for-writing-shit

[for-writing-shit]

Baby It's You (Teen!John Lennon x Teen!Female!Reader)

A/N: Hello! Yes, I'm alive, and yes, I know I haven't posted anything original on this blog in over 3 years, but that's gonna change!

Thank you all for sticking around so long, my life did a 180 about a month or so ago and now I can get back to one of the things I love doing most: giving you all some juicy fanfiction to enjoy!

I've had an influx of enthusiastic followers and readers on my last oneshot ask for more writing, and I will be delivering! I have upcoming Paul and George oneshots underway; but first, I think it's time we show John a little love!

P.S. we'll probably consider this an AU fic since John went to private school, and he is going to school with the reader in this one. Sorry for the lack of authenticity in advance!

Summary: Your friend, John, invites you to the first Fair of the year with the intentions of evolving some spontaneous behaviour within you. You find just the thing there to prove to John just how daring and fun you could be-- and then things go sideways.

WARNINGS: This has been sitting in my notes FOREVER so I wouldn't be surprised if there were typos.

Also, there is a heteronormative behaviour in this fic because of the time it was set in, but I want to disclaim that LOVE IS LOVE and I, in no way, support heteronormative/ anti LGBTQ+ behaviour. Love who you want to love; just be happy doing so<3

Also Also, she is a LONG one like the other oneshot, so I advise you read this when you've got some time on your hands!

Swearing is almost a certainty at this point, but no really mature themes, so a T rating is probably enough for this one.

It was a hot Friday afternoon, at the very end of the school year; and there were hundreds of telltale signs:

The teacher was well over his curriculum and he sat at his desk reading a book in silence, student-made work was no longer strewn about on the walls, the classroom was humid even with everyone fanning themselves and each other; and the students...

You could tell the students were just dying to get home for the summer.

There were five minutes left on the clock, and you sat at your desk packing your things away. You spent the last hour doodling, but you wanted to be ready to take off as soon as the bell sounded.

As you zipped your bag up, you saw a little flash of white in your peripheral, and when you glanced back at the surface of your desk, you noticed a folded piece of paper-- a note!

You looked around briefly, but no one indicated to you where to pass it, so it had to have been for you.

And if the note was for you, then there was only one person it could have been from.

You unraveled the little piece of paper, revealing the question the paper possessed.

"Fair? Tonight? -yours truly"

That evening in particular, the local fair was going to erect itself in the biggest park in town, and everyone at school was going to be there. What better way to blow off steam at the end of a long year of hard work?

You shook your head at his pathetic complimentary close, your eyes rolling to the back of your head so far they almost didn't come back.

The bell rang, and before you could even consider doing anything else with the note, everyone took off out the door, as did you, knowing fully well "yours truly" was going to be waiting for you at your locker.

As you rounded the corner to the hallway your locker was in, you finally caught glimpse of him. He was leaning against it with his arms crossed, one leg over the other as his eyes wandered the other students for your face; and when your eyes locked, his expressionless mouth couldn't help but tighten upwards.

Perhaps his smile was out of kindness, but it was most likely because he was a jokester, and quite frankly couldn't get enough of teasing you.

And now his target was spotted.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you spoke first. "You know how much I hate how you sign these off, right?"

You presented the note in hand adjacent to your head as your face displayed a disapproving cringe, cheeks pink in mild humiliation.

"John, I only ever get notes written from you, so the flowery signoff is unnecessary," you put the note down, pointing at him with a frown.

"That note-passing was so open! You know if the teacher ever caught something like that, he'd make me read it out loud to the class, surely you know I'd die on the spot, and then my ghost will haunt you until you died too!"

His smile only grew wider at your words, almost as if he'd been betting with himself what your response to all of this was going to be.

"Also, you're not even in my last class," you rambled on, "so how you managed to have it smuggled in beats me."

"Oh, come on, y/n, you know you'd love all the attention you'd get out of something like that," he gestured to the paper, and you shook your head before crumpling it into a ball in your hand and tossing it at his head, to which it bounced off, and then was immediately trampled on as other students hurried down the hallway.

The both of you weren't strangers; you frequented playdates with John as children, and then you went to school together, so you basically watched each other grow up. John, for as long as you'd known him, usually displayed confident and sometimes mischievous behaviour towards others that typically you'd find unappealing for a man to display.

"People thinking I'm with you? That is not the kind of attention I'm after."

Not that you ever found John appealing, in any way. He was your buddy; you tolerated his behaviour. That being said, over the years he started lightening up on the harsher jokes with you, opting for more of a platonic flirt more than anything else, finding it was a less harmless way to poke fun at you.

"And the Fair, John? Really?"

The boy shrugged his hands up to defend his suggestion. "What's so bad about the Fair?!"

You rolled your combination into your locker, and he shifted out of the way so you could get into it better once you got it unlocked.

"Nothing's wrong with going to the Fair. Going to the Fair with you on the other hand..." you tisked at him before reaching into your locker to retrieve what binders and books you had left in there. John never used his locker, so he was just waiting on you.

You tossed your bag up over your shoulder once you shoved your books inside, and before John could interject with an if, and, or but, you put your hand up to silence him.

"You left me lost in that fun house--"

"But that was literally ten ago, y/n!"

"Doesn't mean I'm over it!"

You took the lead towards the exit doors, and John followed suit, searching for the right words to convince you to go with him.

"If you go with me tonight, I'll try to win you a stuffed animal,"

"We're doing bribery now, are we?" You smirked, reaching out for the doors and pushing through until both you and John were outside, standing under the sun. It was nice for once for the sun to have been out from behind the clouds.

"Look, you're just always hanging out with your girlies, and I've got my mates, but they're all going to the fair with other people tonight," John started as you both headed to the sidewalk and began to make your way to your place.

"We never really do spontaneous things anymore, just you and I. And, I don't know, growing up a little might have had something to do with it... but it doesn't mean I'm not still your friend, though. I wanna do things with you."

You took John's words into consideration. One thing you really liked about John was that he was passionate, and poetic. You'd seen this reflected in some of his writing before, and he often discussed with you how much he liked music, and how he dreamed that his poems could very well one day soon become songs...

Now, it's not like he spoke the way he wrote, but his thoughts translated to words so quickly and effortlessly, and he, as a speaker, really made you think twice about what he said because he sounded so sure when he spoke.

"... I suppose we have been distant in terms of having fun. I know I won't be able to win an argument with you that studying every other night together is considered 'fun', even though I think otherwise."

You and John both rounded left down the next street, which happened to be where you lived; the benefits of living a block away from school. Your house was coming up, meaning this conversation had to end soon.

"Y/n, of the two of us, it's you who needs to be more spontaneous. Just say yes and come with me tonight."

At this point, you and John had slowed to a stop and were standing at the end of the driveway, facing one another as you pondered whether tonight was going to be spent inside reading and listening to music, or stimulated by exciting noises and lights while you stuffed your face with Carnival delicacies and treats.

"... If I say yes, will I still get my stuffed animal?" You already knew the response as the smile returned to John's face.

You and John made it to the Fair for 6:30, and it was already full of life; children on the rides screaming their heads off, friends competing in mini games like Ring Toss and Balloon Darts, and the smell of popcorn and candy floss swirled through the air.

As you looked around at all of the rides available, you barely noticed John going out of his way to buy tickets for both you and him for the night. When he returned to you, he tried to see if you were looking at a particular ride. "Anything catching your eye?"

"I feel like they have different stuff this year. Like, that one must be new," you pointed to a group a different rides that you'd never seen before. "Let's look around, and if anything looks interesting enough, I say we go for it."

John bought you enough tickets for you both to ride everything anyways, but you two had all night, and nowhere to be the next day, so you agreed to start at one end of the fair, and work your way through it.

The first ride that caught the attention of either one of yous were the Tea Cups.

"Remember the one time I threw up on you on that ride?" You asked John with a little smile, to which he replied without a beat,

"And then I threw up on you and caused a chain reaction with all of the other kids on the ride?"

You both laughed and cringed at the rather unpleasant memory before John kindly took your elbow and pulled you towards the ride gently, knowing full well that your matured stomachs would be able to handle it now, and your moving feet indicated you weren't objecting the idea of getting on.

"We gotta start the fun somewhere, Love. After you," John presented four tickets to the ride operator, and you chose your favourite colour cup to climb into.

"If you just don't spin the cup, we'll make it out of here safe," you warned John with a joking wagging finger, and he saluted to you respectfully as he closed the hatch to the cup and took a seat next to you.

"Don't worry, we won't meet the same fate as last," he grabbed the wheel at the centre of the cup as if to indicate he was going to steady it the whole time, and you were excited to see how well he'd do; and even more excited to make fun of him when he did a bad job.

The ride shot to life, and as the cups began dancing around in different patterns, you watched in amusement as John tried his very hardest to keep the cup from spinning; his attention sometimes turning to you, and he watched as your hair whipped around your smiling face as the ride threw the both of you around.

Your beating heart was building up adrenaline as the ride spun on. You suddenly threw your hands overtop of John's, and his eyes shot up to you, hands going slack on the wheel, and you took that moment to whip the cup around as hard as you could, the world becoming a blur around you, and your energy within escaping in a bound of squeals and giggles.

John couldn't help but join in, your laughter was contagious, and the excitement he felt seeing you having fun made his heart ache a little, but in a good way.

The ride was over much sooner than the either of you would have liked, the both of you combing your fingers through your hair to appear more presentable as your tea cup came to a complete stop. John opened the door for you, and you both continued on on wobbly legs to see what else the Fair had to offer.

After a few carnival games and slow, paced rides, you finally grab John by the wrist after he suggests doing something you'd rather do later so he didn't take off too far.

"I think we should do the Ferris Wheel, John," You dropped his wrist and pointed to the ride in the distance behind him, his eyes following your gaze to it.

"Come along, then," it was now his turn to grab your wrist, and lead you along.

That was one unspoken rule you had with John: he never held your hand. You weren't sure why, and you didn't really care-- you didn't want to hold his hand. You just always settled on the idea John was really committed to the joke about not wanting to get Cooties; and honestly, you respected his devotion to the joke.

Your wait in line to ride the Ferris Wheel was a short one, and your chest filled with excitement yet again as you and John took your seats and the ride operator strapped you in.

As the ride filled with other people, you and John slowly made your way to the very top of the ride, allowing yourselves to take in the view of the Fair that seemed to stretch forever.

"We really should have done this first so we could have seen everything all at once," you said, peering down at some of the unrecognizable stands and rides surrounding you both. One in particular caught your eye, and it was in the shape of a space ship from those cartoons depicting the future.

"We definitely have to check that one out," you pointed to it, and John nodded his head in agreement.

"It seems to be right by the games and food. We'll grab some candy while we're in the area."

"And...?"

"And I'll win you that prize, yeah yeah yeah, I know what I promised."

The Ferris Wheel then took off, and you and John savoured the ride, watching the sun slowly fall towards the horizon, the most beautiful colours painted across the sky.

"I'm glad you convince me to come with you, Johnny. I'm having loads of fun. Thank you," you didn't shout, just loud enough that John could hear, and he smiled at you.

"Like I said, if anyone needs to be more spontaneous, it's you. If I can fix that in any way, I'll take the chance," you smiled back at his words, turning your full attention back to the sky as the ride began to slow, knowing this moment, like everything else, was going to come to an end.

You and John were on a mission to get over to the space ship, passing by a bunch of other rides and games you pointed to and indicated aloud along the way that they were on your To-Do list that evening.

As you approached what you two initially thought was a ride, you discovered that the rocket was actually just a still building. There were two lines entering the ship, and there were a few people in each line.

One of the Fair Staff was walking by, and John stopped him before he went too far. "Hey, what's this one all about?"

"Cosmic Hearts is a matchmaking activity we just added! You're matched with someone of your preference in the other line anonymously, and you both enter the rocket. You spend two minutes in the dark together, and then you leave together when the doors open, revealing who you've matched with. You can also think of it as a two-way Kissing Booth."

The staff member looked at the both of you before adding on slowly, "established couples usually don't use that one..."

"Oh, you must be mistaken, we're not--" John couldn't even correct the guy before he was walking away again. You looked from John, back to the metal space ship. The guys standing in line weren't bad looking at all.

"... I wouldn't mind spending two minutes in the dark with any of them," you thought aloud, noticing that each person in line had at least one unique physical attractive quality.

"Yeah, well I'd be worried they'd be touchy with you. In the dark and all," John huffed, shaking his head at the picture he painted himself, and you bursted out laughing.

"What, so you're my chaperone now? Going in there is knowing full well you're going to have hands all over you. Maybe I want to be squeezed up a little, Johnny, is there any harm in that?"

"I mean," John's face flushed a rosy pink before shutting his eyes and shaking his head again, as if that was going to stop his imagination from doing what an imagination does.

"That's.. not something I want to picture."

"Well look, you don't have to anymore," you took John's arm and pulled him towards one of the game stalls close by. "But you do have to try to win me that stuffed bear. We all know that's what I came for in the first place."

The distraction you set up was a good one. The game you brought John to was pretty much just Balloon Darts but forest- themed. You watched as John tried his very best to aim his darts, but he just couldn't quite seem to make the mark for that bear.

The fifth round came and went, and John was still slapping more tickets down. You knew it didn't help that John was legally blind and flat-out refused to wear his glasses, but you weren't about to start an argument with him over that.

After John used up the rest of his darts from that round, he looked over at you with frustration and he sighed. "Look, I might just need a quick break," John took the tickets from inside his pocket, and placed them in your hand.

"I'm running to the loo, it's just on the other side of the park, just hang out here, play a round... or four... and see if you're a better shot than me,"

"I'm always a better shot than you, Lenny," you called to him as he disappeared in the crowd, waving back to you as if to acknowledge your cocky response.

You went to turn back to the game, but something stopped you. You took a quick glance over your shoulder, and eyed the lineup at the rocket ship. You couldn't believe how good looking the people in the lineup were, you could only imagine what the mystery people in the second line looked like.

And then John's words from earlier became apparent in your head, statement ringing in your ears.

"Y/n, of the two of us, it's you who needs to be more spontaneous."

You furrowed your brow as you thought about this decision you were about to make. The closest lineup to you wasn't long at all, and before you knew it, your feet were pretty much walking themselves up to the line.

There was a girl about your age doing the matching for your line, and she met your gaze after letting the next person in. She grinned, and approached you.

"Hello! Welcome to Cosmic Hearts, do you know how we work?"

"Sort of... I just don't know how the matches are made."

"Oh, it's no worries, we do that all for you! We only really take the girl's request for preference types, and then we match accordingly from the other line. Is there something in particular you want about your match? Looks? Behaviour?"

You raised an interested eyebrow, skeptical about how accurate your preferences would be in terms of the match.

That being said, it was just an elaborate kissing booth, it's not like you were using the stall to find the love of your life-- no, you were looking to prove to John that you could be daring, that you weren't as boring as he maybe thought.

"Look, girl-to-girl here, I trust your judgement in choosing me a good-looking guy..." your voice tapered off for a moment before you added, " I just might want someone who doesn't seem too overconfident."

The Match Girl smiled wide, and gestured toward the door to the spaceship with her hand, pushing it open to let you in. You were the next girl in line, and the boys in the lineup watched as you took a deep breath and moved in.

As you walked toward the threshold of the dark room, Match Girl filled you in on the instructions.

"The other side of the curtain will be your 'contact area', only walk through when you hear the other door close; that'll mean he's inside as well. You'll have two minutes alone together, at which point we will open the central door and let you both out"

Your heart began to quicken. It didn't really occur to you until now that you were about to make out with a complete stranger in the dark, and leave that spaceship hand-in-hand just to prove to John wrong about you lacking in as much fun as he thought.

But this impulsive plan of yours also excited you a lot.

Maybe by the end of the night, you'd be leaving with a boyfriend, and telling John that you told him so.

You took your final step into the rocket, and your heart pounded against your ribcage as it all went dark.

After about thirty seconds of silence, you heard some shuffling from the other side of the curtain, and then a simple, "your two minutes start now," from the staff.

Your heart was beating so loud, you could hear the blood flowing in your ears. Your remaining senses enhanced, provided your lack of vision, and you followed the wall to the right with your hand, past the curtain, and you could feel an immediate change in temperature in the room.

You were much warmer now, hyper-aware of the fact that you were sharing body-heat with whoever the staff matched you with. You had to relay it in your head a few times what this actually meant for you. It meant that the stranger in this room with you was going to get to know you quite intimately in a pretty short amount of time.

This made you think a moment or two about the other party in this situation: The Stranger. What was his story? Was he dared to jump in line by his buddies to get some action? Maybe his story is that he just wanted to have his first kiss to get it just done and over with, or maybe he, like yourself, was just doing it for the Hell of it.

Whatever the reason, you felt you owed it to them to give them a decent snogging.

Your hand continued to drift along the wall before your thumb bumped into another hand. You gasped quietly, knowing you were close to the stranger, just not exactly sure of where abouts until now.

You lifted your hand off the wall at the same time as him, and as to not lose you, he made sure to reach out and take your hand in his gently, seeming more like an offer than a demand, which you took, admittedly rather nervously, especially when his other hand reached out to grab the other hand at your side.

Something was just so thrilling picturing so many renditions of handsome young men in your head, mixing and matching what he looked like based on what you could feel. His hands were larger than yours, and his fingers were calloused.

He played guitar, or bass, or something, and you knew this because John played, and you remember him telling you once that the strings were really hard on the hands, and you could just tell by looking at his hands that he wasn't joking.

You just thought the feeling was such a contrast against your own hands, which were soft and untouched, and you were sure with the way this guy was running his thumbs over your palms, and the pads of your fingers, he was admiring the contrast as well.

You almost wanted to say something to him about it, but he had you stuck in a trance, especially when he let your hands go for a moment to gently feel up your arms for your shoulders. You tried your best not to be too reactive, but you couldn't help the goosebumps trailing after his touch.

His hands moved up, and you felt his fingertips graze the crooks of your neck and then up under your jaw.

Neither of you spoke, this moment too intimate for the silence to break. You and he breathed so shallow, it was hard to even believe there was someone in the room with you.

But there was, and his fingers traced your jawline slowly, one hand deviating up to cradle the back of your head while the other gently traced around your chin.

Your lips parted, your own hands reaching out for his waist so you had some idea of where he was in front of you. Your fingers found his jacket, and as you tightened your hands around the leather, you felt him move a little closer as his thumb finally found its way to your bottom lip.

You felt his breath on your face, and you held your own, squeezing your eyes shut when you realized they had been wide open the whole time.

And finally, after what seemed like too long, his thumb disappeared and he replaced it with his own lips.

The kiss was soft, and not pushy at all, but you were tense like a rock under his touch from how nervous you actually were, and you just kept still.

He pulled away for a moment, and you could feel your face burning. That was not the kind of note you were going to leave on. Whoever this was, he had clearly gotten your attention, and you needed to return the favour.

Your one hand moved up his chest, over his collarbone and around his neck to pull him back down towards you. Your lips came together again, and you felt him melt into your embrace after an unsure second, hands dropping down to snake around your waist and pull you flush against him.

You sighed against his mouth, and he pushed his tongue past your lips, all of your past worries melting away. You were in heaven, so drunk on intimacy that you forgot what you were even doing in there in the first place. You tried pulling him even closer by the jacket, to which he responded by slowly backing you against the wall, one of his hands dropping to your hip, and the other returning to the back of your head like before.

Your hand behind his neck slipped up into his hair, and he moaned gently when you tightened your fingers up in the strands and pulled a little.

"Yes, Baby..." the words tumbled from his mouth lowly, and you felt a chill shoot right up your spine; you immediately froze up, lips separating as the realization hit you. You felt like you were going to faint.

"John?!" Your question was short, but clear, and you felt your suspicions were all too correct when you felt all of his muscles tense up as well at the sound of your voice.

"...Y/n?!" His voice cracked, body frozen in place like a statue. As were you, grip still tight in his hair and on his jacket.

You were speechless-- you couldn't believe the one you just spent the last minute and a half or so with-- the one with whom you spent the most intimate experience in your entire life-- was John.

The gentle touching, the embracing of the heavy silence, the patient behaviour, the soft kissing, the respect of your boundaries, and the feeling of wanting more-- it was all John.

This was the first time in your life you had ever experienced John in a situation where he didn't have the words he needed to speak at his disposal.

But to be fair, neither did you. What would anyone do in a situation like this?

It became all the more real for the both of you a moment later when the doors opened up, the lights around the rocket ship lighting John's face for you to see, and your face for him. You both sported embarrassing shades of red on your cheeks, and John's mouth just hung open in perpetual shock as he took in the fact that it was you.

After a second, you both came back down to earth, and your hands came zipping off each other so fast, John scratching his head nervously and giving you space from the wall, and you folding your arms over your chest and gripping your biceps tightly with your fingers.

You couldn't even look John in the eye, nor could he with you, let alone speak. You walked out the door, John at your side. The Match Girl waited by the bottom of the ramp, grinning ear-to-ear. If only she'd known.

"Pretty good-looking, huh?" She nudged to you with a wink, and you could feel your face grow hotter as you glanced over to John. You made brief eye-contact, and you cast your eyes straight to the ground when it happened.

You were thinking things about John you never would have before had it not been for that stupid snog box.

"Yes," was all you could say, nodding for the most part and squeaking out a soft thank you to her before you turned on your heel, and beelined straight for the women's room, rushing out to John that you were running to the loo without looking back at him.

You were too focused on finding some cold water to splash in your face, and a quiet space to figure out what to do in this situation; the lights and sounds had your head just spinning, and it was too difficult to concentrate.

The women's room was quiet enough, and when you felt you'd splashed enough water in your face, you went and sat in one of the stalls for a while to break down the situation that just happened, and what you were going to do to fix it.

John was your friend. There was no way you were going to let something like this drive a wedge between you, especially if you just had to explain yourselves. You had your reasons going in there, as did he.

You were just hoping this could be something you could both look back on in the future and laugh.

You took a few sobering deep breaths before leaving the women's room. You rounded the corner, not quite sure where to begin looking for John, but you found you didn't have to go far when a rather familiar set of fingers took hold of your own as soon as you stopped.

You glanced over your shoulder and there he was. He'd been waiting for you the whole time.

And now he was holding your hand.

That's new.

"... Can we talk?" you spoke simultaneously, and you both smiled a little. John still couldn't seem to hold your gaze for too long without needing to tear his eyes away and resort to looking at his shoes, yet he still held a firm grip on your hand.

You'd never seen him like this before. It was sobering to see him without so much confidence.

"Where did you wanna talk? Nowhere's really private here."

"... Did you just wanna get outta here?" As soon as the words left his mouth, your shoulders lowered in relief. You both definitely had enough excitement for the night, and when you nodded your head sheepishly, John gave your hand a little squeeze, gestured you to come with him with his head, and you both headed for the Fair exit.

Your stroll down the town streets were quiet. Nothing was said between you two for the first little while, your strides were slow, your destination was unknown, and your hands were still clasped together. You took in the night air, for the sun had dropped below the horizon while you were in the spaceship, and the temperatures were lower.

You weren't too sure yet how John felt about all of that night's events so far, and what he thought of you. Clearly, based on the fact that his hand was still in yours, some opinion of his had changed.

Was he comfortable holding your hand now knowing it was you who shared such an intimate moment with him? Or was he maybe wanting to break off this friendship with you all because of tonight, and hand-holding was the only way he could think to comfort you?

At one point, John's fingers unraveled from yours, and you both slowed to a stop. He shrugged off his jacket and wordlessly draped it over your shoulders before you pushed your arms up into the sleeves. John tried looking you in the eye again, and he swallowed nervously, face going red yet again.

"John, we need to talk about what happened."

"I know."

You took his hand this time, and guided him to the curb, sitting down together. Your fingers left his, and you both planted your hands at the curb at your sides.

There was silence for a moment as the memories of what happened back at the Fair resurfaced in your minds, what you were both feeling for each other, physically and emotionally, in your literal moments of blissful ignorance...

"Okay. I'm just going to put this out there right now. John, I had absolutely no idea that they matched me with you, or that you were even in line, for that matter." You sighed before continuing on, feeling the creep of warmth washing over your face yet again.

"I jumped in line impulsively when you left because I figured if you came back and you saw me leaving the rocket with a guy, I could prove to you tonight that I can be just as spontaneous and daring and fun as you."

You could see the gears turning in John's head when you finished saying your part, and after a second of putting the pieces together, his eyes widened, and then this wide smile spread right across his face, and, to your utter relief, he started laughing.

And it sounded so different compared to all of the other times he laughed around you. You couldn't quite place exactly what was different this time, but you found it to be more melodic than usual; more genuine. It was like music to your ears.

"I uh, I jumped in line for kind of the same reason." You raised a confused eyebrow, so John elaborated a little more, smile faltering a little as he cleared things up.

"Let me explain; If you saw me leaving the rocket with a girl, I was hoping I could convince you to do something tonight a little out of your comfort zone, like I did with that."

There was your Pièce De Résistance: John's reason for being in there all along was to teach you to live a little. And you were simply in there to live.

"Not that I wanted to see you specifically go through with the spaceship and getting felt up the wrong way, per se, but I just..."

John's words trailed off, and you could tell he was struggling to find words again. So, he decided to take this conversation in another direction.

"Okay, look, y/n, I don't want you to be under the impression that I think you're no fun. It's just not true. I adore you. There's just something about seeing you at the peak of excitement that makes me feel warm inside, like a child. I see this in moments you doubt yourself, but you still take that chance and you come out successful in the end, shining with confidence. I wanted to see you tonight with that same glow. And I would have if I hadn't have made fun in the first place that you were such a bore, so I'm sorry."

John dropped his head down after he finished speaking, and you looked at him for a moment, blinking once before reaching out to rub his back.

"Johnny, there is nothing to be sorry about." He turned his gaze to look at you, and you took some long pauses between your sentences. John was patient, eyes watching your face, and hanging onto every word you said.

"Of all the people I could have ended up with in that rocket tonight, I don't think you have any idea just how grateful I am that it was you in there with me, and not some stranger."

You didn't think you could keep it inside forever just what you thought about John's kissing, but you didn't think you'd give up fifteen minutes after the situation, either.

"John, I've kissed boys before, that's no secret between us; but what is is that I've never kissed a boy the way I kissed you tonight, and the attention you were giving back to me, I thought I nearly fell for you in there, and I had no clue it was even you," you laughed a little, the words feeling funny in your mouth, especially when they were for John's ears, only. Those words elicited red faces from the both of you.

"... I never thought I'd ever be nervous looking you in the eye, but to be quite honest, all that comes to mind when I see your face right now is the bubbling of excitement in my chest, and the feel of my legs going wobbly. God, John, would I be crazy to say I want you to kiss me like that all over again?"

You figured if you didn't throw the opportunity out there, you just might lose the chance to experience what you felt again, even if it meant just one last time in your life. But when John remained silent for longer than you hoped, your confidence began to falter. Perhaps John wasn't so comfortable with you anymore.

"... Would I be crazy?" You asked again, this time just above a whisper. John was the kind of person you expected to laugh something like this off. Perhaps he'd tease you for a moment, but ultimately tell you it was no big deal before gently rejecting you.

Instead, his silence indicated something much different. His eyes darted to your lips for a moment, a hand reaching up to hold the back of your head gently as he glanced up into your eyes.

"Love, if you think you're crazy for thinking that, then what I'm thinking must make me completely mad."

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, and John decided not to waste any more time in reconnecting your lips.

At first it was a little strange, his mouth on yours, but it wasn't in any way unpleasant. You found yourself, before long, snaking your arms around John's shoulders as you pulled him ever closer, your chests now flush as he tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss. You hummed at the contact, but John had to pull away soon after to catch a breath, but he kept your chests flush so he could feel your heartbeat.

The contrast of kissing him knowing full well who he was still didn't change the respect in his movements, and the gentleness of his kisses.

