𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜

“well, when was the last time you ate?”

the question came out bolder than you expected and hung in silence before george brought his knuckles to his lips. it made you itch for a smoke, his potential answer making you antsy.

you started to pat down your trousers but in the same second, george pulled out his box of ciggies. he pulled two out with his mouth, a practiced skill you didn't question. once both were lit with his lighter, he nodded in your direction for you to take it. from his mouth.

you felt the heat return to your cheeks and snatched it playfully. you prayed he didn't notice that you took a longer inhale than usual. questions swarmed around your head in the same fashion as the smoke and you sunk further into the settee. your head was facing the ceiling, knees up to your chest.

george cleared his throat. "s'been about a week."

you turned to observe him. in vampire terms, did that mean he was well off for another few weeks or absolutely starving? he was absentmindedly looking at your leftovers on the greasy wax paper. and you puzzled at the rise and fall of his chest.

"georgie, excuse me for asking but what are you smoking for if you don't..." you searched for the word. an amused smirk crept over his expression.

"breathe?" nailed it.

george shrugged, exhaling smoke. "it's a habit, y'know."

your interest piqued immediately. at the same time, you had no idea how to feel. if vampires were undead, and george wasn't born a vampire (how would that even work to be born as a vampire?) then he had to have been changed- no killed recently for breathing to still be a habit and you can't imagine what that was like. you hesitated to ask but found the courage. "what happened?"

george licked his bottom lip before speaking. you caught of a glimpse of his fangs and it made you swallow unconsciously.

"it happened in hamburg." you recoiled, disturbed to your core. you interrupted. "you were a kid?!"

"no, no," he assured, taking a long drag of the dwindling cig. his gaze returned to the cold food below you both. "the second time. don't remember much, so you don't have to feel bad or anything. we did a show and after it was done, i just remember waking up in an alley… in my own blood."

he lifted his shirt to reveal a pink, gnarly-but-faded scar on his torso. you ghosted your hand along the bite. he carried on speaking and concealed it again by pulling his shirt back down.

"a lot of it. it was the dead of night and i wasn't far from where we were staying. since we were playing for five hours every night and scranning preludins for breakfast, the lads didn't know cause we all looked grim. i just carried on. there was nothing else to do."

you moved to plant a kiss on george’s forehead, coyly wrapping your arm around his. “i’m really sorry that happened to you, george. you didn’t deserve it.”

“s’alright. it wasn’t you that bit me!”

soon after, the buds of the cigarettes were discarded in the ashtray nearby. you were skimming your hand up and down his arm, tracing patterns none of you could see. george brought his hand up to yours.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

you met his dark eyes, admiring those pretty bottom lashes of his. a grin broke out across his face as he stared into your eyes. “would you like to donate to the george harrison blood bank?”

his tone was light, a joke. but you’d been waiting for him to say that since you found out.

“if you wanted a taste or an ounce or a litre, sure! if it helps, it’s yours.”

you admitted and watched his adams apple fall and slowly rise again. the cogs in his brain were whirring so loudly you could practically hear them.

he hesitated. “are you sure?”

“of course. i trust you. just… don’t take it all.” you jested.

“thing is,” he looked away back at the wax paper. he shuffled beside you. “i’ve never had to stop before when i eat. and with you— i don’t think i’ll want to.”

what he was saying was valid. he could be overwhelmed by vampiric instincts and reduce you to a raisin, but underneath everything it was still george. he’d never harm you (in any other context). “you will. you can-”

his voice was quiet. “promise me. the second it’s too much, you’ll tell me to stop.”

“i promise, hazza.”

george seemed convinced and he sealed the promise with a kiss. it didn’t last long because he pulled back. his icy hands pulled your arm to his chest. your heart was drumming in your ears.

like before, he could probably hear it so you tried your best to calm yourself down. your free hand bunched around the loose fabric of your trousers.

george delicately brought your arm up to inches away from his mouth. his lips were parted slightly and you could see his fangs glistening in the ambiance of the room. his breath fanned out across your forearm.

you were in two minds.

you always felt squeamish at the sight of anyone’s blood, so your head was pushed to the side. it’d make you nauseous to watch. but another part of you, the smitten part, was struggling to pull your eyes away from the sight of george.

pale skinned, hair ruffled, and hungrier than you had ever known. anticipation was killing you and fear won the battle that kept your eyes open.

you squeezed them shut. to your surprise, a tender, affectionate kiss was placed on the veins of your arm. then another, then another. the gesture tickled and you felt more relaxed. he had to be doing that on purpose.

george murmured an “alright.” and you knew it was time. his four fangs (top and bottom) poked you uncomfortably. not chomping down, just resting awkward. your palms were starting to sweat.

when his jaw clamped down, so did yours. your sharp wince cut through the quiet. the pain built along with the pressure on your arm. your face scrunched up in discomfort and when his fangs finally pierced your flesh, you yelped out in pain.

you were holding your trousers so tight you thought they might rip. when george started to suck on the area, your vision whited out behind your eyelids. unbeknownst to you, a stream of tears started to dribble down your cheeks.

george laced his fingers in the hand near his head, running soothing fingers along your palm and knuckles. it grounded you from blacking out again.

some morbidly curious part of you willed your eyes open. it was difficult to see george but you could just make out his side profile, latched to your arm. a streak of crimson dripping down your elbow and dripping into his lap. as the seconds dragged on, you became lightheaded.

the metallic stench in the air kept you dizzy and you groaned in pain as your senses swirled into one. you mustered your voice to work, "george?"

in an instant, he was off your arm. the cool air stung as it ravished your wound. you slumped back into the chair whining at the awful throb coming from the bite. george was panting beside you, he swallowed thick before speaking.

"m'sorry, y/n. are you alright?"

you hummed in agreement, but it felt like a small lie. you took in the sight before you: george's mouth and chin vandalised with your blood. lethargy was taking over and there was a pounding in your head. you closed your eyes again, focusing on breathing through the pain instead.

"i'll be right back." george's accent was thick but you heard his words clear. if you had more strength, you would've told him to stay. grabbed his hand. but you just laid back trying to hold onto reality.

rationality screamed at you to stay awake. unsure of whether it felt like seconds or days, george returned. you felt the dip in the chair beside you. in-between blurry moments and your moans of pain, he cleaned you up with the first aid kit. the ache of rubbing alcohol wipes and the horrible firmness of bandages made you feel both better and worse.

you'd need stitches, surely?

a glass was being held to your lips and reluctantly you opened your mouth to take a sip. it was water. gone like the wind, once your body registered it wouldn't try to kill you too. your eyes squinted open but you could see george's frown clear as day.

his tone was deeply remorseful. 'i'll never do that again. i'm sorry."

you shook your head. the dizziness and headache was starting to pass. "i wanted to help."

and careful not to nudge the bite, he repositioned you to wrap you in a hug. his lanky frame covered you with ease and his hand slid up to cradle your head. you felt safe. warm. the hug lasted for ages and you started to doze off. he nudged you lightly.

