#and then I realized it comes up a lot with all the beatles

[good-to-drive]

There's something very monkey's paw about Paul trying to provoke John into some kind of mild, deniable reaction just to get a little attention and instead getting the harshest diss track he's ever heard with like half their mutual friends tacitly endorsing it, and also in John playing Paul's action-reaction game like he's in it to win it and ending up looking like some petty instigator Paul had rightfully washed his hands of. With very few tweaks that story could be on the alfred hitchock hour and I would probably think it was incredible.

[shouyuus]

vague continuation of this; sfw; angsty; apt neighbor!vi au

apartment neighbor!vi who comes home with bloody knuckles and a split lip, bruises the color of overripe plums blossoming along her cheek. you catch her in the elevator, once, running downstairs to grab a taco bell delivery at 2am, and she's just coming home. at first, you almost don't recognize her, with her hood pulled up, her shoulders scrunched up towards her ears, her body a live-wire tangle of tensed muscles and clenching fists.

apartment neighbor!vi who, when you ask her what's wrong, does everything she can to avoid the question, dodging and making up excuses, looking anywhere but at your eyes --

"just got into it with some dude at the bar -- you know how it gets rowdy sometimes."

you stare at her, a frown digging into the space between your brows.

"violet, you can look at me?"

it takes her a beat too long to comply, her fingers stretching open before curling back into her palms as she forces her face towards you, her expression stony as a tomb.

"i'm looking."

you let your eyes flicker between both of hers, and a few seconds later, you throw your hands up in a classic sign of surrender, shaking your head.

"alright, alright -- i won't ask --"

you hear her let out an audible exhale; you glance up to catch her mourning dove eyes watching you from beneath her thick, night-lanced lashes.

"i was thinking of trying to make hainanese chicken and rice this weekend."

vi grins, her shoulders relaxing, her posture loosening like a picked-out knot, "sure -- i'm free on saturday. what do you need?"

apartment neighbor!vi who is not slick, no matter how hard she tries to pretend. and the first time you come knocking at their door on a sunday afternoon, powder answers with a power drill in one hand, a capri-sun in the other.

"oh. its you," she falls a few steps back, waving her power drill haphazardly through the air, "c'mon in! make yourself at home! vi's not here -- if you're wondering. she's..." powder scoffs, an utterly disbelieving, derisive sound, "out."

you pause by the kitchen counter, staring at the pile of dishes in the sink for a second before your gaze swings back to powder, now bending over a strange contraption laid out in a million pieces on the living room floor.

"what do you mean, she's out?"

powder makes a noncommittal sort of grunting noise as she leans in to fit a screw to the tip of the drill, squinting as she presses it to what looks like a slab of broken-off drywall --

"i mean she's out -- doing whatever the hell she's doing... thinkin' she can just lie to us -- ugh, as if --" her voice trails off into a mutter, as if she's talking to herself, and a second later, all sound is drowned out by the drone of the power drill screeching as powder sets to work again.

you stare for a solid three seconds before sighing and turning back to the dishes in the sink. it takes about fifteen minutes before powder turns back around to realize that you're still here --

"what... are you doing?" she asks. you jump, jerking forward at the sound of her voice right next to your ear.

"oh shit! sorry -- uh -- i, i thought i'd help do these while vi's out -- it looks like they've been stacking up for a while," you offer, somewhat weakly as powder squints at you, leaning forward with apparently zero compunction for invading your personal space.

"huh. you're... a weird one -- has anyone ever told you that?" powder asks, falling back onto her heels, giving you a hard once-over. you lick your lips, feeling an unfamiliar heat creeping up the length of your spine.

"i -- i mean, vi helped me a lot when i was moving in so..." you lean a hip against the kitchen counter, a half-washed mug still held aloft in your right hand.

"right... and that's why you're..." powder's smile hooks, her eyes flashing bright as beatle-wings , "helping us with our dishes?" she jerks her chin towards the soapy mug.

you flush, turning back to rinse off the mug and set it on the rack to dry.

"it'll be one less thing for you guys to worry about."

apartment neighbor!vi who refuses to see you for days at a time, even though you text to ask her if she's alright (she leaves you on read). then, miraculously, she'll show up at your door on a tuesday night with an apologetic grin dominos (and all your favorite toppings), asking if you had any plans (she knows full well you don't -- you two have a standing movie-date on tuesday nights, though neither of you have had the balls to call it a date).

apartment neighbor!vi who makes up the dumbest excuses -- i was outta town, i got the flu, i was visiting my long lost... uh... cousin in... nebraska.

"nebraska?" you pause over a bite of pizza, eyes flicking up to catch vi watching you. the moment your gazes meet, she looks away, clearing her throat and reaching out for another slice, folding in half before shoving nearly the whole thing in her mouth.

"yeah -- my uh -- my dad's brother's... kid..."

"uh huh," you say, nodding around another skeptical bite, picking off a piece of pineapple to pop into your mouth.

vi sighs, "just... it's complicated, okay?"

you purse your lips, licking at the pizza grease, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, vi -- i just wanna know that you're... safe."

she chuckles, a ragged, mirthless sound, "thanks for worrying about me, sugar -- but i'll be okay."

you swallow passed your last mouthful of pizza, reaching for a napkin. you do not try to point out that okay and safe are two completely different things.

apartment neighbor!vi who goes to the gym an inordinate amount -- whenever you text her, it seems like she's at the gym. and whenever you pass by the large glass doors on the 5th floor, she's almost always there, going at one of the punching bags or doing some insane lift or other.

"are you a fitness influencer or something?" you ask one day as vi lounges on your couch (you know, the one she helped you build), watching as you pipe icing onto the tops of a dozen cupcakes (it's become something of a thing for her to come over on the weekends -- at least the one's she doesn't disappear -- and watch you "stress-bake"; and if the things you're stress-baking just so happen to be all of vi's favorites... well, that's neither here nor there).

"huh?"

you glance over your shoulder, your hands paused over the large plastic bag of cream-colored icing.

"you're always at the gym, so i thought you might be --" you shrug, "i dunno -- training for something or like a fitness influencer or something." you go back to your piping.

"oh!" vi's voice pitches unnaturally high before she clears her throat and settles back on to the couch, a scowl slotted between her brows, her eyes fixed on her phone screen even though her finger hasn't moved in a solid half minute, "nah -- i just -- it just helps me clear my head, y'know. gotta... train the body before you train the mind."

you nod, keeping your eyes fixed on the cupcakes as you flourish through the final bit of icing, reaching out with a finger to snag an extra bit from the tip, turning only to find vi hovering behind you, a strange, halfway-light caught behind her eyes.

wordlessly, you offer her your finger. and without ever breaking eye-contact, she leans down to lick the frosting from you. her tongue swirls around the pad of your finger and you feel a gasp stitch up the front of your chest.

"g-good?" you ask, cursing silently at your inability to keep the stutter from your voice.

vi licks her lips, the flash of her tongue across her lips shouldn't look so stomach-churningly delicious. and yet --

she gives her head a single, abortive nod.

"yeah... really good..." her voice comes out a whisper, barely more than a caught breath in the air between you. it hangs, pendulous as a pearl on a gossamer gold string, until --

"y-you should take some back for powder -- i know she likes sweets almost as much as you do, and some for --" you swallow, falling back half a step, your hip bumping into the kitchen counter; you wince, and vi's arm shoots forward, but she pauses just short of touching you, her palms hovering over your arm for a brief second before she tucks it into her hoodie pocket and forces a grin.

"yeah! for sure -- she'll -- she'll appreciate it, and -- i'll grab some for uh -- vander and --" she waves a hand; you nod, gulping down air as you turn and scramble to grab a box for her, busying your hands so you don't give into the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her skin beneath your fingertips.

"yeah, great!" you chirrup, your voice saturated with false cheeriness.

the moment unfurls in slow motion, her reaching out to try and help you grab the tupperware box on the highest shelf, you dropping back down and turning around to tell her it's alright --

your chests press, your noses are so close they might as well be touching. you can taste the sweet of her breath against your tongue -- frosted vanilla sugar.

apartment neighbor!vi who kisses like she's trying to swallow you whole, who presses you back into the hard marble of your kitchen counter with a hand on your hip, the other skating up the length of your spine to cup at the back of your head, cradling you closer. who moans low and long and desperate when you finally gasp open for her and she gets that first, mind-rending taste of your mouth against hers.

she kisses you like she want's to break you. she kisses you like she wishes you'd break her too.

her lips are trembling when you pull back for a heady breath, a soft laugh puffing out of you at the sheer incredulousness of the entire situation -- weeks of held-breaths and averted eyes, jumping pulses and late-night movie dates, of knees pressing, the back of your hand skimming along the back of hers.

of uncertainty. of this celestial dance, you and her, like twin stars in orbit, to a song old as the universe itself.

but there's a hardness crystalizing at the edge of her voice as she swallows, her throat bobbing around a hissed our breath --

"shit --" she pulls back, and you have half a mind to chase her. she tastes like cupcake frosting and a life's worth of words unsaid.

she runs a hand through her hair, her eyes fractured in the mid-afternoon light.

"vi?" you ask, and your voice seems to jolt her out of her strange reverie. but as her gaze focuses back on you, an crumpled expression flashes across her face as her hand flies up to rub over her mouth, as if she can still feel the phantom heat of your lips on hers.

she shakes her head, taking another step back. you feel something inside you shatter as she turns and heads for the door, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides.

"vi -- wait --!" you call after her, stumbling after her, but she turns to slate you a glance that rhymes so much with heartbreak it stops you in your tracks and roots you to the ground.

she lets out a shuddering breath, her voice unsteady as she says --

"i'm -- i'm sorry but -- i -- i can't do this --"

and then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her, the batch of freshly frosted cupcakes sitting on the kitchen counter, the cupboard with one door open, as if waiting for something other to happen but this.

you blink, stunned at the sudden silence that permeates the air of your living room. you stare at the place where vi had been just a few ago before slumping back against the counter with a dull thunk and pressing a hand to your own mouth.

you can still taste the remnants of sugar on her tongue as she'd licked into your mouth. and for long moment, all you can muster into the accusatory quiet is --

"what the fuck was that?"

[withwritersblock]

Oh! Darling pt. 5

~Oh! Darling by The Beatles~

Author's Note: somewhat requested lol! I was rewatching the Faceoff series and reminded myself that someone asked for something like this so here you go! Anyways, hopefully more for this series coming up. Summary: Quinn's Faceoff episode Warnings: Canucks losing against Edmonton lol Word Count: 1,630 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

Masterlist

It completely slipped his mind that he had agreed to film for the Face Off series until he started seeing the advertisements for it everywhere. Now, himself and his girlfriend were sitting together and watching it together. Ellie was in his lap, drinking a bottle. 

They already watched the first few episodes of the series and he was shocked on how it actually ended up looking. The series was actually entertaining. But now it was his episodes and he was terrified. He agreed to do it because they begged him to do it. His story was special because he was a young captain and a new dad.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked as she stood up from the couch, jogging towards the kitchen. He glanced down towards the little girl in his arms before he looked back towards Y/N. 

“Water’s fine, love,” he muttered as he looked into his daughter’s sleepy eyes as she continued to finish the bottle. “I’m pressing play,” he let out as he reached toward the remote. 

“Wait!” she called out as she took a hold of a soda and a water bottle. He chuckled as he pressed play anyway. “Hey!” she let out while laughing as she jogged towards the couch. Cautiously, she placed the bottle of water beside him and she kept her soda in her hand. He chuckled as he pulled the bottle from Ellie’s mouth. He brought her up and began to delicately pat her back. 

Instantly, once he saw himself on the screen, his face scrunched up. “Oh god,” he muttered.

Y/N grinned widely as she saw him on the screen, “Oh stop, look how cute you are,” she said as she inched towards him. Delicately, she tapped her hand against the top of his thigh. 

On the screen, he started cooking and talking about his journey of being captain. “Probably read 20 to 25 books this year because I felt at the start of the year that with becoming captain, it was a lot for me-” he explained on the screen. Y/N lips fell into a pout. 

