lottie

𝜗℘ lottie 9teen she/her hopeless romantic spencer reids angel glitter whimsy george harrisons love lace with everything chronically sleepy cinnamon touching pinkies silly love lover fawns awkwardest ever trying her best

a/n: there was a heatwave in england a couple days ago and whilst ive cooled off now i am stuck living in a constant fear that i will be forced to induce that heat again

you liked summer.

really, you did. pulling out your dusty bike and going on rides, or the constant excuse for ice cream, or sitting in a park whilst spencer reads to you. the way it lit up the world, making it all golden and green where it was usually grey and sad.

this was not summer.

obviously, us mere mortals have done something amiss (ahem, climate change) because god has decided that to pay for your sins, you must live in what is practically a one thousand degree sauna for weeks with no reprise. you weren't a religious person, but the torture and heat of this last week has been biblical in nature.

luckily for you, your office building has ac. unluckily for you, work has been shut and you're expected to do it from home, where your ac is broken. damn you, shitty landlord.

and so here you are, hunched over a computer writing what can only be described as gibberish. how many times can you use the word 'emphasises'? you don't even know what you're writing about anymore, your mind so consumed with the gross feeling of sweat dripping down your back and nausea pooling in your stomach that you've completely forgotten you're supposed to be writing an article on 'how to stay cool during the summer!' and have completely devolved into mindlessly typing nonsense with the occasional curse in it, just to temper your frustrations.

you're in as little clothes as possible; a tiny pair of shorts that must've been from high school, a loose fitting tank top, and your hair tied up in a ponytail despite the fact that it makes you look like an egg. you'd considered going naked, it's your apartment after all. but you don't think the naturist lifestyle is quite for you.

what's even worse is that spencer has to see you like this.

you're not an insecure person necessarily, you know you're beautiful, but in the state you're in, you wouldn't hold it against a person for saying you looked like you'd been run over.

you can only imagine it from his perspective; his normally well kept, casual, sweet girlfriend now reduced to a sweaty, grumpy mess who bashes her keyboard with her fist and whines with the need for this article to just be done already.

you wonder what he thinks of you. maybe he thinks your sweet, even-tempered persona was just a ruse, and really you're a big, angry, sweaty loser who can't even stand a bit of heat.

and he's just sat there looking adorable as ever. he's wearing shorts, a rarity for spence, and a regular t-shirt with a little science joke on it because of course ('what did the ion say to the other ion? i've got my ion you!'). you're stuck a crossroads of wanting to kiss him all over his face and squish his cheeks like a grandma or wanting to pummel him for looking so darn cute when you look like you crawled out of a sewer.

but you're so laser focused on finished this article that you don't even register when he appears behind you until his hand reaches out and closer the laptop. "wha- hey!"

his voice is a smooth and as soothing as ever, god you want to kill him (affectionately). "think it might be a good time for a break, honey."

his arm is warm behind you, but instead of being oppressive, the light weight of it is oddly relaxing. i mean, he doesn't even smell like BO. what kind of man is he? how could any man possibly be this perfect?

"i didn't save it." your voice comes out whinier than intended. but all your mind can think of is the possibility that your laptop decides to swallow your article whole and you'll have to start from scratch.

"oh, don't worry." his touch is so gentle as he pushes back a stray hair from your head that you think you might faint. "i put auto-save on for you a few months ago."

sweet, innocent, practical spencer. when you used to think of 'acts of service', you imagined holding the door open for you, or rubbing your feet or something of the sort. now, what you realise, is that it's really these tiny, minute details. keeping your favourite cereal in the cupboard even though he hates it, fixing the leaky tap without you having to ask, putting auto-save on your computer so you don't have to worry about losing all your hard works.

all this little, seemingly minuscule, details, just so he can make you life that little bit easier.

all that, whilst he also opens the door for you religiously and rubs your feet.

you're overcome with this dreadful, heavy feeling of love and appreciation that you can't help but throw your arms around him, with such force you almost knock the poor boy over. you don't even care that you're sticky and he's sticky and that you'll probably meld together, because that really doesn't sound that bad in the face of it.

he stumbles back a little, a small, breathy laugh leaving his mouth as you wrap yourself around him, only taking a second before his own arms wrap around you, a hand cradling your head. "what's this for?"

you just hug him tighter, with all our might. "you put auto-save on my computer." your sigh is so content and borderline delirious that he thinks he's misheard you for a second. when he realises he heard you correctly, his eyebrows furrow in confusion but the smile never leaves his lips.

