#also should be noted they live across the state bc of college but p sure theyve visited my city in the past year lololol.............

[symbiodyke]

holy fuck.

my former(?) best friend of OVER 8 YEARS who I THOUGHT ghosted me in early march 2022 just fucking sent me a text as if nothing happened. literally super cheerful nd only the VERY SLIGHTEST bit apologetic and I'm just????

what the fuck do I even do I've been so heartbroken but now???????????? what??

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Well... All Right PT. 2

anonymous said: I know you said you didn’t know much about the Beatles but, I was wondering if you could write a Younger John Lennon imagine where the reader visits him wherever and she’s completely smashed and talking nonsense but is super sweet and he just takes care of her and it’s fluffy? Please and thank you!!

Read PT. 1 here

(a/n: i decided to make this a continuation of the last John Lennon imagine I wrote bc it works w the timeline and it’s kinda cute IDK anyways here u go here’s drunk reader and sweet caring john enjoy)

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” John called out as he pulled one of his wrinkled, dirty button ups on, trying his best to look at least not completely asleep as he stormed towards the door. Someone was ringing the doorbell incessantly. His flatmate was out, but he was sure the paper thin walls did nothing to hide the shrieking ring of the bell as it was pressed over, and over, and over. “Ever heard of knocking, or fucking off-“

He swung open the door to find you standing there, looking positively trashed but undeniably cute wrapped up in his jacket that you’d ended up with after your first date a few nights ago. He’d left your dorm later that night, once you’d dried off completely, and had conveniently left both his hat and his jacket near the door. He’d secretly done it to see if you would show up to class in the duo, but hadn’t seen a thing out of you until just now. And damn it, you looked adorable in his green jacket and black hat. If he didn’t end up asking you out properly, he wondered if he should even ask for them back, knowing you looked so good in them.

Now, you’d gone out and partied with a few friends down the street in his jacket and hat, knowing they were a bit too big for you but also not caring too much. When you remembered that John had mentioned he lived in this small flat complex, you’d managed to pull his exact address out of one of his friends at the party and promptly ditched it, taking a bottle of gin with you that was now alarmingly empty and clutched in your hand tightly.

At the sight of his obvious bedhead and tired eyes, you sprang to life, eyes glossy but bright and smile beaming as you lurched forward, wrapping your arms around John and clinging to the poor man for dear life. “Johnny Boy!” you slurred, giggling to yourself and pressing your already warm cheek to his chest, appreciating the intermingling of your body heats.

“Y/N? What’s gotten into you?” he questioned, laughing a bit before hesitantly wrapping an arm around you, pulling you inside with him and closing the door. The chilly cap of the gin bottle pressed into his back as you pulled him closer, and he shivered a bit at the sharp twang of cold it brought to his skin. “So that’s what got into you.”

“I was bored at the party, and then I saw some of your friends that I see you on campus with, and they told me you live here, and so I decided-“ you paused, hiccupping and giggling a bit at how deliriously drunk you were before continuing- “I decided to come see you and bring you your hat, but I think I’ll keep the jacket because it’s nice and smells like you and-“

“You are plastered,” John interrupted, stating the obvious, and you snickered at his amused tone of voice before letting go of him to stumble into his flat, immediately going for the bedrooms. “Hey, hey, my bedroom is my fortress!” he called after you, failing to stop you before you burst into his roommate’s bedroom. “This is not my fortress, though,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around your waist and quickly pulling you out of the room before shutting the door again. “Privacy, little one.”

When his hand went to pat the top of your head, you swung your own at it and smacked him away, giving him as mean of a look as you could muster before you noticed a partially open door just across the hallway – John’s room. Ducking out of his arms, you started crawling to his room, the gin bottle thankfully closed as it clattered to the floor. Picking it up, John resigned to letting you do what you wished and just following instead, shaking his head and sighing.

“At least take off your shoes before you crawl into bed- nevermind,” he sighed when you were already under the covers, probably muddying his sheets beyond repair. “Just take them off anyways, I guess.” Smiling drunkenly up at him, you pulled your shoes off clumsily before dropping them to the floor next to the bed, giggling when John sent you a playfully dismayed look. “Can I get you a glass of water, miss?”

“Ohh, you’re so sweet,” you whined as you pulled the covers up to your chin, grinning out at him. “Please and thank you with a cherry on top… or something. And pizza! Boy, I’m hungry.” And you were off again, throwing the covers to the floor and revealing that you’d actually managed to avoid making much of a mess as you stumbled to your feet, holding onto his arm to steady yourself before smiling bashfully. “I’m a bit drunk, I think.”

“You think?” he teased, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and grinning down at you before nodding towards the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat so you’re not regretting it in the morning.”