"let's get you to bed." george helped you to your feet. the journey to the bedroom was full of stumbles and laughs. when there, you laid on the bed above the covers, fully clothed. it was impossible to care. once your arm was in a position that wasn't unbearable, you were asleep.

you startled awake. there was light peeking through the curtains and your eyes felt dry. you were more tired than usual. you took a deep breath, brain taking a while to process your surroundings.

shit, you were late!!!

you didn't know what time it was but a) you never woke up without an alarm these days. b) its always just after dawn when you do wake up, the sun rising as you'd walk to set. c) you just knew.

you rose on your forearms to peer at the clock on your bedside table and hissed when one of them screamed in rejection. memories crept in. it didn't even feel real. kissing george. touching his scar. letting him bite you. you exhaled. there was no regrets.

you cursed, manoeuvring yourself off the bed and glancing at the time. noon???? you felt sick. brian was probably asking everyone where you were! hell, you weren't able to follow up about ringo's broken drumsticks. they might've put a whole scene on pause for your lack of communication.

you raced into the shower, frightful for the state of your job. if you were even employed anymore. you peeled off the used bandage, dots of blood visible before you looked at it. upon closer inspection, the wound was in much better condition than you predicted. with soap and water, you washed away the dried blood to find a massive purple bruise on your forearm. the punctures had disappeared completely, replaced with scabs where his fangs had been. it was like you'd scraped your arm. in the shape of a bite? and you wouldn't need stitches.

you felt a little disoriented with confusion but marched out quickly when you decided you'd had enough of showering. you threw on a jumper and a fresh set of trousers. the jumper wasn't your typical shirt and blazer but it would definitely conceal your mark.

your clothes from last night reeked of blood and you threw them in the bottom of your suitcase, sliding it under the bed. you might have to burn them.

you were pulling your socks on, facing down as you entered the living room of your hotel. your mind raced to george. where he could be? why he wasn't with you? a twang of disappointment simmered in your gut and you started to school it into the same professionalism that you swore by.

"good afternoon, sleepyhead," you heard a lazy drawl across the room.

your head shot up, startled. you couldn't see him. "george? where are you? i was-"

you cut yourself off, hand racing to pinch your nose. "cor, what's that smell!?"

there was a potent stink of chemicals in the air. you didn't have to look much further to see george on his knees next to the chair with a bristle brush and a pink bottle.

a helpless smile crossed his face. "i dunno, the lady at the counter said it would lift blood stains."

you couldn't help but smile back. however, you remembered your job. "what are you doing here? you should be shooting."

"it's lunch so i came back to check on ya."

"i'm fine. we should really go, brian doesn't know where i am."

"y/n." he spoke, calm.

"george?"

"relax." he continued to scrub at a certain spot, dipping the brush in the bucket on the floor when it wouldn't budge. "i told eppy you weren't feeling well. he just asked if you were okay, and said he'd check in later on. make yourself breakfast and sit down."

you were exhausted from worry and obliged. room service had a tray of pastries and fruits and you grab a few a long with a cup of tea you made. you tried not to feel embarrassed on how fast you wolfed everything down. george watched you happily.

"how are you feeling?" he added when it was just your milky tea left.

you nodded. "better. a lot better. my scar, it's..."

he craned his head up from the settee to see and you showed him the purple bruise. "it hurts but i thought it would be worse. is it cause vampire bites work differently?"

george shrugged, eyebrows furrowed. he looked deep in thought. you were both really new to this.

"regardless, it won't happen again. i'm sorry for last night. and for not being there when you woke up."

you beamed. "you are here, you daft git. all is forgiven."

THATS PART 2! AHHH! a big thank you to everyone who gave me their patience, it means the world to me. i do have an idea for another part where the beatles would find out but do not expect that any time soon haha! i've got some yummy ideas/requests to do for now ;) see you soon!

you worked part-time at brian’s record shop before he asked you to be his assistant for this new talent he’d scouted. 4 boys, all teds who had potential to make it big. you weren’t convinced.

but you needed something full-time, loved the thought of pursuing a career in the music industry and you trusted brian. he was a kind, honest boss and if these lads did disappoint, he wouldn’t leave you hanging for a job.

two years later, you were an assistant manager for the biggest band in the world. they ditched the leather for suits and grew out their hair which seemed to be all the world wanted to see before launching them into stardom.

into beatlemania. it was chaos.

you did the whole nine yards, taking calls, writing notes, organising press conferences, arranging travel plans. you were rarely caught without something in your hands and you were often seen near to wherever the fab-four were.

this led the to press regarding you as the ‘girl/female beatle’. the title left you unimpressed, and you refused to flatter any silly comments about it.

you worked for them, not as one of them. and you constantly reminded the media of that, keeping your responses short and respectful whenever encountering the nagging journalists who wanted to know all the intimate details of your relationship with them. you were employed to reduce scandals, not fuel them.

clearly, this had already failed in a way though since you read a hate article that minimised you to nothing more but a pretty face who served as a visual distraction for all the hard-working men in your team.

you refused to let it phase you and when brian and the beatles came to your defence, you felt even more reassured in your role. well, all the beatles said something except for george. you considered his notoriety in hating interviews anyway.

but it hurt. a tiny bit. especially since he was the one you received the most dating rumours about.

you were fond of george. his humour and charisma always got you out of a rut on the harder days. and you were age mates, often able to bond about being looked over. it seemed like since the article and everyone’s replies, he’d been avoiding you entirely.

you dealt with it how you dealt with everything. professionally. personal feelings held no say in the court of your career so you never ever admitted that it upset you. never let it show in the slightest.

months later, the set of a hard days night was bustling with people despite being a wrap for the day. you were jotting down some tasks you wanted to complete. for example, ringo’s broken drumstick - you needed that replaced before shooting tomorrow. mid-scribble of something significant, you lost your train of thought. you cursed to no one in particular, and your eyes glanced up temporarily.

amongst the traffic of the room, you locked eyes with george. he was leaning against a far wall, watching you. his expression was neutral and you shot a quick half-smile before plunging your attention back into the notes.

you flicked back through the pages in your book. perhaps that would jog your memory. coming up empty in your own mind, you sighed.

