ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅʏ

everything is x female reader!

THE BEATLES 𖥔 ݁ ˖

paul mccartney ★

"goodnight paul..."

summary - you sneak out to the celebrate the premiere of the 'a hard days night' movie with your boyfriend and his band.

george harrison ★

a sleepy and sickly george harrison

summary - george catches a cold during his downtime from months of touring, recording and beatlemania.

multiple ★

everybody here wants you

summary - my kissing headcanons and drabbles on HOW and WHERE the beatles would hold you when they snog you.

a hard day's night

summary - my headcanons for each of the beatles' (your boyfriend's) sleeping habits!

★ john lennon and ringo starr fics pending..... ★

QUEEN 𖥔 ݁ ˖

roger taylor ★

domestic mornings at the ridge farm

summary - you’re a videographer for queen making a documentary of their time recording at the ridge farm.

JOHN LENNON

most nights, john sleeps peacefully.

he's a medium heavy sleeper and snores a little.

when alone, his arms are curled into his chest or under the pillow at his head and his legs are all crossed up.

for a man with big energy, he sleeps quite timid.

he chronically sleeps with his glasses on and the amount of pairs that he's deformed or straight up lost via sleeping on them is insane.

based off of the picture i posted of him sleeping, he sleeps with two pillows.

stacked vertically on top of each other????

now moving on to when he sleeps with you, he radiates big spoon energy. and he is the big spoon until he falls asleep.

he turns like a rotisserie chicken bro.

so if you ever wake up in the middle of the night, one minute he's spooning you, the next minute you have a face FULL of hair.

remember when i said he sleeps well most nights? yeah well let's talk about the days he DOESNT.

he turns into the most abnormal sleeper ever and i'm sorry for you.

these nights usually occur after a hard, long day at the studio.

i predict that he'll just reanimate like frankenstein and shoot up in the middle of the night which wakes both of you up.

sometimes he's fully awake in a second and can't sleep again.

others his eyes are open... lights are on... but nobody's home.

he'll be unresponsive while 'staring' right at you. it's kinda freaky.

but seconds after you waggle your finger in his face and ask him if he needs anything, he's very dramatically falling back asleep.

you thought he was fibbing when it first happened.

oh yeah and he sleepwalks sometimes.

you should be scared, but it's oddly endearing to lead him back to bed, remember to set his glasses on the desk that are hanging off of his face, caress his arm and watch him fall back to sleep.

in general, when he actually wakes up in the morning, he takes super long to come to his senses and get up.

"five more minutes." yeah right.

you flinched awake, suddenly disoriented by the harsh return to reality. you were home. safe. you craned your head around to peak at the curtain, and saw faint rays of moonlight peaking through the cracks. you let out a huge sigh and then craned your head again to peer at the clock on the adjacent wall. it was a little past 2am. so why were you awake?

your eyes were dry as you blinked them to life and when you turned your body over, you saw the silhouette of john's back. he was sat up with his feet off the bed and hands planted in the mattress at his sides. all you could make out was the steady rise and fall on his shoulders in the dark.

he felt the dip in the mattress and when you settled, he spoke low.

"sorry to wake ya."

john didn't sleep talk at all so you assumed he was wide awake as a result of his restlessness. you reached out to place your warm hand on top of his cooling fingers. you squeezed him, firm. he spared you a side glance but you couldn't see his expression in the dark.

"and m'actually awake." he added. you believed him. there was a dry attempt at humour that sleepy john would never possess. you sensed his reserve. maybe he'd had a nightmare? you weren't sure but you knew whatever he was feeling was still fragile. you took a deep breath and responded, sincere.

"i know, john."

he reached up to rub his face, removing the glasses there and clanking them on the bedside table. he let out a loud exhale and a weight sat on your heart. you snuggled deeper into the covers and retracted your hand from his to pat the space next to you. he reacted to the gesture but didn't move at all.

"would you lay with me a while?" is all you said.

"how could i say no to a face like that?" slowly, he lifted the covers and slid back in the warmth. he laid beside you and scooted closer so you were situated in his chest. he draped a delicate arm around you. you looked up at him, clunky and close.

"can you even see me right now?"

he scoffed, "don't be daft."

that was and wasn't an answer but you chuckled and accepted it anyway. your eyelids started to droop in no time and you rest assured knowing that he would follow your sleepy lead eventually.

PAUL MCCARTNEY

paul sleeps like the hot mess he is

and he's a heavy ass sleeper too.

all the beatle lads HATE it.

you find it hilarious though and sometimes snap photographs of some of the positions he manoeuvres himself into.

in hamburg especially, nobody wanted to sleep in the same bed as paul because he's a notoriously duvet hog and rowdy sleeper.

he thought he'd outgrown it since then.

you reassure him that he has. that it only happens sometimes.

you are lying. he hasn't outgrown anything. it happens every night.

he sleeps with a singular pillow and it genuinely explores the bed.

the reason he sleeps so heavy is because he dreams every night and they are super vivid dreams.

nothing can penetrate his song delivery dream time.

and you've tried.

in the event he does wake up, he startles like a single mother of three.

clutching his chest, gasping, his eyes open and darting everywhere.

funny thing is, he starts off the night great. he sleeps as quiet as a mouse, on his back and arm resting on you/holding your hand.

but somewhere in the night you can't pinpoint, everything goes wrong.

you wake up in the night to disheveled sheets, and now he's on his stomach while body parts hang across your torso.

sometimes there's an arm draped off the bed, knee tented in the air, legs jutting out of the quilt in different positions. his hair will either be astray or clinging to his forehead, slightly sweaty.

maybe a lil drool too.

and as if it was your imagination, by the time you wake up, the room is somehow back to normal?!1?

overtime, you've evolved to navigate a good night’s sleep and wake up feeling somewhat decent. it was hard to adjust to, but you're a trooper.

when paul wakes up in the morning on the other hand.. he’s as unaffected as a princess. maybe it’s his beauty sleep. zero eyebags, no grogginess. he's always the one dragging you out of bed, ready to start the day.

that smug oblivious bastard.

you had just returned from a afternoon shower, towel clung to your damp figure. paul sat absentmindedly at your vanity, preening himself in the mirror. you got changed into some casual home clothes while he hummed something you didn't catch. it was one of those uneventful days, spent lounging around in each others presence.

you were reading some pop magazine laying around. there was a small section that included the beatles, so what else would you do beside your god-given responsibility as his girlfriend but read it out in an exaggerative voice? the segment was clearly written by a crushing fan because rather than being informative, it was endlessly praising their looks.

paul had an influx of compliments towards him, which flattered and tickled him.

