#and them in bed with john resting his head on paul's shoulder

[myplasticadversary]

It always tickles me that the elevator kiss arguably isn't even the gayest moment in the movie

[sugardollcurse]

can you do something with like Paul eating reader out (like John's fic) I love that man so much and his face is soo❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 And the reader is usually a quiet person,but she becomes very vocal about the pleasure that Paul brings to her.

𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 | paul mccartney x fem!reader

𐙚 contains ; nsfw!! minors dni!

𐙚 summary ; you’re known for being reserved. but paul knows better. he’s always known. and tonight, he plans to hear everything.

𐙚 note ; yesss i love that energy.. also so real i'm so jealous of his beauty ♡ thank you for sending this in! ☁︎︎

It always started with his hands.

You should’ve known.

The way they lingered. The way they waited. Not grabbing. Not pawing. Just resting. Softly, solidly, on your hips, the backs of your thighs, the slope of your waist as if mapping the territory in secret. He was so good at that. Making his affection look casual. But nothing Paul did was ever unintentional.

Tonight, it started on the couch. Vinyl spinning lazily in the background. Your head on his shoulder, legs curled beneath you.

He’d been quiet for a while, content to let you drift in and out of focus. You were always quiet. He liked that about you. Said it was calming. But you didn’t miss the way his hand started moving beneath the throw blanket. The way his thumb stroked your inner thigh. The way his breathing changed.

“You always get like this when it rains?” he murmured.

You opened one eye. “Like what?”

He smiled, slow. “Warm. Soft. Like you’re waitin’ for someone to open you up.”

You blinked, blood already shifting in your belly.

“You say the most obscene things,” you muttered.

He chuckled, low and warm against your skin. “Only when they’re true.”

Then, he kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The side of your neck. Lazy, slow. His hand still between your legs, but not pushing. Just waiting.

“Can I hear you tonight?” he asked softly.

You froze. “Hear me?”

“You’re always so quiet,” he said, drawing back enough to see your face. “Except when I’m down there.”

Your throat went dry.

“I know you’ve got sounds tucked away,” he whispered. “Just need the right coaxin’, don’t you?”

You nodded, slow.

And that was all he needed.

Paul moved like he was composing something. Not just playing, writing. As if your body was the instrument and he hadn’t touched it in years, and now he had you all to himself in a quiet room, and he needed to hear what it could do.

He guided you back onto the bed, the duvet half-folded down from earlier, the sheets faintly warm where you’d curled together. His mouth brushed your cheek, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. Not a kiss, an invocation.

You weren’t even undressed yet.

His fingers slipped beneath your waistband. “Let me?” he asked softly, even though he was already tugging.

You lifted your hips. He peeled your bottoms off slow, underwear with them, his knuckles grazing your thighs like he was trying to memorize the skin. He smiled when your legs tensed.

“Don’t go clammin' up on me now, pretty girl,” he murmured, eyes flicking up. “You’ve got nothin’ to hide. Not from me.”

Your hands twitched by your sides. He brushed them gently away, settled himself lower, between your legs. Still fully dressed. Like this wasn’t even sex to him yet, just a devotion.

He kissed your knee. Then the soft inside of your thigh.

“You always get like this.” he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the slick glistening between your legs. “All sweet and sticky and shy when you want it?”

You swallowed, hard. He was trying to rile you up. He wanted to hear you again, just like last time. “Paul…”

“‘Cause I’ve seen it,” he continued, kissing higher. “The way you squirm when I talk dirty. Or touch you under the table. That look you get, like you’re scared of how much you feel.”

He exhaled softly. You felt it, right there.

“Let me help, yeah?” he said. “Let me have it.”

And then he lowered his head.

The first lick was slow, tongue wide, dragging up the length of your cunt like he was licking an ice cream cone, and not the dripping heat of your need. It wrung a gasp out of you, sharp and instinctive. Your thighs twitched.

He hummed, pleased, like he’d just found the right chord.

Then he did it again, this time sloppier, wet and indulgent. Flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit once, twice, then dragged the flat of it back down to your entrance. You shivered. Your hips twitched without permission, seeking more.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

He paused, gaze flicking up from between your legs, lips shiny. “No, no, don’t do that,” he said, voice husky and amused, muffled slightly by your thigh. “I want to hear you. Been dreamin’ about makin’ you noisy again.”

And then he dove back in.

With purpose this time. No more teasing. He locked his lips around your clit and sucked, slow and deep, then used his tongue in broad strokes like he was playing you, like your cunt was an instrument only he knew how to handle. Your moan cracked out of you, embarrassingly loud.

“There we go,” he mumbled, grinning against you. “There’s my girl.”

Your hands flew down before you even thought about it. Fingers twisted into his hair. You tugged, a little rough, and he groaned, deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through your cunt like it thrilled him to be pulled, to be needed like that.

He shifted, hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder, then slid two fingers into you, achingly slow.

You whined. Loud. No control anymore.

He kept them moving, curling upward, pressing that sweet spot again and again while his tongue kept working your clit with maddening rhythm. Wet and perfect. Messy. God, it was messy, his chin glistening, your arousal dripping down onto his knuckles.

“Yeah?” he gasped, lips wet, forehead slick with sweat. “You like that, sweetheart? Like me fuckin’ you with my fingers while I taste you?”

You nodded frantically, then shook your head because words were beyond you now.

He groaned again. “Yeah, love it when you can’t even talk. Too good, innit?”

You bucked. Moaned loud, unapologetically now, no filter left, just need. Raw, keening noises spilling out of you, one after another, each one louder than the last. You were begging him to keep going.

His tongue obeyed. His fingers didn’t even slow. He adjusted pace like he was conducting an orchestra, swapping rhythm, teasing out new notes from your body with each shift. Gentle licks paired with deep, slow thrusts. Then fast, shallow fingerfuck with slow, lazy swirls of his tongue. Then he’d change it again, always one step ahead of you, knowing exactly when you were about to tip.

“God, listen to you,” he laughed low against your cunt. “Was so quiet just now. Now you’re cryin’ for it. Loud little thing, aren’t you?”

You clawed at his hair, almost angry with how close you were, how good he was. “I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, you are,” he growled, tongue relentless now. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

Hard.

You moaned, sharp and unrestrained, as the orgasm ripped through you. Your whole body arched, heels digging into the bed, thighs clamping around his head so tight he moaned like he loved it, like it only made him harder. He didn’t stop, not even when you shook, not when you sobbed out his name, not when your vision blurred from the sheer force of it. His tongue kept flicking through the aftermath, slow now, reverent almost, like he was worshiping every last wave of your pleasure.

When you finally collapsed back into the mattress, spent and boneless, chest heaving, he pulled away slowly. Face soaked. Eyes dark. Hair wild.

He kissed your inner thigh, your hipbone, your belly. Tender, grounding.

Then looked up at you. Smirked. Drenched in sin and pride.

You stared at each other.

You were the first to speak.

“...I’ve never been that loud in my life.”

Paul grinned, all teeth. Voice rough.

“Yeah,” he said. “You were.”

He crawled up over you, kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

“Let’s do it again.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @alanangels

[ilovegeorgie]

NEED a fluffy sickfic where george loses his voice and reader dotes, 64 or 66 era pls - LOVE UR WRITING BTW!

whisper in my ear, a wish

1966!george harrison x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none !

summary: sick day with geo

a/n: omg this is such a cute idea and thanks sm!!! <333 (btww i rlly liked writting this, maybe pt. 2?)

she'd never seen george this quiet before.

he wasn’t one for loud entrances or anything like that, but he was always present. a dry joke at the right moment, a gentle hum while tuning his guitar, the soft way he’d whisper some lyrics.

but tonight, as the five of them shuffled off the tour bus and into the hotel lobby, george didn’t say a word. his steps were slow and he was leaning against her more than usual, when she looked up at him under the dim light, she noticed the flush in his cheeks, and it was not the good kind.

“you okay, georgie?” she whispered, keeping her voice low so the boys wouldn’t tease.

he didn’t answer. just shruged slightly and blinked slowly.

inside the shared hotel suite, the boys were still hyped from the show, paul was messing with his bass, john was pacing in circles with a pen and paper, muttering something about new songs, and ringo had already claimed a spot on the floor to play cards.

she sat george down on the bed in one of the rooms, fingers already brushing the hair off his forehead. he felt hot, and again, it was not the good kind.

she held the back of her hand to his forehead.

“george,” she said gently. “you’re burning up.”

he opened his mouth to reply, but when he tried to speak, only a hoarse, whispery sound came out. his eyes widened slightly, surprised as he tried again, but nothing came out, just a raspy squeak.

“oh, love,” she murmured, cupping his jaw.

he looked so embarrassed and glanced away quickly, jaw clenched like he was holding back frustration or maybe just the urge to apologize even though he couldn’t. she leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of you.”

she made him tea first. well, she tried to, with boiling water from the little electric kettle in the corner, the only teabag she could find, and honey she'd begged from the concierge. but when she held it to his lips, he took it without question, eyes glassy.

then she sat behind him on the bed, letting his back rest against her chest as she rubbed slow circles into his shoulders. he melted into her touch, long lashes fluttering shut.

the boys peeked in an hour later, much quieter than usual.

“alright if we crash in the other room?” paul asked softly. “we’ll keep the tv low.”

“sure,” she whispered. “he’s asleep.”

ringo tiptoed in and placed a little wrapped chocolate on the nightstand “he’ll like it when he wakes up,” he whispered with a wink.

...

her fingers threaded through his hair, the rain started tapping against the hotel window, soft and rhythmic.

Then a shift.

george stirred a little. he reached for her hand and pulled it gently to his lips, pressing a tiny kiss to her knuckles without opening his eyes.

“hey,” she whispered, brushing her thumb along the side of his face. “that’s my line.”

he opened one eye, and tapped his chest lightly twice with his finger. a silent "now it's mine.”

she giggled quietly. “oh well, i guess you’re allowed to be the baby tonight.”

george gave her a tired little smile.

then, slowly, he reached for a notebook by the nightstand and scribbled a shaky message:

“everything hurts, but you make it better.”

"well, that's my job"

he smiled and blinked a few times, then leaned over, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. she kissed the top of his head, humming softly into his hair.

[n0wheregirll]

𝘐'𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 (snippet)

1965!george harrison x member!reader

genre: gets kinda spicy bro

warning: drinking, sexual tension, yk wassupp

a/n: ik I said it was gonna be fluff and angst but I got a little carried away so its gonna turn into smut in the full fic, sorry not sorry. the first time i'm doing this, I'm still working on it but I thought I would feed y'all lol. I hope you all enjoy, feedback is always welcomed, let me know what y'all think :).

summary:

You’re a member of The Beatles, and you finally unwind in your hotel room after a long day of press conferences. But you get interrupted by someone who wants your company. 

Era: 1965

“That was a good conference, eh, boys?” says John, while messing around with Paul, ticking him. “I don’t think I can talk anymore,” says Ringo, “I ran out of words to say and things to think”. I kept on looking out the window, head resting against it, “I need to get drunk when we get back,” I say with my eyes closed, fingers playing with the hem of my suit jacket. “Cheers to that love, I’ll be expecting you in my office,” says John in a funny voice. Suddenly, I felt someone tap my shoulder, opening my eyes, I looked up to see George staring at me, “What would you want? I can call Eppy to get us something while he’s out”. I stare at him, I look down at my hands noticing the red acrylic painting my fingers, then I say, “Vodka, ya’ll can get whatever, I just want that”. George nods his head while still holding eye contact with me. The car then comes to a halt, the door opens, the driver holds his hand out for me, and I get helped out of the car. “Thank you, Sir,” I say as he helps me onto the steps leading up to the hotel door. “No problem, Ms. L/N, I wouldn’t want to see you struggle up the steps, especially with those shoes,” He says while looking down at my heels, they arent easy to walk in but I had to wear them due to the height difference of me and the guys without them, then he looks at me and I notice how young he is. “He looks a bit older than me,” I say in my head, “Probably a year or two.” He isn’t bad to look at, honestly: Good smile, blue eyes, he’s around 5’10, a bit of a height difference. “Thank you, you’re very kind,” I say to him while smiling. He blushes a bit, he opens his mouth to say something— “You should get back to the car,” says George, “Wouldn't want to leave it running out in the open,”. Dropping the driver's hand, we both turn to look at him. He’s walking up to us with his normal stoic expression but his eyes seem a bit rougher, his guitar case is in one hand, fag in the other, while the other three are just snickering, hiding their faces with their hands and smoke for their fags. The driver is stunned; he looks at me, then looks down, obviously flustered. “Yes, I’m sorry, sir,” he looks up at me and says, “Have a nice day, ma’am. It was an honor to meet you”. I give him a soft smile, “Likewise”, I say as the hotel door opens and I walk in. 

The boys and I went in the elevator to avoid the ruckus. When it opened, we immediately piled out and started walking to our hotel rooms. The boys go into John’s room, Paul asks me if I want to join, “No, I need some time alone right now”, I say as I kick off my heels. “Alright, love, we’ll get you at 5 sharp to start our fun,” He says, then winks. I giggle, and then I enter my room. “I need to shower,” I whisper while walking to the bathroom.

After changing into black sleeping shorts with a black long-sleeved shirt, I checked the clock; it was only 3:30, and I still had plenty of time to chill. I throw myself on the bed and close my eyes, beginning to succumb to slumber. *Knock *Knock *Knock, I open my eyes and huff my breath. I get up and open the door to see George standing there. He had changed out of the black suit, and he had a pair of black pants on, with a black turtleneck. He had a bag in left hand with a pack of fags in the other, “Could I hang with you? Ringo went to sleep, and John and Paul are in Paul’s room,”. Then he looked at my clothes and realized, “Did I wake you up?” He says with a tilted head. “No, I was just lying down,” I tell him. I don’t know why I lied, I honestly wasn’t expecting to see him until later. I make space for him to step into my room. He smells good, I keep my eyes on his back as we walk to my bed, his back shifts a little when his hand reaches into his pocket, showing off his slim but toned figure. Girl, stop.  He turns to look at me and then throws himself on my bed, “How come your bed is comfier than all of ours? That’s not fair,” He says while looking up at me through the sheets. “I’m not the one who picked the bed for the rooms,” I say to him. I throw myself on the bed as well, turning to my right to be face-to-face with him, “Did you call Eppy?”. George scoffs, playfully offended, “Of course I did, I’m not John,”.  He gets the bag and motions with his fingers to me, Come ‘ere. I scoot closer to him, then he pulls out a bottle of Buchanan Black and White. My eyes light up, immediately snatching the bottle from his grasp, “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite?”. His eyes widen a bit and he turns his head to the side, as a pink hue decorates his cheeks,” Shut up, you, we all know it’s Ringo.”. I look at him, still holding the bottle, “I could kiss you right now,” I say jokingly.

He looks down, then turns to me, “Don’t say things that you know you wouldn’t do”, his voice got a little deeper, speaking in his delicious accent.

The atmosphere in the room changed, and something sparked between us. I set the bottle aside, still holding eye contact with him as I get closer, and I stop once I get face-to-face with him. Slowly, I lift a hand, gently caressing his jaw, “You don’t know me, Harrison.” He looks surprised, I don't think either of us expected for this to happen, he leans a little closer, oh no, I close my eyes, It’s okay, let it happen, he smells like cologne, cigarettes, and mint, I could get drunk from his scent alone. He grabs my face, turning it to the side to bare my neck. I can feel his hot breath on my nape, his lips lightly pressing on it, going higher until he reaches behind my ear, and then he presses a kiss, making me gasp. “I want to see you try”.

a/n: LOL THATS ALL YALL GONNA GET RN. I'm really sleepy and I'm gonna try to write tmrw, gonna be really busy. Again, feedback is welcomed! I want it, I need it, I crave it, lmk if y'all liked and if you would like to see it all, might do some more :)))

[thanksbutno98]

A Little Sweetness

John Price x fem!reader

Authors note: This was tough to write because of how close to home it hits for me. I highly suggest reading the warning as I never intend my work to trigger anyone or cause an ED episode.

Summary: After Paul moves into his new flat, you and your husband, John Price, are left to discuss what truly happened to his sister in their childhood.

Warning: EATING DISORDER, body shaming, eating disorder talked about in depth, bulimia, favoritism, sexism, abusive mother, neglect, child abuse, not edited.

——————

Saturdays evenings use to be filled with parties and a night out with friends. Loud music persuading you to dance in provocative ways and the flow of alcohol to loosen you up. It was all leading to a heavy sleep when your head hit your pillow.

Now a-days loud music was the bluey theme song and milk was chugged in your home and lead to a blissful nap. With three children you were happy to be in bed by ten and asleep by eleven. Tonight was the first night that Paul, John’s father had not been here.

That morning Paul had moved into his new flat, a divorced man. He left behind happy grand children and his son who was torn up inside. The promise of new beginnings were muttered hopefully by all his children. His youngest daughter sobbed in relief over the split and asked if she’d finally have the father he always promised to be.

You and John thought you would need to occupy your children since their grandad wasn’t there to entertain them but that was not the case. Jj was playing fifa online with his friends in the living room while Evelyn had her room back after almost three weeks. Lily was fast asleep in her room leaving you and John to your own devices tonight.

John was sitting on his side of the bed with his back resting against the cushioned head board. His legs were under the covers and you had interrupted him from picking out a movie for you two to watch. He was in his pajamas already which consisted of plaid grey pants, a black t-shirt that sat forgotten on the end of the bed leaving his chest bare.

You had just slipped into it and were complimented in your choice of attire. John thought you looked breath taking in his shirt and those pink pajama pants you found on sale last week. With your hair damp from your shower and little skin patches under your eyes, you were still the most divine woman to have ever walked this earth.

“Do you think we could talk about something that might upset you?” Your words had John mindlessly putting the remote down on his nightstand and giving you his full attention.

The movie the cursor stayed on began to play lightly in the background; the two of you being subjected to the begining of ‘The Departed.’ John didn’t mind, it was the movie he was going to ask if you were okay with watching with him.

“How upset?” John asked, head tilting to the side and a tug of a smile gracing the corners of his lips.

“Your dad said something that had me a little worried. I’m not sure if it’s a sore subject, please tell me if it’s too much. I don’t want to upset you.” John’s shoulders sagged along with the mattress as you sat at the foot of the bed in front of him. You were sitting criss cross and just peeling the little gold patches from under your eyes off. Your skin looked silky soft and John attributed how young you always looked to how well you took care of yourself.

“It’s the comment he made about Sarah isn’t it.” John knew this was coming, he wasn’t a fool.

“It is. I mean do I need to ask the question? Or?” You gave John an awkward opened mouth smile. He could see you didn’t want to stick your nose where it didn’t belong but the safety of your youngest daughter had been brought up and of course you would have questions.

One of the last serious conversations Paul left on was apologizing to John about being a father who had failed him at times. In the mix of it all you were both advised to not leave Lily in Mary’s care. Through this John was told that it might end up like how things with Sarah did and you didn’t understand what that meant. The comment seemed to hit John to a point that he clammed up and was unable to give more than a few word answers.

“I don’t think it’s my place to go into detail.” John paused and grabbed the remote to mute the television.

“I don’t need you to tell me anything that’s none of my business. I respect you and especially Sarah’s privacy.” You quickly added but John already knew that about you. John knew you well enough that if something wasn’t your business you left it all alone, drama wasn’t your style.

“I know, darling. But you have a right to know some of it. You just have to promise you won’t utter a word to Sarah. It’s something to personal to her I don’t think I could look her in the eyes knowing I spilled her secret.” John’s soft expression turned into his stoic face where he wasn’t going to allow you to see how his words actually made him feel.

Shit. This was going to be bad and you knew that based off of how serious John was taking this.

“I promise. And if you need to get anything or everything off your chest I promise it’ll all be safe with me. I’d never ever say a word.” You babbled this out, knowing how sacred John’s secrets were. You would never betray his trust, but having been backstabbed and double crossed as part of his profession you understood why he could be weary at times.

“You’re the definition of a vault, my love. One of the reasons I married you.” John smiled weakly at you as a way to tell you he had no doubt in you. It was just a needed precaution. Then his face dropped, like it did the day he told you he needed to leave for a week right before Lily was born.

“My mum had a different way of punishing Sarah versus the way me, Harrison, and Grey got it. Dad would whoop us or they would have us run a mile as punishment.” John spoke nonchalantly as he recounted his childhood and how punishments were fulfilled in their home. You already knew these things but it still pained you to hear them. Knowing John was running a mile by the time he was seven when he acted up and a beating wasn’t enough to knock some sense into him.

“With Sarah. . . Well mum limited her food because she was a girl and girls should never be hit. At least that was her reasoning. She’d send Sarah to bed without dinner whenever she acted up and when mum was particularly cross she’d call Sarah fat and that clearly skipping a meal wasn’t enough to get her to not be so. . .” John looked like he was going to be sick as he tried to get himself to say the word. Clearly ‘fat’ wasn’t the taboo word but the one he was gearing up to say was the truly hurtful insult that was hurled at Sarah.

“Chubby.” John was pained to say that aloud and he hated that his sister name and that words were used so close together.