“you look miserable.” a lazy voice chimed beside you. you yelped in fear at being startled, clutching your heart. your head followed the noise and to your surprise, george was there. he was blatantly nosying at your pages, which led you to thump the book shut. you breathed.

“christ, george. please don’t do that again.”

he shrugged and looked proud that he made you jump. he murmered an insincere "sorry." and asked. “got any plans for dinner?”

you looked at your watch to see that it had just gone seven in the evening. you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and suddenly wondered if it was obvious. you shook your head and fiddled with your hair thoughtfully.

“no, actually... i'll probably just order room service at the hotel.” you spoke more to yourself than him but realised only after you finished your sentence. "why, are you hungry? i can arrange for food if that's what you're asking."

the jump to manager mode made him fight off a smirk. “no, no. besides, i'm not hungry. just fancied spending some time with ya.” he suggested.

your face screwed up in a incredulous expression you could manage. he was asking, so casually, to hang out. outside of lights, camera, action! and glances from behind brian's shoulder. you swallowed an apprehensive chuckle as you thought about the rumours.

“i don’t know, georgie. not sure brian would be happy about that.” the nickname came easy to you. you didn’t know. you desperately wanted to relax with him but knew it’d be so careless outside of business hours. personally and professionally.

he frowned, eyes glancing around the room. "he's not here now."

you glanced around too, he was right. people were finally starting to disperse. you sighed, self restraint wearing thin at the idea of spending one night not crammed over requests and preparing for another hectic day. "okay, let's go."

he perked up at your agreement, hands resting behind his back. you quickly handed over your notes to a runner, pleading with them to pass it along to brian. he took little persuasion, nodding fast and disappearing. you turned to george. " i just need to grab my handbag-”

george cut you off. “s’here, staller.”

he gestured his chin towards to his hands, which your messy beige handheld storage unit rested. had he been holding it this whole time? the gesture flustered you and heat rose to quickly burn your cheeks. you were acting different and lost for words, you reached for the purse so you could start to leave.

however your fingers brushed with george’s as you did. and to your gasping surprise, they were cold. colder than you'd anticipated. your eyes shot up to meet his but he was looking away in an uninteresting direction all of a sudden. in a instant, you were clutching the hand bag as he let go, stunned by the weight. you embraced the distraction and smiled.

“okay… let’s go.”

an hour later, you were devouring your fish and chips in your hotel room ranting to george who sat beside you on the settee. you became increasing animated as the story went on and it made him laugh.

george watched you with that amused, enigmatic expression he always wore. you tried not to notice the intent behind his thick eyelashes. like he was trying to send you a message telepathically sometimes. you finished your mouthful before sliding over the paper.

“want some?”

he shook his head, smiling tight. but you insisted!

"c'mon, i'll never finish this by myself!"

“no thanks, i ate on set.”

you weren’t entirely convinced. you'd visited the canteen for the past couple days at lunch time. you'd grab a croissant and check up on the people there, many variations of staff and beatles. but never george.

you'd pushed reasons in and out of your head. reasons that he was with some of the girls on set, reasons that he was avoiding you, reasons that you'd just missed him. none of them you knew to be true but still festered inside your brain.

you took another chip, slightly withdrawn. quieter.

"well i never catch you. hope whatever you do have is enough cause the next scene has you boys running around a field." you managed a giggle, remembering the script in which george says the line 'sorry we hurt your field mister!'

george's face was serious and nearly solemn. he hesitated, "y/n?"

you looked up from the paper you'd dragged back to your lap. you hummed in acknowledgement. he exhaled, and shifted in his seat.

"nevermind, it's not important."

you rested a hand on his knee, patting it lightly. his gaze locked on the contact which made you pull your touch back. you scrunched your hand into a fist, almost kicking yourself for misreading his body language.

"sorry! it's just- i care about you, george. a lot and if you're struggling, i'll do whatever i can to help."

there was a heavy silence between you both and george didn't meet your eye. you wondered if he had trouble eating and your mind raced to if it was worsened by anything spouted in the press. they were particularly cruel to john, you always observed but maybe you'd missed comments directed at goerge instead. you continued to speak.

"if it's privacy you're worried about, you can trust me."

you reassured and you returned your hand to his knee with a shaky breath. he looked at you now, eyes searching yours. if only you knew what he was looking for. he cleared his throat before speaking.

"are you sure?" his voice was small and had you not been listening intently, you might have not heard him. you lightly squeezed his leg.

"absolutely." you replied, not missed a beat.

george closed his eyes. "s'this diet."

your heart clenched in your chest, devastated to hear that your suspicions might be true.

"a condition. it's-" he trailed off when the words failed him. you let him speak, there was no room to interrupt or poke for more than he was comfortable with.

"i can't eat. i don't sleep. i'm up and it's... it's you."

you blurted out, before thinking. "me?" you trained your tone from confusion to caring at once. "georgie, what did i do?"

he swallowed, inching closer to you on the chair. he started,

"ringo, john, brian, paul." he paused like it was painful to go on. "they can't know."

he lifted a hand to your arm and his chilling touch made you shiver. you nodded, heart thumping in anticipation. you tried to hide the fear overcoming you at his confession.

"you won't believe me." he muttered, and he was radiating anxiety.

you denied the claim, resting your hand above his. "you don't know that, try me."

his eyes shut, grip still firm on your arm. "alright well, i'm a vampire."

there was a dreadful silence that followed. you didn't laugh, didn't scoff, you just sat there really. a bit of disappointment started to nibble away at you for trusting that he'd open up about something true. something real. you felt your manager mask slipping over your face.

"a vampire?" you repeated, tone flat.

"i knew it." george stood up, grabbing his blazer from the armrest of the chair and heading for the door. you called out to him and a frantic feeling built in your chest when he didn't respond. he was adjusting his sock and staring to kick his feet into his shoes.

"hazza, would you just wait?"

he was facing away from you but still shook his head.

"there's no point. sorry for disturbin' ya." you were on your feet too and rushed to the door, leaning your body weight against it. you stammered over your words, gesturing wildly.

"a vampire? a blood-sucking, pointy collared.. what? killer? i don't understand."

he huffed, clearly frustrated at your obstruction but you both knew he wouldn't lay a finger on you. you hated to trap him in a sense but you had to address this, if he left now, so did some selfish hope to connect with him.

"george?"