"somethin’ funny, pretty boy?" you interrogated.

"no, nothing." he smirked at himself, combing the back of his hair in the reflection. you stood up, stalking behind him and dropping your hands on his shoulders. he squinted slightly.

"what are you doing?" he questioned and you watched him.

"oh, just-" you quickly raised your hands to his hair, ruffling it wildly. "nothing."

safe to say, the play fight that occurred from that left you knackered. you were sprawled across your shared bed, catching you breath when paul groaned and thumped back down at the vanity. he moved towards your top draw.

"this comb's not going to-" he drifted off, mid sentence which piqued your curiosity. you sat up and after panting, asked.

"y’okay, macca?"

there was absurdity laced in his words. "what's all this?!"

you stood, crossing the bedroom fast to peek over his shoulder. your hands rushed to your face to cup a laugh in before it slipped out. sat in paul's hands were dozens of photographs of him in his fitful sleep. he flicked through the selection with his jaw falling further to the ground with each one.

"how long- when- i- why's it still going?!" he cried out and you stood no chance containing your laughter after that.

GEORGE HARRISON

georgie sleeps relatively normal.

he's a light sleeper.

i just know he was overwhelmed bunking with everyone in hamburg.

can't get anything past that one.

he doesn't snore but he does those sleepy grunts intermittently. almost like he's clearing his throat.

when you first hear it, you think he's going to say something.

and then he does.

he sleeptalks. only sporadically though!

it's pure nonsense that he blurts out and it's never more than three words. happens in the early morning so usually you can sleep through it.

on the day you didn't, you murmur a sleepy "huh?"

and boom, he's actually awake.

he then proceeds to gaslight you that he didn't say anything and that he wants to get back to sleep with a sleepy grin. he hushes your objections until you fall back asleep.

he's a still sleeper and will barely move.

his limbs are so lanky that whenever the blanket is any higher than his waist, his feet will poke out of the bottom.

extremely fair with the blanket though, he'll never exile you.

unlike paul.

but he sleeps quite isolated. so close to you but never really tangling his limbs in yours. he’s still undoubtedly protective but it gets him overly warm and if you so much as shuffle to itch your arm, he will wake up.

sleeps with two pillows evenly distributed between both of you. it smells heavily of him and the second your head touches it, K.O. you're out.

his morning voice is frighteningly deep and he stretches like a cat upon getting up.

lowkey prides himself on being a good sleeper.

besides the muttering, of course.

you were laid awake for god knows how long. that stupid evening coffee you had kicked in and the caffeine refused to relent and let you sleep. george on the other hand, had passed out a few hours ago and you'd been testing your willpower not to move despite the jitters buzzing throughout your whole body.

you were surprisingly winning the mental battle, focused on a spot on the ceiling and thinking about how to get to sleep. counting to 1000 failed so bad that after doing it the first time, you did it again. then again. everything was futile.

your attention was pulled from the blank roof since george stirred next to you. you let your head fall to look at him from where you laid on your back. his face was turned away buried in the shoulder outside your view. your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

he spoke, near silent. "don't miss letter."

you cleared your throat to kickstart your sleepy voice. "wha'd you say?"

he replied without moving, a "hmm?"

"you said something, love?" you clarified, turning on your side and he lazily stirred and swooped round to look at you.

"ya sure about tha?"

you pulled your lips into a thin line, faltering in your judgement. you confirmed. "yeah?"

he nodded, completely unconvinced. you saw it in his sleep-ridden features. you started to elaborate.

"hazza, i mean it. you said-"

he brought a hand to your face pushing his huge palm to your mouth to silence you. he started getting sleepy again, speaking over your obstructed words. "sshhh, sshhhh, sshhh, i know."

he reaffirmed nothing in particular and you realised proving anything was pointless. he yawned, wide and obnoxious. this was followed by him sinking further into the bed. the tussle to speak drained some of your energy and you felt the beginnings of sleep start to come.

he’d pay for that in the morning.

RINGO STARR

last but never least.

okay, ringo ACTUALLY sleeps normal.

but don't get me wrong, he has... habits.

like he sleeps like a rock, a log, a brick.

he's the heaviest sleeper out of them all.

however he does not snore! despite the snoring ringo propaganda that we are fed in the ‘a hard days night’ movie because of his nose.

the only noise he's guilty of while asleep is deep breathing.

which makes sense since his head is probably right next to your ear.

the weirdest thing he'd do lowkey is sleep half on TOP of you with his whole weight.

but it's safe to say, a night with ringo is absolutely fantastical.

he goes to sleep and stays asleep, which sounds like it would be inconvenient if you ever wanted to use the toilet or get a glass of water.

but like clockwork, he unravels to let you go when you tug and when you creep back in the mix of the bed, he senses you're back and engulfs you again.

he has two pillows for you both but they are typically pushed to the side by the time you both wake up.

he isn't opposed to being a little spoon either but it's usually not a conscious decision.

haha he'd definitely run really hot in his sleep. with or without you.