"i did...is this what this is for?" he asks, hand stroking your hair and you think you might just melt, and you'd be happy to do so.

a/n: kind of cheating trope but also not..idk :p

just to preface, george isn't proud of this.

he didn't plan or intend for this and all that mumbo jumbo, it just happened. like, seriously, the whole thing came out of nowhere and just crash banged into the middle of his usually normal, honestly kind of boring life.

all he had wanted to do this morning was do the normal gig at the cavern and move on with his night.

everything had gone as normal; he'd woken up, found that the newspaper had yet again written a piece about the band, had his breakfast, lounged about for the rest of the day until it was time to head down.

the gig went as planned, and he didn't get mauled by anybody so all in all it was a pretty good day.

it wasn't until after the gig when him and the boys were packing away their stuff that his world was tipped upside down.

as he was shutting his guitar case, he felt a presence in the doorway and instinctively turned his head.

and there you stood.

the light from the hallway behind you, once harsh and yellow, now seemed to form a halo behind you, making it seem like you were some kind of angel, sent purely for him.

and your face. oh my gosh, your face. in all his years of being, he can't imagine a face more beautiful that yours. the way your eyes sparkle, batting your eyelashes, with your hair framing your face so perfectly. he's about ready to propose marriage and carry you away to the chapel so he can make you his immediately.

his mind is completely boggled, and he's half convinced he might fall to his knees form how his legs have turned to jelly. he doesn't even care that you're a complete stranger and possibly some crazed superfan who managed to sneak into the back without anybody noticing.

all he can think about is your eyes and that hair and those lips, with that perfectly kissable cupids bow. he reevaluates any crushes he had in the past to recall if he had ever felt this way about someone before, and comes up short. his chest aches with this newfound, sudden affection he feels.

and then, all of his prayers are answered. you lips, perfect as they already are, spread into a full smile and he feels like he's just been shot by cupids arrow. everything feels like it's in slow motion. possibly the most beautiful girl on the planet is standing there, and she's smiling at him, and he feels like the most special man on the planet.

he can feel his pupils expand, his heart open, and suddenly birds are chirping and all atrocities in the world have ended.

and then paul pushes past him, and all of his joy dissolves.

he realises that he, stupidly, misunderstood the situation and really you were not looking at him, but rather paul, who was standing directly behind him. he deflates, and he wouldn't be surprised if he turned grey and a raincloud appeared above his head as he watches paul embrace you.

stupid paul.

the 'cute' beatle.

it makes him feel a little sick, then stupid.

"jesus. cheer up, buttercup." john's voice rings in his ear, forcing him out of his pity party. "can't be looking all solemn in front of a pretty girl."

meeting his eye, john realises that george isn't just in a grump, but that his heart was just torn out of his chest and stomped on a billion, jillion times in the span of about a minute. "ah," a smirk fills his face. "got your hopes up, eh?"

george wants to slap him, but he refrains.

he stays quiet as paul introduces you to the rest of the guys, and you smile like and angel and introduce yourself to each of them with a little wave and it makes his heart race in his chest like he's a schoolboy.

when you finally come to him, finally meet his eyes, he feels like if he opens his mouth he might explode or accidentally profess his love to you, or anything that disastrous. "hi," your voice is smooth and sweet like honey, and he wishes he could bottle the sound and listen to it forever.

he stands there for a few seconds, unable to speak, as you stare up at him with those expectant eyes. once he regains his ability to function like a regular human, he manages to peep out a little. "alright?"

you smile up at him, introducing yourself like you had with john and ringo, but all he can focus on is your eyes solely focused on him, the moment of your lips and the light flush of your cheeks. he wants to believe that it's because of him, and the guilt of it gnaws inside of him.

the pleasantries continue and george has to fight between his desire to memorise you and his fear of getting caught, his eyes flicking between you and a random spot on the wall. john smirks at it, and paul has no idea, smug with his arm thrown around your shoulders.

and its over as soon as it started. paul's guiding you out of the club, whilst george stands pathetically in the doorway, watching as you go, jealous of the arm around your shoulder like an immature child.

he has no right to feel jealous, you're not his.

he tries to convince himself that you must be annoying or rude or inconsiderate, but the concept of you being anything but perfect doesn't register.

so he stands there and watches as you're carted away from him, anticipating and dreading the next time he sees you. he can't imagine never seeing that face again, but he also fears what kind of stupid rubbish would come out of his mouth if he was made to speak to you. he assumes it would be just gibberish, but there's also a strong chance he'd just fall to his knees and beg you to be with him.