"no! yeah! what answer will get you t'move?" he never spoke to you the way he was now. outraged and angry.

"the true one!" you snapped back.

"then yeah." you scanned his facial features. they were filled with lots of emotion you couldn't decipher. the one you didn't see was dishonesty. if it was a prank, you doubted it would take this sour, awkward direction. he was serious but was it really about being a vampire?

"prove it."

he flinched at that. "what?!"

"if you're a vampire... then you haven't been eating on set." the revelation dawned on you and it was heavy. "and your hands aren't cold for no reason. and your fangs are... when last did you eat?"

he predicted what you were hinting at and shut it down. "i can't."

"you said it yourself, it's me." you stepped closer to him. george was fixed in place like a statue, head craned away at a angle. you took a breath and brought a steady, trusting hand to his face.

his eyes were pinned to the ground as you gently craned his head towards you. his iris's were a shade of dark maroon that you never noticed before. he whispered.

"you're scared. i can hear your heart."

you struggled to justify the thumping in your ribs, and how george knew. you giggled instead. "that's not why i'm nervous."

his eyes met yours, uneasy. you pulled his face down to yours, to press a longing kiss to his lips. his slender fingers raced up to hold your jaw like porcelain. like you were fragile and he might break you. you shiver under his hold and he withdrew first, laughing quiet.

"wish you woulda done that before i told ya i was a vampire."

"you kiss like a human if that makes you feel better." you chuckled back and was delighted to get lost in another with him. this one was much more needy as tongues were introduced. you stumbled back and before george could fully catch you, you gently collided into the hotel door. that gave you both a second to breathe.

you felt warm being so close to george. inside and out, you were happy to know he had the same feelings towards you. even if you couldn't identify it at first. you were producing enough heat for the both of you and that thought made you remember the confession that you'd gracefully interrupted. a sigh ripped through you and you took his hand to lead him back to the newly dubbed sofa of hard truths.

you both sat in a less-tense silence, fingers still intertwined.

you exhaled. "you didn't answer my question before."

george's head craned sideways in confusion. "which one?"

"well, when was the last time you ate?"

JOHN LENNON IS JAMES POTTER.

our prongs.

both groups are democracies but they're considered the leaders.

him and cynthia are really james and lily coded too.

julian being their little harry. awww!

first time he's introduced to buddy holly, little richard and elvis is at a muggle diner on the jukebox...

he's OBSESSED.

mimi promised to buy him a guitar only if he passed his OWLS.

he didnt.

so julia gifted him one instead, along with his invisibility cloak.

john learns the muffliato spell soon after so he can practice in the dorms.

he'd be crazy good at quidditch too.

this makes so much sense considering that the movie nowhere boy about john is basically a james potter scene pack in the marauders fandom.

and unfortunately

they both have tragic ends.

:(

PAUL MCCARTNEY IS SIRIUS BLACK.

our padfoot.

both have those beautiful feminine features.

just realised paul has a younger brother too, which could allow for that sirius-regulus dynamic.

pleaded with that sorting hat to put him in gryffindor.

he hates the slytherin family and full-blood status.

filthy stinking rich.

befriended john to rebel against his family.

and spends aforementioned money on his friends at diagon alley/hogsmeade to rebel even more.

pranks everyone for the love of the game.

his animagus is a black dog like sirius but i like to think his patronus is a bunny.

paul being a bunny propaganda has taken over my timeline

i'm a sucker for wolfstar but i don't ship mcharrison in the slightest

soooo doesn't apply here sorry

sees george as a little brother instead.

but that's the same as irl

GEORGE HARRISON IS REMUS LUPIN.

our moony

and the only one raised in a muggle household out of the group.

skips muggle studies to avoid john, paul and ringo's incessant questions.

especially about music.

he's the marauders musical plug.

instead of being a werewolf like remus

hes a vampire!

STAY WITH ME STAY WITH ME NOW!!!

writing my vampire georgie fic so look out for that

the others find out around 5th year and they accept him immediately.

he's still teased of course.

and the beatles would definitely become animagi for george like the others did for remus

my heartttt.

hoards the marauders map.

is the victim of the prank.

wonder who would be the group's snape.

it takes him genuinely forever to forgive paul.

the others thought the group was over.

RINGO STARR IS PETER PETTIGREW.

our wormtail

half-blood, but raised by his witch mother.

both are heavily overlooked.

and they're called by their nickname more often than their real name!

it took over 5 minutes for peter to be sorted into a house

i could see the same thing happening to ringo

especially as a poor first year

both are teased for their animagus being some bs animal bro.

ringo's would be the walrus or like the lion (because of the mdsommar nights dream performance).

and the others are just like gobsmacked when they first see it.

i know his heart was heavy after the prank

hes so fond of the marauders being an only child.

they're his brothers so seeing everyone fight had him sick.

became closer to george afterwards.

definitely the groups dictionary for spells

thrives at hogwarts tbh

i rebuke peter's eventual betrayal and turn to the dark side

ringo would never

do you think they said the same about peter?

index for all the non-harry potter fans! muggle - human owls - wizarding exams taken in 5th year similar muffliato - charm that muffles noises quidditch - wizarding sport on brooms diagon alley/hogsmeade - alleyways filled with wizard shops animagus/animagi - wizards who can transform into animals patronus - protective, defensive spell in the shape of an animal wolfstar - remus x sirius the prank - every full moon, remus transforms to a wolf. on this occasion, sirius tells snape 'as a prank' to visit the place he transform which causes snape to find out remus's secret and hurt snape accidentally in wolf form.

JOHN LENNON AS REGINA GEORGE.

queen bee.

in junior year.

he stands unchecked in the social hierarchy.

teachers included!

in sophomore year, mimi received a letter about his disruptive behaviour. safe to say, the teacher that sent it no longer works there anymore. now he's never disciplined.

has dated every bird in the year at some point.

starts conflicts whenever he's bored. which is often.

a nasty verbalist in arguments.

if he knows you lost a pet, failed a test badly or are crushing on someone - ANYTHING. he's going there.

and if the whole school didn't know about it before, they do now. cause he's declaring it at full volume.

even if it's not true. his word is law.

trashes classrooms because.

in the annual talent show, the beatles win each year.

gets his sophomore minions to count the votes and change them in the event they're outvoted.

in a sabotage attempt, george takes two strings off his guitar and tunes it all funny to throw him off before a gig.

it does fuck all except backfire on george cause john just does banjo chords instead and it actually works?

they played better than ever.

lastly, is the proud owner of the burn book.

draws crude illustrations of everyone besides their rumours and thinks the book is the best and most hilarious thing ever.

