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ringstarrr · 2 days ago

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If I Needed Someone

summary: Elena is a Brazilian journalist on vacation in London, and happens to find someone very special during this trip that changes her life.

pairing: george harrison x !female oc

warnings: mentions of disaperances, military dictatorship, angst

author's note: i know i said i'd posting this in january, but life is a bitch. like i said before in that post, here is the long fic i'm currently working on. it starts in 1967. it takes a long time to write this one so hold on. hope you like it :)

It was her first time aboard; she went to London to pursue the dream of knowing the ever so beautiful place with her own darkish eyes. Most of the things Elena liked came from England, so it was no surprise where the Brazilian girl would choose to go once her now ex-boyfriend came up with the idea of visiting another country. They have long broken up, finding the man with one of other female reporters in a bar around the corner of the magazine they worked at in São Paulo. At least the girl was only a freelancer, never seeing the woman again, and Elena thought she wouldn’t recognize her at first glance — and the element she once called a boyfriend took more work out of town since then, only coming to the office once to tell Elena he had canceled his ticket.

"I won’t disturb your trip, even if it was meant to be ours. Sorry I ruined everything". How sweet, she smiled.

Elena worked at Realidade, living the raw and chaotic lifestyle of the city’s downtown area. The office was in between two avenues, João Adolfo and Álvaro de Carvalho, a few meters from the famous Nove de Julho avenue. Realidade occupied the twelfth floor of the triangle-shaped building, and the woman loved it. The magazine was ahead of its time in its themes and how to board those, having a monthly publishing gave the reporters just enough time to research and interview how many people needed to write an interesting article for the next issue. It was definitely a fun job.

Elena covered politics, though; it wasn’t nice, but it wasn't as bad as she and everyone in her life circle thought it would be. The country has been under a military dictatorship for three years, when she was just a student coming from the countryside. Elena was 22 and she remembers everything, either she likes it or not. If not for her, probably her family wouldn’t have ever known how things were going on in the big major cities, believing the propaganda around a communist threat and moral panic. She prevented them from knowing full details, not only because they were gruesome, disheartening and shocking, but Elena feared someone might be listening, moreover, who.

The girl knew a bunch of people that went missing in the blink of an eye. It was her last year in college, and all she could remember was her colleagues and friends just stopping from coming to class altogether, raising an unspoken concern around campus, to then the course’s administration being obliged to take a leave of absence for almost a third of the enrolled class. It was extremely hard, much for not knowing when, how, where or who to talk about the subject without tracing unwanted attention. The smallest of the missteps was enough to end it all. The safest place was her bathroom, crying under the shower in complete distress, and sometimes some places in her dorm, where she’d meet others involved with unions and UNE — the Students National Union — in the early hours of the morning every once in a while. The dark haired one also left that part out when talking to her parents once she went to visit them later that same year. Elena not only had friends in the movement, she was in it as well.

It was a tough experience in every single way she could think of. She came to understand that some of her friends were exiled willingly, some not, and a few were declared dead. And there were the ones which nobody had a clue about. Every hint the movement got led nowhere or, more often than not, to traps by the military. They started ignoring those clues after a while to avoid any more casualties, and it simply made her numb for a long time. One of the students missing was a close friend, Lídia, and what might be happening to the young lady took nights away from Elena.

Lídia was a tall blonde with a beauty mark on the center of her forehead, always carrying a big brown leather purse that used to get twisted in her long hair. She was friends with Elena since their first day at college, clicking like they were childhood sweethearts. Elena knew her family, and sometimes the image of her parents would pop into her nightmares. Lídia went missing right before graduation. The last time they spoke was that same day, and she was heading to Elena’s dorm to help her pack to move to a new and small apartment near Lídia’s house, around Mooca.

When the blond didn’t show, Elena called her friend’s family. In the new space, sitting on one of the boxes lying in the living room, she curled the yellow phone’s cord anxiously. It was late in the evening and Lídia’s parents were elders, but that didn’t matter at that moment.

"Sorry to call this late, Ms", she announced at the sound of Lídia’s mother's voice. "Have you heard from Lídia? She was supposed to come here earlier…"

Elena trailed off, hearing the complete silence fill the call. The duration of it and strength of the woman slowly taking in a breath stayed with her. And the trembling of her voice.

"She never arrived at the dorm, Elena?" The young one bit her cheek, holding back the anxiety growing stronger. She managed to whisper a “no”. "That can’t be true…"

Not anymore.