You sat there playing with the hem of John’s shirt and feeling a sickness invade your body. As a woman yourself you felt sympathetic to the topic at hand. You’d been subjected to the impossible body standards and compared yourself to them endlessly like most young girls do. It had been your own battle and journey to find what it meant to be comfortable in your skin.

The fact Sarah was your closest friend here in the UK only made it hurt worse because you truly loved her. She’d been your closest friend through every pregnancy, every deployment, each time you thought you weren’t good enough. And now here you were learning a truth about her she had and would never share with anymore.

“So when my dad said to never leave Lily in my mums care, he was telling us she’d leave her hungry.” John’s tongue poked his cheek as his eyes shifted to look down at his hands.

He was only scratching the surface of the true problem but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell you the whole truth. He knew you could handle it and Sarah would never know, but he wasn’t sure he was able to talk about it. John also knew deep down if anyone was to know this about her she’d want it to be you. She’d said it to John before that she wished she could tell you but the fact you disliked Mary so much would only burn the bridge fully.

“She’d really send Sarah to her room with no dinner? I thought that was something that only happened in movies.” You couldn’t help the pained and disgusted look that washed over your face. It would never occur to you to do that to your children.

Thinking back to your own childhood, food was a way you and your father had connected. Your father was a horrible cook so you learned with his guiding hand and wanted that to be your chore in the house. It took years but you liked to think you were a pretty good home cook now.

Your dad also took you out wherever you wanted to go on your birthday, the last day of school, an extremely good day, a bad day, the few times you had gotten your heart broken, and sometimes just because it made you happy.

Food had been one of his ways of showing you how special you were and you adopted it as your way of loving people. Cooking for them and spending that time to make things just right, or go out of your way to make an authentic dish from someone’s home country.

John was such a foodie it was one of the reasons he was drawn to you because you truly appreciated good food and learned the ones he loved and made them at home. Although when you first met you were still figuring things out; only being mediocre until Jj was about two. Then you were knocking recipe after recipe out of the park.

To think that your father could have sent you to bed with no dinner had never occurred to you. Yeah your dad was more of a yeller and would tell you he raised you to be better or smarter than whatever the issue was. It just for some reason never occurred to you until now how detrimental punishments like that would be on a child. It started to explain little things you always wondered about Sarah.

The memory of one of the first times you two hung out together flashing in your mind. You chose an Italian restaurant and got straight carbs for dinner and she had a salad. It ended with her ditching the salad and ordering what you had gotten because ‘fuck it, that looks good.’ And you persuaded her into getting a pizza to split and you’d take the rest home to John. She told you how perfect you were for her and you felt successful in winning her over all those years ago.

It was like Sarah needed to give herself permission to eat things. You noticed it with baked goods but especially pasta. That woman loved pasta it was hands down her favorite thing to eat but she hardly ever let herself have it. So you made her favorite pasta dish, with fresh homemade pasta, every year for her birthday and the two of you ate garlic bread, drank wine, and watched trashy tv together as her way of celebrating.

It was tradition at this point that every year that Friday or Saturday of her birthday week you’d do this. John usually joined and so did Collin Sarah’s husband. Instead of a cake Sarah wanted French toast (which you introduced her to) and you’d sing her happy birthday and she’d get the whole dessert to herself while you three had some sweet treats from the local bakery. You always just thought it was a quirk of hers.

“Yeah, mum used food as a punishment a lot with her. Thats what my dad was referencing. Never occurred to me she’d still be doing that or would think about doing it to Lily.” John spoke at his hands.

“John? Do you think that maybe she’s done it to Evie?” You asked a bit scared of your husbands answer.

“I couldn’t say.” John looked up at you and there was something in his eyes that told you he was scared too.

You nodded and got up from your spot and walked over to John. Wrapping your arms around his neck he circled his burly arms around your waist and hugged you from where he sat in bed. With a kiss to the top of his head, then cheek, chin, nose, both eyes, and then lips he was smiling again. Ruffling his hair he nodded after as you walked over to your bedroom door and opened it.

You were both on the same page without a word, it was something that couples who’d been together as long as you possessed. Sometimes words didn’t need to be used because you both knew you had the same outcome in mind.

“Evie, can you come here for a moment.” You called down the hall.

Evelyn’s door was next to yours and you could see it was open. Her sparkly purple radio was playing Taylor Swift at a reasonable level and the star projector you got her, whirling. The neon blue and pink colors reflect out into the hallway and you smiled as you caught a glimpse of your daughter darting out of her room.

She was dressed in John’s green hoodie that almost swallowed her whole and red pajamas pants. She normally had her hair up in a high ponytail because that’s how she liked it but right now her long brown hair was down, silky soft hair bouncing along with her movements. She may look just like you but she had John’s hair and eye color.

Evelyn zoomed out of her room and into yours. Running right past you and diving over John, only to tuck and roll into your bed. You and John both snickered as the little girl wiggled under the covers and got comfy, back leaning against your pillow and a giant grin on her face. Her eyes were locked on you but her right hand was pulling open your nightstand drawer and digging through it. You knew she was looking for the chocolates you stashed in there but you didn’t mind her having one or two.

“If we’re having a movie night can we watch the first Narnia movie please. And Jj needs to sit next to daddy this time cuz last time he got to cuddle with you and it’s my turn.” You had to bite your lip to not laugh at how cute and sweet Evelyn was.

You and John loved to watch movies, you always had. It had become tradition that at least once sometimes twice a week you would all sit down on the couch and watch a new movie as a family. The rarer times you’d all pile into your king sized bed and watch something as a family after Lily went to bed since the toddler could be quite fearful. It was cute that your daughter thought this was what you wanted.

“We aren’t watching a movie.” John laughed only for Evelyn’s eyebrows to knit together and a pout form on her lips. The sour look faded fast as she pulled out a circular chocolate and unwrapped it quickly, then popped it into her mouth.

“Then why’d I get called in here. I swear I didn’t do whatever you think I did.” Evelyn covered her mouth as she spoke around the sweet treat.

It had John letting out a pitiful chuckle and glancing at you that her next thought was that she was in trouble. With no hesitation John grabbed Evelyn by her waist, lifted her over his head and tossed her to the foot of the bed. A joyous squeal echoed in your room as Evelyn bounced against the mattress and sat up criss cross now. She tossed the empty wrapper at John, who crumpled it up after he read the little inspirational message on the inside.

‘Life’s better with a little sweetness.’

John was going to take that for what it was and decided that being sweet in this moment might benefit you all greatly. It would be for you and his daughter but honestly it felt natural to be sweet and light around the two of you. After all you and Evelyn were so much alike and had that same disarming quality.

“You’re not in trouble, I think your mums just got a quick question.” John chuckled and gave his oldest daughter a wink. Evelyn blinked both her eyes at John and then tried to practice winking, only to give up.

“Okay.” Evelyn looked at you with a bright smile so you came and sat on the foot of the bed next to her and brushed her unruly hair behind her ear.

“Ya’know you’re so beautiful and smart.” You told your little girl. Finding her to be one of the most captivating people you had the pleasure of knowing let alone raising.

“And funny too!” She added.

“And funny.” John agreed with a chuckle, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“I was just wondering, when you went over to Nans and got in trouble did she ever not tell me or your dad?” You asked not wanting to put any words into your daughter’s mouth.

“Oh yeah! She never told you guys cuz she didn’t want us to get in trouble twice.” Evelyn held up two fingers to emphasize her point.

Glancing over at John you both shared a skeptical look. You were hoping Mary wasn’t conniving enough to do that but your gut told you otherwise. You worried it was her way of tricking your daughter into not telling you whatever she’d did and the punishment that followed.

“What did you get in trouble for?” You asked softly, continuing to play with Evelyn’s hair.

“Hmm, mainly not listening. It’s a lot easier to get in trouble with Nan than you or daddy.” With wide eyes Evelyn’s look glazed over for a split second as if she was lost in a memory.

“Why’s that?” John asked doing his best to hide the worry that was wracking in his chest. You both were doing a great job of staying calm and sweet so your daughter didn’t feel like she was doing anything wrong.

“Well, I would get in trouble because I wanted to rough house with Jj outside but Nan said ‘that’s not very lady like’” Evelyn mimicked her grandmothers voice and fake gagged before she continued.

“Then one time she got mad mad with me because she said I would end up with prince charming because I’m so pretty.” You and John both shared confused looks not quite sure what that meant. It wasn’t an inappropriate comment in fact you’d heard Mary say it in front of you before. You always just scoffed and moved on. Taking it as Mary’s way of telling Evie she was pretty.

“Why would she get mad? Did you say something fresh back?” John asked and you had this sinking feeling in your stomach.

“No, all I said is I won’t have time for Prince Charming because I’ll be an astronaut! She was so mad she didn’t let me have lunch. Said I was just like Auntie Sarah but I don’t know what that means.” Evelyn threw her arms in the air but settled back down quickly as she recounted being compared to John’s sister.

“Was that the first time she didn’t let you have lunch?” You asked, resolve beginning to slip. Showing a glimpse of the horror that was taking over your mind. You felt sick to your stomach that what John had mentioned had made it way into your daughter’s life.

“No, that’s how we got in trouble. Well, me Eli and Elaine.” Evelyn shrugged. She had just listed her other two female cousins that would go over to their Nans along with your children and their other cousins.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of her. Did Jj ever-“

“Never! The boys hardly get a talking to and when they do that’s about it.” Evelyn cut you off only to have your skin go cold.

“So the boys never got their food taken away? They’d just got an ear full?” You said trying to gather yourself back together but feeling lost on what to say. Evelyn shook her head confirming your suspicion.

You had never noticed any changes in the way Evelyn ate so you hoped it hadn’t affected her. You also never saw Jj acting like he was better than your daughter and part of you felt thankful you stopped letting them go over two years ago but hated yourself for ever allowing them to be there. In fact you were slowly starting to feel shame trickle down your throat, that you hadn’t trusted your better judgment and let John persuade you into leaving your children with his mother.

“Evelyn, I need you to look at me and listen carefully.” John had scooted down the bed and was sitting with his left leg hanging off while the other was tucked under him.

The cover was bunched around his waist and your mind was flooded with worry so consuming you were having trouble getting your head straight. Taking one of Evelyn’s hands John lowered his head slightly and looked at her through his eyebrows. You held your breath not sure if your husband, a man, was equipped to talk about proper eating with your little girl.

“You’re very smart and beautiful to boot-“

“Don’t forget funny.” Evelyn interjected but for the first time tonight John’s seriousness didn’t falter. His voice dropped to a lower octave as he continued on.

Thats when Evenly realized her daddy was being serious and she really did need to listen to him carefully. Her blue eyes locked on to John’s and she nodded, silently telling him she was ready to listen.

“Yes, funny too. I want you to know that it’s not okay for you to be skipping meals like that even if it’s a punishment for not listening. I need you to tell us things like that because if you’re not eating properly you won’t grow the way your body needs to.” John said seriously with a ribbon of love and care echoing in his words. You lightly gasped out the breath you were holding and just wanted to cheer at the top of your lungs as how beautifully John had just handled this. God, you loved him so much.

“So I’ll be short like mummy!” Evelyn gasped. Your head snapped and looked at your daughter who still had her eyes locked onto John.

“Hey, I’m not short.” You were taken aback by the comment.

“Compared to daddy you are and I wanna be super tall like him.” Evelyn cast you a raised eyebrow look before going back to paying attention to John.

“Well then you gotta eat when you’re hungry and not skip meals.” John smiled and ruffled Evelyn long brown hair. To him he knew Evelyn was okay and those punishments hadn’t taken a toll on her mind the way they had on his little sister. It was a huge relief but then John realized you may not know that

“Okay, I’m not hungry now but can we go out for breakfast in the morning, please.” Like usual Evelyn was being cunning and like always she wanted to go out for breakfast since it was the one meal you wouldn’t go all out on.

“Yes, I don’t see why not.” John beat you to it and pulled Evelyn by the back of the head and planted a firm kiss to the top of her head. He was smiling ear to ear which confused you since you were still so worried and upset about his mother’s actions.

“Okay! I’m gonna go back to coloring. And if you change your minds about the movie, you know where to find me.” Evelyn stood from her spot and jump to the hardwood floor.

Before her feet met the floor John had grabbed her and tossed her to the other side of the bed. She squealed, giggled, screamed ‘daddy’ and then tried to fake John out, to get by him only for him to swat her with his pillow. She flopped onto her back and then rolled off the edge on your side and ran around the bed out of John’s reach and toward the door.

“Shut the door please.” You called and Evelyn did as you asked. Her giggles floating past the thick wooden door and fading into her bedroom.

“How has she only gotten cuter?” John asked you with a melancholic look. You could see he wanted to deflect because now he had to face that his mothers poor parenting with his sister had reared it head in your daughters life.

“John.” You whispered. Reaching out and combing your fingers through his hair. The touch had his former silliness crumbling in a moment. You watched the flood gates open and John was no longer able to hold it anymore. Your face dropped and you felt shocked and worried, watching his stoic demeanor turn to dust in an instant.

“Fuck, I’ve been such a shitty father never telling you this. I really thought my mum learned after everything with Sarah.” John placed his face in his hands and breathed heavily.

John had never spoken to another soul about this and told himself he’d die before these words left his lips. The pain and the guilt was too great all of a sudden and John felt like he may just burst. Never had these feelings felt so volatile since the first day he was damned with them; but with your loving eyes on him he was about to empty himself of this burden even if you weren’t prepared. He felt like an ice cube melting against a burning hot skillet, known as his wife’s warm and unwavering love.

The memories of Sarah’s chubby face when they were little becoming gaunt by the time they were teens. How when she was in trouble she’d be sent to bed with no dinner often.

By the time she was eight and John was almost ten Sarah would refuse a meal or snack when Mary wasn’t home and say she didn’t deserve it; that she’d been naughty. John would then try and convince her to eat the snack and when she wouldn’t he’d eat it but feel guilty about it; too young and confused by why he felt that way.

Then when he was a teenager he’d come home after going out with friends to her refusing to eat the food he brought her back. She’d be sitting in her favorite spot in the living room and read while John flicked the television on and ate the food next to her. She always cracked after the first bite when their mother wasn’t home and devoured the food.

Then after she ate the greasy food she’d tell John she was too fat and was watching her weight although she was skinnier than he thought normal. The amount of time he heard her go get sick after was countless.

Then the memory of how they use to go on runs together as John geared up for boot camp came to his mind. How Sarah would push herself to her limit every time and sometimes just break down and cry on the front lawn when they got back. John would sit there confused but deep down knowing what was happening without the words or knowledge to put a name to it.

One of the first nights he spent away from home he had gotten a phone call from Sarah who was crying to him because Mary had shamed her at the dinner table for having seconds. She cried how she missed John and it was hell being the only one left in the house with their parents. Cussing at him and claiming he abandoned her like she meant nothing to him.

By the time John had gotten home from boot camp Sarah had lost so much weight he asked if she was sick instead of saying hello. Sarah claimed to be fine until John got the car keys from his dad and told her they were going for a drive. John stayed quiet and took them to their destination and Sarah broke down and yelled at him for taking them there. Smacking his shoulder and claiming he was a fool who didn’t understand anything.

That night they sat in their fathers car and ate their hearts out together as Sarah cried into her food. John decided they’d go for a drive every evening and he would tell his mother he missed his little sister and wanted to spend time with her, which was true.

John barely had any money at the time and the money he earned went to filling up the tank and taking his sister out to eat. As Sarah gained weight so she was healthy and no longer skin and bone Mary would make cruel comments until John lost it one evening; saying he’d never come back if Mary didn’t stop. He was still a boy, the age of 16, but he told his parents Sarah wouldn’t have a chance of outliving him if this didn’t stop.

Mary was so shocked by John yelling and standing against her, for the first time she gave him the silent treatment until it was time for him to go back to the military. John begged his brothers to keep an eye on Sarah and to make sure she was okay but, as young people are in their twenties they said ‘yes’ and got preoccupied with their own lives. By the time John was home again he had found out Sarah was in the hospital.

Sarah was so ashamed of the fact she was diagnosed with bulimia and made John promise to never tell anyone. To keep their mother’s cruelty private and her struggles between him and her. She told him she felt like a ‘freak’ and she’d never forgive him if he told anyone.

Grayson and Harrison had no clue of the diagnosis. Mary had told them Sarah was sick with something else to save her own ass. When Sarah had been admitted to the hospital Paul had slept in his car most nights so he could be there for all visiting hours and promised to protect her from now on; but the damage had been done. In typical Paul fashion the problem had gotten so far out of hand there was no way for him to solve it.

Sarah had found herself on treacherous path and would be carrying this baggage the rest of her life. But through her hospital stay was where Sarah found her passion and decided she wanted to be a nurse. That she wouldn’t let any little girl feel like she had before and she would protect others and help them in their times of need.

“Please, don’t hate me when I tell you this.” Bringing his face from his hands John had tears in his eyes.

The turn of events and how John tried to gather himself for what was ten seconds to you was him reliving these horrific memories. It was a flash in his mind that took up minimal time for you but broke him down and consumed him.

You were about to hug John until he started to tell you Sarah’s story. He had trouble getting the words out and at moments just had to cry for a second or two and then pull himself back together. You gave him the room to say it all and cried along side him as he told these horrors.

Finally as he finished telling you these things his eyes had started to turn slightly puffy and red. John was sniffling and you could see just how deep this wound was for him. It was the same way John cried and looked when he spoke of how ashamed he was of himself for missing Lily’s birth. It was a wound that would never close and he’d hurt from it just at the slightest mention of the topic.

“I’m so ashamed I couldn’t protect her. I’ll never forgive myself.” John’s hoarse voice cracked as he leaned forward and clung to you. His strong bulky arms wrapping around your waist and hands splayed on your back to hold you close to him.

“Your parents were suppose to take care of her not you John.” You whispered into his ear and you both cried in each other’s arms.

You couldn’t hide how horrified you were by the truth and how disgusting you found Mary. You didn’t think she could be worse than you thought of her but her secrets had been buried by a family cursed with undying loyalty. With Paul’s departure it seemed as if the heavy weight of protecting her had been lifted.

John unburdening himself was not something easy and it left him feeling like a traitor. Not because you knew how horrible his mother truly was but because Sarah’s secret was not safe with him anymore. He’d betrayed his little sister in all of this and he hated himself for that. As annoying and frustrating as Sarah was to John she needed him and he had spent more than half his life protecting these facts. Protecting her like he couldn’t back them.

These were the reasons Sarah had driven over to your home when you were pregnant with Jj the night John accidentally called you ‘huge.’ She was so up in arms and pissed off at her brother for such deeper reasons than you ever understood. She feared you were like her and that a mistake like that could lead to a detrimental outcome. She’d already claimed you as her best friend and there was no way she could let that fly after John stood by her side.

Your mind swirled with memories of Sarah asking if you actually ate carbs like that all the time. How she told you she felt so good grabbing food with you and you were meant to be her best friend to get late night milkshakes with. She told you one evening that you tended to cook for people as a way of taking care of them and she’d never felt that kind of love before.

It was all making sense now and part of you just wanted to grab your phone and call her so you two could grab ice cream together. With your husband in your arms and feeling the guilt that wracked his body you knew he needed you at this moment. That the guilt he felt for not being able to help his sister when they were young and being blind to the signs were no longer his to hold.

“It’s not your fault.” You whispered and you swore your ears deceived you as John spoke.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to love my mum anymore. I don’t think I have for a very long time. I’ve just been scared of what would happen when I admitted it.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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[bambi-kinos]

A few more questions about our mysterious Paul, or more like his mind and his views. I know you get many asks and if you already answered this, just post a link (You might even be Paul j/k )but I do enjoy reading your thoughts) Ok so what do you think he means when he talks about John and their relationship was like. When he says things like he's so obviously straight because of all the girls he's had, John wasn't gay, or that if he was a girl maybe he could go out and do something about John being with Yoko, "in bed" etc. Or John. (Don't think he had lots of gay phobia too despite what "they" seem to think now. Or what George, Ringo or any one of his age would think about it. Obviously Paul and John too Don't seem too clear what they where. Still never really heard anyone else talk the way they do about partnership if there wasn't some love happening. Also did Liverpool men that time really lived that tough, not hugging each other. Wasn't it a bit known for a gay town? Or is that maybe later) sorry for spellings and grammar typing stuff my phone isn't used to. Lol Hope you understand my ask. Love your posts.

I'm given to understand that men from the Northern half of the UK are actually very affectionate with each other. Lots of back slapping and chuffing and affectionate punching and so forth. @scurator has talked about it a bit and is a better source than I could ever be. But the evidence points towards Northern men actually being very chummy and expressive with each other, especially Liverpool. Sailors are passionate by definition, of course the quintessential international sailors' town will be like that too. It is Paul's specific personality defects that have him saying bonkers shit like "we didn't show each other physical affection" while there are photographs of Paul and John pressing together, bumping shoulders, clapping each other on the back, etc. Which are all typical guy-things that men do to signal "I care about you, you're important to me" to each other. Paul would lose nothing by admitting this when the evidence is clear in front of our eyes. But Paul is Paul, so he can't.

