#george harrison x you

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Marigolds In The Porch Lights (18+)

Gardener!George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: Smut (FINALLY), but also some Fluff and Angst

Warnings: A poor attempt at a shower sex scene, unprotected sex (ALWAYS USE PROTECTION, Y'ALL), and some kinda twisted feelings I guess idk these two are just constantly teasing each other

Words: 6.4k (I had so much fun with this y'all)

Summary: 1971 era; SEQUEL TO STRAWBERRY LEMONADE; George and Reader finally have their time together; also Geo is not famous in this so I guess it counts as AU lol

A/N: MUST READ STRAWBERRY LEMONADE FIRST FOR THIS TO MAKE SENSE! But honestly the amount of requests I got to make a sequel, anyone who's here has probably already read S.L. (also thank you for all the requests! <3)

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One week had gone by since the blossoming of your new relationship with George, and you could not stop thinking about him. Calling him during the week just for your own pleasures seemed rather selfish, so you forced yourself to wait the full week until his next Saturday gardening job. After all, that wouldn’t be fair to his personal schedule, now would it?

Now, here it was, the fateful Saturday afternoon, and the anticipation was swarming you. You knew that you were always his last appointment of the week, and you would have him all to yourself from now until the sunset. You contemplated walking outside naked to greet him, but quickly remembering that neighbors exist, the idea was obligated to fade away. You still wished you could, though.

You left the gate unlocked, allowing him to let himself in. He was so caring of your space, taking time to lock the gate behind him so as not to allow the opportunity of any unwanted guests. You waited by the patio for him, prepared with another plate of fresh strawberries and a cold glass of lemonade. You made enough for two this time, specifically if those two were going to be staying together for a while.

Upon George’s entry, he eyed the fruity treats reminiscent of his previous time here. Instead of helping himself to a snack, he approached you to place a patient kiss upon your lips, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist as he did so. His other hand held his gardening toolkit, keeping it at his side while you deepened the kiss. George was almost ready to drop the bag and take you in his arms, but felt he should at least accomplish what you’re paying him for first.

“How have you been?” You started, having a bit more courage to talk to him this time. He laid out his tools as he knelt in the grass.

“Doing what I normally do, I guess.” He replied absentmindedly, “Though I was excited to get back here and see how the strawberry seeds are doing.” He flashed you a cheeky grin, and your shoulders instantly floated down to a more relaxed stance. George wasn’t big on expressing his true feelings directly, but he had his own ways of getting his point across. You slowly drifted off, listening to his voice as he spoke, until he stopped, and you realized he was waiting for you to answer his question.

“Pardon?” You squeaked, causing George to tilt his head in confusion.

“You have been watering the strawberries, right?” He repeated, gesturing to the empty space beside him, “The soil looks moist, so I’d say they’re doing well.”

“Oh! Yes,” You giggled, “I purchased a book on how to care for them the morning after you planted it.” A wide smile spread on George’s face, giving you a short nod and happily moving on to the next patch of flowers. You wore a scarlet colored dress today, planning for him to give you a matching rose from your garden. You concluded that you were the one who could determine which type of flower you receive by the color you chose to wear that day. You weren’t sure if George was also aware of this arrangement, or he just enjoyed finding flowers for you too much to notice.

You had treated this time you spent with George almost like your first date. You wanted to know everything there is to know about him, no matter how minor. In the hours that he had been there, you learned that George also knew how to play guitar, and he enjoyed writing songs, but was never really interested in the life of fame and performing to the public, so he preferred not to pursue it. Being a gardener and getting as much time in nature as he could was more than enough to make him happy.

The time went faster than you both wanted it to, partly because this time felt like you had known each other for years. George had even taken the time to show you how to tend to certain flowers, as the rules differed based on the type of plant. He showed you all his tools, demonstrating how to use them and the best places to start to preserve the flowers, as well as any of his personal favorite natural additives to help the flowers grow. You now knew that adding common household items, such as white vinegar or banana peels can give your flowers a speed boost. George even explained how ground coffee could be beneficial to the soil if you decided to start growing vegetables. His wide range of knowledge was better than any purchasable book could provide.

Before you knew it, the sky was growing orange, and the sunset was upon you. More time to spend with George aside from his occupational responsibilities was not completely out of the question, so you hadn’t lost hope yet. That is, until you saw him reach for his bag to start packing up his tools.

“You’re leaving?” You blurted out, not wanting to sound desperate but your body not even giving you a chance to consider your words. “You just got here!”

George glanced down at his watch, eliciting a small chuckle. “I’ve been here for three hours, love.”

“Well it felt like three seconds to me.” You pouted, crossing your arms and slumping back against the tree you were sitting under. “And you said we would do more together next time! That’s what you said the last time you were here!”

“And we did, didn’t we?” George replied, not missing a beat. “Last time, there was much more uncomfortable silence. This time, we had a wonderful conversation.” He paused to remove his gloves and place them in the pocket on the side of his bag, slowly rising from where he was seated in the grass. “That’s a pretty big improvement, don’t you think? It’s something I can cherish, especially since we won’t be seeing each other next week.”

Your eyes widened. Initially, you weren’t sure if you had heard him correctly, but it was true. First you had missed out on quality time with George and now next week he wasn’t going to come by? You felt your heart sink, trying your hardest to keep the tears from escaping your eyes.

