Hi! I just wanted to say that this is a safe place for LGBTQIAP+ people. I'm bisexual and nonbinary, so feel free and comfortable to request anything you'd like, ships included (all relationships being consensual and above age, just to be clear) š
If you ever need or want to talk to me about the stories or just vent and have a chat, I'm always here š
Could you please do an angsty turned fluff fic with John please, like comforting him in 65ā sort of?. Love your writing!!
I Will
summary: john has been acting strange lately and you are the only one he's willing to talk to, but he's away because of tour. paul comes around to help with that
pairing: john lennon x female!reader
warnings: angst turned fluff
author's note: ok i kind of loved this... this one is long i'm not sorry lol but fyi it's kind of inspired by Mitski's I Will
1965.
You havenāt seen John or heard from him in weeks. He was on tour on a normal-ish time, that wouldnāt bother you more than just missing your boyfriend. This time was different. Brian Epstein had called you two weeks before asking if you knew what was going on with John. That left you speechless. They are the ones with him day and night, every single moment, together at every breath. How could you, thousands of miles away from him, know better than his manager and best friends who were travelling with him?
āThat doesnāt mean he tells us anythingā, Brian said on the phone that evening. They were in Prague that night, the boy having just performed a show. The group was meant to get on a plane with the sunrise, and here you were, talking with their manager past one in the morning. He sighed heavily. āAnd I know he wonāt say whatever it is that is bothering him. Yāknow how John can be sometimes. He pushes people away without realizing and then it just makes it worse.ā
You were sitting by the rug on the bedroom, back to the bed. Breathing was starting to become a challenging thing, mind ruminating on what must be going on. After a few moments of silence, you answered.
āJohn hasnāt written me any letters in a month or so. Normally, if he wanted to tell me something but didnāt know how, it would be through a letter.ā This time you were the one sighing. āHas he written anything, actually?ā
āJust songs. But that is between him and Paulā, you hummed as Brian responded. Maybe Paul knows more about that, but considering John can be very to himself and shy, you didnāt bring it up. And it wasnāt Brian's responsibility to play counselor, even if he considered John or any of the guys his friend. Sometimes those lines blurred, friend and manager, but there was only so much he could do. āIāll ring up if I hear anything, okay? But he misses you.ā
āHow do you know?ā
āYou are the one subject he will talk about without looking uncomfortable.ā
That left you wondering even more. How can that even be possible? It simply didnāt make any sense to you at the moment. It isnāt logical for one to miss their partner and choose to not get in touch, considering any fights or arguments had taken place. It was far from that. The day before he left for tour you acted like a wife sending their husband to the war. You expressed how much you would miss him, crying more than you expected as you talked about it. He told you it was cute and there was no need for that. John promised heād come back sooner than youād think, and to call the hotels they were staying in whenever you wanted.
You did. And he was never there. Now, you were wondering if he just didnāt want to speak to anyone. Or if maybe he grew tired of you and the road made him realise that. He had mentioned he was getting a separate room this tour, so the thought didnāt seem too far off ā yet very paranoid. You sent him two letters since John left and hoped he got a hold of them since you poured your little worrying heart out for the man on those. Both ended the same way.
āI love and miss you dearly, baby. Please, take good care of yourself. Donāt listen to them.ā
Them were the voices. The ones living in his head for as long as youāve known your boyfriend, long before fame. John came across as hyper-confident when, in reality, he was just such an insecure and anxious guy. It was shocking once the mask was torn off for you yet, it warmed your heart. He trusted you enough to tell all about his inner demons and thoughts. Now, you wished the Liverpullian man wasnāt up with the news.
They were tearing the band apart. Especially him. You knew he wasnāt handling swiftly fame and notoriety, it all sounded incredibly fake and stupid for him. Sometimes, it felt like a Hitchcock picture, but he was Marion Crane, not Norman Bates. He was the so-called protagonist, until he wasnāt. People and the press wanted more and more of John, they were insatiable. He was the one being brutally murdered in a moment of vulnerability. Not in a shower, but on the stage.Ā
It was another call that got you all worked up and worried. Paul decided to call the night before, sounding just as defeated as you.
