." With that, he discarded the tissues and allowed you to depart with a strange warmth surging through your arm.
*****
In the following months, you had made a concerted effort to try to improve your performance around the office. But after eavesdropping on some discussions, you had little hope for your future in Sir Paul McCartney's work.
"I dunno how that secretary's stayed 'round so long." One girl muttered over her lunch.
"I know," the other giggled in response, "I don't think I've ever gone a day without a mistyped letter or my coffee either spilled or made entirely wrong."
"Don't you ladies worry." A man laughed. "She'll be out soon enough: he's never kept a girl at that desk longer than a few months before he kicks 'er to the curb, and I've seen ones that actually do their job get out sooner."
At that, you slunk away from the door with the heat of shame burning your cheeks. How could you ever believe you would keep this job with how incompetent you had proven to be? Your boss, Paul, seemed to ignore you for good reason and when you did see him, you only seemed to embarrass yourself. He might give you a smile and a wave when he came into the office, and it usually happened when you were drinking something and subsequently choked on it trying to say "hello" in return. Or if you passed in the hall, his arm might brush past yours and send shivers through you and, consequently, through the papers in your arm that may or may not fall in large arcs to the ground. The worst was when you would spill a coffee (a not-as-rare occurrence as it should have been) and Paul was around: he always insisted on helping out no matter how busy he was. It usually resulted in him pressing napkins to your arms, blouse, and skirt, the warmth of his palm pressing into you through the fabric and paper always managing to make you a stuttering, apologetic mess.
As you trudged back to your desk at the front of the office, you swallowed the lump forming in your throat and your pride: you had to get ahead of this. Even if you had to beg on your knees and work extra hours scrubbing the grout with a toothbrush, you were determined to keep this job. Honestly you didn't have much choice with how horrible the job market had become... if you lost this job, you'd be unemployed for months before you were able to snake your way into a minimum wage position eating shit for corporate executives every day.
With the rest of your workday, you drafted out a speech for Paul between phone calls and responding to emails so you could be prepared. When people began to shuffle out in small groups around 7pm, chatter rattling around in your head and shaking any confidence you had out onto the floor, you felt an impending sense of doom. Still, you knew you couldn't back out now if you really wanted to continue in your current position.
When you were sure the rest of the office was clear, you finally stood from your little chair and confidently made your way down the main hall to Paul's office. You've got this. You'll kiss up a little bit, make your value known, and be the first person to keep that goddamn desk under your name longer than four months.
When you finally approached the door your fist hesitated in front of the hardwood for a moment. But before you could back out, you forced your knuckles to rap three times and waited for the familiar sound of Paul's voice welcoming you to "Come in." You took a deep inhale and inched the door open to peek your head in, giving him a nervous smile when the two of you made eye contact. He was sat behind his desk, glancing over paperwork and only looking away from the small pile (which you recognized from filling out earlier) to look at you. "Good evening, sir." You spoke a little more gently than you wanted. In order to regain your confidence, you stepped fully into the office and straightened yourself out, brushing your hands over your skirt and quietly clearing your throat. "Could I have a moment of your time?" He motioned to the two seats opposite of him, welcoming you to sit down and relax, but you had too much on your mind not to pace.
"First of all, I wanted to tell you how thankful I am that you've given me this opportunity. Being able to work here with you and the rest of the team is an absolute honor--"
"Did ya come in 'ere to quit, Miss Y/N?" Paul suddenly interrupted. His voice wasn't angry or impatient, but rather measured in its cadence as though he expected as much. Your eyes widened and you hurried to sit down as he had directed you to before. "No, sir, I-- shit..." You trailed off before attempting to regain your confidence and original plan. "I came to express how thankful I am for your patience with me. I'm aware you may not be particularly fond of me, and I fuck up a lot, but you giving me this chance means the world."
Paul fully turned his attention away from the papers below him now and up to you, his eyes traveling across your facial features with furrowed brows. "What makes ya think 'm not fond of ya?" He asked slowly, standing from his chair with a soft groan and leveraging himself against the desk with an aged hand. You swallowed and shook your head, a blush of embarrassment crossing your cheeks. "I know secretaries don't stay around here long, and..." you looked away from him, a little embarrassed that the position you had hoped to hold of standing while he sat was now reversed. "And I see how you avoid me." You bit the inside of your cheek and kept your eyes ahead so you didn't have to face Paul, who was now circling the desk to be on the same side as you and sit on the edge.