When it comes to Liverpool being a "gay town" what that really means is that Liverpool is a port city with a high population of sailors. Houston Texas, where I grew up, is the exact same way. It's a hive of international traffic with thousands of dock workers and sailors running the joint. Sometimes I used to go down to the port to watch them load and unload shipping containers. There are look outs where you can sit with a pair of binoculars and just watch them go. Liverpool has the same set up with the same population of international sailors running around. It isn't necessarily a "gay town" so much as it is a horny as fuck town that is exploding with vibrant international populations all with different ideas about what is sexually permissible and what is not. Lots of sexual openness and promiscuity that is out of step with the rest of the country, vibrant LGBT+ population despite the curtain of conservatism that strangles the rest of the region, very intense artsy culture that lives cheek to jowl with a macho blue collar population...

Now am I talking about Liverpool or Houston? Lmao. Let me put it this way, sailors will fuck anything that stands still long enough and that culture of sexual adventurousness rubs off on the people who build their lives around the international port industry. Paul and John grew up with that too. And if you're thinking that might screw with your head a little when you grow up being filled with all sorts of malicious lies about sex and relationships...oh boy does it.

When it comes to Paul insisting on heterosexuality regarding him and John: IMO this is a manifestation of his greatest fear, that someone may catch on that he fell in love with another man. I don't think Paul was ever truly ashamed of it when push came to shove but that doesn't mean he wants people to know. It's private and Paul doesn't have a lot of privacy left.

Paul is also sharply aware of how dangerous it is to be gay. Paul knew about men being killed for homosexual activity, he was raised to despise it, he was raised to think there was no future in it, that only monsters and predators were homosexuals, all of that was browbeaten into him by Le Society and most likely his family. Remember that Brian Epstein would regularly get the shit kicked out of him if he propositioned the wrong man and sometimes even the right one. Paul wasn't encouraged to embrace Liverpool's seedy underbelly, that would be lunacy. As far as Paul's family knows he did the proper thing and got a girl pregnant out of wedlock (which must have been a big relief to them.) If he ever indicated that he had romantic feelings towards John then he would be lucky if the worst thing that happened to him was getting kicked out.

(That does not necessarily mean that was the reality of his situation. It's hard to know what Jim would do in that situation and I don't think he was blind. But that was what Paul and John were both raised to expect and that is the soup they boiled in while waiting for adulthood.)

And there are bigger things than just Paul and John's privacy and sexuality going on. There are trillions of dollars at stake when it comes to The Beatles.

So when Paul is professing his heterosexuality, when he's saying John wasn't a homosexual, when Paul leans on his experiences with women in interviews, that is what he is thinking of when he does it. Regardless of whatever actually went down between him and John, he has to protect that image while still projecting authenticity. It doesn't matter if it's actually real because John and Paul learned no one wants the real John and Paul. But he can still use his experiences to color his stories and protect John and himself, as well as the legacy of The Beatles.

And it should end there. Yeah?

Of course it doesn't. Or we wouldn't be here. Paul said bonkers shit about being a woman who could have stepped in between John and Yoko. That he was jealous of her and didn't like having her around. That it was a deep relationship with a lot of heat. That they went through a divorce. And then he eventually caved and start talking about how there was a deeper love between him and John, something neither of them had the understanding or vocabulary to express.

Even in death John has the power to undo Paul completely and force him to be vulnerable. Paul gets going out of nowhere it seems like, starts ranting and has to actively fight himself to make himself shut up. Now that he's older he can't really do that anymore. And probably doesn't want to, hence he randomly inserts anecdotes about John into conversations that have nothing to do with him. John has that effect on everyone he meets, he can demand total honesty from people. Paul isn't immune to that. So Paul will talk more and more honestly about himself and John, that they loved each other. And even if all he owns up to is the platonic aspect of it...well, that's a big deal for Paul.

It's hard to say if things will stay this way. Paul often seems like he's on the verge of saying something, isn't he? In the most recent documentary about the first Ed Sullivan appearance, he underlined John and George being his brothers and that he loved them. But that wasn't what he was saying when Now and Then came out and that wasn't what he showed us when he released Eye of the Storm and printed photos of John undressed and preparing for bed while Paul took photos of him. (Probably while Paul was naked in a bathtub if the cloth fringe over his camera lens was any indication.) Do you remember the furor around Now and Then and how the entire rock journalism industry seemed to be holding its breath for something? There's a reason why @frodolives made that point about "they're gentrifying McLennon."

Yoko will die sooner than later. Sean recently sold the Dakota condo and probably moved her upstate to that farm she bought in 1979/1980 so she could be in care. The diaries Fred Seaman stole and fenced were only partially recovered and there's online chatter that Paul's allies are safeguarding the remaining diaries and other resources that Fred managed to smuggle out under Yoko's nose. Peter Doggett's book "Prisoner of Love," which contains the unifying theory about WHY John stayed in the Dakota for so long, was spiked after advanced readers' copies started going out.

Something has changed behind the scenes and we're feeling the faintest tremors of it. I'm sure that we're only just getting started with regards to revelations to come.

[lick-me-lennon22]

How they'd comfort you after a SH episode

(thank you to anon for this request!! I know this is a sensitive subject for many so I understand the decision to skip this one ❣️ those who choose to read on, I hope you enjoy!)

⚠️⚠️⚠️ TW: SELF-HARM ⚠️⚠️⚠️

John

John is immediately panicked and uneasy at the sight of you this way

he's seen his fair share of blood, but never that of someone he loves so dearly

for once he's at a loss, no longer his usual smooth and confident self

he stumbles over his words and mumbles reassurances under his breath, hoping to provide you some sense of comfort while he gets his thoughts in order

he knows this isn't something he can joke his way around

John cleans and bandages you up, having done the same for himself countless times following the frequent fights of his youth

he gives you one of his T-shirts to borrow and settles onto the bed next to you

he shares his own thoughts and struggles with you, wanting you to feel less alone

John doesn't have much to offer in the way of coping strategies or outlets, as he isn't exactly the best at managing his own emotions

instead he rubs your back and shushes you, rambling and sharing mindless stories to take your mind off of things until you're able to drift off to sleep

Paul

Paul's doe eyes fill with tears at the sight of your fresh wounds, threatening to spill over before he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves

he mentally scolds himself, knowing he has to hold it together so as not to upset his beloved any further

he takes a gentle and nurturing approach the delicate situation at hand, slowly stepping closer to you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder

Paul offers endless words of reassurance, telling you how beautiful you are and reminding you that you're the light of his life and the strongest person he knows

he helps you clean up if you allow him, gingerly patting your skin with a dampened cloth

he places gentle kisses on your forehead and strokes your hair, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears as he finally lets his own slip down his ruddy cheeks

when you're clean and settled into bed, Paul picks up his guitar and begins to strum

he plays you a soothing melody, hoping the soft chords and lilt of his voice will lull you to sleep so you can rest and recover

George

George approaches the situation with a calm but serious demeanor

he is deeply concerned for you, but understands your pain and doesn't want to push you to open up to him before you're ready

he soaks a washcloth in cool water and dabs it on your skin to clean you up

he'll fetch you a clean set of clothing to make sure you're comfortable and cared for

though he doesn't want to pry, a quiet voice in his head urges him to help you work through your overwhelming emotions

the man of few words suddenly finds much to say, offering wisdom from his own spiritual practices and beliefs

he emphasizes the importance of finding inner peace and grounding yourself before granting you some time to process his words

when you're ready, George walks you through a guided meditation and some mindful breathing techniques, hoping to bring you some peace of mind

Ringo

Ringo is devastated and doesn't quite understand the situation or what may have led you to do this

he wonders how the one he adores so much could ever want to cause such harm to themselves

he offers to do or bring you anything you need, desperate to remedy the situation

he rifles through the bathroom cabinet for bandages, finally coming across a small metal tin

Ringo rushes over to kneel by your side and begins to place the adhesive bandages over your wounds

being the supportive partner he is, he's so blinded by his dedication to caring for you that he doesn't seem to notice the bandages are far too small

when he gets to the fifth one you fail to stifle a laugh, amused by his determination to make them fit

his face lights up when he hears you laugh - the most melodic sound he could ever imagine

he tries to cheer you up with his usual nonsensical Ringo-isms, lightening your mood and easing your worries with talk of silly fantasies and reminders of your happiest memories together

[wqintraining]

NEW X-MEN: THE ANIMATED SERIES -SEASON 2, EPISODE 11

We open at the school, where it's the final week of the school year, and everyone is getting ready for Summer. 

Among the adults, Northstar, Nightcrawler, Dani, Karma, and Warpath are toasting to actually keeping this place going for an entire school year, without it getting blown up. Jean-Paul calls for Allison to come and join them, but she's on the phone, excited as it seems she finally got a new agent, and he has good news for her. 

Cutting to the kids, Sofia is live streaming in her room, modeling bathing suits for her followers and letting them vote on which ones she should wear. She gets a paid message asking which one Julian likes best. She reminds her followers that they're friends again, but they aren't back together, so his opinion doesn't matter. Even if she wanted to ask, she doesn't even know where he is right now. 

Cut to Julian and Noriko making out on the floor of the Blackbird's cargo bay. They wanted to spice things up a little so they stole the key. Noriko zaps him when he tries to grab her ass. 

Laura is still helping Brian study, and he's actually doing well. Laura nods in approval. 

The Cuckoos, no longer in the med bay, try to say hello to Cessily in the hallway, but she refuses to even speak to them, brushing past them. The sisters hang their heads. 

In Beast's lab, Hank is quizzing Roxy on a vast range of subjects, interspersed with assigning her various tasks to complete as she helps him with a project. Roxy is saying and doing everything right, and loving this. Beast recites a poem and asks Roxy who wrote it, with Bling! disappointed in herself for finally forgetting something. Hank was just messing with her though. That's one of his originals, and he just wanted to know if she liked it. Roxy laughs and punches his shoulder. 

From a happy moment to a solemn one, Kitty is sat down with Sooraya, allowing her to listen to a goodbye recording Storm left for her. She makes sure Sooraya knows she doesn't care about her any less, and that she will always be there for her. She knows she will do great things and hopes she and her mother will be happy together. She also hopes she remembers what she told her about Emma.  Kitty puts an around around the saddened Dust. 

In Emma’s penthouse bedroom, she’s half-asleep and she’s held in the arms of an equally half-asleep Scott, both naked and under the covers, as the sun peaks through her window. 

Scott hums that he should really be getting up for work, but Emma moans back that he should stay. If she’s on a brief leave of absence until Charles arrives to help her, he should stay with her. Scott, nibbling at her neck, would love nothing more, but with Storm gone, they can’t take time off together. 

EMMA: “Mm. How inconsiderate of her.” 

Emma senses Scott’s mood shifting at her mocking of his friend and turns over to put her hands on his face. 

EMMA: “Are you about to get all mopey over me driving away your wife and closest friend again?” 

Scott looks hurt for a moment, before smirking and kissing her on the lips. As they make out and are on the verge of resuming having sex, there’s a knock on the door. A female staff member informs Ms. Frost that breakfast is ready. 

As Emma thanks her, Scott compliments the way she employs visible mutants almost exclusively for her personal staff, as no one else would hire them. Emma laments that she, unfortunately, can’t employ all of them, simply not enough work to be done, but that’s why she lets the rest of the interested clean ones simply live in her homes around the world, provided they follow her rules. 

SCOTT, crawling out of bed: “You are just full of surprises.” 

EMMA, smacking his ass: “Who doesn’t love surprises?” 

In a prison, John Sublime is seated in his cell, frustrated and rapidly tapping his foot. As he does this the room is blown off the facility. Sublime, fearful, looks up, and finds two sentinels hovering above him. 

Sublime mocks the irony of what he deems his situation to be. Machines designed to kill Mutants are about to kill the ultimate enemy of those vermin. He shuts his eyes and accepts his incoming death, but it doesn’t come. As Sublime opens his eyes, one of the sentinels is offering a hand for him to stand on. They aren’t here to kill him, they’re here to save him. 

Sublime gets on and laughs maniacally, as they fly away. 

At the school, Scott and Bobby are walking through the hallway, trying to decide on a new team member. Scott thinks there’s no one who could possibly replace Storm, so they just need to focus on who’s qualified, and what unique skills they have to offer, rather than questioning if they meet Ororo’s standard. 

SCOTT: “Maybe Northstar. He’s been itching for a spot all semester, and right now the only team member we have capable of immediate response to a far-off crisis is a demon we can’t trust. We could use a speedster.” 

Despite Scott’s logic, Bobby shoots that down. He’s JUST starting to figure out this whole, “Might Be Gay” thing, and he doesn’t need to be further confused by spending time with the bitchiest flaming gay he knows. 

SCOTT, teasing: “Afraid he’ll hit on you?” 

BOBBY: “As a matter of fact, yes.” 

Bobby thinks Storm had the right idea. They need more of the old crew to balance out their former supervillain, former assassin, and current evil overlord. 

BOBBY: “How about Colossus? We need a new powerhouse, he synergizes with Kitty, he could help control Magik, and–”

Scott cuts Bobby off. 

SCOTT: “No.” 

BOBBY: “Huh?” 

SCOTT: “No Colossus.” 

BOBBY: “What are you–?” 

SCOTT: “No. Colossus.” 

Bobby doesn’t entirely get it, but he shrugs it off. 

BOBBY: “Maybe Bishop?” 

Before Scott can give his thoughts on that, he receives an alert on his phone. They need to move. There have been sentinel sightings. 

In Noriko and Sofia's room, Nori is panic-cramming, shouting as she questions why she didn't study earlier. Sofia, who's still streaming, pans her phone over to her so her viewers can witness her freakout. 

NORIKO: "PRINCESS, YOU GET THAT CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE, OR I WILL FRY ALL OF YOUR SHOES!"

Sofia giggles, turning the camera back to herself. 

SOFIA: "Would you all believe she used to be polite, courteous, and a good student?"

NORIKO, off-screen: "I regret telling any of you assholes anything!"

Sofia teasingly blows a kiss at her. 

Sofia thinks of what she was talking about before, and gets back to it: the end of year dance. She starts talking about how she has a few dresses on hold and she's trying to figure out which one to get, but her fans do not care one bit. All they want to know is if Julian has asked her out yet. 

She tells them all directly that, no, he has not asked her. He respects the boundaries they set. Naturally, the chat only finds that to be romantic. Sofia insists that respecting basic boundaries is not praiseworthy, but the chat just fills up with red and gold hearts. 

Sofia softly mumbles her annoyance in Spanish, only for the chat to progress to saying she should just ask HIM out. 

Noriko's ears perk up at Sofia's reaction to this. 

Sofia says she can't, but she blushes as she says she doesn't even want to. The chat keeps up the pressure, no matter how much Sofia tries to argue she shouldn't, but her fans hit at the heart of the matter: if they're already spending time together again, if they trust each other again, and if they love each other, they should be together. 

Also they're just stupid hot together. 

SOFIA: "...love?"

Sofia takes a moment to think, but ultimately cheers that, yes, she's going to ask Julian out!

A stray burst of electricity blows up Sofia's phone. 

SOFIA: "Noriko!"

NORIKO, as red-faced as Sofia: "Sorry!"

As Scott gets ready to take off in the Blackbird, he's joined by Wolverine, who notices they're all on their own. 

LAURA: "This is it?"

SCOTT: "Emma is off-duty, Sunspot and Magik aren't picking up, and Iceman and Kitty are already en route to the other location sentinels were spotted. This will have to be enough."

Laura snarls. She thought there weren’t any sentinels left. Cyclops thoughts so too, but there’s always someone who’s going to make more. There will never not be humans desperate to see them dead. 

LAURA: “...but we don’t kill them back.” 

SCOTT: “Not unless we have no choice.” 

LAURA: “Already a step past where you started.” 

Scott says nothing to that as the plane takes off. 

Laura continues to grind her teeth. These monstrosities are never hurting her friends again. Ever. 

At the Grindstone, Mercury, Dust, and Bling! are having coffee. In the background, Luna is receiving a shipment of party supplies. Roxy thanks her for letting her rent out the place on Friday night to celebrate after finals. Luna says it's no big deal. She certainly offered more than she makes on a normal night. 

LUNA: "Honestly, I'm not sure this place would even still be open if you girls and your friends weren't such caffeine addicts." Luna starts walking off with the shipment. She turns back to the girls. "Seriously, you should all talk to a doctor about that."

Once she's out of sight, the girls all sip their coffee. 

Roxy's positive mood shifts as she sighs. Soo asks her what's wrong, with Cessily explaining for her girlfriend that it's about Dr. McCoy, and how he isn't going to be returning after the Summer.  

Roxy follows up that the rest of the friend group has Emma and Dani and Kitty and even kinda Cyclops because they're the X-Men in Training. But she only really has Beast. He's the only adult here who's really invested in her, the one who’s helped her find a whole new part of herself, and she doesn’t want to lose him. 

Sooraya can sympathize. Yes, the others she mentioned care about her, but she isn’t blind. Julian and Sofia are Ms. Frost’s priorities, Noriko and Sofia Ms. Moonstar’s, and Noriko Ms. Pryde’s. Storm didn’t have a squad, but she had her. 

Cessily tries to cheer her up, saying at least the timing isn’t too bad. Her mom is going to be flying in soon! 

SOORAYA, shaken by Ororo’s words: “Yes. She will be. Ms. Frost has made all the accommodations.” 

Roxy, seeing that Soo may actually be doing worse than herself right now and could use a distraction, recommends an album to listen to. It’s too late for Ms. Munroe, but she’s going to see if she can convince Dr. McCoy to stay. By the time she’s done that, she wants to know everything Soo thought about the album. Nothing destresses the mind like music. Soo isn’t sure, not exactly a fan of American music, but Roxy promises she’ll like what she has in mind. Sooraya reluctantly agrees. 

Roxy asks Cessily if she’s down to help her with Beast, and, to her surprise, Cessily says no. She still needs to train more for finals. She’s oddly tense as she says this, but there are enough emotions flying around already that the others don’t push. Roxy just wishes her luck and kisses her cheek.

The three all drink. 

ROXY: “You know coffee CAN be bad for mental health.” 

BEAT.

The three continue to drink. 

In Milan, Italy, a sentinel flies over the city’s skyline. Running away from it is a pre-teen boy made of rocks, dressed in baggy basketball attire. At the same time he’s running away in terror, he shouts out to the sentinel unconvincingly that if it comes down here and fights him man to robot, he’ll kick its ass. 

A blast from the sentinel blows up the street underneath the boy and sends him flying. Before it can finish him off, however, the sentinel itself is blasted back by the Blackbird. 

SANTO, fleeing: “Wooh! Take that punk!”

Laura tells Scott to drop her on its head and let her deal with it, but Cyclops doesn’t want to rush in. For all they know, this could be another one of those more advanced sentinels Nova had under her command. Laura questions how the X-Men ended up killing those. 

CYCLOPS: “We didn’t. Jean did.” 

Before they can make a move, the Blackbird is contacted. 

SUBLIME, over the coms: “Hello, X-Men. Don’t mind me. I was just having some fun while I waited for your arrival.” 

CYCLOPS, growling: “Sublime.”

John doesn’t know who else is aboard the plane, but he’s happy to see Scott. He needs to pay him back for last time. 

JOHN: “I hope Emma is with you too. All of my remaining U-Men are still dying to be telepaths. If she isn’t, perhaps you could be a sport and return No-Girl.” 

Before Scott can say anything, Laura shouts that this sick freak isn’t ever seeing her again, and she isn’t going to let him ever cut up another little girl. Sublime laughs.

SUBLIME: “Is that Wolverine? Oh, don’t be afraid. I’m only interested in cutting up real girls.” 

Laura snarls as Sublime laughs. Cyclops asks how he escaped prison and built sentinels, but Sublime doesn’t “feel like answering”. He’d much rather get to the killing. 

The sentinel transforms, indeed revealing it to be a super sentinel. It flies toward the Blackbird, but before it can reach it, Laura jumps out the door and is blasted toward the death machine by Cyclops, claws out. 

On the basketball court, Julian is both playing and training, as he tries to dribble the ball via telekinesis, without projecting his all-too-visible green energy. It’s straining on his head even to get started and, as soon as he starts making headway, Noriko speeds in, completely breaking his concentration. 

Julian stumbles back, Noriko teasing how he somehow still isn’t used to that. As Julian catches his breath, he whispers in frustration that he can’t make out right now; he wants to be able to show off contactless telekinesis at finals. 

NORIKO: “Don’t worry, that’s not why I’m here. Cause we’re done.” 

Julian questions what she’s on about. He KNOWS she’s been having a good time. And yes, she has, but that doesn’t matter. 

NORIKO: “Sofia is planning on asking you out, and you are going to say yes.” 

Julian’s face lights up. He KNEW he was winning her back. Noriko should have seen them when they were fighting Ms. Frost together. It was just like before. 

JULIAN: “But why does that mean we need to stop?” 

Noriko slaps Julian. 

JULIAN: “You know I never hit you.” 

NORIKO: “I never deserve it.” 

Noriko explains that, no, Sofia is not the kind of girl who’d be okay with her boyfriend having a sidepiece, even if they were just making out, nor does she herself WANT to be a sidepiece. And, even if they were both okay with that, they’d need to admit to Sofia what they’ve been doing, and Sofia would be hurt by both of them not telling her sooner, and possibly hate them for making out with her boyfriend and not waiting like they said, respectively. She’s not hurting her best friend like that. 