āYou need to come up here, loveā, he said with a long breath. You pictured him holding a cigarette by the phone in his hotel bedroom. āJohnās not doing good.ā
āIāve been told, Macca.ā There was that long breath again. āDo you think itās a good idea? Me showing up there unannounced?ā You managed to get the telephone handle to the window, grabbing a smoke yourself, tired.Ā
āYou might be the one he opens up. He needs that.ā Hum.Ā
āBut he wants to see me? Did he mention it? It could only make him turn more to himself.ā
āJust get on the next plane to Paris, for Christās sakeā, he laughed humourlessly. āItās urgent. The guy needs you. He read the letters, yāknow?ā Oh. He did? It was like Paul knew exactly what you were going to say next. āHe feels bad for not writing back, he doesnāt know how to reply to you. But he carries them around to read before the gigs. I think they calm him down quite a bit.ā
The new information got your head spinning. John was relying on your words to keep himself grounded? This couldnāt be happening. It might be worse than you thought. He read the fucking news, curious bastard. John and his overthinking doing nothing but bringing him down. In seconds you were calculating on what to pack, if it was best to wait for the daylight to get on a plane and, wait, the tickets! You needed tickets! And ā
āAre you there? I need to know whether you are coming or not so I can get you on the next plane.ā Paul sounded annoyed, but he had every reason to. His best friend was having a spiral and his girlfriend seemed to be the only one who could help him out. Paul was a bit jealous, but would never say it out loud.
āYeah, Iām comingā, your voice was low, and on the forehead. A light headache approaching with so much on your mind.Ā
āOk, Iāll call you with the details in a few minutes. Thanks, gal.ā
āThank you, Paul. Really.āĀ
And now, almost three hours later, the plane you were on was landing at the Roissy-Charles-de-Gaulle Airport in Paris. It was around four in the morning, light starting to creep on the distant horizon. In a hurry, you light packed, just a few clothes for a couple of days, everything you needed fitting on a handbag. You were almost running to get to the arrival area, where Paul said a driver was going to be waiting for you. With how anxious you were at the moment, chain smoking, you almost didnāt see the tall older bloke with your name on a card, noticing him after a good three minutes.
In the car, a surprise. Paul was on the backseat with his disguise on, fake mustache and glasses. You felt him before you could see him, since he wrapped you on a tight hug the moment you got inside. āHow yādoing, love?ā
āJust anxiousā, you decided to be honest. Thinking about John reacting badly was making you sick. āDo you know if he is still up or as awaken yet? I donāt want to give him a heart attackā, you tried to laugh. It looked like it worked, Paul joining in.Ā
āHeās upā, he said after a while. āHe was on his balcony last I checked on him, aroundā¦ā Paul grabbed a hold of his watch. āTwenty minutes ago. He didnāt sleep, said heās āgot a lot on his mindā.ā Paul said, giving you a look.
You both knew that was Johnās way of getting out of a conversation ā it usually meant he wasnāt in the mood. If he was mad, sad or thoughtful was always a mystery. Neither ever pushed him, you knew better than that. John could get nasty.
Today you didnāt.
āSo itās gonna be interesting,ā the rest of the ride you tried to control your breathing, thinking how to approach him.
Turns out you didnāt need to consider that part. Paul escorted you to Johnās room, signing for you to keep quiet. Opening the door, you saw him. He was still on the balcony, cigarette in hand, watching the city lights. Just watching his back you noticed the tension on his muscles.
The room was a complete mess ā bed unmade, pillows all over the place, one actually next to him on the chair by the balcony. The television was on a news channel but muted, and then you started to count the amount of ashtrays. Each nightstand, two. On top of the TV, three. On the balconyās coffee table, four. All full and ashes surrounding them. The scene tore your heart. The moment Paul closed the door, John spoke.
āI want to be alone, Paul.ā John didnāt turn, bringing the ciggie to his mouth. Paul gestured for you to follow him into the room, still silent.
āYeah, but Iāve got something for you.ā John scoffed, shoving the remains of the cig down the ashtray.Ā
Then, he turned. He was ready to be spiteful and make a snarky remark to his friend, but his eyes caught yours before the words spilled out. His face fell, shocked.Ā
āWhat are you doing here, love?ā With each passing second, you swore his expression softened. Blushing, you got closer, taking off your jacket.
āSurpriseā, you smiled, putting your handbag and jacket next to his suitcase by the bed. John followed your every move in awe, not believing what was happening. On the balcony, he stayed seated, shock commanding him as you took a seat next to him. āHow are you doing, sweet boy?ā You asked softly. Your eyes were so full of care as your hands held his that his eyeballs filled instantly with tears.
That was Paulās cue to leave. He didnāt need to say anything, the sound of the bedroomās door closing was the sign John needed to finally weep. The tears ran down his face as he held back a smirk.Ā
āI canāt believe you are here,ā his fingers drawing circles on the back of your hand. You leaned in slightly, planting a kiss on his temple.