When your eyes met again, you couldn't help but smile nervously at him, biting down on your lip as you noticed his cheeks glowed pink.

"Wow," you sighed.

"I'll say," he responded, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as the pad of his thumb drew invisible patterns from your cheekbone down your jaw.

That's when your smile began to fall slowly, and John noticed this as he was going to dive in for another kiss.

"What's the matter, Love?"

"... I think I like this too much. I think I like you too much," you said bluntly. The more you and John indulged in what you both physically wanted, the more you realized what you were putting on the line.

"... And is that a problem?" John asked you gently, and you raised your eyebrow, pulling away a little more from the embrace.

"It's a problem because this puts our friendship at risk, John. Every time our lips touch, the harder it is to look at you platonically."

"Then don't look at me platonically anymore," His suggestion was so effortless as you felt his other hand reach up to play with your hair.

"... I never expected tonight to go the way it did. But y/n, the more I think about a situation where it was anyone but me in that rocket with you, the more jealous I'm becoming... The more grateful I am that it was me, too."

John took another moment to bask in the silence before clearing his throat, and looking you right in the eyes.

"My eyes are wider than they've ever been before, and my mind is so clear. Why don't we try dating?" He suggested after a moment of deciding whether to ask in the first place.

"Dating?!" You paused. "John, if anything were to happen to what we have..."

"I know you're scared, y/n. So am I. But... I also believe this can be the beginning of something really great."

John let the hand in your hair drop to his shoulder where one of your hands rested. He gave your fingers a squeeze before he raised your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

"We already kind of go on dates, and now that kissing and hand holding is on the list of things we're comfortable with, we might as well just put a label on it."

John paused for a moment. "It's not like we have to scream it from the rooftops unless you wanted to. But... after tonight, it would be a treat to be able to walk around with my arm 'round your waist and proudly announce to the world that you're mine."

That comment of his made you bite back a toothy grin, but your red face really emphasized how his words made you feel. You were expecting a teasing jab from John, but, surprisingly, nothing came. Just hopeful eyes awaiting your response.

"If you're so confident we'll flourish romantically... then I'm with you, Johnny. We'll give it a go. But under one condition!"

John looked at you expectantly.

"You win me that damned stuffed animal tomorrow night, Lenny."

Now it was John's turn to grin, his arms curling around your body and pulling you into a warm embrace as he mumbled "deal" into your ear.

You were once again surrounded by leather, the crisp night air, the single dim beam of light from the streetlamp, and the faintest scent of whatever John's body wash was.

But most of all, you we're surrounded by young love.

You finally supposed that by the end of the night, you did end up leaving with a boyfriend, and telling John that you told him so.

You just had no clue you could kill two birds with one stone the way you had.

---------------------------------------

A/A/N: I really hope you guys enjoyed this! I've had it in the works for LITERALLY four years now, and I am just SO glad it can be out in the world now.

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[for-writing-shit]

All in Good Time

This is a fan fic based off a prompt from @strawb3rri-le who kindly dm'd me. Absolutely love hearing off fellow obsessed George stans ❤️

My dm's are always open for requests or suggestions!

Rhapsody ♪

Word count- 2.4k

Warnings- Not too smutty, bit of tipsy manhandling (let me know if I've missed any!)

Characters- George Harrison x Reader, George Harrison x Y/N Reader, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr

You’d known John since you were kids, and grown closer as friends when you'd both started art college in Liverpool. Naturally you'd come to know the rest of the band through him, and weren’t silly enough to turn down visiting them in Hamburg. 

After the Hamburg days, you moved to London taking an art studio assistant job and kept in touch with John, George, Paul and Ringo when they were in town or through letters and the odd phone call as they were constantly touring now. 

In 1965 you had the chance to move to New York to another art studio. John was thrilled for you. ‘We’ll come visit when we’re over in the summer…’ 

It was a lovely gesture, it had been over a year since you’d seen them all, but they were so famous now it was unlikely to happen you thought.

But yet here they were, piling through your apartment door, noise all at once, hasty hugs and kisses, bowling along the corridor in a mad jumble. John was already pulling draws open in your tiny kitchen looking for a corkscrew. It was as if you'd only seen them yesterday. Warmth filled your heart and threatened to overwhelm you, making your eyes shine bright.

Only then did you realise George had hung back. You'd missed him the most. You two had grown especially close over the last couple of years. He was more diligent in keeping up correspondence. He could always tell how you were feeling without you saying a word. 

“I've missed you too y/n” he said quietly smiling his lopsided fangy grin, his eyes crinkling. You pulled him into a hug, letting out a sigh you didn't know you'd been holding. 

“You all smell of home.” You thickly replied making him laugh, breaking the emotion that was threatening to bubble over. New York had been harder than you wanted to admit. As he held you at arms length you saw something different about him, the same George but more assured. It suited him.

“I'm always here for you y/n. You can come visit or stay anytime.” He looked at you earnestly with those dark brown eyes. You managed a half sob laugh in response making him grin once more.

“Come on, John's gonna break your kitchen apart if he doesn't find the right gadget to open that wine.” He wiped away a rogue happy tear from your cheek and placed his hand in the small of your back, an innocent gesture but it made you flip inside. That same sensation when you're falling asleep and you wake up at the last second…

You felt breathless. Something was different for you too. 

After quick fire catching up whilst rummaging for glasses you all eased into your small apartment living room, chatting away, putting on records, playing cards, smoking and drinking wine just as you would have done in Liverpool or London.

“I can’t believe the last time we did this was over a year ago when we last saw you in Marylebone y/n” John exclaimed as he topped up your glass, sitting down next to you on the sofa. "Now that was a night to remember!"

You inwardly groaned recalling the clean up the next day and the hangover of all hangovers.

“I know! I really miss London and having you guys near. It’s not quite the same here in New York. This is the most at home I’ve felt in ages.” You sighed taking them all in. “I wish you could all stay longer.” 

“We’ll have to sign you up as entourage! How's that sound?” Paul chipped in optimisticly, as he picked up your acoustic from beside the armchair he sat in and started tuning it. He always tried bless him. He often said you were the best roadie in Hamburg.

 “Why work for you when you can just come visit me more often?!” You laughed, sadness tinged with it, knowing those days were long gone where you could see them all the time. Boy you’d missed their familiar ways and company.

“Are you sticking or bust?” Ringo nudged your foot where he and George sat opposite on the floor behind the low coffee table, bringing your focus back to the game of 21. For a second you thought he meant about staying here in New York. George shot you a knowing look from under his dark lashes as he read the truth that flashed across your face.

“Sorry Ritchie, ummmm stick.” You answered, breaking away from George’s searching gaze by staring blankly at your cards. 

“Are you sure?” George asked. You could sense the genuine regard he laced the question with. How did he do that, knowing exactly what you were feeling?

 “Hmm, I’m not sure!” You laughed trying to keep it about the card game. Damn George.

“Show your hands!” Ringo asked, gesturing to John for more wine holding up his glass. You were right to be uncertain, George had two aces to your 17!

“I’ll be taking that then!” George reached out for your cents just as you went to pass them over your fingers touching, sending a squiggle of a thrill through you. Nervously you laughed in case George felt it too, his eyebrow raised in return. Had he felt it!? Was he weirded out by it!? Why were you freaking out!? You took a huge gulp of wine rather than fall into that mesmerising gaze of his.

“I'm out, take my place John!” You stood up tip toeing past Lennon to sit on the arm of the chair Paul was in. He beamed, he always enjoyed an audience. 

The game continued and the wine flowed. You could feel it heating your cheeks especially when you caught looks with George. What had changed between you both? It was always a boozy night with these lads, so it had to be the wine making you flush. Not him…right?

You distracted yourself chatting with Paul, as he sweetly picked out a tune on your neglected guitar. You smiled to yourself remembering how George used to try and teach you chords, heads together, him singing in his low drawl, sometimes sharing a new song he’d written about a girl, his hand over yours showing you what fingers to place where… oh. 

The memories showed themselves in a new light as you waded through them like walking in sand at low tide, steadily and slowly you pieced it together, this thing you’d finally woken up to between you both. You took another massive swig of wine hoping it would steady your pounding heart.

The conversation turned to relationships, Paul asking you what it’d been like meeting people here in the city, which you could honestly say had been really tough.

“You should have said in your letters and calls y/n. I can introduce you to some people if you’re set on staying…” George said kindly, but searching at the end.

You nodded your thanks hand on heart, uncertain how to voice them.

Paul’s melody changed into something more bluesy, forlorn just like the sigh he let out.

“Oh Paulie, what's up?” You asked soothingly.

“Paul's latest crush” John offered, looking up from the card game, “he can't convince her he's genuine!”

Paul looked at you with his sad doe eyes. You almost spat out your drink with disbelief. Paul was the biggest flirt you'd ever known, he always got the girl. “Never!” 

“It's true y/n, she's got me chasing her like a lovesick puppy. Whatever I try won't work.”

You stifled a giggle as you could tell he was serious about this girl, his little face was a picture. “Have you tried the old, let me shuffle past, look up and down leer?” You offered. Ringo sniggered. 

“Whatdya mean!?” Paul replied bemused. Ringo cottoned on to what you were alluding to, he stood up affecting a feminine giggle pretending to be the girl of Paul’s affections.

“You know, this move you do…” You slid past Ringo, your hand running down his arm pulling him closer, exagerating the flicking your gaze between his eyes and mouth. Ringo made some swoony noises, making George and John chuckle.

“Then usually you pounce once they’ve melted!” You swung Ringo in a low hold and peppered his face with little kisses, making him roar with laughter.

Paul couldn’t help but join in with the others.

“Yep. Didn’t work. If anything it did the opposite.” Paul sighed. “And also I wasn’t aware I was so obvious with that!” 

“I saw him try this move,” John laughed, standing up and taking your hand, spinning you round, catching you from toppling over in a hold as his hand slid down your back, cupping your arse cheek giving it a cheeky squeeze, genuinely making you squeal in surprise.

“Oh no wonder! She must be outraged at your behaviour Paul.” You said laughing at John’s put on leery face, taking the mickey out of Paul.

“That’s not the worst bit, he then sat down and dragged her onto his lap!” He exclaimed.

“Oh Paulie!” You admonished him. 

“Look, I’d had a few whisky and cokes…” he pleaded, as John continued to whirl you round the room as you stood on his toes so he could dance you about in small circles.

George positively scowled at you both. What was that about it? Was he into this girl also? The thought made your heart sink.

“Have you tried actually talking to her politely Paul?” You asked, as Ringo cut in bowing like a gent and took a turn slowly dancing with you. The wine making you almost giddy with the movement.

“Of course! But I need to hold her and kiss her, you know!” Paul whined.

“Just get to know her first, give her time,” you said in all seriousness. “But if you’re going to write a song for her it needs to be an apology for how you've behaved!” You suggested making them laugh again. 

“Take some tips from me son,” Ringo said. “You’re too hard and fast. You need to be more smooth…I’ve y/n’s arm around me, I can bring this one to meet it…” you snorted, being romantic with Ringo was threatening to have you in stitches. 

“Then you lean in, push her hair from her beautiful face, say how gorgeous she is, what a lovely night you're having…then she might say something similar back rather than snorting and laughing…” Ringo grinned at you. 

“Oh Ritchie, you’re such a kind gentleman!” You tittered like the girls that usually simpered after Paul.

“Then I’d bring her hand back up, kiss her fingers, whilst looking into her eyes, then turn her palm upwards, placing a kiss there…hey!” Ringo cried out as John cut in, holding you in a close embrace, practically knocking the breath out of you.

“Nope, too long! You just gotta read the moment Paulie and…” as he threatened to plant a huge smacker on your lips.

“And maybe she just doesn’t fancy you Paul!” George finally exclaimed, “and leave y/n alone, don’t forget she’s seen first hand how terrible you all are with women!” The boys laughed at that. George offered his hand as a way out as John spun you around once more.

"I think time for more wine!" You declared as you tightened your grasp on George’s bringing him with you to the kitchen. You turned to thank him for saving you from the hijinks, only to find his face was thunder, his brow furrowed under that wavy fringe. 

“Georgie, what’s wrong?” You stroked his arm reassuringly, your touch full of care. You hated seeing George distressed.

“I- I just couldn’t stand them toying with you!” His deep brown eyes darkened as he spoke. “I know they were just messing about but I wanted to be the one dancing with you, and holding you tight… and…” he stopped himself, as if afraid to say more. He took your hand in his, a rough thumb grazing your knuckles asking for encouragement, a blush grew on his cheeks.

Your heart raced at his words, without thinking you cupped his face in answer. Your fingers disappeared into his locks, silky and thick, as they then tracked the shell of his ear, the corner of his jaw. Allowing yourself something you’d been denying for so long. To feel, to accept it. His face softened and lit up like sunshine breaking through after a shower of rain. He leaned into your touch.

“Oh George…” you smiled, it gave him the confidence to run his hands down your sides, taking in your waist and drawing you to him. The warmth of his touch sent juxtaposing shivers through you. A little gasp of pleasure escaped your lips.

He grinned at that, his familiar and endearing fangy one as he relaxed further. 

“I’ve missed you so much y/n, just seeing them with you made me insanely jealous. I've known for a while how I've felt about you, but now I really know!” He chuckled, love shone from his warm brown eyes.

Your heart swelled at his words. Your lips parted, his face close to yours as he leaned in, kissing you softly, almost nervously. His breath hitched as you kissed back, then deeper, showing him how much you cared too. His hands squeezed your waist in response as you ran yours over his chest pushing him back gently to answer.

“I’ve missed you too Georgie, let’s never leave it a year again?” You beamed as you traced his jaw with your finger, marvelling at the effect it produced from such a light touch. His pupils dilated, his adams apple bobbed. Your thoughts raced ahead at what other responses you could elicit from him with more suggestive touches.

“Never again, y/n.” He pulled you into a tight hug, his familiar smoky scent filled your senses as he placed sweet kisses along the column of your neck, his hands getting bolder caressing your backside, making you arch into him. Your breath shuddered, eliciting a soft ‘y/n’ from George. It felt so natural, so perfect to be in his arms, receiving his kisses and touches. You sighed blissfully.

“Er… ahem…. I thought you were getting wine?” You heard Paul sputter in surprise.

You buried your head into George’s neck, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He held you close, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Yeah, yeah McCartney. All in good time. Just like me and y/n. You could give it a go perhaps!” He gave you another heart skipping squeeze.

Paul backed into the living room with a laugh followed by a chorus of whoops.

George's lips were at your ear. The sensation sent ripples of joy coursing through you. “I think I've been falling for you a long time y/n.” He whispered, kissing you gently, preciously. 

“Me too Georgie.” You smiled up at him, your fingers entwining at the nape of his neck, basking in the happiness reflected in his face as you guided him into another kiss.

[for-writing-shit]

Later

Hope you enjoy this reader :) My dm's are open for requests or suggestions!

Rhapsody ♪

Word count- 3.6k

Warnings- Some smoking a little light smut (let me know if I've missed any!)

Characters- George Harrison x Reader, George Harrison x Y/N Reader

*

You thought being a costume assistant was going to be a glamorous lifestyle, making fabulous creations for film, attending film premieres, but yet here you were sweating buckets carrying way too many outfits down the corridors of Twickenham Studios. 

You turned a corner half jogging so you could quickly dump the heavy load in the costume department, until you collided with someone. You heard their breath whoosh from them and the costumes you were carrying fell in a feathery disarray. 

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” You cried, dropping to your knees trying to gather them up.

“It’s alright. Here, let me help you.” The scouse accent made you pause. Looking up you saw George Harrsion from The Beatles bending down, picking up the outfits. 

“That's a lot of frocks for one gal!” He quipped with a tilted smile, his brown eyes locking with yours.

Heat rushed into your cheeks. “You’d be surprised, that’s not even half!” You somehow managed to reply. He chuckled. 

“Here, that’s all of them. Want a hand to where you’re going?” George asked, genuine interest on his face. 

“I should be alright, I’ve just got to dump them in here.” You gesticulated with your now free hand down the corridor. You felt such a mess, you’d always hoped you’d meet The Beatles here as you loved their music, and especially George, but not like this all flustered and by surprise.

“Don’t be daft, c’mon.” He answered falling in step with you. “What's your name?” 

“Oh, it’s y/n. And thank you. I really appreciate this.” Placing a hand over your heart.

“I’m George, we’re filming here for a while. I guess you're in the costume department?” 

“I’m not sure what gave that away.” You jested, getting a grin in reply. “It’s not normally so hectic but Julie, the head designer has two features on the go so it’s been pretty stressful.”

“Hence running down a corridor with too many dresses so you can’t see where you’re going?!” He chuckled. 

“Exactly, I need danger pay added to my wage.” George laughed again, the sound lighting you up as he fell in step with you. 

“Here, pop those down on that table.” You instructed as you entered the room. Luckily everyone was out for lunch. You plonked the dresses you were carrying next to where George had put his but not carefully enough and they began to topple, his hand catching yours as you both reached for them at the same time.

You bit your bottom lip to stop gasping out, George’s eyes following the movement, pink coloured his cheeks as butterflies flooded your insides.

“That was close! Thanks again George.” You managed to blurt out, as he re-piled the dresses.

“No worries y/n/ I best be off, I’m needed in studio 2, but hopefully I’ll see you around.” He said, placing a hand on your arm in farewell. 

“It was great to literally bump into you!” You replied, inwardly cringing as you waved him goodbye.  

Idiot! Why didn’t I ask him for a cuppa tea or something instead of that!? You berated yourself as you began sifting through the costumes. 

*

The following day you made great headway securing loose sequins to any of the dancers' dresses that were needed later on, whilst your workmates were on set with Julie.

The sudden sound of feet pounding and growing louder made your heart jump. Ditching your work you looked down the corridor to see what on earth was happening. 

Squealing pierced your ears, a group of fans who’d clearly got wind The Beatles were filming here and had gotten past security, were chasing the band who were running at full sprint. Ringo and John tore past, followed not long after by Paul and behind him George. 

“In here!” You called, flagging him down as a fan managed to grab the vent on the back of his jacket. Fear turned to relief on his face as he saw you. He put on an extra spurt of speed and flung himself into the room. You quickly locked the door behind him, your back up against it not quite trusting how sturdy the lock was as fans hammered to get inside.

“Thank.. .you.. SO.. much!...” George panted, as he leaned against the huge wooden work bench opposite catching his breath. A massive grin widening now he was safe. 

You felt such an urge to smooth away the hair that was sticking to his sweat beaded forehead, to place a kiss there letting him know everything was ok. 

“Here,” you pulled a handkerchief from your blouse sleeve. “It’s clean. I promise.” You smiled motioning towards his forehead, and for a moment you thought he looked like he wanted you to act on what you’d just been thinking. Your breath caught, realising how close you’d stepped towards him. 

A huge bang on the door brought you to your senses. “We should get you out of here. I’m starting to doubt if that locks gonna hold.”

George looked at you perplexed not seeing another exit, handing back the handkerchief. You waved it back, hoping your face didn’t give you away as he tucked it into his inside pocket, giving it a pat. 

“Surely that’s the only way out?” He thumbed towards the door. You shook your head smugly. 

“Once I show you, you have to promise not to tell another soul.” You held out your little finger. 

He wrapped his around yours, that lopsided grin showing his pointy canines making your heart pound. 

“I promise. As long as it’s not anywhere near that lot!” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Follow me, this way.” You took his hand, effervescent that somehow you had George all to yourself.

Winding your way through the workbenches, costumes on racks and mannequins there was a little fire escape door at the back of the department with steps that led from the roof. As you pushed it open you squeezed Gerorge’s hand a little which he returned as you glanced back, amusement etched all over his face as you led him up the fire stairs. 

“This is brilliant!” He laughed, once you got to the top. You giggled, “Oh we’re not done yet, anyone can get up here, but if you shimmy over that ridge it drops down a bit on the other side, so no one knows you're there. I often come here for a smoke, or a quiet lunch. It’s got a great view, come look!” 

You hitched up your tight skirt so you could swing your legs over the ridge, catching an appreciative glance from George making your insides swim. He followed suit and dropped down next to you on the flat pitch roof. 

“Wow you were right!” He whistled as you pointed out famous landmarks stretched out in the distance, before you both settled down leaning back against the warm brick.

“I can see why you want to keep this a secret, it’s a sanctuary compared to the mayhem below.” 

“I’ve never told anyone else about it, so if I find anyone else up here, I’m coming for you!” Drawing a line across your neck in jest. 

George laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender. He scooted closer, shrugging his jacket off and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to you. You smiled your thanks, placing it to your lips. 

“I owe you one y/n. You saved my skin down there,” he said cupping his hand around the fag lighting it for you. You held his gaze as the flame ignited the end of the cigarette. The lightheaded rush from that first toke mingled with the increasing heat you felt within at his closeness.

 “Anytime.” You  replied, tipping your head back and blowing the smoke out and upwards in a perfect smoke ring before taking another drag, noticing him hungrily scan down your elegant neck with his dark brown eyes following your movements. 

“I can't imagine how scary it must get.” You mused, as you watched him light his own cigarette.

“You have no idea…” He talked about the band's experiences, what life had become like and before long you were swapping stories about all the celebrities you’d both worked with, finding out what you had in common, music, films, holidays, everything. It felt so easy being in his company, both of you becoming more and more comfortable, flirting and leaning into each other, the pair of you losing all sense of time. 

The shadows lengthened and eventually the sun dipped out of view and you shivered, making George stop mid sentence. 

“Oh y/n, I’ve kept you too long!” He placed his jacket round your shoulders, his scent flowed from it, intoxicating and heady. 

“I don’t wanna get you in trouble for helping me out. As much as I could stay here all day with you, I guess we should head back.” His eyes doleful. 

“We can do this tomorrow if you like when you’ve a break in your schedule? You know where to find me.” You looked up hopeful, as he stood reaching a hand to pull you up. 

“I’d love that, it’s been amazing talking to someone that’s so straight up, no agenda.” He beamed as he held your hand, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. 

Tingles travelled up and down your body.

“Same! The amount of guys that think I don’t know they’re dating me just so they can meet famous people because of where I work,” you scoffed. George rolled his eyes agreeing with you, making you snigger. 

“I’ll go ahead first and check everything is clear of fans down there. If Julie’s back you can think of an excuse and save my bacon!” You squeezed his hand before letting go and jumping up backwards onto the ridge, definitely hiking your skirt up to show the top of your stockings and suspenders this time, earning a cheeky grin from George.

At the bottom of the stairs you slipped his jacket from your shoulders, holding it out for him to put his arm through, almost kicking into professional mode when dressing an actor or extra, but taking your time as you turned him round for his other arm, slowly stroking the jacket into place along his shoulders and down his arms, before finally tugging on his lapels palming them flat. His breath was audible, his mouth slightly parted under your caresses. 

George's eyes darkened, colour on his cheeks as your touch lingered on his chest, before deliberately dragging them down, slipping fingers ever so slightly under the jacket along his shirt eliciting a soft 'y/n' from him. 

Butterflies filled your insides again. You put a finger to his lips as you leaned an ear to the door in case you could hear anything within, shooting him a saucy wink. Your heart pounded at your boldness, but when would you ever get a chance like this? You swore there was longing there in his eyes at your touch. As gently as you could you eased the fire door open, letting loose a jagged sigh of relief. No one had made it back from set. 

“It’s all clear, let me check the corridor.” You took his hand again, noticing it felt warmer than before, hope spread within you as you led him through the workshop. As an extra measure of caution you made him wait behind some fur cloaks hanging near the corridor door for cover.

Peering out from the room everything seemed back to normal, sound wafted down from the sets, heels clicking further down from dancers on their way to makeup. 

“It’s safe for you to go, George.” You said, feeling deflated that your time with him was nearing an end.

You turned back to see him off but he was already behind you, his features shadowed with lust. George reached out, shutting the door and turning the lock, closing the gap between you both, pinning you between his forearms as they rested on the door either side of your head. Your gasp of delight instantly undid something in him, his body moulded against yours, you felt his pleasure strain at his trousers as your hands wound their way into his wavy hair and pulled him into a kiss.

You instinctively lifted your hips towards him, another groan of pleasure coming from him, only making you unravel further. The kiss deepened, his hands firm but gentle around the nape of your neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin under your ear, making you melt into him. Sighs escaped fromyou between kisses. 

You felt him smile at that. He moved his kisses along your jaw, biting your earlobe gently, before planting a deeper kiss on the sensitive spot on your neck. You tilted your head giving him better access. The place between your legs became slick with longing. 

You pulled him closer, returning the kisses on his neck being rewarded with that deep, soft moan of his. You couldn't help but dig your nails into his back, his hands now spanning your waist as he kissed you fiercely, the intensity increasing. Your hands lowered, squeezing his arse pressing him tighter to you, making him know what you wanted. 

George's kisses became more rough, demanding as he hitched up your skirt. You savoured the feel of his hands exploring the suspender belt curving round your backside. You raised your knee up alongside his thigh, your foot on the door for balance, hoping his calloused fingers would find their way inside you. The pressure growing there needing release. 

You pulled away from the kissing, catching your breath, looking into his now black eyes, making you want his touch below even more. He moved his hands back to your middle, spinning you round lifting you up onto the workbench. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, drawing him to you, his hot breath stirring against your neck as his hand made its way leisurely up the inside of your thigh, teasing you. 

“Yes George,” you managed to mutter as his hand inched closer towards your core, his brow furrowed with desire as he bit his bottom lip.  

But then you both heard noises coming along the corridor. Scouse accents talking loudly with a clipped woman's voice. "The boys!" "Julie!" you both exclaimed together. Quickly you jumped off the bench, straightening your skirt, tucking your blouse in as you both cursed and began giggling. George helped smoothed your hair into place and you his, sneaking a quick kiss. He growled mockingly. 

"Unlock the door and come sit next to my sewing like you're helping." You thought quickly, taking a deep breath to calm your heart rate. As soon as you were both in place Julie entered followed by the rest of the band.

"GEORGE!" She scolded, "everyone has been looking for you!" 

"We thought you must have been kidnapped by them fans earlier!" Ringo cried.

"I've been taking refuge here thanks to y/n, she managed to keep me hidden and I thought I'd stay until the coast was clear." George replied.

"He's been very helpful, everything here is nearly ready, Julie." You added, thanking past you for being ahead of schedule. 

Julie smiled, "well, I'm glad you're safe and sound George, it's been so disruptive today with that earlier incident. But now I have you all, we can begin fitting for your shoot later this week."

She hustled the lads to a smaller room within the department. You and George shared a secret smile as he left.

"Y/n, I could do with an extra pair of hands to speed the fitting up, everyone else won't be back until tonight now everything's been held up." Julie called back to you. "I've John and Paul's things here, I've left the other two by the steamer."

Picking up the labelled khaki suits and heading into the fitting room you couldn’t stop your insides turning somersaults. You were bound to give yourself away in front of them all being so close to George. You smiled to yourself though, not only had you just made out with your favourite Beatle and discovered how much you had in common, you finally got to meet them all at last!

Inside the fitting room thick heavy curtains acted as different privacy sections. Julie already had Paul in one as the others sat on a chesterfield, John reading a paper left there, Ringo resting his eyes and George looking dangerously at you, your earlier encounter still readable on his face. Fireworks exploded within you. How could you keep calm when George looked at you like that.

You hung the two suits behind the other changing curtain. Looking at yourself in the mirror there, loosing another breath you tried to steal yourself. Peering around you affected your work voice, hoping your face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Hello George, would you be so kind as to try yours first, give me a shout when you're ready and I'll take a look." He licked his lips as he passed you, his eyes raking over your body, making you feel deliciously exposed. 

John and Paul swapped over with Julie, the other lads made pleasant small talk whilst you waited for George to get undressed. This was when the job was amazing, getting to meet people you respected and discovering they were lovely, even though you found it hard to fully concentrate wishing you were the one removing George's clothes behind the curtain.

“Umm y/n, I think these will need fixing!” George stepped out. You couldn't help but smother a giggle. Neither could Paul. The trousers were too long and baggy.