Saying that it was a lot for him was an understandment. He was overwhelmed from the moment he was given the C. He came home that morning after the conversation with Rick and told her that he was becoming captain. At first, it was exciting and he was confident that he could do a good job. But as the preseason went on, he was shy and nervous. But as he explained in the episode, he started to grow into it. 

“What was it like having this new role on the team and this new role in life?” the interviewer asked. Quinn tossed his head back and laughed. 

“Definitely been a hard year but I wouldn’t change a single thing about it,” he explained before running his fingers through his hair. “It was really difficult because it was hard being away from my girlfriend; because obviously pregnancy is really hard but she was great,” he explained.

The screen started showing clips of Quinn and newborn Ellie. Y/N was sitting on the couch beside Ellen as quinn was holding Ellie against his chest. She was only a few weeks old when the camera crew was there. 

“Your daughter was born a month before the playoffs, what was that like?” the interviewer continued. 

Quinn smiled softly on the screen, his eyes lighting up in the process. “When we found out about Ellie, we realized pretty quickly that the timing wasn’t great. But our families were in town for the first few weeks. So while I was away on a roadie our families were here and supporting Y/N,” he took in a deep breath. 

“You would’ve had no idea Quinn was a new dad. He was still Quinn Hughes and he was still a huge presence on and off the ice,” Rick said on the screen, a chuckle falling from his lips. “He wanted to talk about his daughter all of the time but you could tell that if he did, it would break his heart a little bit,” he explained.

Quinn clenched his jaw as he shifted his gaze down towards his daughter. Y/N pouted her lips as she reached her hand over and ran her fingers through his hair.

“But that’s why we chose him as captain. He can seperate his personal life from being on the ice. He doesn’t let it effect what he does and that’s what you need from a captain. But you know that even if he didn’t let it effect him, he was constantly thinking about his girls,” Rick continued. 

Quinn smiled softly as he continued running his hand across Ellie’s back. “Can we move on to Trouba or something,” Quinn mumbled as he looked towards Y/N.

The screen continued to show a smiley Quinn in the locker room and then back to him in his apartment with Y/N and Ellie. It stayed on that moment for a few seconds before it shifted to Trouba in New York. 

“Let me see her,” Y/N muttered. Quinn nodded as he lifted Ellie from his chest and cautiously handed her over to Y/N. Quinn shifted his body to the side as he scanned Y/N’s features. “Did you know Rick said those things?” she asked, meeting his eye.

Pursing his lips forward, he shook his head slightly. He leaned towards her, delicately kissing her. “Didn’t really talk about it,” he said with a shrug. She nodded as Ellie’s eyes were starting to get heavy in her arms. 

“Pause it, I’m gonna put her down for her nap,” she said while standing up. He nodded as he reached beside him for the remote. He paused it as he watched her walk down the hall with Ellie in her arms. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket to see a text from Jack asking if he watched the episode yet. He replied that he was working on it. 

Ellie was always a fast sleeper so it only took a handful of minutes for her to fall asleep. Y/N returned to the living room, a grin on her lips. “Okay, press play,” she said as she sat down on the couch beside Quinn. He reached over and delicately rested his hand onto her furthest thigh. He ran his thumb across her thigh, she could barely feel it through the sweatpants fabric.

He pressed play and Trouba’s section started, showing off othe game that got them the President’s Trophy. Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder as they continued to relive the end of the season together. After a few more minutes of Jacob and Gabe’s segments it returned to Quinn.

Quinn was in Nashville with his parents for the first two games of the playoffs. 

“What was it like when Quinn told you guys he was having a baby?” one of the producers asked them as they were sitting in a coffee shop. Quinn smiled as he looked towards his mom. Her eyes lit up and so did his dad. 

“They called us on Facetime and Quinn just blurted it out like he was in trouble or something,” she said while laughing. Y/N looked towards Quinn and he shook his head while laughing.

“Telling news like that over the phone, kinda felt like I was,” Quinn joked out before they cut away to a clip of the Canucks and Predators series. 

After several more minutes, it cut towards the series against Edmonton. The high paced play and the comeback they tried to make in game seven. Quinn took in a sudden breath as he watched the plays and heard himself talk on the ice. He always dissociates during the game to the point he never really remembers what he says or how the plays develop. 

It panned toward the audience with Ellen, Jack, and Y/N watching the game. Her WAG jacket covering her frame, that she helped design. Jack’s arm was in a sling but he was leaning forward watching the game intensely. Ellen was emotionless as she shook her head slightly.

It showed the ending of the match, the celebrations by the Oilers and the sadness of the Canucks. Despite everything, Quinn still led the team in a salute to the crowd. She ran her hand across his upper back. 

“It obviously didn’t end like how we wanted it to but it was good experience for many of us. This is the first playoff run for a lot of us, so now we have a lot of things to use a stepping stones,” he explained in the interview. 

“Anything you would change?” the interviewer asked, nearly cringing at the question once she read it from the card.

“To win-” he said jokingly, “No, I mean-it’s been a tough year. Obviously, I am glad that I get to be home with my daughter for the next few months and not having to have the game on my mind for a few months. It would’ve been awesome to keep going, keep playing but uhm-I guess a good constellation prize was getting time with my girlfriend and our daughter,” he explained, smiling softly as he looked into the camera for the last time in the episode. 

Y/N lips fell into a pout as she lifted her head to look towards Quinn. “I’m such a sap,” he let out. She chuckled as she leaned towards him, kissing his cheek delicately.

“That was really cute,” she whispered as he tilted his head to the side to meet her gaze. “Such a good captain,” she dragged her thumb across his jawline.

“Shush, you,” he whispered before he leaned towards her, kissing her softly.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

I love how you characterize Aaron Hotchner! Would you please write something for him along with the quote ‘keep your eyes open, sweetheart’? Completely up to you, but was definitely thinking about some heavy angst 🙃🙃

"look at me" - hotch x gn!bau!reader - 985 words

cw: injuries and depictions of violence, general angst, anxiety, hotch literally just being a hero as per freakin usual

why hello my love! thank you sm for this request <3

i don't write a lot of angst, it's certainly something i need practice with! but i really enjoyed writing this and i smooch ur lil forehead

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

People always say that in a near-death experience, your whole life flashes before your eyes. 

Not yours. 

You didn’t see your whole life, no. You saw bits and pieces - learning to ride a bike, walking at your high school graduation, pinning your FBI badge to your blazer. And then you just saw Aaron. 

The first time you met, shaking hands as a brazen formality in the middle of a case, feeling his deep, brown eyes scrutinize your every move, watching him watch you. He was testing you back then, seeing if you’d be a good fit for the team.

The first real conversation you shared with him - The Beatles, which song was his favorite? Laughing at him when he said Yellow Submarine. 

When he held your hand for the first and only time on a particularly rough case, about four months ago, and promised you that things would get better. 

When you comforted him for the first time, about three months ago, after Haley left him. You promised him that everything happens for a reason. 

Five minutes ago, when you told him you felt certain the unsubs were going to strike again. You felt it in the pits of your stomach, you told Aaron. And he just nodded and said he trusted your intuition. Then he held the door open for you, and led you out of the police station, into the dead-quiet night of the street.  

He clicked the key fob in his hand, and the SUV burst into red-hot flames and sent you both flying. You were immediately knocked unconscious, your body thrust out into the street flippantly, like someone had simply thrown a baseball. 

You come to on the concrete, your head pounding. All sound is muffled, but you see Aaron on his knees, hovering over you. His face is covered in dirt and soot and blood, and he keeps cupping his hand over his ear. 

“ - hear me?” Sound is restored in the middle of Aaron’s question. It’s abrupt, like someone changing the channel on the TV, but you can hear again. You feel dizzy and disoriented as you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Stay down,” Aaron instructs, guiding you gently to lay flat on your back once again. Your entire body is throbbing. 

“Aaron,” you feel a panicked, whispered sob escape you. He grabs your hand and you feel him squeeze it. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. You feel dizzy, like you might pass out again and Aaron’s grip tightens around your hand. “It hurts.” 

“Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart. Please?” The endearment rolls off of Aaron’s tongue like he’s said it a million times before. He hasn’t. Your relationship with him has been professional-ish up until this point. You’re not sure how he feels about you, exactly, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. 

 He doesn’t even acknowledge that he said it. “What hurts?” Aaron’s speaking loudly, like someone who has headphones in. His hand is still pressed against his ear. 

“All of it,” you murmur. “Everything.” 

You feel tears in your eyes. Your stomach is in knots and you feel like someone is sitting on your chest. You blink a few times, feeling the tears drip down your face and onto your lips, salty and full of dread. 

Aaron’s checking you over, you realize, lifting your head gently and quickly to make sure you’re not bleeding. He’s talking to you, telling you what he’s doing so you don’t panic even more. He uses feather-light touches to lift your arm, and pain shocks you, coursing through your wrist. “Shh, hey, I’m sorry,” he says, laying your arm by your side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Your wrist is broken.” 

You blink a few tears away. 

“I’m going to pick you up, Y/N,” he tells you. He never calls you by your first name, but you’re in so much pain that you can’t even be jarred by it. “Can you move your other arm?” 

It feels laden, but you can. You nod and whimper in confirmation. 

“Can you hook it around my neck?” He asks as he slides his hands under you. The crooks of your knees and your back are cradled by Aaron’s arms and you wrap your arm around his neck. Once he determines you’re stable in his arms, he lifts you up. You hear sirens blaring as they get closer, and you see Aaron grimace. You feel his body tense up, his fingers curl around the fabric of your shirt. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him in an unfiltered mumble, sniffling as he carries you towards the nearest ambulance. 

“It’s just my ear. I’m fine, Y/N. I’ll be fine,” he promises, but you feel how labored his gait is. It’s taking everything in him to carry you to the ambulance. You want to tell him to stop, to remind him that the paramedics can bring the gurney to you. But you’re so tired, so dizzy. You think maybe if you just rest your eyes a little bit, you might feel better. Your head tilts to rest in the crook of Aaron’s neck. Your eyes flutter shut. 

“Y/N, you might have a concussion. You have to stay awake, okay?” Aaron’s voice draws you back. Your eyes are shaky when they open, and you see him looking at you with weighted concern as he sets you onto the gurney. 

The paramedics load you shakily up into the ambulance, and you reach your uninjured arm out. “You’re going to the hospital with me, right?” You ask. 

Aaron nods, climbing in after the paramedics and sitting beside you. His eyes are piercing and full of consternation as he takes your uninjured hand in both of his. He runs his fingertips over your knuckles, nodding assuredly, though you are certain he is feeling exactly the opposite.  “Yeah. Of course. I’m not going to leave you.”

[bambi-kinos]

What’s up with paul obsession with sex?? Im seeing many posts about paul being asked different things and he doing a 180• and answering about sex?

Some people are just naturally more horny than others. Paul is just kind of like that and always would be no matter where his life went.

Paul was initiated into a world of no-limits sex when he was 18 years old and he was made a man through the introduction to truly wild sexual expression in Hamburg. He was introduced to sexual ideas and scenes that he never imagined existed and would probably shock even us internet people.

Once he knew that kind of horny could be on tap, there's no way he was going back to an ordinary life of a wife who put out once every 2 weeks. He is telling the truth when he said he wanted to be a rockstar so he could have sex with a lot of girls. The Hamburg residency was not just musical, it was also sexual and Paul put a lot of effort into studying music and sex. And yes if you want to be good at it then you have to make it a discipline and a study and you have to practice. A lot of Paul's sexual interests were first practiced on brothel girls who were up for anything and he clearly learned a lot.

His best mate was John Lennon, a guy notoriously against restrictions. John encouraged Paul's sexual expression as he did for thousands if not millions of women all over the globe. There are lots of people with stories about spending the night with John and coming out as different people on the other side.

Paul is terrified of being alone but not willing to commit to true intimacy. Sex is an easy way to have someone's physical company for a few hours but he can jettison a sex worker the moment she becomes too much trouble. Some people have emotional support dogs, Paul has emotional support hookers.