it makes the shower in the morning extra therapeutic cause you're both lowkey drenched.

and when he wakes up in the morning, he's blissfully unaware.

of everything.

the brain fog he gets is unreal, but you can pull him through it when you break into a fit of laughs at his obliviousness.

you woke with a groan, which escalated to coughs since your mouth was really dry. it was the morning, that was apparent by the sound of birds outside the flat. you looked down at the body intertwined with yours. ringo looked like a model fastened across your chest like a seatbelt. he had long abandoned his pyjama top, so all you could see was hair and skin. an abundance of both.

you stretched your arm to the bedside table, clutching at the glass half full of water. you pulled it over, steady since you couldn't see it well from your laid position. once your arm was over your head, you tilted the cup and opened your gob to catch the water.

on the plus side, you got most of the water. on the negative side, you underestimated the clamminess of your hand and the sweat that accumulated. this caused the glass to slip and land on your lip.

the impact felt awful. you yelped out in pain, pushing the glass away in the bed. the rest of the water soaked your neck. immediately, your finger rushed to your lip, wincing when you pressed on the area. you could feel it start to swell and if you were any less discombobulated, you might've shed a tear at the pain. you rested your head back on the pillow and was surprised to experience a lapse in consciousness.

you had fallen back asleep somehow?

this time, once fully awake you gave ringo a good shake to get up. he yawned, prying his face off of your torso and blinking into the light. he was sheen with sweat and you supposed that you mirrored exactly how he looked.

you lifted your finger back to your mouth, upset to realise it wasn't a dream and that your lip felt like it was on fire. ringo pushed himself up on his forearms, moving closer to your face.

"happened to ya lip?" he stared, unblinking.

you swallowed before muttering. "how bad is it?"

he grimaced a little. "bruised. swollen."

he stared at you longer before tapping a feather-light kiss to your lips.

JOHN LENNON

john is a face cradler if i've ever seen one.

the first time you kiss, it's you who initiates.

his fear of abandonment won't let him misread your signs and make the first move, in fear you wouldn't reciprocate.

he always thought about it though and it was painfully obvious to the other lads. especially when you'd both be drunk and close to one another.

the second your lips touch for the first time, he's taken aback.

at first, his hands rest on the curves of your shoulders.

but seconds later, his instincts kick in and both hands fly to your face. just clutching everything he can with the slightest air of desperation.

don't be deceived though, he dominates that kiss and all the others you share. you just got the one up on him for a moment.

his thumbs press firm into the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, your jaw, the corner of your lips like he's trying to memorise every single feature.

he doesn't wear his glasses consistently in this era so he's always close as fuck to your face. he needs to see you.

kissing gets intense fast so usually you're pulling back to breathe or because you both get the smiles and have to giggle it out.

it's probably the messiest, sloppiest snog you've ever experienced.

all saliva and forearms and deep breaths and brushing noses and tongues and even clashing teeth.

you wouldn't have it any other way.

whenever he's done, he'll snake his hand into your hair and tug it to pull you away. never in an act of malice. he'd just lowkey relish in your reaction, your small wince and the way your breath catches for a second.

i could write for weeks about how he'd be into that but alas

it's early in the starry morning and you can still hear the ambience of the house party from the roof. you smirked to yourself, absentmindedly grateful to be invited to parties fancy enough to even have a rooftop patio. the musk of sweat, smoke and alcohol cling to your clothes and your skin and it's as you take a drag of your last cigarette of the night that you started to fantasise about your shower.

you heard the faint creak of the glass door behind you open but remained facing out towards the sleeping neighbourhood. you were so deep in thought that when the person behind you spoke, you swore they were speaking a different language.

"sorry, what?" you craned your head round, smiling bashfully to see john approaching you. "oh, john, hi."

"don't speak german, then?" he frowned, pinching the cigarette from your mouth and cramming it into his own.

your head tilted on it's axis, so befuddled... "pardon?"

he sighed, turning his head and blowing a waft of smoke so you couldn't see the smile on his face but you heard it in his voice. he knew you did. "what has you all inquisitive?"

"makes you say that?' you answered and he stared at you long and hard. his answer surprised you, spoken like fact.

"tha's ya damsel face." there was a pause but before you could interject, he continued. "sometimes, when y'think you're alone, y'look so... far away. like a damsel. so, y/n, what's ya distress?"

you moved in closer to him, emboldened by too much champagne. faces inches apart. "you been watching me, lennon?"

you could see the contemplation in his words. the cogs turning in his head. it was different to his usual quick wit and sharp tongue. he opened his mouth for a second before speaking.

"sometimes." he swallowed and you saw his chest fall with a practiced exhale. you took the cig back from his fingers and instead of taking a hit, you threw it to the floor and crushed it without even looking down. he did, auburn hair falling in his face.

"there was still-" you cut him off with an eager kiss.

when he soon returned to the party, lips smeared with remnants of your signature lipstick shade and tie loosened even more than before, paul pulled him to the side to bark a "about bloody time!"