ᝰ.ᐟ he's known around the college, and beyond, for his somewhat ruthless attitude. he will not accept lazy, half answers or forgotten homework. don't even try being late to one of his lectures. the only reason he still has people attend is because of how revered he is for his knowledge of ancient languages

ᝰ.ᐟ he's a little surprised when you enter his class, although he won't admit that. you may not be as smart as him (because, really, who is?), but you remind him so much of himself when he was at hampden, aloof but with an eagerness buzzing under the surface

ᝰ.ᐟ he hated that he had a favourite, it made him feel unprofessional. so, he did little things to keep people off the trail; being extra harsh when your response was a little less developed than usual, picking another student over you when you both had your hands up

ᝰ.ᐟ he couldn't help how his voice softened just a tad when he spoke to you, though. it was such a minuscule change nobody else noticed, but he did, and it tore him apart

ᝰ.ᐟ every essay you got back had ten times more scribbles than any of your peers. you'd peak over their shoulders and find a thoroughly marked but noticeably less covered essay than your own

ᝰ.ᐟ the first time anything less than professional occurred was when he left a copy of a novel on your desk. it wasn't on the syllabus, and was just some obscure thing you'd never heard of. you put it in your bag without a word, and carried on like nothing had happened

ᝰ.ᐟ you'd stayed behind a few lessons later, book completed, pages of your notebook filled with notes. you stayed with him for an hour after class, discussing, arguing. and you were granted a rare henry winter smile. it was tiny and barely noticeable, but being so used to the constant straight line you were usually met with, the slight tilt of the corner of his mouth was about as close as a smile henry would get

ᝰ.ᐟ you stayed a few more times after classes after that, either to discuss whatever book professor winter had last left on your desk or some abstract concept you'd brought up during discussion earlier that lesson

ᝰ.ᐟ he started to give you lifts home, claiming he didn't want you trudging through the snowy vermont winters and catching your death. it became the norm for you to stay behind whilst he marked essays, either sitting in the library or beside his desk

ᝰ.ᐟ that made you subject to numerous rumours

ᝰ.ᐟ your own friends would question the nature of your relationship, to which you would always reply: 'he just understands me, intellectually'. they never believed that line, and the more your relationship evolved, the less you believed it

ᝰ.ᐟ the first time you kiss happens on a regular evening. he's dropping you off from the library and walks you up the steps to the door, where he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips. it's firm and certain, and lasts maybe six seconds, before he pulls away and says, "i'll see you in class. don't forget to read the chapters before tomorrow." then he walks down the steps and drives away

ᝰ.ᐟ you start spending more time at his apartment, the same one he lived in all those years ago, surrounded by the smell of worn books and smoke

ᝰ.ᐟ you're granted access to something nobody else has, or would even believe. they know professor winter, who once made a boy cry because his interpretation of paradise lost was incorrect and had run so many students out of his class it must be a record. you know henry, who sits in a cloud of cigarette smoke and still uses an umbrella to disguise his limp, who watches you while you sleep and presses kisses to your hairline

saw this edit of vampire paul and NEED IT. see so many vampire!george x readers but where’s paul????

a/n: why had i never considered vampire paul...you've opened my mind anon<3 thank u sm for the req

you'd always noticed something was up with paul.

it wasn't some big, loud thing screaming at you that there was something wrong with him, just little hints here and there.

the way he seemed to stalk around with an umbrella constantly, how he almost religiously abstained to garlic, how you'd never seen him in direct sunlight.

i mean, you'd been dating for a while now, and you'd never seen him in the sun?

it always stirred you the wrong way, despite them being practically insignificant little details that probably meant nothing. but at night, when you couldn't sleep, they would all add up until your mind was practically bursting with this feeling that something was up, something weird.

but you tried to brush it off.

sure, he was super duper pale, but hey, this is england, where people look like they haven't seen the sun in a hundred years. and maybe he just didn't like garlic, freaky as that was.

they were all totally random, meaningless facts and you weren't totally freaked out whatsoever. this was all totally normal.