Elena cried herself to sleep that night and a bunch of others after. She still visits their house, only not as much. Both parts were scared of raising unrequited stares by being seen together. Yet, they lived close. Elena often saw the elderly woman on the street, clearly taken over by the situation. She was thinner, her skin deep and her eyes small. Having to deal with this in silence drove Elena mad, reconsidering the movement and her involvement with it. Is this really worth it? All this suffering? It was something she thought a lot about. But since she didn’t get involved much already, just going to meetings and delivering letters from exiled revolutionaires to their families and friends, Elena decided to stay.

She panicked when one of her friends tried to teach her how to shoot a gun in early 1966. It was dangerous to do that just by themselves, without the movement’s help, especially in a residential building on Vila Mariana, an area the military used to patrol quite often due to the movie theaters with mostly foreign movies — they thought the students were dumb enough to schedule a meeting during or after a Godard film was shown. The experience brought Elena a new feeling of dread and anxiety she longed to never feel again. The friend, which was actually a casual fling restricted to secluded places — it was a girl — left and never came back, but only after calling Elena a coward. It was the first week at her new apartment, quite a homecoming. She had left Mooca after just five months, the possibility of meeting Lídia’s parents anytime she left the house cursed her — Elena knew they didn’t blame her for the missing of their daughter, but she couldn’t help but think how the military caught the girl when she was going to her place.

The fling was a girl named Julia. They met through a movement’s meeting. She didn’t live in town, staying for a mission she refused to tell Elena anything about. But the girl had a gun in her backpack and that raised unanswered questions. It was the first time Elena got involved with a girl and it was actually nice for some time. Julia would come by her apartment unannounced quite often. Initially just to chat and give back one of Elena’s records she borrowed. On one of those occasions, the long and curly haired brunette made a comment on Maria Bethania’s appearance after returning the singer’s debut LP, exclaiming how attractive she thought the baiana was. This led to a subtle talk on women’s traits, what each of them liked most — Julia was just naming Elena’s physical traits and it didn’t go unnoticed. They ended up in bed, showering each other in caresses and kisses. It happened a few times, enough for Elena to consider asking the girl what she wanted to label them, even if just for themselves.

This whole conversation was supposed to take place that night, but Julia was more interested in trying to convince Elena to learn how to shoot the gun. What started as a joke soon turned into a fight. It all happened fast. She arrived, kissed Elena and dropped the backpack by the front door, and began bickering about how much of a pussy Elena was for not knowing how to protect herself. The girl tried to brush it off, but then realized Julia wasn’t kidding, she actually meant it. Julia tried to force Elena into holding the weapon and that was it for her — she shoved Julia away harshly, eyes wide.

"Oh, so it’s gonna be like this?" Julia ironized and pushed Elena even harder, the woman landing on the ground. Julia snickered and grabbed her things, going to the door. "You are and will always be a fucking coward." With that, she slammed the door and the two never met again.

Either way, covering politics as a journalist was difficult, and it could go way worse depending on how attentive and paranoid you were. She was on vacation, so nothing to worry about, at least not for now.

Elena was having the best time and, for her, the trip could last forever. She was hanging around town like a complete tourist and outsider — which she was — and simultaneously feeling what belonging must be like. Being from a small city, one of those where everyone knows each other and people talk about others constantly because, well, there isn’t much else to do there, she’d never experienced that. Not in her hometown nor on the college campus. Nevertheless, strangely, she’d swear it was as if the place was made for her, laughing a bit at her selfishness.

She did not feel the need to look up a map after leaving the hotel, however like said before, Elena was at home. She had landed in Europe a few days before, looking around like a lunatic and making friends with an old lady on the same floor of the place she was staying. They went around the town together, the madam making sure to show the young girl some of her favorite spots across town. It was fun, the elderly woman reminded Elena of her grandmother, Italian and not so subtle about expressing herself. She liked the company and was actually considering Isabella a friend and knew it was mutual, exchanging penpal information so they’d send letters and postcards back and forth.

Isabella was in the same situation as Elena, kind of. Her husband died before their trip, but she didn’t think it was a drag or anything like it. The woman was very much at peace with that. She didn’t give Elena a whole lot of detail, but the girl wasn’t stupid. He died of natural causes in his sleep. That Isabella didn’t enjoy. She told her the late man was a farabutto of the highest caliber for most of their marriage and wasn’t much around. Elena knew a lot of Italian men and how bad they could be, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together, and considering the amount of anger Isabella had when speaking of him, she didn’t question the happiness the madam felt being free again.