Julian thinks about it and admits she’s right. God, he can’t wait for her to ask. He knows it’ll be magic. 

JULIAN: “But…if we’re not having a fling anymore.” Julian smirks and charges up with energy. “Then it’s back to basics.” 

Noriko takes a stance and lights herself up, smirking back. 

NORIKO: “Bring it.” 

In Beast’s lab, we’re introduced to Forge, as Hank shows him around where he’ll be working next semester. Forge immediately starts complaining about and criticizing various processes and, in his mind, outdated tech, Hank uses. Sitting down in Hank’s chair, he doesn’t even think THAT is comfortable. 

BEAST: “It provides extra support for your back. And I shouldn’t be surprised a lesser genius like yourself can’t understand why things are set up this way.” 

FORGE: “A “lesser-genius”, huh? My mind is constantly innovating. You’re just a book nerd.” 

BEAST: “Why you–” 

Before these nerds can continue to argue, Roxy knocks on the open door, asking if now is a good time. 

Beast smiles and welcomes her in, introducing her to Forge as his prized pupil. Roxy is honored to meet him, and Forge, a fan of her parents, is happy to meet her too. 

FORGE: “I hope you haven’t learned TOO much from Fuzzy.” 

BEAST: “Oh she has. Which is why she has SO much to teach you.” 

Roxy mumbles to herself this is really awkward as Forge sees himself out. He’s looking forward to working with Bling! next semester. 

As Hank sits down and explains to Roxy how important it is to find a chair with proper support, he asks what she needs. 

ROXY: “I…I don’t want to work with Forge next year.” 

Beast laughs. Even she can tell he isn’t as smart as he thinks. Roxy shakes her head no. That isn’t it. She just doesn’t want him to leave. 

ROXY: “I’ve learned so much from you, and I don’t want that to stop.” 

Beast gets back up and assures her he’ll never stop teaching her if that’s what she’d like. The wonders of modern technology can make it seem like he’s right here with her. Roxy says that isn’t enough; she wants to keep working side by side with him. 

Hank is sorry, but that isn’t possible. She’s a student, and she needs to stay here. And he doesn’t feel like he belongs here anymore. As if there was still any doubt, Storm’s departure made it clear his time was done as well.  

Roxy tries to sway him, telling him how she gets how Ms. Frost and Mr. Summers might seem kinda shady, especially after what just happened, but he shouldn’t leave because of them. And she knows they aren’t all bad. Ms. Frost has been nothing but good to her friends, and she’s even helped her and her family. Beast sighs and shakes his head. He really is sorry. He’s come to care about her a great deal, but he honestly hadn’t realized she’d become so attached. 

ROXY: “You didn’t realize?! You’re supposed to be the smartest! All my life, I’ve been the celebrity hip-hop girl. And I love that. But you showed me I could be something more. I’d never thought my brain was anything special, I’d never put any thought into building new things. And now I can’t even sleep without a journal next to my bed to write down ideas.  I need you to keep teaching me more. Please. Don’t go.” 

Hank isn’t sure what to say, and before he can think of anything, his phone rings. For a second, we see the name of the person calling him is, “Crystal”. He’s sorry, but he has to take it. It’s important. 

Bling! glares at him. 

BLING!: “Sure it is.” 

Roxy walks out, furious with her mentor. 

In Italy, Sublime’s sentinel swats at Laura, but she digs her claws right into its hands and sticks onto it. Sublime mocks her, questioning what exactly she plans on doing next. 

Elsewhere, it’s shown that Sublime is remotely controlling both this sentinel and one doing battle against Iceman and Kitty, from a tablet. He tells her that he’s aware of how these sentinels performed the last time they were active, and he knows there isn’t a damn thing Cyclops or Wolverine can do to stop it. 

SUBLIME: “Iceman, perhaps, but from that fight will at least come data.” 

As Laura pulls one of her hands out of the machine and tries to climb, Sublime casually attempts to shake her off and let her plummet to the ground. Laura’s attempts to stay clung to the sentinel are further deterred as Cyclops fires multiple missiles at it. Laura falls as the sentinel is knocked back, only barely able to cling onto the sentinel’s foot. 

Sublime is surprised Cyclops would do that. 

SUBLIME: “Since when does the X-Men’s noble leader endanger his teammates?” 

CYCLOPS, while Laura struggles to resume her climb: “I’m not in the mood for questions either. Unless you’re ready to tell me who you even are.” 

Sublime’s response is to hit the Blackbird with a surprise attack, sending it into a spin. While Laura takes notice of this, she has nowhere to dodge as the sentinel’s extended arm knocks her off of itself. Laura is sent falling, and Scott struggles to keep the Blackbird from crashing into Milan. 

Outside the school on one of the benches, Sofia is grinning at her phone as she works to get everything set up for what she has planned. Notably, it’s a different phone than the one Noriko blew up earlier. 

“Studying hard?” 

Dani approaches her from behind and sits down next to Sofia, as she sticks her phone in her purse. 

Sofia laughs and says no, she's all set for finals already. She's going to be asking Julian out later, and she wants to make sure it's spectacular, as she'll be doing it live on stream. 

DANI: "That sounds ridiculous, but also perfect for you two."

Dani still doesn't have the warmest feelings toward Julian, but she's happy that the two have worked out everything that went on between them and, to his credit, he's never hesitated to throw himself head first at any villain he's encountered. 

DANI: "Then again, that's also why he ends up in the infirmary so much."

Dani isn't surprised that Sofia is all studied up while so many of the other kids are cramming. She's always been responsible and on top of things, always working as hard as she has to to achieve her goals. The girl who couldn't even fly properly when she first came here may now be the most talented among the most talented squad. 

DANI: "And all this while having been through so much before you came here, and more than almost anyone since coming here. I'm so proud of you."

SOFIA, loving the praise but also embarrassed: "Ms. Moonstar, stop…"

DANI: "Afraid I can't. We all have our eyes on you, kid. And now’s the time to show us exactly what you've learned."

Sofia grins excitedly until Dani harshly pats her on the back. 

DANI: "Don't get too distracted by your man." 

Sofia smirks at her. 

SOFIA: "Were you always focused on becoming an X-Man? Or was there anything between you and Cannonball or Sunspot?"

DANI: "Nothing that I would ever tell you about."

In Milan, Laura rolls around in mid-air, teeth grit, as she tries to make as effective a landing as possible. Cyclope, meanwhile, is struggling to keep the Blackbird from crashing into the terrified civilians below. 

Sublime laughs as he watches this, hoping the Blackbird crashing kills “Rock Boy”. That would be hilarious. He briefly turns his attention to his second sentinel, which is battling Iceman on his own, while Kitty has moved to evacuate the immediate area. 

SUBLIME: “Cocky bastard.” 

Laura braces for impact, but just before she can collide with the ground, Scott is able to gain control of the Blackbird and swoop in to save her, directing the plane under her so she can stick her claws through the roof. 

Sublime slams his fist in disappointment and growls at Laura that she’ll be a stain on the pavement sooner or later. It’s bad enough Mutants exist at all, but that humans are actively cloning more of them is far too much. 

Laura scratches her claws against the Blackbird. 

CYCLOPS, over coms: “You okay?” 

WOLVERINE: “Never.” 

CYCLOPS: “Right, forgot who I was talking to.” 

Scott’s put together a plan, but he does have to ask something to make sure it will work. 

CYCLOPS: “You know how to fly this thing?” 

Laura smirks. 

In Roxy's room, she's by herself, sitting in bed, in a bad mood, surrounded by stuffed animals and strumming on her guitar. 

There's a rapid knock on the door. Roxy tells them to come in. An overjoyed Sooraya enters. She listened to the bands she sent her and LOVED them. She'd never even heard of "Arabic Rock". 

Roxy's still in a funk so she can't share in Soo's joy, but she is happy for her. Soo sees something is wrong and asks her what happened with Beast. And why is she surrounded by stuffed animals?

ROXY: "Pixie went to a party with some of her friends. She didn't want to leave me alone."

Roxy tells Sooraya that she couldn't convince Dr. McCoy to stay. Even when she poured her heart out and told him how much he means to her. He sucks! 

Sooraya thinks about what she should stay, before asking if she's talking to Cessily about this. Roxy huphs no. She's been too stressed over finals to spare her a moment. She doesn't even get why. She's been helping her, and she knows she'll do fine! 

SOORAYA: "I see. And did Dr. McCoy say why he is so adamant about quitting?"

ROXY: "Nothing I didn't already know. He bailed on me to take a phone call. Probably his girlfriend or something."

Sooraya tells her that doesn't sound very conclusive. Maybe she should try again. Roxy bristles. Soo rolls her eyes. 

SOORAYA: "Or maybe it was important because he's one of the most politically active X-Men?"

Roxy says maybe, but it doesn't change anything. He's more annoyed with Mr. Summers and Ms. Frost than he likes her. More than he wants to see her flourish. Going back wouldn't change anything. 

Sooraya puts together the problem and sighs. 

SOORAYA: "You've never been told "No", have you?"

ROXY, off guard: "HUH?"

Soo explains that she's spent more time around people with affluent backgrounds this past year than she ever would have wanted to. And compared to most of them…

SOORAYA: "Megan is eccentric in other ways, Sofia doesn't really come from that world, and Noriko is Noriko"...

Roxy is much more normal and down to Earth. But she's still incredibly privileged. Rich and famous parents who love and accept every part of her at home, and a cool, popular celebrity everywhere else. Yes, obviously, it's not all been great for her, no one here has it easy, but she's never failed to get what she wants from the people whose opinions she actually cares about. 

Roxy tries to argue but…

ROXY: "That's not..I don't…shit."

Soo tells her that they can't always get what they want, and even if someone does care about her, they may still need to prioritize themselves; that isn't wrong. 

SOORAYA: "Maybe for a parent, but not a teacher. He's had students before us, and he will have students after us."

Roxy sulks and mumbles that he did say he wouldn't mind continuing to teach her remotely. Soo encourages her to accept. 

Roxy processes all of this and smiles. 

SOORAYA: "All settled?"

ROXY, smiling: "Not just yet." 

Iceman continues to fight one of the super sentinels on his own, annoying Sublime as it’s clearly losing. If the most advanced sentinels to date can’t even lay a hand on a single X-Man, regardless of their power, maybe he should toss his own hat into the ring. Certainly, he could built something better. 

Elsewhere, the Blackbird circles the other sentinel, with Sublime failing to strike it down again. Sublime resumes his taunting tactic, his focus remaining on Laura, who is still riding on top of the plane. 

SUBLIME: “I know your creators, X-23. I could appreciate some of the fine work being done at The Facility, but they failed to listen to my warning when it came to making you. A Mutant’s natural state is to be an enemy of humanity, but even if it wasn’t, they would have found better results by taking Wolverine’s genes and putting them in a human. Perhaps someone more competent could have saved Genosha. At the very least, if you hadn’t been born…your mother would still be alive.” 

Laura roars as the Blackbird circles behind the sentinel’s head, jumping onto it. Sublime grins at having baited her right back where he wants her. With a press of a button, energy fields surround both sentinels. This is their ultimate ability. Channeling all of their power around themselves, before releasing it in waves of mess destruction. Nova wasn’t exactly considered with civilian casualties when designing them, and neither is he. 

Delighting him in the moment as they charge, Laura is caught in the energy field, pieces of her flesh and costume rapidly burning off. Sublime laughs and questions what Cyclops will do next. Scott doesn’t respond, nor does he move. 

Laura grunts in pain as the sentinels charge and tension mounts, until…

SCOTT: “GO!” 

Moving as a blur as if not in agony, Wolverine  Laura claws away at the outer armor of the sentinel’s head, before leaping around the giant robot and doing the same to its arms, legs, and torso. With all the energy that re-enforces the exterior being projected outward, it’s just metal. Strong metal, but not stronger than adamantium. 

When she’s done, the half-still-regenerating-her-flesh Laura leaps off the sentinel and into the opened door of the Blackbird, where she swiftly switches places with Cyclops. 

Sublime questions what the Hell they’re doing. Cyclops smugly tells him they were able to learn everything about these sentinels from the wreckage Phoenix left behind. He knew the best way for him and Laura to beat the sentinel would be to bait out its strongest attack, have Wolverine weaken its armor, and then finish it himself. All the while Sublime didn’t even notice, that he’d been slowly leading them away from the populated area below. 

CYCLOPS: “You just made two critical errors. Thinking I don’t plan for everything.” Laura fully heals and grins. “And thinking a little pain will ever put down Wolverine.” 

Cyclops on his com asks Kitty if her area is clear, which she confirms. He tells Bobby to go crazy. 

An infuriated Sublime, refusing to lose again, fires off both sentinels’ attacks. The energy waves are met by a massive spiked glacier cutting through one and annihilating the sentinel on Iceman’s end, and the uncovered eyes of Cyclops on the other. While Scott’s full power doesn’t overwhelm the sentinels’ attack as easily as Iceman’s counter, the end result is ultimately the same. 

Sublime roars in rage as he throws his tablet on the ground. It doesn’t break though, allowing Cyclops, as he gets his visor back on, to tell him that he’s next. 

 In Julian's room, he's lying down in bed, cracking his arms and neck. He enjoys fighting Noriko, but she has started hitting like a truck. At least he can still mess her up as much as ever right back. Before he can get too settled, a breeze brushes past him. A smirk spreads across his face as he floats up and feels it coming from underneath the door. Opening it, he expects to find Sofia but no one is present. Instead, he feels another breeze. He realizes she’s telling him which way to go.

To his surprise, the breeze ends up leading him to the danger room. Unsure if she can even hear him, he calls out to Sofia that the place is still shut down. Over the winds, a whisper is carried into Julian’s ear. 

SOFIA: “Since when are you against breaking a rule?” 

Julian laughs and uses his telekinesis to forcibly open the doors to the danger room’s control room. He grins as he sees Sofia seated inside, smiling right back at him. Unusually for her, she isn’t wearing makeup. 

SOFIA: “Took you long enough.” 

Julian asks Sofia what this is about. Is it what it seems like or…? 

Sofia stands up and tells him she had this whole plan for how she wanted to do this. She’d already gotten Rubbermaid to agree to film them, she’d picked out her dress for the dance so she could wear it now…but she decided to just keep this between them instead. 

SOFIA: “It’s like I told you. If I have this wonderful place and my friends and…you…then I don’t need to put my whole life online. I don’t need to be someone I’m not.” 

JULIAN: “So I’m more than a friend then?” 

Sofia rolls her eyes at that being all he has to say as she approaches him and asks him if he remembers the last time they were here. Julian does: it was when he tried to get back together with her, and she, with good reason, broke his heart. 

SOFIA: “Yes, it was.” She takes his metal hands. “Ask me again.” 

JULIAN, the happiest man in the world at this moment: “Ask you again?” 

Sofia nods. 

Julian takes a telekinetically enhanced deep breath, making Sofia giggle. 

JULIAN: “Will you give me one more chance, Sofia? One more chance to be the man you deserve?” 

Sofia smirks as the music swells. 

SOFIA: “No.” 

Julian’s face crumbles and the music stops. 

JULIAN: “What? But you just…”

Sofia cuts Julian off and the music picks right back up as she kisses him. Julian takes her in his arms, with one hand on her head and one on her ass. They make out passionately. 

SOFIA, pulling back, looking right into his eyes: “I’m sorry. You deserved one last punishment.” 

JULIAN, laughing: “And you...have never looked more beautiful.” 

The two resume making out, as tk energy and wind effortlessly close the danger room’s doors. They only get more excited as the lights unexpectedly go out. 

On the Blackbird, Laura compliments Cyclops’ strategy and the power of his Mutation. She can see how witnessing the latter won Ms. Frost over. 

LAURA: “When we find Sublime, will he experience that as well?” 

Scott tells Laura he’s sorry. She came to him to learn right from wrong, when he was still in the process of learning that himself. And he thinks he finally has the answer…for himself. Killing is unacceptable unless absolutely necessary. For himself. Everyone’s morality is different, and each person needs to figure out what’s right for them. He shouldn’t have tried forcing his strict morals onto her, but help her find what was right for herself. 

As an X-Man, his rules for when killing is acceptable apply. But he’s not going to judge her for deeming a situation “necessary” when he wouldn’t. 

Laura keeps her thoughts on all that in her head, but she thanks him. Not just for the apology, but for teaching her at all. She isn’t the person she was when she first came to the school. She probably wouldn’t have been able to maintain the relationships she has for this long without him. Logan told her she was more than a weapon. Cyclops has made her believe it. 

Scott is sure to make sure she gives enough credit to herself. She’s been the one doing all the work. And she hasn’t just improved socially. As a fighter, she’s exponentially stronger than when they first met. Being on the X-Men and dealing with the types of scenarios they face has really–” 

Scott trails off. Laura questions what’s going on. Scott shakes his head and says it’s nothing. He just had an idea. He smiles as the Blackbird flies into the sunset. 

We enter a montage as finals arrive at last, the kids all taking their exams and undergoing their performance evaluations with their powers. During this, we see Julian and Sofia back together and the rest of their friends happy for them, save for Surge, who’s clearly forcing herself to smile. The montage ends with kids, days later, gathered in the hallway to see the class rankings that have been posted. None of the main cast are here, save for an especially eager Cessily. 

We briefly get to see who made the top 10 in both academics and performance. 

ACADEMICS:

QUENTIN QUIRE ( ORIGINALLY JEAN'S SQUAD, TRANSFERRED TO KARMA'S)

ROXANNE WASHINGTON (BEAST'S SQUAD)

SOFIA MANTEGA (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

SARAH VALE (BEAST'S SQUAD)

THE STEPFORD CUCKOOS (EMMA'S SQUAD)

SOORAYA QADIR (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

PARAS GAVASKAR (BEAST'S SQUAD)

JULIAN KELLER (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

LAURA KINNEY (SQUADLESS)

HISAKO ICHIKI (CYCLOPS' SQUAD)

PRACTICAL EXAMS: 

THE STEPFORD CUCKOOS* (EMMA'S SQUAD)

SOFIA MANTEGA (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

JULIAN KELLER (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

NORIKO ASHIDA (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

QUENTIN QUIRE (FORMERLY JEAN'S SQUAD, TRANSFERRED KARMA’S)

SOORAYA QADIR (DANI AND EMMA'S SQUAD)

HISAKO ICHIKI (CYCLOPS' SQUAD)

VICTOR BORKOWSKI (NORTHSTAR'S SQUAD)

BEN HAMMIL (NIGHTCRAWLER's SQUAD)

DALLAS GIBSON (CYCLOPS' SQUAD)

*Laura was not allowed to be counted

Cessily, seeing this, punches the wall and hangs her head, tearing up. 

CESSILY: “I will catch up.” 

The Cuckoos arrive and notice Cessily having a rough time and consider approaching her, but they turn away, knowing she wouldn’t speak to them anyway. 

 In Beast’s lab, Hank is packing up the last of his things. As he sighs to himself that he hopes this plan can return to being the home he once knew one day, Roxy enters. 

Hank puts his things down, happy to see her come back, and congratulates her on being salutatorian. Although to be fully honest, he’d expected and hoped for her to be #1. 

ROXY, shrugging: “History class messed me up a little.” 

Beast asks if she’s here to say goodbye. Roxy says “Yes…kind of”. She wanted to see him off, but she also has three requests. One, that he continues to tutor her remotely. Two, that he’ll stick talk about his projects with her and ask for her input. And three, that after graduation, and maybe college, she can come to work for him. 

Beast is flattered. He of course is happy to oblige all three of her requests, but the last one surprises him. He’d have thought she’d want to follow in her parents’ footsteps. Roxy says she does. But she’s not exactly planning on going into the superhero game like her friends, she figures she can be a celebrity by day, scientist by night. 

ROXY: “And before you say anything, yes, I know how entitled that sounds.” 

Hank shakes his head. He doesn’t think that sounds entitled at all. He just sees a young woman who knows exactly what she’s capable of. 

HANK: “And teaching you that will always be what I take the most from my resumed time here.” 

Exchanging smiles, Roxy and Hank shake hands. 

As Roxy exits the lab, she's met by Soo, who asks how it went. Roxy confirms that everything is great, and thanks her for her help.

ROXY: "Hey, would you and your mom want to come stay with my family for the Summer?"

Sooraya is shocked by this offer, but Roxy explains that she noticed she seemed hesitant about accepting the housing Emma set up, and it's not like she doesn't have the space. Sooraya isn't sure it's right to accept the offer, but Roxy tells her Cess is already going to be staying with her, and the three of them can have so much fun.

After taking a moment to think about it, Sooraya happily accepts.

In a hotel suite, Sofia and Julian are in bed together. Light cracks through the curtains and Sofia is snuggled up against Julian’s chest. 

SOFIA: “I cannot believe we missed out on seven months of this.” 

JULIAN: “As if I couldn’t hate myself for being an idiot more.” 

Julian kisses the crown of her head. 

SOFIA, completely at peace: “I love you. Idiot or not.” 

JULIAN, equally peaceful and without hesitation: “I love you too.” 

The two share a quick kiss. 