“You’re such a good person,” you gushed as you leaned fully against him, letting him half-lead, half-carry you to the kitchen, where you sat down on the floor cross-legged and smiled toothily up at him, hiccupping once again. “Everyone at college thinks you’re a big goof with no common sense, but I see the real you, man. I see how nice you are. Goofs don’t make drunk witches food at…. What time is it?”

“You’re far from a witch. And it’s 2 am, love,” he reminded you, starting to pull out some peanut butter and jelly to make you a few sandwiches. He didn’t have much to eat, so he made a mental note to go grocery shopping tomorrow if he was going to have you over here like this more often. Not that he minded. “Strawberry or grape jam?”

“Grape, are you kidding me?” you scoffed loudly, acting appalled that he’d even suggest strawberry jam in your presence. “What kind of a man are you, after all? Maybe I’m at the wrong guy’s apartment, I thought I was with this cute, smart brunette guy who had a good head on his shoulders, not this- this…. strawberry jam lover’s house!” After crawling to your feet, you sighed and let your head loll back, deciding against walking to the door in indignation. “Too far. M’drunk.”

“Sit back down,” he commanded gently, and you obliged as you slid back down to your cross-legged position, closing your eyes so the room would stop spinning. John’s voice was the only thing grounding you, and you latched onto it as he began speaking again, hanging on to his every word. “We have class tomorrow at 8 but I’m assuming you’re skipping now too?”

“Yup,” you replied loudly, popping the p and grinning when you heard John’s laugh, so pure, rising from a throaty chuckle to a higher-register laugh. He then crouched down next to you with a sandwich and a glass of water, raising an eyebrow when your eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. “You’re so wonderful,” you murmured, suddenly overwhelmed with so much emotion that a tear came to your eye as you gratefully took the sandwich and water, sniffling a bit.

“Aw, no, why are you crying, sweetheart?” he worried, speaking gently as he reached out to brush your hair back and make you look at him. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry too.” He then pulled a funny face, pretending to cry with you and pouting his lips in an attempt to make you laugh.

That only made you cry harder, taking a bite of the sandwich as tears began to roll down your face, sobbing in the midst of eating probably one of the best PB&Js you’d ever had – or maybe it was the alcohol talking. As he sat down next to you, he let you rest your head on his shoulder and you bawled your eyes out as you ate the sandwich, such a mess that you’d probably regret it thoroughly in the morning if you remembered. But again, he didn’t mind, only amused at how genuinely emotionally open you were with a bit of gin in you.

Also, he couldn’t help but be a bit partial towards you. He was quite fond of you, so your antics were less annoying than they’d be with someone who he didn’t fancy. He’d decided he liked you quite a bit after you had the best conversation he’d had, well, ever, the other night, talking about everything under the moon, on the moon, and past the moon. You were intelligent, astoundingly so, and had quite an interesting take on religion and politics that made him want to get more active than he currently was in his relatively sheltered middle-class life. He could be ignorant if he wanted to, but what good did that do when he had the most passionate, intellectual girl on his mind, and, well, on his shoulder, crying her eyes out about him?

When you were done with the sandwich, you did your best to stave off the tears as you sipped at the water, still sniveling and whimpering ever so often and keeping your head on his shoulder. “You going to be alright, love?” he mumbled, resting his head on yours and chuckling a bit when you shook your head. “How about we get one more glass of water in you and then we can sail off to dreamland, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, sounding immensely sad, and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud at how pitiful you sounded. You were going to be quite sore in the morning, he could already tell. But at least the water would help with the dehydration that would set in around the time class started without you two. “John, I’m so sad about Buddy.”

“Buddy?” he asked, lifting his head so he could look down at you in confusion. Was that a friend, a pet of sorts? A boyfriend he’d not known about? “Who’s Buddy?”

“Buddy Holly, you bloody git,” you moaned unhappily, sitting up to finish off your water before sighing and clumsily handing the cup over to him. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re not daft, you’re so wonderful. I don’t deserve your help right now. I think I’ll just go.” Using the counter to pull yourself to your feet, you stood still and leaned on the counter to steady yourself, biting your lip before starting to stumble for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, following and sitting the cup on the counter as he blocked you from leaving the kitchen. “You’re not walking anywhere like this, sweets, you’ll catch your death or get kidnapped, one of the two.” Wrapping his arm around your waist, he managed to toss you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, where you hung like dead weight as he got another glass of water with his free hand.

“Let them take me. I’ll cry so much they’ll get annoyed and kick me out anyways,” you protested weakly, already falling asleep at the intoxicatingly relaxing smell of John’s cologne on his shirt. “M’damn tired, Lenny. Can I sleep in your bed with you? I promise I won’t try to cuddle – unless you want to. You’re really warm. And smell good.”