āThe guys said you are not doing so good, and I was worried tooā, you made sure to keep your voice above a whisper, calm yet firm. He nodded lightly, tears on blast. āI tried to call the hotels you were at, but you were never thereā, that was enough for John to leave out a cry out, holding you tight.Ā
For a while, it was just like this. Holding John as he cried, soothing him saying it was all right, fingers running through his hair and getting tears away from his face. Then, it was quiet, John looking at you with his puffy eyes and wet cheeks as you ran a finger through his face, grabbing the tip of his nose between the middle and index finger. It guaranteed you a laugh, his whole face red now. John lifted one of his hands from your back to the side of your face, staring you lovingly.
āThank youā, he whispered, tired eyes.
āNo need to thank me, darling.ā You kissed his forehead, moving to his cheeks. āWhat about we take a shower and get to bed?ā The enquiry was soft, just like your hand on his hair.
āYou always have a planā, he laughed with a huge smile. You took the chance to kiss him. It was only a peck, but it was enough. John looked astonished, as if it was the first time. But he had reasoning. āThatās not a real kissā, and pulled you into a sweet kiss, holding your face in place. He deepened it by the second, hold so firm as if you were about to disappear. He was not taking this visit for granted. With a shy smile, he broke the kiss, moving a strand of your hair. āLetās goā, he got up, extending his hand, which you gladly took.
In the bathroom, the silence was bliss. Or you thought it was until you turned around to find John struggling to take off his clothes, the details of the tile walls more interesting for him as he turned uncomfortable. You noticed how he was slightly blushing and your own face turned a swift tint of pink ā you were completely bare in front of John, just a barely there lighting coming from the lights next to the face mirror by the sink. And there he was, still fully clothed. It was kind of hot, even if it wasnāt intentional at all.
āI thought we were taking a showerā, you started quietly with a hint of teasing. John turned red in response, hands unsure of where to go.
āA-and we areā, he mumbled. āI just-ā John tried to say and groaned. After a long breath, he collected his feelings. āI feel like Iām looking like shit underneath this.āĀ
Any hints of teasing left your body in that minute. No one would make your love feel like this. āYou are always handsome, sweetheartā, you said as you toyed with the bottom-up of his shirt. It was endearing how shy John got. āIām biased, but I personally think you are very attractive.ā
John could not hold himself and laughed. āAnd here I am, thinking of myself as fat Elvis.ā You glared at him for a moment, remembering other instances he made the same comment. He noticed, growing even redder, gaze down.
āBabyā, you cooed. His eyes were back on yours, eyelashes batting slower than normal. āGet that nonsense out of your head.ā Your hands went under his shirt, trailing his stomach and then his back, your touch almost ghostlike. John had gained weight, but it wasnāt anything out of the ordinary. āEvery single part of you is pretty. I could talk about it all night, list my favouritesā¦ā
Your face got closer to his, your breath hitting Johnās mouth and neck. His trembling hands went to your hips, a smile starting to form.Ā
āIād like thatā¦ā
It was your turn to laugh. āI knowā, you took his hands off of you, getting inside the shower and turning the water on. āBut first, we both need a shower.āĀ
That seemed to give him the amount of confidence necessary and, back to back to each other, John got out of his clothes. And his wondering fingertips were back on your hips.
āThanks for coming.ā His voice was so low you almost didnāt hear him. You felt the heat continuing to spread through Johnās face and emanating to you.
You took your time pampering John, feeling he needed and deserved that after being soĀ down. After massaging his scalp and rinsing the products off, you wash his back and body with care, leaving a few kisses here and there. John tried to do the same, but he was melting at the slightly hot water and your delicate touches, him having trouble focusing. Just a sly slime across his face.
In no time he was sitting by the toilet, embraced by a big fluffy hotel towel. He stared at you longingly, on your feet between his legs, his eyes closing as you passed the comb through Johnās hair. Heād leave some hums here and there to let you know he liked something you did, in hopes you would do it again. And you did, passing the comb multiple times on the same spot just to get that sound out of him. Cute. You finished it off drying his hair with a smaller towel, leaving it just a bit damp and arranging it back in place with your fingertips.Ā
With a pat and peck on Johnās forehead, you turned to leave the bathroom. John grabbed your hand, following close behind before going to get his pajamas on his bag. You share looks and each other, admiring the company and silenceā¦ and, well, watching the other one dress up to bed. It was one of Johnās favourite things, because how comfortable can you get with someone to do that? And still have butterflies floating in your stomach? Unreal.
The lights were off but the day was staring, sunrise pecking where the curtains didnāt cover. It didnāt matter, you were together, holding one another in place. If you could, you would explode from love right now.
āStay with meā, John whispered, face inches away from yours. He left a couple pecks on your face, hand traveling to your hair. Your hand went up to get his, grip tight.