Sofia stretches her arms as she yawns. Julian notices there’s a new charm on the bracelet she always wears. She explains that her old friend, Derek, used to bring her back charms from wherever he traveled with her father for business. Ms. Frost must have remembered she’d said something about that, as she gave her this after she got back from France. 

JULIAN, as Sofia plays with the bracelet: “It was a gift from your mom, right?” 

SOFIA: “Yes. The last thing she ever gave me. Before…” 

Julian pulls her nice and snug into his arms, not about to let her spiral. 

JULIAN: “Before she passed away. And if she were still alive, she’d be the most proud woman in the world.” 

A part of Sofia wants to spiral, and yet she can’t find anything except comfort in this moment. 

Sofia’s phone vibrates. Not wanting to move she blows it over to her. 

She’s received a text message from Dani. The X-Men need to speak to her immediately. 

Wind Dancer, in uniform, arrives in Cyclops' office, where she's greeted by him, Emma, Kitty, Iceman, Wolverine, and Dani. They thank her for coming and she asks what this is about. 

DANI: “Don’t you remember? I said we had our eyes on you.” 

This does not make things any more clear for Sofia. 

Cyclops tells Sofia that, since the kids’ first few weeks here, he’s believed she had the most potential out of any of them. And time after time, she’s proven him right. Always getting stronger, always pushing harder, always being responsible, and always getting back up no matter what life throws at her. And now, she’s finished the school year with the highest combined academic and performance scores. 

KITTY: “There was no actual school when I came here. I learned everything on the job.” 

LAURA: “And I’ve learned more than ever being part of the team.” 

BEAT. 

SOFIA: “What are you all saying?” 

Emma laughs. 

EMMA: “It’s exactly what you’ve been dreaming of, Darling.” 

Scott walks out from behind his desk and holds an X badge out to Sofia. She’s in shock. 

CYCLOPS: “Wind Dancer, we’d like you to join the X-Men. Are you interested?” 

ICEMAN: “No pressure, kid. If you don’t think you’re ready, we can always–” 

SOFIA: “YES!” 

Sofia enthusiastically takes the badge and thanks them all so much for this opportunity. She hugs Dani. Spinning around to see Laura, she asks her if she had anything to do with this. 

LAURA: “Maybe a little.” 

Sofia grins and gives Laura a peck on the cheek. Laura blushes. 

Cyclops tells her this is going to be a lot of work, and it’s going to be more dangerous than anything she’s faced, but they all believe this will make her one of their greatest heroes down the line. 

SOFIA: “I am not afraid. And I won’t let you down! I’m ready for anything.” 

Elsewhere, Sublime is beating himself up over yet another defeat, questioning what he’s supposed to do now. Just then, a third sentinel arrives, hovering over him. Sublime insults the machine. He doesn’t know who’s sending these hunks of junk, but he isn’t interested in playing along with them again. After he’s done with the X-Men, he may just try and find out who’s behind this. 

The sentinel raises its arm and obliterates Sublime with an energy blast. The sentinel then grows out long hair on its head and coats itself in a new, blue armor. 

SENTINEL, in a feminine voice: “My turn.” 

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

CAST CHANGE:

Sofia Mantega AKA Wind Dancer is now part of the main X-Men team.

[holfelderwrites124]

Severed Threads

Chapter 5: Respite or Run?

(Chapter 4: Hospitals)

Ian spends the remainder of his time in the emergency room alternating between sipping apple juice and dozing. Aisha and Paul stand out in the hallway for a while, tossing around ideas about helping Ian to understand how unhealthy his relationship with the McCartney’s is. John is left to keep an eye on Ian, a job that he takes to with no prodding. He pulls a chair up beside Ian’s bed and settles down.

Ian seems to not want to talk, and John is fine with that. There’s something comfortable about silence with Ian that doesn’t bother John the way it bothers him with others. It’s like silence with Aisha — something comfortable and calming and familiar. John scrolls through his phone with an occasional glance up at Ian. John tries not to let himself stare too long at those long eyelashes and waves of hair. Now is nowhere near the time to give into that tiny budding crush. Ian is struggling and is in no way shape or form available. Besides, John won’t risk damaging Aisha’s relationship with her best friend. He’s content to be a friend to Ian — if that’s the closest he can get, he’ll be okay.

Eventually, Ian’s labs and blood glucose tests come back in normal range, and Ian is released. All three of them have to argue with Ian for another five minutes until Ian is fully convinced to go home with Aisha and John. Ian fights valiantly, but ultimately his exhaustion sinks in and he just nods wearily.

“Fine. I don’t really care, I just need to lay down,” Ian says with a sigh.

“Then you’re coming to ours,” Aisha says firmly, taking Ian by the arm. “C’mon, let’s get you home where you can rest.”

Ian mutters something about not having a home, but John pretends not to hear it. Aisha side-eyes Ian, but says nothing. Paul just sighs softly and bids the three of them goodnight. He promises to call Ian the following afternoon to get him sorted, and John knows he means to make sure that Ian doesn’t spend another night in his car.

Aisha guides Ian to the car and slides into the back seat with him, passing the keys to John this time. The ride back to their apartment is quiet. Ian drifts off to sleep with his head rolled back on the seat within minutes of leaving the hospital. When they get back to their apartment, Aisha nudges Ian gently to wake him. He startles awake abruptly, eyes wide and panicked. John is certain Ian is about to lose it, but then his gaze lands on John. He relaxes instantly.

“Sorry,” Ian murmurs. “I thought … I just … sorry.”

Aisha pats Ian’s shoulder. “You’re okay, Ian. You’re safe with us.”

Ian offers her a small smile, and slips quietly out of the car.

Aisha sets Ian up in their guest bedroom, handing him a pair of her own flannel pants, as she is a bit shorter than John, and one of John’s t-shirts.

“Feel free to get up and raid the fridge later, Ian,” Aisha tells him. “You didn’t eat much, not really, and I know you have a deficit to make up.”

“Thanks. I’m … I really just need to sleep,” Ian replies quietly, already snuggling under the blankets. “I’m just really tired.”

Aisha smiles at him. “I bet. Sleep, then, and we’ll see you in the morning. Neither of us have shifts tomorrow, so you can sleep in and we’ll still be here.”

Ian nods. “Thanks, Aisha. I … I mean it.”

“I know you do, Ian.” Aisha studies her friend for a moment. She wants to broach the Abby-and-Dennis problem, but noting the way Ian is curling under the blankets, she decides against it. He’s tired, and frankly, so is she. “Sleep well.”

With that, she turns the overhead light off and retreats to find John.

Aisha shuts the door, leaving Ian in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. He stares at it for a moment, wanting it off but too tired and too cozy to reach out of his cocoon to do anything about it. He sighs and tucks his head into his chest. God, it feels good to be fucking alone.

Ian pauses mid-sigh. That can’t be right. He’s been alone the last several nights, and he hated it. He hated the feeling of desolation that enveloped him as he curled up in the back seat of his car. He hated the darkness of the parking garage. He hated how cold and alone he was. He hated … well, everything about it. And yet … for all that, if he looks real close at himself, Ian realizes that he never really wanted Abby or Dennis. Even as he cried himself to sleep those nights, he didn’t long for Abby’s arms or Dennis’s warmth.

Ian huffs and rolls over, pulling the covers up over his head. What the hell is wrong with me? Gone for several days and I didn’t even miss my partners?

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s true. He didn’t miss Abby’s strong grip around his waist, trapping him. He didn’t miss Dennis’s too-warm body — or the hands that always seemed ready to grope and grab at Ian’s own body. He didn’t miss the overcrowded bed, or sleeping on the edge with not enough blankets. At least in his car he had the emergency blanket all to himself.

Ian peeks out from his blanket nest, peering at the soft new-apple green of Aisha’s guest room. It’s calm in here. Ian can hear himself think for the first time in … ages, really. He takes a deep breath, noticing how his lungs fill with air in a clean, calm way. His lungs have felt clogged by Abby’s perfume and Dennis’s cologne for so long, he doesn’t remember when he last felt free to breathe. Aisha’s perfume is gentle, like a summer lilac, and John … John just smells fresh.

Ian sinks into the mattress, letting the softness of it soak into his tired, aching bones. His pain has flared so badly the last few days, from the stress of everything and the stiffness of the car seat. The soft sheets and mattress and blankets are so soothing and all of it is just his. God, he missed having a space that was just his.

He never liked living alone before, his demons were too loud and the apartment was too quiet. But with Abby and Dennis, it’s as if he has no private space. The house is Abby’s and Dennis’s, the kitchen is Abby’s, the living room is Abby’s, the bedroom is Abby and Dennis’s — come to think of it, Ian realizes that most of his personal items are in storage. He has no space in the house. The guest room is for guests. Ian is required to sleep in the main bed, unless he gets too anxious or restless — which has been most nights, lately. Ian doesn’t remember the last time he slept comfortably through the night.

But here, he feels safe. He feels like he has space to breathe. And he knows that he’s not truly alone. Aisha and John are just down the hall — probably talking about him, but that’s okay. They mean well, and he knows they aren’t bitching about him, like Dennis does.

Ian closes his eyes with a sigh. He’s safe. He’s safe, and he can rest. He can sleep. He can settle in, let his bones recover, let his mind wander, let his breathing even out …

Except he can’t.

Five minutes later, ten, fifteen … an hour passes, and Ian’s eyes finally pop open again. He huffs and sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself.

His mind is running, spinning, dancing around what Paul said to him this evening, what Abby screamed at him several days ago, what he knows Aisha and John are whispering about him in the dark. He feels that familiar tug of anxiety in his blood, that swirling, nauseating, growing, churning monster that threatens to overtake him completely.

He needs to move.

Ian tosses the covers back with a sudden violence and rockets to his feet. He needs to move. Pacing won’t be enough. He needs … he needs to run. Ian yanks on the zipper to his go bag and rifles through it until he finds his running shorts and shoes. He grabs a random t-shirt and frantically starts to change.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ian knows that this is a bad idea. He knows that, but every time the urge to run strikes him, he gives in. It’s happened before. Sometimes the anxiety crawls up his veins — he can feel it’s little legs digging into him, inching along. He hates the feeling. The only way to get it to go away is to run — as fast and as far as he can.

Ian knows night running in Philadelphia is not the best idea he’s ever had. But John and Aisha live in a fairly safe neighborhood. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he tugs on his  shoes. He heads to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. If for some reason John or Aisha were to check on him, they might get worried not finding him. Ian sighs. He’s not used to having people care about him. Neither Abby nor Dennis seem to care — if they even know that he’s been gone. Ian can be silent as the night when he wants to be — it’s a learned response from his childhood. He’s used to sneaking around so that he doesn’t get caught.

Ian spots a note pad on the small desk in the room. That will do. He grabs a pen and scribbles down a note: went for a run, be back soon. Text if you need me. He tucks the note under the lamp next to the bed, and then quietly opens the door.

The hallway is dark and quiet, as is the living room and kitchen. Ian makes it to the door, wondering briefly how he’ll get back in. He knows Aisha has a spare key, but where she hides it is beyond him. For a moment, he considers turning back. But the anxiety is still crawling inside of him. Ian shakes his arms violently, trying to get the feeling to recede. He needs to move. With a soft huff, Ian opens the door, slips through, and locks it behind him. He’ll figure out the getting back in thing later. Right now, he needs to move.

John wakes up sometime around three in the morning. He doesn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, but after lying there for a moment, he realizes that he’s worried about Ian. The night hadn’t gone the way it was supposed to, at all, and John hopes that Ian is sleeping. He tries to convince himself not to worry, but something continues to nag at him. Finally, John rolls his eyes and slides out of bed. If he’s going to just lay here worried about whether or not Ian’s blood sugar dipped again, he might as well check on their guest.

The first thing John notices upon slipping into the hallway is that Ian’s light is still on. Curious, John opens Ian’s door slowly, peering around it and expecting to see Ian curled up in the bed. Instead, he finds an empty bed. The covers are rumpled, as if Ian had attempted to sleep, but he’s nowhere to be found.

John jerks out of the room, peering down the hall at the guest bathroom. The door is open and the room is dark. Ian isn’t there. John steps into the guest room, looking around, half expecting to find Ian curled up on the floor or something bizarre like that. Instead, he spots a note on the side table. John feels his heart sink. Did Ian run away in the middle of the night? He snatches the note up and skims it.

“Jesus,” John breathes. “He fucking went on a run? It’s three am.”

John fumbles for his phone, pulling up Ian’s number. He hits the call button and waits impatiently, hoping Ian will pick up.

“Hello?” Ian sounds out of breath, and John wonders how long he’s been gone.

“Ian? What the fuck are you doing?” John hisses.

“Running?” Ian replies, sounding nervous.

“I got that from your note. Why are you running at three am?” John growls.

There’s only the soft panting of Ian’s breath for a moment. “I … I needed to think. About … everything.”

“Ian … Christ. Alright, fine. Where are you? Did you go to the gym?” John prays that Ian isn’t out running in the streets.

Silence. “No.” Ian sighs. He rattles off the intersection that he’s at.

“Fuck, Ian, that’s ten miles out. What the … what … shit.” John huffs. “Listen, I’m coming to get you. Stay there. I mean it. Stay there.”

“John, I’m fine. I’ll … I’ll head back.”

“Ian. You are not covering twenty miles by foot in one night. The fuck — no, I’m coming to get you and you need to stay put. Stay.”

Ian laughs softly. “I’ve done it before, John.”

Something in the way he says it -- sadly, without pride — gives John pause. “You — you have done this before?”

John can practically hear Ian’s shrug. “Yeah. What, you think Abby’s going to pick me up in the middle of the night?” Ian scoffs. “Hardly.”

John isn’t quite sure what to do with that bit of information. “We are talking about this when I get to you. Stay there and stay safe. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, got it?”

Ian sighs. “Okay.”

John hangs up, mumbling under his breath about Ian’s stupidity.

“What the hell is going on?” Aisha’s voice startles John. He whirls around to find her standing in the doorway.

“Ian has decided to go on a run,” John says, voice flat. “I’m going to get him.”

“He what?” Aisha’s eyes widen. “He … went on a run?”

John nods. “Said he needed to think.” John shakes his head. “The idiot. He could have crashed his blood sugar. Jesus. I need to change. Can you grab me some juice and a bagel or something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Fuck, idiot.” Aisha turns and heads to the kitchen while John jogs to their bedroom the change into jeans and a sweatshirt.

When John returns, Aisha has a bottle of orange juice and a bagel with cream cheese in a bag. “Here. Do you need me to go with you?”

John shakes his head. “No, I’m wide awake now. Besides … I don’t want to crowd him.” John pauses. “Unless you think you should go? Since you’re closer to him?”

Aisha shakes her head. “I think he needs you.”

John blinks. “What does that mean?”

Aisha raises an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot, John. I know how you look at him.”

“Shit, Aisha—”

Aisha grins teasingly. “It’s fine. Actually, I’ve thought for a long time you two would work well together.”

“Aisha, I cannot come on to him right now. The guy is traumatized.”

“I know you can’t, and I wouldn’t suggest it.” Aisha steps into John’s space. “But he needs someone who cares right now. Someone who cares beyond just checking in on a friend. You won’t say it, or show it, but somehow, he’ll know that you care.” Aisha sighs and rolls her eyes at Johns confused look. “Listen, Ian assumes that Paul and I help out because we have to. ‘That’s what friends are for,’ he’s literally said that to me. But you? You’re an adjacent friend.”

John shakes his head. “I’m going to pretend I know what that means.”

“It’ll make a difference, trust me.” Aisha leans in to give John a kiss. “Be careful and bring that idiot home safe.”

John nods. “I will.” He huffs as he turns around. “Stubborn bastard.”

Taglist: @lofiyaketyblr

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Chapter 6: Finding Ian

[myllacrimosa]

Prayer of Devotion, Prayer of Despair (Series)

Summary: Reader returns back to Crockett after her mother, a devout parishioner and community leader, has passed. Conflicted feelings of faith and purpose arise, and she leans on Saint Patrick’s new priest for guidance. (Reader is not religious, but has a connection to the church since youth).

(This series will be 18+. No minors.)

Pairing: Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x f!reader

Chapter Warnings: Death mention, blasphemy, some liberties taken with scripture.

A/N: girl…this was supposed to be a one shot….then I added some plot and now we’re working with chapters? This is most likely going to end up in five parts.

GIF SOURCE

Part I

A dear memory, a strange priest, a vulgar impulse.

It’s coming back to you.

That warmth that emits from Saint Patrick’s windows at night, you remember it from childhood. Its haze beaconing the lost souls and devotees on the island alike. Nights when Mom wasn’t herself—voice deep, lips twisted in dark contempt and seething with a bitterness you could never quite understand—you snuck out and drifted to those big brown doors across the way.

You could almost hear His voice, no, his voice, really—abundantly lush, soothing, the voice of one who wanted nothing more than to comfort you dearly, and it welcomed you. He’d gesture to the front pew and you’d take a seat, your eyes still red and teary, your tiny hands balled into angry fists.

His robes fluttered around him. The twirling white cotton was such a grand display under the flickering candlelight. He settled down next to you and tap the back of his hand to your chin, waiting for that moment when you raised your head—his bushy brows and downturned mouth imitated the sadness in your face with exaggeration, twisting in such a way that reminded you of a cartoon character.

You never knew why, but that always left you giggling. He looked so silly like that. He smiled, a smile so wide you would have thought he had just discovered the most incredible thing. A smile so kind, so delightfully warm. His eyes would crinkle with a spark of joy as if he were blessed at the very sight of you—and you felt safe, and you felt loved.

“Oh, my dear girl,” he’d say, “there she is. There she is.”

He’d squeeze your hand tight and give it a shake until the church was filled with giggling and laughter. Then, at last, John Pruitt would read to you from the Book of Psalms, the words spoken in a light singsongy sort of lullaby. He’d read and read until you’d yawn and rub your tired eyes, then he’d take you on a walk back home.

When she opened the door and saw who stood before her, she was a saint. Mother was never one to twist her lips at the Monsignor.

But back on Crockett Island after nearly a decade, you’re just now starting to come to terms with the unexpected: the Monsignor is gone, and so is Mom. When she had passed not too long ago she had decided to leave the house in your name. It feels like an apology. Selling it feels like a betrayal, and keeping it, well…

(one step at a time, you tell yourself).

From your bed you’re fixated on those glowing windows. The memories they bring back—it has you thinking about your faith, that thing you never quite got a good grasp of. It rests somewhere far away, tucked in the corridors of your mind right next to where the memories of your mother lay. It’s becoming even easier for them to make their way back to you.

You still don’t know why you attended church today, or last Sunday, for that matter. Perhaps you found comfort in old routines from childhood, like maybe that was the reasonable thing to do now that you’re back home. Maybe you were a little lost now, unsure of what’s next.

Maybe you were a bit enthralled. A bit certain that it was Saint Patrick’s new priest who sparked a little bit of that old curiosity you harbored (perhaps a new one, too).

The church dims.

You inch closer to the window, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you wait for the last remaining soul to emerge from the doors. One after the other the candles go out until Saint Patrick’s is drained of color.

And finally he emerges, Father Paul Hill.

The way Father Paul steps outside—so careful, tentative in his steps, looking about the quiet night, marveling at the stars. Like it’s a wonder. You smile, just a little.

The moonlight is shining perfectly on him. Amid the night blue, he looks unreal, a picturesque forlorn creature. Tall and handsome, undeniably so (Father, forgive—this thought you desperately wished you had buried since last Sunday). But he’s everywhere. He just keeps appearing. Around the island, outside of the church, making his rounds with the people of Crockett.

Every time you see him you’re slightly taken aback, and you think you’re out of your mind when you sense his hesitation before he approaches you, his abrupt pauses when he speaks with you before saying too much. The resonance of his voice strikes something deep inside you that feels so familiar when he calls your name. And when he calls your name, it sounds so sweet.

Father Paul straightens his back until he’s perfectly still, hands by his side. You can make out the curve of his lips, his deep set eyes—narrowed eyes, focused on whatever it is that’s in front of him. He stays like that, motionless, frozen in place. You wait, but he doesn’t move. You wait some more, observing the strange, tiny priest below, but nothing.

Your brows furrow, you tilt your head and move closer to the window. You wonder if he can make out the shapes behind your window, or if he’s trying to. Your eyes slide to the clock—it’s late, almost two in the morning. It must’ve been freezing outside, you could nearly feel the chill through the glass, and he’s just standing there.

What is he—?

He's thinking. He’s moving his head—he's nodding to himself. It’s almost imperceptible if you weren’t studying him so precisely. Father Paul stands there, utterly consumed with whatever is going on in his head. He flexes his fidgety fingers on his right hand, balling his fist a few times before it rests again.

You laugh quietly. What is he doing out there?

The house he’s staring at across the way—this house, eyes glued to the window of your old room that faces those big brown church doors.

It looks like he’s laughing—maybe to himself, maybe to the stranger he’s vaguely aware of behind the glass. You almost want to wave, but decide against it when he shakes his head.

He descends down the steps. Your eyes follow him until he’s out of your sight. The stairs are empty once again. The church is, too. And then there is nothing, just blue.

You sit back. You feel a sense of loss, a profound sense of longing in an instant.

Weird.