but you couldn't stop thinking about it.

you didn't even know what you were searching for. it felt like you were searching for a crime that wasn't there, analysing evidence of something completely innocent. there was nothing wicked or nefarious of someone having particular food preferences and ultra pale skin.

so why couldn't it leave your head?

ultimately, you decided to confide in your friends. really, you just needed someone to tell you to screw your head on and remind you that you're searching for something that isn't there.

she just scoffs and says, "what, you think he's a vampire or something?"

she means it as a joke, maybe even a ridicule, and you know that, but it stirs something in you. in a way, it makes you feel even sillier, that you're actually considering it to be a possibility.

your boyfriend? paul? no way.

you carry on like normal, months pass, the seasons change, but the feeling doesn't leave. it sits on the back burner, resurfacing every time you wake up in the middle of the night and he's just lying there, or when he flinches when he sees the sun. you try to act like it's normal, that it isn't itching at you, but all of it keeps building and building.

moving in with him didn't help to ease your anxieties either.

you'd come home in the middle of the day to the lights out, blinds closed. he'd just say he had a headache and wave a dismissive hand, but it was pretty much every day.

or you'd open the cupboard to find any item containing garlic gone, then discover it in the bottom of the trash.

your friends words ring in your head, the offhanded joke that paul might be a vampire. it sounds so silly, so juvenile, but all of its adding up to the point where there doesn't feel like there's an alternative.

its a random evening in the kitchen that does it for you.

you're just chopping some veggies for dinner, when paul walks in, completely unannounced. you jump at his sudden appearance, and accidentally slice your finger. you hiss out in pain, but he's the one who looks like he's just seen a ghost.

"are you alright?" you ask him. even that feels silly.

but he just stares for a second, at that crimson sliver of blood dribbling out of your finger and onto the chopping board, slowly soaking into the wood.

he snaps out of his daze with a shake of his head. "uhm, yeah, fine. just need the bathroom." and he dashes out.

you clean up the blood and finish preparing dinner, all whilst paul doesn't step a foot in the kitchen. the two of you are practically silent whilst you eat, paul practically sensing your suspicion, with his discomfort practically radiating off him.

you're on the sofa when it really happens.

its been a little while later, and you've mostly brushed off that anxious feeling from earlier. the tv is blaring some garbage you're only half paying attention to, when you turn your head, and there he is, lurking.

he's a little hunched, eyes almost rabid as he stares down at a spot on the counter. you can hear his breathing even from where you're sat, hoarse and desperate as he stares so intently at that spot.

then, his finger reaches out and swipes the counter, bringing his finger to his face. he holds it up to the light, examining it. from the distance, you cant just about spot it; tiny, red and glossy, shining against the dim light.

and then he brings it to his mouth, dragging his tongue slowly across it, savouring the taste as it absorbed into his mouth. his eyes close like he's in ecstasy, and you can practically see the life pouring into him.

pulling his finger from his mouth, he turns, meeting your gaze. its an apathetic look that he gives you, one full of clarity and closure. you don't do anything, just take a breath.

a/n: thank u sm!! sorry this took a little while to get out <3

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you and paul fell in love almost instantaneously. it was like one day you had no idea who the other was, and the next you were attached at the hip

₊˚⊹ ᰔ loves to bring you along to studio sessions so you can hear what they've been working on, much to the bands dismay

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you're his biggest muse! it seems that you could be doing the most simple task such as making tea, and he's manage to write an entire song about it

₊˚⊹ ᰔ biggest workaholic ever. there have been so many occasions where he hasn't joined you in bed, and its already past midnight, and you'll head downstairs to find him hunched over a notepad, scribbling and scratching out words

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you practically have to drag him to bed

₊˚⊹ ᰔ he doesn't like to not be doing anything, so the two of you will almost constantly be up to something. he'll wake up one morning and decide he wants to climb the steepest hill in your area, or you'll go out in disguises so you can explore the town without the press chasing you down

₊˚⊹ ᰔ usually isn't that fussed with what the papers write about him, in fact he usually laughs it off, but the second they utter a word that could even just be construed as negative, he's up in arms, calling brian to sort it out whilst you try to get him to calm down