"Well that's not right! Let me pin them to fit." You grabbed a pin cushion and tape measure heading behind the changing curtain. You stood with your back to the mirror so George faced it, making him remove the jacket so you could see where best to begin pinning the trousers. 

He made to kiss you but you smiled seductively, placing a finger to his lips again shaking your head. He sighed, turning your hand over placing a delicate kiss on your palm, sending a thrill through you. 

Holding his gaze you knelt down in front of him, popping a couple of pins in your mouth, his reaction was insanely satisfying. You had him utterly at your mercy as you pinned both sides of his pelvis, his eyes closing at the scene before him as he let out a shuddering breath. You smoothed the fabric down his hips, causing his cock to stir and stiffen, making you grin wickedly. You looked back up at him. 

“Which way are you dressing Mr Harrsion?” You asked sweetly, lips curving in sensual amusement, your core flickering with want as he stood helpless at your touch as you ran your hands down his thighs. He choked on his answer. 

You took a pin placing it where the bottom hem needed taking up. Next you removed the tape from around your neck and measured the inside of his leg, sliding your hand up slowly knowing he was watching your every move in the mirror, your knuckles nudging the underside of his balls, a soft groan escaped him.

“I best check the other side, can’t have the alteration lopsided can we?” You said softly, repeating the same motion, but this time handling his member through the trousers, just enough to see him squirm while looking up into his face. He reached out and stroked your hair as he bit his lip, knowing everyone was in ear shot, so he mouthed, “you TEASE” instead. 

You giggled quietly, as you slid your hands around his rear and down, pinning the cloth where you needed. Finally you stood, his eyes pools of darkness as he dragged a hand through his hair letting out a shaky breath, the movement making you weak at the knees.

You cupped his beautiful face, resting your hand there as you pulled him into a kiss, unable to stop the small noise escaping you, which had George deepening the kiss until you were breathless. His mouth then grazed the edge of your ear, his breath sending lightning straight to your now molten core at the feel, making your back arch as he purred softly, 

“I want you... you have to let me…” as his hands roved idly over your backside, taking in your curved hips before grazing over your breasts, making them ache and tighten at his touch. 

You wanted him too, but this was neither the time or place frustratingly. 

“Later,” you roughly managed to reply, placing the answer in a kiss on his temple, hoping the chat from the others had masked anything they might have heard. You couldn't help yourself but undo his top button, then the next, working your way down slowly, fingers exploring as they went, loving how much it was driving him crazy, unable to act on doing it back to you. His navel exposed, you swept your hands across his toned body, breathing in the warm scent of him, taking pleasure in the goosebumps springing up under your touch, before placing a kiss in the hollow of his collar bone. 

"You minx," he huffed huskily against your ear, holding you tight. Mischief glittered in his eyes.

“I’m finished with George, won’t be long now Ringo.” You said out loud, smiling playfully making George shake his head in amusement at the half truth of the words. 

“Later then?” He pleaded.

You stepped reluctantly away, brushing yourself down, checking yourself over in the mirror, taking a deep breath in before blowing George a kiss as you stepped out from the curtain. Both of you knowing you were certainly nowhere near finished with each other.

[for-writing-shit]

Please Don't Be Long

George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: Fluffyyy hehe

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Words: 2.7k

Summary: 1968-69 era; The universe has a unique way of continuously bringing Geo and Reader together, and it’s time they finally accept the invitation (featuring a brief appearance by Ringo The Wingman lmao)

A/N: The idea for this fic was requested by the wonderful @leia-saveourskins (thank you so much for the request! 🥰)

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The moderately loud music flowing through the stereo speakers was all that could be heard in your ears as you made your way around the room, trying your best to mingle with the other guests. You enjoyed your fair share of house parties, as they were a great way to get to know new people, as well as reconnecting and maintaining previously established friendships.

You and George had met before. Granted, it was only briefly, but you remembered enough to recognize his face in the crowd on the other side of the room. George was the reserved type, preferring to stick around the people he knew best and enjoy the good music and tasty snacks. Parties weren't exactly his scene, but he knew how to make the best of them.

You attended this particular event with a few of your other friends, who, at this moment, were nowhere to be found. You shrugged your shoulders, assuming they would come find you when they wanted, or rather needed, to call it a night and head home, as you elected to be the designated driver for the evening.

Worming your way through the room of dancing people to where George was, you felt a smile growing on your face the closer you got to him. He had this wonderful energy that could be felt from a mile away, not to mention he was certainly quite handsome.

He was sitting on a sofa in the far corner of the room, holding a less than half-full glass of what appeared to be white wine. There were several other people sitting around him, one of which seemed to be telling a rather interesting story, with the other guests listening with rapt attention. You didn't recognize all of these people, only a few in passing, but one of which you knew quite well, immediately recognizing the array of dazzling rings scattered across his fingers.

Ringo had actually been the one to introduce you to George. You met him at a party similar to this one a few weeks prior, and after chatting for several minutes, he seemed to get the impression that you two would hit it off, promptly bringing you over to say hello. It was nice to see him again as well, seeing as the only people you knew here were off on their own adventures. You sighed in relief, your worry that you would be left awkwardly alone for the evening gradually fading away. 

The interesting campfire sofa story seemed to come to an end, and a gap opened up in the small crowd. You strode forward, seizing the opportunity, making your way to a cozy little spot next to him on the sofa. Before you could even sit down and reintroduce yourself, George looked up at you, smiling brightly, playfully pointing a finger in your direction.

“Ah, I remember you.” He said cheerily, and although he did not attempt to raise his voice to be heard over the music, somehow you could hear him just fine. “Always nice to see another familiar face.”

“Hi George.” You giggled, feeling your hands fidget slightly at your sides, but you tried your best to not let it show. Somewhere between your starting location and here, all the confidence of speaking to George had blown away, and all that was left was your increasingly shy tone and a small blush creeping up your cheeks.

Before continuing the conversation with you, George looked to the other side of him and tapped his friend on the shoulder. “What do you know, Rich? I guess you do have a gift. We meet again!” Ringo turned to face you, his bright blue eyes lighting up despite the slightly dim lighting in the room.

“And here you are!” He said happily, standing from the couch to pull you into a warm hug. A surprised laugh left your throat, but you hugged him back, feeling him pull away almost as quickly to let you sit down next to George. “I'll let you two lovebirds get to chatting.” He mused as he disappeared into the next room.

You returned your gaze to George and felt the blush on your face get stronger. He didn't seem to notice, or rather, he didn't point it out, instead twisting his torso to reach behind him for a bottle of wine. “Fancy a drink?” He asked, pausing to top off his own glass.

“I really shouldn't, but thank you anyway.” You replied politely. “I'd rather be more alert when I have to round up my friends and drive them home later tonight.” George nodded understandingly, a small chuckle leaving his lips. He cleared his throat before taking another sip.

“Responsibility is quite uncommon these days. Much like common sense.” He laughed at his own joke, and you laughed too, remembering that his sense of humor was something you immediately liked about him when you first met. He may have been on the quiet side, but he could crack a mean joke. Listen close, or you just might miss it.

George wasn't one for small talk. He found it boring and mundane, which you actually appreciated, as you found it awkward and uncomfortable. You loved that he dove right in when talking to people, asking the deeper, more interesting questions. Questions about life and the wonder of it all, and everything we could be learning about the world and ourselves if we just got out of our brains all the time and back into our bodies, feeling and seeing the world as it was meant to be experienced. You were absolutely enthralled, listening closely and chiming in where you could relate or feel your curiosity piqued. Just as you felt yourself wanting to rest your head on his shoulder, becoming captivated by a campfire sofa story of your own, you felt someone bump into the sofa cushion behind you, mumbling your name.

You turned around to see one of your friends, with the other two standing a bit further behind her. You could barely understand her slurry of unintelligible words, and judging by her smudged makeup, you weren't sure if she had been crying, or just plainly drunk and possibly high out of her mind. Either way, the three had clearly tracked you down because they wanted to go home.

You sighed, turning back to George, grimacing slightly, annoyed that you had to leave just when the conversation was starting to get good. George didn't seem bothered, still offering a warm smile. “They've come for their cab.” He said cheekily. “Go on ahead, I'll see ya ‘round.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his comment, an instant mood booster despite being upset at your untimely departure. Pausing to give George a modest peck on the cheek, you stood from your spot on the sofa, collected your now rather disoriented looking friends, and shuffled out the door.

About two weeks later, you received a phone call from Ringo, inviting you to another party, this time of his own creation. In any other case, you would have declined, not feeling very social as of late, but no sooner did you open your mouth to object, a thought entered your brain. If Ringo was hosting the party, there’s a pretty good chance George was going to be there as well. 

George.

Ever since your last encounter with him at the previous party, he had been a lingering thought in all areas of your mind. The first time you met him, there was no room to have a meaningful chat as the awkward silence had taken up most if not all of the conversation. And last time appeared to be promising until your evening was cut short by your petulant plus-ones. But this time, there would be no distractions, and you were gonna make sure of it. This was the third time the great universe had given you another shot at making a connection with George, and there was no way you were going to pass it up. This time, you would be going solo. Having mentally finalized your decision, you graciously accepted Ringo’s invitation, and hung up the phone.

By the time the party rolled around, you were practically buzzing with excitement. All previous antisocial feelings had gone out the window, since now, you knew there was going to be something at this party that could spark your interest. When you arrived at the party, via cab of course, as now there was no need to play designated driver, you were immediately greeted by Ringo, who promptly offered you a drink and gently encouraged you to go mingle. 

This party was quite different from the last one. It was by no means a fancy gathering, but it felt much more sophisticated. There were less people than last time, greatly lowering the level of potential chaos. Despite the decreased number of guests, it was the most reserved form of the word ‘wild’ and it was still clear that everyone was having a great time. There was a record playing gentle dance music from one of the rooms. You weren’t sure if it was instrumental or you just couldn’t make out the lyrics, but you enjoyed it either way. You searched for the source of the music to hopefully catch the title of the record when you bumped into someone on the way out, nearly spilling your drink on their shirt. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You shrieked, eyes still facing towards the floor in both confusion and embarrassment. You looked up to deliver another heartfelt apology and instead you froze, your eyes widening.

“Better watch where you’re headed, love.” George teased, punctuating his statement by brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. You already felt yourself blushing, feeling the need to apologize even more fervently now that you knew your encounter had not been with a random stranger. 

“George!” You shrieked again, not sure why you said his name as you didn’t have anything to say after that, but followed it up with the best thing you could think of. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Following me, eh?” He mused, playfully poking you in the arm. You blushed harder, your free hand fidgeting with the bottom of your drink glass, the fingers on your other hand tapping the side awkwardly. 

“Perhaps it’s fate.” You blurted out, the thought sounding more confident in your head. But you felt yourself breathe a sigh of relief when George chuckled at your statement. 

“Divine timing.” he nodded knowingly.

“The universe wants us to keep meeting at these parties.” You giggled, trying to keep your composure while also ecstatic that George shared your theory. “It would be a shame to not accept the invitation. And besides, we never finished our conversation from last time.”

“I s’pose you make a point.” He grinned, flashing that ever-gorgeous fang-toothed smile. 

“So…shall we dance?” You offered, gesturing to the surrounding area between the two of you. George looked around, eyes following your hands at your silent gestures. 

“I don’t have the best moves, love, but I’ll try.” He laughed nervously. As if on cue, you heard the random instrumental record change, and a soft romantic melody began to play. You felt a large beaming smile spread across your face, silently thanking the universe yet again for its ‘divine timing’. “Ah,” George said softly, ���now, slow dancing, I might be fair at.” He held his hand out for you to hold, which you happily accepted, assuming the slow dance positions.

George moved your hand that he was holding onto his shoulder, and you moved your other hand to his other shoulder. You felt like electricity was going to start buzzing out of you when George repositioned his hands to softly rest against your waist, but you tried your best to be calm. You let out an excited giggle that sounded more like a shriek, but George’s expression proved he found it rather endearing.

“Well…” he whispered, his voice vibrating as you rested your head on his chest, “you said you wanted to continue our other conversation?” You had gotten so comfortable with the current situation, your body filled with tranquility instead of nervousness, that you forgot you had even said that.

“Oh…” you trailed off, picking your head up from his chest to stare into his eyes, a warm deep brown you found yourself getting lost in, “right, I did say that. But for now I only have one question.” George continued to stare at you, gently nodding in wait for your question, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a brief yet heartwarming grin. “Does divine timing work for romance as well?”

The second the sentence left your lips, the anxious part of you immediately wanted to take it back, but George didn’t mind. He smiled again, keeping his usual calm demeanor as he had done the whole time. “Well,” he began, same as how he usually started any of his philosophical observations, “if that is true, there would also have to be some sort of sign to confirm or deny it. Something to suggest if it is the right time, or something to interrupt it if the time isn’t right.” You listened intently, feeling yourself unconsciously smiling as he spoke, completely captivated by his perspective. You moved one of your hands higher on his shoulders to rest just above the collar of his shirt, brushing your fingers against the soft skin of his neck.

“Well how do we know if the time is right?” You asked, not even realizing you had already picked up his habit of putting that word at the beginning of sentences. But just as you posed the question, you felt time begin to slow down around you. Suddenly, all the other guests felt a million miles away, the music felt louder, and now, in that moment, it was just you and George, and nothing else mattered. It felt incredible, as your brain was able to block out all the other worldly noise, and just concentrate on the here and now, something you found yourself unable to do so effectively before.

George thought about it for a second, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, the edges of his mustache stretching out as a knowing smirk appeared on his face. “Well, let’s find out then, shall we?”

You thought he was going to do some sudden movement as if to attract the attention of the universe for any objections, or send a cheeky statement sailing out into the ether, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

Your eyes widened in shock, feeling your fingers involuntarily grip at his shoulder, but that was soon replaced by an overwhelming joy spreading through your body. George placed his hand under your jaw, his fingers cupping your chin to deepen the kiss. You sighed happily, closing your eyes again and wrapping your arms around him, resting your wrists on the back of his neck. 

It was a purely heavenly sensation. You found yourself softly giggling against his lips, pulling away for a mere second to look in his eyes again. George smiled back at you, briefly looking around and boastfully shrugging his shoulders. “I guess the universe had no problem with that.” He quipped.

He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped, his eyes fixated on something in another room through one of the open doors as he let out an adorable little giggle. “In fact, I think we may have actually had a little help.” He turned back to you, pointing in the direction of whatever had caught his eye. You turned around to see Ringo standing over by the record player, proudly swirling his drink glass in one hand, his other hand holding the decorative album sleeve for the romantic record that was currently playing. He raised his glass to toast the happy couple from afar, sealing his stamp of accomplishment with a supportive, bright-blue-eyed wink. You and George laughed in stereo, your smile growing wider as you gave Ringo a grateful two thumbs up before turning back to George.

“I guess the universe did have a plan for us.” You joked, not sure if you felt yourself release a dreamy sigh or it was all in your mind. 

George nodded agreeingly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he stared into your eyes. “I guess it did.” He laughed before pulling you closer for another loving kiss.

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AAAAA I'm so happy with how this one turned out! I did go a little rogue off the request by adding Ringo in the mix lol but I think it still works well and I hope y'all think so too 🥰 Taglist: @little-bit-of-mystery @nosegoes @cocteautwiny @queen-of-stars @thatgoesinthere-misshapes @harrisongslimited @hyasynth1

If you would like to be added to this list, comment on this post or send me an ask!

[for-writing-shit]

Stepping outside, she is free

summary: your parents go to your shared apartment to meet ringo for the first time while he's filming the let it be documentary

paring: ringo starr x fem!reader

warnings: spoilers for the get back series, nosy parents, cursing

author's note: this is inspired on "she's leaving home". just wanted to write something for sweet boy ringo. i'm not doing well right now, so i'm focused on writing more frequently to get my mind off of things. send in requests, please!

1969.

You were feeling insecure. Your parents were coming over to dinner to meet Ringo, and you could already hear their judgemental and not-asked for perceptions of your life with your boyfriend. They were coming in the next few hours, but you swore you saw your mother rolling her eyes.

Attempting to avoid most of the bad things they probably would say, you were cleaning and getting everything in place since the early morning. You even woke up before Ringo had to leave for the studio, which he found odd. You were a deep sleeper and liked to sleep in whenever you could, so to see you get out of bed with the birds was a surprise.

"Who died?" He asked, dazed when he walked into the kitchen to you tidying the cabinets. Ringo was fixing his suit on his shoulders. The giggle contrasted the already tired look on your face.

"No one died, Richie." You stopped, putting down the products next to you on the counter you were sitting in, legs bouncing. "Just thought the place needed some cleaning."

"On a Friday morning? Seriously?" Voice filled with disbelief, Ringo didn't believe you for one minute. Crossing his arms as he made his way to you, he continued. "What has got into your head, love?" You giggled once more, relieved to see the little smile that appeared on his lips.

"You know, Rings," you answered with a sigh. Ringo knew how stressed you were about having your parents over even without you telling him about it.

He knew the stories from when you used to live with them. Though he didn't enjoy saying it, he thought your parents were awful and mistreated you, creating a bunch of traumas you carry to this day. And oh, how Ringo cursed the hell out of them for it. That was partially one of the reasons it took so long for him to meet them. He was aware they wouldn't like him or his lifestyle at all, and he didn't like the idea of meeting the people that put you through so much misery. You were okay with it as you also didn't exactly fancy the idea, always telling them Ringo had a busy schedule and couldn't make it - yet now he didn't, and thanks to the papers, they knew about it.

Throughout January, Ringo would be making a new record with The Beatles for their new documentary directed by Michael Lindsay-Hogg - and he would also start filming a new movie next month. You two believed it was the best idea to do it that Friday since the band was still in the first days of recording and didn't have much done yet. So you told your parents it was okay for them to visit on the 10th.

"C'mon, love. You know your parents aren't going to like any of this anyways," the boy moved his hands to hold yours. Ringo kissed your knuckles, staring at you longingly. "This week's been rough at Twickenham. Can't we postpone it?" He carried on with the pecks on your hands, moving up your arms.

"If we postpone it one more time, I think my mother will straight-up yell at me over the phone," you laughed nervously. You comprehended how tired Ritchie was - the whole relationship between the lads was crumbling right before their eyes. Ringo usually had the peacemaker role, trying to make it work even with the tension around them. But that was until the White Album's sessions a few months before. He felt so isolated and disconnected from the others so he left the group, coming back after a couple of days. Ringo was a chill and easy-going guy, and the mediator role was still his, yet things were different. It looked like he had to navigate Paul and John downplaying George's ideas and contributions. They were treating Ringo a little nicer since he walked out during the sessions of their previous record, yet, George's work was still neglected and put down. The man was treated like a younger brother with little to no knowledge - and that pissed Ringo off.

The blue-eyed man smiled lightly at you, his hands covered with expensive rings moving to caress your face. He was tired. The bags under his eyes made it way more evident. "Don't want that happening," Ringo erupted his soft giggle, you joining in. "Have a good day at work, darling," he said with a kiss on your forehead.

"You too, Ritchie," you whispered back as you stroked his hair, Ringo's eyes shut for a moment. "Blow their minds, love." That made him beam like a little kid, and you knew that smirk too well.

"I'm only planning on blowing you, pretty thing," he winked, and you laughed, a tint of pink in your cheeks. Ringo connected your lips, holding your face tightly as you two kissed for the first time that day. He enjoyed taking his time to kiss you properly and to make you feel all mushy inside. If there was one thing Ringo certainly wanted was for you to be happy - all the time, for clarification. Once he was standing by the door, keys in hand, the drummer smiled at you again. "See you later then, baby. Love you."

"Love you too," you blew him a kiss, and after capturing it in the air, Ringo left.

Before it was time for you to catch the bus for work, you had cleaned the kitchen and the living room. Even though it was unnecessary, it was good for your mind to be at ease during the day at the office. Your nerves were in control, thank God, but you had a feeling something was wrong. You couldn't point out what it was, but you felt it once you came back from your lunch break. Something was off, and it was frustrating.

Did something happen to your parents? To Ringo? Did someone actually die? Have you done something wrong? Was one of your friends in danger? Did you forget something? You thought it through a lot as you did your tasks for the day, and no answer came. Not a sign from God. No light at all.

Your guts were telling you a piece of information you couldn't understand, and that had your mind spiralling. Out of your intuition, you silently wished and prayed Ringo was okay. Your heart was tight in your chest as the time to leave the office reached. You tried to shake it off, thinking it was probably nothing.

Back to your shared apartment, you took a shower and began getting dressed up for the evening. A sweet baby-blue dress down to your calf paired with black heels and soft makeup. After putting on Ritchie's favourite perfume of yours, you moved to the kitchen. You started cooking the meal for the unfortunate event, pasta with pesto sauce.

The table was ready since the morning, as you did so to make things easier once you got home. You took that as an opportunity to put the crystals and glasses on the dining table, choosing a wine Ringo liked to accompany the evening. Your insecurities were high, and the unsettling feeling didn't wash off, but you were making a good impression that you had your shit together.

Yet, the glass of wine in your hand could argue otherwise. You were a bit tipsy when the doorbell rang. Putting everything on a minimum level on the stove, you breathed in and out before opening the door.

"Hi," was what managed to get out of your mouth, an embarrassed expression on your face.

"Is that all you have to say, (y/n)?" Your mother said with an arrogant tone, eyebrows up, pushing herself into the apartment, your father following suit. You closed the door, shutting your eyes for a few seconds to get you on your feet.

"What do you mean, mom?" You moved to put on a record to have a distraction, to avoid making it so weird and aggressive. After putting on Out Of Our Heads by The Rolling Stones, you noticed your mother's hands on her hips and already disapproving look as she stared at you. Your father was checking the portraits on the walls. "Do you want something to drink?" You walked back to the kitchen, hearing her high pitched heels following you.

"I'll want you that wine of yours, sweetheart," your father said mindlessly from the living room. Turning the stove off, you filled him a glass. He thanked you with a nod, not even looking at you.

You took a long sip of your drink, moving to put the meal on a casserole set at the centre of the table. Your mother still was following you, sitting in front of you at the table. "You ran away, (y/n). All for that-" she cut herself, thinking of what to say. "That drummer boy."

Chewing the insides of your cheeks, you responded. "No, mother. I left so I could live a life of my own. Ringo was out of the country at the time, but you don't remember that," and it was true. Ringo was in the USA for their American tour, and your mother knew it very well since she was the one that got the letters from the postman every time. Your voice showed how the subject wasn't your favourite.

"Don't act all smart, missy!" You had to control the urge to roll your eyes. "We did everything for you, you ungrateful brat! You-"

The front door cut off the discussion. Ringo was home, and by the strong smell of cigarettes and his pained expression, your instincts were right. Something had happened. You saw the old woman shrink at the smell from the corner of your eye. You gulped down harshly.

"Good evenin', folks," Ringo tried to speak with an excited voice, yet it sounded annoyed. He smiled tiredly at you, strolling to sit beside you. Interested now, your father came to sit next to your mother. "Hi, love," he muttered and pecked your lips.

"When did you meet my daughter, Mr Starkey?" Of course, your mother would treat him like this. Your hand went to hold his under the table.

"It was in 1964," Ringo squeezed your hand and began making himself a plate. "She looked out worldly, so I tried to start a conversation." He beamed fondly at you, your face reddening. "You have a lovely daughter, miss. But I think you already know that."

"She'd be a better one if she walked the line." She was stern, eating bitterly. You bit your lower lip nervously, thinking you taste blood.

"But can you blame her, though?" Ringo's eyebrows were upon his forehead, hand going back to hold yours.

"I'm sorry?"

"Everyone deserves to live their lives, be happy," you clutched his hand with everything in you. "Unfortunately for you, (y/n) needed to get out and live by herself." Ringo continued to eat like nothing was going on.

The woman was too stunned to speak, sharing looks with her husband, who just shrugged his shoulders in response. She cleared her throat before speaking again.

"Richard," you held in a chuckle. It amazed you how she couldn't even call him by his nickname. "Do you have any plans for when this Beatle thing ends?" That seemed to send him over the edge. Ringo emitted a nasty short laugh, his hold in your hand stronger. The man's face was twisting in anger.

"A few, yeah. We're getting married, for starters." Sensing your wide-eyed gaze, Ringo stroked your hand gently. He was asking you to marry him - more like telling you, frankly - in front of your parents? You were amazed.

"You were going to marry this man without me even meeting him?" Your mother was once again astonished, while your father just looked disgusted.

"Well, miss," he cackled dryly, "now you know me," Ringo said with a sly smile, sipping the wine. It was funny to see how your mother couldn't close her mouth, utterly shocked.

After that, the dinner went silently. The Rolling Stones' record had stopped long before your parents got up to leave, thanking you for the meal and for inviting them. Locking the door and slipping out of your heels, you turned to Ringo. He was looking through your vinyl collection, eventually holding a copy of The Supremes' Reflections.

"So we are getting married now?" You crossed your arms, shoes in hand. Ringo smirked, putting the album on the victrola. He gestured for you to cuddle him on the couch. You laid on top of him, face in his chest.

"I wanted to piss your ma' off," he laughed, holding you close and kissing your hair. "But honestly, I'd love to."

"Me too," you responded after a while, running your fingers over his arm. He held even tighter, making you giggle. "And what happened? You look exhausted, honey," concern was wall over your voice. Ringo went quiet, stroking your hair.

"George left the band," he told you eventually. You noticed the sorrow in him. Looking up, you caught him crying silently. "I wish John and Paul wouldn't be so over themselves, you know?" You nodded, though you didn't know how they acted in those circumstances, yet you didn't doubt Ringo. It wasn't the first time the Lennon/McCartney duo made your boy feel like this, and it's poor enough to acknowledge there had been worse situations. Ringo's self-esteem wasn't the best, and there were times the boys didn't do much to help him, if not at all.

Stroking his cheeks and whipping the tears away, you planted soft kisses in his hands, trying to calm him down. "And do you want to talk to George, sweetie?" Your fingers moved to caress his scalp, smiling when Ritchie began purring like a little kitten.

"Yeah, of course," he purred as his face was now in the crock of your neck. "But for now, I'm going to cuddle you," he giggled against your skin, causing a wave of tingles up your spin. "And what do you say we get married?"

[for-writing-shit]

This Boy (George Harrison x Female!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! welcome to my first oneshot! a lot of my stories are very plot-driven and they end up becoming these long chapter fics but I'm gonna see if I can make a handful of oneshots in the next little bit to kind of give yous something to read while waiting for the longer fics to finish up. this is my first one, and it's for Georgie!

Summary: It's date night, and you're more than ready to meet your mystery date; George, however, is not.

WARNINGS: Swearing is in almost all my fics, so this one isn't safe either probably, hints of suggestive behaviour, slow burn, friends to lovers, lack of self-editing probably, etc. *This fic is also LONG AF so I would advise y'all to start reading this when you have nothing else to do*

I'll rate this one as a T. Enjoy, folks!

George checked the clock on the wall again and sighed gently.

You were still getting ready.

As much as it disappointed him, George agreed-- well, more like offered-- to drive you to your blind date one of your girlfriends set you up on.

It's not that he wasn't excited or proud of you for getting yourself out there. He knew you'd been meaning to do that since graduating school.

He was just frustrated at the fact that whichever lucky man was going on a date with you that night wasn't him.

When he found out about the date, he immediately vocalized his distrust for the mystery person, despite knowing absolutely zero about him. You seemed heartbroken at that, and to make it up to you, he offered to drive you to the date.

So there he was, sitting on the sofa in the living area of your flat, waiting for you to finish getting ready.

George had taken you to school dances in the past, and while your mother let you wear makeup to them, it never took you this long to apply it.

You were definitely dressing to impress tonight.

"Lucky man," he just mumbled under his breath at the thought of that boy.

You and George had been friends since you were children, and he deemed you his Best Friend Forever only an hour into your first playtime.