Paul demands artificial closeness where he is benefitting materially from his time and mental investment but he still controls the field and sets the terms. This defines most if not all of the non-Beatle relationships in his life. See: Nancy Shevell, Jane Asher, Robert Fraser, Jane Asher's mother. All of these relationships while supposedly "deep" and "close" all end up mirroring Paul's patronage of prostitutes. They are for his emotional and/or material benefit and he will end them the moment they become inconvenient no matter how personally fond of them he may be. See: Heather Mills, Jane Asher's family when she broke up with him.

Sex is an emotional and material benefit for Paul that doesn't require a lot of work or investing from him because he has something they want. For sex workers this is his money and his company; for regular people it's his money and his company and the illusion that they have a special relationship with him. Paul even gets an additional bit of chuff from selling this illusion and he enjoys their emotional back and forth while knowing he has the power to end it at any moment. Very reassuring for a lonely control freak. All of it is a form of prostitution.

Coping with his own PTSD from Beatlemania and a traumatic upbringing. Paul, like the other Beatles, was sexually assaulted, chased, yanked, punched, spat on, forcibly kissed, and stalked by deranged fans. This is on top of his childhood with abusive parents that couldn't decide what they actually wanted to teach their kids.

Frankly I think that Paul's sex obsession is a response to the parentification he experienced when Mary died and responsibility for the entire household dropped on him all at once. See the "but what will we do without her money" quote which was the exact moment that Paul realized he was now head of the household no matter what Jim said or did. Sex becomes a comfort/distraction/break/escape as a result. Remember, Paul was partially driven into John's arms because Jim was beating Paul at home.

John was very horny and Paul mirrored his actions and desires. John and Paul were not just mirroring each other musically or emotionally, they mirrored each other sexually as well. The timing of Linda's first pregnancy implies to me that Paul wanted to try for a baby because Yoko was pregnant. The end result was Mary.

John mentored him sexually and eased him into uncomfortable but still safe situations like the group wanks to further mold Paul's desires in a direction John liked. He encouraged Paul's revealed preference for enjoying feminization by putting him in the position of being John's girlfriend/wife, something John likely picked up on when Paul fed him toast as a teenager. Many of Paul's sexual habits and needs were shaped and fostered by John into something that complimented his own. That is why John took Paul to Paris to play the part of "Mrs. Lennon on honeymoon" and not Cynthia. Remember that Paul affirmed John's masculinity in their relationship by putting John's package at the center of this photograph of them coming out of the Louvre:

John is obsessed with sex and has a high sex drive, Paul drove his higher to compete and match this, they were fucking like bunnies, the end. Now John is gone and part of the wreckage left by his passing is that Paul has an unbearable sex drive and no one he can trust to exhaust him properly. They learned how to fuck girls together and then how to fuck each other, together. The most formative relationship of Paul's life was centered around sex.

None of this is a shitpost btw I am being completely sincere with all of this.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

HI I wanted to request like, size different and first time with Dave, but maybe like, reader is at his house or something and she has a tendency to steal his stuff (probably bracelets, cuffs) Dave finds her in one of his shirts and it drives him wild. I leave it up to you but also I really love your writing!!

A/n: I KEEP STARTING FICS WITH MOTIVATION AND RIGHT AS I GET TO THE SMUT I LOSE IT 😫

Warnings: smut, size difference, rough sex, manhandling, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

He looks fucking ethereal 😩

Dave caught you stealing his things more times than he could count, but he didn't mind since you almost always returned them and it was always just little things; a bracelet here, a brush there.

Of course he knew he was bigger than you, he was bigger than a lot of people. You'd use it to your advantage when you were in bed with him doing domestic things; laying on top of him, letting him spoon you, playing with his hands. You'd use him for warmth and he knew it.

So Dave knew he was bigger than you, he just hadn't realized how much bigger, and he definitely didn't realize how much it turned him on until he walked in on you getting ready for bed in his shirt.

You hadn't been seeing each other for that long, Dave had hired you to watch his house while he was on tour but he quickly grew a fondness for you. Instead of paying you he just let you live in his house, which made the relationship work great.

Earlier while you were making breakfast, part of your daily tasks, you realized you were running low on groceries. Your plan had been to clean all day and you hadn't factored in any time to leave so you made a list and asked Dave to get food on his way back home.

You were helping him get everything put away, it was late and you were tired, Dave could see you struggling to keep your eyes open.

"I can finish the rest." He said, pulling you to his side and kissing your forehead. "Go get ready for bed, you can barely keep your eyes open." He gave you butt a gentle pat and sent you on your way upstairs to your shared room while he finished getting everything put away.

When he was done he went upstairs, expecting to find you already crashed in bed as usual. He didn't think to check the bed before he went to the bathroom, the lights were off and the pillows resembled you in the sheets enough.

He froze in the doorway to the bathroom, seeing you brushing your teeth at the sink in nothing but an old band shirt of his. The way it draped over your figure, the sleeves coming down around your elbows.

You spat in the sink as he came up behind you. "What do you think you're wearing?" He asked, tone dark and voice gravelly as he spoke.

You blinked at him through the mirror, looking over yourself tiredly. "Beatles." You mumbled.

"I see that." He said, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. "I meant, what are you doing wearing my shirt?"

You stared at yourself in the mirror a moment longer, running your toothbrush under water. You shrugged and set your brush in its place, taking a swig of water and moving it around your mouth before spitting it out.

"It's big." Dave hummed in agreement, eyeing your body closely through the loose fabric. "And comfy... smells like you..." You turned around in his arms to face him, shoving your face in his chest and wrapping your arms around him.

Dave lifted you up with ease, hands cupping your ass so he could carry you out of the bathroom and to the bedroom.

He laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. "You're tiny." He mused, kissing the tip of your nose.

You chuckled softly. “That’s mean.”

“I mean it.” He said, leaning closer and pushing his face into your neck. “You’re so small… how has no one broke you yet?” He pushed his hands under the hem of the shirt you wore, tracing the curve of your hips. “I should just be grateful that I get to do it, huh?” He asked, tugging your panties down.

You were tired and debated telling him to stop, but you also knew how caring he could be, and how easily you fell asleep when he made you cum.

You lifted your hips to help him take your panties off.

He ran his hands over your legs after tossing the small garment aside, cherishing the feel of your supple skin on his rough callouses.

He pulled his hands back and threw his shirt off, followed by his jeans and boxers. It’s not that you hadn’t done anything, of course you had, just not sex. Blowjobs, handjobs, mostly Dave was doing it to you because he liked hearing the noises you made, the small whines and soft moans.

Dave got off to making you feel good, it wasn’t a secret, but right now he wanted nothing more than to use you.

He ran his hands over your legs once more before hooking them under your thighs and pushing them up to your stomach, knees at your chest.

Your eyes widened and you yelped when he manhandled you, pushing you into the mattress with his weight. He smiled down at you. “That’s just perfect.” He mused. “Now hold them there for me.” You were hesitant but did as he ordered, holding yourself open for him.

Dave ran a finger through your slick folds, gathering your wetness and pushing a finger into you. “What a sweet thing, already so wet and I haven’t even done anything yet.” You clenched around his digit, biting your lip.

He pulled his finger back out and moved over you, lining himself up with your hole and pushing in, watching you writhe underneath him.

He brushed your hands off yourself and held your thighs tightly, mercilessly pounding into you as your moans filled the room.

You expected something sweet, the normal Dave that would talk you through it and focus on how good you felt, not the Dave that stared at the bulge in your stomach and pressed his palm down on it, not the Dave that squished and pushed and forced you into new positions.

Still, that look in his eyes, the way his lip curled. You called out his name, begging to cum.

“Aw, pretty girl thinks she’s good enough for that?” He grunted out, hips slamming into yours at a brutal pace. Your body was flushed, a thin layer of sweat covering you. He leaned down, hooking your knees over his shoulders.

His thrusts got faster, more desperate. “Fuck,” he grunted. “I fill you up so good, you’re so fucking tight.” You whined, clawing at his shoulder and burying your face in the crook of his neck, his thick hair covering you.

“Every inch.” He mused. “Every single fucking inch of you, mine.” His kissed along your neck, not slowing his pace. “All fucking mine.” He bit down on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your eyes rolled back, unable to stop yourself from giving in to the pleasure he was giving you. You moaned out his name, body melting into the mattress.

He let you ride out your high, coaxing you through it as he always did with praised and words of affection. “There you go, just let it out, darling, let me make you feel good.”

However, when you were twitching as you came down from it he didn’t stop. He pulled away for a second and flipped you over, forcing your head into the pillow and holding your ass up for him. “Pretty bunny.” He purred, leaving a last kiss on your shoulder before thrusting into you again.

[itshelfiredean]

Being Dean Winchester’s Daughter Would Include

1.) Dean teaching you how to drive in the impala, but he’s scared that either of his babies would get hurt so he would make up any excuse for you never to get behind a wheel. This of course ended with Dean catching you and Sam in a driving lesson and you both got yelled at for hours.

2.) Ever since you were in pigtails, Dean would always call you nicknames like “Kiddo”, “Rugrat”, or “Princess”. Your Uncle Sam would keep it rather traditional with “Sweetheart”,“Honey”, or your least favorite “Lil’ Dean”.

3.) Your dad and uncle would make lasting friendships through the years, but would hide them from you because they know that if you get attached, then it’ll break your little heart if they died.

4.) Dean taught you his music taste and basically forbid you to obsess over Bieber or Katy Perry, but you didn’t necessarily ‘love’ his hard rock music taste. You tended to favor Sam’s favorites such as The Beatles, Wings, and the Traveling Wilburys, but Dean got you hooked on Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and David Bowie.

5.) If either your dad or uncle were killed on a hunt or by whoever, they made a deal to take you in no matter what the circumstances were because they would never abandon you like John would.

6.) If you were ever hurt or sick, Dean and Sam would put on this whole show of Dr. Dad and Nurse Sammy. They would dress up in scrubs and check you over all while keeping a playful charade. Your final treatment would always be 20 extra cc’s of tickles and of course rest. Unlucky for you, this carried on well into your teenage years even if they had to drag you down to the infirmary to do so.

7.) You always understood that family doesn’t end in blood. When you were a little girl that reached up to just below their knees, you had the best family you could remember. Uncle Cas was always around and would let you put makeup on him and style his hair, but little did you know that you taught Castiel how to open his heart to people especially to a little girl. That came in handy when he sacrificed himself for the sake of you and Jack against the empty. Then of course you had Grandpa Bobby, or “GrandBob”. Bobby would come off as a nasty old grump to everyone else, but to you he would do anything you said. He practically raised Sam and Dean, but you were different than they were at your age. Bobby saw you as Dean’s precious baby girl who deserved the sun, moon, and stars. And damn-it, he would lasso the biggest star in the sky if you asked him to. You grew up with many amazing men who would do anything to keep you happy, but no one compared to Jack. You were 16 when Jack was born and unlike your dad and uncle in the beginning, you did everything in your power to protect him from your family. You actually helped Jack run away when he was first new, but you knew damn well and Dean dragged your ass back to the bunker once him and Sam tracked you both down. After Dean finally cam around to your side and chose to accept Jack as a member of the family, it made it easier for you to get closer with the devils son. You both were never romantically involved, but your were destined to the two half’s of a whole. He was your Westley and you were his Buttercup. However, Dean wasn’t too happy with seeing you and Jack getting all buddy-buddy, but Sam convinced him that this was really the first friendship you ever had. All through your life, you realized that you had a huge family that loved you, and you loved them in return always.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Y/N age 6

“Daddy, would you still love me if I was bad and mean like Lucifer was to you and Uncle Sammy?”

“Kiddo, I would still love you if you told me that you completely wrecked the Impala”

“That must mean a lot because Sammy told me that you love ‘Baby’ more than anything.”

“You’re my real baby. I will always chose you over a stupid car. But don’t tell Sammy that because it always makes him mad.”

“I love you too, Daddy. I love you more than all of the stars in the sky.”

“I love you more, Princess. With all my heart and each and every grain of sand”

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: The pros and cons of tangling with Soldier Boy...

Song Inspo: “The Voodoo House” by Rick Springfield

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and more smut, angst, a Noir sighting, death, and even some hurt/comfort if you squint.  