Never has he occupied your mind as much as he did tonight, and you think you might’ve just been distracted with everything else—your mother, this house, returning here—before you realized that you are, and have been, so utterly lonely.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Father Paul.

It plays in your mind, the image of earlier—his image, his sermon, the passion behind his eyes, the strength in his voice when he read from the Book of Isaiah. When he called your name he said he was so delighted to see you again.

You learn that the Monsignor spoke dearly about you and your mother, apparently. But Father Paul promised that this was a conversation for Next Time, and Next Time can’t come fast enough.

It plays in your mind as you lay back down, it plays in your mind when you close your eyes—the strange new priest and his twitchy hand. Under the moonlight, outside your window. Theatrical, really. That display of internal conflict, presented right there on the very steps of Saint Patrick’s.

You fall asleep and you dream, it plays in your mind. He laughs and shakes his head, you want to ask him what’s wrong, what he’s thinking about, but he doesn’t answer.

He just laughs. It is the sweetest sound in all of Crockett, and you feel so delightfully warm.

• • •

“Let the wicked forsake their ways and the unrighteous their thoughts,” John Pruitt recites his prayer like a wretched thing, trampling over the gravel beneath his feet in a fury. He feels dizzy, his heart is racing in his chest. His hasty gait has the bag on his shoulder bouncing in every which way against his thigh.

“What on earth, Pruitt,” he hisses, fumbling with his keys at the door. John is certain he saw you behind that window. He is certain he’s frightened you.

“Let them turn… let them… what is the matter—” John is breathless. His trembling hand opens the door and he tosses his bag to the ground. He sputters over his thoughts with a mix of verse and nonsense. “Let them turn to the Lord, and he…“

He searches for his rosary, frantically moving the papers and books on his desk. He walks to his bedroom. “… he will have mercy on them and to our God for he will freely pardon,” the prayer spills out of his mouth all at once. He finds the rosary at the foot of the bed and wraps it around his hand, resting his hands on his hips. He looks to the ceiling and sighs.

“Look upon my affliction and rescue me, dear God, for I do not forget Your law,” John pleads quietly to himself, eyes closing. He has been tempted, oh, has he been tempted. And the Lord knows just how badly he wanted to see you tonight.

Oh, the Lord knows how great John Pruitts’ desire for you grew the moment he saw you again, the moment he felt the warmth of your mouth brush his skin. He knows how John Pruitts’ heart jumped when he imagined your lips claiming his fingers, His flesh, him.

Yes, the Lord knows John Pruitt is an imperfect man. If He stepped down from His throne he’d fall to his knees and pray at your altar, his divine—sacrifice himself as He did, strip himself free of His sovereignty.

O, John Pruitt knows this is a love of a different kind, so sudden, so cruel. No matter how he hides from it it reveals itself again. It begs to be cut open. It begs from its wounds, it begs to fill his mouth with a salvation unlike any other, it begs, palms outstretched it pulls him in consumed by the appetite growing from the pit of his belly, it begs.

O, this foul temptation.

What good comes from denying a blessed feast? For He has filled the hungry with good things, righteous things, for they shall be satisfied, and they shall hunger no more.

Oh, is he tired. He is so tired.

He just wants to forget about this night. He just wants to forget it all. He mutters another prayer but it dies on his tongue. He knows it is useless, he knows it’s too late.

It is you, he sees, flesh and spirit, he sees his Lord, his God Almighty and John Pruitt is terrified. There is no end for where his faith rests, no knowing for where you begin.

All he sees is Glory.

[violetwritesthings]

hey, are you writing for midnight mass? If so, could I get a full one-shot with Father Paul

(I'm having pruitt brainrot)

Maybe just him adoring and praising the reader like a G-d? Perhaps she's accepted his 'divine gift' and became a vampire too? I'm not sure, anything works please, I just need some adoration and fluff <3

(No worries if not <//3)

okay, so, hi!

i'm so incredibly sorry for taking so long to answer this request (and i don't even think i did it right- the outcome is so not what you asked for, i have no idea where i went with this, i'm so sorry-), so i genuinely hope you like it!

word count: 5.2k~

warnings: bev being a bitch, cannibalism, plenty of midnight mass spoilers, and angel-vampires.

tag list: @vor3lla (if you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

-+-

the first thing you see is blood.

actually, no, that’s not quite right, you don’t wake to the sight of blood—but you might as well, with the way you’re craving it. you feel this stirring hunger at the pit of your stomach, a gnawing emptiness that’s begging to be filled.

you feel your neck throbbing in pain. you don’t have a heartbeat, not anymore, but you can practically hear the pulsing in your head. you try to turn your neck, but to no avail—the bones are too broken for you to move it even half an inch.

someone calls out to you. someone panicked, someone distressed. they’re calling your name, but it sounds like the voice is getting further and further away. like an echo down a long tunnel.

someone enters your field of vision, hovering over you. your eyes are too blurry to focus properly, but you see dark hair, then a face. your brain scrambles trying to place that face to a name, but your body is too busy adjusting.

your ears ring and buzz and the lights seem so incredibly bright, but that face is hovering in front of you, and you still can’t figure out quite who it is. that starving hunger in your stomach won’t go away, and you find yourself wishing you could go to sleep and dream a dream.

just a silly little dream. that’s all.

“y/n!”

hm. that voice sounds familiar. the person starts to shake your shoulders frantically. you want to tell them to stop, to just let you sleep, but your mouth refuses to comply.

“y/n, wake up! just—just wake up!”

oh, you realize. now you know who that voice belongs to. that face, too.

john.

why is he so upset? everything’s okay. sure, you have this horrible hunger that’s driving you mad, and yes, you realize something’s clearly wrong with your neck, and—oh, right, that puddle of blood underneath you might not be all that normal. but it’s nothing to panic about.

you start to slip under the comfortable blanket of sleep. john’s still calling out for you, but you just can’t bring yourself to care. the warm, bright lights start to dim as your eyes flutter shut and everything turns to black.

-+-

john had been acting strange.

he passed out during mass, which was something that personally scared the crap out of you. you were to first one to get to him, the first one to make sure he made his way home safely. you didn’t care about what the others in the parish would think, not when something was clearly wrong.

(besides, you played it off as simply being a concerned parishioner. none of them needed to know that you’d been in a secret relationship with the man for months, now.)

yet, that wasn’t the strangest part.

the strangest part was when john didn’t show up to mass at all the next day, or the day after that. instead, you got to hear bev keane make up some excuse about how he hadn’t been feeling well and how he would be on bed rest. you wouldn’t believe anything bev said, even in the best of times, but something felt especially off that morning.

you made up your mind. you’d go see him—even if just to make sure that he was alright.

you sat through mass, fidgeting with your hands and bouncing your knees anxiously as you awaited the end of the session. finally, when mass ended, you jumped up and headed outside. instead of going home, as you usually would do, you went the opposite direction—towards the back of the church, where john lived in a small house.

you made your way to the door and knocked lightly. “john? it’s me.”

you didn’t hear anything at first. there was just dead, quiet silence coming from inside. you raised your fist to knock for the second time, but a small voice rang out before you did. shaky. unsteady. “come in.”

you opened the door hesitantly and quickly stepped inside, to make sure nobody saw you walk in. “hey, i’m sorry for barging in on you like this, i was just worried—”

you had turned around while speaking, and immediately went silent.  john was sitting in the corner, bloodied and shaking, and a body was lying dead on the ground—joe collie, you realized after a moment. john was covered in blood, joe was covered in blood, and all you could see was blood, blood, blood.

“oh my god,” you muttered.

your hands flew to your mouth. your visible shock seemed to take john out of his stupor. he finally tilted his head in your direction, meeting your gaze. “i – i'm not – i didn’t, uh, he...he hit his head,” john stammered. “and then, i—”

he couldn’t seem to finish his sentence. you finally regained your sense of movement and briskly walked past joe’s body and knelt in front of john. “jesus christ, john, what happened? how did--i mean,” you gestured wildly. you were at a loss for words.

“joe—he came in to tell me about,” john swallowed thickly. “about his struggles w-with his sobriety, and he fell, and he hit his head, and i was just so hungry.”

you felt your heartbeat quicken. the fight or flight response within you was screaming flight, and you couldn’t help the wave of fear that overwhelmed you. this was something altogether. this was something monstrous.

and yet, under all of the layers of horror and shakiness, you saw sitting in front of you the man you loved—and he was scared. you’d known him for long enough to know that he had no clue what was happening, not really. whatever happened here was horrible, but you would stand by him. you would help him in any way you could.

he wouldn’t leave you in your time of need, so you wouldn’t leave him in his.

“okay,” you nodded. “okay, we can fix this.”

he looked up at you, shocked at your sudden acquiescence. “what?”

“we can fix this,” you repeated. “who else knows?”

john closed his eyes. “uhm, bev. she walked in, after...”

you nodded, your gaze distant as you formulated a plan. “okay, so, bev knows. anyone else?” he shook his head. “okay. okay, good. we should keep this under wraps as much as possible, then.”

“y/n?”

you didn’t have to turn around to recognize the shrill, plain voice of beverly keane. speak of the devil.

you glanced at john for a moment, rolling your eyes, before rising from the ground and facing bev. “hello, beverly.”

“you aren’t supposed to be here,” bev said, casually folding her hands together in front of her lap. “so, i believe you should leave now.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” you retorted. if your tone was a little too sharp, well, you figured you could be forgiven for it in this case. “i know what happened, and i want to help.”

bev sighed and scanned you up and down condescendingly. you already knew she was revving up for a long one. “now, now, y/n. i know all too well that you’ve been sneaking around with the monsignor like a little schoolgirl. now, i've let it pass for the sake of the monsignor’s happiness, but please, don’t mistake that fact as an excuse to act as though you may do whatever you please.”

“you’re talking to me about—”

“stop,” john mumbled. you both quieted down when you heard his voice. he cleared his throat. “you won’t speak to y/n that way, bev. understand that now, or get out.”

you felt the smallest hint of smug satisfaction watching bev’s face morph into a hidden kind of rage. she held her tight grin that was plastered on her face and looked down at john.

“right, well, i simply came in to see how you were doing. i'll go make sure everyone gets home safely and come back when we’re ready to dispose of the evidence.” it sickened you how easily bev referred to joe collie’s dead corpse as ‘evidence,’ but you wouldn’t voice it aloud. you just wanted her to leave. “will you need help cleaning up, monsignor?”

“i’ve got it,” you interrupted.

she looked at you, internally fuming, but finally turned to leave. she sauntered past the dead body as if it were an everyday occurrence and left through the front door.

you sighed. “she’s a joy.” you returned to your previous spot, crouching in front of john. “alright, come on. we really should get you cleaned up. can you stand?”

john blinked, looking around as though he’d just remembered something. “i would, but—the sun.”

you tilted your head in confusion. “the sun?”

he moved his hand forward towards a slip of light that peeked through the window. you jumped back when, inexplicably, his hand started to burn. it was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. he solemnly removed his hand from the sunlight, and you watched as his hand slowly started to heal.

“yeah,” john grumbled. “the sun.”

you widened your eyes. “right, okay,” you stammered. “so, no sun. cool. we can work with that.”

you quickly got up and closed the curtains so that no light would shine through. you realized, then, that john had probably been stuck in the corner since the morning. your gaze caught on joe collie’s body, but you forced yourself to tear your eyes away. you’d help john fix this, even if you didn’t have the full story.

“come on,” you prompted as you held out your hand. john sluggishly took it and rose from the ground. he lost his balance for a moment, but you successfully caught him in an embrace before he could fall. “hey, hey, i've got you,” you muttered soothingly. “you’re okay.”

it was as though he was drunk with the way he swayed in your arms. he held onto you tightly, as if you were a lifeboat in the open ocean. you blew a strand of hair out of your face and looked around you, wondering how the hell you were going to fix all of this.

you’re okay, you thought to yourself. everything’s gonna be fine.

-+-

one day and one night passed.

you helped john clean up, washing the blood and grime out of his hair and skin. he was nonverbal for the majority of it, but he was lucid. he moved when you asked him to, nodded or shook his head with yes or no questions.

by the time you managed to get him dressed and settled, bev had returned with a small group—sturge, the mayor. you weren’t shocked when you realized that they were the ones tasked with removing joe’s body from the house.

the mayor, wade scarborough, appeared the most unsettled. the moment that he expressed no desire to have any part in any of this, bev chewed him out, screaming at him about ‘cherry-picking the bible,’ referencing his daughter leeza’s miraculous recovery.

bev had an incredible ability to make anyone feel badly about themselves, you noted with a scoff.

as bev continued on her rant, you wandered back into john’s room. he had been sitting on the edge of the bed when you left him, but he had apparently moved to stand in front of the window, his back turned to you.

cautiously, you walked towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “hey,” you greeted softly.

“hey,” he replied, not tearing his gaze away from the window.

he seemed so broken. you wished you could come up with something reassuring to say, but your mind came up blank. “things are being dealt with out there, so don’t worry, okay?”

he hummed in acknowledgement, but you had no real way of knowing if he actually heard you. you stayed there a moment, sensing that he probably wanted to be left alone, then started to leave.

“why did you help me?”

you froze. “what?”

“you didn’t have to. you could’ve run away screaming, called me a monster. swore to never see me again. i mean, i wouldn’t have blamed you. but you stayed, and you helped me. why?”

“you’d do the same for me. you and i are a team, remember?” you stepped closer to john and hooked your arms around his torso, leaning your head on his back. “now, if you want to tell me what happened, i’m here to listen. if not, that’s okay too.” he sighed, gripping onto your embrace. “it’s a really long story.”

“hey,” you chuckled. “if i could wrap my head around you being made forty-some years younger by a rogue angel, i could follow along with anything you’ll throw at me.” he laughed at that, then. you hugged him just a bit tighter.

“okay,” he nodded. “okay, yeah. here goes.”

-+-

as it turned out, it was pretty hard to follow.

john told one crazy story, and you didn’t even know how to begin processing it. according to him, he had died—actually died—due to an overdose of the angel’s blood, he suspected. then, he was resurrected just moments later. bev, sturge, and the mayor and his wife had all witnessed it, which is why they had all been involved.

when he had come back to life, it had been nearly insane—he couldn’t be in the sun without burning his limbs to a crisp, he was under constant delirium and confusion, and he had this starving hunger in the pit of his stomach that he just couldn’t shake.

and that’s when joe collie had walked in.

the way that john described the encounter certainly scared you. he made it sound as though he had no control over his own body whatsoever. john had clutched onto joe in a partial embrace, causing him to fall over. when joe hit his head against a table, he’d started bleeding. immensely.

that’s when john couldn’t help himself.

his voice shook as he told the story, and he couldn’t once seem to meet your eyes. he had no guilt for what he had done, he explained, but he did feel guilty for the effect it would have on the others. more importantly, he thought you would certainly see him as nothing but a monster.

you didn’t.

once he’d finished speaking, you stared down at your lap, fiddling with your hands awkwardly. you didn’t quite know what to say. you didn’t know how to react to any of this.

“i know you must think the worst of me,” john eventually said, filling the silence.

“i don’t.” you turned to him, grabbing his hand. “john, i don’t.”

he finally looked up at you. you had his attention.

“to be honest with you, this is taking me a bit to process, but that doesn’t mean i think you’re a monster, or a bad person.” you tightened your grip on his hand to emphasize your point. “i told you, it’s you and me. we’re a team. that means i don’t turn my back on you, you don’t turn your back on me. non-negotiable.”

he just stared at you, this look of adoration and awe in his eyes. “i don’t know how i'll ever be worthy of you.”

you smiled softly. “you already are.”

to prove it, you gently caressed his cheek and leaned in, meeting his lips in a kiss. it was soft, simple, nothing more than an ‘i’m here. i'm with you.’

at least, that’s what you hoped the kiss conveyed until someone cleared their throat loudly.

you and john separated begrudgingly. bev had been standing at the front door, a neutral expression on her face. “my apologies for the intrusion.”

“what is it, bev?” you could hear the pure annoyance in john’s voice; you wondered if bev could hear it too.

“i came to let you know that the body’s been disposed of.”

you wondered how they managed to get rid of joe’s body in such a short time—but, you supposed, when the literal mayor was involved, there were more liberties they could take.

“thank you,” john muttered.

she nodded firmly. “will you be needing anything else?” she subtly turned towards you. “time to rest, perhaps?”

you couldn’t help yourself.

“you know what, bev? that’s actually a great idea,” you replied politely with a smile. “i’d imagine he does need time to rest, so you should probably get going now.”

when john didn’t show any sign of protest, bev silently left through the front door with a huff. you heard the door to the house slam with her departure.

then, sitting in the silence, john started chuckling.

“what?” you asked, actually grinning this time.

he shook his head affectionately. “you are...something else, y/n.”

“oh, come on,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “you know you love me.”

he met your eyes, a genuine smile gracing his face, and he sighed. “that, i do.”

-+-

life with your newly sunshine-allergic, blood-diet priest boyfriend was certainly...

well, weird.

he’d begun conducting mass after the sun had gone down, which the town got quickly adjusted to. he spoke with the same charisma and power as he always did, so it wasn’t as though the town suspected anything.

days had passed and easter had finally come, and the town was alight with excitement. most of the people on crockett island, even those who wouldn’t regularly come to mass, were ready to celebrate the holiday.

the majority of the day was spent getting the church ready. you’d noticed that bev was overly joyous and talkative, which wasn’t exactly normal. she even wished the sheriff a ‘happy easter,’ when she would normally ignore his existence altogether.

something was off.

you two had ended up in the same room together as you set up an array of candles surrounding the church’s interior. she actually started humming, which unnerved you to no end.

eventually, you couldn’t stand it anymore. you exhaled sharply. “okay, what is this?”

she glared at you. “excuse me?”

“you’ve been acting really weird all day.”

“well, that’s because this evening,” she looked around, then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “the world is going to change.”

you raised an eyebrow skeptically. “oh, really? change, how?”

“oh, y/n, the monsignor and i have the most wonderful plan.” she rushed towards you and held both of your hands tightly in hers. “death won’t need to be a part of life, not anymore. we’re past all of that, now.”

you felt way too uncomfortable with bev’s level of enthusiasm. “what—what are you talking about?”

“we can share the monsignor’s gift —god’s gift—with the entire parish.”

your heart thudded to a stop. you forcefully removed your hands from her grip. “wait. you’re saying you want to kill everyone in the church? put them through what john went through?”

she scoffed lightly. “what the monsignor ‘went through’ was a miracle. he was resurrected, just like our lord, jesus christ, and brought back to revel in the gift he was given, to spread the gospel. this is exactly that.”

“and what happens to everyone else? the people that don’t go to mass. what happens to them? they just die?”

“those who don’t want to be saved...” she trailed off, exhaling deeply. “well, i suppose they’ve already made their choices, now, haven’t they?”

you were speechless. you knew one thing for sure—you needed to go talk to john and stop this insanity before it began. you set down the candles you had left and made your way to the front door. before leaving, you held your hand over the doorknob and decided you’d say one last thing to bev.

“those innocent people that you’re leaving to die?” you turned to face her. “that’s not them and their choices. that’s you, bev, acting like you have a say in who lives and who dies.”

for once in her life, bev had nothing to say.

with that, you walked out.

-+-

“explain. now.”

john looked up at you guiltily from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed. “you weren’t supposed to know.”

“you were planning on poisoning the entire island, john?! no, wait, i stand corrected—you were planning on changing everyone in the parish, then leaving the rest of the island to die.”

“that wasn’t—”

“do you not remember what happened to joe collie? all he did was walk in and you turned it into an all-you-could-eat buffet.” you put your hands on your hips, exasperated. “i'm not saying this to make you feel worse or to throw it in your face, but what do you think’s gonna happen with an entire town full of bloodhungry people?”

john shook his head. “the point, the whole point of this, was to share this miracle. to restore everyone as jesus was restored.”

“jesus wasn’t ‘restored’ by some magical angel hiding off in a dark cave somewhere. and joe wasn’t changed, remember?” you scoffed. “he just died. is that really what you want for everyone?”

he shook his head solemnly, closing his eyes. "no. no, it's not."

you sighed, then sat down on the edge of the bed next to john. the mattress dipped with your weight. “look, i know you have only the best intentions, but this isn’t the way to go about saving them.”

he stayed silent, staring at the wall. you could practically hear the gears in his mind churning, and you hoped that he was hearing what you were saying.

“can i tell you something?” he eventually asked, muttering into the quiet space.

you nodded.

“i did—i do want to save them. i really do. but the truth, the real truth, is that i wanted to save you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “what?”

“i’ve already grown old, y/n. i know what it feels like to have your mind slip away from you, to start forgetting things to the point where you barely remember your own name. it’s torture. and the worst part is, you don’t even realize it’s happening.” he looked at you, a barely restrained hopelessness hidden in his eyes. “i couldn’t watch you go through it.”

“john...” you trailed off.

“yeah,” he nodded. “yeah, i know. but can you imagine it? i mean, a life without death. painful death, slow death, all of it, just gone.”

you shook your head firmly. “we can’t do that to those people. you have to know that.”

he sighed, leaning his head on your shoulder.

you had a feeling he was listening.