Walking and driving around Europe with an outspoken Italian lady was not in her plans, being shy herself. The job made her go out of her shell whenever needed, so it was quite easy to learn how to deal with being constantly spoken to at high volumes and enemy-of-timidness-and-shame-ways most days. Their generational difference didn’t interfere — Isabella had other interests for when Elena was in a mood for something “hip”. Nevertheless, their strange and unique ways brought them together in the first place.

Elena was not able to leave the building as fast as she meant, the short old woman bombarded her with a bunch of questions drawn from her pure hectic mind.

"How do I look, mia cara?" Elena chuckled at how they developed so fast a type of grandmother and granddaughter dynamic.

"Good as always, love."

"Do I look pretty?" She pressed, doing circles in the new acquisition Isabella bought earlier in the morning, a flowery spring dress.

"Belissima", the girl replied with a smile.

"Do you think he will like it?" Today she had a date, and Elena couldn’t be happier for her. Isabella met a North American man around her age at the hotel bar in town for a business trip, yet, he asked her for a date. It was harmless fun.

"If he doesn’t, he is blind or stupid. Look at you!" She exclaimed.

Elena left without completely letting her know how stunning and gorgeous she was. Time was ticking and at that point, he would be waiting for Isabella in a matter of minutes. Wandering around the city, Elena tried to take in all of the beauty it exalted; it was almost overwhelming. Standing in the middle of a bridge and not looking to an exact point in the horizon, she thought it would be a great idea to visit a few music shops and restaurants, just so she could experience entering a coffee shop in London by herself. It all felt like a dream.

The wind blew her skirt and her Jane Birkin-esque fringe was everywhere, including her sunglasses, but the whole thing seemed so genuine and new that she did not bother with the hair strands blocking her vision or pinching her face. Not at all. She was in what must have been Camden Town, judging by the lots of art and music shops — and after checking the map the first time that day, she confirmed it was indeed. One shop caught her attention, simple yet so charming looking, with boxes filled with records around the forefront, which was painted in bright colors in the window frame, mainly orange and yellow. Peeking inside, Elena noticed more records and a few instruments. It was intriguing, and there she entered.

The shop was truly beautiful in the most calming and comforting way. The items were mostly older records and music instruments, those being new and very well-crafted — they must make them here, she thought, noticing after a while it was a music shop for collectors and nerds, the brands of the instruments familiar but they were all personalized for each customer. With the sunglasses atop her head, she felt like walking into a psychedelic dream, the works in the pieces filled with color and abstract drawings. After looking around the LPs and grabbing a copy of The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, released four years back, she decided to face the instruments more attentively.

Elena was studying a new Bösendorfer piano, completely white except for the keys and the piece protecting them, she had never seen one in São Paulo when she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing right after, but did not mind. It was just her and another stranger in the store. From the corner of her eye, Elena saw him and she was amazed. The boy was tall, with strong facial features, a mustache and long curly hair that made her turn her head towards him. He was handsome, yet she saw him briefly. He was in the other section of the shop, looking around the guitars, probably for someone to help him with something. She tried not to pay attention and went back to the piano, sitting by the stool and putting Bob Dylan’s record over the top.

Surprisingly, the boy seemed to leave her thoughts quite fast, even though Elena’s stomach was turning into knots and butterflies. She began to play Quem Te Viu, Quem Te Vê, released earlier that year in Nara Leão’s new album, filled with her partnership with Chico Buarque, quietly singing to herself. Elena didn’t think much of it, it was pretty common for people to play at music shops, and the piano didn’t have a tag signaling it was already bought.

"Hoje o samba saiu, procurando você", her voice was small and sweet, and she was surprised to actually remember the words. "Quem te viu, quem te vê, quem não a conhece não pode mais ver pra crer, quem jamais a esquece não pode reconhecer…" For a moment it was as if she was still at home, playing her small black Yamaha during the weekends, learning new songs from the albums she brought home. "Hoje eu vou sambar na pista, você vai de galeria. Quero que você me assista na mais fina companhia. Se você sentir saudades, por favor, não dê na vista. Bate palma com vontade, faz de conta que é turista."