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Part 6: Drowned & Spellbound

Countess was bound to get back at you for this.

You found that you didn’t give a shit as you sat across from your companion with a crystal glass of champagne in hand. You stared up at the tall arched ceilings and ornate chandeliers, the beautiful tapestries and landscape paintings, and most impressive of all, the tall, intricately carved walls of the Oak Room.

You’d heard about this restaurant, but you’d never in your life even stepped foot into the Plaza Hotel. You were now very glad you changed into a proper dress, as well as fixed your hair and makeup.

Across from your intimate table, Ben held his bourbon with a relaxed set to his shoulders. No doubt this was like getting a burger at Chilis for him.

“Enjoying the scenery?” he remarked, taking a sip.

You smiled a little bashfully. “It’s beautiful here. I’ve never been to a place like this.”

Ben’s answering smile was predictable. Stick with me, baby doll. I’ll show you a whole new world, it seemed to say.

“Sinatra comes here from time to time,” he said, pointing at a small corner stage with a piano. “He’s known to take that spot over there and do a tune or two, if he’s got enough whiskey in him.”

Frank Sinatra?! Now that was exciting. You couldn’t help but glance around to see if you spotted him, or any other famous person for that matter. When you heard a chuckle, you looked over and found Ben’s amused face.

“What?” you said with a smile.

“What, I’m not enough celebrity for you?” he teased, rolling his shoulders. “I stormed fucking Normandy, you know.”

You did know, but you leaned in closer, giving your amused attention. It didn’t take long for him to launch into an hour compilation of war stories from back in his day. You’d heard many of them before, but you made it seem as if you were hanging onto his every word.

You realized though, that you could sense him lying with your abilities. Every word that came from his mouth when he talked about his past, his achievements, his exploits in the war and how he helped Vought build a better America afterwards…

It was all complete and utter bullshit.

It took all you had to keep the incredulous frown off your face as you fought to remain invested in his stories. Okay, the one about him taking LSD with the Beatles during Woodstock was true, but other than that, complete and utter bullshit.

You ate mostly in silence as you allowed him to keep talking your ear off, just offering small interjections here and there while he devoured his steak. He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

You supposed this was what it was like to date the most famous man in the world. No wonder Countess got sick of him.

When he finally rested for a beat, ordering yet another glass of bourbon (you’d lost count at this point), you took your chance to learn something real about him.

“So you’re from Philly, huh?” you said. “What about your family?”

Ben pulled back on you then, his expression falling closer to stoicism.

“What about it?” he said.

“Well, I just realized I know a lot about your career and the amazing things you’ve done for this country, but I don’t know all that much about you,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Like…did you have siblings? What were your parents like? Did you have a dog growing up? That kind of thing.”

You laughed a little to lighten the load, but Ben only softened slightly. It took a moment for him to answer you.

“I was an only child,” he said, again, sipping at his glass. “No dog. Money was too tight for that.”

Again, a lie, you sensed. Not in the first answer, but the second one. Who the hell lied about having a dog?

Or maybe, it was the bit about money being tight. You knew his backstory from the documentary Vought made of him back in ‘75. He was the true “rags to riches” story, according to the narrative, having grown up poor and struggling to survive. It was the one thing you thought you could relate to him about.

But apparently, that wasn’t true either.

“And your parents?” you prodded.

“They were normal. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say,” Ben said, a little more snappish than you expected. You blinked, taken aback.

You slid your chair a bit closer, so that you were sitting beside him rather than across from him. You laid a hand on his arm, over his jacket. 

“Look, I don’t just want to date Soldier Boy, America’s first superhero,” you said, looking up into his eyes. “I want to know you.”

Again, it took him a beat. But eventually, he lowered his glass back to the table and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin.

“My mother was a singer at a club. A little crooner, like you,” he said. He eyed you with a slight smile. “That’s where she met my father. As the story goes, she was singing ‘Are You From Heaven’ when he walked in. She saw him, and it was like the uh…the fucking thunderbolt, from the Godfather.”

You smiled. All of this, you sensed, was true.

“They were married within a year,” he said, though he paused, as something distant passed through his eyes. “Pneumonia got her in the end. She was young…but she lived long enough to see me when I got back from the War. A hero.”

He picked up his drink again, maybe this time to distract himself.

“Hers was the last funeral I ever went to,” he said.

And that admission was the most surprising of them all. It managed to strike a familiar chord of grief within you when he looked over at you. You both felt and saw the weight in his gaze.

Maybe he was telling you this on purpose. Maybe he was, in his own way, trying to relate to you about your own mother’s death.

Tears began to sting behind your eyes, but you managed to blink them away. You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

He hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and drew you in even closer, making you yelp in surprise. He smirked, having finally gotten the jump on you for a change. He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you in closer.

You looked up at his handsome face with wide eyes. A blush dusted your cheeks, warming your face. His smirk softened around the edges, just a little, and he took his chance to engage your lips in a searing kiss.

And maybe this time, you were the one who was caught.

Ben peeled his lips from your neck to give the server a firm no on dessert, “Just the check.”

The guy was good at his job, and was back with the check within a couple of minutes. Ben slapped a significant wad of cash down on the table and guided you up along with him. Breathless as you were, you held onto his arm to keep you up right. The only time you parted from him was at the foyer of the restaurant, where the staff brought your coats.

A limo was waiting outside. With a hand on your lower back (and creeping down to your ass), Ben ushered you in first before he slid in.

“Head back to the Tower,” he told the driver, even as he was pressing the button to raise the partition. “And fucking step on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

You already had a fist in his dress shirt when he turned his attention back to you. You pulled him closer at the same time he leaned in to cage you more fully into his arms. While his mouth ravaged yours, sucking in your lower lip and dragging his teeth across, your hands slipped under his coat and blazer to help him shrug them off.

He similarly ran one of his hands under your coat, up your side and over your breast, squeezing through the fabric. You gave him an encouraging sound, and he dragged a sleeve down along with the bra strap to expose your breast. He palmed you with that big, warm hand, rolling the nipple under his thumb.

None of it was an act when you moaned into his mouth and squeezed his shoulders tight. At this point, it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t just about using him. Despite everything—his arrogance, his callous, asshole behavior, his lies—you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. Right now, he was the only thing you wanted.

His lips dragged down your neck, igniting your skin wherever he sucked and teased. You held him there with a hand on his cheek, but it soon wound up into his hair. God, it was softer than it looked.

One of his wandering hands made its way under the skirt of your dress and between your thighs, teasing your slit through your panties. Your breath hitched, but you spread your legs wider for him across the seat. You felt his smirk against your neck.

“Finally ready for me, huh?” he said. “Kept me fucking waiting long enough.”

He didn’t even bother taking off your panties. He just pushed them to the side and dragged his fingers between your slick folds.

“Fuck, your wetter than Niagara already,” he remarked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes because you knew he couldn’t see it. Smug bastard.

But he was withholding his fingers, just tracing along your pussy and teasing your entrance. Your core was already throbbing with need. Your hips began to undulate against his hand.

“God. Ben, please,” you panted in his ear.

Apparently, that was all he wanted to hear. You uttered a shameless moan when his thumb found your clit, causing a shiver down your spine and a tremble in your core. Soon enough, one of his long fingers slipped deep inside you, all the way to the knuckle.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You didn’t want the driver to hear you.

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Gotta get you real ready for me,” he muttered. “You’re gonna take my cock so well, I can already feel it.”

On his last words, he added a finger and curled them inside you, exploring your inner walls and finding that special spot that made you keen into his ear. His thumb worked your clit at the same time, until you clenched on his hand so hard it had you gasping. He swallowed it with his mouth covering yours, all while he drew out your first release with his fingers stroking inside you.

It was a solid preview, you thought, when the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Vought Tower.

Again, you held onto his arm mostly for balance as he led you to the elevators. Your legs felt like jelly when you tried to walk in your heels. Ben hit the button a bit too hard, but you understood it. Every second that ticked by while you two waited for the elevator was entirely too long.

When it finally opened, he guided you inside and pressed the button for his floor, the penthouse suite, all the way up nearly 80 floors.

A mischievous idea hit you. It had you slipping your hand under his coat and blazer again, tracing the seam of his belt. Ben glanced down at you in knowing amusement, but he let you unbuckle his belt without comment.

He just stared at you with a fire in his eyes while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. You dipped your hand inside the waistband and slid a slow hand along the full, impressive length of him. You smiled when it hardened fully at your touch.

“Is all this for me?” you said, even as you leaned up for a kiss.

“If you can handle it,” Ben said.

Then he obliged you, bowing his head to meet your kiss. You kept things slow as you sensuously licked into his mouth. You tasted bourbon on his tongue before you broke the kiss, just to lower down to your knees in front of him. You held onto the back of his strong thighs while you mimicked what you did with your tongue in his mouth, just further down as you outlined his cock through his underwear.

Ben tried to cover his moan with a grunt, but you sensed his powerful arousal. You had his full and undivided attention, especially when you hooked your nails into the band of his underwear and finally freed his cock. You took it in hand and licked a long stripe across the underside of it, from base to tip. He shuddered. His hand shot out to brace against the elevator wall, shaking the entire compartment with his strength.  

Your tongue circled around his sensitive head, licking up beads of precum from the slit. But just when you finally wrapped your lips around him and took him as far as you could into your mouth, the elevator stopped, chiming your arrival cheerfully. 

He didn’t even wait until he had the door to his apartment closed before he dragged you towards him with a hard kiss. Your coat and his had already been cast to the floor, along with his blazer and tie. His dress shirt was halfway there when he hefted you into his arms effortlessly.

You grabbed his face and met him with a kiss fueled by lust and passion. You felt wild. You felt free. You felt like this was a sin you were meant to commit.  

Ben forcibly unbuttoned his pants with one hand and kicked out of them while you broke open the rest of his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor. It allowed you to run your hands over his warm, tan skin, every dip of muscle across his arms and shoulders, and down his solid chest.

He smirked at the way you were eyeing him, exploring him.

“Like what you see, baby doll?”

“Almost as much as you do,” you quipped back. He huffed at that.

He walked you over to the bed, where he dropped you down towards the center. You yelped and how high he’d dropped you from, but you were smiling when he prowled over you on his hands and knees like a predator. His hands slid up your smooth thighs, bunching up your dress all the way up to your hips. You raised up to help him get it over your head. Your hair was already wild by now; you pushed it out of your eyes with a huff.

His hands slid under you again to unclip the bra. It was flung off to parts unknown, along with your panties. He paused in between to trail open-mouthed kisses down your body, between the valley of your breasts.

He turned his head to start toying with one pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Your fingers threaded through his hair along with your moans as he relentlessly teased your sensitive flesh with his teeth.

"You gonna sing for me, sweetheart?" his voice rumbled smoothly against your skin. "Pretty soon I'm gonna have you screaming for me."

He continued his exploration, his lips dragging down your stomach. And then…

“Oh,” you back arched off the bed. He devoured your pussy with the same tenacity as he had your mouth. His tongue pushed into your entrance while his nose brushed your clit.

Soon enough, your juices coated his stubble-laden cheeks and ran down his chin. His strong hand on your lower belly held you down while he finished his work, his lips moving to suck on your clit. His thick fingers pressed into your channel and worked you open.

You gripped at his hair tightly, cursing and pleading with his name, until you uttered a strangled yell. Your inner walls clenched hard as you came on his tongue.

But you were only able to take maybe one or two breaths of recovery before you felt the thick head of his cock breach your entrance, pushing his way in all the way to the hilt.

You gasped and bit your nails into his shoulders. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite,” Ben grunted, though he smirked down at you. “Now let’s see how well you take me. Still so fucking tight.”

Your core contracted around him, still sensitive and pulsing from your orgasm. He didn’t give you a moment more to catch your breath as he began a steady, almost punishing clip inside you. He was stretching you in the most delicious of ways, hitting places deeper than his fingers had been able to reach. It felt so fucking good, all you could do was hold on for the ride.