-+-

you and john walked into the church, hand-in-hand. the sun had long since gone down, and bev was getting prepared to meet the scarboroughs’ in front of their house to lead the parishioners back to the church for easter mass.

“ah! monsignor, good evening,” bev hummed as soon as she’d seen you both walk in. “and y/n. good evening to you as well. everything’s almost ready, i just need to—”

“bev, we need to talk,” john interrupted.

she blinked, frozen in her tracks. “i’m sorry?”

“the plan’s off.” he cleared his throat. “we can’t, uh, we can’t do what we said we’d do.”

you tightened your grip on his hand, a subtle encouragement. a way to remind him that you were still with him.

it seemed as though the words weren’t registering in bev’s mind. you could almost see the loading screen stuck in her expression. “monsignor, i--i'm afraid i don’t understand the sudden change of heart. i thought we’d agreed, this is what’s best for—”

“no. this isn’t what’s best. this isn’t right, this—this isn’t god’s will at work. this was human; this was my own selfishness. god hasn’t been moving through me. i've realized that now.”

“monsignor, no,” bev denied vehemently.

“bev, we’ve been going about this all wrong.” he stepped forward, standing eye-to-eye with bev.

suddenly, something flickered in the corner of your eye, past bev, past john. it was sitting in the corner of the church—had it been there all along? it was something large, grey, evil.

it loomed ominously. something moved once, twice—wings. one large pair of wings attached to a long, lanky body were staring right at you. that’s when it clicked.

this must have been the angel that changed john the first time, then made him into what he was now. but from the looks of it, this angel didn’t look like an angel at all. in fact, only one word popped into your head as you stared at the creature standing in the corner.

demon.

it flapped its wings again; once, twice. you realized with a gasp that the creature was getting ready to fly. its eyes, its dark, dark eyes were practically boring holes into john’s head. it was planning to attack him for the third time, wasn’t it?

john and bev were too delved into their heated conversation to notice the large thing in the corner of the room, but you watched it, frozen in fear.

that’s when it took flight.

you barely had half a second to react. you pushed john out of the way, knocking him to the side, taking the brunt of the creature’s force. it brought you to the ground and hissed—it sounded like a high-pitched squeal directed into your eardrums.

it threw its head back, then sunk its teeth into your neck.

you screamed—it was the only thing you could think to do, considering you couldn’t think at all due to the overwhelming pain in your neck. you couldn’t hear anyone else, couldn’t see anyone else, with the way that the creature’s wings covered your field of vision.

you screamed, and screamed, until your vocal cords felt raw. still, the creature drank from you with no remorse.

eventually, the worst of the pain started to fade, which you were grateful for. that was, at least, until you realized that it was because you were fading yourself. your thoughts weren’t coherent anymore and you found yourself dizzy and disoriented. the creature still drank.

you were dying, weren’t you?

minutes passed, or maybe hours. you couldn’t have known how much time had really gone by. the creature slowed its feast, then stopped altogether. it licked its lips, flapped its wings once more, and flew off somewhere. you heard the church’s doors swing on their hinges with its departure.

you vaguely saw the silhouetted figure of someone rushing over to you. then, you saw nothing at all.

-+-

when you next woke, the first thing you saw was blood.

well, that’s not quite right, you didn’t wake to the sight of blood, but you might as well have, with the way you craved it.

you thought you saw john’s face come into view, but you couldn’t really tell. you were coming in and out of consciousness, unable to focus for more than a few moments at a time. you thought that maybe you saw him crying, but you couldn’t be sure.

it felt like you weren’t sure of anything anymore.

finally, your eyes fluttered open.

“y/n, oh, thank god. thank god,” john muttered, moving the hair out of your face.

you were still disoriented, trying to gauge your surroundings. your neck felt like it had split into six different pieces. more than anything else, though, you were hungry.

“what—” you groaned. the lights from the candles you’d set up earlier were blinding you. “what happened?”

“the angel, it attacked you.” he shook his head. “well, it was coming for me, but you—you saved me.”

oh right, you thought. the creature.

you tried sitting up from where you were laying on the floor, but a sharp crack of pain in your head stopped you in your tracks.

“no, no,” john shushed. “stay still. your neck still needs time to heal.”

“it killed me, didn’t it?” you whispered. “i’m--i'm like you, now?”

a tear slid down his face as he nodded. “yes, my dearest. you’re like me now.”

your own eyes started to water as the rest of your memories trickled in. you realized that you were dead—really dead—and you’d never get to see the sunlight again, and that desperate, gnawing hunger in your gut would never go away.

how would you possibly keep going?

before you could answer that question, you realized just how exhausted you were. you slowly fell back into a numb state of unconsciousness, floating in an empty sea within your mind. you weren’t asleep, but you weren’t exactly awake, either. you were stuck in that fragile in-between state. you didn’t know how long you were stuck in limbo.

the next time you woke up, the church’s curtains had been drawn back, blocking the small rays of sunlight from coming in.

it was daytime, you presumed. the church had to have been empty, considering you heard no footsteps, no movement—unless...?

finally able to move your neck, seeing as though it had healed during your restless sleep, you turned your head to the side. you saw john sitting in the corner, his arms locked around his knees. he had his head down and his breathing was heavy—you quickly realized that he had fallen asleep. had he been there all night?

you sat up slowly, hissing at the dull pain that wracked throughout your body. you paused, took a deep breath, then continued.

when you made your way across the church, you slid on the floor next to john. the movement finally roused him from his sleep. he looked up at you, then to where you’d been lying on the floor, then back to you, as if he were trying to figure out how you’d gotten there.

“y/n. you’re awake.”

you nodded. “yeah. i'm awake.”

“i’m so, so sorry. for all of this.” he shook his head. “if i hadn’t--”

“hey. don’t do that,” you interrupted, raising your hand. “don’t blame this all on yourself.”

he fell silent. you both stared straight ahead at the closed curtains that blocked the sunlight from coming in. it was a strange, fearful thought that the slightest movement of these curtains could cause your body to literally start burning.

in the silence, a thought occurred to you. “the parish. what happened last night?”

“i, um—mass was canceled, last night. we didn’t go through with the plan.”

“good.” you sighed, glancing at the empty pews. “i’m sure the whole town was thrown off by that.”

“there were more important matters to deal with last night,” he said, turning to look at you with those soft eyes of his.

you felt a smile tugging at your lips, but you quickly sobered. “this plan. it’s off for good, right?”

he nodded. “that creature? the one that presented itself to me as an angel? after what it did to you, i wouldn’t--i couldn’t--” he sighed, aggravated, before shaking his head. “so, what do we do now?”

“now, we...figure out a new way to survive.” you thought for a moment, then amended your previous statement. “i'm not eating from people, not if i can help it.”

he nodded. “okay. we’ll find a different way.”

“and that creature, that thing, we’ll need to figure out what to do with it.”

“we’ll deal with it as it comes.”

“and we’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else,” you added. you felt a surprising sense of relief, now that you had a solid plan. you scooted closer to john, then let your head rest on his shoulder. “can i tell you something?”

he hummed, a form of acknowledgement.

“if there was anyone to be stuck as a dead person with, i'm glad that it’s you.”

he chuckled, then grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “likewise, my love. likewise.”

[kyunisixx]

drunk

a/n: I don't know what this is. It had been sitting for more than a week on my folder and had only finished it, sorry for any errors. So I guess here goes 655 words of drunk and giggly Jonesy.

theme(s): fluff and nothingness 🙈

pairing: John Paul Jones x fem!reader

She stared right at the empty glass of water placed on the table 

It had been a few hours since she tucked the kids to bed with kisses on their forehead. Now she sat with her chin resting against her palm, turning every now and then to the old clock hung up by the doorframe of the silent kitchen. He had left this morning with a big smile before heading to the studio with a promise he'd be home before midnight. It's already half-past two in the morning and there wasn't any sign of him and it was starting to worry her. Then there was the knock she had been waiting for.

Two taps. Gently at first. Before the knocks turned frantic with a thud.

She twisted the door open to reveal a very drunk John. “Oh my god.”

“Hi, darling.” He leaned over and took a wobbly step, both his arms posed to hug her but tripped over the elevated tile floor, sending both of them to the floor. She groaned at the impact and the weight of John's body. “Fuck. Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” she muttered. He placed both forearms beside her head and tried to lift his form off of hers and slumped on the floor like a limp vegetable. She gingerly got up and dusted her clothes, “Come on. Up, up.” With all the strength left in him, he got to his feet and wobbled. Almost meeting the floor for the second time if not for her arms wrapping around his waist to catch him. She took his arm and placed it over her shoulder.

“How'd you get home?”

“They-” a hiccup cut through. “They called me a cabbie.”

As they tread carefully on the stairs, John hiccups once then a series of giggles rumbled from him. She hissed, “John! The kids are sleeping!”

His eyes widened and placed his fingers up to his lips with a nod, “Oh. Shh. Shh.”

She kicked the door open to their shared bedroom and carefully sat him on the bed. He slid his coat off then folded it to place it on the bed with a single pat. She moved to untuck his shirt from his trousers. 

He swats her hand off, she jumps and lifts her head to look at him incredulously, “What are you doing?”

“No. What are you doing?”

“I'm taking your shirt off!”

“You can't do that,” he shakes his head slowly.

“Why not?”

“Miss, I'm married,” he says with a pointed look and shows the back of his hand at her, the silver ring glimmering in the dim light of the room. “See. Married.”

She looks away, fighting off a smile and a snort. “Well,” she tests the waters, running a hand up to his collarbone in a seductive caress. “Are you sure I can't change your mind about it?” 

He swats at hand again. “Ow!”

“Look, miss. You can bother someone else, alright?” he points his index finger at her as if to scold her. And suddenly, he sits up straighter, a whisper of curse as he slaps a hand on his face and mutters, “She's going to kill me if she sees me like this.”

Her hands find their place on her hips as he stares at her husband. She was pissed, of course she was. But she cannot help but smile. Her sweet, sweet man, prim and composed, behaving like a child with googly eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Okay, look. You can sleep here tonight and I'll call your wife.”

“Tell her not to worry and that I love her and I adore her and that she's the only apple of my eye and-”

“Yes! I get it! I get it, now let me take your shoes off and you can go to sleep.”

Minutes later, he's fast asleep with a light snore. She tucks a few strands of his hair from his face and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead before cuddling up to his side.

.

taglist: @jonesyjonesyjonesy , @princesspagey , @ritacaroline , @jimmys-zeppelin , @rebel-without-a-zeppelin , @reincarnated70sbaby , @timetraveller4 , @dreamersdrowse , @jimmylovesme (if you'd like to be added, let me know!) 💖

[mysweetgeo]

I Need You (Part 15)

Summary: Sequel Series to the Do You Want to Know a Secret ? Series. Reader accepts a job as a photographer for a band as they begin a tour mid-1966, what happens when she finds out that she knows them ?

Brian had you stand sidestage with him for the concerts during this leg of the tour, rather than with security in the pit.

Though you didn’t get to catch the moments from the front, you’d brought your camera with you and snuck a couple shots of the lads from the side, which was almost more magical in its own way.

From sidestage, you were able to catch lovely glimpses of the stupid grins that they’d made for each other, and some beautiful shots of Ringo without the other three crowding his shot.

The three at the front had seemingly noticed you at the side rather than up front. John continually made silly faces at you, Paul kept winking (a shameless flirt, he is), and George, George would wink and flash you a loving grin.

You and Brian thoroughly enjoyed the concert, and by the looks of it the boys did too, even if none of you could hear after their performance.

Immediately after George had practically tackled you in a hug, even with his guitar strapped to his chest.

“How was it?” He asked as he picked you up off your feet for a moment.

You gasped for breath when his guitar pressed into your side. Once he put you down, you tucked yourself underneath his arm, wrapping an arm around his waist, “Lovely, dear. You were wonderful,” you said with a grin as you looked up at him.

He beamed down at you, his canines flashing brightly in contrast against his flushed cheeks. He had a sheen of sweat covering practically his whole body, and he smelled something awful. Like a stinky gym sock.

But you didn’t mind one bit, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

If it was possible his grin spread wider, and he pulled you closer against his side as the two of you walked back to the dressing room backstage.

“Have I told you how absolutely radiant you look tonight?” He asked.

Your cheeks flushed and bumped your hip into his, “Stop flatterin’ me, Harrison,” you said as you ducked your head to rest on his shoulder.

The two of you continued walking together, practically moving as one being.

“Beautiful girl,” George whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You could only feel your cheeks redden as you walked, George resting his cheek on the top of your head as you did.

+

Later that night you’d helped all of the lads carry their things into their own respective rooms, and you and George found yourselves cuddling together on his bed.

He’d practically cocooned himself around you, not letting you leave for anything, even a shower.

“George, we both need a shower. You smell like you’ve been hanging around a sweat shop, and I feel just disgusting,” You said, trying to pry him off of you.

“Well,” he drawled with his face still pressed into your neck, “how about we save some water and shower together?”

Your eyes widened and you felt your body turning warm and rigid.

“T-Together?” You asked, suddenly feeling very nervous as you and George had never seen more than a glimpse of each other’s naked bodies.

George flipped you around so that you were facing him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it was just a silly suggestion,” he murmured, looking down as his fingers trailed down your arms.

He was practically on top of you, and you could feel something poking at your thigh as he slowly traced your arms.

“George,” you whispered to get his attention.

He looked up at you, looking almost like a lost puppy, “Yeah?”

“We’re not going to shower together,” you said, moving your hands up to grasp his face.

“Oh,” he replied as he avoided your eyes, sounding so disappointed, “that’s okay I didn’t think you’d want to anyway.”

Your thumb trailed along his lips, “You’re going to make love to me instead,” you said breathlessly.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, “Did you just say that?” He asked.

You nodded in affirmation, “I did,” you whispered in a sultry tone of voice.

He suddenly looked very nervous and self conscious, moving so that his lower half was resting completely against you, “I hope, uh, that I,” he continued stuttering, his face turning pink as he continued.

Your hands held his mouth shut, pulling him down to press your lips together, “It’s just us,” you whispered, “you don’t have to be nervous.”

George’s fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt as the two of you laid together, “Sorry,” he murmured, “don’t really know why I am.”

You smiled, your hands meeting his own and helping him pull your top over your head to leave you just in a nude coloured bra.

His eyes fixated on your chest and whatever was poking your thigh was now at full attention between your thighs.

“Really? Because I think something is telling me that you’re quite excited,” you joked, moving your legs slightly to give him some friction.

You heard a quiet gasp escape George’s lips as he looked up at you, “Temptress,” he murmured before pressing his face into your neck and beginning to leave a trail of kisses trailing down towards your collarbone, sucking and gently biting at your skin.

Your back arched every-so-slightly, which inadvertently pressed his clothed erection right where you desperately needed it.

You gasped loudly, beginning to paw at George’s shirt. He was wearing too many things.

He looked down at you with a cocky grin, lifting himself up and propping himself on an elbow to try and help you remove his tie and his shirt.

Eventually the two of you had successfully removed what was covering his top half, and George had successfully removed your bra, leaving the two of you pressed chest to chest, skin to skin.

George gently rocked against you, causing both of you to shutter at the friction. You had your arms around him, grasping anything you could get your hands on.

His hands held your waist gently as he eyed your, now nude, top half.

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” you joked, a hand coming up to intertwine your fingers in his hair.

He chuckled softly, “Just never thought I’d actually see them,” he whispered gently, “they’re much better than I’d ever dreamed of.”

You smiled shyly before taking one of George’s hands and slowly moving it up to caress one of your breasts.

He groaned softly, his hand gently massaging your breast before he leaned down and attached his mouth to the opposite one.

You let out a breathy gasp, arching your back in an attempt to get closer to George, who was now suckling your right breast, while his right hand squeezed and pinched the nipple of your left breast.

“George,” you moaned, bringing your arms up to lock around his neck, which caused his mouth to be pulled away from your breast and his head to pop back up, his eyes boring into yours.

His breath fanned over your face as he laid you down once again, his hands drifting lower and lower until his fingers looped into your trousers and he pulled them down, resulting in you kicking them onto the floor.

“You’ve got to get yours off too, not fair if I’m only in my knickers and you’re still half clothed,” you pointed out.

George laughed and stood for a moment, shimmying his way out of his black suit trousers and climbing back on top of you, the imagery of his prominent erection burned into your brain as he leaned down to press a kiss against your lips again, laying on top of you.

Your kisses weren’t rushed, they were slow and soft and meaningful, your mouths moved in perfect synchronisation.

George began rocking against you once again, causing himself to moan loudly into your mouth, pulling away for a quick moment.

“I think I’m not going to last long,” he whispered into your ear, his nose rubbing against your cheek, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you.”

You could only blush, your face turning up in a shy smile, “That’s okay, love,” you said against his cheek.

Just as you were about to slip your hands into George’s briefs, the door to his room was swung wide open, and the voices of Lennon and McCartney were soon heard.

“Hey George do you want to—“ John froze when he looked at the scene laid before him.

George scrambled to cover the two of you with a blanket before he started yelling at the pair of boys in his doorway, “Do you ever fucking knock, Lennon?”

Paul just stood there with wide eyes as he stood behind John, his eyes had fallen to you long before George had covered you with the blanket.

“Get yer fuckin’ eyes off her, Paul,” George snarled, his teeth baring at the intruders who stood there helplessly.

“Well are ye just going to stand there or did you have something to say?” You snapped, sitting up beside George with the blanket covering your top half as your eyes flitted between the two men.

John shoved at Paul’s back to get him to speak, “W-Wanted to know if George wanted to go to the pub down the road,” he stuttered.

“But it seems you two might be perfectly content with yourselves!” John interrupted, a mad chesire cat grin appearing on his face as he cackled.

George sighed, rubbing a hand on his face, “Get out of my room.”

“Suit yourselves! I hope you use protection!” John said, wiggling his eyebrows as he made direct eye contact with you before dragging Paul with him out of the room.

Once he heard the door slam shut, he fell back onto the bed with a sigh, “The mood’s gone,” he grumbled.

You fell back, laying your head on his shoulder, “That’s okay, we have forever, y’know?” You said, looking up and meeting George’s eyes. “Besides, I wanted our first time to be something special, with like a real proper date and some candles,” you continued, grasping George’s hand and smiling at him.

His face split in a grin, “I can do that,” he replied, his free arm wrapping around your body to pull you closer.

[ilovegeorgie]

whisper in my ear, a wish pt.2

george harrison x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none !

summary: geo feels better, but the other boys are messing around

a/n: ok so.. i rlly liked this idea

she woke up to the smell of tea, and it was not the sad hotel tea from last night, but something stronger, more proper in a way. the sound of gentle clinking, porcelain against porcelain, and a spoon stirring sugar.

she blinked, her eyes opening slowly.

the other side of the bed was empty, the sheets still warm. sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, painting golden strips across the room. she sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes.

"good morning, sleepy."

she turned to se george standing at the foot of the bed in mismatched socks, one plain black and one striped, probably borrowed from ringo. he looked tired, wrapped in a hotel robe that looked way too big on him, with his hair falling into his eyes.

his voice was still scratchy, barely there, but he’d found enough of it to talk, kind of.

he was holding a tray. two mugs, a slice of toast and a little folded napkin with something written on it.

she laughed softly, heart swelling as she sat up against the pillows. “you made breakfast?”

he gave her a sheepish nod and set the tray on her lap carefully, mouthing “surprise.”

“i should be taking care of you,” she teased, running a hand through her messy hair.

george just shook his head, a little grin pulling at the corners of his lips. then he plopped down beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder, just like yesteday, makeing it feel like it was the most natural thing in the world.

she looked down at the napkin, in his familiar loopy handwriting, it read: “still sick, still yours, forever, if you’ll keep me. (p.s. i stole paul’s socks. don’t tell.)”

she laughed, turned her head and kissed his hair.

“forever doesn't sound like that much, don't you think you can stay a little more,” she whispered.

he turned his head slightly, just enough to press a faint kiss to her collarbone, his lips were warm, and he smelled like the tea he was drinking a while ago

“maybe,” he murmured, half into her skin, half into the blanket. “but don't worry, you'll be stuck with me for a long time.”

she smiled, wrapping her arms around him, staying like that for a moment, her fingers brushing through his messy hair, his cheek resting against her shoulder, the tray of tea going slightly cold on her lap. until someone knocked on the door.

three sharp knocks on the door.

“room service!” a high voice called, not bothering to disguise its liverpool accent.

george groaned quietly and buried his face deeper into her side.

the door creaked open before she could say anything, and in tumbled paul and ringo, carrying a plate of croissants and a suspiciously large jar of strawberry jam.

“hope you two are dressed,” paul sang, dropping the jam dramatically on the desk like it was a trophy.

john followed behind, peeking over paul’s shoulder. “we brought offerings for the sickly lovers, and we also want the sock back.”

george didn’t even lift his head.

“go away,” he mumbled, muffled into her stomach now.

“aww, come on, georgie,” paul said with a grin, walking over and stealing a piece of toast from the tray like it belonged to him. “we missed you at breakfast.”

“you’re in my breakfast,” george croaked, finally lifting his head to glare at them.

“and she’s wearing my shirt, by the way,” paul added casually, pointing at the tee she’d pulled on at some point during the night. “which i think makes us even.”

she looked down and blushed. “oh i.. well it was on the floor.”

john wiggled his eyebrows. “are you sure?”