₊˚⊹ ᰔ biggest baby when he's sick (see here). won't tell you a thing, but once you find out, he'll act as if he has pneumonia rather than just a common cold. he's swear up and down that he's fine, whilst also whining about how much his throat hurts, mumbling about how his singing careers bound to be over

₊˚⊹ ᰔ chronic flower giver. almost every time you see him, he has a bouquet of flowers (oftentimes handpicked) ready to stick in your hands. your house is practically a greenhouse with the amount of flowers he's given you. you had to start using mugs as vases

₊˚⊹ ᰔ loves a good documentary. after a long tour or just a painful recording session, he loves nothing more than to slump down on the couch with you beside him, martha at the foot of the couch where he can give her head scratches whilst watching some old man go on about a very obscure type of bird

lazy little continuation of this

spencer didn't come back to school the next day.

or the day after.

or for the next week.

you hadn't really noticed it until now, how he was this constant presence in your life. when you turned to his seat to ask for a spare pen and he wasn't there, when you needed to borrow notes for a class you found particularly difficult. it makes you realise how you maybe didn't appreciate him enough.

it makes you feel almost as bad as your 'friends'. almost.

you don't speak to them for the rest of the week, ignoring their initial pleas for forgiveness, trying to joke that it wasn't that serious, that spencer was just a wuss and they didn't do anything that bad.

when they learn that you aren't going to forgive them, they devolve into bullying. leaving notes on your locker, spreading rumours so distasteful that repeating them seems horrific, shoving you into lockers.

but you can't bring yourself to care. your minds too focused on spencer.

all throughout chemistry, with harper throwing paper balls at your head and spencer seat beside you empty, your mind is void of anything but him; wondering where he is, if he's okay.

the fact that he hadn't come into school as someone who was almost chronically obsessed with learning solidified the fact that something was wrong. you'd seen him show up with a runny nose, pounding headache, even drenched by the rain. school was something he fundamentally never missed, for basically any reason.

and so you decided you'd go over and see for yourself.

you get lost, driving blindly around his neighbourhood, completely forgetting the directions. your mind was so empty when you dropped him off last week, filled only with the anger you felt for your friends and the sadness you felt for him. but eventually you do find it, exactly the same as you left it.

you have to fight up your nerve in the car for a while, hyping yourself up in the safety of your little beetle, until you finally work up the courage to haul yourself out of the car and to his front porch.

you ring the doorbell and stand for a good three minutes before someone answers the door. it's spencer, but unlike you've ever seen him. he's wearing a large, oversized star trek shirt, his mismatched socks (one is purple with polka dots, the other has little daleks all over) peeking out from behind his pyjama pants.

usually he's so done up; sweater vests, corduroy trousers, even the occasional tie. it's oddly endearing to see him so undone, so casual. it makes you wonder what it'd be like to really know spencer, beyond the person he allowed people to see at school.

"oh." a blush covers his cheeks when he sees who it is, "h-hi, y/n." he hates himself for stuttering, for answering the door in his dorky shirt and for basically doing anything ever.

"hey, spence." you work up the best smile you can. from a young age, you'd tried to make other people feel happy by appearing happy yourself. no matter your own mood, you'd plaster on the biggest smile you could at any sight of upset or discomfort from those around you. "just wanted to stop by to see how you are. i haven't seen you this week."

he mumbles something incoherent, looking down at his feet. you manage some small talk, to get something more than a mumble out of him for a few minutes, before the sound of a beeping alarm sounds.

the pair of you jump out of your skin, and he moves inside on instinct. fanning at the alarm with a kitchen towel, he coughs at the smoke and forgets all about the girl on the porch.

until you appear in the doorway.

he immediately feels awkward again, just imagining his lanky arms and his clumsy movements as he attempts stops the beeping. once it does, and he lowers the tea towel and ducks his head.

he moves to the stove, grabbing the handle of the frying pan and heading to the bin. "sorry. i was making my mom's dinner and..forgot. thought you were just the postman or something." he explains, dumping the charred grilled cheese in the bin.

"oh, right." you nod, leaning yourself on the doorframe as you watch him. "why are you making it?"

"she's sick."

you don't know any better, so you take it as that.

"what about your dad?" you ask, tilting your head. "where's he?"

he stills for just a second, but it's enough for you to know you've hit a nerve. "he's not here." he doesn't go on and you don't probe.

the silence that wraps around you is nothing like the usual silence you find yourself in with spencer. usually its wrapped in a knowing comfort, a peaceful, unobtrusive quiet, the exact opposite of this.

you can feel the discomfort in your throat, and for once in your life, you don't know how to fix it.