You spent your days as children riding your bikes to the park to play, and helping each other with homework at each other's houses every night.

However, that sort of platonic "buddy-buddy" dynamic changed when the both of you hit puberty.

It wasn't until a boy at George's school questioned him if you were his girlfriend, that George realized he had a crush on you. Some of his friends had girl friends, and they were always teased about whether or not they were dating, but this was the first time anyone had put you and George together.

After this discovery, (which he would endlessly thank the young boy who opened his eyes to the truth in the first place) George began to notice lots of little things about you that he hadn't before.

You would run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head during hugs, you never took your eyes away from him when he was speaking; there hadn't been one time to name that you'd ever made him upset or angry, but more or less excited, and free, and joyous.

And not to mention, the way you called him "Georgie" made his heart pound so loud and hard in his chest that he might as well have just completed a marathon...

He was in love with everything only when you were around.

Actually, as awkward as George thinks it is, Paul helped him realize he was physically attracted to you.

The boys were on their way to George's after school, a few years after George realized he had a little crush on you, and the teenagers both caught sight of you watering the front garden of your home at the request of your mother.

George stopped in his tracks when he saw you, his mouth hanging open as he watched you do your thing. After being enrolled in his boy's school, you never had much time to see one another, as much as it hurt him; so he cherished every moment he could see you.

"If her ma catches you out the window starin' at her daughter's arse the way you're doin' right now Harrison, they'll rip your tongue right out."

George's face went bright red, and he turned to look at Paul in horror, slapping him on the arm for saying such a thing. "I wasn't staring at her like that!" But he couldn't help but steal a glance at your behind since it was now the topic of discussion, though he really didn't want it to be.

Paul knew George felt compelled to say something to you, and he smirked as George awkwardly raised his hand to wave as he called to you from the other side of the street.

"H-hey, Y/n!"

You turned around, and grinned at who you'd seen.

"Hey Georgie! Hi Paulie!" You twiddled your fingers at them, and George's stomach churned in jealousy at the fact you had a nickname for Paul, as well.

"Your garden looks beautiful, Ms. Y/l/n!"

Paul stole George's line. He fucking stole his line!

"A-and you look just as lovely as ever!" George added to one-up his friend.

You put a hand to your heart. "You boys make my heart sing." George took pride in your words despite them partially being for Paul as well.

"We need to see each other more, yeah?" George never expected his question to really get him anywhere, but he was wrong.

"Why not tonight? I don't have any homework and my parents are leaving town 'round five for the weekend to visit my auntie and uncle."

George's answer came quick, and effortlessly. "I'll be 'round for six. Sound good?"

"Perfect! I'll see you tonight then." You waved to the boys again, and then went back to watering the garden after bidding farewell.

The rest of the walk home was just Paul making fun of how lovestruck George was with you, and by the time they got to his house, just down the road from yours, Paul looked over at his buddy and smiled.

"No wonder you value your time with your darlin' over there so much, Magpie. Looks like she would definitely be a fine birdie in bed."

George looked over at Paul, eyes wide, and his voice broke. "... What?!" The thought of going to bed with you never crossed his mind-- well, until that moment.

"Hey, her folks'll be gone by the time you go over! You can make your move then! It's perfect!" Paul's words laced with excitement made George feel panicked, and the boy shook his head worriedly after a moment. "M-maybe it's not the best idea to go tonight..."

"Why not? All you ever wanna do is be alone with her!" Paul set a hand on the other boy's shoulder when he didn't answer. "What's up, George?"

"Paul, I've never even kissed her. She doesn't even know I like her like that! What if she likes someone else?! What do I even do?!" Paul was the biggest heartbreaker George knew. He'd had like... ten girlfriends since they met, and he kissed a whole three of them. They didn't last long, much like the fate of other young relationships, but George took Paul's advice as serious guidance; he needed to in a time like this.

"You just need to be calm. Take some deep breaths. You'll know what to do when the time comes. I know you will."

That night, George had many opportunities to dive in for a kiss, or mention his feelings for you; some of those opportunities he even believed you encouraged, but he didn't budge out of utter fear of rejection. George knew for a fact that Paul was going to facepalm when he asks him for details on the visit to your place.

Instead, the night only consisted of talking, and the only contact you made were a couple of hugs and a kiss on the cheek (which left George a stumbling mess again), though you did agree to spend more time together, which is how your friendship lasted so long.

He was so close to having you, and because he was too scared to make the move Paul (and maybe you) were encouraging him to make so long ago, you slipped through his fingers; and since, the thought of not being able to have you that way never left his mind.

Especially not when you were now a gorgeous young lady, blindly torturing poor George, who beat himself up every day because he lost his chance.

You were like a piece of artwork to George. You could be loved, admired, and looked at by him, but he could never hold you or touch you.

And George hated that.

George wanted you to be his girl.

And you were his girl-- well, in a twisted way. You were always with him, smiling and laughing about nothing and everything, holding onto each other in your darkest nights and guiding one another through personal struggles...

But when other boys started to want you too, George wanted to make it a point to keep the majority of them away.

Some didn't heed George's threats and went on to pursue you anyways, only to be turned down on your front steps by yourself. George never understood why you never reciprocated anybody's feelings, but it's not like he was verbally complaining.

And that's what lead up to tonight. George had wanted you for so long, and the sudden knowledge of a blind date had him in shock, especially since this was your very first time giving in and agreeing to go.

It killed him to know some rando was going to appear out of thin air to whisk you away, whisper sweet nothings in your ear and eventually put his hands on you, thinking his love for you is stronger than any other despite knowing absolutely nothing about how you should be loved, and treated...

But George hid his fury from you because you were excited about this date.

And he would do anything for you.

George's rage-inducing, mind-racing thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut from behind him. He turned his head, heart in his throat, and you stepped into the room.

You wore a lovely high-waisted navy dress, and a pair of black flats. Your hair was half down, the rest coming together at the back of your head by a matching clip-on bow.

As expected, your makeup was quite noticeable. The burgundy colour of your lips and dark brown eyeshadow had George's head spinning, and he couldn't resist ogling at the way that dress fit you so well...

"So… How do I look? Like, if we were about to go on a date..."

A date? Us? We?!

George's palms began to sweat, and his heart did somersaults. If only.

It was only then that he realized his mouth was hanging slightly ajar, and after snapping it shut, he swallowed in embarrassment, not daring to look anywhere but your eyes again in fear of falling victim to your appearance again.

Imagine not being able to trust your eyes?

"... What would you think?"

George squeaked, his lips moving hesitantly though he didn't make a sound. His face was surely an embarrassing shade of red, and the longer he waited into answer, the more anticipated you looked for a response.

George rose to his feet and approached you, bravely deciding to give you another good onceover after a deep breath, though he kind of lost all sense of feeling in his legs when you smiled at him with that perfect mouth of yours...

"Wow." George sighed, eyelids falling heavy over his brown irises as he admired you.

"I just... you... wow, Y/n." He couldn't come up with a coherent sentence with the way you were staring at him like that.

God, he was absolutely smitten with you.

Your eyes shone joyously as you placed your hand on your heart, and George, as impossible to him as it seemed, fell so much more in love with you than he was just moments before. Your presence rendered him speechless, and the thought inflated your ego a lot more than you would have expected it to.

George remained silent, but his gaze was still glued to you. He'd looked at you for long enough in his life to probably draw you perfectly by memory, but he still took his time to drink in what he was given; because who knew if he'd ever be able to see more of you than this?

"I... I'm-- I'm speechless, is what I am." He cleared his throat after a moment and said, "I... honestly hope my eyes are doing all the talking for me."

"Aw, you're just a sweetiepie, aren't you?"

You beamed at George, blushing as you took another step toward him. "Well Georgie... if you keep looking at me and sweet-talking the way you are..." your warm words were carefully chosen, and it was obvious that George was hanging into every single word you were saying.

"I may just have to pass on this date and spend tonight with you." Your eyelids fell heavy over your eyes, and you offered George a smile that was suggesting something maybe not so innocent.

"Wh-what?!"

"... I said I'm ready to go." You raised your eyebrow in a little confusion at George's flustered state.

Oh my fucking God she didn't even say that?!

Idiot.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"... R-right, yes, of course." George shook his head as if to rid his brain of the idea of tricking him like that again. He offered his arm out to you, and you linked yours with his before walking to the door together.

You passed a mirror on the way out, and George caught a glimpse of the both of your reflections, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

He looked so happy to be with you in that moment.

And you looked so happy to be leaving to spend time with another man.

George just hoped at least the reflection of him and you were going on this date together, and both of those smiles were meant for each other.

George pulled up to whatever restaurant this guy wanted to meet you at, which was on the other side of town. George did not approve of this and even reminded you of this on the way there, though you insisted you'd be fine, like you had the couple of times he mentioned this before.

You looked at him after he threw his car into park, and he gave you a little smile after a moment, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You do look beautiful, Y/n. This guy... he's very lucky."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you believe me."

You didn't say anything. Instead, you smiled sadly, and leaned in to kiss George's cheek. His skin darkened to pink beneath your lips before you could pull away and leave the car with another goodbye, though his ears were ringing and he missed your final farewell.

She doesn't believe me...

George waited until he saw you were seated in the restaurant to put his car back into drive, but something kept him from lifting his foot off the brake. He watched you adjust your silverware at your table, and clasp your hands together in wait.

... Maybe George wanted to wait for this guy to show up.

But would he really want to kill himself by spying on you and watching you fall for someone who wasn't him over the course of one night?

That was the question that made him decide to look back, and pull out of his parking space before he could spot anyone even go near the building. He was in drive and speeding home moments later.

The car ride back to his flat was a quiet one. George kept the radio off, and his fingers drummed against the steering wheel the whole time as if he were almost impatient to get home and do nothing.

Every time he looked in the rear view mirror and saw his eyes stare back at him, it just reminded him that his reflection left that restaurant alone and just as disappointed as his real counterpart.

It wasn't long before George pulled into his building's parking space and sulked out of his car, slamming the door shut. His eyes and nose were burning from the assault of unfallen tears.

He dropped you off to meet this guy. This was all on him this time.

George loved you. He loved you with all his heart, enough to swallow his pride-- sacrifice his happiness for your own.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, dropping you off that night felt like he was letting you go.

And was he?

He pretty much stumbled through the door because his fucks to give for himself were pretty much nonexistent at this point. He kicked his shoes off, not caring if he scuffed up the wall with black marks.

He just wanted to have a long hot shower, crawl into bed, and hide from everyone.

And that's just what he did.

His shower was well over an hour long, and that's where he broke down and cried for the majority of the time. He cried about you, and the situation his own decisions put himself in. He cried in jealousy for the threat sweeping you off your feet right now, and he cried as if that was the last night he'd ever see you again.

When he got out of the shower, well after the stream went cold, he had no more tears to shed. He was dehydrated, and he felt broken. He did a half-assed job of drying himself off before leaving the bathroom and collapsing into bed, only a towel secured around his hips.

His face was pressed into his pillow, and he tucked his arms beneath it and submerged himself even further into the soft fabric.

He recently switched detergent to whichever one you regularly used, and he just took in the familiar scent; anything to make him feel more at home without you actually being present...

George had no idea how long he was in that position for, but he fell asleep like that, only to wake to the sound of the phone ringing.

He got up and stumbled out of his room to ease the obnoxiously loud phone by picking up the call, shouting, and hanging up on whoever decided to phone at this hour-- whichever hour it was.

"Yeah," George rasped through the receiver, his tone laced with underlying irritation. He just wanted to be left alone in his sadness.

"George..."

"... Y/n?" He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palm of his hand before you spoke, but your voice made him freeze.

"Oh Georgie..." your voice was breaking over the phone, and he could tell it wasn't the connection.

"Y/n, my Love, what's the matter?!"

"George he... He didn't show." George's heart stopped.

He didn't show.

George's grip closed tighter and tighter on the phone receiver, and he could feel the pure rage bubbling in his chest, and the plastic receiver crackling from the force under his fingers.

"Where are you?" He demanded. "I'm coming right now to get you," George was about to start throwing his shoes on, despite wearing absolutely nothing to start off with, his towel discarded and still on the bed from when he passed out.

"The same place you dropped me off."

God dammit, this fucking guy had you go to the other side of town just to be forgotten about.

It was finally settled: if George ever found out who this guy was, he'd kill him for doing this to you.

"Don't move. Be there in five." As soon as George hung up the phone, he took off to his room. He was ready in record time: under a minute. Up until the day he died, George wouldn't have been able to dress as quick as he did that night, and he never knew how he did it.

What really mattered was that George got to the other side of town in about five minutes, as he said over the phone.

George whipped into the parking lot and got out of the car. He hurried over to the front of the building to go in and search for you, but he caught a glimpse of you sitting at the curb as he grabbed the door handle.

His grip eased on the lockset, and he slowly turned to you. You were facing away from him, arms folded as you tried to shield yourself from the cool evening wind. You had no clue he was even behind you.

George sighed gently, shedding his jacket off and placing it on your shoulders without another word. He could see your whole body relax from the weighted piece of clothing, and he wondered if his scent was comforting for you too, as it was vice versa.

George heard you breathe out, but you sniffled afterwards. It broke his heart to see you like this. George looked around to see if anyone was watching, because if there was a chance this guy was cackling away in a parked car at the sight of you in tears, George would have had no problem kicking his headlights in and slashing his tires.

He dropped to the curb and sat down right next to you, not hesitating to circle his arm around your body.

At his touch, you curled yourself into a ball, and George scooped you up to squeeze you tight. And against his chest, when you knew you were safe from all harm, you gently sobbed.

George let you cry it all out, and the tighter you held onto him, the tighter he held onto you.

"Am I just unlovable George...? Is that it?" Your words were quiet and muffled, but George heard every syllable you mustered.

He pulled away from your embrace to look you in the eyes, and his grip on your arms were firm, but not tight. "Now Y/n, you do not for one second even think you're unlovable. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." His eyebrows were lowered in anger at the very idea of you feeling unloved.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, and George's expression softened. He reached his hand up to your face, and he could feel you shaking. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow again.

George wished then more than ever that he was the one who was supposed to see you. He would have shown up.

"Y/n, you deserve so much better than this. If you were mine, I’d make sure sitting alone on the curb, stood up, would be the last place you'd ever find yourself, especially when you were so excited to go out..."

George didn't know where his little spurt of confidence came from, but he was more focused on the words he was choosing to use with you, and what he was all going to say.

"... If I were yours...?" You sniffled again, cheeks and the tip of your nose turning pink and George paused at the sudden realization.

You still had a chance to be his.

And all because that boy didn't show up, he still had time to figure out how he could pull it all off; but it had to be tonight.

He took a deep breath.

"I mean, anyone would be lucky to date you. I just... I sometimes wonder why you were never mine. Why you're not mine..." his voice lowered throughout the sentence, and the end of his confession was barely above a whisper.

You watched George for a moment, lips parted, as if you couldn't believe your ears, and the young man panicked a little, deciding to disregard his last words before it suddenly became the topic of discussion.

"Oh, my Love," George's eyes suddenly saddened as he reached out to wipe away your fresh tears and smeared makeup with his thumb. Your bottom lip trembled at the contact, and he sighed.

"Just because he didn't show up doesn't mean your evening has gone to waste." He stood up and turned to look down at you.

"The night is still young." He then held his hand out in front of you, and you looked at it for a moment as if you didn't know what he wanted from you.

"Y/n... give me one night. Let me show you how a man should always treat you."

He wasn't quite sure if he just unintentionally asked you on a real life date, or if you thought of all this as an act, but even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, it gave George the chance of a lifetime to at least pretend you were his, even if this opportunity only lasted one night.

"Please."

You didn't move at first, but George was patient. You eventually slowly reached your hand out, and George helped you up, not making the effort to let go of you afterwards.

George looked up at the restaurant, and did a double take. "... You... you don't even like fancy places like this, am I wrong?"  All you could think about when looking at him was that he knew you so well.

"A place like this on a first date is a clear sign he'd leave halfway through and I'd be stuck with the bill." George smiled a little, and so did you.

You wiped your final stray tear from your cheek and George gave your other hand a squeeze. "... I'd rather get a burger and go for a walk, to be honest."

"Then that's what we'll do," George confirmed with a nod. It was settled, then.

George and you strolled to the car, still hand-in-hand, and he courteously opened your door to help you in. He ran over to the other side afterwards and climbed in behind the wheel before pulling out and taking off to find somewhere for you both to eat.

You both came across this quiet burger place downtown, and the both of you were able to get a booth in the back for privacy so you could both scarf down your meals in peace.

George ordered the same food you did, and you both settled on sharing a milkshake together (a single milkshake eventually became two).

"God," you looked around the nearly empty joint before turning your gaze back to George. "Do you know how much more comfortable I feel in here?"

"Even when you're dressed like you belong in a dress shop window?" George smiled around his straw and you matched his grin. "Shut up. At least my hair is brushed out."

The poor guy had no clue until now that he forgot to comb his hair out after his depression shower, embarrassingly clawing his fingers through his locks to at least tidy up the mess on his head.

You just laughed out that you were teasing him, and the joyous hiccups from your laughter had George briefly forgetting everything negative that had happened so far that night.

After settling down a little, your food was brought out and you both started eating.

There wasn't much for the both of you to talk about other than the part of your day when you weren't together, and it wasn't like George wanted to mention what happened to him in the last two hours or make you upset by talking about your night.

Instead you both settled on joking about old times. Before the both of you knew it, George had you giggling and smiling once again before your dessert even came, and when the waitress came around to your table with your two-person cookie skillet, you grinned even wider.

You thanked the waitress before she went on her way, and you looked up across the treat to George, whom you were half expecting to be drooling over the cookie. Instead, he was in a dream-like trance, soft gaze fixed on you, and only you. You weren't too sure if he even knew the skillet was in front of him, he was so distracted.

"George...?" You called to him gently as to not frighten him when coming back down to reality. His response was almost immediate, like he could hear you.

And maybe he did.

"... I'm sorry, I don't know how many times I've tried to say this already tonight but have chickened out, but you look just..." George was examining every inch of you that he could see and you blushed, casting your eyes down to the table.

"Angel, look at me." George reached over the table and rested his hand over yours. You lifted your head to look him in the eye, and he hesitated for a moment. Your full attention flustered him, then again it always did, but he took a deep breath.

"You look heavenly, Y/n."

You said nothing. This time, he had you speechless, but nothing wasn't the response he was looking for.

"Dontcha believe me...?" His question echoed through your brain, and you blinked. George scanned your eyes after giving your hand a squeeze. He knew you had something to say, and he was at the edge of his seat in anticipation for your words.

"... Do you really think so?"

"Are you kidding me?! Y/n, I... when you came out of your room tonight I just... looking at you right now, I'm at a loss for words. Heavenly doesn't even scratch the surface. No word exists that perfectly describes how you look to me. Now, or ever."

There was yet another spurt of confidence that washed over George. He had a feeling his words and actions were getting the both of you somewhere, especially when his final sentence had you blushing the way you were.

At least he knew he was doing something right.

George's grip on your hand tightened a little, and he flipped your hands over so your palm was face-up in his. He brought your hand closer to him, and he kissed your fingertips before leaving a final one at the centre of your palm. His eyes never left your red face as he did this, and he grinned against your hand when you offered him a shy smile.

Oh... she IS actually liking this.

When he pulled away, George looked down at the still-untouched dessert, and he smiled, releasing another nervous breath he was holding as he finally let go of your hand. "Let's finish up so we can go on our walk. Sound good, my Love?"

You only nodded before digging in with him, every nudge of his hand against yours reducing you to a blushing mess, and George, who was gaining more confidence as every second passed, would just smile to himself knowing he was successfully turning the tables on you.

But it wasn't yet the time to give in and confess, as much as George wanted to. He still had a nice long walk to woo you on, and then he had to do the important step of walking you to your apartment door at the end of the night, and God knows that was the part he was dying to get to.

You finished your dessert not long after and George payed the bill. After helping you out of the booth, you'd left hand-in-hand again.

The both of you stepped out into the cool night and you looked up at George. "Are you cold? Did you want your jacket back?"

You were holding it in your other hand since you'd taken it off at dinner, and you shoved it in his direction without another word.

He laughed and took the jacket from you, unfolding it and pulling it back around your shoulders before rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm.

"You'll catch a cold without it. Besides, you look better in it anyways." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, smiling proudly to himself when he pulled away and continued to lead you to the car, deciding it'd be smoother to not turn around and gauge for a reaction from you.

Like before, George courteously opened the car door for you, and closed it when you were in. Their destination was his place. It wasn't for the reason one would think, but the idea of driving you to his home and inviting you in with every intention of walking right past the kettle made George's legs restless.

In reality there was a park down the road from his flat that cut pretty much directly to your own humble abode. You'd walked the trail hundreds of times together to look at the pretty flowers growing in the garden, but something told George that this time, like everything else happening that day, was going to be very different.

When you pulled up to his building he raced you to get to your door for the second time of the night; the first being at the burger place when you first arrived. He took your hand and helped you out of the car, and he didn't let go, even after locking the doors to his car and leading you both down the road.

There was a silence that fell between the both of you. It wasn't bad. You took this time to think about your night, as did George. With every step down the road and into the park you took, the smile on your face only grew wider. As for George, he began to sweat with every step he took.

Every foot forward led him closer and closer to your door, where he was going to finally let everything off his chest and confess to you. The problem was that George's confidence was quickly draining, and this was something he needed to do.

He eventually let go of your hand to wipe his palms off on his pant leg, and at the immediate loss of contact, you were turning to him with a confused look on your face.

"Sorry uh..." he breathed out slowly, cheeks dusted pink. "I-I don't know why, but I'm kinda nervous."

Your look of confusion faded into an unreadable one. "Was it holding my hand?"

George shook his head. "No no, not that, I want to hold your hand."

"So what's the problem?"

He just shook his head again. "Maybe it's just... the stress of making sure tonight is perfect for you."

"What?!" Your reaction was sudden, and George's eyebrows were raised high up on his forehead at your exclamation.

"George, tonight has already been perfect for me! I had a great meal, I'm on a lovely walk with you..." you reached out to take his hand again, and he lifted his gaze from his shoes to look you in the eye. You smiled up at him from under the streetlight, and George smiled back a little.

"Georgie, I would never have asked for a better night." You squeezed his fingers with yours and tugged him forward gently. "C'mon, Magpie. Let's get home. It'll be cooling down soon, and I don't want you walking outside much longer than needed tonight."

George followed behind, but you still took your time coming home since the both of you got caught up in another conversation. This time, it was about the flowers you were passing in the park.

"... I used to water those for you, y'know." He pointed to a cluster of marigolds. To think that was ten years earlier and they still stayed put, growing outwards and stronger than ever.

"I used to check on them every day to make sure they weren't dying. You told me one time you really liked those flowers and I just..." he smiled a little at the memory. "I just couldn't get enough of your smile every time you saw them."

You turned to look up at him. You had absolutely no clue he did that for you. It made you love the flowers even more, and your heart jumped a little when you realized that the marigolds were the very reason George insisted you both took the trail all the tine.

"I'll still come across them when passing flower shops. I always think of you when I see them."

"Wow. George, I... I never knew you paid that much attention to me."

"Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend."

And George didn't say anything after that, especially when you didn't respond to his last comment, which he didn't even mean to say.

By the time George could think up a sentence to save himself from friend-zoning the both of you right then and there, he felt like he'd left it for too long.

His heart was sinking, and he tried to shake off the comment best he could, and walked you the rest of the way home.

His stomach was in a knot as he looked up at your apartment building. The front door to the lobby looked intimidating, and his palms began to sweat again. You slipped your hand out of George's, and it distracted him from his racing thoughts.

"You think I'm gonna just leave you here?" His question was sudden, and you blinked once.

"I'm sorry?" You looked from George, to the apartment door which was ten feet away from the both of you. "But George, I'm home?"

"I have to walk you to your door." You laughed at his response, head thrown back as you sighed. "You mean to tell me you, George Harrison, are gonna walk up five flights of stairs in the next two minutes just to make sure you can hear me lock my door and know I'm safe?"

"Would it be a real date if I didn't?"

There was another beat of silence as George watched your eyes shift from left to right in thought. You pursed your lips a little, and then looked him in the eye.

"... Suppose it wouldn't be then, no."

"Then may I walk you to your door, Y/n?"

You finally answered him with a simple nod of your head, and George reached out to take your hand again. He wordlessly led you to the door which he opened for you, and then brought you to the flight of stairs. Nowhere else to go but up.

In about two minutes, you and George got to the fifth floor. As soon as he entered the hall, it felt like the walls were slowly closing together as you both took quiet, careful steps towards the end of the way.

The entire time, your hands were glued together, and no one let go, even when you were both finally stopped, and standing in front of your door.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Y/n. I know you were saying earlier tonight turned out perfect and everything but..." George's brain was still on that platonic comment he made on the walk.

"George, there is no one I would have rather spent tonight with than you. No one."

George squeezed your hand, and then sighed. "I just wish tonight happened under different circumstances."

"Different circumstances?" You repeated a little confused, and the boy in front of you pursed his lips and nodded his head.

Deep breaths. Here it goes.

"Y/n, ever since I found out about this date, my blood has just been boiling with jealousy for that boy. Hell, I still don't even know his name and I could tell you he isn't good for you."

You looked taken aback. Jealousy was definitely not where you thought he was going with all of this.

"I fell in love with you, Y/n. Years ago. And because I feared rejection, I didn't want to take my chances and say anything. But the truth of the matter is that I'd be the happiest person alive just to be able to love you openly. I can't stand to see you cry the way he made you tonight."

Again, you stood there, no words coming to mind to respond with. Your silence didn't make George stop.

"To think for years my feelings for you haven't gone away. I've always thought you felt the same, yet you were never mine." George paused. "When can this boy get you back again, Y/n?"

There was a long silence, his eyes searching yours for your answer, and you were staring up at him like a deer in headlights.

"I-- if I'd known-- I never thought-- George, I had no clue." He could see the lost look on your face, and it made his heart ache, especially when your lip began to tremble and your eyes started filling to the brim with tears.

"Why do you think I turned down every guy who's tried to get with me? I just... I never thought you'd love me back, Georgie." His emotions sank into a deep dark guilt. All this time, and you felt the same way about him...

And then he blinked.

You feel the same way about him!

George reached out to you, his hand cupping the side of your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. Your tears began to fall, and he pulled you into his chest tightly for a moment. "My Love," he mumbled, pulling away just far enough for him to see your face again.

"Oh, even when you're crying, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever set eyes on..." There was a beat of nothing; just the sound of shallow breaths shared between the both of you before George began to inch in slowly towards you.

"... George, what are you doing...?" Your question was gentle, and you didn't stop him from coming any closer. You didn't want to stop him.

"Something I should've done a long time ago."

His attention fixated to your mouth once before your lips finally clashed together.

For over a decade, George had waited for the moment he tasted your lips; and now that it was here, he was almost scared he wouldn't know what to do.

The both of you were holding your breath since you both felt a little unsure at first, but it was a given, he was kissing his childhood best friend, and you were, too. You kissed back a little, and George exhaled lightly through his nose, a little relieved knowing you were getting a little more comfortable with the situation.

George's hands fell to your waist, fingers curling around your body as he eventually pulled you even closer. You parted your lips a little, and he bit down on your bottom lip, pulling away after hearing you gasp.

"Oh! Did I hurt you? I'm--" George could barely rush an apology out before you pulled him down to kiss him again, and pushing him backwards until his back was flat against your door. He watched as you closed the space between you again, and your lips were on his again.

His heart was pounding, ears ringing loudly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, and all the boy could remember thinking about was how blissful it all was in that moment. George threw his arms around you and started pushing back just a little.

You pulled away from him to gasp in a breath, George's hands grabbing your arms and pinning you against your door so he could put you in the place he was moments before; to give you the moment to experience just a fraction of all the love he would be able to eventually give to you.