You realized now the irony of your statement: while you stared ahead and attempted to ignore the situation in which you had put yourself, Paul sat over you with his full attention directed at your every move, look, and word. "Look at me." He directed and waited for you to listen. When you didn't, he sighed and leaned across the desk to grab the small pile of paperwork you had worked on earlier. It was certainly your work, but now that he held it in front of your face you noticed several words circled in red pen. Upon looking closer, every circle indicated an error: misspelling, incorrect grammar, missing or inappropriate punctuation, etcetera. "Shit..." The vision made you red in the face and hot from head to toe.
"Many other young ladies 'ave come in 'ere for this position. They gave out correct, hot drink orders, never spilled, rarely made a mistake, and never swore like you do." Paul explained calmly and placed the packet down in front of you, instead raising the hand to the far side of your face to guide you to face him. Despite your humiliation, you complied but kept your eyes down. "So why do ya think I keep ya around, love?" He wasn't asking rhetorically to shame you further, no.... he sounded like he genuinely wanted an answer. You swallowed hard and stared down somewhere on his button down despite him holding your head up, attempting to avoid the gentle confrontation.
He hummed thoughtfully and leaned down so you were eye to eye, now unable to avoid the contact he was demanding. With your eyes now connected, Paul sat back up but didn't pull his hand back from your jaw. "Yer a very beautiful, bright young lady." Paul began to explain when you still couldn't come up with a logical explanation for your continued employment. He laughed. "Too young for me, certainly," his hand remained steady at your face which now burned at his fingertips, "but I still want ya."
The statement hung heavy in the air, your heart racing a mile a minute as you attempted to process what he had just revealed to you.
Paul gave you a soft smile, understanding that a big change had just occurred between the two of you. "If ya no longer wish to continue 'ere with this information, I can provide you stunning ref--" Before he could finish, you pushed yourself from the chair you had previously been glued to in order to close the space between the two of you and pressed yourself lips to his. He was taken aback at first, but quickly placed his other hand on the other side of your face to hold you like a precious item in his calloused touch.
Despite his age, you could taste the youth in his hungry mouth that yearned for every inch of you. You planted one hand on the desk beside Paul's hip and the other on the side of his neck, allowing the tips of your fingers to card through his soft grey hair. His teeth dragged slow over your bottom lip, asking silently for entrance that you happily allowed. With both your mouths now open, your tongues mingled desperately and swallowed one another's tastes: his dark and sweet while yours was light and soft. It was a contrast you would savor and follow wherever Paul led you-- at this point in time, he was sliding off the desk and walking backwards into his own chair that you happily pursued. You both parted from one another only when he sat down, his legs spread and one hand patting his lower thigh. "Sit down, love." He invited, an RSVP you were more than happy to fulfill.
You slowly sat down on his knee, your legs turned in between his own where he could lay his hand and caress the skin that became exposed as your skirt hiked up. His other hand that had previously been welcoming you reached behind you, at first pressing his fingertips over your shoulder blades and neck before he reached up into your hair and curled into a gentle grip. You gasped and placed both hands on his chest, your faces now mere inches apart as he inspected your reactions. "Fuck. Sir..." You breathed the title like a little prayer, a sound that Paul obviously adored given the hand on your outer thigh now moving between your legs and further up. "Yer such a pretty lil thing, darlin'," he cooed, leaning into your ear and smirking against the skin of your neck, "it's a shame you can't keep those dirty words out yer mouth." His voice turned dark, a change that sent a shiver down your spine and made you eager to please.
As his mouth worked down the side of your neck and his hand inched to graze just lightly over your wet heat, you forced out an olive branch. "Let me-- let me make it up to you, sir." One hand moved to his cheek while the other slid down the front of his torso, attempting to get his attention.
It worked. Reluctantly, Paul pulled his lips away from your marked neck and chuckled, giving you that same look-over he always did that now made all the more sense to you. Without ever taking your eyes off of his, you slid your body down between his legs and lowered onto your knees so you were halfway below the desk, your face directly in line with the tent growing in his slacks. His hand never left your hair but followed your movements with a pleasant firmness as you sat below him.