Chuckling at the last part, he carried you down the hallway, sitting down the glass of water on his nightstand once he reached his room and helping you sit down on the bed. “Can’t sleep in that dress, s’not made for sleeping.”

“Heh. Snot,” you laughed sleepily, your eyes fluttering dangerously as you fell back on the bed, resting an arm over your eyes. “That’s funny.”             Shaking his head as he grabbed you some pajamas, he managed to slide some sweatpants on you as you lay there like a limp ragdoll and let him dress you. However, he refused to take your dress off, letting you do the honors and promising to look only if you needed help changing into the shirt. “Thank you for the shirt, Lenny. You can look now.”

You’d surprisingly managed to pull your dress off and make your way into the shirt, and now you were reaching out for him, sprawled out across the bed. “Drink your water first,” he chastised gently, and you shot him an annoyed look under rapidly heavying eyelids before chugging half of the glass, sitting the rest back on the stand noisily. “Good girl.”

“I’m not a pet,” you mumbled, falling back to the bed and grumbling incoherently between hiccups. John managed to squeeze in next to you, pulling the covers over the both of you, and for a moment, he had no clue what to do with his hands. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around you and drift off to sleep, he had no idea whether drunk you would be elated to cuddle with him, or slap him because of the strawberry jam thing. “Why aren’t we cuddling?” you asked aloud, John immediately snapping out of his thoughts and laughing as he realized you’d already made the decision for him.

“Give a man a moment to breathe,” he teased, reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist as you cuddled back into him, quickly getting comfortable. Already feeling the effects of sleep quickly threatening to take him out, he gave your arm a quick rub before kissing the back of your head. “Goodnight.”

But you were already out cold, snoring softly and garnering an amused chuckle out of him before he, too, dozed off. That left him practically alone once again, so he did the only thing he could do with your body weighing down on his arm, making it fall asleep and tingle – he fell asleep too.

And he slept good. So good, that he nearly didn’t feel you crawling out of bed, scrambling to find the bathroom at 7:55. Nearly.

As you left, he slowly pulled out of his groggy state, groaning softly and trying to put two and two together. Nothing really clicked until he saw the half-drank water on his nightstand, and it all shifted into place once his bleary gaze came to rest on your shoes laying haphazardly next to the bed. “Aw, shit, poor thing,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he threw his legs over the side of the bed to the sound of you emptying the contents of your stomach in the next room. Grabbing the water, he padded out into the hallway and down to the toilet, slowly pushing open the door to find you crouched over the toilet, miserable and embarrassed and disoriented.

“Oh my God, it’s you,” you mumbled when you peeked through your hair to see him, immediately casting your eyes downward again as the room began to spin. “I wondered whose apartment I was in.” Sniffling, you mumbled a thank you as he wordlessly sat the water down on the chilly tile next to you, his hand grazing over your wrist and snatching one of the hair ties there before using it to pull your hair back up out of your face. He’d done it before for a few girlfriends and friends alike, so it was like second nature to him as he successfully gathered your hair into a bun, then sat behind you and rested against the wall.

“Good morning. Fancy some breakfast?” Groaning softly, your stomach thoroughly disagreed with the thought and he grimaced as you continued to empty what was left of your stomach, thankful that he’d gotten your hair out of the mix when you finally gave up, using the water to gargle and rinse your mouth before taking a drink and sitting back. You found his chest behind you, weakly slumping between his legs and resting the side of your face against his torso as you felt absolutely drained. “No more gin for you, eh?”

“Jesus, no,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around his torso and whining softly as you recalled approximately how much you’d drank. “Did I…. smack you? I’m so sorry.”

“Just my hand. Hurt like hell, though,” he chuckled, reaching up to rub your arm and doing his best to soothe you as he looked at his watch. 7:59. “Oh my, if we don’t hurry, we’re going to be late! Wouldn’t professor love that, his favorite pupil and the bane of his existence skipping together?”

Holding up his watch for you to see, you watched it change to 8 and let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he can fuck off. Hope it eats him alive.” Your eyes closed again and you huffed softly, almost dozing off at the relaxing feeling of John’s touch on your arm, rubbing methodically and making you feel not as shitty, surprisingly. “Thanks for not kicking me out, Lenny.”

“Me? Thanks for not kicking me out when you found out I like strawberry jam.”

“Ew! I’ve changed my mind, maybe I should have smacked you.”

tagging @strawberryfields-forever bc it’s technically a continuation of the request they sent in hehe but otherwise -

message me/reply to this if you want to be added to the beatles taglist! REQUESTS CLOSED