You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, digging your heels into his ass. He ducked down to kiss you, rough and demanding. Your lips met his sloppily, before he dragged away to bite and suck where your neck met your shoulder. You winced at the pain tinged with pleasure, but your eyes rolled shut as you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Each of his deep strokes inside you was edging you closer to another cresting wave of pleasure. You slipped a hand between you to find your clit, but Ben grabbed your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a near growl.

Your eyes blinked open with a start. You met his gaze. Sweat lined his brow. His other hand was squeezing the flesh of your thigh, opening you up wider for him. You let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he said, “But first, say my fucking name.”

“Ben,” you gasped, as he shifted the angle of his thrusts. The coil in your lower belly was tightening, your muscles bearing down and clenching on him.

“Say my fucking name,” he repeated, releasing your wrist to lay a heavy smack on your ass. The impact rattled up your spine and you jolted, accidently raking his back with your nails. You felt him shiver then. He moved his fingers down to strum at your clit.

And he got what he wanted. He had you screaming his name along with your release. His body locked up as a strangled shout fell from his lips. He coated your inner walls with his spend as they fluttered around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, satisfied and spent.

He grabbed onto the headboard in order to hold himself above you, else he would crush you with his weight. You ran your hands up and down his chest more lazily as you each caught your breath.

Thank fuck for the pill, you thought airily. Because clearly this man didn’t care about condoms.

He eventually pulled out of you, making you shiver at the loss. He rolled off you and stretched out on his side of the bed. You turned your head to look at him. He gave you a relaxed grin in return, like the cat who got the cream.

In that moment, it really hit you.

There’s no going back now.

About a week later, you and Ben had developed a kind of…rhythm.

Yet another glass tipped over and shattered on the floor. He didn’t seem to care as he thrust into you from behind on his dining table. Your moans of encouragement were loud and genuine; your nails scraped across the stained tablecloth, incidentally shoving another plate overboard.

Your quiet dinner had been interrupted halfway through dessert. The moment you’d sucked a ribbon of chocolate off your spoon, Ben had reached for you, pulling you into his lap. You’d been all too willing to let him suck the sweetness right off your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fucking sing for me,” he growled into your ear. His hand crept around your throat, giving a warning squeeze. You grabbed onto his wrist to keep it there. You held onto him like a lifeline. Sometimes you felt like his cock was going to split you in two. But his iron grip on your hip kept you from going anywhere.

His release ultimately hit him before yours. He grunted as his movements became sloppy, but he still pushed into you. You purposefully clenched on him, stealing his breath this time.

He let go of your throat so he could bury his hand between your folds. He rolled your already sensitive clit between his fingers until you cried out, your body locking up on him outside of your control. Your orgasm hit you in a warm, heady wave. Your legs shook, and you slumped onto the table.

Ben was right there with you. For a moment, all he could do was grip the edge of the polished mahogany and stare at the newly formed hickey on the back of your neck. He swiped your hair out of the way so he could see it better. He knew every mark that he’d put on you, even the ones he couldn’t see right now, under the pretty dress you…sort of had on.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You huffed in amusement, despite your exhaustion. “I could’ve sworn the damn table was going to crack in half.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remarked.

He slipped out of you, giving you one last smack on the ass. He didn’t bother to lower your skirt before he dragged up his pants and belt.

“Wanna join me in the shower?” he posed.

You did your best to fix the fallen straps of your dress and ruined bra, along with your hair and lipstick. You found your underwear clinging to a wall sconce. You grabbed that too and slipped it on, then you offered an apologetic smile.

“Raincheck?” you said. “I should go back to my place and get some training in.”

Ben rose a brow. No matter what he offered, you were never one to stay very long after a good fuck…

Not that he minded.

It was usually him giving the excuses to leave, trying to avoid the inevitable clinginess of women after sex. Still, this time he wouldn’t have minded the company.

Maybe next time.

Ben smirked as he drew near you again. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You held onto his arms and peered up at him questioningly.

“You mean to tell me you’re gonna walk downstairs, ride the elevator some thirty floors, and walk back all the way to your apartment with my come between your legs?” he asked.

He had to admit, the thought aroused him. Your cheeky little smile did too. Your hands came to rest on his chest, and you leaned up for a slower kiss. It was no less heated as your tongue slipped against his. You pulled away just as slowly, letting your teeth drag against his lower lip.

“Goodnight,” you said.

And you walked away from him. He enjoyed the show you gave him as your skirt swished against your thighs. By now he knew your every curve in intimate detail, and still he hadn’t had enough of you.

He knew he’d be feasting on you for a good long while.

News traveled fast in Vought Tower.

Especially about your little trysts with Soldier Boy. You knew by the too-polite smiles the staff gave you now, as well as the wide, cold berth Crimson Countess was giving you too. You had expected more of a retaliation from her, but you remembered that day in the gym all too well.

She probably thought you and Ben wouldn't last. Either that, or maybe she was afraid of antagonizing him. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for her moment to get back at you. Either way, you weren't going to drop your guard around her.

In the meantime, Tessa was friendlier to you, and Tommy had finally stopped hitting on you. Swatto tried not to even look in your direction.

Mindstorm, of course, continued to be a hermit, but even Black Noir was more distant with you, which was the one change that disappointed you. The two of you sometimes shared conversations in the breakroom like you had that first day. You’d started to think of him as a friend.

So the next time he tried to pass you while you were making coffee in the morning, you finally said something.

“Hey."

It wasn't your most elegant start, but he paused, in that subtle way of his when his helmet was on. He looked over at you over his shoulder.

“Um…do you want some coffee?” you offered, raising your own mug.

Noir shook his head.

“Okay. Well, uh, how are you?” you asked. “Any exciting missions lately?”

Noir just stared at you. You didn’t blame him. You knew you sounded lame.

So you switched tactics. “Oh, yeah. How’s that movie pitch coming?”

At that, Noir tilted his head slightly. He took his helmet off, revealing his furrowed brows. It was like he didn’t know how to talk to you anymore, which confused you.

“I’ve actually got an audition coming up,” he admitted. “There’s this new movie, Beverly Hills Cop. It’s action, and it’s uh, funny.”

You smiled. “That’s great!”

“I’ve asked around, and I heard Eddie Murphy’s my main competition though. He’s got more experience in comedy,” he said, sliding a hand across the back of his neck.

You shook your head. “Yeah, but superheroes always make the studio more money. And I’m sure you nailed your audition. This could be really great for you!”

A smile flickered across his lips.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. But the longer he stared at your face, the more his expression fell. “What the fuck do you see in him?”

Your smile fell as well. “What?”

“You’re new…boyfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is you’re calling it. I mean, really,” Noir said. “The guy’s probably a walking STD. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts, or who else he fucks, for that matter.”

Your lips pursed as you fought not to be hurt by his words. You schooled your expression.

“The idiots who get caught by him deserve to have their hearts broken,” you said dryly. 

“But not you,” Noir pointed out. “If you see through his bullshit, then why are you with him? For power? Like Countess, you think you gotta be with the big swinging dick in the room to get any respect?”

His disdain cut into you, and like all things, he had deadly accuracy.

“I have my reasons,” you said. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a fucking man.”

“Right. Still black though, in case you forgot what I looked like under this goddamn suit,” Noir snapped.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and maybe shame.

“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else,” he said. “That somehow, you’re better because you’re afraid to get your hands dirty. Well, guess what, Sirena. You’re no fucking better than Countess. You’re just like the rest of us.”

Your lips trembled with anger, but you didn’t have an easy retort this time. Noir left you seething where you stood.

Ben reclined in one of the plush office chairs and folded his hands.

“Let’s make this quick. I’ve got shit to do,” he said.

You were more quietly polite as you sat beside him. Inside, you were wary. Why had they asked for you and Ben into a meeting together? It felt like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office.

Across from you was Madelyn, perched on the corner of the conference table, while Stan Edgar sat beside her in a chair. He shared a look with Madelyn, whose smile was unreadable. Arthur sat to Stan’s left.

Madelyn addressed you and Ben first. “Well, as you know, Red Thunder is about to launch next week.”

Ben inclined his head expectantly.

“We would never want to meddle in your personal business. However—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart,” he said, with a superficial smile. You shot him a glance, seeing how Madelyn managed to keep her polite façade. She was almost a better actor than you.  

“We believe it would be prudent if you kept the status of your relationship…discreet for now,” said Stan. “Along with your breakup with Crimson Countess.”

“Why should I give a flying fuck about that?” Ben asked.

“Because Red Thunder isn’t just a political action thriller,” Stan said. “There’s also a romantic storyline.”

“You and Countess are meant to be in love in the movie,” Arthur finally chimed in. He seemed impatient with Stan’s roundabout way of saying it. “It’ll be better for everybody if you and Countess do the red carpet together, like we planned.”

“And the press tour as well,” Madelyn added.

Ben rolled his eyes, but you let out a small breath and nodded in agreement.

“That’s understandable,” you said. You looked over at Ben, waiting for him to agree too. You knew he wanted his movie to do well. He just didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, even in the public eye.

He eventually nodded. You gave him a smile, making his lips tug upwards as well.

Yeah, you thought. We can hide this for a couple of months.

There were times when you could do nothing but blink at the sea of cheering people on both sides of the red carpet.

So many flashing lights.

You had never been to a movie premier before, and it was as exciting as it was overwhelming. A security team flanked around your group as your other Payback team members approached the photo op section.

Ben was just ahead of you, looking dapper in a dark green Armani suit. He was escorting Countess, who admittedly looked elegant in her Oscar-worthy red dress (not that she was winning an Oscar for this movie). It had a large skirt though, and it made it hard for him to even stand close to her while they posed for photos.

He had that debonair look perfected as he greeted press and guided Countess by the small of her back. She was giving a good performance herself, smiling up at him, occasionally rubbing his arm where she held onto him.

You would never admit to the sliver of jealousy pricking your heart, so instead, you focused on the poses Madelyn’s PR team had drilled into you as you took pictures alone. Your stylist had opted for something different than your usual black or violet color schemes.

Since this was your first red carpet, she wanted you to try something new. So she’d put you in a white ‘20s style gown, complete with intricate silver beading down the skirt. You felt a bit like a chandelier, but it did drape nicely off your form.

You shuffled along the queue of press and photographers. Black Noir and the TNT Twins were behind you in the lineup, while Countess was taking an opportunity to bask in the limelight, getting her pictures taken on her own as she showed off the billowing skirt of her dress.

Meanwhile, Ben had a hand in his pocket as he posed by himself. You sensed he was getting bored, even with so much attention on him.

“Hey, why not you two together?” a photographer called out to you and Ben, gesturing at you to get closer to him. You blinked wide eyes, but you did as you were told. Ben looked over at you, a smile tugging at his lips. He slipped a hand around your waist and guided you to his side.

While the photographer snapped away, Ben leaned over to your ear.

“You look stunning,” he said. His voice was smooth and baritone. “But I know I’m gonna like that dress even better when it’s a crumpled mess on my floor.”

You resisted the urge to bite your lip. Instead, you glanced up at him over your shoulder. You two shared a small, secret smile.

Click.

And the secret was out.

That brief, intimate moment between you and Ben became plastered across every tabloid in the city, and even some of the “respectable” magazines.

SOLDIER BOY + SIRENA SECRET AFFAIR?!

And various headlines of the like. Even Johnny Carson had something to say about it on the Tonight Show.

“Now, it’s Soldier Boy’s business of course, but if it’s true, I do feel a little sorry for Crimson Countess. Don’t you?”

The crowd in studio, much like the rest of the fans, were divided. Most women were sympathizing with Countess, while most men seemed to be supporting Soldier Boy (and you by extension).

This wasn’t how you wanted this to happen. It was no small amount of chaos from a PR perspective, and it had quickly made you a polarizing figure in the media.

You just didn’t expect how it would affect your real life, as you headed down Broadway after a successful mission. Not only had you stopped a man from shooting up a bank, but you and the TNT Twins had saved the entire staff and patrons inside. Without collateral damage this time.

You were just stopping off to grab a coffee from one of your favorite cafés when you noticed a woman waiting for the bus. She was glaring at you with a gas station slushie in her hand. You’d fully intended to ignore her, before she shouted something at you.