PAUL MCCARTNEY AS GRETCHEN WIENERS.

second in command

sophomore year.

paul has the deadliest mean mug in the entire school and can be super catty. (we've all seen a hard days night).

the fakest in the group NO doubt which shocks many cause he's outwardly friendly.

little do they know, he's the snake relaying their information.

he's really vain and borderline narcissistic with how much he cares about himself, his looks, how others perceive him.

some could say he's compensating...

paul would be a massive threat to john in every way if they were in the same year.

that explains their dynamic.

they both subtly know it.

they hate each other for it.

since the burn book was originally a notebook for songs, he's slightly paranoid having his name tied to it.

after all, they did give every song the heading: "ANOTHER LENNON-MCCARTNEY ORIGINAL".

the kids at school have no idea he's a big driving force behind the beatles. he's actually passionate about it.

besides music and spreading rumours, he's nonchalant asf.

when things kick off in the canteen, he's just minding his business chewing on his hangnails.

GEORGE HARRSION AS CADY HERON.

the corrupted heroine.

he's a freshman. sophomore.

homeschooled in india before joining.

he's in sophomore year purely for his good academics.

which makes him the newest, youngest, babyfaced kid on the block.

CLUMSY AS FUCK.

bro have you seen them both?

makes the mistake of bringing his guitar into school for band practice.

spoiler alert, he never made it to band.

was scooped up by the beatles instead and plays lead.

cannot stand infront of john and paul on stage though.

they don't allow it.

in the edit i made, brian was a blend of janis/damian so he's coached by brian on how to pull off a successful mutiny.

he couldn't even sit with the lads until he got the bowl cut.

the first time george slagged someone off at the table, everyone went silent.

"didn't think you had it in ya!" john clapped him on the back which felt like an official initiation into the group.

is called "georgie" condescendingly by the others.

had a crush on some girl but lost it fast when the other lads tried to wingman and scared her off.

makes decent contributions to the burn book.

puts brian in there which makes john hysterical.

john drops out after he loses julia, which disbands the beatles before george has the chance to take over.

RINGO STARR AS KAREN SMITH.

serving face.

oldest in junior year.

is in the group because he has great banter with john (the only person in whole school who can say that).

and he can play drums.

ringo is constantly laughing. and it's hard to tell when it's at you.

most of the time it is.

shrugs when teachers ask him why he hangs around the beatles.

a big ignorer tbh.

fidgets with his rings when he doesn't fancy answering.

and it lands him in detention a lot.

he's untouchable in john's classes, since by association the teachers won't pick on him either.

is the strictest enforcer of wearing pink on wednesdays.

considers everyone to all be good friends, oblivious to the active hostile takeover by george and the heated ass rivalry between lennon and mccartney.

introduced george to cigarettes and taught him how to smoke.

is the least controversial member but by no means does that mean any secrets are safe around him.

the other members spread rumours to be malicious, he just drops them in casual conversation.

"if you're from india, why are you white?"

might be more nonchalant than paul actually.

when the group disbands, he is CHILLING until graduation.

you were swirling your wine glass and watching the whirlpool of red liquid accumulate in the middle. to say you were bored was a massive understatement. it'd been atleast ten minutes since your two friends disappeared into the bathroom and you vowed to supervise their cups and seats.

to pass the time quicker, you daydreamed yourself - a pea tall, floating in a pool ring in your warming drink. seemed more fun than your idle, human-sized self now. you chewed at your lip trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

despite the rock and roll thumping through the club, you couldn't shake your worry. the subtle fear that you'd been abandoned. that they weren't coming back. you turned your head to the dance floor, seeing bouncing bodies having an amazing time. tears pricked in your eyes but you blinked them back and drunk the rest of your wine. the bar was busy so you decided to watch the bartenders' work for a while. you felt a tap on your shoulder.

you slumped in relief and were just starting to laugh as you turned. "did you both fall in or-?" you stopped. your eyes met a girl with a deeply intoxicated expression. in any other circumstance, you'd be pleased to chat with her but now wasn't the time. she started.

"excuse me, hun-" she was cut off by her own hiccup but continued. "sorry to tell you this, it's just them two lasses in the bathroom wanted me t'let you know they called a taxi. they weren't feeling well."

you were smiling now. but it didn't reach your eyes. they couldn't even tell you themselves. your heart was pounding in your ears before you spoke slightly through your teeth. "thanks for letting me know!"

she uttered something you couldn't really hear about feeling sorry for you and offered you to join her and her friends. you replied with a "maybe" but you knew you were going home. there was no place for you here anymore which was a shame since the club was getting lively. you pulled your bag from your lap and slung it around your shoulder, getting ready to stand before you saw their wine glasses.

not right to waste unnecessary alcohol, though. you thought with a small smile. you poured theirs into your empty glass and started sipping it down. a wave of drunkness washed over you and you dubbed this drink your absolute last. you even started to feel content enough to bob your head to the rhythm of the music. you were sure to have a leisurely walk home.

you felt another tap on your shoulder. it was getting hard to mask your annoyance when you didn't recognise the man requesting your attention. he gave you a friendly salut and slotted himself on the stool arms length away from you.

he admired your outfit from head to toe and you shuffled uncomfortably under his gaze. he was stubbled, appearing much older than you. he was also visibly shit-faced. you turned your attention back to your glass pressured by an unspoken urgency to finish it asap.

"yer gorgeous, missus. let me buy you another one of those." he drawled, the smell of booze clouding the air around you. you shook your head, breaking into a uncomfortable smile.

"no thanks."

you kept your answers clipped. you didn't want to engage with him at all but being suddenly conscious of your loneliness, you figured you wouldn't risk angering him with a lack of a response.

"aww why not?!" he exclaimed. you watched him noisily drag his chair an inch closer. your eyes darted to the busy bartenders who were still tending to some customers. you cursed under your breath which sparked a reaction from him. "didn't catch that, sweetheart? swear m'not so bad once you get to know me."

he searched your face for something but you refused to meet his eye. your drink was entirely unappealing.

"d'you hear me?" he prompted, tone stern when you took too long to find a reply. it dawned on you that amongst people's dazed dancing, this interaction happening appeared completely normal. his hand came up to try and rest on your knee but you stood up abruptly.

you leaned against your stool appearing shocked when it slid a few inches away from him but it was all planned. you needed to go. now.

"thanks for the offer anyway." you swallowed, uneasy. you pulled your skirt down and grabbed your sleeveless jacket from behind the seat. your heart dropped when he stood too, leaning against the bar for support.