His lips briefly found the crook of your neck and you moaned quietly as George sucked at your skin a little, which only resulted in him pulling away just to lean back in to kiss your lips and swallow your pleasant hums.

You eventually pulled away to face him again, lips swelled and pink, and breaths quick. You never thought you'd have so much trouble breathing while kissing someone.

Then again, it's not everyday that the man you're kissing is George Harrison.

"I know it's rare to ask this on a first date but..." George leaned down to attach his lips to the column of your throat, and he hummed against your skin when you moaned gently, delaying your question for a moment.

"... Did you maybe wanna, I don't know, come in, stick around for some tea?"

"Is that even a question?" George asked lowly against your neck, and you smiled. You reached into your purse to retrieve your apartment keys, which you blindly stuck into the keyhole since George was back to kissing you again, and the both of you stumbled through the door as soon as you got it open.

You and George kicked your shoes off after shutting the door, and you pushed him up against the wall in the front corridor to kiss him once again.

Ten years was way too long for the both of you to be deprived of one another any further, and George gladly let you migrate your lips to his neck after a moment, tilting his head back for you to make things a little easier.

With your head buried into his neck and your arms circled around one another, George lazily opened this eyes to watch himself in that same mirror across the hall he looked into a few hours prior.

All the boy could do was smile to himself, breathing heavily as he watched your reflection switch to the other side of his neck after leaving a mark on the right side of his throat.

Not only was his reflection successful in this date tonight, but George himself pulled off the biggest risk he could imagine and it paid off.

He finally got the girl of his dreams.

----------------------------------------

A/A/N: honestly, this fic lives rent free in my head and it has been since I wrote it, so I gotta show it off to y'all. Again, I know it was long, but I really hope you enjoy it <3

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[for-writing-shit]

If Not For You

summary: george calms you down after an awful fight with your parents

pairing: george harrison x gender neutral!reader

warnings: domestic violence, swearing, daddy issues, angst

author's note: please please please don't ever let anyone at all treat you like this. this is a sad and long one. it ends good ok. if you ever need someone to talk to, i'm always available

1969.

You were shaking from the moment you left your parents' house. Now, sitting in the car in front of your home, it all came to you. Tears began to roll down your face quietly, and you started to feel the sharp pain of the slaps and punches your father threw at you as the adrenaline washed off. When you checked the rearview, you saw your cheek swollen, as were your lips. Your eyes hurt, the old man managed to land a punch there too.

You were horrible. At least now you were safe. Trembling, you took a deep breath and got out of the car, silently walking to the front door. The atmosphere of your shared house with George at Friar Park was something you didn't expect to need right now.

The soft sound of the new Bob Dylan record, Nashville Skyline, brought you a sense of peace much appreciated for the moment. It reminded you where you were - in your home, away from your family, out of harm's way. It also warmed your heart to know that - if Dylan was playing on the stereo - George was home.

"Love?" George called from the kitchen. It was late in the evening, and he was preparing himself a sandwich. He was worried and couldn't put his mind to doing anything from the moment you left to visit your parents. The Liverpudlian man was very much aware of your relationship with them, or lack of, though it wasn't a subject neither of you enjoyed discussing often. George knew they were abusive, but he didn't know to what extent.

You sat on the couch of the living room, sobbing quietly. With your head laid back, you caressed your temples and closed your eyes, you couldn't bring yourself to answer him.

"Hi," you tried. Your voice was hoarse, thick with misery. Immediately you listened to George's boots mix with Dylan's guitar. Hearing you like this made him uneasy, and he began searching for you anxiously. Then, George found you.

The anger in him enhanced for a moment, shocked. He ran to you, lowering himself to his knees. George was holding your hand in his tightly. Stroking your arm with care, he focused on your face.

"Honey, what happened?" The boy mumbled, moving his hand to caress your cheek softly. You hissed at the touch, to which George quickly moved his fingers to your hair. His expression was pure horror and fury combined.

"My parents didn't enjoy what I had to say," you sniffled. They had called you in to have dinner with them, to discuss a few things. "They were being hostile and saying a lot of mean stuff to me. Then, my dad thought the best way to make me shut up was slapping me across the face." You were shaking violently as you remember it, flashes running through your head. "He tried to punch me a few times. And well, he managed," you laughed amidst the pain. Your head was pounding, but you thought it was better to laugh at the situation than to cry your eyeballs out. You were already doing so, anyway.

George was speechless. His face was blank for a few seconds; then, completely soft with a tint of concern. "Where did he hit you, love?" You took a long breath as you pointed everywhere sore in your body to him. "What do you say I run you a bath?" He smiled lightly at you, his voice gentle. You beamed back, wiping your cheeks. After he kissed the back of your hand, George got up, extending his hand to you.

You gratefully took it in yours. George helped you get on your feet, moving his fingers to hold you tightly and closer by the waist. He pecked at your neck softly as the two of you strolled down the hall, then up the stairs to your bedroom. You laid your head on his shoulder, eyes shut. You found so much comfort in him. He was your safe harbour, your rock.

"It's going to be alright, baby. I've got you," George whispered against your hair.

Once you were inside your suite's bathroom, George began undressing you. Gently, he planted soft kisses along your skin, calming you down. George took extra care with the areas you were hurting the most. His eyebrows knitted together when he took notice of the fight's marks. He was still mad, though he decided you needed him before he could go and beat the shit out of your father.

That was something going on in the back of your mind - how would George react? You knew him pretty well, considering you were a happily married couple and had been together for a long time. You knew he wasn't against getting physical. You could only imagine his lanky figure over your father, and as fucked up as it was, you thought it would be funny.

The tub was ready, and George assisted you to enter it. The water was warm and soothing, your limbs melting into it. Your body was sore, and you felt like shutting down. You had stopped shaking, and your breathing was getting steadier. Much thanks to George's help and presence.

He was very attentive and careful with you, singing quietly a new tune of his as he washed your back. It brought you to tears again. How could someone who was supposed to love you treat you that badly? And how come you simultaneously had someone like George in your life, acting as if you were a piece of rare China? It didn't make sense to you, and it killed you to notice the discrepancy.

"Why do you even love me, Geo?" You uttered between sobs, your limbs quivering once more. George's hands stopped their movements, moving your hair out of your face. Your teary-eyed gaze fitted his gloomy one. His eyebrows united again. "I'm horrible, George. My dad fucking hates me. I'm a goddamn monster. You deserve better," you continued, weeping like a little kid.

"You are not, (y/n). Don't say that," George caressed your good cheek, bringing your face close. He was speaking under his voice too. You were the only people in the giant Victorian castle - yet it made it feel more intimate. "It's not your fault, okay? It's not your fault your father is a scumbag," he was clearly controlling himself as he breathed in and out soundly. Thinking of your father right now was enough to send him over the edge. "I love you for who you are, love. You make me happier just by being you. You can do literally nothing, and I'd think you are the greatest," he smiled lightly at you when a small giggle left your lips. "You are not a monster, honey. Don't let his nonsense get into your head, please." He pleaded softly, kissing your forehead.

George resumed running the sponge over your frame, carefully placing soft pecks now and then. Up your arms, shoulders, collarbone. Everywhere he could get his lips in. You persisted, whimpering calmly now from happiness - you even chuckled a bit at yourself. You found someone who truly loved you, in the good and the bad.

"I'm so thankful to have you," you stated after a while. George was applying shampoo to your hair, rinsing it off. He giggled cheerily, his fangs showing in that sweet smile. "If not for you, I'd be lost," to your surprise, George grinned even more before kissing you properly on the lips for the first time that night.

"I have something to show you later," he told you giggly. He put conditioner in your head, giving your scalp a massage. "I've got a new tune," George said in his shy tone, causing an enormous grin to spread across your features. You loved to hear his songs before anyone else. "But first, I've gotta take care of my baby," he pecked right behind your ear, a chuckle leaving your lips.

"Geo, what should I do?" You questioned him when it turned silent again. He looked at you with a puzzled expression, thinking it over. "I don't want them to hate me more than they already do." You were quiet, fear taking over your thoughts.

"First of all, we need to go to the police, love." George moved your hair back, staring straight at your eyes.

"But I don't want to cause them any more problems."

"So they can cause you more?" George's eyebrows were upon his forehead, and his tone gave you an idea of how mad he was. "This can't go on any longer, (y/n). For your own sake. You've got to put yourself first," he stared at you, his gaze filled with apprehension. "And I can't deal with the idea of them hurting you anymore. I want to kill your dad, (y/n). He's a fucking prick for treating you like this." His eyes got teary, and he quickly moved a hand to wipe the tears away. Your palm shifted to hold his face, thumb going over his cheek fondly.

"Aren't you going to fight him, are you?" You asked him, utterly tired.

"I really want to, but no. I won't," George sighed, pecking your hair as he got up. "I'm going to get you some painkillers. And I think you need some time alone to think it over," he smiled softly at you, opening the door. "I love you."

"I love you too," you said back, smiling tiredly at him.

Alone in the quietness of the bathroom, your mind went over the whole thing once more. This time you didn't cry - you were just enraged it happened. You drowned your body in the water for a few seconds before emerging again. You felt better and laughed as you remembered that someone had told you rage was powerful, even in the healing process.

You thought about going to the police, and what that would mean to your relationship with them. "That would probably ruin my dad's life," you concluded. But after a while, you began thinking about what George had said. It was about your safety, and since your father wasn't someone you could trust, denouncing him was the best option. That or pretend it never happened, like you did so many times. Now you were exhausted and completely tired of it. You weren't going to put on a happy face for them anymore. It was long overdue.

You didn't know how long it had been since George left, but the moment you enter the bedroom, he's in his pyjamas. He had laid yours on your side of the bed. Your lovely man was smoking a ciggie by the window, his back facing you. George definitely heard you come out of the bathroom, though he didn't turn. He didn't want to push you, taking your time. Putting the pyjamas on, you walked up to him, holding George by the waist, kissing his neck.

"Did you enjoy the bath?" George asked, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You shook your head positively. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Thank you." You kissed George, trying to express your love for him through the kiss. It seemed to work as he smiled into it. "I've made a decision," you sighed before saying. "We are going to the police." George didn't answer, and instead, a grin covered his face as he kissed you tightly. You held your arms around his neck, putting him even closer.

"Do you want to listen to the song, love?" George questioned, moving to get his guitar by his bedside. You trod to yours, taking the pills he left by your nightstand.

"Of course," you responded with a chuckle. You were resting against the headrest. You watched closely as George put the instrument on his tighs and strum it a bit.

Then, he began playing it. You recognized the tune - it was the one he was singing in the bathroom. Butterflies took your heart by surprise once George began singing.

"If not for you. Babe, I couldn't even find the door. I couldn't even see the floor. I'd be sad and blue, if not for you." His cheeks were rosy, but he kept going. You found it amusing that George still got embarrassed to sing in front of you. "If not for you, my sky would fall. Rain would gather, too. Without your love, I'd be nowhere at all. I'd be lost, if not for you." That part had you smiling like a fool.

When George put the guitar aside, you jumped to embrace him strongly. "That was so sweet."

"Well, it wouldn't be if not for you."

[for-writing-shit]

You

summary: you and george have had feelings for each other ever since you met, but none of you ever came clean about liking one another. during the party for the release of sgt. pepper's lonely hearts club band, alcohol gives george way more confidence than expected

paring: george harrison x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol, weed, cursing

author's note: this is so long i'm not even sorry lol

1967.

Brian Epstein's house was filled to the brim with brilliant characters on the show business to a point you felt a bit overwhelmed by it. Sipping your drink as you swayed through the living spaces, fingers lightly tapping on the glass to the rhythm of Getting Better that played in the background, you were out of it.

It was the launch party for the new Beatles' upcoming record Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Being a lifelong friend of the group, you were incredibly proud of them for being this creative and showing how multifaceted they were. For you, the lads were the definition of talent and getting to see how far they've come from playing at pubs on Liverpool was just phenomenal. You felt so lucky for it and made sure to tell them all, who mostly rolled their eyes with affection and tried to brush it off.

Except for George.

His face turned a swift tint of pink when you told him that, smiling softly to the ground and trying to avoid looking you in the eye. Once George's gaze returned to your face, both of you were blushing and sharing sweet smiles.

"Thank you, love. I appreciate it," he whispered, moving his bony hand to hold yours, calloused fingers gently caressing it, not breaking the eye contact.

You both shared feelings for as long as you could remember. You have been in love with him from the moment you locked eyes for the first time, and you were more than aware it was mutual, not because you've had discussed it or anything like it.

The pair of you sent letters back and forth. Little love notes you passed each other when no one was looking, something you have mastered after doing it so many times over the years to try to avoid the other boys' attention and, consequently, teasing.

It all started because of George's shyness when you were about fifteen. He wanted to spend more time with you, to get to know you more than the interactions you had with the boys around allowed. When the focus of the conversation wouldn't be on either of you, George would slip you a note, waiting patiently for your response, even if it took you days to get the best opportunity to give it to him.

Eventually, the subject of the small letters evolved into one's perception of the other, then lovely compliments to sweet confessions. Yet, none of you has ever mustered the guts to do something about it.

You both have written tirelessly about your undying love but were still too shy to grab the other's face and take them in a passionate kiss. And unfortunately, thanks to The Beatles' success, you hadn't been able to see George as you used to years before.

The whole Beatlemania mayhem broke out, unfortunately, when you and the tooth-fanged boy were starting to make moves and initiatives on each other in public subtly. Well, in more obvious ways than just staring longing at each other with your friends' conversations as background noise. And, to make things worse, you had moved to college in the meantime. Neither you nor George could make it happen with the schedule you had, even if you wanted.

To this day, you cursed this massive fear of being judged to be seen together as a couple you used to have. Things could've been much easier if one part had just made a move all those years ago. Now you knew it was way more difficult - the timid aspect was off the table, but now everyone had settled on the fact you were best friends. You were one of his wife's bridesmaids, for Christ's sake.

Yeah, that happened. George had married Pattie, a good-looking and adorable model, and you found a little peace knowing it was all just play-pretend for the press. Brian wanted to improve the band's image and push back the idea people had of them as a bunch of immature and promiscuous lads. You still found the idea rather extreme, but it wasn't like you were their manager, or they knew how sad you felt.

According to George's letters, Pattie had her eyes on someone else, and she was aware of his feelings for you from the get-go. There was a running rumour that they were signing the papers to end their marriage, and to your relief, he told you it was true. They were finally calling it quits, and you both had the opportunity to start something side by side, after all this time. You wanted desperately to kiss him hard and hold his face tightly as you did so.

But except for Brian, you were the only one who knew. And oh, that was fucking painful.

You were out of your mind at the party due to the amount of pot you had smoked with Paul by the backyard, strolling around like a giggly kid with red-tired eyes. That was the way you found to stop thinking about the handsome man with the prettiest Scottish accent. It was harmless considering the environment you were in, surrounded by just as stoned musicians and long time friends.

Parallelly George's way was drinking his ass off, drunk out of his mind. It didn't matter how much tequila or scotch he drank - you continued to linger around his mind. And you looked oh so dreamy in that knee-long orange dress stamped with petite flowers drawn in different shades of yellow and green. His brain went further enough to notice it matched his psychedelic yellowy suit for the evening.

"McCartney, as a dancer, you are a great singer," you loudly laughed as you jigged with your childhood friend, having a good time watching him embarrass himself as he mimicked Elvis' classic dance moves during Good Vibrations by The Beach Boys. "It doesn't even fit the fucking song, you moron!"

"Fuck off, (y/n). Would you?" He answered with a sly smile across his face. His hands stopped fisting the air and went to grab your own, twirling you around. "C'mon, (y/n)! Good vibrations!" You chuckled. If the dictionary lacked a description for stoned, you'd suggest putting a picture of Paul. He was as high as he could be, but you weren't any different.

"Good vibrations!" You yelled back, spinning around like a carousel and opening your arms, not caring if you would bump into someone.

George was watching you from afar, sipping his drink mindlessly. The man chewed the inside of his cheek, envy dominating his thoughts. He wished he was Paul. "Why does Macca always get the best out of every situation, anyway?" George was mad - he just wanted to be next to you, but you still had to pretend nothing was going on, and that was making him insane.

"Little fucker," he whispered to himself, bitterness and jealousy taking over his tone. His eyes searched for Pattie, wanting to, at least, have a chat with someone to distract him. Then, he landed on her having a flirtatious exchange with a tall blond guy that George swore he'd never seen before. The scene brought a smile to his face once he saw the two kiss at the corner of the room, realizing that it didn't matter what anyone else thought. They were in the midst of a divorce, in love with different people and deserved to be happy.

The alcohol was working in his favour, making him particularly way more confident than usual, and the scene only helped with that. Tapping the glass against the wood surface of the table, George got up from the couch he was half-lying-half-sitting in, a knowing smile showing in his features, cheeks and nose slightly red from drinking.

Walking over to you and Paul, he giggled to himself anxiously for a minute, assuming things would be weird after this. "Fuck it," he said amidst it.

He went behind Paul, tapping his shoulder and holding back the envy look that wanted to come out. The bassist turned his head, smiling widely at George, "Hazza! What can I do for you, man?"

George grinned back, "I was wondering if I could have a dance with this lovely young lady, or is she taken for the night?" He might still be mad, but he wouldn't mistreat his pal without a knowing reason.

"Of course, but you know, she's two left feet," Paul inclined to fake whisper to George, a smirk playing across his lips.

"Hey!" you intervented, blushing as you pretended to be angry, though your expression softened as soon as you locked eyes with George, smiling at him.

"I'm willing to risk it, mate," he retorted to Paul, who stepped out of the way and gestured towards you.

"She's all yours, big boy," and with a pat on George's back, Paul left to find John for a ciggie.

Raising his eyebrows at you, George offered his hand, "you smoked, right?"

"Were you spying on me, Harrison?" you spoke with a shy smile taking over, holding his hand and the other gripping at his shoulder. "That's fucking creepy, you know," you finished with a laugh, joined by him.

"No, I did not," he took hold of your waist, bringing you close and holding you onto for dear life. Your breath caught up at your throat. "Just watched you and Macca dancing, got a bit jealous," George complemented with a side smirk, and you felt your cheeks burning.

"But why did you ask if I smoked?" You questioned him, trying not to show how flustered you were.

"Your eyes are blood-shot red. If you hadn't smoked, I'd be worried," George trailed off, caressing your hip gently as you two swayed through the room.

"And why is that?" Your eyebrows knitted together, legitimately confused, hands moving up to wrap around his neck. George's grip tightened at your waist, causing you to sigh.

"Because you are my doll, sweetheart," he whispered close to your ear, distributing soft kisses around and behind your earlobe. "Wouldn't want to see my love crying, right?" You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing, praying that no one had taken notice of George's touches, and knowing him so well, you were a hundred per cent sure he was smiling to see his effect on you.

"If I were to cry, it would be because of you," you whispered back, getting agitated and nervous, even though you were also a bit horny and needy, "why do you think I smoked that much anyway?" Now it was George's turn to unite his eyebrows, but with a sad and thoughtful expression. "I only wish things could be easier..." You dropped your head to his shoulder, sighing. Soon enough, he was speaking again.

"It doesn't have to be this difficult, you know?" George was watching you closely, catching the moment you turn your focus back on him, "Fuck all that. I love you. You love me. What else do we have to do?"

"You know very well it can't be like that," your voice was tired, and you didn't know if it was from laughing and singing so loudly on the dancefloor or from how the subject sucked the life out of you. "You are a married man, George. I don't want people to see me as some maneater or the cause for your divorce."

"And you know you are not," his eyes were pleading for you to give in, and before you could think of a response, he was back to kissing the skin behind your ear, also sucking and nibbling, moving to your neck.

"But they don't," you manage to say between short breaths, hands moving to his hair, voice shaking and eyes closed.

"Fuck them," George told you firmly before quickly pulling you in for an intense and desperate kiss, holding you as close as he could.

Kissing George always felt so ethereal to you, now more than ever. It was like the rest of the party disappeared, turned only to minor background noise, everything going in slow-motion as you two deepened the kiss with every passing second. Yet, the two of you felt people were watching you and, when you tried to pull away, George held your face in place, smashing with even more intensity his lips against yours, his nose glued to your cheek. He pulled away by placing soft pecks at your mouth, trying to make you feel at ease. With your face still in between his bony hands, George pressed your foreheads together.

Once the world seemed to come back to normal, and the party's noise came back, you noticed how quiet it was. You could only hear the music playing and people whispering back and forth. Your body grew tense, and George, aware that he was right to think it would be weird afterwards, smiled softly at you.

"Love, go up to the guest room upstairs. I'll meet you in a bit," he whispered with a reassuring smile, caressing your face. You shook your head positively and, facing the ground and growing more and more embarrassed by the second, you trod as fast and calmly as you could.

When you reached half the staircase, you heard steps behind you. Turning your face, you saw John, who looked extremely surprised. You gulped anxiously.

"When did all of this started, and how did I not notice?" He blurted out after a few moments. You wanted to laugh at the fact John was turning the situation about him, but your face didn't move. You were too tense.

"When George and I were fifteen," that only made his eyes grow in shock. Silence took over once more, and you began feeling uncomfortable, turning to head the rest of the stairs, only for him to hold your forearm.

"George's said he and Pattie are through. I'm sorry you two had to go through this, though I want you to know I'm here for the two of you. You can count on me if you need anything," he was still serious, yet you beamed at his words. You understood what he meant - he would be there to support you once the press finds out. John had some trouble expressing his feelings, doing it ever so subtly. It meant a lot.

"Thank you, John," he smiled and turned to go back to the living room. You soughed, entering one of the guest rooms at the Epstein's residence.

Kicking out your heels and removing all accessories from your hair, you lay in bed exhausted, knowing damn well that you and George would be sleeping there, and probably the other Beatles, like it happened every time at parties in Brian's home.

You didn't hear George enter the room, only smiling to yourself with eyes closed when the bed dipped and then his body was pressed up against yours, face to face.

"Now we can finally be," happiness was all over his sweet voice, the boy running a hand in your hair and the other in the small of your back. You held him tighter, which made him giggle. "I love you."

"I love you too," you reply with your voice thick with sleep, pecking his lips before falling asleep, happiness washing over your dreams.

[for-writing-shit]

don’t bother me

george harrison x reader

genre: confort

warnings: none !

summary: a lazy day with george

a/n: i personally need more geo content

the sky seemed heavy while she stirred in bed, her limbs aching from exhaustion quite unexplainable. it wasn’t just the physical one, it was the kind of tired that consumed your soul, making even getting out of bed feel impossible.

george layed beside her, propped up on one elbow, his soft brown eyes watching her closely. he’d noticed the way her shoulders had drooped the night before, how her laughter didn’t come as easily, how quiet she had been.

“you all right, love?” he asked gently, his voice still thick with sleep.

she turned herself to face him, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“i’m just tired,” she murmured. “not even sure why, i just don’t feel like doing anything today.. or maybe ever.”

george reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“then don’t,” he said simply, "just fot today" his hand lingering on her cheek, “we don’t have to go anywhere or do anything. we can just stay here.”

she sighed, a wave of relief washing over her at his words.

“you really mean it?” she asked. george’s lips twitched into a small smile, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“course i do. we’ll stay right here. just you and me.”

george brought tea and toast to bed, balancing the tray carefully. they both sat cross-legged on the bed, crumbs scattering across the blankets as they shared bites and talked about everything and nothing. she leaned back against the headboard and george nestled beside her, pulling the blanket up over both of them. she then rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as his fingers traced lazy patterns on her arm.

“you know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “you don’t always have to keep going and doing stuff all day, you know? it’s all right to take a day off, to stop and breathe.”

she tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“i know but i just… feel like i should be doing more, like maybe if i actually did something could take advantage of my life and do something with it,” she admitted. “like i’m wasting time if i stop.”

george frowned slightly, his fingers pausing their motion.

“darling,” he said softly, his voice steady and full of care. “you’re not wasting anything. everyone gets tired, and everyone needs a break sometimes. you’ve been doing so much lately. it’s all right to let yourself rest.”

she blinked up at him, her heart swelling at the sincerity in his gaze, a tear slipping down her cheek.

george caught it with his thumb, brushing it away gently before leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of her eye.

“i know you, and i know you need this. so, no more worrying about what you "should" be doing, yeah? today’s just about us.” he said with a small chuckle.

she nodded, her hand reaching up to rest over his.

“georgie, i don’t deserve you,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

george shook his head, smiling softly.

“i’m the lucky one.”

as the day wore on, they stayed snuggled in the warmth of their bed while she rested her head on his chest.

“you feeling a bit better now, love?” he asked, his lips brushing against her hair.

she nodded, snuggling into him.

“much,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “i just needed you.”

george tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“well, lucky for you, i’m not planning on going anywhere,”

[for-writing-shit]

you know i believe and how

george harrison x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none ! just fluffy geo <3

summary: george confesses his love with a song abt you !!

a/n: ik this isn't how "something" was written, but i thought it would be a pretty cute way to imagine georgie :)

the living room was quiet while george sat on the floor obvliviously plucking at the strings. she sat opposite to him on the couch, her legs tucked under while sipping from a cup of tea. the glow coming from the fireplace lit her face, and george thought she’d never looked more pretty.

“you’re awfully quiet tonight, george” she said curious. “what’s going on that mind of yours?”

he glanced up at her, his pretty lips curving into a small smile.

“nothing much, really” he replied, though the truth lingered just behind his words.

she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in that way she always did when she didn’t quite believe him.

“oh come on, georgie” she teased gently. “i know theres something going on, so tell me what is it” she said while leaving the cup on the table.

he hesitated, his fingers brushing the strings of his guitar in a nervously.

“well, lately i’ve been working on something,” he said at last. “a song, you know..”

her expression softened at his words, and she leaned forward a little.

“did you already showed it to the band..?”

he shook his head, his gaze dropping to the guitar.

“uhm, not really, it's not for them.”

“not for them?” she repeated softly. “then who’s it for?”

he swallowed hard, lifting his gace to see the features that he dreamed of almost every night. the firelight reflected in her eyes, and for a moment, he forgot all the lyrics he’d written, all the melodies he’d ever rehearsed.

“for you,” he murmured, the words quiet but confident.

her breath got caught for just a second, her cheeks flushing faintly.

“for me?” she repeated.

he nodded, gripping the guitar a little tighter.

“i’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said, his voice steadier now. “but i couldn't put it into words, so i.. well, i wrote a song about it.”

her smile softened, and she sank back into the couch, her eyes never leaving his.

“could you play it for me maybe?” she whispered.

george took a deep breath, adjusted his guitar, and let his fingers dance on the guitars frets. the melody was slow, almost hesitant at first, but as he played, the music seemed to wrap around the room.

something in the way she moves...

his voice was low, intimate, and as he sang, his gaze flickered up to meet hers.

attracts me like no other lover…

she never looked away from him, her eyes shining, her lips parted slightly as though she might speak but didn’t dare interrupt.

something in the way she woos me,

i don’t want to leave her now…

when the song ended, silence filled the room. george set the guitar aside, his fingers lingering on the strings for just a moment before he looked back at her.

“so?” he asked, his voice soft. “what do you think?.. do you like it?”

she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as her gaze locked with his.

“oh georgie,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “that was so beautiful.”

he smiled shyly, “you really mean that?”

“of course i do,” she said, moving from the couch to sit beside him on the floor. her hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before resting on his. “you put your heart into that song, didn’t you?”

he nodded, his thumb brushing lightly against hers.

“i did,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “mainly because it’s about you. you’re… you’re something.. i’ve never felt this way before, and i don’t want to mess it up by saying the wrong thing, so I thought…”

her other hand came up to rest against his cheek, stopping him mid-sentence.

“you didn’t mess anything up,” she said gently. “you could never,”

his breath hitched as her thumb brushed his cheekbone, she leaned closer.

“and just for the record, i love you george, if it was not clear”

the words washed over him, filling every corner of his heart. without thinking, george tilted his head just slightly, closing the space between them until their lips met.

the kiss was slow, sweet, and full of everything they hadn’t yet said. when they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, her smile wide and radiant.