"i should probably head out." you peep out, feeling as small as he probably does right now. "it's late."

he nods, lump in his throat.

"see you on monday?"

he's quiet for another second, before nodding. "yeah. monday."

and that's it.

he walks you out, the pair of you still wrapped in that heavy silence. you wave as you walk down the drive, spencer looking small and pathetic and adorable from the door.

a/n: thank you so much for the req! super cute idea!! this reader is specifically fem; I just wanted to note as usually my readers are more ambiguous

paul hadn't excepted you.

among the sea of reporters in their identical suits and haircuts, there you were. it was rather abnormal to see a female have such a profession; most women were nurses or secretaries if they were lucky, so seeing you just sat there, completely composed and relaxed, kind of shook him.

and you were sharp with the questions too. you were genuine, you didn't just ask questions about beatlemania or how they took their tea the way some reporters did. you asked real questions about the music, upcoming albums, tours. it was good enough to be asked genuine questions for once; being asked by a pretty girl was even better.

he definitely wasn't complaining when he noticed your eyes lingering on him for just a tad longer than necessary.

the rest of the boys noticed too, and practically pounced on paul when they managed to free themselves from the clutches of the press. "pretty reporter, eh?" john grinned, bumping his shoulder with paul's, enjoying the sight of his reddening ears. "sure seemed to take an interest in you."

"d'you know her, paul?" george asks, lighting a cigarette, bumping into a bin as he tries to catch up.

"no," his tone is a little grumbly, not enjoying being on the receiving end of teasing. "i probably won't even see her again."

and they drop it, finding something else to talk about. but paul can't pull himself away from you.

i probably won't even see her again.

the memory of his words go round and around in his head, and a small ache blooms in his chest. he doesn't even know you, knows nothing of you really except your profession and your face, but the idea that he will never see you again is daunting.

but the next day, he looks in the newspaper and there you are. well, there your article is. usually, he looks past any articles about him unless the title really intrigues him, but today he sits down, tea going cold, and reads the entire thing. twice.

it continues like this.

every time he gets a newspaper, he searches it for your name and reads whatever you've written. you could be writing about the paving of a car park and he'd read about it anyway.

the rest of the beatles tease him, waving the paper around just to watch his face sour in annoyance and embarrassment, but he doesn't stop. he'll interrupt recording sessions just to see what you have to say.

and still, he accepts that he's never going to see you again. it's been months, and no matter what press or interview he does, you never show.

he's already in a sour mood when he walks into the conference room, the bright flash on cameras pointed at him and questions already being thrown at them.

it's early and he can barely see with all the flashes, his ears already ringing with the sound of mindless questions being thrown at him.

but when he sits down and gets a proper look at the sea of reporters, he finally spots the face he's been dying to see. he feels like he's dreaming, seeing you sat there is your work attire looking like an angel.

you're looking down at your lap, flipping through your notes like you aren't in a room with the most famous band in the world, and for some reason, that lack of care makes his stomach flip,

to think he's been driving himself crazy over you for the past few months, and you don't even look up when he enters a room.

the conference goes on like usual; the typical mindless questions and over-analysing of song lyrics, queries about fangirls, girlfriends, whatever. when you ask a question, it isn't directed at him and it feels like a spear through his heart.

he still doesn't look at you with any less affection.

the conference is over as quick as it started, and paul escapes outside for a smoke before the boys can notice his mood.

"hello."

he jumps out of his skin, dropping his just-lit cigarette onto the floor. he's about to curse at whoever it is, grumble something, but when he turns around, he sees its you.

standing there in the dirty alley in your button-down shirt and mary-janes, you look totally out of place. you're holding a newspaper to your chest, but all he can focus on is your face.

"oh," is all he manages to get out. "hello."

"did you get my messages?" you ask, as if he's supposed to know what on earth you're talking about. he looks at you like you've grown a second head.

"messages?"

"in my articles." you say, face still calm as if this conversation is totally normal and not at all confusing.

he splutters a response. his brain seriously cannot wrap around what you're telling him, no matter how hard he tries to make sense of it.

"you didn't see them?"