"you're leaving already, miss?”

you blinked, feeling lost for options. "i am."

he scoffed loudly, throwing his hands out in defeat. you tried to suppress the flinch that reflexively jolted out of you.

"my boyfriend's waiting." you lied. usually, the pushy men you'd encountered before took that as a sign to back off. he looked around the club, chuckling.

"well i don't see him. just you."

suddenly, a body came in between both of you. suited and smelling of cologne. it was a nice break from the stench of alcohol. the man excused himself for walking between your conversation and turned his attention to the bar. before his arm could fully extend to wave one of the bar staff down, you wrapped your arm around it. it was thoughtless to cling to him, potentially another dangerous man. but you felt exhausted of choices.

your hand squeezed thrice on his bicep and you mustered your fakest, most convincing grin. "oh, here he is. tell him, love."

you met his hazel eyes, lined with long lashes. he was really handsome. you hoped he had a decent brain underneath that cute mop of hair. he followed the contact on his arm, eyes creeping up to meet yours. his mouth opened then closed again. he turned to the creep.

"tell him what, sorry?"

"that you're my boyfriend, silly." you giggled, truly petrified. you expected to be shrugged off in disgust for jumping to conclusions. especially if he was taken. or worse, he might take advantage of the favour and demand something in return. it was a complete shot in the dark. the man under your arm exhaled, you felt it.

"i'm a lucky man, aren't i?" he grinned, and added. "is there a problem here?"

he guided your hand down his arm so he could intertwine his fingers with yours. he gave it a squeeze. your heart nearly exploded in relief.

you settled into his side. "not anymore."

the man wore a look of outrage.

"this bloke? he looks like a girl."

your pretend-boyfriend's lip curled in disdain at the insult. the man moved closer in an effort to convince you but you were positioned firmly behind the body of your saviour. it was hard to hear what he said to the creep pestering you (especially over the swell of the music's chorus) but the older man groaned and relented, slinking back into the crowd.

you sighed, bringing your free hand up to your eyes and rubbing them. your fingers were still tangled in the kind strangers and you detached them instantly on realisation. he looked down, expression a little confused. of course. you breathed, awkward. "thank you. he was being a prick."

he nodded as his eyes searched where you couldn't see. "that's alright. are you okay?"

"no. it's time for me to go home." oddly enough, you felt compelled to be honest with the stranger.

you clutched your bag firm and found that you were nervous to leave. what if he followed you out after your pretend boyfriend went? the doubts were overwhelming you. a new voice broke your concentration.

"there y’are, paul. thought we’d lost you." they looked similar enough to be brothers, in matching hair-dos and suits and when the new face picked up on your closeness to his friend, he remarked.

"what's her name then?" they both looked expectantly at you and the man you now knew to be paul laughed.

"i don't actually know? never got a chance to ask!"

the friend scolded paul playfully. "you're reaching a new low, paulie. not even asking birds their names anymore." paul swatted away the comment, turning to you.

"so what's your name?"

you hesitated. "y/n."

"that's a beautiful name." he complimented, sincere. "i'm paul."

he scooped your hand up in a jovial handshake. you accepted happily. his fingers brushed over your knuckles before letting go and the gesture gave you butterflies.

“would’ve asked you to dance but if you’re ready to go, could i walk you home?” he suggested which made you you pondered for a second before ultimately nodding your head. you calmed your worries that said you couldn’t trust paul.

he seemed chuffed at your yes, turning to his friend. “alright ringo, i’ll meet you and the lads at the hotel.”

he clapped ringo on the back, stretching his hand out to you. you took it and he led you out the club. you both chatted while walking. the night air wasn’t england’s usual subzero feeling. just mildly chilly. as if you were an actual couple, paul dropped his blazer over your frame. you thanked him for noticing the goosebumps rising on your arms. you wore it over your shoulders, arms not in the sleeves.

after a while, you couldn’t help but ask. “is that your friend’s real name? ringo?”

paul casted you an amused look. you’d both fallen into step during the journey to your home, and after some time, he’d offered you his arm. now it was in a different context, you could appreciate paul. his lovely voice and charming personality.

if you were reading this right, he seemed to be admiring you too. he smirked. “yeah, his parents named him him ringo starr. two r’s.”

you couldn’t hide the incredulous look.

“i’m only messing, it’s his stage name.” you lightly pinched his arm causing him to giggle. “his real name’s richard starkey.”

you hummed, “stage name? what d’you mean?”

paul cleared his throat. “yeah, we’re in a band.”

you drummed your fingers on his arm as you walked, an unconscious habit. he was fond of it so didn’t want you to stop. “what’s your band called?”

there was an interesting pause before he shrugged. “the beatles.”

you looked at him deeper, eyes narrowing into his soul. he beamed at you, “what? what is it?”

“the beetles? like the bug?”

that tickled him and he endearingly explained how they substituted an ‘e’ for an ‘a’ to make it the beat-les. your memory felt jogged. paul did have a familiar face.

you stopped walking, which caused paul to stop too. “are you guys on the radio?”

“you know, occasionally.”

his answer was satisfactory enough and you carried on walking. “so that’s why you two were matching. do the rest of you look like that and have crazy stage names.”

paul replied. “yeah, just wait till you meet my other friends. ‘specially john.”

it didn’t take much longer than that before you were both rocking up to your doorstep. you didn’t live far at all and were grateful incase you had to do the trek alone.

you uncurled your arm from his, bummed out at the loss of warmth. you spoke first.

“thanks for tonight, paul.”

he shrugged once more. “all i did was pretend to be your lover. worser nights to have.”

you sighed, peeling the blazer from your body. you were surprised when paul wouldn’t let you. before you could start, he insisted.

“keep it. give it me back another time.”