PAUL MCCARTNEY

paul lives for your arms around his neck and loves his arms around your hips.

he can drag his hands anywhere and everywhere in that position.

and trust, he does roam.

up and down your back, your sides. he can rest them on your waist, pin them at either sides of your head.

it's also easy access to pinch your arse.

it's soooo intimate and makes him feel in control.

perfect for the close quarters you might find yourselves in before or after performances, in alleyways or bathrooms.

or in more casual settings like a kitchen or a hotel room.

he's a sucker for eye contact in between kisses.

you CANNOT escape those big downturned hazel eyes.

he definitely makes the first move for your first kiss together.

you guys could be slow dancing and just talking in a position similar to the reference photo. no alcohol involved - just adrenaline alone, during a natural beat in your dialogue, he moves in.

the kiss is slow and tender at first. a test? a taste.

you kiss him back and after a while, both of you melt into it. you just become one.

feel like paul might bite/nibble at your lip a little whenever he wants to deepen it.

whenever you accept the invitation and your arms pull him in closer to touch his hair or neck, he'll let out a tiny hum.

it's also the perfect position for a cuddle, post kiss. eventually you both break away and he'll stay close maybe rocking side to side as you rest your head in his neck or under his chin.

you cooked up a lovely cheese flan for dinner after being at work all afternoon with paul in his greenhouse. you'd volunteered a week back when he mentioned it in passing during rehearsal. the other boys looked at you with nothing but remorse when you did that. in retrospect, you know why. he could be... bossy. if he was a perfectionist in the garden, you could only imagine how precise he was with his true craft. planting cress and overseeing the ripening of tomatoes had you exhausted, so after dinner you slumped down horizontally on his settee.

"y/n."

you closed your eyes and pretended to sleep at the call.

he laughed. "i know you're not sleeping!"

"fancy a dance?" he offered. you peeked an eye open to see him now stood by his vinyl player. there was some shuffling before the introduction of 'and i love her' started to hum through his living room.

he manouvred over to you, sprawled out graceless on his chair. his hand waited over you and who would you be to not take it? he pulled you up with more force than you were anticipating, and you stumbled into his chest where he caught you. you settled into a snug routine with your arms crossed around his neck and his hands crossed behind your back.

his expression pulled up into a warm grin. "thanks for your help today."

you nodded, pleased at the praise. "s'fine macca but turn off this band."

"why?"

"they have a shite bassist."

"oi!" he shoved you playfully, trying to ignore the butterflies that your fit of giggles gave him. the tips of his ears started to blush and his cheeks were following the same lead. you settled down, swaying happily in his arms. he moved his face closer to you, turning it sideways so both of your lips would align nicely. your heart fluttered and you closed your eyes and parted your lips slightly, elated to feel him kiss you.

okay. maybe, the bassist isn't too bad.

GEORGE HARRISON

the definition of a man 'who yearns is a man who earns'.

he crushes on you for years before he makes the first move.

the reason for his hesitation is because he suspects you might like one of the other beatles instead.

nobody can tell he feels this way though because he keeps it hidden SO well. to the point where you start to lose hope about him having interest in you.

one day he can't take it anymore and both of you are alone together. a quiet day away from the all the noise and observations of others.

he's fidgeting with a button on his clothes or his hands.

you are snapping photos of the beautiful views. him and the mountainside.

while you're distracted, he marches up. his fingers find your chin, tips it up towards his face and he plants a soft kiss to your lips.

he doesn't give you time to react before pulling away and turning back to the view, acting like nothing happened.

of course, you dont let him get away that easy and go in for another.

his anxiety just fades.

his slender fingers hold your jaw like you're porcelain. but he kisses you needy.

tongues are quick to get involved and he gets lost in all of your kisses from that point onwards.

it's like an experience from a dream for him seeing you disheveled, lips swollen below him.

always pulls you back in for a peck in the middle of your break for air and sometimes you'll let him, happy to wrap a hand around his on your neck and let the lack of air make you lightheaded.

sometimes you have to lightly hold him back, and he'll trail kisses from your collarbone up to your mouth impatiently.

you both live for the height difference.

when you pull away for good, returning to the heels of your feet. his eyes stay closed for long seconds after and open half-lidded and glossed with lust.

nothing planned for the rest of the day?

you're not getting away pal.

you stood in disbelief. complete shock. your eyes blinked rapidly at the simultaneous gain and loss of contact. george had just kissed you. you swivelled your body around to follow after wherever the hell he thought he was going after that. when you caught up to his long strides, you hooked a hand in his hair and pulled his lips down to yours. the impact was a little rough and after kissing you back, he drawled out sarcastically. mouth still close to yours.

"arright, i'm not goin anywhere."

you let go of him and stared up at him. you felt small after so many nights of feeling like he didn't see you or want you, here he was. your throat tightened as you spoke and your eyes pricked with tears.

"i waited so long for you to do that."

he beamed, fangs peaking out. he engulfed you in a hug and rubbed an hand up and down your arm.

"well no need t'cry about it." there was no hint of mockery in his tone, just endearment. you wrapped your arms around him.

"i mean it, hazza. what took you so long?" you mumbled into his chest. you could feel his ribcage rise and fall and you thought he didn't hear you until he started.

"dunno, thought you liked one of the other lads." he sheepishly responded which made you pull back. your mind raced for words but all you could manage was a breathless "no!"

you chatted for ages on a nearby bench, discussing all of the small mixed signals and setting them straight. it's when you reached back to the comfortable hotel room that the snogging continued. you and george had some years to catch up for..

RINGO STARR

last but never least.

what a glorious reference for him.

ringo's hands live around your waist. casually and when you're snogging his face off.

this time, ringo makes you shy.

you have lots of banter together and a very flirtatious friendship. on top of that, he's a touchy person.

lord help you.

he's just always near, with an arm around your shoulder, moving your hair or hat out of your face, giving you piggyback rides whenever you ask, gifting you one of his rings just to make you smile.

he's also an eye contact WARRIOR.

he's the only beatles member with blue eyes and he makes sure that you know it.

he falls for you and has a suspicion that you feel the same.

so he makes it his mission to fluster you excruciatingly before ending your suffering and kissing you.

why? cause he can and it's funny.

you'd be ranting to him in his flat about something that angered you earlier in the day and he'd come up behind you and hug your torso from behind.

the gesture makes you stop speaking but he insists he was listening and to keep talking.

oh i'll elaborate in the drabble don't you worry.

when he kisses you, i'm sorry but your noses would brush affectionately.

one or both of you end up grinning like a kid before jumping straight back into it.

whispers compliments in-between kisses about how beautiful you are and how lucky he is.

the first thing you noticed whilst trapped in a bear hug by ringo from behind was his warmth. he nestled his head into the crook of your neck and you didn't even realise that your rant faded on your tongue until he asked you to continue.

your mind was blank.

nothing else was more important that how close he was to you. the lulling smell of coconut shampoo that invaded your senses. you'd hugged many times before but this felt different. he shuffled his arms around your waist and you noticed the outline of his bicep muscles.

your mind was utterly blank.

he whined your name. "what did the lady say after that?" his tone was insistent and you stuttered to form a response. your hands hovered above his arms, feeling the brush of body hair there. you laughed.