“i'm just curious," she said softly "do you like me?"

george chuckled softly, his breath still shaky from the kiss, pulling her closer, resting his forehead against hers, savoring the warmth of the moment.

“do I like you?” he repeated, his voice a little hoarse. “i think you know the answer to that.”

she laughed lightly, her fingers tracing his features.

“yeah, i guess i do,” she replied, “i just wanted to hear you say it.”

he smiled, his heart swelling in his chest. george looked into her eyes, the firelight flickering in her pupils, and everything else faded into the background.

“i like you more than i can put into words,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “more than i ever expected to and more than i thought was possible.”

her eyes softened, and she leaned in, kissing him again, this time with a gentle pressure that made his heart race. when they pulled apart, she smiled, her cheeks flushed.

they sat there in the dim light, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them like a blanket. george didn’t need to say more; the music, the kiss, and the way they held eachother was all they needed.

"so.. do i get to hear that song again?”

george chuckled, picking up his guitar once more.

“as many times as you’d like,” he promised.

[for-writing-shit]

Love Bites

This is a request fic from an Anon. I've followed it on from a previous fic Notes. Hope you enjoy it Anon :)

My dm's are open for requests or suggestions!

Rhapsody ♪

Word count- 2.7k

Warnings- Gets a little seggsy... (let me know if I've missed any!)

Characters- George Harrison x Reader, George Harrison x y/n, Beatles x y/n, reader x The Beatles

“Paul, that bass needs tuning. Stop getting distracted and do it!” You called out over the speaker into the live room. Cutting it off with a huff you turned to Glynn who was sitting next to you in the control room.

 “Honestly, we’re never gonna get out at this rate.” You rolled your eyes for added emphasis. He returned the look in agreement. 

“That’s exactly why I told you to bring something to change into for later!” Glynn replied exasperated. 

You were desperate to get out for a night of dancing, maybe finding a dark corner with George. You’d been seeing each other in secret since he caught you using the studio and equipment late one night. He helped you work on one of your songs, which led to you both making out and heading back to his. 

Glynn looked at his watch, grimacing. “I really should make sure I get the table at The Bag o’ Nails. They gave it away to Jagger last time. Would you mind? I’ll get you a glass of champers, I promise.” He pleaded. Glynn had been working round the clock with your help to get this album finished for the label. He deserved to finish early for once you thought.

“Make it a bottle and you’re on!” You smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“It’s cheeky, but fair enough. If you can get all four of them to finish the last few bits before midnight I might even make it two! Good luck y/n.” 

He picked up his shirt and dress trousers which you hadn’t noticed he’d stowed on a shelf; clearly this wasn’t his first rodeo, and waved to the band through the control window. 

You pressed the comms button again. 

“I’ve two bottles of champagne promised if we can get this done by midnight. However, I want it done by eleven. I’ll let you share my winnings if you sort your shit out lads.” Giving them a double thumbs up and getting a chorus of half hearted replies in return. 

“AND PAUL. STOP FAFFING ABOUT AND TUNE THAT BASS!” You cried out. “Let’s go from the top…”

Time ticked on. By ten fifteen you slipped out of view to get your dress on, conscious of the time whilst they were busy going through the number. As you pulled the zip up along the back you couldn’t help but smirk, knowing how George would be doing the opposite later. 

You looked over to him as he played. Sometimes his guitar face was so like his sex one, it made you giggle to yourself, but the thought was quickly cut short.

There was something buzzing on the recording. One of the leads perhaps? Dammit. They were on track to get out early. You cut over their music.

“Guys. Sorry, something’s buzzing. I’ll come and look…” You grabbed a new lead off the wall and sashayed through the live room, dodging amps and half empty glasses. 

“Oh she’s ready to go lads!” Ringo gave you a dum dush on the drums as you sauntered through, making you laugh. “First dance is with me y/n.” He added sweetly. You hurriedly agreed. He was the best mover out of all of them. 

“I could have bet you had scales below your neck y/n.” John quipped. “I didn’t think you believed in low necklines.” 

“Very funny.” You stuck out a tongue. John let out a wolf howl. 

“Oh behave Lennon! Honestly.” Admonishing him, but becoming a little self conscious with the attention on you. You passed George and he caught your hand. 

“I think you look sensational.” He crooned, making the hairs on your arms rise. You recognised the want on his face making your insides flip, surely the guys would be able to tell something was happening with you both. The corners of your mouth curled upwards as you untied the scarf at George's neck, making him part his lips ever so slightly at your touch. You rearranged the kerchief over your chest. His scent billowed from it, woody and smoky, so heady you had to stop yourself from leaning in to kiss him.

 “This should help resume some normality for you John.” You said, snapping yourself out of the pull towards George. The lads laughed as you headed over to Paul. It was bound to be his lead buzzing. It was one of those days with him!

“Here, Paul, swap that lead for this one…” You handed it over as the others began tinkering on their instruments.

“Here, can you test this old lead on your amp George? I want to double check it.” He brushed his thumb along yours as he took the lead from you, giving you his endearing fangy grin, making your world spin a little faster.

Paul began thrumming his bass and it sounded clear. George locked in with his guitar, the old lead buzzed. He pulled it out and handed it back to you, lingering his touch longer than needed, making you crave his hands around your middle, your mind picturing a deep kiss and being pulled onto his lap right there…you could swear George was reflecting back the same desire…

Shaking your head slightly to break out of the spell, you turned tail heading back to the control room. “Right, let’s try that again.” 

The pause to locate the noise had broken the energy in the room. Three more takes and it wasn’t working. Paul began to get snappy in frustration. You weren’t the only one eager to get to the club it seemed. 

You pulled your headphones off, setting them down reluctantly after listening back to see if anything was good enough. Nope. Time out. You headed back out into the live room. 

“Guys, let's take fifteen. Split up, I think you’ve been in eachothers pockets too long. John go and flirt with Amari on reception, she’s been eyeing you for ages and she’d love it. There’s no reason she should be here so late otherwise, so make it worth her while! Ringo, roof terrace. Paul go and eat something in the kitchen. Don’t think I’ve not noticed you starting to get hangry. George get some air out back.” You watched them make off slowly before padding back to the control room loading new tape ready, marking off the used one. 

“Can I get some air in here please?” The door opened a little and George slunk inside, menace etched all over his face. 

“You’re going to get us found out Georgie. We can’t be seen together like this here, I’m bound to get in trouble!” You ticked him off half heartedly as he covered the distance, his lips finding that sweet spot under your ear. It made you roll your head back with pleasure as he nipped down your neck, only stopping to untie his scarf.

His hands found your waist and hoisted you onto the desk. Your own wound themselves into his thick, shaggy hair pulling him into a deep kiss. The resolve you’d built up all day unravelled. Yearning flooded through you. Watching him play guitar so beautifully, oozing with musicianship all session and not being able to act on it was torture. 

His rough hands grabbed your thighs, drawing you up against his crotch. Your dress rolled up over your hips as his hardness pressed against you.

Your insides slickened. Desire took over. All thoughts of being discovered dissolved. You deftly undid his belt buckle, eliciting a groan from George.

“This is the opposite of not wanting to get caught y/n.” He growled against your ear, planting kisses down the other side of your neck, down to your breasts, his hair soft and ticklish. Goose pimples rippled over your skin at the touch. 

You unzipped his fly in reply, slipping a hand inside to fondle his rock hard dick. A devilish smile on your face. 

“y/n!” He hissed in delight. He bit you softly on the swell of your breast, sucking your soft flesh teasingly as you tightened your hold, stroking him. His hands toyed the zipper at the back of your dress, his touch along your spine sent shivers down to your core. The straps fell across your shoulders exposing your chest fully. George grinned toothly at the lack of a bra, hunger shining in his eyes. He moved his kisses downwards leaving a trail of teeth marks. His fangs teased at your nipples, drawing them up, sucking hard, soothing them with long playful licks. 

You pulled him free of his pants and guided him towards your entrance, nudging your knickers to one side. He looked up, his eyes fully blown in awe and lust at your wetness. 

He slid in tantalisingly slowly, watching your reaction from under those beautiful dark lashes, his tongue swept over his lower lip. A deep moan escaped you at the sensation of him filling you up inch by inch. 

He began to thrust hard and deep. You kissed him passionately in response, curling your legs around him, getting him deeper still. You got wetter with each pounding motion. Your clit crashed against him, the waves of ecstasy built quickly as your inner muscles tightened around his cock. Your hands clawed the tops of his shoulders as you hung on to him as the climax escalated, white stars bursting behind your eyelids as you huskily cried out his name. Your moans and whines undid George at the same time. You felt him release as he swore, strong thrusts sending last ripples of pleasure through you. 

He kissed you deeply, holding you tight. Slowly he pulled out and helped you off the desk, running his hands over your hips smoothing your dress back down. You clung to him, not trusting your knees just yet as the gentle ebb and flow of orgasm left your core. 

Both giggling, you helped him buckle his trousers, then him with your zipper, as he whispered sweet nothings as he peppered your face with gentle kisses. You stayed like that in each other's arms, taking one another in, returning kisses. 

“I’ve been thinking of you ALL day long.” George confessed. “But when you walked in, in this dress, I had to use so much willpower to not make love to you right there and then!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as he draped his scarf back round your neck.

“I've been feeling exactly the same way. Have you any idea how hot you look when you're in the zone playing guitar?!” He kissed you long and lovingly in reply, then took your hands to kiss them too. 

“I could say the same about you Darling. Especially that first song we finished together…” 

You blushed happily at the memory, making his eyes shine. 

“It’s almost time for recording again, I’ll head out to the back and come in last to make it look like I’ve been there all this time.” You stroked his face smiling. 

“Good idea. I really hope you nail this take. It’ll give us longer to find a cosy corner in the club!” You replied as he headed out of the door with a cheeky wave. Checking the time, you had just enough to freshen up in the ladies before they returned. 

You caught Ringo on the way back in and walked through to the live room together. John and Paul were already seated and seemed ready and eager after the break. George entered sharing a conspiratory smile with you. 

After ten minutes, the take was done! Paul and John went ahead to the club. You left some notes to remind yourself what tasks needed doing the next day, quickly applied some lippy and hopped in a cab with Ringo and George to Kingly Street. 

*

The cigarette smoke stinged your eyes as you entered the club. The smell was acrid and stale, mixed with an incense burning somewhere. You haltingly strolled towards the back as Ringo and George would stop to chat to others. Spotting a few friends yourself from the industry you waved here and there, savouring the sour looks from some girls with them, clearly envious of a Beatle either side of you. Eventually you found Glynn’s table. He always liked the more private round booths. Your friend was true to his word as he greeted you with a bottle of champagne in each hand. 

“I knew you could do it y/n!” He cheered as he popped the first one pouring a glass out for each of you, calling John and Paul over from the nearby bar where they were flirting with some ladies. 

“Well done lads, that was a slog today. We’ve earnt this!” Glynn raised his glass for a cheers as the lads sunk down around the table. You downed yours, the drink cooling in the warm club. George sat next to you stroking your thigh under the table, if it was possible to purr you would. You all chatted shop for a little while until Ringo pulled you up for a dance hearing a favourite song of his. You savoured scooching over George's lap, knowing how much it would tease him. He was positively brooding as he watched you dance with his friend. A wicked smile spread across your face. Dancing with Ringo was fantastic, especially catching the jealous looks George was struggling to hide. Ringo held you tightly, his hand on your lower back guiding you around. 

After a couple of dances you begged to sit down to catch your breath and to cool down. Glynn offered to get some water as Ringo relinquished you reluctantly. 

“Don’t think that’s the last dance this evening y/n. You’re my best partner.” He said happily. You pulled George’s neckerchief off and fanned yourself with it, leaning forwards for another glass of bubbles to quench your thirst until Glynn returned. George choked on his drink as you did so, making John clap him on the back. George’s eyes were wide as he looked at you slightly panicked. John followed his gaze. 

“Bloody hell, y/n those weren’t there earlier!” John pointed. You looked down at your chest. It was smattered in tiny love bites. 

“Shit!!” You yelped, clutching the scarf back over your chest. George recovered and began laughing. 

“You’re not wrong Johnny, were you actually chatting up Amira on break or our lovely y/n?!” He teased accusingly.

“Amira is my alibi! Wasn't me as much as I'd love to claim this scandal.” John looked at you shrewdly, eyeing the other two lads up.

“‘Ere, Paul was in the kitchen, did you walk in and he mistook your tits for biscuits!?” John laughed heartily. George spluttered again as Paul looked aghast at the accusation. 

“Wasn't me! I was too busy making toast, thank you very much!” Paul replied. “But it's one of us isn't it!?” He asked you incredulously.

You couldn’t believe it. You’d tried to be so careful, and one moment of madness had given you away. You dared a glance at George, his eyes glittered. He was enjoying this. 

“I'm not saying a word you awful lot! I've a job to do and Glynn would be furious if he heard of it. It's not exactly professional!’ You grimaced as heat seared your cheeks.

“Oh y/n, don't worry about that. We've too much on Glynn as it is, and he's not like that. Don't you worry.” Ringo patted your hand. “I'd happily take the blame if the others won't admit it.” He winked.

“Oh Ritchie!” You snorted. He really was the sweetest. “But please don’t tell Glynn!” You pleaded to the boys.

“Don’t tell me what?” Glynn asked as he appeared with a jug of water and some glasses.

You looked at George and then the others, your mind racing for an excuse.

 “Is this about you and George?” He said, nonplussed, pouring you a glass as the lads started in surprise. George blushed and grabbed your knee under the table. You found yourself lost for words. 

“I’m happy for you both! It’ll be a lot easier and less awkward if it was out in the bloody open. It’s been painful seeing the looks you two steal when you think no one’s watching!” He grinned, making you laugh with relief and joy that he was fine with it. You wrapped Glynn in a warm hug, as the others came and did the same bestowing their congratulations, happiness and surprise.

George ran a hand down your back as he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, drawing coos and mock ahh’s from the band, making you giggle. You snaked an arm around his side as you lay your head on his shoulder sharing in the joyful moment with your friends.

[for-writing-shit]

besame mucho

genre: fluff

warnings: none !

summary: basically the mistletoe cliche lol

a/n: ik this is cheesy and stuff, but well.. also, merry xmas to those who celebrate it !!

the house was filled with fairy lights twinkling on the tree, the smell of wine and mince pies wafting through the air. everything was perfect… except for one thing: georga had been trying all day to steal a kiss from her, but she wasn’t giving in.

george had been dropping hints, playful winks, leaning in a little too close when she wasn’t looking, but she kept dodging him, laughing it off or making excuses. after all, she had a million things to do before dinner, and george was being, well, himself.

the day had been spent decorating, baking, and sipping wine by the fire, but as the hours ticked on, george’s patience was wearing thin. he knew she’d been busy, but enough was enough, he wanted a kiss, and was determined to get it.

he spotted the mistletoe hanging by the doorframe, that quintessential christmas decoration that seemed to have magical powers of persuasion, or at least according to him. with a sly grin, george sauntered over, grabbed the mistletoe, and carefully hung it in place, just above where she’d have to pass to get to the kitchen. he then stood underneath it, waiting for her to walk by.

she had just finished setting the table for dinner, mumbling to herself about how everything needed to be just right. it had been a busy day, and she was looking forward to a quiet evening with george, but first a needed minute to breathe. heading for the kitchen, she suddenly noticed george standing there under the mistletoe, looking far too pleased with himself.

“oh, no,” she muttered under her breath. “not again.”

he grinned. “i’m just standing here, love. you’re just walking right under it.”

“george…” she warned, raising an eyebrow, knowing full well what he was up to. “don’t even think about it.”

“i’m not thinking about anything,” he said with a cheeky smile, stepping slightly into her path. “i’m just here, minding my business. if you happen to walk under this mistletoe... well, what can i do about it?”

she crossed her arms, trying to stay firm despite the way her heart fluttered. “you can stop trying to trick me into kissing you.”

he shrugged with mock innocence. “i’m not tricking you, love. it’s tradition, and you know that you can’t argue with tradition.”

she sighed, rolling her eyes but not able to suppress a smile. “i know exactly what you’re doing, harrison.”

“i’m sure you do,” he said, tilting his head and stepping closer. “but you can’t resist it forever, can you?”

she tried to sidestep him, but george was quick, stepping into her path once more. “i’m not falling for it, george.”

he grinned wider, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “you sure about that? i thought christmas was the time for a bit of giving.” he winked at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“alright, alright,” she said, secretly enjoying his persistence. “just one kiss. but only because you’ve been so persistent.”

george’s eyes lit up, and before she could change her mind, he quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her towards him. their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. it wasn’t just any kiss, it was the one he’d been working for all day, the one he’d promised himself would happen under the mistletoe.

when he finally pulled away, he was grinning like a cheshire cat. “see? told you it’d work.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “you’re such a cheeky bugger, george.”

“yeah, well,” he said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “i do have my charms.” he kissed her again, this time more softly, his forehead resting against her. “merry christmas, love.”

“merry christmas, georgie,” she replied, feeling the warmth of the moment.

george pulled her into a tight hug, still grinning. "and no more tricks, i promise."

“uh-huh..,” she said, though she had a feeling that if he ever got a good idea again, she’d be right under another mistletoe.

[for-writing-shit]

Do You Want To Know A Secret (Teen!George Harrison x Teen!Lennon!Reader)

A/N: Hello, Happy Easter! I'm posting another oneshot, because why not? I feel like it could have been a little better than what I wrote, but I was in a bit of a rush to get it out. Who doesn't love some George?

Summary: It's 1961. You're John's sister and he refuses to let you talk to anyone in his band (and vice versa) despite your house being their practice location. George scores some alone time with you one day, and sings you a little song he composed for you.

WARNINGS: SUGGESTIVE BEHAVIOUR; the reader is pretty confident in this oneshot. Mentions of sex, but nothing further than a heated make out session/ neck kissing really occurs in this. Swearing, probably, but I could be wrong. George starts out shy but he is not by the end. There are probably some typos as well oops.

This one is T rated, but just read at your own risk because as mentioned, sex is discussed

It was 1961, a relatively warm Friday evening after dinner, where an eighteen year old George Harrison was accompanied by a nineteen year-old Paul McCartney, on the way to the Lennon household.

Band practice was that night, the newly renamed "Beatles" preparing for their next gig at the Cavern Club just that following evening. George had his guitar case in hand, and Paul, his base, as they walked and talked.

John's house could be spotted from where the two were now, and George, who was talking in that moment, lost train of thought when he spotted someone just outside the front door.

That someone was you. John's little sister. Aged eighteen; like George.

George could feel his heart fluttering as he watched you move around the front garden, watering can in hand as you tended to the little flowers in the window planters.

"Don't stare," Paul lightly chided in a sing-song tone, wagging his finger at George when he came back down to earth, cheeks flush at the idea of having been caught looking.

"But look at her," George groaned, hand gesturing towards you haphazardly before dropping it down helplessly at his side. "Just look at how perfect--"

"And off limits," Paul added quickly.

"... she is," George sighed as he finished his sentence, a rather upsetting frown on his face. The boys had since halted walking, making sure to be far enough away that you weren't in earshot of their conversation.

"Look, Harry," Paul rested a hand on the younger boy's shoulder in comfort. "I know how you feel. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think she was a looker, y'know?"

Paul and George glanced over at you for a moment, before he continued.

"... but if I had a sister, and three lads who couldn't keep their eyes off her, I couldn't say I wouldn't be doing what Lenny's doing right now."

George knew that Paul was right. As much as he hated it, John loved you very much, and was cautious of any guy trying to be near you, especially now that you were a young adult, and not some child.

Every time the band gathered at John's house, everyone seemed to be under a microscope-- including you. The boys weren't allowed to talk to you, and you couldn't even look at anyone without your brother hollering at you to get upstairs, or to refocus back to your homework, or whatever task you had at hand.

But in moments like this, where the protective older brother wasn't around, George took every chance he could to greet you with a smile on his face.

And he wasn't going to stop now.

"I get it, mate. I just... there's something about her." That's the simplest George could have explained it to Paul. He wasn't about to disclose that he dreamt of you almost every night, or that he relished in the moments of excitement and anxiety of being able to see you, if only for five seconds out of his entire week.

And he certainly would not have told him about the songs he was composing; his muse being you, of course.

It was all just one giant secret, and as much as George wanted to tell you, all he thought of were downsides in result of revealing such a thing to you.

George thought that you, for starters, were leaps and bounds out of his league, he was scared of being laughed at, and he would have been absolutely horrified if John were to ever find out.

The negatives drastically outweighed the positives, so he was better to keep his mouth shut.

George and Paul continued their trek to the building, and when they finally made it to the walkway leading to the door, you turned your head, smiling gently and waving to them once you realized who it was.

"Good afternoon, lads," you greeted politely, and George nearly melted at the sound of your voice.

"Hello, Miss Lennon," the boys responded in unison. George cringed a little at that, pushing through the door with Paul following close behind. As much as he wanted to stick around, he knew it would have been too risky.

And thank God he made made that choice. John was waiting for them in the main foyer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't seem too happy, but he wasn't quite pissed off, either; almost as if he were in limbo of the two.

"'Bout time yous showed up. Me n' Pete've been waiting forever. C'mon, now." John waved his hand as he headed for the basement stairs, and the boys wordlessly continued on so they could begin their practice. George only looked over his shoulder once before descending the steps, hoping to have caught just one more glimpse of you, but to no avail.

"We have a show tomorrow, and you boys decided to be a quarter of an hour late!" John complained on as he threw his guitar strap over his shoulder. Pete was in the corner of the room on his drum set just shaking his head as he grabbed his drumsticks and tapped a little on his instrument. he must have been there for a while already.

Paul and George hurriedly grabbed out their instruments, apologizing so the older boy's complaints would cease. "As long as you're ready to play now, I don't care."

John always got sort of tense when the other three boys were over, hyper-focussed on keeping you away from them and vice versa. He was more or less worried about Paul trying to flirt with you, so a lot of John's poor behaviour stemmed from that.

Little did he know that it was actually George who'd fallen head over heels for you.

But that wasn't something to worry about in that moment. What was important was that practice began, and that they had to see improvement before their show just that following night.

Practice was going well. They had been at it for nearly an hour at that point, and the more they worked, the more pleased each boy was with the sound. They took a brief pause for some water, and John was rifling through his pile of lyrics sitting on a table in the corner of the room, trying to decide which one to practice next.

As George finished the last drop of water in his glass, John piped up, "I don't have all my songs here. Must've left them in my room."

"Which ones?" George asked, empty glass still in-hand. "I'm running up for a refill, might as well grab that for you as well."

"I think I left them on my desk at the side. You sure you don't want me running up?"

George swatted his hand as he started for the stairs. "Don't worry 'bout it. Be back in a jiff."

George hopped up the stairs, leaving his glass on the kitchen counter next to the sink before moving down the main foyer. He paused at the front door to peek out the window to see if you were still outside, but he didn't see you from where he was standing. He sighed gently before turning and making his way up to the second floor.

George made his way down to John's room at the end of the hallway. It was the only room with the door open, and before he even made it into the room, he could see the pile of lyrics on the desk, right where John said they'd be.

He picked up the pile, shuffling through them and counting the pages as he did so. He took one more brief glance around the room to make sure he wasn't missing anything else. When he decided this was all he needed, he turned on his heel and headed out to the hallway.

George was just about to make it to the stairs when he felt someone take hold of his arm, and swiftly tug him into one of the other rooms. The moment was a blur for him, and it took him a second to piece together what happened. He was standing in the middle of the room-- your room.

And you were only three feet away from him, back against the door, and cheeks glowing pink.

"Hello," you smiled gently, and George had no clue what to say, pages clutched tightly against his chest as his brain swirled with millions of thoughts.

"Hi," he squeaked, face burning in humiliation at his flustered state, but he was in your room, for Christ's sake. Your room! He had no clue what to say to you, mouth hanging open as he tried to search his brain for some other words.

"Look, I know we're not supposed to be doing this," you expressed, and George could feel his heart doing violent flips in his chest, especially when you pushed yourself off the door to take a step or two closer to him. This was the longest conversation he had with you, to date.

"Johnny would kill me if he knew I had a boy in my room, you know," you took a moment to pause, and all George could do was nod his head in agreement, intoxicated by the way you walked, and the way you talked. There was a hint of something in your voice... but the boy couldn't quite place what it was. Yearning? That couldn't be right... could it?

"But where's the fun in that, huh?" You asked, hands clasped behind your back, eyes staring right back into his, and George couldn't help but break his gaze first, utterly intimidated by your confidence. His eyes fixated to the dress you were wearing, and he could see a playful smile dancing on your lips in his peripheral.

"... You like what you see, Georgie?" You asked lowly after a moment, and his stare shot back up to your face again, certain his legs were numb. The nickname rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, so perfectly. The things it was doing to him...

"I..." he could barely speak, breaths ragged. Not one coherent thought was at the forefront of his brain, other than one simple word.

"Pretty." Your smile was a little more genuine now after he said that, and you reached a hand up to tuck a little strand of hair behind your ear.

"You think I'm pretty?"

George just nodded again. It was only now that he realized how much shorter you were compared to him, as you were only a foot away from him; the closest you'd ever been. He was looking down at you, but you were, in no way, intimidated by him. It was actually quite the opposite.

"You know, Georgie, you're pretty handsome, yourself," you professed, smiling wider as George's face burned even hotter.

He couldn't even thank you, scared of what would have happened if he tried to utter any kind of response to you. You reached out to rest a hand on his arm, and your smile faltered just a little.

"You're really tense... am I making you uncomfortable?" George's eyes widened, swallowing nervously as he shook his head 'no' as quickly as he could. He didn't want-- whatever this was-- to stop. The sincere upturn of your lips returned, and George couldn't help but flit his gaze down to your lips.

If only he had as much confidence as you, he might have just dipped down to have a taste...

"Look, I don't wanna keep you any longer. I know Johnny's gonna be looking for you soon." You thought for a moment before mentioning, "usually after you boys leave, he's down there for another hour or so practicing his own songs. Come back and see me after, yeah? Get to know each other a little more?" You raised an eyebrow expectantly, and George nodded his head again.

"Okay," he managed to whisper, resulting in you rising to your toes, and wordlessly pecking him on the cheek.

He felt like he was dreaming.

"Run along now, before they get suspicious!"

George's feet, though seemingly glued to the floor moments before, took off quickly, opening the door, and disappearing out into the hallway, shutting it closed behind him. As soon as he was on his own, he sighed heavily, the rush of oxygen in his lungs making him feel light-headed.

For someone who seemed so innocent in the open, around others, George could never have guessed how much of a minx you were behind closed doors. One part of him was still in denial that his interaction with you was even real, let alone meant to be flirtatious in any way...

But man, he would have been stupid not to take you up on your offer. It was just another hour he had to spend practicing, and he'd be right back in there, hopefully earning another kiss on the cheek from you.

George looked at the lyric papers in his hands one last time before sighing one more time, and going back downstairs. He passed his forgotten water glass in the kitchen, mind on an entirely different planet.

He returned to the basement, handing John the papers. He thanked the younger boy, pausing for a second to watch him move to grab his guitar.

"Where's your glass, Harry?"

George tensed when John asked that, hand on the neck of the guitar.

"... Left it upstairs,"  he responded.

"Thought you were grabbing a refill?" John's inquiries had George grasping for what to say next, but he was quick enough.

"Refilled the glass up there, drank it, and figured I'd be fine for the rest of practice."

His confession, though a lie, was believable enough for John, who just nodded his head slowly and drew his attention to the papers after a second, discussing which song they were going to practice next.

George just flew under the radar then, and he mentally cursed himself for being so careless. He look a quick glance at Paul, who was giving him a look; almost as if he knew something happened up there.

But he would never know the truth.

The shared glance fell apart when John advised everyone to get into position for playing, and they did just that.