"i honestly don't know what you're talking about."

you furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head like a confused puppy and he wills himself not to faint at the sight.

you unfold the newspaper, flipping to a page and holding it out to him. he reads it, and all he sees is practically gibberish. "what's this? it's just..letters, random letters."

"its caesar cipher." you say, as if he's meant to know what that means. your eyebrows furrow further. "moving the letters down three...a becomes d, you know."

"i think you're too smart for me." he chuckles out a laugh, looking at the paper, then back at your face. "what did they say?"

"usually just asking to meet for tea, or if you wanted to talk." you shrug. "thought you must've thought i was insane when you never responded."

"i didn't know, truly."

"would you have responded if you did?" you voice takes on a shyer tone now, nothing like the confidence and calmness you approached the situation with.

he feels a little bit of solidarity, knowing it's not just him going into this with a pounding heart and sweaty palms.

"yes." he nods, trying to keep his voice steady.

you nod, absorbing the information, and he thinks he sees a flush blooming on your cheeks. "would you like to? go for tea, that is."

he's so used to being the one asking, pursuing, so it gives his heart a little thrill to be the one on the receiving end for once.

a/n: decided to do the rest of the boys so here's john<3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

very affectionate! but his affection is not so obvious. he'll disguise it with sarcasm and jokes, but mean every word and every action entirely. he tends to always have his hands on you in some way; on the small of your back, your waist, slung over your shoulder. he's not so much of a hand-holder

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

always making jokes, very rarely serious, but very loyal. if you ever needed it, he'd be there and ready to protect you

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

more of a casual cuddler. like, if you're on the couch, he'll have an arm around your shoulders and you'll lean into him. your always touching one another in some way so cuddling isn't like this big event. he does always like to spoon you when you sleep, though, like your his big teddy bear

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

it isn't something he thinks about too much, but once it happens, he takes to it quite well. he has to be reminded to clean up after himself for a little while at first, but he quickly falls into the routine of it all. cooking is the one thing he really can't master. beyond scrambled eggs and toast, he's useless

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

he'd go distant for a while, almost allowing you both to get used to an existence where you aren't together. when he finally did end things, it would be quick and with very little explanation. unfortunately probably a 'it's not you, its me' kind of a situation.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

he would jump straight into it. he wouldn't overthink it too much, and would just realise one day that he wants to marry you and asks. you might say no a few times, saying it was too early, and it would just become this running joke where john proposes randomly every now and then

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he's not the most serious guy, so he's only really gentle when needed. if you're sad, he drops the jokes and wit and just tries to help you through whatever while sitting patiently. he can sometimes lose his temper, though, on a rare occasion when he's just feeling grumpy or frustrated, and he'll lash out. when it comes to apologising, he's very gentle then.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

he likes them a lot more than he lets on! he won't always do a full on hug, but he almost constantly has a hand wrapped around your waist just so he can grip you as if you were hugging. he gets a little more huggy when he's tired, grabbing you when you try and crawl out of bed in the mornings, mumbling something incoherent about how you can't leave yet, and you spend the next hour with his face smushed to your back or in the crook of your neck. once it's over, he pretends it never happens, ears blushing and head bowed.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

he probably slips it out accidentally, or when he's drunk. he just forgets that he hasn't said it and so when he's leaving one day, he just says 'love you, bye' and leaves before you can even respond. he doesn't even realise he's done it until later when you see him next and confront him about it. he shrugs it off as if it isn't that big of a deal, but is internally like 'omgomgomg why did i say it like that'

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

oh he gets JEALOUS (hello jealous guy). it's like some alternate being takes over him, and he's completely consumed by this mixed feeling of jealousy, insecurity and rage. he'll appear out of nowhere beside you, his arm over your shoulder and glaring daggers at whoever's speaking to you. he won't be outright and say something, but he'll make little sarcastic or rude comments. when you ask about it when you get home, he pretends it didn't happen and act all embarrassed. he'll replay it at night when he can't sleep and curse himself for acting that way to someone who probably had no ill intentions

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

he likes to surprise you with kisses, just to see you blush and get a little grumpy at him scaring you. he's quite firm with kisses, likes to hold you close by the waist and lean over you a little. he almost talks through his kisses. he's not the greatest at expressing anything vulnerable, so he says it in the way he kisses you

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

he likes to tease kids a lot (think his conversation with heather about the kittens). he likes that he can be silly around them and mess about without judgement. a lot of adults don't get his humour, but kids seem to, so he takes advantage of the situations where he's around them