"what was i even saying?"

"you said-" he helped but you cut him off.

"sorry rich, you know what, let's move on." his chest fit your spine like a jigsaw puzzle. like a glove. you felt his hair tickling your neck and it was overwhelming how quick he dominated your thoughts.

"thought a hug would make y'feel better but it's made you all silent." ringo sulked and you thought he was pulling away before your body was turned around. his hands were now firmly on the small of your back. he inched closer to you, and a smug smile pulled at his lips.

"maybe a kiss'll do?"

you were speechless but nodded your head. his expression lit up.

"can i?"

the only word coming to your mouth was. "please."

a/n: hope you enjoyed! leave a comment and scream at me if you didn't. follow me if you did :) i've never done a multi-oneshot, respect to those who do them often cause this was hard work.

no exaggeration when i say it took me FIVE hours to write. i completely locked in, one sitting and became shakespeare for you all. hope nothing seems rushed because of it. I finished all my school work today so i'm ready to grind out all of these ideas I have over summer break.

"morning, y/n."

you nearly missed the greeting as a shuddering yawn consumed you. pulling your fists away from the craters you were digging in your eye sockets, you gave a sleepy smile.

"good morning, brian."

you leaned on the kitchen counter while he cradled a mug of tea in his hands at the table. you noticed an acoustic guitar resting against the chair beside the guitarist. at the same time, he picked up on the camera strapped to your hand. it rested in your right palm so frequently, always on and recording queen's writing progress. 

you and your recorder came as a pair. never far from one another. so often so that the nickname 'vee' (short for mv or video) had begun to catch on with freddie and roger. it amused you and was always used endearingly so you had no complaints. brian spoke between a sip.

"are you seriously filming already?"

you chuckled, setting it down on the counter. "depends... what you got for me?"

you fidgeted around in the cupboards in search for the remaining chocolate powder. once located you crammed it all and the boiled water into a similar mug, sliding down in a chair across from brian. he stared at the guitar for a moment. "it's an acoustic track, actually."

"you don't say..." you remarked but brian scoffed and continued anyway.

"ha ha. s'called 39."

you waited for an elaboration that never came. not yet anyway. you noticed that about this peculiar band. all members had vastly different ideas with wild executions and usually they started as these odd concepts. a title, a lyric, a hum, a riff - even a smell. they had what you liked to call "creative arguments" about these things all the time. 

each of them were passionate and perfectionists. every body of work breathed with life and it showed. it reflected in every overdub, every live performance, every rehearsal. you were mesmerised. you'd never admit it but you were sure the band knew it anyway.

upon brian saying the title, you half expected roger, john or freddie to appear slandering the vague title. luckily, there was some peace for now. most morning were peaceful as the boys weren't really early birds. you were required to wake up at 8am each morning, except sundays. mr sheffield said this gave you ample time to get ready for the day and catch all of the band members in their 'flow'. whatever that means. he also advised you to be withdrawn from the band. like a fly on the wall, almost never intervening. despite being arranged to live with them for 6 months.

you grimaced, remembering his harsh words.

"last videographer i hired turned groupie for these boys. now, miss y/n. are you a groupie?"

it was bullshit. norman sheffield was a bastard and the kind of boss the girls in the movies strive to escape from. and you would... but you were an opportunist. and broke.

an all-inclusive stay at the ridge farm with the best progressive rock band on the scene right now wasn't the worst predicament ever and great for your portfolio and finding future paid work. 

so you tried to stick to mr sheffield's rules. it took two weeks for it all to come crumbling down. the boys started to catch on that you were always the first one awake and more often than not, the last one asleep. you were also quiet as a mouse but never disinterested in what was going on, always giving great input when prompted.

even though it went against your contract, you opened up to the lead singer about it one rainy afternoon in the garden. once you mentioned their manager, freddie exclaimed like he'd put all the pieces together.

"i just knew that bastard was behind it. that sounds like hell! do talk more, darling. and have a lay in for once. you'll kill yourself at this rate and we're not even close to finishing the album!"

his words were incredibly comforting in comparison to mr sheffield's condescending questions. you relaxed more after that, with everyone. you also noticed an air of disdain whenever you mentioned other rules given to you by their manager. so naturally, made sure cameras were not rolling when talks involved him.

you stirred your spoon in the brown liquid. "do play me a bit, brian. liven my morning up." 

he pulled the guitar to his lap and the strings echoed faintly through the kitchen. you listened eagerly, camera neglected as you just basked in the moment. the chord progression felt very intimate and you tried to contain your surprise when hearing brian accompany the song vocally. you knew he did backing vocals live and could sing but it was unexpected to hear him take the lead. when the snippet ended, a sleepy john deacon entered. he stretched as he sat beside you.

"good morning. don't tell me i missed something fun just now." his eyes hovered between you two. brian responded, with an hint of mischief.

"morning john, by the way, how good are you at double bass?" 

this caused the bassist's face to immediately scrunch up in disbelief.

"i'm messing around. just food for thought. forget about it." but with that, john went silent and still. you watched him, narrowing your eyes at his visible thought process.