“Homewrecker!”

You frowned. Jesus, it wasn’t like they were married.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously.

“You heard me, fucking hussy,” the woman said. She was wearing a red Crimson Countess-themed watch.

You rolled your eyes and aimed to walk past her. That’s when she tossed her slushie and hit you on the side of your head. You gasped as red berry syrup and ice drenched you and ran down your suit. It even stung your eyes.

Anger and instinct took over. When she approached you, you shoved her hard by her shoulders.

“Back off!” you shouted. You just didn’t realize that your eyes glowed with power when you touched her. You’d compelled her on accident.

The woman’s face went blank. Not only did she step back from you with her hands raised in surrender, but she kept walking backwards, all the way to the street.

Your eyes widened as you reached out to her. “Stop!”

You ran to her, but it was too late. Unfortunately for her, the bus arrived right on time.

You sat in Arthur’s office, your hands still shaking, your face, hair, and chest still covered in a sticky film of slushie syrup. He handed you a towel to clean yourself off and returned to his desk. It didn’t do much good.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. And you said again, “I-I…it was an accident.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. This isn’t our first rodeo,” he said. “The clean-up crew’s already working on the site of the incident.”

“What,” you cleared your throat. “What about her family?”

“Why do you think we have lawyers?” Arthur said. His smile wasn’t reassuring. “So just go back to your room, clean up, and relax. We’ll take care of this.”

Dully you nodded. You peeled yourself up from the leather chair, and you made the trek back to your room. You showered and got changed, but you still felt dirty. In your mind, you kept seeing the bus split that woman’s face into the pavement.

You were restless, so you got dressed into something comfortable and didn’t even bother with makeup when you went up to the penthouse. Ben let you in, though he frowned at the state of you.

“I heard what happened,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Tears stung at your eyes. You looked so small and fragile at that moment, Ben couldn’t help but soften ever so slightly. He guided you inside with a hand on your back.

“You hungry?” he asked. “Can have the chef bring something up.”

You shook your head and plopped down on his living room sofa. He made you a drink instead—a vodka soda with a lime, just like you liked. You stared at it, then you downed it all in one long go.

Ben raised his brows, but he sat beside you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

You set the glass down heavily on the coffee table and gave him a tearful look.

“How is that possible?”

“She disrespected you,” he said, with a note of darkness in his voice, in his eyes. “You had every right to hit back, put her in her place.”

You turned his words over in your head, but you couldn’t accept them. You didn’t want to justify this. You knew it was wrong.

Ben’s hand slid across your thigh, drawing your attention.

“If I’d been there, believe me. That shit wouldn’t have even had the chance to come out of her fucking mouth,” he said coolly.

Somehow, you’d already known that. You just didn’t know if it was his way of being protective, or if it was just him taking a slight against you as a reflection on him, as a man. Either way, it didn’t really make you feel better. Your tears bubbled over, no matter how much you held them back.

Ben’s frown deepened, though he hesitated for a moment. He tugged you over into his lap, where he reached for your cheek and got you to meet his eyes with your red and shiny ones. He captured your lips in a kiss.

If all else fails, distraction.

He worked your sweater off, then your bra, and guided you down onto the sofa. There he kissed his way down your neck while undoing the button on your jeans. You raked your fingers through his hair.

“Ben,” you whispered. “I—”

“Just relax,” he rumbled.  

You fell into the pull of him, letting his mouth and his touch intoxicate you. You didn’t want to let him make you forget. You didn’t want to let this be okay.

But you couldn’t help it. You wanted him, and maybe this time, you needed him too. 

AN: A little smut, a little angst, a little involuntary manslaughter. What else in the world of The Boys, amirite? 😅 But how do you like how her relationship (or not quite relationship) with Ben is developing?

Next comes even more supe debauchery, and a big monkey wrench...

Next Time:

You grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol, went over to them, and subtly touched Countess’s bare shoulder.

Give that shot to Tommy, you compelled her.

With that small trill of your power, Countess stood straighter and beelined straight for Tommy. She grabbed him by the back of his head and surprised him with a deep tequila kiss.

Gross.

You grimaced at the sight, but when you looked back at Ben, he was smirking in amusement. He slid an arm around your waist and spoke closely in your ear.

“Let’s have some fun.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 7

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[tavolgisvist]

Paul and drums

Our kid was first in a group with John called Quarrymen, and apparently, I’d forgotten the set of drums fell off the back of a lorry, as we say in Liverpool, and landed up in our house. So I was learning drums, and one of the Quarrymen came back and said, ‘I remember you’re coming down the house, and it was great when you played drums for us.’ I said, ‘Did I?’ I’d totally forgotten. But then I realized why I forgot. It’s because I broke my arm in a scout camp, and this hand dropped. It was dead, paralyzed. So it took several years to get it back, and at that time, those drums that I was learning on, first of all, my brother, no wonder the drums on the band on the road are good. That’s where he learned it from my drums. But I couldn’t play anything then. So I’d forgotten that I was even the drummer, and Ringo got the job.

(Mike McCartney)

Mersey Beat Founder and Editor, Bill Harry wrote a guest column for Beatle Fan Magazine in 2019. He stated “For their August 7, 1961 gig, the Litherland Town Hall classified advertisement in the Liverpool Echo carried the message: ‘Hear Pete Best Sing Tonight.’ Best had been talked into performing the song “Pinwheel Twist,” which Paul had written for him to sing. Pete recalled in a conversation with Spencer Leigh: ‘Paul wrote the song and asked me to do it. He coupled it with Joey Dee’s hit “The Peppermint Twist.’ I used to get up and do the twist onstage and Paul played my drums. It was a little novelty act and it went down well with the fans. When The Beatles performed it, Paul took over on drums, George played Paul’s left-handed bass right-handed and Pete sang.”

(Source)

I used to get on Pete’s case a bit. He’d often stay out all night. He got to know a stripper and they were boyfriend and girlfriend. She didn’t finish work until four in the morning, so he’d stay up with her and roll back at about ten in the morning and be going to bed when we were starting work…

(Paul McCartney, Anthology, 2001)

In Hamburg, one week Tony Sheridan’s drummer got sick, and I drummed for him, for the extra cash, for a week . . . I can hold quite a good beat.

(The McCartney Legacy Volume 1. 1969-73 by Allan Kozinn and Adrian Sinclair)

Q: When did you first play drums? A: My first recollection is in Hamburg. You’d get behind the kit to try and show the drummer what you wanted. That gradually grew to messing around on other people’s kits, which were lying around because there were a lot of groups playing in the places we played. You picked up the simplest beats very naturally. I remember one evening when Tony Sheridan’s drummer didn’t show up, so Tony said, “Come on, man, sit in!” I said, “No way! I can’t do this.” And he said, “Yeah, you can.” So I did it and then I was thinking, “Well! I’ve actually done a professional drumming gig!” Later, with The Beatles, there was a period where John, George, and I operated as a trio and picked up little bits of work. I remember playing in an illegal club in somebody’s basement on Upper Parliament Street in Liverpool’s Caribbean Quarter. One day this guy called Lord Woodbine, who ran the club, asked if we’d come in and accompany this stripper called Janine. We said, “Wow! Yeah, man! There’s a job.” He even paid us money. Q: It sounds like you would have paid him for that gig. A: Exactly [laughs]. So she came in and said, “Okay, I need you to play Ravel’s Bolero.” We said, “Oh, gee. Sorry, luv. We don’t read music. But we’ve got ’Raunchy.’ That might do.” I had somebody’s old drum kit, and I sat there with a broomstick between my legs, with a microphone tied to it so I could do a bit of vocals and drum at the same time. It was hilarious.

(Paul McCartney, interview with Robert L. Doerschuk for Drum!Magazine, 2005)

Q: When Ringo joined the band, that must have interrupted your emerging career on drums. A: Yeah, I was completely redundant. We loved Ringo so much. He was our favorite drummer in Liverpool, and when he joined the band, it was an explosion: Every song sounded new and fresh. He could pass what we felt was the true test for drummers, which was to be able to play “What’d I Say” — the cymbal work and the toms.

(Paul McCartney, interview with Robert L. Doerschuk for Drum!Magazine, 2005)

We did do a few little bits and pieces together before we all went our separate ways. John and I and Yoko did ‘The Ballad of John and Yoko’. He enlisted me for that because he knew it was a great way to make a record. ‘We’ll go round to Abbey Road Studios. Who lives near there? Paul. Who’s going to drum on this record? Paul. Who can play bass? Paul. And who’ll do it if I ask him nicely? Paul.’ He wasn’t at all sheepish about asking. He probably said something like, ‘Oh, I’ve got this song I want to record. Would you come round?’ And I probably said, ‘Yeah, why not?’

(Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021, about Dear Friend)

Steve Miller happened to be there recording, late at night, and he just breezed in. ‘Hey, what’s happening, man? Can I use the studio?’ ‘Yeah!’ I said. ‘Can I drum for you? I just had a fucking unholy argument with the guys there.’ I explained it to him, took ten minutes to get it off my chest. So I did a track, he and I stayed that night and did a track of his called My Dark Hour. I thrashed everything out on the drums. There’s a surfeit of aggressive drum fills, that’s all I can say about that. We stayed up until late. I played bass, guitar and drums and sang backing vocals. It’s actually a pretty good track. It was a very strange time in my life and I swear I got my first grey hairs that month. I saw them appearing. I looked in the mirror, I thought, I can see you. You’re all coming now. Welcome.

(Paul McCartney in Many Years From Now by Barry Miles, 1997)

I really had to ask myself, “Do I want to give up music, or keep going?” I got a four-track Studer recording machine, like the Beatles used for Sgt. Pepper, put it in the corner of the living-room at my house in London and tried a very simple technique of just plugging directly into the back, not going through a mixing desk. It’s a cool way to record because it’s pure. If, say, I was doing a drum track, I’d play the drums, record it with one microphone, listen to it back, move the mike a little if there wasn’t enough hi-hat or cymbal, and then re-record. Then I’d add bass by plugging the mike into track two and overdubbing while listening to track one through headphones. I’d do that with all with four tracks. It was very hands-on, primitive way of working. <…> It was funky, and still sounds good to me.

(Paul McCartney, “Wingspan” documentary, 2001)

We did not see Ringo until the next night when he arrived at the session. He walked in and went straight to his drums…fiddled with them, then fiddled with them some more. “Somebody did something to my snare drum,” he said irritably. “Paul was here last night. He played them,” explained John. “He’s always fucking around with me things!” It sounded as though Ringo were back in Liverpool and all of them were still teenagers and nothing in their lives had changed. I realized then, that no matter what might happen among them, this was the way they would always relate to each other.

(May Pang, Loving John, 1983)

(Krla Beat, pic by lisamarie-vee)

So, I got into my studio in Scotland and started working, doing the drum track. I normally start with the drums. I sometimes use drum machines, but I like to redo it with real drums. I enjoy drumming. Then I put some bass on it. I was just doing an experimental thing. I was messing around and experimenting. Slowing down tapes, or speeding them up.

(Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021, about Coming Up)

Paul and I were in England, having dinner together [along with our wives]. I told him I was making an EP, and I said, “Why don’t you write me a song?” He wrote the song [Feeling the Sunlight] and put bass on it, he put piano, he put the drums on — and I had to take the drums off. [Laughs.]

(Ringo Starr, interview with Rob Tannenbaum for AARP, Nov 2023)

George was the first one to make a solo album [Wonderwall Music], and I was the drummer. John started the Plastic Ono Band, and I was the drummer. Paul likes to play drums himself, or I would’ve been on his albums too.

(Ringo Starr, interview with Rob Tannenbaum for AARP, Nov 2023)

Q: As strong as you are on bass, keyboards, guitar, and as a singer and writer, is it frustrating to play your drum parts at a more limited level? A: That never intimidates me, though it probably should. I just have so much enthusiasm when I do things that I don’t even consider it. I’m lucky, because some people would wrack themselves with doubt, but when I came to this project I was like, “Man, let’s just have a bit of fun!” It didn’t occur to me that I was some idiot jumping on the kit. I know that a lot of drummers can play rings around me, but as long as I keep it simple and don’t get too flash, I can play with a steady, swampy feel, and that’ll do the job.