“another time, hm?” you questioned, an eyebrow raised. he met your eyes, uncertainty clear in him for the first time tonight. you grinned, rushing in the house. you threw a “wait here!” over your shoulder as you went.

he froze. he’d never been deserted on a doorstep before. he didn’t spend long in disbelief as you were racing back out to him with a white slip of paper.

you pushed it into his hand with both of yours and balled it up. you smiled, leaning up on your tip toes to plant a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“call me, okay?” and with that, you went back inside.

john’s first memory of you shone like gold. he always dubbed you as the sunshine that cleared his rain. he was a teddy boy back then. picking fights he didn’t win, spouting curses during the verbal fights he did win. he was lost.

carrying grief larger than normal at that age and compensating for it all with a guitar, a leather jacket and a dream. john had always been a creative. you were fortunate enough to see between the gaps of his hardened personality at art college.

you never spoke to him directly. being a girl in the year below, you lived almost parallel lives. but like a moth to a flame, you couldn’t seem to escape the stories of ‘that lennon boy’.

you were comfortably unpopular. a sheltered upbringing dealt a devastating blow to your social life but you fought hard to find your handful of good friends. it seemed like halfway through your time at that school, every other lass and lad decided it wasn't about art anymore. instead, about the art of shagging.

your friends were steady rocks to lean on. a good head on their shoulders. it was what you needed after being discouraged by your family to even attend the college. you remembered the feeling of dread that hung over your mother and sisters when your acceptance letter came through.

of course, your father and brother never commented on it. your mother's comments: (“couldn’t you be a nurse or a midwife instead, y/n? you’ll never get anywhere in that failing industry.”) cut deep.

regardless, this john lennon intrigue was a welcomed distraction in your life. and the more you saw him, the more you’d wanted to really see him. well that was when he actually bothered to show up.

you saw his artworks. left behind in a classroom he used in his second period that your class used in fifth. you saw his scowl as he chattered loudly with stuart in the corridors. you saw the smelly cigarette that seemed constantly glued to his fingers in the outdoor courtyard. you even managed to stumbled upon his band when out shopping with your sisters.

if you looked more attentively at the others on stage, you might've recognised them later on. but your attention was stuck on john.

it was your first introduction to rock and roll and you were addicted. you didn’t know music could be so loud and energetic and alive. he didn’t see you staring but you saw him. you couldn't make out his words exactly, too far away. your eyes were too busy fluttering to his hair, his lips, his hands flying around on the fretboard. that image of him was short-lived as your eldest sister swatted you playfully on the back of the neck. ‘come now and stop drooling at that delinquent’. you remembered her saying.

you were intimidated by john. he felt forbidden and foreign to everything you'd ever known. just before you decided to pursue this interest in him, this kiddy crush, you started to hear rumours of him dating a beautiful girl in his year, cynthia. she was mature, radiant, even tutored some of the stragglers in your class in her free time. it hurt like a gunshot. instead of the bullet lodging in your heart, it went through the other side and out. you stopped actively searching for him. your studies took top priority now.

a week later, you befriended james paul mccartney and george harrison on your bus ride to school. you'd accidentally eavesdropped on their conversation given your close proximity and nagging boredom. and when they were going back and forth bantering about something so stupid, you couldn't help but giggle.

which pulled their attention to you to settle said dispute.

you became a trio then in the journeys to and from school. you'd all be lipping about music or something else equally as trivial. their boys institute was in the building adjoining yours so you'd be able to speak to them all the way up to the doors. it was a fast and fond friendship with both of them but particularly paul.

he introduced you to more rock and roll records than you could comprehend. you were a sponge to it all. while john was the year above, paul was in the same year as you, roughly 9 months younger in age, and george was in the year below that. paul treated you with platonic respect you hadn't experienced before. a trait often absent with scouser boys toward girls.

when he invited you to watch him and georgie play live in their band - the quarrymen, you wanted to decline but supposed you owed it to him for always being so polite.

you wore a shellshocked expression to discover john was the frontman of their band. which is when you finally got introduced to him, beside stalking him around school.

his relationship with cynthia crumbled one night in the summer after your graduation from art college and that's when he took on the responsibility of being your personal worst influence.

oh, your poor mother.

chances of a career in nursing or midwifery were fleeting with every second you'd spend with john. you'd never be normal again and you welcomed that change - along with a few punishments too.

you yearned to spend time with him. round mendips with his scary aunt mimi, at his gigs - drunkenly under his arm afterwards. observing him, like always. your skirt crept up above your knee, you started to line your eyes with your sister's darkest shade of kohl and in due time, john couldn’t resist asking you out.

it was three months into the relationship that he was ecstatic to discover you hadn't even tried a cigarette yet.

you were both leaning sideways on the brick wall of a pub garden. the sun had just set but the evening sky hadn't fully darkened. barmaids had started to light candles on the tables outside for the few chilling in the night breeze. john narrowed his eyes at you, searching for signs that you were bullshitting.

"yer joking? you've never had a smoke?"

you gave him a sincere smile, chin lifting "never."

"can you believe it, macca?"

john's head shot to paul who sat facing you two on a bench. he was grinning along at the interaction and just shrugged in response. john scooted closer to you and the height difference became more apparent. at this distance, you could smell the lingering smoke on his skin. he fished in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes.

"i need to see ya try one. been smoking since i was four, y'see?" he smirked wildly, patting his pockets for a lighter but coming up empty.

“lies!” you shoved him in disbelief but subtly looked to paul to fact check. paul cleared his throat. “ten and four more like.”

john pulled away from the wall, plunging the end of his cig in the flame of a nearby candle. he retook his position, back on the wall now facing mccartney. your heart thumped as you intently watched his side profile take a long pull and exhale through his nose. unblinking in the whole motion. you kissed your teeth. "show off."

his lips turned up in a giddy smile. "easy as that."

“john.”

he noted the apprehension in your voice, leading you infront of him so your spine slotted neatly into his chest. he hooked his arm over your body, cigarette ghosting over your mouth.

“d’you trust me, y/n?” his other arm found your waist and he squeezed lightly. you nodded, building up the courage. your eyes flicked up to paul who watched john actually. the older boy shot him an expression you missed and paul kept a neutral one, chewing on his thumb.

mirroring what you’d seen both of them do countless times, you leaned forward to touch your lips to the bud and drew in a huge drag.

it felt like you tried to swallow a hot coal.

you instantly descended into a coughing fit. smoke rushed out of your mouth and nose chaotically. john’s hands were quick to stabilise your shoulders, the cig still pinched between his fingers. you clutched at your chest for air and wetness clung to your eyelashes in the attempts to catch your breath.

from behind you, you heard john in hysterics, using you to stabilise himself too and not double over in laughter. "were you trying to ‘ave it all?"

he thumped your back, still in a fit of his own giggles when you eventually drew a breath. your throat burned when you gulped. how did you manage to butcher that? you thought, ironic.

paul stood from his seat, offering it to you as he pulled your hand to the bench.

"you tried." he remarked as you sat down, still coughing away with a hand to your throat. he was smiling. "you okay?"

john shut down paul's fussing at once.