Elena happily finished the song considering she hasn’t heard the Vento de Maio in a good while. The girl was in her own little world when she began playing the firsts keys for I’ll Be Your Mirror — a tune by The Velvet Underground she discovered by accident after buying the LP just because of the cover — when someone cleared their throat behind her. Already feeling her face warm in embarrassment, Elena turned around.

"Hi", it was the man from before. Now she could really take in his looks. Strong nose, round doe eyes, big lips, bony big hands nervously playing with one another. He was wearing a flowy light-shaded pink shirt with a beige vest and Bordeaux colored pants. "I’m sorry; do you know where the owner is?" She was taken aback by him, more focused on how his messy hair made him look oh-so adorable and how thick his accent was than she’d like to admit.

"Oh, hi." Elena offered a small smile, the blush more intense. There could be seen a rosy shade creeping on the man’s face. "Actually no, now that you mentioned. I entered here and didn't see anyone."

"Weird, normally he’s here at this hour", he said looking around, and then placing eyes on the record on top of the piano. "D’ya like Dylan? He's nice", he smiled and all his teeth were shown and Elena swore she had never seen such a beautiful man in her lifetime. "What were you playing just now?" He asked, looking directly into her eyes. Moreover, she noted they were very dark and shiny. "Is that Spanish?" She could tell it was true curiosity, but Elena laughed at the question, clearly throwing him off as he blushed harder.

"It’s Portuguese. Brazilian Portuguese, more specifically", she smiled at him, cheeks flushing and looking down, trying to show the laugh wasn’t to make fun of him, just being nervous. "Completely normal to mistake one for the other. It’s Nara Leão", she noticed the name was completely new to him and smiled once again, amused. "Does Chico Buarque ring a bell?" He seemed more comfortable, yet the blush was evident. He nodded and came to sit by her right side in the stool, arms brushing together in result. Elena could feel the fabric of the shirt he was wearing in her upper arm. She was wearing a conventional top with most of her back exposed, the fabric holding itself by the knot at the back of her neck.

"De Holanda?" He spoke with that accent, her smile larger as she giggled. "Guess I wrecked it, right?" He laughed a bit, his tongue coming in between his long teeth.

"It doesn’t sound that bad, don’t worry", she laughed once more. "Either way, did you enjoy the song?" She was trying to make a conversation and maybe, just maybe, flirt a little. It was just a start.

"I did, doll. I did", he giggled, still not sure what to do with his hands but coming across as very much confident. Elena couldn’t take her eyes off of him. "Gonna look her up afterwards, be sure of that". That smile was gonna be the death of her. "If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here? People don’t usually play here." Elena’s eyes popped out.

"Don’t say that", she tried to sound nonchalant, but she was completely embarrassed. "It isn’t normal to play around in music shops here?" She couldn’t contain her disbelief, and he whole-heartly laughed at her, the sound soft at the ears.

"It is, just not here", he began playing a few notes on the piano, holding a grin. "It’s the kind of shop where the instruments are reserved and quite expensive. People are a bit over the top about it". At the explanation, she noticeably gulped. "Doll, don’t panic. There’s no one here", after swiftly putting a hand on her back and taking it off, he was back to playing with the keys.

"Do you come here very often?" Elena was analyzing his features, looking for a reaction.

"I come here when I don’t want to worry about stupid shite, like work and all of that jazz…" he stopped a second to look at the wristwatch on his left pulse, noticing it was almost two in the afternoon and giggling. "So yeah, I guess I come here quite a lot, even on a random Tuesday." He said laughing at himself. Tilting his head towards the girl, he watched her look at the piano so peacefully, in an almost mesmerizing manner. "What about you?" The boy asked, looking straight into her face.

"It's great to find somewhere to chill in the middle of the madness out there…" she thought loudly, cursing herself mentally for letting her strange ways come up. "Oh, it is my first time here. I thought it was obvious", she grinned, blushing a little.

"Y’have never been here before?" He was holding a smirk.

"Yeah. To be honest with you, it is my first time in England". His eyes jumped a little.

"How cool! Where are you from?" When he heard the answer, he was even more interested in the girl. "That explains the song. It must be amazing there. Well, if people are like you."

"Hum, uh, so, what were you looking for in there?" Blushing, she asked, pointing to the opposite side of the shop. "And thank you", almost above a whisper, but he heard it anyway, smiling at how nervous she looked.