The hour seemed to drag, George felt; but as time moved on, the more anxious he began to feel again. By the time everyone was packing up to leave, he was almost vibrating with anxiety.

He wanted to be close to you again so badly, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself as he had in the last interaction.

Pete, Paul, and George wished John a good night, and climbed the stairs to the main floor in that order, leaving John alone to continue practicing. Pete left Paul and George in the main hallway with a little wave, and a short "see yous tomorrow," before taking off out the front door.

Paul grabbed the door handle next and turned back to George, who stood in one spot a little too far away from the door.

"... Not walking home with me?" He asked in confusion, and when George didn't have a disposable answer, the pieces seemed to be finally clicking for the other boy.

He opened his mouth as if to lecture George on how bad of an idea sticking around would be, but instead, he tightened his jaw, shook his head, and waved to him.

"G'night Harry," he tossed a little wave out before taking off into the dusk.

He was alone now.

That could only mean one thing.

George eyed the stairs, knowing that if he turned on his heel and walked out right then, it'd be one of the biggest mistakes in his life. But he couldn't deny the fact that he was nervous; intimidated by you, and your assertive, rather sexy behaviour from earlier.

He took a deep breath, grabbing the railing, and hiking up the stairs slowly.

He stood outside your bedroom door much longer than he would have liked to admit, taking deep breaths and reciting words over and over again in his brain, as if this whole interaction were scripted-- as if he knew what was going to happen.

When he finally composed himself properly, he rapped on the door gently, hoping you would hear his presence on the other side. When you finally came around to open the door, his heart skipped a beat.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back," you voiced softly, leaning against the doorframe, handle still in hand. You sounded a little relieved, almost, seeing the boy on the other side of the threshold.

You were in your pyjamas, a set that showed enough skin on your arms and legs that it made George, red-faced, shake his head to reactivate his brain, which pretty much short circuited.

"You goin' to bed?" His words left his mouth faster than he realized he was even saying them. Sure, it was getting late out, but would you have really changed if you were expecting company?

"Well, that depends. Will you be joining me?" You were so quick on your feet in response that it honestly impressed George, the heat returning to his face as he tried to think of what to say next, not daring to drop his line of sight below your chin.

"I'm only teasing you," you laughed after a moment of watching George squirm, pushing off the doorframe and allowing him to enter your bedroom again. As he passed you, he caught sight of you gazing up his body, shrugging and adding a little "... maybe," to the end of your sentence.

You were such a tease, and George set his guitar case off to the side, facing away from you, so he could hide just how giddy and flushed he was just being in there with you again. He rose to his feet and turned to face you. You were only a few feet away from him again, eyes on him intensely, smile still present.

"... I hope you know just how glad I am that you came back," you expressed again, honestly. George raised an eyebrow at that, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wanted to tear his gaze from yours so badly, but your face was just so gorgeous to look at, and he didn't want to be caught looking at your outfit again; he knew some more teasing would surely ensue if he was caught staring.

"Why wouldn't I come back?" George replied bashfully, shrugging his shoulders a little. "Wouldn't miss a chance to be here, with you, for the world."

Your stare softened at his words, beaming as your own cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. George wasn't sure you were really expecting something like that coming from him. "... You really mean that?"

George desperately wanted to elaborate a little further, but he just settled on giving you a little nod, smiling back shyly at your question.

"Maybe I thought I might've scared you off for being so forward earlier," you admitted timidly as you turned on your heel. You took a seat at the edge of your bed, and George surveyed your movements, eyebrows lifting a little when you reached out to pat the empty space next to you on the mattress after a moment.

"Care to take a seat?"

George accepted the invitation, and you felt the bed dip when he sat down. His eyes cast down to the floor, face still red at the idea of being in your presence; having your attention.

"You know, Georgie... my brother can be pretty stupid sometimes. But making this house the place for band practice, I think, was one of the best decisions he's ever made."

His eyes met yours again at your words, and you shrugged one of your shoulders.

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't been dying to talk to you. Or get to know you. You seem so kind, and you're so attractive, and John wants to keep you away from me, and I'm so sick of him deciding what's best for me."

Your eyes cast down between the both of you for a moment, and George could feel his heart trying to leap out of his chest. His fingertips felt numb, mouth hanging slack as you continued your profession.

"I knew the only way to get close and alone with you was to bring you in here. And I saw the way you were looking at me earlier, and I had to get you to come back."

It felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Was he really that obvious when he was in here last?

"It's thrilling... having a boy like you in my room, while John's clueless out there as to what we're doing. What we could be doing..."

George's mind was going places he was never expecting it to that evening, especially with the help of you voicing it aloud. He was in utter disbelief of what you were telling him, convinced he'd fallen asleep throughout the day, and he was caught in some blissful dream he wished would never end.

"I feel a little selfish, springing so much information on you at once... but every time I see you, I desperately want to be with you; and today, I had to jump to take that chance. I couldn't wait another week, another day."

You smiled sheepishly, not really expecting George to say anything after that. You were honestly just trying to get your thoughts off your chest, and now that you had, you felt a lot better. You were also pleased with the little look of shock on George's face. You liked doing that to him.

You decided to break his trance by nodding over to his guitar case sitting on the floor. "So... You have plans to serenade me, Georgie?"

Your question definitely brought him back down to earth, and he took a quick glance at the case before looking back to you. Your confession was still ringing clear in his head like a bell. He felt he didn't have the words to admit his feelings as clearly as you had right on the spot...

He did, however, have the words pre-planned as lyrics, in a multitude of original songs he wrote for you.

"... I do, actually," he agreed, standing up to open his case and retrieve his instrument. George was feeling a little more excited now, knowing any girl these days would swoon at the idea of having music written for them, and he just hoped you would too.

He returned to the bed, deciding against tossing the strap over his shoulder. He faced you so you could hear and see every little thing he did. He was at least glad he didn't get performance anxiety on the guitar.

He gently strummed out a few different notes, deciding in his head which song he wanted to perform for you. One in particular stuck out in his mind, and he couldn't deny that it was the perfect choice.

He was a little worried about how you'd feel about his playing, and the lyrics, but he wanted to show you that he could be confident about this, especially since he was nearly certain now that his feelings were reciprocated. But he had to play it cool.

"It is a work in progress. I've only half of it written, but I really think you'll like it," George explained to you before allowing the notes to fill the air around you both.

"Listen,

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?

Closer,

Let me whisper in your ear,

Say the words you long to hear,

I'm in love with you."

It was only then that you realized this was the first time you'd ever seen, or heard George play. This beautiful genius was being hidden away from you this whole time, and it was a blessing to see his work up close.

His left hand slid along the fretboard so easily, thumb and fingers on his right tickling the strings as if it were second nature to him. You couldn't decide which hand you wanted to look at. His digits were skillful on the instrument, and George made sure to almost exaggerate his movements to impress you.

He pretty much had you in a trance, now, daydreaming about what else those hands could do...

"I've known a secret for a week, or two,

Nobody knows, just we two,"

George had been worried the whole song about messing up the notes, eyes so focused on where his fingers were going... But he glanced up at you, realizing how hypnotized you were, like putty in his hands, and he decided there was nothing to worry about.

He decided to sing right to you now, soft eyes on your face, and when your field of view locked with his, he knew he wouldn't dare break the stare.

"Listen,"

This wasn't a song anymore.

"Do you want to know a secret?"

This was his confession.

"Do you promise not to tell?"

His way of showing you what you really meant to him.

"Closer,"

He wasn't clouded by any insecurities or doubt anymore.

"Let me whisper in your ear,"

Your gaze flitted down just enough to watch George's canines poke out from behind his lips as he sung, and your eyelashes lowered at the sight of his beautiful mouth.

"Say the words you long to hear,"

Your mind was absorbing the lyrics like a sponge in water, every single word eliciting a feeling so strong in your heart, you could hear it pumping in your ears.

"I'm in love with you."

George hummed away as he played the final notes, a little smile still on his lips when he let the last chord ring out into a room of silence.

When that stillness remained for a moment, George couldn't help but ask with a little bit of hesitation, "Well... what do you thi--"

He couldn't even get the rest of his question out before you darted at him, lips smashing into his as if he were about to disappear forever.

He let out a little surprised hum before he pulled the guitar out from between the both of you, and you took it as an opportunity to push your body closer to him, arms wrapping around his collarbone.

He blindly set the guitar down to lean it against your bed, and when he let go of the neck of the instrument, his hands went for your hips, squeezing your sides gently before pulling you right up into his lap. your actions bloomed a type of self-assurance within him he had no idea he could even possess.

It was your turn to squeal excitedly, but George's lips on yours muffled the sound. One of his hands snaked around to the small of your back before it slipped under your shirt, his palm dragging up your spine. His fingertips took note of each vertebrae it dipped up and down into, like the frets on his guitar.

This, George decided, was better than a dream. This whole situation unfolding around him made him feel as though he died and went to heaven.

He pulled his lips away from yours, free hand reaching up to grip your chin and directing you to tilt your head up. His lips suckled on the side of your neck, and the sound coming from your mouth was absolutely euphoric to him. But he removed his palm from your chin to cover your mouth, his other hand still feeling and memorizing every curve and dip in your back.

"You must be quiet, Love. Wouldn't want your brother knowing about all this fun we're having up here, eh?" Your eyes rolled back at his words, groaning into his hand as you felt George drag his teeth gently along the column of your throat.

Knowing you were enjoying this as much as he was only brought more confidence to his actions, and he let his tongue poke out to leave a large, wet kiss on your collarbone.

You were squirming in his lap, fingers sliding up into his hair and tugging so he knew he was doing everything right.

He groaned at the friction you were creating at the hips, and he pulled away from your neck to kiss your lips again after removing his hand and placing it on the back of your neck.

You swallowed his moans as you continued to grind in his lap, but both of your movements paused when you heard the guitar come crashing down to the carpeted floor. It wasn't as loud as it could have been, but it was loud enough.

You both kept an ear out, knowing that might have caught the attention of someone downstairs, and when you began to hear footsteps shuffling around, you began to panic a little, eyes wide and darting back to George, whose face was flushed from the assault of your kisses, and hair was a tangled mess from your fingers.

"You gotta hide," you rushed out quietly, and though you tried to climb out of George's lap, his hands kept you planted right where you were.

"What are you doing?!"

"... What if I didn't?" He challenged you a little, a daring smirk at his lips.

"Had you not been so naughty, with all that moving and teasing, the guitar wouldn't have fallen, eh? And we wouldn't be in this situation at all." The points of his canines were showing again, and you groaned at his words.

"George, I'd love to continue this, but John will kill you if we're caught, and we can't do this if you're dead!"

"Well then we just won't get caught," he responded simply. He was blinded by desire, his confidence seeping out of him like sap from a tree as he placed his mouth back on your neck.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and you both heard a knock, George not showing any sign of stopping his actions.

"Don't come in, I'm-- I'm not wearing any clothes!!" It was the first thing you could blurt out to whoever was on the other side.

"Oh, baby, that'd be a sight to see," George mumbled against your skin, pulling your top down just enough so he could suck a dark spot just above your left breast so you could easily hide it away, and you sighed heavily at the contact, face burning red.

"Just heard a loud thud. Just making sure all is okay," it was John on the other side; completely oblivious to the actual scene occurring on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, a book from my shelf was knocked over! N-nothing to worry about!"

George grabbed your chin again when you were finished talking, shoving his tongue right into your mouth as you both heard John respond with, "oh, okay. Just making sure you're alright. Have a good night."

You listened closely as the footsteps quieted, and when there was no sign of anyone else on the second floor, let alone at the door, you pulled away from George's kiss.

"Well... how was that?"

"Risky," you replied, a rather unimpressed look on your face as you unraveled your arms from George's shoulders and crossed them over your chest.

"Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore, Love," he tried to give you another kiss, but you placed your fingers against his lips. It was your turn to smirk mischievously.

"You know what, Georgie... I think you've had enough action for tonight."

You could see the smug grin fall right off George's face as you removed your hand. Surely you had to have been joking. But when you pushed a little to get off him, his arms fell to his side, a little pout on his face.

"You're serious? Love, you got me all hot and bothered..."

"George, you really thought we were going to go all the way tonight with other people in the house?" You laughed out loud at that; and when you said it like that, he would have had to agree that it did sound ridiculous.

"Trust me, Georgie, I want to," you placed a hand on his cheek in comfort, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he looked up at you as if he was the shy boy you interacted with just an hour before.

"But we both know doing that in an empty house would be far better than having to keep quiet about it, huh?"

All George could do was imagine that situation, eyes drifting shut, and tilting his head into your caressing hand.

"You're such a damn tease," he mumbled, eyes blinking back open after a moment.

"All good things come to those who wait," was all you said, leaving one, sweet kiss on his lips before pulling away, and nodding to his guitar. "We better pack you up and send you home."

You watched as George situated himself, placing his guitar back in the case, closing it and picking it up. You wrapped your arms around him gently, planting another kiss on his cheek.

"By the way... I think that song was beautiful," you whispered to him, and when you pulled away to see him smiling at you, you couldn't help but match the grin on your own lips.

"See you next week? Same time?"

"You don't even have to tell me twice," George responded with, and you just had to lean in for one more smooch on the lips, to which he eagerly reciprocated.

He then opened your window up, and took a step out. You watched as he climbed down the corner of the house slowly, and before he took off down the road, he blew you a kiss, to which you mimicked catching with your hand.

As George headed home, the sun now fallen over the horizon, those intimate moments he shared with you were at the very forefront of his mind. His hands could still feel your bare skin under his fingertips, and his mouth tingled as he remembered what it was like to have your lips on his.

He was just craving for the next moment he had alone with you.

______________________________________

A/A/N: And there we are! hope you all enjoy this, and I hope your Easter weekend was full of sun, and fun! Please let me know if you want to read more so I know it' worth it to post!

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[for-writing-shit]

Sweets & Sweeties

You opened a bakeshop called Sweets & Sweeties which was just beside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and one day you accidentally lock yourself outside.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, Murphy's law, fred lives stfu, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: i have this fic called tormented spirit and its fucked me up cos of how sad it is HAHAHAH i need a break and thats coming from someone who LOVES angst. ALSO i was never super into Harry Potter so idk lore™ but I've been watching the phelps twins and their baking show related content and i'm just so endeared by them AHHHHHHHHH. please leave comments/reblogs because this feels a bit mid cos i havent written fluff in 100 years T_T | cross posted on ao3

@pendragora if i have to suffer, you have to suffer

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was always busy. Everyday, there were children and children-at-heart going up and down the block, eager to buy themselves trinket or treat to promptly cause mischief.

Because of the shop's success, your own shop also benefitted from it. Sweets & Sweeties was your dream come true. As a child, you loved sweet treats, and you would grow to learn you loved making them just as much.

You hadn't expected to sell out as often as you did, and you knew it was all thanks to the fact the establishment next door brought as many customers as they did, who then became your customers.

You were extremely grateful, and tried time and time again to show it through a simple gesture of a gift. It was rather hard to find the time to do so however, as the neighbor establishment was constantly packed. The first time you saw the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had introduced himself as: "George Weasley," he says, dusting off his hands before reaching one out for you.

You merely stare at him, your smile flattening slightly, only to grow wider as you chuckle. Both of your hands held a tray of cake, and it was quite a weighty cake at that, "I-"

"Right," he brushes his hands on his trousers, "right. Sorry, let me help you with that."

He takes the cake from you and ushers you deeper into the store. You gasp when a small child runs across him, unfortunately bumping into his side. Thankfully, George manages to lift the cake, evading the collision. The girl who bumped into him looks up, eyes wide, hands clutched, looking rather guilty, "s-sorry, Mr. Weasley."

The tall man's brows furrow as he looks down. He whines, "s'not Mr. Weasley, it's George."

The girl stares at him for a moment.

"Say it with me: George."

She clutches her chest and mutters, "Georgie?"

George purses his lips together in a soft smile and nods, "Georgie it is then."

Your hand comes to your mouth as you chuckle and follow after the red haired man. He leads you into the back office and you gasp yet again, this time, because of the photograph on the wall. It was a family portrait of a myriad of other red heads breaking into a wide grin.

"There's two of you!" you point.

George sets the cake down on his desk and crosses his arms once he's besides you, "nah. There's only one person in the family as good looking as me," he turns to the photograph, "that's my twin brother, Fred."

"Oh," you turn to him, taken off guard by how close he was, "is..." you casually take a step back, "he around?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "probably showing the customers how to use the thingamabobs."

You chuckle and nod, "well," you motion vaguely, "I know you're very busy, so I won't take any more of your time."

The man tilts his head, lips curled into an soft grin as he shrugs, "you don't hear me complaining, love."

You aimlessly look off to steel away the giggle that threatened to leave your lips, "right," you clear your throat, "ehhh, do tell me if the cake is to you—"

Before you can even finish your thought, George is back at his desk. He swipes a dollop of frosting and tastes it.

"—r... liking."

He raises his brows as he nods, "it's to my liking."

The both of you just stand there for a moment, staring at each other. You're now rather painfully aware of your breathing.

You start when the office door bangs open and a near exact replica of George comes walking in, "you would not believe what just—"

George's eyes are on you as you turn to his twin. You raise your hand, "hi... I'm-" you point to nowhere, "-the baker next door."

He turns to George, then back to you, reaching out his left hand, "Fred Weasley."

You smile and shake his hand, speaking your name in return.

"Hey!" George walks over, reaching out a hand, "I didn't get a handshake!"

You turn to George and his outstretched left hand, about to shake it, but Fred does not release you, and only turns to his twin.

"Fred-"

"I'm not done."

George watches Fred shake your hand, "well that's more than enough."

"Not really," Fred shrugs.

You chuckle softly, making them turn to you. You then offer your other hand to George, crossing your arm over the other, "here."

George looks at it and takes it with his right one. The three of your shake each other's hands for a questionably long time.

When you're finally released, you hold back a laugh and rub your palms on the side of your hips, "right... it was a pleasure to meet you both."

They nod in sync, "the pleasure is ours."

You giggle and raise a hand in regard, "come by my shop sometimes."

They wave back at you as you head for the door.

"I'll make you both a cuppa."

They smile as you exit their office. Once you were gone, the brothers instantly turn to each other.

Fred says, "she's cute."

"Yeah, I saw her first," George counters.

"Pfft, so what?"

"So, everything."

Meeting them was so... notable, that you thought about it the entire day. You found yourself giggling about the handshake for the nth time as you closed up, and right after you heard the door click, you whip your head back in realization that you'd left your bag in the counter, along with your keys.

You shake the doorknob, trying to will the door open, though you knew it was pointless, "no, no, no, NO!"

You step back and stare at the windows of your shop. You ruffle your hair and huff as you debate how bad the idea of breaking the glass with the rock would be.

You stare that your sign that read Sweets & Sweeties, feeling taunted by it so suddenly, and then you remember you forgot another thing. The window on the rooftop was surely open from when you opened it to let out some steam. What's more, it looked like it was about to rain!

"Oh," you groan and wrap your arms around yourself, "thank goodness I left my brolly too."

You crouch in front of your unlit shop, feeling rather helpless.

You hear a bell ring and turn to the shop next door. Out comes George and Fred, much wiser than you, with their brollies and suitcases in hand. They call your name in unison and you sigh as you come to stand.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" one of them says.

You freeze at the pet name, and he seems to catch on. He points upward, "sweetie."

You turn to your sign and feel bashful. You awkwardly chuckle, "right, I-"

"You alright?" another asks.

You look between them, "yeah," and shake your head, "no, ehhh, sorry... I... which is," you point in confusion, "which?"

"George," the one to your right raises a hand.

"Fred," the one to your left raises a hand.

"Right," you lower your head as you shake it, "sorry, I don't-"

"You'll get used to it," they say in unison.

You huff as you look back at them, both of their lips are pursed, "right..." you turn to your shop and point, "I, eh... locked myself out."

They turn to where you did.

"And I left my bag..."

They turn back to you.

"And my keys."

They make a face.

"And my brolly," you turn to you feet for a moment, "and the window in my roof open."

"Oooh," they say at once. George bares his teeth, "bad luck."

"And," Fred adds, looking up, "it looks like it's about to rain."

"I know!" you gasp, placing your hands on both sides of your head.

For a moment, the three of you stand there, soaking in your misfortune. A moment later, George turns to his brother and says, "hang on."

Fred turns to him.

"Don't we have a window in the roof, Fred?"

Fred turns to you, "that we do, George."

George turns to you too, "how are you with heights?"

"Ehhh..." your lips part, "....fine?"

With that, the twins head to the entrance of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, beckoning you over. They reopen the lights, leave their things by the door, and lead you upstairs.

"Now," George (you think) says, "I'd like to think our roof's pretty sturdy, but," he pulls out wand from his coat jacket, "I can always do a good ol' Levioso if anything goes awry."

You are comforted by the thought and nod as you make your way up. When you get to the top, you see a singular tiny window by the side of the roof and you momentarily wonder if this was a good idea.

"D'ya know what," George (you think) says, turning to his brother, "you should go down and watch her as she crosses, so in case anything happens," he points, "you can make sure she doesn't fall."

Fred (you think) shakes his head, "why me?"

"Because it was my idea to cast Levioso, Fred," George (you were right) retorts.

"Then you go down!" Fred whines.

"I'm not going down," he crosses his arms, "I just got here."

"Yeah, so did I—"

"SCISSORS, PAPER, ROCK!"

You watch to the instant match the twins have, finding one rock and scissors at hand. George grins, raising his winning fist. Fred rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns to you before going down.

George smiles and motions with his head, "come on then, I'll help you up."

He drags a box towards the window and reaches a hand out to you. You take his hand and step up, then reach for the sides of the window, pulling yourself up to get on the roof. You are glad their window was right in front of yours and that it wasn't a far walk at all.

Fred, who just got outside, catches his breath before cupping the sides of his mouth, "careful!"

You turn to him from below and call back, "trying!"

George watches you closely as you cross to the other side. He probably shouldn't think the wobble of your limbs endearing, but he does. The moment reach your window, he claps, "aye!"

You are quick to jump down, grunting as you do so. You turn around and smile at George who was already smiling back at you. He raises his hands, "you did it, sweetie!"

"I did, wheezing wizard!"

"Well," he tilts his head, "it's Wizard Wheezes but..." he shrugs, "you can just call me Georgie."

You raise your brows.

"I- I mean George."

You chuckle and purse your lips as you shake your head, "too late, Georgie."

"Now, hold on-"

"See you downstairs, Georgie!" you give a toothy grin as you close your window. You bite your lip and giggle to yourself for a moment, "cutie."

Georgie clenches his jaw as he stares the window. He sighs and kicks the box away before closing it, "damn."

[for-writing-shit]

I have a request for you if it’s all right! May I please request a George Weasley x muggle girlfriend reader where they met while in a muggle park, and have been dating ever since? They have been bf and gf for a couple years now, and have managed to keep it a secret from everyone besides Fred, who is the only one who knows of George’s muggle gf’s existence. Now the Yule Ball is going to happen soon, and there’s no one else in the world that George would rather bring than his sweet girlfriend… Problem being that she’s a muggle and the Yule Ball is at Hogwarts. Him and Fred devise a plan to sneak Y/n into Hogwarts to go to the dance with George, and it’s all going well until Dumbledore catching a very muggle Y/n giggling with her wizard Bf George as they start to dance at the ball.

The couple would be panicked at first, thinking Dumbledore will Obliviate Y/n, but he just raises his eyebrows, winks at the couple, and lets them go on their merry way😂

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for this request, I had a lot of fun writing it and I’m so very sorry it took so long to post. Hope you are well and I did your idea justice 🖤

Cool Yule

Warnings: None really? Muggle!Reader x George Weasley. Slight angst in parts, troublemaking, we’re ignoring the international statue of secrecy completely. Multiple Disney references, references to soulmates but no actual discussion. Dumbledore is the GOAT. Probably spelling and grammar errors but I’m way too lazy to check again.

Word count: 3.1k (I got carried away, I blame the long hair)

Your boyfriend was a wizard.

An actual, honest to god, spell casting wizard with a magic wand, who attended a school for other magic users.

That was a sentence you'd never been able to say out loud since meeting George Weasley all those years ago, a secret you could never divulge to anyone and probably never could. You'd fallen for the sweet, ginger boy in the handmade knitted jumper all those years ago at the park that you'd accidentally barrelled into, dizzy from the swings and the laughter. He'd been kind, thoughtful and unbelievably gorgeous, three qualities of his that had only grown and developed with time.

His world was different to yours, a little behind and archaic in it's methods overall but it seemed quaint and sweet. He didn't have any understanding of technology and the only way to communicate was via letters that often arrived via an unreliable owl, a novelty that never wore off even after years of correspondence. You'd meet at the park nearly everyday during the summer when he was home from his boarding school, with your relationship quickly developing into a love story even the cheesiest Rom-coms couldn't portray accurately.

The downside, was that your relationship had to remain a secret. He didn't care that you were a 'muggle', his world's word for a non-magic person and was certain that his family wouldn't be displeased by it but admitting your relationship on your end would only bring on an account slaughter of questions that you couldn't answer. You weren't technically allowed to know about his magic use but George being the sweet boy he was, couldn't keep a secret from you any longer, feeling as if he was deceiving you somehow.

He also couldn't keep the secret from his twin brother Fred, unable to avoid the knowing looks and incessant questioning he was receiving from his perceptive twin. Fred was the only person in the world that knew about you and George's relationship, but he became a valuable ally who often covered for George to allow you both to meet. You'd never actually met Fred, though you'd heard many, many tales from George about their shenanigans, home life and future plans, it was like you knew him already.

Everything was going brilliantly between you both until his sixth year at the school, when you received the first letter from him since he went back to school.

He'd excitedly told you all about the Tri-Wizard competition and the two other magic schools that had joined together in the championship to compete. He'd told you of how he was frustratingly below the age restriction but that he and Fred were devising a plan to sidestep around the rules, as per usual, to put their names in for the chance to compete. But then he mentioned the Yule Ball, a great gathering between the three schools on Christmas Day that would be somewhat of a dance. He told you about his younger brother Ron's complete inability to find a date and Fred's ease at scoring one of the 'better' choices in their friend Angelina. He hasn't mentioned a date for himself but had joked about a lad called Neville that would probably end up going alone with a disparaging tone. Was George going to take a date? So not only would you not see him over Christmas break but now you had visions of him dancing the night away with another girl, how festive.

You hadn't replied to his last letter, unable to finish your response whilst your stomach knotted about the discovery of the ball. You couldn't get past the idea of George taking someone as his date, someone more like him, that fit in his world- someone that was everything that you weren't. It was inevitable really, your relationship breaking down due to the overwhelming differences between your worlds.

When Errol came banging into your window early on the following Saturday morning, giving you an almighty fright, you knew that it could only be a follow up letter from George. You opened your bedroom window and reached out for the heap of feathers that had unceremoniously slid down your window and collapsed into an owl-shaped puddle on your windowsill. You gave him a drink of water and allowed him to rest on your window whilst he lazily pecked at the window frame before he fell asleep.

You opened the letter against your better judgment, secretly wishing it away even as you opened the haphazardly sealed envelope. He was checking that you were okay, that he hadn't messed up the dates with your family's holiday and that you'd received his last letter; knowing Errol it was very likely that it might not have reached its destination.

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes and took a seat at your desk to quickly write a reply, ignoring the other ten drafts you'd started.

"Hi George, sounds like a lot of fun, I hope you have a wonderful time, who's your date? No you were right, we're going away over Christmas. Send my love to Fred as always. Talk soon. Love y/n."

Short, sweet and it got the point across. You looked at the writing, specifically the closing of 'love' but it was an unbroken habit that you instinctively had written- you still loved him so it was hardly a lie.

You gave the letter to Errol, scratching his little fluffy head to wake him up and told him to take it to George- with no rush. He huffed, chirped lightly and off he went with an almighty kick off, almost slipping off the ledge.