"macca. she's fine. aren't ya, sunshine?" the pet name came easy, earned from how john perceived your presence. you nodded, trying to manage a response.

eventually a brief "mhm" was all you mustered, interrupted by your onslaught of splutters.

"i'll grab you some water." paul ignored john's dismissal, eyes fixed on you instead. he turned on his heel as he finished his sentence but was caught by a hand on his forearm. it was john.

"you heard the lass, paul. leave it alone, she'll be fine."

paul shook his hand from john's tightening grasp and took a step back. "won’t hurt to grab a jug, john." and with that, he disappeared inside.

john tutted once, resuming the smoke in his hands until it was finished. his brows were pinched and he stuffed his idle hand in his trouser pocket. he remained silent, looking anywhere else but you as you settled down.

paul was back shortly with a jug and a glass. he handed the glass over to you, overflowing with water. you were appreciative and gave him a small smile before you chugged it down.

“god, you’re a right spoilsport.”

john spat from the wall once the silence was too heavy between all three of you. paul perked up at the insult, throwing his hands out placatingly.

“cause i wouldn’t let her choke? just decency that is, lenny.”

“sod off, paul. acting like yer a better man than i am. you’re a bastard.”

the air became electric with the beginnings of a row. you’d never seen the boys fight before, just hearing a nonchalant recount of how intense it was from george. you tried to speak, coughing again.

“i’m not.” paul was standing now, tips of his ears turning light pink. john had an opening to get in his face, finger pointing accusations. “listen, john-”

john didn’t. he cut him off harshly, “no you listen, paul. you think you’re better than all of this, i see it in your eyes. fuck you.”

“oi-” you chimed, but it got drowned out under paul’s response. they were both shouting now, and you looked around to realise the garden was empty.

“what are you talking about? 'better than all this'? fuckin' hell. think for a second.” paul sounded frustrated. he still had enough composure to keep his hands by his sides, knowing things would escalate if he threw them up again. john pushed him, a warning.

“d’you not get enough birds? s’that why you wanna nick mine, mccartney? i should’ve known, ya git.”

“both of you, shut up!” you yelled, but it fell upon raging deaf ears.

paul laughed, humorless. “is that what you think this is? she’s my friend too, john. if you’d stop being arrogant for one second-”

“that's me, arrogant lennon. god, ya probably want to kiss her, anorl. don't you, paul?” john pushed him again. you couldn’t see paul allowing it a third time. the younger boy denied the accusation but john wasn't having it. everything was getting worse, faster than you could believe. it was careless to throw yourself between what would soon be a dog fight.

you grabbed the glass pitcher of ice water, lifted it above your head and without thinking twice slammed it to the ground. shards, ice and water gushed out in frantic disarray on the concrete. a piece lightly nicked the skin on your leg causing you to wince but you controlled your reaction.

“are you fucking done!?” you pulled your sock up to catch and hide the small dribble of blood. “both of you! I'm fine, that should've been the end of it.”

this drew the attention of the patrons inside the pub, now stood in the doorway watching things unfold. you heaved for air, head in your hands. you groaned at the inconvenience of it all.

“john, could i stay at yours? i’ll leave early tomorrow, my mums locked the door by now.”

john moved away from paul, sitting on the bench beside you. “course." he patted a hand on your bobbing knee to calm it. "let’s get his majesty home first.” he gestured his head pointedly at paul who knelt down to grab the big chunks of glass. he didn't react to the jab at all.

you pinched his thigh. “well help him then, johnny.”

“alright, alright.” he obeyed, carefully picking up stray pieces of glass and dumping it in the outside bin a few steps from the scene. you gave a curt nod at the adults in the doorframe that read accident! and stood once the lads wordlessly got most of it up. a tiny twinge of pain jolted into your ankle but you rolled it and made your way to the exit trusting they were behind.

john biked behind paul all the way to his home on forthlin road. your arms were wrapped around his torso as you hitched on the back. it'd been an eerily tranquil ride. dead silent.

when he pulled up, you got off john’s bike, hugging paul like you always did when bidding him goodbye. “good night, paul.” you wished.

“night.” he replied, voice small. he avoided your eyes withdrawing from the hug and immediately turning to go inside.

“night, macca.” john called from his bike.

paul looked back, nodding once. “john.”

and with that, vanished into the house. the air felt cooler than it did before and you had no idea if that brief interaction was their apology of sorts. it’s settled?

you got back on john’s bike, snuggling in for the ride to mendips. your mind raced fast than you both moved. “why’d you say those things to paul, john? call him those names?”

john just sighed. you asked again.

“i mean it. he’s our friend and you accused him of liking me? you must know that’s not true.”

he mumbled. “you were fine.”

“what?”

“after the bloody cigarette!” he cried, squeezing the breaks of the bike dramatically. the halt shocked you and you grabbed onto johns ribs tighter. you planted your feet on the ground, wincing when your ankle hurt. he swivelled around, and the fight died on his tongue to hear you in pain. you got off the bike to peel back your sock. it was a little damp with blood. similar to papercut.

“what did you do? was it the glass?” his bike clattered to the floor now as he knelt down, squinting at your leg in the dark.

“yeah. but please don’t change the subject.” you sat down on the pavement of some liverpudlian street. he joined you, fidgeting with his trousers.

“i felt—" he sighed shaking his head, “forget it.”

you were dying to see into his mind, if his guarded brain would let you. you didn’t say anything and he after a minute, continued.

“i should’ve been there. ‘stead of laughing. and i’m sorry.”

you chuckled which caused him to look up in confusion from the pestering thread on his leg.

“it was funny, john. if i could breathe, i’d have been laughing too. both reactions were fine. the fun and the fuss.”

“guess i got jealous seeing macca be that knight in shining armour.”

“he’s hardly a knight.” you grinned. “just kind.”

john hummed, affirmatively. but you carried on.

“and you are too, johnny. i don’t need a water pitcher to see that, i see it all the time.” you brushed his auburn hair from his face so you could see him better. “i think paul would done the same for you, or george, or pete or stuart. that’s just who he is. you would’ve laughed at anyone, that’s who you are. and i’m with you for a reason.”

he met your gaze. in the moonlight he looked younger. hardly 19. your beautiful boy. you tucked your arm around his and he looked away.

"you're too good to me. not sure i deserve it most of the time."

you sighed “you deserve it all the time, john.”

hope you enjoyed! drop a comment/follow if you did :') i'm not the proudest of this but i hope i fulfilled the request well enough...! speaking of knight in shining armour, i have an idea for my first ever mclennon oneshot. stay tuned - won't be gone for 9 days again! see ya then!