"I was looking for an order I made, but I’m thankful I did not find it", he could not hold the smile much longer, so he just asked. "What is your name?"

"Elena", the girl said, her voice low. They could not stop looking at each other.

"Nice to meet you, Elena". He extended his hand out for a shake, and she took it gracefully. Her hand felt so soft against his. "I’m George", his hand was rough but comforting, leading Elena to think it was a sign.

"Since you don’t know round the city may I show it to you?" George asked as he got up, his eyebrows going up with his smile and arms open, causing Elena to laugh.

"Sure thing. I’m just going to pay for this and we can go". She checked the price in the Bob Dylan album and put a note in the cash register explaining what she had bought and what happened so the owner would not miss the item. George quietly smiled at the gesture, thinking how it wasn’t the norm to do that. And it wasn’t, but Elena was paranoid, for valid reasons, that any ambiguous action of hers could be used as reason to cause her suffering.

#the beatles #george harrison #paul mccartney #john lennon #ringo starr #beatles #george harrison x reader #george harrison imagine #beatles x reader #beatles fanfic #the beatles x reader #1967 #beatles 1967 #george harrison 1967 #oc #my oc

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makemeactup · 9 months ago

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Ringo Starr x OC - Hello

Summary: The lads have a bash with Beth, their childhood friend and fellow musician. After Ringo and her are left alone, things pick back up as it always seems to do when substances are involved.

Triggers: alcohol & drug mentions, sex, porn with VERY little plot.

A/N: to prove I'm alive and writing, just slow, here's an oc x Ringo thing I did a while ago! Imma not say more bc I WILL ramble about my oc

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It was a get together, a house party only for the five of them. Getting drunk or high, or both, wasn't expected, but it happened. How could they say no? Good vibes, good company, and good substances — it was destined.

George was the first to retire, smashed off his head and high as a kite. He said he felt a little nauseous, and excused himself to the guest bedroom. Next was Paul, also drunk and high, but mainly just tired and mellow. He was falling asleep on the couch, and was sent to share the room with George. Lastly was John, far higher than anyone, he'd consumed a vast amount of vodka and beer and coke, and he'd stumbled his way towards the bathroom, not to be seen for the rest of the evening.

That left a drunk, high, and bashful Ringo, and a drunk, high, and joyful Beth. Sat beside each other on the couch, knees touching, laughter flowing freely and, perhaps, a bit obnoxiously outside of their bubble. They were talking about past times, future times, jokes and memories. Everything and nothing.

His arm was behind her along the couch, bent at the elbow to prop his head up; his torso was facing her, free hand resting on his thigh, fingers tantalisingly close to her leg, tapping an absentminded beat. She was facing him, leg hiked up to lay on the couch beside his hip, hands in her lap and other leg swinging as they spoke.

Everytime Ringo would make her laugh, she'd lean back a little bit, or her head would lightly hit his arm, or she'd place her hand on his knee or over his own hand. Each time, his drunken heart swelled, his cheeks grew a bit rosier, and he felt like a teenager again.

His eyes were entrancing, a gorgeous blue that Beth loved to get lost in. His smile was handsome, especially when it crinkled his eyes and he flashed teeth. He was a funny man, so full of love and joy, and he was warmth personified. He was cute, she'd happily admit. And a longing ached in her chest.

Like always, both of them eventually grew silent. It was just the hum of a record and the low volume of the TV keeping the room alive as the pair held their eye contact. It was intense, intimate. As if nothing else existed but them. A shared adoration, a shared love for one another.

"Hello, Richard," Beth spoke after another palpable few seconds, leaning up a little towards him. Her voice was lacking its previous brashness, now something more genuine and quiet.

"Hello, Bethany," Ringo replied, tone low and just for her. He leaned in a little bit too, noting the way that her cheeks flushed with his movement.

"Hello, Ritchie," She leaned up a little more.

"Hello, Bethie," He leaned down some more.

Their noses were practically touching, eyes half lidded with their sudden close proximity. Their breaths were mingling, a warm touch of anticipation between them.

"Hi, Ringo," Beth leaned in for the last time, lips grazing his.

"Hi, Beth," And their lips met.

It was soft at first, slow and almost hesitant. As if any further action would make the moment null and void; his free hand found the warmth of her thigh, exploring the fabric of her jeans and stopping shy just at her hip, just to repeat the process in reverse. He hummed as her hand found the side of his neck, fingers carding through his hair and playing with the strands.