"still with us, deaky?"

a small smile crept on his face, his gaze still slightly absentminded. "oh definitely:"

brian shook his head and placed the guitar back down, curls bouncing slightly. he knew he'd started something that he couldn't end.

"john, i mean it!"

"i've not even heard the song brian! what could i possibly be thinking about—?"

"you tell me." a shuffle could be heard from the story above and it caused the bickering to stop. someone else was awake. the house was up early for a change. you blew for a second before tasting your drink.

"who do you think it's going to be?" asked john, arms crossed over his torso. he sported a dark green, long-sleeved pyjama top with dark shorts. whereas, brian had the short sleeve shirt and trousers combination. you were currently drowning in roger's spare long sleeved pyjama shirt and your own pyjama shorts. 

the shirt you were wearing was hanging out to dry in the garden. two nights ago, you'd been in the unsuspecting crossfire of a carton of milk. roger's fault. it was a song dispute. the signs of his outburst were all there. hidden behind john and brian's goading, and freddie's laughing, roger's knee started to bounce. then his hand started to clench. then he chewed slightly on the inside of his mouth, words few and far between. 

then suddenly there was an explosion of white. 

the kitchen fell still when instead of hitting john, who dodged, the liquid sprayed all over you instead who was innocently cooking. you still didn't know the song the two were actually arguing about since roger had decided to put it to bed and you-soaked-in-milk was now a sensitive subject. 

as compensation, you relinquished your chores over the course of the next week to roger and took his pyjama shirt as personal revenge. it held his smell well and was nice to have when it got cold in your bedroom at night.

none of the boys around the table mentioned it. brian contemplated. "could be fred, he's the lightest sleeper i know."

john hummed, "my bets on...." he gave a curt nod. "roger." simultaneously, the two men turned their gaze to you. your answer would be a tie-breaker.

"uhhh, i have no clue! brian is right, freddie is a really light sleeper." 

john rolled his eyes as the statement sided with the guitarist. he murmured something along the lines of regretting your choice. and quickly you did, because a messy mop of blonde hair entered the kitchen. none other than roger taylor, queen's zombified drummer. he looked as though he had a fitful night with his hair jutting out in all directions and his upper body exposed. just a pair of pyjama bottoms and the waistband of his boxers shying through.

"alright, roger? thought we left the beauty sleeps to fred." brian teased. 

"oh sod off, brian." roger's eyes were half open, blinded by the sunlight poking through the curtains. "what's with all the noise? it's not even 9 o'clock!"

"what's with the lack of clothes, rog? we have a lady in the house." john observed, pretending to cover his eyes at the pale, hairless skin. roger looked to you at that. his blue eyes were surprisingly open and locked with yours. his gaze flicked up and down. 

"vee doesn't mind, right?"

you nodded, then shook your head. trying to give the correct impression. yes, you don't mind but nodding means they might think you mean yes, you do mind but you don't mind. it's his house too technically and he's not hurting anybody. you should've just stuck to shaking no, that was the right response-

john interrupted your spiralling thoughts. "you've flustered the poor girl."

you felt heat rise to your cheeks and became embarrassed when realising you'd not actually said anything just then, just zoned out staring right at roger. you buried your head in your arms.

"it's the truth." he simply chimed. it was. and you hated it. where was the milk?

brian took over the conversation, explaining the course of the morning to the drummer who look completely spaced out. your finger twitched so you lifted your head to spot the cigarettes in the center of the table. they were roger's but he wouldn't mind since he bummed a lot of yours. 

soon, you thought in the back of your mind. a subconscious hand pressed to the left pocket of your pyjamas feeling the outline of your lighter. suddenly, roger groaned after deciding he didn't want to hear about how great being awake was. 

"well give over. start writing in an hour or two. im trying to sleep." and with that, he turned on his heel back up to his room. the trio of you snickered a little at the humor of roger's whinging.

"he seemed a bit mardy." you finally muttered, a smile etched on your face. 

"it's what two days of chores and no pyjama top does to a man." john added, further lightening the atmosphere in the kitchen. "what's for breakfast, brian?"

"pardon?" it was brian's turn to finally question. 

you drew your legs up to your chest drumming a finger on your kneecap. "it does say it's your day to cook today, bri."

brian thought, rising from his chair. his tea now long finished and mug discarded. "well in that case it's porridge for breakfast." 

this earned a groan from you and john at the table. you'd been so distracted teaming up on brian, everyone missed the singer stood silently in the kitchen doorframe. 

"which one of you upset roger?" he interrogated. everyone's head snapped to the noise. freddie moved over to the table, occupying brian's empty seat. he looked very well rested, like he'd been awake for hours. you had no idea how he did that. "he was in a foul mood stomping back to his room just now."

you acknowledged him, with a coy smile. "good morning, freddie."

freddie shot back, "don't think you're getting off the hook, dear. i need answers." 

this caused brian to sulk, back to everyone at the table as he started making porridge. "it's too early for the theatrics from you too, freddie." 

"christ, are you moping too?" examined freddie, looking to brian before john butted in defensively.

"nobody did anything, freddie. you know how roger is."

freddie seemed apprehensive before his demeanor then shifted. "oh well, let the drama queen rest!" he poured himself a cup of tea, with the ingredients on the table. "brian, make something else for me. torture vee and john and roger and even yourself with porridge."

brian shook his head, rotating so he could stare at the table as the oats finished warming. 

"sorry fred, we're a democracy. and y/n, that includes you too."

"what did i do??" you cried out in defense.

you chatted with the band, minus roger a bit longer. the drummer did eventually return to the table, looking less disheveled. everyone had a jovial breakfast despite the standard of food by chef may. it wasn't hard to make porridge but brian put the perfect amount of sugar and water in, so the sweetness and texture was really enjoyable. 

everybody ate their helping and a comfortable silence fell onto the table. eventually roger stood to tackle the breakfast dishes. his energy started to appear for the day, bargaining with you. 