(Paul McCartney, interview with Robert L. Doerschuk for Drum!Magazine, 2005)

@i-am-the-oyster, I hope you will enjoy :)

+ this

[princesscure]

Josh Washington ☆ Headcanons :3

contains: mentions of death, substance abuse and misuse, feet, the beatles jerking off, um..

hallo!! this is my first ever actual post on Tumblr but i figure since there's not a lot of josh stuff (that I can see) I figured to contribute despite my lack of experience on doing this, so i hope this isn't completely buns!! (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) pls enjoy!!

-> im sorry but he SO listens to billy joel.

-> is the human equivalent of a heater except for the fact he has to wear 4+ socks because his feet get IRRATIONALLY cold, but then he literally uses that to torment every person by putting his freezing cold dogs on 'em!!

-> him and the twins would throw the most abhorrent pranks on each other, like it started from fake spider toys placed somewhere as little kids to literally staging an entire fake murder to prank eachother

-> which also ties into josh's psycho prank on the others being a way to cope and another part of his revenge, playing a prank hannah and beth would've loved if they were still alive.

-> he's like a fucking wikipedia when it comes to the most obscure shit, and it literally ranges from how a film was shot, to the Beatles jacking off in front of each other, or the absurd history of a game they're all playing. like he just knows the most random shit and will just casually drop it like it's the most casual thing to know

-> loves creeping up behind people and going "boo!" like tell me he wouldn't

-> the type of person to be skeptical about ghosts but believe aliens without a doubt

-> he smokes weed. this isn't a headcanon it's actually completely canon in the game(s) I swear guys!!!

-> when he was still taking his medication he would drink more and more with his mental health deteriorating, until he stopped taking his meds, which ultimately saved him because at the rate he was going he would've genuinely died from the alcohol and pills mixing.

-> was absolutely hooked on five nights at freddys when it came out but didn't tell a damn soul except for the twins.

-> has overwhelming guilt over the twins missing, replays the night over and over in his mind before he passed out. but since he drank so much, he only remembers bits and pieces, which makes him loathe himself more for not doing more.

-> one of the times the group was partying (before the incident) josh had gotten so drunk he deadass stumbled into the lit fireplace for a second without realizing it until he looked down at the sudden warmth and drunkenly stumbled away and the group NEVER let him live it down since.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

"Boobs," Robin blurted out.

"Pardon?" Vickie asked. "Did you just say boobs?"

"They're great, right?" Robin asked. "I like mine."

"I like mine, too," Vickie said in amusement.

"I, uh, also like other women's boobs," Robin revealed. "You ever think about other women's boobs?"

"I like to think about yours," Vickie said and Robin squeaked.

"Yeah, me too," Robin whispered. "I mean, I think about yours, too."

"I also think about dicks," Vickie said. "Is that okay?"

"For you, yes. It's just boobies for me," Robin said.

"I also like boobies and dicks," Steve spoke.

"Oh, shit, I forgot where we were for a moment," Robin said. "Sorry, Steve."

The three of them were huddled in the smallest storage closet known to man, hiding from a demogorgon.

"I figured you would forget all about me considering that Vickie is practically sitting in your lap, and your back is against mine. I just didn't want you making out against it," Steve said.

"Oh, come on, take one for the team, Steve!" Robin exclaimed and Vickie giggled.

"Yeah, not a chance. Would you let me make out against your back?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, not a chance," Robin said with a snort. "I'm sorry, Vickie. I was going to be a lot more eloquent in how I was going to tell you. But then all I could think about was the conversation Steve and I had in the car about you returning the Fast Times tape with it paused on Phoebe Cates's boobs and Steve insisted that it meant that you liked boobies. I just didn't want to admit that I got lucky and the girl of my dreams liked boobies like me."

"I did it on purpose," Vickie replied.

"Pardon?" Robin asked.

"I returned the tape to you on purpose. I knew you worked at Family Video, and you're so smart. You make such amazing observations, and I thought that I could give you a hint without making it so obvious, you know?" Vickie asked.

"Ha! I knew it!" Steve exclaimed. "It a total move. It's a great move!"

"Steve. . .shut the hell up," Robin laughed.

"So, the girl of your dreams, huh?" Vickie asked.

"Is that okay?" Robin asked.

"It's more than okay," she replied. "You're the girl of my dreams, Robin Buckley. I dream about you every night."

"Damn," Steve sighed and rolled his eyes. "Go ahead, Robin."

Steve felt them shifting, and he knew that Vickie was now straddling her lap, judging by the knees that were digging into him. He could feel Robin being pushed against him, and he could hear the sounds of their lips smacking together as they gasped. Suddenly, the door opened.

"Steve!" He heard Dustin's voice exclaim. "Did you know that Robin and Vickie were making out against your back?"

"Actually, I didn't know," Steve said sarcastically. "Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome! El chased away that demogorgon for you guys," Dustin said. "You don't have to hide in the closet anymore!"

The three of them stood up as Dustin walked off. Vickie had just taken Robin's hand when Robin gasped with realization. She turned to Steve.

"Since when do you like boobies AND dicks?" Robin asked.

"I was running with Nancy and Jonathan the other day. They both fell on top of me to save me from the herd of demobats that suddenly flew overhead. I, uh, realized that it wasn't just Nancy," Steve blushed.

"Oh, so, you're in love with Jonathan, too?" Robin asked.

"I mean, yeah, but I also liked the way his dick accidentally pressed up against my ass," Steve replied, and Vickie giggled.

"Okay. . .I'm telling you right now that it's going to be tricky to return the favor," Robin said. "But I think I can manage three people making out against my back."

"Is that the weirdest thing that you two have done for each other?" Vickie laughed.

"No!" Robin and Steve said in unison.

"By the way. . .Jonathan Byers? With that haircut? He looks like a Beatles reject," Robin said teasingly.

"Oh, is this payback for me mocking you for your crush on Tammy Thompson?" Steve smirked, glancing at Vickie.

"You rat! You fink!" Robin hissed.

"Tammy Thompson?!" Vickie asked. "The muppet?!"

"I was young, okay!"

Robin pretended to be mad, but she couldn't help but smile when Vickie and Steve teamed up to affectionately mock her. Yeah, there was hope for them all.

[menlove]

george plagiarised my sweet lord????!??!!??

oh man lmao yeah that's a wild one. it was settled as "subconscious plagiarism" which honestly I'd buy bc like. it's not crazy to think that you'd hear a song and years later think you came up with the tune. there's a reason paul was obsessively playing "yesterday" for everyone to make sure he didn't accidentally steal it- it seems like something that happens frequently. or there was another time ringo thought he came up with a song but it wound up being a bob dylan song lmfao. and of course john's case over "come together". it's not exclusive to george or even the beatles or even white male musicians (although there's certainly smth to be said about how many white male musicians do this shit on purpose) but seems more like the product of constant exposure to music and no one checking them well enough because they're the beatles.

but basically the melody is identical to "he's so fine" by the chiffons & he wound up having to pay $1,599,987 to bright tunes for subconscious plagiarism which he didn't deny as a possibility

one of his quotes on it:

“I wasn’t consciously aware of the similarity when I wrote the song,” Harrison said. “But once it started to get a lot of airplay, people started talking about it, and it was then I thought, ‘Why didn’t I realize?’ It would have been very easy to change a note here or there and not affect the feeling of the record.”

aaaand another where he's a little less charitable lmfao:

“It’s always been in escrow. As far as I’m concerned, the effect the song has had far exceeds any bitching between copyright people and their greed and jealousy.”

(source on all these)

[lick-me-lennon22]

Bug Boys X Reader who has to take exams on their birthday 🎂

(another request submitted by a lovely anon!! hope I'm not too late 💕 happy birthday, love!)

John

he'll try to talk to you while you're studying but realizes you're too engrossed in your books to even lift your head and acknowledge him

he decides to try a different approach, snickering as he scribbles silly (and often dirty) notes onto pieces of paper

he folds them into paper aeroplanes and sails them across the room, almost always striking you in the head

he loves to see the look on your face and hear your laughter fill the room when you open and read them, becoming red-faced and flustered

On the day of the tests, John arrives at your doorstep with a paper bag in hand. "Hey there, birthday braniac! Ready to conquer those exams?"

He hands you the bag and you examine it, realizing he's packed you a homemade lunch. It's just a simple sandwich and some crisps, but it's made with lots of love and he's done his best. He offers his arm to you and you link it with yours as he guides you out of the doorway and down the sidewalk. The two of you wander through the streets, John easing your nerves with playful banter the whole way.

When you reach the exam hall, he squeezes your hand and whispers: "You've got this, love. Knock 'em dead."

Not long after, you come to find he's slipped a note into the lunchbag - a small piece of paper with a shittily-drawn self portrait of him giving you a thumbs up.

☆☆☆

John arrives to pick you up after you've finished, beckoning you toward him and into his arms for a hug. When you pull away, he raises his hand to reveal two tickets to see your favorite band (other than the Beatles, of course) in concert. You squeal in delight and give him a kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, love" he says, before taking your hand in his and leading you to the venue to let loose and celebrate.

Paul

in the time leading up to your final exams, Paul ensures that you're well-fed and rested while you study

he knows it can be easy to forget or set aside self-care when you're so intent on cramming

with a gentle knock on the door, Paul enters your room carrying a tray laden with delicious goodies

"I made your favorite! Fuel up, love."

he'll play soft melodies on his piano to provide some background noise and hopefully help you focus

On the day of your exams, Paul pulls up in his sleek vintage car, the soft strains of a love song playing over the radio. With a charming smile, he opens the passenger door and extends a hand to you. "Hop in," he instructs with a flirtatious wink. You drive through the city streets, all the while Paul sings along to the radio and serenades you with sweet lyrics. As you arrive at your destination, he leans in close and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. "You're going to do brilliantly, love."

☆☆☆

Once you're finished he arrives to pick you up, a bouquet of fragrant flowers in hand. You approach him, smiling softly, and he places a gentle hand on the back of your neck to pull you into a passionate kiss. "Happy birthday, darling."

You begin to notice he's taking a familiar route, realizing at last that he's brought you to your favorite restaurant for a romantic candlelit birthday dinner. You enjoy a three-course meal along with dessert, heading home to end the day with some cuddles and relaxation.

George

throughout the weeks leading up to your exams, George helps you stay centered and focused while you study

he'll enter your room in silence and sit down beside you, handing you a steaming cup of herbal tea

"Feeling nervous?" he asks softly, and you nod

"Remember, this is just a temporary challenge. Focus on the present and let your intuition guide you."

he provides a sense of calm and serenity amidst the chaos of cramming and deadlines

George doesn't "help" you study, per se, but tries to manifest a good outcome for you

in his mind's eye, he envisions you stepping into the exam room with confidence and determination, ready to tackle any challenging questions that may come your way

When the day comes, George arrives at your door with a single red rose in hand, a shy smile playing on his lips. "I thought you may need a bit of a good luck charm," he says playfully, offering you the rose. He takes your free hand in one of his, squeezing it gently.

Together, you walk through the quiet streets, George's presence a source of comfort and security. As you come up on the exam hall, he gazes into your eyes and speaks softly. "You've got this, dear. I believe in you."

☆☆☆

When George arrives to collect you after your exams, he walks up to greet you. With a gentle touch, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and gives you a soft kiss. "Well done, gorgeous. Happy birthday."

As he walks, you fall into step behind him, telling him all about your experience and how you feel the tests went when the two of you come upon a strange dome-shaped building. He's taken you on a surprise trip to the planetarium! The calming visuals and dark atmosphere help you to relax as you fixate on the captivating show. George knew just what you needed to unwind and celebrate at the end of a long and stressful day.

Ringo

when you tell him about your upcoming finals, Ringo helps you to organize your study materials and create a schedule

he wants to make sure you still have time for fun and relaxation during this hectic time

he'll eagerly offer to be your study buddy if you need someone to read material aloud or quiz you

he makes the most adorable flashcards, complete with colorful pictures to help you remember complicated subjects

Ringo brings a sense of joy and lightheartedness to your study sessions that helps you destress and shift focus away from your worries

When the day finally arrives, Ringo pulls up on his motorcycle, the engine rumbling softly beneath him. With a cheeky grin, he offers you a helmet and gestures for you to hop on.