Fuelled by alcohol, and perhaps a touch of lust, Ringo's grip on her thigh tightened as he intensified the kiss. He wanted to smother her, show her what he'd been waiting to do, how good he could make her feel. Maybe he could make it a point, and maybe she'd remember this unlike last time — hopefully he would, too. But right now, he was feeling bold.

Ringo's free hand met the base of her neck, the abrupt coldness of his rings eliciting a shiver from Beth. His fingers trailed up, carding through her hair and halting at the crown of her head; he grabbed a gentle fistful, a messy thing that had her groaning into his mouth.

Beth shuffled towards him, a hint for him to help. In one swift move, and with a little adjusting, she was straddling his lap. Their kiss was unbroken, growing more heated and desperate by the second. Both of her hands found his hair, and a single hand of his came to squeeze her ass hard.

It was no secret, in their new position, of his arousal. She could feel it straining beneath her, making her ache painfully for him as he was for her. She wanted him. She needed him. The way her hips ground against him said that perfectly. And yet there was worry in her mind.

"Ringo," Beth breathed, pulling back from the kiss with a little push back from his hair-curled hold. Her eyes met his, "We shouldn't do this."

He considered this for a moment, his usually bright blues tinted with something dark. Like an ocean during a storm. He searched her gaze, looking for any sign this should end. Finally, his lips parted, grip in her hair tightening a little. "I want you."

Needing no further reason to continue, she crashed her lips back into his. It was feverish, desperate, no longer holding any signs of hesitation or uncertainty. They needed each other, and each other they would have.

"Take 'em off, darlin'," Ringo hummed after a few more seconds of grinding and soft whines and holding himself back. He tugged at her jeans, "Need t' be in you."

Not having to be told twice, Beth shuffled away, trailing the kiss as far as she could. She stood, shaking hands making quick work of her buttons and zipper. Wiggling her hips to get them off, she cast a glance as he undid his belt and worked on freeing himself.

After kicking her trousers and underwear aside, and letting Ringo do the same, she took a step closer before he stopped her with an outstretched hand, "Undo your top. Please."

A lopsided grin found Beth's face at his polite yet demanding request, unbuttoning her shirt to allow it to drape at her sides. He was stroking himself, watching. But, far too drunk to be self conscious, she approached, flinging herself back into his lap and crushing her lips into his.

Settling back atop him, with some help admittedly, Ringo lined himself up as best he could whilst being devoured by their kiss. He drew back, both hands at her hips, and peered up at her with so much love and desire that she thought she'd melt.

"You ready?" He asked softly, barely a whisper. She simply nodded.

Following his lead, she slowly sunk onto his length, a collective groan filling the room. Her skin erupted into goosebumps at the sensation of being full, brows slanted as she drew in a shaky breath. For a long moment, they basked in each other's intimacy, her head finding the crook of his neck and breath erupting goosebumps in its wake.

He bucked his hips, prompting a surprised gasp; when she sat up, she began rocking atop him, the sensation lulling his head to fall back onto the couch. With lidded eyes he watched her, a hand sliding up to slip behind the open button up and under her bra.

Fingers found her nipple, toying with it. She moaned softly in response, hurried her pace. He gave a smirk, "'s that good?"

"Yes... God... please, Ringo..." Was all Beth could get out, voice a whine and damn near fucked out already.

If it was another night, maybe not when they're trying to be conscious of volume, he'd have fun with that. But for now, he nodded, muttering something breathy about how he knew. All the while, his other hand crept up to toy with her other nipple.

Every now and then, his hips bucked involuntarily, shoving himself deeper inside. And each time, she gave a delightful little gasp and moan combination, clenching around him and throwing her head back. And each time she did that, Ringo swore he could cum right there and then.

She was fucking herself on him, practically drooling. So ready to give herself as he was to her, and Ringo doubted there was ever a better feeling than this.

He began raising his hips to meet her in a steady rhythm, not quite helping the moans starting to occasionally filter through his lips. Without much thinking, his right hand left her breast and trailed up, exploring her deliciously smooth skin and grazing her throat.

The moment his fingers touched the sensitive area, she gasped and her whole body seemed to shake. She whined.

"Oh?" Ringo brought his hand back slowly, fingers curling softly around the expanse of her petite neck. She leaned into his hand a little, clenched around him, moaned something pathetic. "Oh. D'you like that?"