"c'mon! i wash, you dry. oldest teamwork in the book." 

you rolled your eyes at that. john then mused, "don't forget about the milk incident, vee." this caused a wave of laughter from the table, even roger.

"enough about that!" roger scowled, playfully. "please vee, i know you want to help me." 

"you're being manipulated, dear!" freddie retorted. 

you sighed, then finally caved. "okay smoke first. then i dry. then you lot get to playing something. anything." you couldn't say no to roger. not really. 

he beamed with pride at the compromise he managed to strike, rising from his seat to gather all the dishes in the sink. you signalled to the cigarettes, "can i, rog?"

"course, my treat for siding with me."

you pushed open the box, digging one out and trapping it between your lips. fishing out your lighter next, you flicked it down twice until the flame lit. you brought the steady fire to the end of your cigarette. then like clockwork took a big inhale.

the boys spoke around you and you naturally tuned them out for a while. you stood to fetch your camera on the counter, sitting back down and fiddling with it. the cigarette was taken from your mouth and tapped into the tray. if you looked up you would've caught the eyes of roger, already looking at you. your hands actually.

you rose the cig back to your mouth, your lips. too focused using both hands now to meticulously sieve through the settings and your memory card. he snapped out of his thoughts turning back to the sink. you adjusted the exposure as you were recording last night and everything this morning looked touched by heaven.

your cigarette thinned out soon enough and when you took the final drag, you pushed the bud into the ashtray. you rose from your seat, squinting at the rota on the fridge. the schedule was littered with names assigned to chores but yours had been messily wiped out and replaced with rogers.

"and i was just getting used to no chores." 

roger sarcastically replied. "shame."

the rest of the boys started to filter out from the kitchen to get ready and take turns in the shower. there were still some pots from last night that john had intentionally left to soak, that roger raged about to you beside him.

after some time by the sink, you started to fall into a habit of teasing the boy. the band were rubbing off on you. it was really simple things like how awkward he looked with a sponge in his hand. this earned you a playful shove. when you tried to push back, roger planted his feet so you couldn't budge him. he wasn't the biggest or strongest member of queen, he was just taller than you but it showed in his attitude. you eased up on him, sitting on the counter for easier access to the cupboard.

you guys got into a consistent routine like that. you conversed about the plan for the day ahead and then roger turned to you, abrupt.

"you look pretty in that shirt." no traces of the usual sarcasm. "my shirt." 

you froze. expression wide and carved in fear. the confession left you slightly nauseous. why were you thinking about mr sheffield's words again? why were you thinking about roger's reputation? 

you'd shot for queen once, before being hired to video them here at ridge farm. you recalled their amazing set and the clear videos you'd gotten. 'fucking ace' mr sheffield had called them. 

memories of after their setlist started to flood your mind. pale hands all through his hair, on his neck, his arms. the love bite that peaked through the collar of his top. in the moment, you winced at the desperation from both the drummer and his... fan. now you were headed for the same fate.

you'd be fired.

you let out a dry giggle, delayed as your lips were pressed in a tight smile. as you continued to dry the plate in your hand, you shuffled away on the counter to reach the cupboard. you'd never had trouble before. he picked up on the distance instantly.

"what just happened?" roger placed the dishes back into the water. you didn't want to face the truth. not with him, here and now. 

"what d'you mean?" you just smiled. it didn't reach your eyes.

"maybe it was just my imagination but you looked really distracted there. scared me a little." he patted a comforting hand on your knee but you recoiled.

"your hand is soaking, roger! pass me a new towel."

he smirked. "no."

"no?" you chuckled, tentatively.

"no! tell me what you were thinking about." he insisted, grabbing a pot from the dirty water. 

"it was nothing—"

"vee."

"it's stupid." you sighed, shaking your head to yourself. roger looked into your eyes, they were bright blue and searching for something he could work with.

"is it stupid or nothing?"

three months. three months was all it took for handsome, sweet-talker, roger taylor to have you stumbling over your words like this. you were very fond of roger and your dynamic. sometimes, you would argue he was smitten over you too. you tried to stop your spiralling mind. it was just proximity attraction. the album was going to release in november and you'd go your separate ways. his way probably lead to the bed of some brunette. the thought made you gag.

this, here, was a nice fantasy, though.

"it's both, roger. just... ah nevermind."

"talk to me, vee." he prompted, seeming slightly down at your reluctance to open up. 

"your compliment is nice. just save it for someone who can reciprocate, okay?"

his face contorted into a puzzled expression. "sorry. thought you felt same way."

"no, roger it's not that. i do." you groaned in frustration. "i do. it's just—" mr sheffield’s words crowded your head.

"i want you to impress me. show me that the whores i hire can do their jobs, yeah?"

you swallowed. "complicated." 

you discarded the wet towel to the counter and ran a quick hand through his hair, stopping at the nape of his neck. your fingers brushed the skin there and his eyes fluttered shut for only a second before you hopped down from the side.

roger remained stood in place, still lost in the touch. "where're you—?"

you made your way out of the kitchen slowly, smile wide. it was bittersweet. "dishes are done. get ready and give me something to record."

roger nodded, not realising he'd already given you the last dish to dry. you lingered in the doorframe. contemplation in your eyes before you hurried back to roger at the sink. your closeness was bold and he took a step back reflexively.