“john, please,” george coughed, clearly too weak to fight but not too weak to look completely scandalized. he tried to swat him with a pillow but missed by a mile.

“alright, alright,” ringo chuckled, tossing a spare blanket onto the bed. “we’ll leave you lovebirds alone, just wanted to check on you, and also show you the massive jam.”

which at this point, paul was already dipping a croissant in it.

george let out a long sigh and leaned his head back against her shoulder, clearly giving up.

as the boys trickled out, bickering, laughing, and leaving a little trail of crumbs, she kissed george’s temple.

“they’re not so bad,” she whispered.

“they’re awful,” george muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

she picked up the napkin again, rereading the words he’d written earlier. "still sick, still yours, forever, if you'll keep me"

now, curled up beside him with the morning sun painting lazy shapes across the room, surrounded by toast crumbs and stolen socks, forever didn’t feel that far away.

[asphalt-cocktail]

okay sin sunday !! what if reader is feeling really self-conscious and one of the beatles (or all of them 👀👀) just worship the reader’s body and tell them how gorgeous they are,,, and make them cum like 4 times 😳

Oh my god I love this idea! I’ve been thinking about writing something like this so I’m excited you suggested it. This turned out WAAAYYYY longer than I expected. But if you want me to write another one where they have a proper fuck let me know! Because I also have that idea brewing 👀👀👀

Warnings: group sex, smut, oral(f), fingering, some body shaming and confidence issues, body worship

Your ears burned with embarrassment and anger as you pushed your way onto the plane through the crowd of people.

“I can’t believe they’d let someone who looks like that work for them.” The crew of girls snickered as they talked about you, oblivious to the fact that you were in ear shot.

The burning in your ears traveled up your cheeks and spread down the back of your neck as you stood in the tiny plane bathroom and stared at yourself in the mirror. You poked and prodded at your face, your big nose, and lopsided eyes then you smushed your belly in your fingers and let out a sigh. Maybe they were right.

“Hoy, you almost done in there love?” You could hear ringo knocking from the other side and quickly composed yourself.

“Yeah I’ll be out in a minute.” You answered back shortly before you exited.

The rest of the plane ride you sat some distance away from the boys, using the excuse of paperwork and the fact that you needed to get some sleep to not arise any suspicions.

After the plane landed you holed yourself up in the hotel room.

“Don’t you want to have a drink with us?” Paul’s eyes pleaded with you. It was tradition that after you landed you all sat down for a card game and drinks before sleeping the first night in your new hotel room.

You shrugged your shoulders “nah I’m kind of beat after the last flight.” Paul looked at you with a pouty expression and the way johns eyes narrowed as he looked at you told you he didn’t buy it. But neither of them said anything

The following evening as you all rushed to enter the the hotel after a business day of interviews and photo shoots you could hear girls again talking about you, “oh my god those shoes?” and “god can you believe they let her leave with her hair like that?”hammered in your ears.

Your throat felt tight and your eyes burned, a little hiccup left your mouth and you rubbed your stinging eyes with the palm of your hand. George looked at you and squinted his eyes as you all waited for the elevator, “are you... are you crying?” He asked loudly.

You blinked hard and felt hot tears run down your cheeks “no.” You said weakly and quickly rushed I to the elevator as the doors slid open. You crossed your arms over your chest and your lips pressed into a tight frown.

“What’s wrong?” John pressed, putting an arm in your shoulder.

You shrugged it off and walked off the elevator, thankful to hear it ding and see the doors open to the floor your room was on, “I’m fine.” You hiccuped quickly walking off.

When you got to your room door, you fumbled you with your keys before you finally broke and let out a soft sob, hoping the boys were far enough away that they couldn’t hear.

“Oh, come on love, we only want to help.” Ringo said staring at you with his droopy blue eyes.

Your lip quivered and you let yourself in, the boys followed shutting the door and turning towards you. You covered your face with your hands feeling Johns firm arms embracing you in a tight hug. His broad body surrounded you, making you feel comforted and protected from the mean words that dug I to your brain.

“I feel ugly.” You choked out, crying and leaving tear stains on Johns suit jacket.

You could feel their eyes burning into your back as John tried to soothe you, rubbing your back softly. The awkward silence told you that they didn’t know how to react, “what makes you think that?” You could hear George swallow thickly after he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words with military precision.

“The girls outside always say bad things about me.” You said finally pulling away and moving to sit on the edge of your bed, John followed holding your hand in your lap. You played with his fingers, tracing them and admiring the callouses and roughness of his palms.

“What girls?” Paul asked

“She means the ones downstairs.” George answered

You sheepishly looked away from them, “I don’t know why you guys keep me around, I’m no good.” You huffed out.

Paul gaped at you, “what do you mean no good?” He scoffed.

“Well there was the time I told you the wrong time for the interviews back in New York and we showed up on the wrong day, or the time I forgot ringos cymbals at the venue, or when I tripped over your guitar stand in the studio and knocked all the papers over.” You whimpered softly and rubbed your eyes, feeling more tears forming, “you guys should really get someone prettier who is more organized.”

John squeezed your hand, “a forgotten cymbal and some messed up papers are hardly a thing to get fired over. Hell Neil didn’t strap our guitars down and they busted all down the high way and we didn’t even fire him.” His hand cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him, “and don’t ever say you aren’t pretty.” The way he stared at you told you he was deadly serious.

You swallowed thickly and placed your hand over his, “Brian wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were worth it. You know how much of a perfectionist he is.”

Ringo hummed in agreement, “I knkw it’s easier said than done, but don’t listen to those girls out there. They don’t have anything on you okay!”

Paul nodded his head, “very easy on the eyes, love” he said and gave you a quick wink.

Your face felt hot and you quickly looked away and played with the hem of your blazer, rubbing the stiff fabric between your fingers, “I don’t know, they always say my hair looks bad and that I’m ugly or my nose is too big.” You still felt bad thinking about their words.

“Well do they know that you wake up two hours before everyone else to take your hair out of your funny little curlers every morning?” John asked

Your face whipped over to him, “how do you know I do that?”

Johns face flushed and he shrugged, “I hear you rummaging about when we get those fancy villas.” He admitted. He swallowed thickly and looked at the three other men.

The silence told you that they were conversing. It was something that only they seemed to be able to do with eachother, talk with looks they only they understood.

Paul cleared his throat before the silence could get uncomfortable, “here why don’t you lay back and if you wanted we could show you. You know how much we appreciate you.”

You could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck and spreading across your cheeks, “what, what do you mean?” You asked.

John put his hand on your shoulder, “let us take care of you, yeah?” His eyes searched your face for any uncertainty.

“We can stop anytime you like.” Ringo added quickly.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head, “Okay, I can do that” you said more to reassure yourself that you weren’t going crazy.

John sat back against the plush hotel pillows and patted his legs, encouraging you to settle between them. You hesitated for a moment and looked at the three men standing in your room trying to decide if they were taking the piss. The nischevious glint in Paul’s eyes wasnt the same as when he and John were scheming, no it was something you’ve never seen before.

You crawled over and laid against John’s chest, admiring how his body was soft and firm. You let out a shaky gasp feeling his hands rubbing your arms and brushing your hair out of the way, he tipped your chin back with his forefinger and placed a timid kiss on your lips.

The kiss was nothing you’d expect from big tough John. It was soft and sweet, like he was kissing for you to enjoy and only you. You let out a soft whimper and craned your neck at an awkward angle, wanting to take in more of him. He pulled away and smiled devilishly at you seeing your flushed face and dazed eyes.

All at once you felt the bed dip around you and you suddenly remembered there were three other people in the room. You felt a wave of embarrassment begin to wash over you.

Paul nudged your legs open with his knees and you hesitantly spread them open, now overwhelminlgly aware of how your cloths had begun to stick to your skin from sweat. When did it get so hot?

You reached to unbutton your blouse but your hands were caught between George’s long slender fingers. He gave you a kind smile and worked your buttons, placing soft kisses down your chest as each button exposed more and more of your skin. Your stomach twitched and you saw George hovering over your exposed tummy “don’t” you quickly said in a panicked voice.

George nuzzled his face against your soft tummy and kissed it, “please don’t be nervous, you’re gorgeous.” You could feel his lips moving against your skin and shivered at his words.

The three men removed the remainder of your cloths with soft touches and kind glances that reminded you this was about you, not them; and soon you were bare before them.

Paul slipped to the side while Ringo took his place. Paul placed little kisses along the outside of your spread legs while Ringo’s fingers lightly raised up them, the cool metal of his rings burning against your hot flesh. You squirmed as they both got closer and closer to your core. You watched with anticipation as both boys hungrily eyed you.

To your surprise Ringo was the first to act, swiping on of his thick fingers and gathering your slick on them before he inserted one into you. You let out a weak sigh and your walls twitched when you realized that George, John, and Paul also let out soft sounds of satisfaction and watched as Ringo’s thick finger pumped in and out of you with ease.

Your mind began to swim, feeling Paul kissing and sucking on your thighs and hips before kissing the top of your mound. Your hips jolted with surprise and your squirmed feeling the tip of his tongue expertly flick against your swollen clit.

You bit your lip hard and struggled to keep quiet, while staring at the two men at your lower half. Paula tongue traced rapid shapes against your clit as Ringk inserted another finger, “Jesus Christ,” you hissed out loudly, your back arching against John and your shoulders pressing into him.

John hummed and nuzzled your neck, kissing snd sucking on the sensitive skin, “love those pretty little sounds you make.” He whispered heavily in your ear. You shivered and tried to maintain your composure, but all sensibility was lost upon feeling George’s rough hands kneading your breasts and peppering your collarbone and chest with wet kisses.

Your mind began to swim with overstimulation, George’s hot mouth sucking and swirling your nipples against his tongue while Johns hand eagerly took to pinching and twisting the neglected ones while he whispered things that would make even the most foul mouthed sailors blush. Paul’s talented tongue flicking and lapping at your clit while ringos thick fingers pumped in and out of your soft wet walls.

George trailed kisses up your neck and jaw before placing an opened mouthed kiss on you, it made your toes curl feeling his tongue rubbing against yours while John kissed your neck. You brought your hand up to rub George through his tailored suit pants. He broke the kiss and lightly pulled your hand away, “this is about you” he said softly. He was so close you could feel his lips lightly brushing against yours as he spoke snd feel his hot breath on your face. “You look gorgeous like this, you knkw that right” he asked after placing a quick succession of lingering kisses in your lips, “taking us so well, suck a good girl, bloody brilliant”

Your face scrunched up and your walls twitched around ringos fingers. You were close. Heat began to build in your belly and your thighs flexed, “I-”you could hardly recognize your voice as you struggled to find your words.

“You gonna come for us?” Ringo asked, the pace of his fingers speeding up.

You let out a breathy whine and bucked your hips. Your hands traveled from George, to John, to Paul, unsure of where to ground yourself. Finally you settled with one hand in Paul’s hair, pushing his face closer to you while the other hand gripped John’s hand tightly. Paul’s lips lewly smacked as he sucked your clit and he let out a satisfied him, “Oh fuck” you huffed out.

Your breathy mains climbed in pitch and your back arched until suddenly your mind went blank and your skin felt like TV static. Your walls clenched around Ringos fingers as he and Paul worked you through your orgasm. Your mind felt fogged over like the morning after too much drink and your thighs felt sticky from your mess.

John, or was it George? Someone kissed your temple and you let out a content sigh, much too exhausted in that moment to open your eyes and check.

“I think you’ve killed her,” John said, cheeky as ever.

You hummed and arched your brow as it to say “I’m still here” and lazily opened your eyes.

The first face you saw was Paul, his pouty lips red and wide eyes hanging heavy as he placed an opened mouthed kiss on your lips. Paul’s were almost analytical, You could taste yourself on his mouth and moaned into the kiss. He eagerly swallowed up your sounds before pulling away and kissing the tip of your nose. A gesture so innocent in comparison to your prior actions.

You hadn’t noticed ringo left the room until he returned to the room with a warm washcloth. As attentive as ever, he cleaned your mess from your thighs. As he finished you grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, the way he kissed was wildly different from John, Paul, and George. The way John kissed you was tender, he kissed you for your pleasure while George’s were fiery and passionate. Paul was analytical, like he was always trying to get one step ahead of you as though it were a competition. But ringo he was soft, his mouth moved against yours with care, for a moment you forgot the rest of the boys were in the room. He smiled for a moment and pulled away.

Once your light and airy high passed you sat up from John’s chest. John looked at you “i don’t to ever hear you say bad things about yourself again.” He said like a mother scolding a child. His serious facade passed and a ghost of a smile played on his lips “if you do we might have to do this again.”

You smiled and let out a small laugh, “i don’t know if I’ve gotten the point across maybe I could use another reminder later.”

George grinned, “we’ll have to check with our fab assistant to see if it fits into our schedules.”

[cinnamontoastandtears]

random fic time

so, i got a request for a mcharrison teddy boy era first kiss, and putting aside how long it took me to write it, i also messed it up a little by turning it into a bit of an angst fest and making it way too plotty (must be riding my high from the other george/paul fic lmao) but i wanted to give this to y’all anyway so: here you go !!

(to the anon that requested the first kiss in the first place, dw, i’m going to write you another)

warning: drunkenness and a brief description of nausea

George stumbled up the steps with big thunks, feet heavy from the whiskey in his system, whiskey in his system because he’d been drinking alone.

Paul had been too busy with John to go out with him. Perfect John, with his perfect fucking hair, and his not-so-perfect guitar playing that even Paul, ever the perfectionist, seemed to love.

So George drank alone. And now he was coming back to the hotel alone, arms empty and mind clouded so he didn’t have to think about who he wished was in them. The view of their floor greeted him before he was ready to meet it and a groan left his lips.

He composed himself against the peeling wallpaper for a few minutes before steeling himself and trudging into the room he shared with Paul.

He found the slightly older man alone, surprisingly, strumming away on his guitar, fingers flashing and angry and not caring that they were making discordant sounds.

“Where’s John?” he muttered, letting the door slam behind him.

“With Stu,” Paul bit out, strumming hard again.

Oh. Right.

George had forgotten he wasn’t the only one that could be jealous. (Or something like that, it wasn’t that he was so jealous anyway, but-)

“Hmm,” George said, flopping down onto his bed. His stomach hated him for that, churning and sending a brief taste of bile to the back of his throat. “Guess you an’ I are one in the same then, eh?”

Paul stopped playing. George replayed his last words back over in his head, taking a minute to let it dawn on him. He shouldn’t have said that.

There came the sound of Paul moving his guitar to the side of the bed, and then more shuffling George’s deaf-from-a-crowded-bar ears couldn’t interpret. So late an hour, so complicated of feelings. His head felt like a brick.

Paul must have stood up in the lengthy amount of time it took George to figure all those sounds out (the shucking of a jacket and belt and shoes), for he was then standing over George’s bed, looking threatening as a shadow in the dark room.

“What do you mean?”

“What?”

“What did you mean, ���we’re one in the same’?”

George knew. He knew what Paul meant, the question he was asking without even fuckin asking it, bitter with only half-wisdom on his side. (Paul was wise enough to figure himself out, not quite enough for other people. Though, of course, he was still a teenager, so there may have been lack of maturity involved as well.)

“Jus’…” George started, heaving his upper half from where it had finally rested comfortably on the lumpy mattress. “Jus’…”

He’d never been good at putting his feelings right. Never been good at explanations or confrontation or any of the shit you were supposed to be able to say to someone when you felt violated or when you wanted something. So maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the sheer-fucking-unfairness, but something deep inside made George gather all his feelings and spit them out of his mouth.

“You’re not the only one who gets to act jealous an’- an’ be a prick to everyone because of it. You do it too! Don’t be sittin’ there all stupid an’ angry and envious when you’re just as bad as John leavin’ with Stu to do god-knows-what. That’s not fuckin’ fair.”

George got the impression he sounded whiny, so he closed his mouth, not wanting to give Paul any reason to call him a child or immature or anything so harsh. (Barely nine months. Barely nine months and he felt entitled to treat him like that.)

“What…?” Paul’s face wasn’t clear to George even though he’d shifted and his feet were in between Paul’s feet and he was looking up at his face. This didn’t mean that he didn’t know the exact expression that was etched there.

Ticked brow, slanted mouth, bottom lip pulled slightly in. George had studied this face at length. He knew how it looked when confused.

“I’m here, fuckin’ off by myself while you’re out with John, givin’ each other a hand or some utter bullshite like that, leavin’ me alone. An’ that’s why it’s not fuckin’ fair for me to come home an’ you to be awake an’ upset an’ goin’ ‘what?’ like you don’t fuckin’ know exactly what.”

If George was the type of person who cried, he’d be in tears by now, he’d be ugly-crying and sniveling and shit and Paul probably would’ve backed away instead of doing what he did instead, which was to sink down next to George on the bed and sigh.

“I…” he started, then stopped. It almost made sense. Such an eloquent person, yet when the quiet one spoke up, all his words lost. “How do you feel about me then?” he asked instead, turning the burden of talking back to George.

The room was still dark, his head was still fogged, Paul’s shoulder brushed his and he shuddered. That should’ve said it all, really.

“What do you mean?” he asked, unintentionally mirroring Paul’s question from earlier.

“You’re jealous of me-“

“I’m jealous of John.”

“Oh. Well… right, well, jealous of him then.” Paul paused again like he was going to say something else. “For…?”

“For replacin’ me.”

“Oh.”

“Continue,” George offered, motioning with his hand.

“You’re jealous of John… for replacin’ you… an’ you’re angry at me for bein’—“ George wondered if he’d admit it, “—jealous of Stuart.” If George was a bit more sober he’d be impressed. “So I just wanna know what you think of me. Are you angry or do you wish that you were in John’s place, gettin’ to be with me like…”

George’s brain alerted him to a tone that hadn’t been in Paul’s voice before. Something almost flirtatious, walking a dangerous line between something he wanted and something he wasn’t sure he wanted. He’d always just wanted to be close to Paul. Who wouldn’t want that? But this close, what the way his hands reaching down into the gap between his and Paul’s thighs implied, this close he’d never thought of before. (And so what if that was a lie, it wasn’t like everyone was telling the truth tonight.)

“George?” Paul asked, letting George lace their fingers together.

“This is what I think of you,” he said, instead of answering the not-really-question, and put his other hand on Paul’s cheek.

“What—?”

“You known exactly what.” And George kissed him.

He hadn’t had many kisses in his life time, exactly, but enough to know when a kiss was good. Kissing Paul was good. Not right, something this taboo couldn’t possibly be right, but good nonetheless, heavenly somehow, Paul’s favorite—perfect.

Paul’s lips were soft and small and wet, and George couldn’t believe he was kissing them, that their lips were the ones meeting and not Paul and John’s like they always threatened to. Then Paul pulled away just a second to breathe, gasping and moaning just the tiniest bit, which sent George’s mind away, leaving him unprepared for when Paul dove in again.

George pushed him down into the mattress and Paul let him and Paul was letting him, and he was kissing back and…

They pulled away eventually and George rolled off of Paul’s chest, not wanting to crush him with his… well he didn’t weigh much so it might have been fine, but even still.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he managed to say, voice the tiniest bit wrecked from kissing for so long.

“I… me too… how I feel about you too,” Paul said, sounding like he was in a dream, somewhere far away.

This confused George. He’d only just figured out he felt for Paul this way, and didn’t he… didn’t John and Paul…

“What about John?”

“What about him?” Paul asked.

“Don’t you… how do you feel about him?”

George felt Paul turn toward him, so he turned too, and they were facing with each other and this was confrontation, a thing George wasn’t good at.

“I don’t… me an’ John are friends, Georgie. That’s it.”

“But you… but why…” There were several things that didn’t make sense about this. If Paul really liked him, wanted to kiss him and be with him, why did he spend all his time with John? Why did he ignore George, why was he only even here in their room because John was with Stuart?

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s still not fair,” George whispered, pretending that tears weren’t pricking his eyes. (And maybe he was the kind of person who cried.) “You can’t be tellin’ me you feel this way about me an’ then ignore me an’ be mopey when John’s gone. You can’t do that, Paul. What is that kinda shit?”

“I…” Paul started, then stopped again, losing his eloquence all over. “I don’ know…”

That wasn’t good enough. George said so and Paul’s eyebrows turned into each other and George wondered how he could save this friendship.

He didn’t have any time to think about that though because Paul kissed him again, and he wanted this, and this was what he wanted… wasn’t it?

“Paul…” George pulled away from the kiss. (How could something that felt so good be so bad and wrong and-)

“George, I don’ know how to explain myself. Maybe I was jus’ so scared that you were gonna reject me that I spent all my time with John to avoid that. But I promise, really, I promise, Geo, I don’ feel this way about John.”

The thing was, George wasn’t sure if he believed him. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to. But… Paul looked at him again, and the room was dark, and his eyes were shining, and they were alone.

So if they kissed a few more times or fell asleep in the same bed together, that would be enough right now. (And if John and Stuart came back the next morning, John’s collarbone littered with suspicious marks… Well, Paul wore them too, and George could lose a bit of the green in his eyes.)