Together, you ride through the winding roads, the wind whipping through your hair. Ringo's laughter and singing fills the air, and his carefree attitude puts your mind at ease like nothing else can.

As you pull up to the exam venue, he smiles warmly and leans in close. "You're going to ace this, love. Just remember, I'll be waiting to celebrate with you after."

☆☆☆

When you're finally finished, you exit the building with a deep breath followed by a sigh of relief. Ringo speeds around the corner on his motorbike, coming to an abrupt stop in front of you. When he finally stalls and you're able to getter a better look, you notice that numerous bags hang from the handlebars, filled with colorful tissue paper. "Happy happy birthday, sweetheart!" he calls, offering the helmet to you once again and motioning you to take your seat behind him.

You arrive home to even more gifts scattered about your dining room table, a lone cupcake in the middle with a candle planted firmly in the center. A giant teddy, seated in one of the chairs, wears a striped party hat. The remainder of the evening is filled with hugs and kisses as you unwrap the many thoughtful gifts Ringo has picked out for you, cherishing each and every one.

[bambi-kinos]

To sum up your latest posts, you think that at first John and Paul made some sort of commitment in Paris in 1961, and Paul had plans to spend the future with John as a romantic couple? Then Barcelona happened, Julian was born and Paul just didn't trust John any more. He started to plan his own future with wife and children and disrespect John with his actions. John didn't trust him either after The Family Way, trips with other men etc. They just didn't communicate well, never discussed their problems and the relationship started to go downhill. Right? Seems a very possible turn of events.

But what do you think Paul was planning for their future with John in 1961? Living together as a couple? And what about children? I don't know how dangerous it was for two men live together at the begining of the 60's.

I don't think Paul had a solid idea about the future. He was really swept up in the romance of it all and he wanted to hold on to John forever. I think by 1961 Paul at least knew exactly where his head and heart were at.

IMO something else happened in Paris, more than just the two of them chilling and do fun tourist things or partying. I think that John finally got out of his own way and said or did something where he committed to Paul. Maybe that's where the bracelet came from and that was a token of John's esteem. But I think John made it clear to Paul that he was in it for the long haul and he believed that The Beatles were the vehicle that could make it happen.

Now this was 1961, so John is 21 and Paul is what, 19 or 20? So I don't think they had the capacity of think this through or the experience to imagine the cost of what this would be. Paul wanted kids but it was definitely a more abstract "I'll have them someday." It's possible that if they were planning a secret affair from this point but that's up to personal headcanons until Paul tells us more. Personally I don't think they had any concrete plans in the sense that John promised to be exclusive to Paul or anything like that. I think it was more something like "we've come this far, I'm in it for the long term with you, I think this Beatle thing can really take us somewhere if we let it. Once we're famous we'll have lots of money and power so we can do anything. Here, have a bracelet."

And I think that hope is what they held on to for a long time. If they were cognizant of their relationship with each other (and I think they were) then that means they needed protection. And there's also no reason to believe they asked each other to give up their partying and sleeping around because they both enjoyed it. It was a bonding activity for them. So with all that in the mix, they decided they wanted to be together in some sort of capacity and that their rock and roll lifestyles would take care of the rest. And to their credit, it did.

When looking at the break up and coming apart, it seems to me that they both suffered extensively because their dreams were disappearing before their eyes. Brian dying scared them both and maybe that's when Paul thought that being a homosexual in their society would lead him to the same end. He wanted children and was scared of the shifting ground under his feet and didn't trust John to keep him stable. So he jumped ship, found a woman with a ready-made family, and married her instead. Paul wanted the comfort of normalcy in a world that was falling apart around his ears.

The nebulous dream that he and John committed to in Paris ended up being just that: a dream. They realized they had no idea how to carry out the specifics of what they wanted, probably because Brian had worked overtime to shield them from a great deal. Without him they didn't know how to navigate the adult world together.

I'm not sure if they ever really planned to live as a couple together. It would have been very dangerous and could have destroyed everything they built, something they were both cognizant of. The India theory posits that John asked for this very thing and that's what scared Paul so much that he got engaged to Jane Asher and then went on a marriage proposal spree when she dumped him. Maybe he couldn't handle the thought of something that blatant and honest. Historically Paul needs the safety of normalcy to surround him before he does something rash. And even if it wasn't that particular thing, his thrill seeking days of stepping out with John Lennon come what may were over.

"Frankly, I miss Paris." - John Lennon during The Long Weekend. Paris represented something to them both, the dream they had as young men of a better world where they could hide in plain sight. Neither of them were ready for what happened when they got what they wanted and they didn't have the life experience to bring it in for a landing. So Paris becomes this talisman that represents the object of their true desire: to live in the dream they had together instead of the ugly reality they were forced to inhabit. There are no specifics to the deal because I don't think they were capable of creating or thinking of them. It was just a dream that they both urgently wanted but couldn't think through.

[kichisaburo3]

Aunt MIMI of John Lennon To Interview in 1970 from reddit com

The Below is BLOCKQUOTE of reditt com https://www.reddit.com/r/beatles/comments/14njs8t/interview_with_aunt_mimi_1970/?rdt=53135

QUESTION: What do you really think of the Beatles?

MIMI SMITH: The boys had talent, yes, but they also had a lot of luck as well. When they first played “Love Me Do” I didn’t think much of it.

QUESTION: How did you view the troubles the Beatles have been going through these last few years?

SMITH: I don’t know all this business between John and Paul is about and I don’t dare ask John. I did ring Paul about it, and he told me things would straighten up. The boys have been friends so long. I remember them coming home from school together on their bikes, begging biscuits. I’m sure they’ll get back together soon. This is just a phase they’re passing through.

QUESTION: These days your nephew is very involved in a variety of social, political, and avant-garde causes. How do you feel about that?

SMITH: I’ve just quit reading the papers these days. Apple sends me his records, but I won’t play them. And I’ve asked my friends not to tell me about them. The shameful album cover and that [erotic] art show of his. He’s been naughty and the public doesn’t like it, and he’s sorry for it. Now he wants sympathy. That’s why he’s come out with all these fantastic stories about an unhappy childhood. It’s true that his mother wasn’t there and there was no father around, but my husband and I gave him a wonderful home. John didn’t buy me these furnishings, my husband did. John, Paul, and George wrote many songs together sitting on the sofa you’re sitting on now, long before you’d ever heard of the Beatles. Why, John even had a pony when he was a little boy! He certainly didn’t come from a slum! None of the boys did. The Harrisons weren’t as well off as the other families, perhaps, but George wasn’t from a slum, either, the way the press had it. And that’s why you never saw photographs of John’s boyhood home. We certainly weren’t imperished, the way John’s talking now ?

QUESTION: What do you think changed John so much from his early days as a carefree kid?

SMITH: She’s responsible for all this, Yoko. She changed him, and I’m sure she and Linda are behind the split between John and Paul. Cynthia was such a nice girl. When she and John were in art college, she’d come to my house and say, “Oh, Mimi, what am I going to do about John?” She’d sit there until he came home. Cynthia really pursued him. He’d walk up the road and back until she got tired of waiting and went home. I think he was afraid of her, actually.

QUESTION: You realize, of course, that to many people John is something of a political leader with such songs as, “Power to the People,” for example …

SMITH: Don’t talk to me about such things! I know that boy. He doesn’t know what he’s saying! It’s all an act. If there were a revolution, John would be the first in the queue to run! Why, he’s scared to death of things like that! That’s Yoko talking, not John! Yoko is not exactly right in the head. Everytime John does something bad and gets his picture in the papers he rings up to smooth me over. See that new color television? It was a Christmas present, but he had it delivered early. A big present arrives every time he’s been naughty. I usually have a huge photograph of John hanging in the lounge. When he’s a good boy, it’ll go back up again!

TAG of BEATLES in my Tumblr https://kichisaburo3.tumblr.com/tagged/BEATLES

12 NOV 2024 Tuesday

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi, lovely Crepesuzette! Thanks a lot of your inspiring blog, your fics and always helpfull #fic recs! And can I ask any recs for good fics where John in the end understend the shit he did for Paul? All of this HDYS, Melody Maker, Rolling Stone etc, which not only hurted Paul but they ruined his self-esteem and creative reputation, you know. Thanks again! Love you and want you be happy everyday like you do it for me :)

Hello there, thank you for the ask—and for your kind words. Very welcome, esp. since real life has been low grade shit these past few days.

So...your ask make me think of stories where things are not only better than they were in this (clears throat) reality as we know it: there's also a focus on mutual understanding, peace-making, forgiveness. Yes?

These came to my mind...and making this list made me realize I'm really in the mood to re-read some of them! In the 70's:

stuck inside these four walls (@monkberries). Lost Weekend. John and Paul get locked up until they resolve their shit.

i can only speak my mind (@revollver). 70's. Paul reads John's 'secret' diaries that have been leaked to the press, and understands him—and himself—better.

forth and back (@monkberries). 70's—80's. Paul and John talk through songs.

A Toot and a Snore (@glowing-gold). Lost Weekend in LA. That jam session is on the page in real time, as is their slow and hot reconciliation. Will never forget the description of moustache-Paul and his nipples, *fans self*

They Say it's Your Birthday (@ohjohnnysblog). 1979. A personal favorite. Warm, nostalgic phone sex in the spirit of peace and friendship.

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice), 1974. John is exposed to Wings, Paul's family, and Paul's hotness, and realizes it's all meant to lure him back...

You Will, You Will, You Will (@eveepe). John and Paul and Linda take the plunge. Excellent tension...over the phone and in person.

February in New Orleans (@eveepe). 1975. John and May visit Paul and Linda in New Orleans. Resentment is desire's favorite costume. Everyone has a good time, 2/4 have a hard-on (I am sorry).

Adventures in Total Honesty (@merseydreams). 1975. Paul and John meet backstage, and have it out. A+ banter, and so many things I wish Paul had said. Also: sex.

The lights go down (they're back in town) (@backbenttulips). 1977. Paul and John are trapped in an elevator at the Dakota. The power goes out. John comes back to live.

Something Borrowed Something New (@inspiteallthedanger). 1979. The former Beatles meet at Pattie & Eric's wedding. Paul and John face some truths.

six hours in august (@stonedlennon). 1979. A chance meeting in NYC. The love is still there.

I Still Miss Someone/ I Know That I Miss you, but I Don't Know Where I Stand/ Close the Door Lightly When You Go (RosalindBeatrice). 1976-1979. Paul and John become lovers, but their lives have changed. John feels guilty about the past, Paul has a family...Mutual empathy is needed, and accordingly grows. But it doesn't come easy.

1980 and Onwards:

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams). John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. Paul has had therapy, and John wears denim shorts. There is only one bed.

Free Man in Paris (@backbenttulips). John and Paul get married in Paris in '61, and get a divorce seven years later. But it's not the end.

Memory Lane (@ohjohnnysblog). Old, married John and Paul leaf through a photo album and reminisce about the past, including past lovers.

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo_wedidit): John and Paul. Now and Then.

Bermuda (@scurator): John and Paul are grown-ups and know what they want (each other, to start with).

Take A Sad Song and Make it Better (@javelinbk). 1980. John visits Paul in 1980, and they revisit the past, including their love. But their families don't magically disappear. Also by @javelinbk: Our Version of Events (Part 1, Part 2 (in progress)). 1971. Reading fan fiction helps John and Paul realize what's happening, and what's been happening in the past.

Going Nowhere (@inspiteallthedanger). 1980; John survives the shooting and returns to England. I think of this one as 'they talk about it' fic.

Comprehensive Fix-Its:

The Contract (JP). The story of John and Paul, with a happier (though bizarre) ending, and a lot of sex (good).

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) (@fingersfallingupwards). The story of John and Paul à la The Time Traveller's Wife. It takes them a long time—but in the end they do understand and forgive each other.