"so play well."

you propped yourself on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. it's then you finally exited the kitchen leaving roger stood in shock. he cracked a smile, drying his hands before following close behind.

how was that?? let a girl know in the asks or the comments and follow for more cause i have sooo many more ideas for all the boys lined up!

you’d known the lads a while. maybe too long.

you’d grown up trailing george who trailed john who naturally came with paul and ringo dived head first into it all. they had all tried to wriggle out of beatle business countless times - more than they’d ever admit. you’d seen every fake illness under the sun.

sore throats from john that disappeared when he’s singing on stage, runny noses from paul with no real snot behind them. upset tummies that faded faster than the speed of light from ringo, and the worst blagger of them all being george. you only say that though because you were young, dumb and smitten enough to believe whenever he claimed to be sick.

his go-to excuse was a headache.

maybe george knew that it was irrefutable due to the lack of physical symptoms. each time he cried wolf, he’d moan and groan about how painful it was, sending a grin or a wink to you watching him closely. it felt like your little secret in a way.

but this time, you knew he meant it. there were no winks. there were no words. you sat beside him laid in your bed, his frame so small and cuddled up under the blankets like this. his eyes were shut but he wasn’t asleep. he just shook like a leaf.

“you look really poorly like this, georgie.”

you reached out to his forehead to push back his damp bangs. you used your other hand to rest the back of your hand against his clammy skin. he was really warm. “god, you’re boiling.”

he shivered for a few seconds before replying, his voice mumbly and low. “m’freezing.”

he cracked open a small eye to see you near him. you tried to give him your best smile but he seemed really sick and it was hard to keep composure. it was even harder to leave him earlier that morning to get some shopping for him and the house. felt like leaving a wounded puppy alone in the street.

“i’ll make you some…” you hesitated trying to decide on a word that wouldn’t scare him. “tea.”

you eventually settled on. you weren’t going to make him tea. not yet anyway. you were going to make him bitters. a nasty combination of natural remedies. garlic, lemon, honey, ginger, onion, everything you knew would be nothing but good for him to have as a foundation to real medicine.

you slipped away to the bathroom for a moment to wet a facecloth with cold water. after ringing it out, you reapproached george laid in bed.

“honey, face up.”

he uttered something inaudible in response before shuffling so his face was up towards the ceiling. you draped the flannel over his forehead and watched the relief settle through his body. his shaking stopped slightly. small droplets trickled down his face and you used your thumb to brush them away.

“you’re my angel.” he smiled, weak. his breathing was less jittery and both his eyes now crept open at the contact on his face. his brown eyes met yours. you caressed his face lovingly before stretching down to plant an affectionate kiss on his cheek.

“don’t be silly.” you started to stand but his pale hand shot out from the duvet to clutch yours.

“where y’goin?” his words slurred more than usual and it looked like it used a lot of his energy just to pull his eyebrows together in confusion.

you reassured, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “just to the kitchen, for tea, remember?”

he squeezed it back, nodding a little which caused the cloth to slide down his face. you laughed which caused him to grin a little. “what are you like? i swear you do it on purpose.”

flipping it around and pressing it back to his forehead, you whispered. “be right back, mm?”

with that, you made a beeline to the kitchen, fondly humming to yourself. the melody was something you’d heard him repeat over and over again hunched over his guitar and notebook. it was probably the beginning of a song he was working on, not yet in fruition. the mug that george had deemed his own whenever he stopped by your flat sat comfortably in your hands. it had a beautiful hand painted design on it, floral and intricate. it was a housewarming gift from your friend a few years ago.

you crushed all the natural ingredients together in the bottom and poured steaming hot water above it all. patiently, you swirled a spoon in the mixture to cool it down and stir it. you returned to the room, happy to see george perk up.

he was getting some energy back.

you lifted the mug slightly, “i’ll have the first sip.”

the taste was strong and instantly hit the back of your throat. it took all your willpower not to cough. you exhaled, deep and rose the cup to george’s lips. he was probably strong enough to hold it himself but you decided to help him this once.

“thanks—” he muttered before taking a sip. his face screwed up instantly, breaking out into a messy splutter. your hands were sprayed in spit and liquid and you were so in love you didn't really... care? “what was—”

you giggled at the childish rejection. “it’s just a mixture, hazza.”

“that’s poison s’what that is.” he frowned. “you said tea.”

you nodded, “i did, i’m sorry. there’s nothing in there that’ll poison y’though. thought you could use the nutrients.”

his lip curled in sass, “i could use a milky cuppa.”

you didn’t relent straight away. “how about two more sips?”

“y/n…” he groaned.

“not forcing you! just wanna see you have something else, anything else before your drowsy flu syrup.”

he paused, watching your honest face before sighing. “fine but i really want my tea.”

“i’ll make you your tea, just as you like it.”

as promised on both sides, he took two more graceful and whiny sips as you scurried off to the kitchen to dispose your natural medicine and make him his tea. you spoke a little more while he drunk it, apologising again for playfully deceiving him. until you sneezed suddenly, causing silence between both of you.

“you’re contaminated.” he jested, slightly nasally as he’d just finished blowing his nose with a nearby tissue.

you frowned, but accepted your fate. “guess i deserve it.”

luckily you had nothing planned all day but george duty, and changed back into your pyjamas. you briefly called ringo to cancel the casual dinner plans that were organised for tomorrow. both of you were forecasted for a nasty bout of flu and scheduled for quarantine.

it was still a gloomy, cloudy morning from what you could see behind the curtain in your bedroom. you gave george a tablespoon of his cough medicine before his final sip of tea so the taste wouldn’t stay in his mouth and you climbed into bed beside him. you gave him another kiss. this time you pressed one softly to his chapped lips.

he kissed back, and afterwards snuggled under your chin and into your chest. you wrapped him in a close hug, feeling his breathing even out under your arms. you could feel him trying to resist the sleep as each time he’d nod off, he’d twitch back awake for a moment and shuffle in your arms like nothing happened.

you dragged a hand through his sweaty hair, playing gently with the strands. you hummed that melody that’d been stuck in your head from before and both gestures combined seemed to knock him out dutifully. the last thing you remember was smiling before following his lead and dozing off into a sickly nap together.

eeeeek hope you enjoyed! leave a comment if u did i love reading them!