There was a constant heat radiating off of both of you that was much more noticeable from down here. You swallowed the excited lump in your throat and placed a hand on the inside of either of his legs, laying your cheek against his thigh before pressing a slow kiss against the tight material of his groin. He sighed almost reverently at the sight and massaged the tips of his music-torn fingers against the back of your scalp to encourage you, a sensation that made you weak in the knees and had your own hands moving zealously to first unbutton and then unzip his black slacks. You pulled back the material but it didn't provide him much relief with his boxers still separating the two of you; a fact you had secretly counted on. You smiled to yourself and placed your lips over Paul's clothed tip, earning a muffled groan from the elder boy biting the inside of his cheek to hide his impatience. Raising your eyes back up to his, you exhaled a hot breath and pressed your tongue flat beneath his length and earned yourself a glare past Paul's reddened cheeks. "Yer cute, but don't get me angry, love." He warned and tugged your hair again as an admonition.
You let out a soft gasp and nodded, pulling back your wet mouth to allow both hands to come in front of you. They started at his lower abdomen, following the line of his pelvis on either side down to the center of his stomach to grasp the band of his boxers and hook your fingers beneath the material. Slowly you inched the band down his hips to first reveal the base of his cock, a sight that already made your breath hitch, and moved further and further down until the rockstar's full length was on full display and stood in your face. You gasped at the sight and swallowed hard, earning a chuckle from Paul who had no delay using his grip on your hair to pull your head closer so it landed directly on your face. You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut before lulling your tongue out of your mouth and laying it lay against the underside of Paul's cock again. You began at the base and slowly moved upward at a steady pace, smiling when your eyes opened upon reaching the head and seeing the struggling expression on Paul's face. His mouth cricked into a grimace at one side while both brows furrowed in the center of his face, but the entire time his eyes never left you. "There y'are, beautiful girl." He praised between gritted teeth and pushed his tip between your lips. You let your bottom lip fall with the weight just a little before you opened your mouth and fell forward, Paul's firm grip in your hair helping to leverage you.
You moved slowly at first, closing your lips around the head and flicking your tongue with a soft hum to earn a shuddering groan from Paul's chest. He obviously had very little patience remaining for you, though, for not long after he tightened his grip and pushed you down in one fell swoop nearly to the hilt. You choked and raised your hands to press against his body: your right palm against his navel and the left on his inner thigh. You felt the wiry hair below his belly button brushing against your skin, a delicate sensation directly conflicting the discomfort of adjusting to the bassist's cock in your throat. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes while you choked and whined around his size, sending vibrations through his body. Still, he looked down at you with that same beautiful look and a heaving chest. "Much better use of that mouth." He cooed, reaching down with his free hand to wipe your tears away with his thumb. "Yer doin' so well for me, love, I think you've earned a reward." After pulling your head back just enough to let his length sit on your tongue, he moved his shoe between your legs and pressed it to your soaked mound, only your thin panties separating you from the sensation. You whimpered and moved your body down to meet the flat toe, rolling your hips in time with your mouth to earn shaky moans and whines from your throat. Paul moved his hand with your movements, directing you all the way down every 10 times or so like a melody on repeat. Every time he held you in place, you held your hips down against his polished shoe.
The two of you moved in a perverted harmony until the movements began getting sloppier, at which point Paul took over your head movements and you began to move your hips in short spurts of long drags and hurried jolts. When you heard sweet, deep moans finally beginning to emit from your boss' chest, you knew it wasn't just you who was close. Feeling his own climax approaching, Paul pushed his foot up again at a new angle, moving in time with you and watching you fall apart in pleasure before he finally stopped moving your head and moved his own hips one, two, three, four, five times and finally releasing down your throat. You choked but did your best to swallow all you could, stuttering your hips over his shoe until you finally reached your high and came back down.
When Paul finally caught his breath and saw you slouching beneath him, he pulled your head back and off of his length to see your face beautifully fucked out: eyes fluttering, cheeks stained, and lips dripping in spit and cum. "God, ya really are just gorgeous like that." He praised, releasing your hair only to lower his hand to your chin to guide you to lay your head on top of his leg. You smiled lazily up at him and watched from the corner of his eye as he clothed himself again. You had certainly made another mess in the office, but once again it seemed that Paul would forgive you pretty easily.
The older man helped you back up onto your feet and say you on the edge of the desk, using a tissue to clean your face. You felt his now familiar, calloused fingertips through the thin fabric and smiled: mostly to yourself, but also for the handsome musician servicing you. "Have I made my argument well enough?" You teased, placing a hand around his wrist and stroking the veins on the back of his hand with your thumb.
Paul pretended to think about it for a moment and discarded the last tissue with his free hand, using the other possessed by you to guide your hand to his lips and kiss gently. "Well I know how hard it is for young girls these days, in the face of everything, to stay on the right track."
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