George's reply came later than night, though it wasn't Errol that arrived this time but rather an immaculately white owl with piercing brown eyes and a black beak that tapped at your window in an almost human like fashion. You accepted the letter and gave the owl a timid stroke, finding her completely beautiful.

"My sweet girl, why would I take anyone to the Ball when you're the only girl I want? Fred and I have been thinking and there might be a way to sneak you in, if you would accept the invitation? It's dangerous but so, so worth it to see your beautiful face. You'll need a dress of course and I've made a bit of money taking bets against the competitors so I can help out a little but I'm not sure how I'd get it to you or how I'd be able to change it to muggle money. I'd do anything to have you here. Please reply and let me know if you'd be my date. I love you and miss you so very much. Fred sends his love too, he's dying to meet you.

All my love, Georgie."

It took you less than five minutes to decide and to fire off a reply via the beautiful snowy owl.

It would be dangerous yes, but to hear how much George wanted you to be there, to hear the honesty in his words had made you realise how intensely you missed him and that it would all be worth it.

Secretive letters began to arrive, with codes and directions you were to follow. You'd told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to part with a single penny of his money, which you'd found out was a 'knut' in wizarding money. You had a little money saved from your birthday and from some extra chores and had managed to find a nice dress on a shopping spree with your best friend that you thought looked nice in George's favourite colour.

The issue would be slipppng away from your family on Christmas. How the hell would you manage that? As it turned out, it was easier than you thought. A big family Christmas with your siblings, step and half siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins galore meant that there were so many people around that you seemed to slip into the background anyway, a lost sheep amongst the herd. Your older brother knew something was up as soon as you arrived at your granny's house on the 22nd of December, ready to start the festivities. You'd packed your dress, along with the letters from George and the money you'd taken from the now broken piggyback from your childhood.

How you found yourself in a cold, damp tunnel at 7pm on Christmas Day, dressed up to the nines in your new dress was bewildering to you. You'd followed George's instructions exactly as they'd been written, trying not to question the often ridiculous requests that seemed so foreign to you and had inevitably ended up in exactly the right place... or so you hoped. After crawling through the dark and dreary tunnel for some time, you had begun to doubt your abilities and George's intentions, at least for a brief moment. Surely this dark tunnel couldn't lead to the marvellous castle George had described time and time again.

You let out a quiet sigh, heart pounding as you saw a brief flicker of light up ahead and began to panic, thinking you'd be caught. But then you listened, your entire body freezing in fear as your senses heightened.

"I told her to come this way, seemed like the best idea at the time," you hear a muffled voice whisper.

"Oh yeah drag your girlfriend through the darkest tunnel there is," the second, similar voice argues.

"Maybe she decided not to come?"

"Don't think like that mate, she'll be here."

George and Fred. It had to be.

You slowly moved forward, putting the fear behind you as you walk towards the light source and the hushed voices.

"George?" You say timidly, approaching the pair.

"Y/n?" He says, lowering his wand that was illuminated at the end.

The smile that shines from his face is enough for you realise that it had all been very much worth it, even traipsing through the dank tunnel for much longer than you'd have liked.

The castle was just as magnificent as George had made out, maybe ever more so, as he and Fred gave you a quick tour of the magical place. It was decorated with elegance and opulence, with an entire grotto's worth of fairy lights and garlands, though you were certain you'd seen the lights move more than once but didn't question it. Snow covered Christmas trees created a beautiful path throughout the hallways towards what was called the Great Hall. It was a sight to behold with silver tinsel and wall hangings adorning the walls, hanging from high up beams and some even just floating there as if levitating in mid-air. There was a huge ice sculpture in the corner of the room, filled at the base with refreshments and a selection of opulent desserts.

It was all so unbelievably beautiful, but yet it still didn't compare to George.

He wore a long black robe with a bronze coloured waistcoat with little golden stars all over the material, which complimented his fiery red hair in the most wonderful way. His shirt was white with little stripes and a bow tie that was slightly imperfect, only adding to the charm. Fred was wearing a very similar outfit and as you looked between the two, you couldn't believe your luck that you were here to experience this with your beloved.

Fred was incredible, a real jokester just as you'd imagined him but he was polite and very friendly, as was his date Angelina who you'd been briefly introduced to. George had pointed out more people who's names were familiar to you throughout the night but hadn't introduced you, to keep your little secret safe.

You'd danced and spun for what seemed like hours, the brightest smile beaming across your face as you giggled and laughed the entire time. Fred had taken over and had spun you around like you weighed as much as a feather, before he'd dutifully handed you back to your boyfriend with a cheeky wink. The music had suddenly slowed and a very romantic song came on, something you'd never heard before l, and it was only natural for you and George to move closer. His hands naturally fell to your hips, holding your body closely to his as you encircled your own arms around his shoulders, despite the height difference.

"You look so beautiful," he says in a low voice, looking down at you with a look that completely takes your breath away for a moment.

"You've said that already," you tease, keeping your voice equally as low and sultry, feeling as if you were in your own bubble entirely, barely swaying to the music as you held on to each other.

"I'll tell you as often as I can," he says cheekily, "you take my breath away."

"You look so handsome," you reply, feeling as if you were gushing with adoration for this boy.

His hand slips a little lower on your waist as you move ever closer, your hand slipping down from his high shoulders to clutch at the collar of his robes, both of you still gazing into each other's eyes as he leans down to kiss you.

You can’t verbalise it, or even begin to fathom how exactly it makes you feel, but for a brief moment in time, it feels like you’re surrounded by an invisible yet very permanent thread, like you were being bound together soul to soul. It envelopes you in its mist, entwining you and George together in a way that feels all-consuming. It’s peaceful and exhilarating all at the same time; but before you can even begin to realise what was happening, it all seemed to fade away, leaving you feeling nothing but warmth and love.

Pulling away, George dramatically twirls you around, dress flexed out around your legs, using your hand and you both giggle together. The laughter dies in his throat the second that he sees a figure moving towards him, the light and shimmer in his eyes dying like an extinguished flame.

An old man moves beside the pair of you, adorned in his finest silver robes with a beard longer than you'd ever seen. He looked almost comically like what you'd envisioned a wizard to be, so unlike how George has presented himself all these years; he looked like an archetype of Merlin himself, like Disney's imagining of ‘The sword in the stone’. He carries the air and grace of someone who is significantly important to the people around him, a commanding figure amongst the sea of joyous people. He meanders over to you and George with a knowing, yet ambiguous expression and he stops in his tracks to look over his half moon shaped glasses at you. He can see right through you and you are painfully aware of it. He knows you do not belong here, that you were a muggle amongst wizards, the little ugly duck amongst swans.

You swallow nervously, realising that this might be it for the two of you, that you could be in very real danger now. George’s hold tightens on you, wether out of protection or his own fear and you can’t help but squeeze back, sharing in his fear.

Fred and Angelina stop twirling beside you, two pairs of frozen bodies in the middle of the dance floor. You can feel Fred’s gaze cutting into you, no doubt carrying the same fear as his brother. What would happen now? You’d been caught.

To your utter amazement, the old man doesn’t cause a scene by cursing you out, doesn’t re-enact the scene in Lion King 2 when Simba banishes Kovu but without the singing giraffes and zebras. There’s no anger, no malice in his expression, only a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a slightly raise of his eyebrow. He looks between the pair of you, as if he’s seeing something that isn’t there, that the two of you cannot see.

His lips upturn into the tightest of smirks and raises a long, somewhat crooked finger to the side of his nose, tapping it twice gently against the curved nose. He winks from his left eye and begins to walk away, almost chuckling under his breath to himself as he saunters over to a woman in vibrant green robes who had begun to notice that something wasn’t right. He whisks her onto the dance floor, ensuring that her back is turned to the two twins and their dates and leads her away through the sea of dancing couples under the pretence of leading the dance.

George audibly let’s out the breath he’d been holding under the scrutiny of the man and let’s go of his right grip on your waist just slightly, still clutching you protectively.

“Who was that?” You ask quietly, loud enough that only George would be able to hear.

“Dumbledore… headmaster,” he replies, though his voice is a little shaky still. He casts a glance to the large clock on the wall above everyone’s head and you see the slight frown pulling between his eyebrows.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, reaching for your hand and beginning to pull you away from the dance floor, shooting a glance to Fred out of curtesy, silently communicating that he was stepping away. He doesn’t give you time to reply nor question his decision as he leads you by the hand through the crowd and out of the large wooden doors, leading out into the courtyard that is just as beautiful as the hall. He takes you to a nearby, unoccupied bench where you take a seat, adjusting the poof of the dress beneath you as you sit. The air is cold out here but you hardly notice, welcoming the slight chill after your little run in with the headmaster.

“Thank you,” George says quietly, almost absently as he watched you faffing with your dress. You look up at him in confusion, not quite sure as to why he’s thanking you.

“For everything, for trusting me and for coming here tonight,” he adds. “When I sent that first letter, I never considered you’d think I could spend this night with anyone else because there’s no one else for me. Never imagined that you would come, that you’d fit in so brilliantly.”

“It’s you I should be thanking,” you say, looking up to him with the sweetest, most adoring look you could muster. “You’ve introduced me to this whole new world and I’m so thankful I got to spend this night with you. I feel like Cinderella going back to her regular boring life after this.”

“Cinderella?” He asks, completely oblivious.

“I’ll tell you another time,” you smile warmly.

“No rush. We’ve got a whole lifetime.”

[for-writing-shit]

reader x fred. christmas at hogwarts, reader has an argument with her friend whilst skating on the black lake, the ice cracks and reader goes under, readers friend trys to get Fred's attention to come rescue them (up to you how this ends)

Hi Anon! I hope this turned out how you wanted! For some reason I envisioned GOF long hair Fred but it’s not set in stone. I also made reader’s friend Lavender Brown because I’d never written her before, but it’s not clear what year Reader is in so it’s really up to individual preference. I hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: slight talk of death and injury. Drowning, falling through the ice. Maybe minor swearing? Starts a little angsty but ends happy. This felt like writing a hallmark movie and I LOVE it. Kissing, love confessions, playful Fred. Pomfrey being a secret matchmaker.

Word count: 3.1k

Breaking the ice.

You were cold.

All conscious thought, your entire sense of time and place had seeped away, pausing like time itself had frozen as you found yourself floating away. You had no sense of direction, your entire body weightless as reality slipped further away from you. You couldn't fight, couldn't find a way out, couldn't protect yourself against the danger you thought you were facing in the back of your mind, the thoughts slipping further from your mind as time elapsed. You could only feel the cold, the sense that your skin was prickling as if you'd been burnt but that wasn't possible. There was an eerie silence that surrounded you, a stillness of sorts only disturbed by the obnoxious anxious thumping of a persistent beat that only seemed to be increasing in tempo.

You tried to reach out through the darkness in your mind to ground yourself, to bring a sense of conscious thought back, but there were only tangible thoughts that led nowhere, like a montage of memories all strewn together as if within a scrapbook with no theme, a movie watched out of order.

You could hear the words of someone as if they were far off in the distance but it was distorted and foggy, like an echo happening in your mind, like you weren't hearing with your ears at all. You recognise the blurry voice but can't put a face to the sound, nor can you give that voice a name.

There's an imagine in your mind but it's fuzzy, almost unintelligible but something within you recognises the shapes, the colours like it's familiar to you. There's a vibrant hue of orange, a distorted display of colour that looks like a face but it's too vague to make out.

The words repeat in your head, clearer this time, barely audible over the persistent thumbing you hear but it's there.

Stop being an idiot and tell him how you feel.

There's no meaning to the words, or at least there isn't in your current state but you're almost certain them meant something to you once.

Tell him.

Him? There's a warmth in your belly that occurs when you repeat the word him, the temporarily lost association making you realise that even in your confused state, he meant something to you. There's a name at the edge of your mind, on the tip of your tongue but it's too far to stretch to see it clearly.

You're tired now, a calmness washing over your entire body as you feel that invisible pull of sleep connecting to your body and your mind, a true sense of weightlessness and freedom overcoming you.

Suddenly, you're ripped out of your peaceful state when you feel something pulling at you, the sensation jarring as your mind fights to react, your body less inclined to help. You're moving but it's with a force that you can't comprehend, a flying sensation almost that breaks the reverie you'd been in. A sense of your consciousness returns, an overwhelming panic wracking your mind and your body as the dissociation fades. You're in blinding pain, your chest burns and your skin prickles like it's being prodded with a thousand needles at once, the weakness in your limbs rendering you helpless to ease the pain.

"Sweetheart please," you hear a voice plead, louder and clearer than ever as warm hands land on your chest, pushing into you with so much force that it feels your ribs could break at any second. Your lungs are screaming out for air but no matter what you do you can't take any in and you realise much too late and with a somber, sorrowful thought that you were dying.

There's a warm against your lips, a blazing heat against your frozen skin that radiated through your face, the warmth feeling blistering against your broken skin. You feel your lungs expand as if on their own and within seconds you're being rolled over forcibly. Your skin rests upon an even colder surface, burning your cheeks with the sheer freezing temperature. Your body is convulsing but you're powerless to stop it, your lungs burning anew when the blockage clears and ice cold air permeates once again into your body. It burns like you'd swallowed a Hungarian horntail that was out for revenge and in a cruel twist of fate, that is the last thought you have as your consciousness fades again, this time completely.

Your eyes open slowly, fluttering briefly before closing tightly again as the light of the room forced your eyelids to close tight once again. You slowly acclimatise yourself to the light, a sharp pain in your head protesting the whole endeavour. There's an almost perfect silence wherever you are, a dull ringing in your ears the only sound you could make out. Your head throbs, your throat is sore and there's a pain in your chest that you can't place. When you open your eyes fully, your retinas no longer burning with the effort, you realise slowly that you're in the hospital wing, the bed at the end of the room if you're not mistaken. The rest of the beds are empty, with immaculate covers and undisturbed sheets laying in wait for the new patients, the only bed occupied in the whole room is yours.

You assume it's nighttime or late evening, the windows all showing the darkness outside with only cozy lamplight to illuminate the room in a somewhat soothing golden glow.

Your head is throbbing and there's a tightness in your shoulder that makes you look down to it with a frown, seeing that there's a sling wrapped around your right arm and shoulder.

You groan as you stretch your legs, scrunching your toes to alleviate the slow building cramp that you feel. You frown as you feel a weight on your legs that you hadn't noticed before and your head whips around painfully when you hear a noise that didn't come from yourself.

There's a light groan and a cough to clear their throat before you can make out who is there with you. When the figure begins to sit up, apparently having been resting their head on your legs, you recognise who it is immediately. Fred.

The telltale mop of red hair is thrust out of his face with a mumbled groan as he rubs his eyes, apparently having been asleep onto seconds later. When his eyes focus and he realises you are actually looking back at him, finally awake, he scrambles to move his chair closer to you until he's right by your side.

"You're awake," he says with an air of astonishment. He looks tired, his eyes red and slightly puffy just like the tip of his nose that completes with his cheeks for redness.

"I'm awake," you reply, a million questions running through your head as to what had happened and how the hell you ended up here in the hospital wing.

Fred knows that he needs to get Pomfrey but he doesn't want to leave you now that you were finally awake, though he'd barely left your side the entire time awake or not.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, his hand coming up to grab at your one good hand. It's a confusing gesture, one that has you looking at his much larger hand covering yours, trying to wrack your brain to see if he'd ever been this openly affectionate before.

"My head's spinning, but I'm okay," you reply. "You look tired."

He sniggers at your blunt honesty and raises his eyebrows briefly before his face settles into a neutral expression, "just got a cold."

"Pomfrey probably has some potion for that."

"I think she's got enough on with you," he teases, nodding towards the ghastly sling hanging across your body. You share a smile, a brief moment where time seems to freeze, so much unsaid between the two of you.

"Fred what happened?" You ask, scrunching your toes again under the blankets as you feel the chill in the room beginning to seep through the shin sheets.

He looks everywhere apart from your face, eyes whipping around the room as if he's waiting for Madame Pomfrey to make her appearance quickly to avoid answering your question. He sighs gently, his hand squeezing yours as he begins to tell you, wondering where to begin.

"You fell in the black lake," he explains softly, ignoring the way yours eyes widen in panic. "You must have been skating and the ice broke, you went under, hit your shoulder pretty hard on the way down. But Pomfrey says you should be okay, you were stable enough that they didn't need to send you to St Mungo's thank Godric."

"How did I get out? Did a professor find me?" You say after a few moments of contemplative silence.

"Must have done," Fred says, sounding unsure, brows pinching together as his eyes gaze upon the material of your sling.

"Oh miss y/n, you're awake. Gave us quite a fright for a moment. How do you feel dear? Any pain?"

Madame Pomfrey bustles in upon seeing you awake, or perhaps hearing voices on her usually quiet ward.

"Mr Weasley, perhaps you should return to your common room now," she says gently, turning to Fred who looks like he's going to protest the very second he stops talking. "Miss y/n will be resting after taking her healing draughts, you can come back in the morning."

Fred looks to you and you try not to get teary at the thought of being left alone overnight. You wanted nothing more for him to stay with you, to hold your hand and tell you it will be okay but you couldn't be selfish, especially with how tired he looked and with his cold. Surprisingly, he nods towards Madame Pomfrey, the two of them seeming to share a look of silent communication that makes him quickly relent before he turns back to you.

"First thing in the morning," he promises, a small smile tugging at his lips though it looks forced, as if he's trying to be comforting.

"After your class," Pomfrey adds with a semi-forceful tone, his eye twitching at the words but in an act that surprises you further, he nods.

"Feel better soon, I'll be here in the morning." He moves to stand as Pomfrey busies herself with a tray of potions and such. After first making sure she's not looking, Fred leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. It's a small but endlessly soothing gesture that seems to warm you from the inside out. You gives you another smile as he walks away, your eyes following his figure as he makes his way out of the wing, feeling more upset with each of his steps.

"You've got a good one there, even if he and his counterpart cause a lot more work for me here," she says with a clipped smile, hardly turning away from her task.

"Oh Fred's not, not my boyfriend," you stammer, sensing the undercurrent of her words. She simply gives you an extended warm smile, the twinkle in her eyes dancing under the lamplight.

"Take these, you'll feel better after a good rest."

-♡-

"Y/n!"

Your head whips round at the sudden screeching of your name, the sound reverberating off the stone walls as a familiar figure makes their way over to you with a run. Immediately two arms are flung around you causing you to wince as they make contact with your busted shoulder which up to that point had felt significantly better after Pomfrey's potions.

"I'm so sorry, I was so worried!" Lavender says as she takes a seat on the bed next to yours, facing you with a sorrowful look, tears already brimming in her eyes. "When you... when you fell I was so terrified. All I could think of was how I'd called you an idiot and that would be the last thing you'd hear! I'm so sorry, I understand why you haven't told him, it's none of my business. I just wanted you to be happy, it was my fault we were on the lake in the first thing place."

"Told who what?" You ask, cutting to the point of something rather large you were missing.

"That you love him," she says as if it's blindingly obvious. "Fred."

You were silent, no longer listening to her rambling as she continues to apologies, going off on more tangents than you could count. It was lavender's voice you heard whilst you were drowning, her words ringing out in your mind as you crept closer to your death. You did love Fred, you'd never disputed that, but was it possible that he could love you back?

"Y/n, are you feeling okay?" She asks, suddenly pulling you out of your black hole of spiralling thoughts, noticing that you hadn't replied in a while.

"I'm fine," you manage to say, nodding your head gently to reassure her.

"It's quite fitting actually, you definitely chose the right boy," she giggles, again making you feel like you were missing something important. "I've never really looked at him like that, too much trouble for me and I've always had my sights on Ron as you know, but seeing him diving in after you was quite enthralling! He didn't even think about it, ran straight across the ice and dove in to get you- it was like one of those muggle films!"

"What?" You say breathlessly, heart pounding as you consider her words. She frowns at you now, looking with a confused and semi-concerned expression as if you'd lost your mind.

"Fred saved you, didn't he mention it? He's not left your side since, he even missed quidditch practice yesterday, Angelina was furious with him!"

-♡-

"How's the patient?" A comforting voice calls out as they make their way over to your bed, their footsteps echoing through the mostly quiet ward.

"Not you Neville, no offence," Fred says, spotting Neville on the bed opposite yours who had been brought in after getting bitten by a mandrake earlier that morning.

You smile, giggling a little at Fred's bluntness as he immediately moves to sit on the chair beside your bed, moving it so that he could see you properly.

"Almost fixed I'm told," you smile, watching as a beaming smile crosses his face. He still looks tired though better than yesterday and his nose has gone down at least three shades of red, though you can detect a slight sniffle he's trying to conceal.

"Glad you're on the mend," he says, eyes flicking to the lack of sling you were wearing, smiling again as he realises that you no longer need it. "It's strange without you... bit too quiet."

"Coming from you?" You laugh, earning a mock-glare from Fred, though there's an undeniable smirk blooming on his face.

"How are you feeling? Your cold I mean," you ask, watching his face contort in confusion and slight alarm at your words.

"I'll live," he answers briefly, eyes ghosting the room again.

"I know it was you that saved me."

His tongue pokes out to wet his full lips, eyes glancing up to you slowly as you stare him down with a raised eyebrow. "You never said anything."

"Doesn't matter, you were saved, that's all that's important."

"Not to me."

The way Fred looks at you in that moment leaves you almost convinced that the feelings you had for him were indeed reciprocated, the softness, the tenderness. It wasn't a side of himself he often showed, the sweetness underneath the jokes.

"Well," he says, swallowing harshly and clearing his throat, before the words fade away into silence, neither of you knowing what to say. It's tense and slightly awkward, the atmosphere shifting as all the unspoken words settle in between you both, creating a barrier of how to proceed.

"Thank you Freddie," you say quietly, not knowing how to express your thanks in any way that would sound enough. "What you did..."

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

You look up towards him, seeing his eyes fixed upon you. "Even if I did get a stinking cold again."

Suddenly the tension is gone and you both laugh, his hand reaching for yours with the newly relaxed atmosphere, before he moves to stand.

"Scooch up then, seeing as you're not broken anymore," he instructs with a nod of his head, urging you to move across on the bed. It's comical to see his ridiculously long body try to squeeze onto the bed next to you, his arm immediately reaching out for you so that you can both stay on the bed, even if you're barely hanging on with one bum cheek.

"That's better," he grins, head thrown back onto your pillows, pretending to close his eyes and drift off. There's no way in hell that either of you would be able to sleep on here together, knowing you'd surely end up in a heap on the floor.

"I'm glad you saved me," you say as you snuggle into him.

"Me too, couldn't be without you," he says holding you a little closer, his eyes opening as he looks towards you.

"I love you Freddie."

You're no longer scared of saying those words, the actions of the last few days and your brush with death taking away the fear of rejection. It doesn't matter if he never says it back, or if he does but in a completely different capacity, at least he would know. You hold your breath as he suddenly looks at you, the softness returning to his gestures as his eyes dance over your face.

"I've loved you since the minute you sat down at the Gryffindor table," he says with a smirk, his tone breathless as if he's holding back a self-deprecating laugh.

"That's ridiculous," you huff, nudging him with your good shoulder.

"I like my women to have an appetite, seeing you take down those chicken legs was my sexual awakening." You nudge him again, harder now and his balance is thrown but he manages to recover before falling off the bed. "Okay maybe it was just because it was you. But it is you, always has been."

You smile gently as you watch with bated breath as his eyes flicker down to your lips, his next move becoming apparent. He begins to lean down and your eyes flutter closed in anticipation, only to feel the slight whoosh of him suddenly pulling away, your eyes opening instinctively.

"Oi Longbottom, avert your eyes, we're having a moment here!"

[for-writing-shit]

Ughhh i cant stop thinking about soft soft sex with Fred after a long, tiring day. Just turning your brain to mush and then pampering you and holding you close... ♡

Hi Anon! My dear, this is on my mind near constantly too so here we go! My own personal HC that after the war Fred would grow his hair longer again, kind of like James in real life so I snook that in 🖤

Warnings: smut, graphic smut, soft sex, piv, fingering. Tooth rotting smut- is that a thing? Fluff, use of petnames, kind of a smutty comfort fic?

Word count: 891

You feel like Home.

You hadn't had a bad day necessarily, just a long day. You felt you were going through the motions, entirely on auto pilot, counting down the minutes until you'd be back home. Both you and Fred had the day off together tomorrow and there was no better feeling. All day you'd held on to the hope of a nice dinner, preferably one that you didn't have to cook, putting your comfiest clothes on and mindlessly watching muggle Tv whilst you cuddle up to Fred or even better, completely naked and cuddled up to Fred in a very different way.

When he first slips inside of you, a blissful sigh of relief escapes your lips. Your hands stroke down his naked. muscular back, legs locked tightly around his waist as his hips lazily drive into you, stroking deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“Fuck, you feel like home baby,” Fred whispers into your ear as he thrusts into you, burying his cock deep and staying there for a few moments, letting you adjust to his size.

“Always so tight,” he whispers, as if he’s talking to himself. You reach up and pull back the few strands of hair that have fallen into his face, making him look at you as he lifts his head. You share a sweet, meaningful smile as you look at each other before he leans down on bulging arms to kiss you. It’s passionate and loving but lazy with no rush to it, as if he’s savouring the moment just as you are. When he draws back his hips and thrusts into you again you can’t hold back the moan that escapes you. It’s quiet and subdued, muffled into his shoulder but so powerful, like a secret shared between you.

His pace is slow and steady with perfectly angled thrusts, taking his time to make it blissful for both of you. Your hips meet his, rolling in time with his thrusting and each time he seems to get deeper with every stroke.

“Roll on your side sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls out of you and moves to spoon you on your big, soft bed. He kisses your neck and shoulder as he settles behind you, free hand wandering across your breasts as he rests his weight on his other arm. His hand trails down your skin, purposely dancing around that spot on your waist that tickles the most and he chuckles as he watches you squirm. His big hands part your legs and begin toying with your clit, spreading around your wetness and reigniting that fire in your lower belly. He pulls away and grabs hold of his cock as you lift up your leg, allowing him to slip back inside of you. It isn’t your favourite position, usually reserved for lazy mornings when you’re both still half asleep but still need each other, but right now you’re enjoying the intimacy of it.

“Fred,” you sigh out in bliss as his pace quickens, your hand rising up to grab your breasts as his fingers slip back to your clit and circle the little nub perfectly. You turn your head to the side and he captured your lips with his almost instantly, each of you sensing the increasing intensity as his hips thrust harder and quicker.

“Want you to cum sweetheart, want to feel that perfect little pussy squeezing me,” he says in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your body as his fingers speed up just slightly on your sensitive nub.

“Fred, Fred,” you breathily chant, chasing your building orgasm as you move your hips to Fuck yourself back on his cock.

“Will you let me cum inside you baby?” He says, beginning to pound into your harder just like he knows you need.

“Fred, cum inside me!” You cry out, reaching your peak under his skilled fingers and perfect cock. Your pleading is enough to hurl him right over the edge with you and he grabs your hips with astronomical force as he pulls you down onto him one last time, sinking deep inside as he spills his load inside.

You’re both breathless and sporting with matching smiles on your face as you come down from your highs. He pulls you in for another kiss as he slips out of you, smirking against your lips as he hears you gasp. His hand comes up to rest on your breast as he pulls you into his body, his flaccid cock resting against the curve of your bum as he holds you in his arms.

“I love you, so much,” he says quietly and you smile, reaching up to entwine your fingers with his where you can reach.

“Love you more Fred Weasley,” you say slightly dreamily, still amazed that you get to say those words even after being together for so long.

After a few minutes of bathing in the post-sex glow, you hear Fred’s breathing steadying and know that he’s undoubtedly fallen asleep. It’s too late for a nap and too early for bed but you don’t care, cuddling down into the muscular plains of his chest where your head fits perfectly under his chin. Dinner can wait, chances are you’ll just order in anyway and so you let yourself drift off in Fred’s arms, the day forgotten.