āThereās no need to be braveā, you shushed back. āNot when we are like this, at leastā, you giggled softly, caressing his hand. āWe are not out of the tunnel but I bet you though thereās an end to it.ā
The Beatles, press conference in Portland, Oregon, on August 22, 1965. Photos by the Register-Guard and Bettmann/Corbis. (More about this day of the tour in another post.)
summary: you and ringo spend the day inside after weeks apart.
pairing: ringo starr x gn!reader
warnings: mentions of nsfw but mostly fluff
author's note: i know i keep saying like "we're so back" and then going missing for months but i think this time is true lol who would have guessed being a grown adult would be this tiring. but i hope you like!!! sorry for being kinda short. always loooove writing for ringo. btw i'm wondering if i should write something for paul?? would love to hear if you have any ideas :)
1966.
Today was an unusual day. It was a day off for both you and Ringo, the first in a good while. Itās probably been months since the last time you two managed to sync a little holiday. You had so much expectation for it, even though none of you spoke directly about it. You both wanted to do and say so much after so much time away and distant from each other, talk without work being the focus of the conversation ā but at the same time, you knew exactly how it would go. And thatās how it has been: a slow, cozy and lovely day inside.
You were the first one up, the morning light creeping through the white curtains. It revealed the man lying there next to you, his legs tangled with your own, messy hair and moving ever so lightly with each low snore, still dreaming. You took your time appreciating the view in front of you. Ringo held his pillow with one hand, back to the ceiling, the other loosely around your waist. It was weirdly hot, hair glued to his forehead and he slept with no shirt. Your hand was slowly tracing circles up his back, fingers ghosting his skin, turning a little so you could watch his features, debating whether or not to wake him up. The truth was that the weather wasnāt the only factor that got him rid of his clothes the night before, you were just as undressed as him. He had come back from the long sessions of recording another album with the band, your schedules never matching. After weeks of barely seeing each other, neither could hold on anymore.
Heat crept up onto your face and neck as you remembered the events from just hours ago, smiling to yourself. You loved how Ringo always made you feel like you were still just starting over, those honeymoon feelings very present after years together. You decided to wake him up, touching his skin properly and sliding a hand in his hair, catching the smirk form as he awoke from his slumber. āMorning, sunshineā, you whispered, pecking his nose. Ringoās hold on your waist got firm, a low whine slipping from him as his eyes adjusted to the light.
āMorninā, babeā, his voice was hoarse and tired, but Ringo still hung that silly little smirk across his face. āMissed this. I hate waking up to find you already leftā, he lazily kissed your lips, feeling extra clingy as he buried his face on the crook of your neck. Ringo truly missed you, but couldnāt bring himself to blame you or your work. You had a regular nine to five job, he was the one without a straight routine and coming home late in the evening from the studio. Acting clingy was his way of trying to make it up to you ā he knew you found it endearing and cute. A small laugh escaped from you, cuddling him as best as you could. āBut Iām here nowā, you continued to talk just above a whisper, leaving a soft kiss on his shoulder.
āThank Godā, he joked as you snickered at him. You felt him smile against your neck. Ringo moved a little, now properly facing you with tired eyes as he rested his head against his hand, the other moving to trace your face. āPrettyā, he said as he held your face in place and leaned in to kiss you. You were holding him by his bicep, firming your grip as he deepened it. The kiss was gentle and unhurried, and you hummed once you felt his hold on your face travel down your neck, but soon he ended it, smiling at your frustrated expression. āI know we planned to go out and all, but can we just stay like this a bit longer?ā
You rolled your eyes, sighing. As much as you wanted to tell him no, you could not deny him that. Especially when you also craved him, being this close. You nodded and Ringoās smile got wider, reaching once again to kiss you. You stayed like this under the covers for a good bit, Ringo pouting when you let go of him to go to the bathroom, but following suit moments later only to find you taking a shower. Tip-toeing, he got inside with you, enjoying the cozyness of not needing to speak to savour the moment with you. When you, under the stream of water, turned around to see him, both of you giggled and you made room for him. You wished every day could be like this.
Paul McCartney selecting John Lennonās āBeautiful Boyā as one of his Desert Island Discs for the programme, broadcasted on January 30, 1982.
(Why did I only just realize heās singing along to the āitās getting better and betterā lyric. Reminiscent of a Beatles song with that title perhaps..? I chose pain today.)
last month was like, a tagging game twice a week, now in September that's the first tagging game I think. Thanks!!
Ten people (no pressure) @mayplantstarrwaters @asaucerfullofsecrets @modernmanblues @marleighdrinkscoffee @shamanbluesss @milkyway-ashes @probably-not-mig @lil-melody @viktoria-sob @thedirtymac