"Y-Yes, Richard, I do. Holy shit," Beth sounded breathless, as if saying anything took a lot of effort and energy. And for her it did, senses overwhelmed with the situation and his touches and how good he felt inside of her all at once.

When his real name left her mouth, he shakily inhaled, hips bucking into her and a hand at her hip pulling her down. Fully inside of her, his eyes closed, savouring how well she took him and how amazing she was. They stayed like that for a long moment, their heavy breaths mingling and appetite for each other not yet satiated. Perhaps it never would be.

Their eyes met now, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. Her nails dug into his clothed shoulder, lips subtly moving as if she wanted to speak. For a second, Ringo considered speaking, too. But like his partner, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I need you," She whispered, attempting to gain some sort of friction, of motion, from the man beneath her.

He hummed after allowing himself another moment to commit this to hazy memory, smile threatening to grow into the dorky grin she'd come to adore. Wordlessly, he wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close, shifting so that she lay in the couch beneath him. He kept himself inside of her, his breath heaving as she clenched around him impatiently.

Without prior warning, he began thrusting into her; his pace was hard and consistent, not slow but nowhere near as fast as he could go. A ringed hand found her throat again, daring to squeeze just a little bit. Her back arched into him as she let out a borderline pornographic moan.

Her hands clawed for any part of him, coming to rest in his shoulder and in his hair. She pulled him down, desperation thick in her kiss and the whines and moans that were softly escaping her, now filtering so perfectly into his ears. His skin erupted into goosebumps, a groan leaving his throat as she tugged at his hair.

"Please, please — fuck me, please."

Just when Ringo thought that Beth couldn't get more attractive or sexy or otherworldly, she had to beg and prove him wrong. His lips found their place at the shell of her ear, leaving sloppy kisses as he tried to catch his breath. "I've got you," He whispered.

As requested, he picked up his pace, leaning up to observe her expressions and the product of his handiwork. Through a heaved breath and exertion, he smirked something wild, "You're so fucking gorgeous. I've been thinkin' 'bout this."

"You feel so good," She managed with a smile, his gorgeous eyes the only thing she could feasibly make out through the physical blur of alcohol and the mental fog of him and how he dominated her senses.

Using it as fuel, Ringo reached a hand down and began circling her bundle of nerves, noting the way her legs shook, she got louder, and his name began slipping into her extacy. He was finding it harder to keep himself quiet, his own moans and groans now evident in the room, dancing with hers in a perfect vocalisation of their affections.

"I-I-I'm— so close," Beth whimpered, eyes clamped shut as she chased her high.

"Look at me when you cum," Ringo urged, his own desperation and impending release racking his voice with an unsteadiness. "I wanna see you."

Willing her eyes open, Beth nodded, her hand leaving his hair to grasp his wrist at her throat, pulling it down onto her. Taking the hint, and losing himself in his own struggle to not cum, he squeezed far harder than she'd expected him to. And that was what pushed her off of the precipice.

With a loud moan of his name that ran into an incoherent string of words, Beth came, hips bucking and body shaking. Tears pricked her eyes as she pathetically tried to pull him down to kiss. And he allowed her, lips meeting hers as he continued pounding into her, urgently chasing his own orgasm and relishing in how perfect she was.

After a few more thrusts, he pulled out, cumming onto her stomach whilst moaning into her mouth. His whole body racked with a violent shiver as his head fell into the crook of her neck. He left tired, sloppy kisses along her neck, latching onto a spot to nibble and suck just to leave proof he had been there.

Once satisfied, Ringo stood and slipped his underwear on. He picked hers up as he found a pack of tissues, doing his intoxicated best to wipe her stomach clean before allowing her to slip her panties on. Practically collapsing onto the opposite end of the couch, he ushered her over to lay between his legs, her head on his chest as he played with her hair.

"I love you, Ringo," Beth spoke, voice barely audible and cracking with overwhelming drowsiness and the small cocktail of drugs in her system.

"I love you too, Beth," He replied at the same volume, smile almost comically wide and lazy, his cheeks rosy. He wrapped an arm around her, staring up at the ceiling as it slowly rippled and threatened to spin.

Ringo's eyes fluttered closed after a few minutes, a satisfaction deep rooted in his soul. And yet he feared for when they woke up and forgot about the whole thing.

#Ringo Starr x OC #The beatles x oc #Beth Schwipps.#Mine.#Uh yeah. No real plot here lmao

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