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

he's either grumpy and refuses to get up or is up at the crack of dawn and is bouncing around like tiger. he hates making breakfast, and can only really make toast and scrambled eggs, so he makes up for it by making the tea whilst you put together something. he gets a lot of inspiration in the mornings, so he often spends them hunched over a notebook, scribbling, whilst you just watched with an amused expression

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

you often go to the pub in an evening, either after one of his gigs or to see some random band performing. you'll sit there with a pint and chips for hours whilst he talks exaggeratedly for hours, jumping from subject to subject so quickly that you can hardly keep up. once you finally make it back home, you usually have to wrangle him into getting ready for bed, and once you're finally ready, he'll slump in bed with an arm slung over your stomach, and drop right off to sleep

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

he doesn't really come right out and admit things. he'll sprinkle things into conversation, casually, like its something you already know, or he'll joke about it and not take himself seriously. it only comes out in an emotional manner when he's drunk and can't keep it in and can't keep hiding it with sarcasm and a laugh

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

usually he's very relaxed about things, but there are the rare occasions that he just can't take it. it'll be at something totally random like you asking him to get something from the shop whilst he's out, and he'll just explode. it's very rarely about something you did, more an accumulation of little things

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he's quite forgetful, but he never forgets a date. he always remembers your birthday, your anniversary; any date thats important to you is important to you. sometimes he'll pretend to forget something that you told him, just so he has an excuse to listen to you talk all over again

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

probably the first time he heard you laugh, or made you laugh. it's probably sometime early in your relationship, somewhere like the pub or in the studio maybe. he's just talking on and on about something, and then he hears it. you laugh, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. he wants to capture it and put it in a bottle so he can hear it whenever he wishes. the really special thing about it is that he wasn't even trying, and you found him funny anyway

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

he's protective in a sort of unconventional way. he doesn't go all gross alpha-kitten on you, but he'll just have this air about him. whenever he sees you're uncomfortable, his disposition will just change and the atmosphere he creates is enough to scare away whatever or whoever is bothering you. if he's uncomfortable, he just likes a distraction. he doesn't want to turn it into some massive thing, so he appreciates when you make a joke to turn the conversation in a different direction

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

on the daily, he's pretty complacent. he keeps himself tidy (for the most part) and doesn't create anything extra for you to deal with. dates are rare, but when they happen they tend to be pretty extravagant. something nice and organised. he'll use his 'im a beatle, give me special treatment' power to make sure you get the best

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

when he's grumpy, he takes it out on you. whatever he's mad about is rarely your fault, but he doesn't know where else to put his anger. and he assumes you'll always be there to take it for him

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

not really that bothered. there are a few little things that he doesn't love, like his glasses, but it's never so much that it becomes a problem or obsessive

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

he would have no clue what to do with himself. he'd just go through the motions without any interest or passion and he's always feel this constant, oppressive ache in his chest that he wouldn't be able to rid himself of

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

once he's in the relationship (like a year and a half+) he'd get super duper clingy. like we saw him with yoko in get back. he'd find any excuse to bring you around or follow you on your day to day errands. he's be like a big grumpy dog who finally accepted that he's allowed to be affectionate

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

he wouldn't like someone not artistic, or at least not appreciative of art. or judgy people. he doesn't like norms or the status quo.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

a/n: thank you for much for the req! this was so cute hehe

george was in the kitchen when he hears it.

the gentle strum, muffled by the wall. for a second he wonders if you'd put a vinyl on, or perhaps the tv, but when he realises how solitary the sound is, he knows the only culprit can be you.

he's taken aback, trying to remember any point in the past where you'd played an instrument before or even expressed an interest in it at all. he thinks maybe you just started learning, but the relaxed, almost lazy, strum makes it painfully clear that this is not a new thing, but something you had quietly mastered in the background whilst he occupied himself with touring or his own music.

a/n: thank you so much for the req! as a white girl, i truly hope i wrote this is the most respectful way i could, and any tips would be deeply appreciated! it's also sort of fluff-angst so i hope thats okay! <3

you knew the media didn't like you, it was just a fact.

you tried not to let it bother you; it was just a fact of life. every other black girl you knew also had to deal with the same bullshit and abuse, so it only made sense that you coped with it the same way you did.

the only other difference, you supposed, was john.