“Why not?” You whined, a little louder this time. You didn’t want to sound like you were throwing a tantrum, but it was difficult when that was exactly what you wanted to do.

“I’ll be out of town next weekend.” George replied matter-of-factly, “I’m going to visit my family as one of my relatives is getting married. The wedding is on Saturday, so I’ll be gone the whole weekend.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to do anything that would make him stay. But why? He didn’t do anything wrong, but your impression of how the day would go when he got here was a lot different than how it actually went down. You felt like you were lied to, except that you weren’t. Last week, George said that you would ‘make more time for each other’ this time, and technically, you did. He never said what that time was going to be spent on. Perhaps you two had different ideas as to what his return would bring. But instead, you tightened your chest, putting away that tantrum for your alone time later.

“But I thought-” You stopped yourself, knowing that telling George what you really wanted could potentially lead to unwanted results, especially if he didn't feel the same way.

“Thought what?” George asked, staring at you as you mentally cursed yourself for popping a corner of the lid on Pandora's Box. “Did you have a plan for today?” He was too clever. There was no going back now.

“Well…” You started, feeling a blush creep up onto your cheeks, “Sort of…”

“Oh?” He teased, the sunset casting a brilliant sparkle on those dark brown eyes, “Well, come on then. Out with it.” You pursed your lips, shifting your gaze to the floor. George leaned in closer, the coarse hairs of his mustache brushing against the shell of your ear. “So long as we're pretending I don't already know.”

He knew what you wanted. He was going to make you say it.

You stood concerningly still, almost frozen. It was a battle of wits, but you weren't exactly sure if you wanted to win or lose. If you gave up now, and spilled your guts, would you get what you wanted? Or would George continue to string you along, making you wait anyway just to see you squirm?

George sighed, looking at his watch again. “Well,” he huffed, feigning annoyance, “if you have nothing else to say, I suppose I should be going now.” He kissed your cheek, wedging his hand into your own to leave his complementary petal before making his way to the gate. You couldn't even look at him as he left, feeling too embarrassed. Instead, you looked down at your hand. A rose petal, no surprise. You were about to head inside until you heard George call your name. You partially turned around, still feeling rather conflicted. He was standing on the other side of the gate, pointing towards the patio.

“I'd turn that light on if I were you. It gets rather dark out here.” He waited for you to respond. You slowly nodded, approaching the back stairs. And with that, he got in his car and drove off.

You flipped the switch, watching as the porch light came on. It was a glimmering golden yellow hue, expanding its beam about halfway through the garden. You weren't sure why George told you to put it on, but it did make the garden look brighter. Even when you were angry with him, you would still do whatever he wanted you to.

But why were you angry? George hadn't done anything wrong. You knew he was teasing you, but you didn't care. In fact, there was a part of you that liked it. You felt like he was playing with you without even touching you. Wrapped so tightly around his finger that you felt like it was your life force. It strangled you in the best way possible. Like an invisible leash secured around your neck, and he could pull you wherever he wanted. You were completely and truly captivated by him.

Slipping quietly into the house, you felt like you wanted to cry. The anger had subsided and was soon replaced by a persistent longing. Your disdain towards having to go two weeks without seeing George wasn’t even due to the fact that you were crazy about him. It had become a routine. At this point, you wished you hadn’t been so shy to start a conversation with him the first three times he showed up. That you hadn’t waited until just this previous week. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe you’d be closer.

You didn’t know where to go from there. Part of you accepted this as what it was, and you would see George eventually, while another part of you felt defeated that you wanted to do something about this when you knew you couldn’t.

When you woke up the next morning, your house felt quieter, despite you having always lived alone. Almost like George had been staying in the guest room this whole time unbeknownst to you. Perhaps he was a frequent visitor to the guest room in your brain.

You spent the rest of your weekend like any other weekend: it was another gorgeous spring day, and you loved to sit out on the patio and catch up on your reading while you enjoyed your lunch or an afternoon snack, hearing the faint melodies coming from your living room of whatever record you put on for the occasion. It was the only time you actually preferred being alone. Perhaps it was the only activity potent enough to fill the void of your longing for George.

When night came again, you headed inside, about to shut the patio door when you swore you heard a voice.

I’d turn that light on if I were you.

You froze, but briefly shrugged it off as being in your head. You looked outside, barely being able to see your garden, but knowing it was only your subconscious. You shut the door, turning to walk away until you heard it again.

It gets rather dark out here.

You sighed. Even when George wasn’t around, you felt like he was right beside you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry, so you released a noise that sounded like a mixture of both as you flicked the porch light on, not paying it another thought as you headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Monday morning. You dreaded it more this week for some unknown yet obviously known reason. The past few weeks, you would just think about your weekend with George to get you through the boring parts of the day. But since this weekend did not pan out like you thought it would, there wasn’t much to occupy your mind. That was the hard part about all this. George didn’t have a typical nine-to-five. He would have gardening sessions scattered throughout his day. Sometimes he would be booked solid, and other days would be quick appointments for treatments, leaving more time for his personal schedule. Even if you wanted to meet up with him during the week, your strict schedule prevented you from having any time with him. Maybe something could’ve been worked out eventually, but the current state of your brain would not settle for that. You wanted him and you wanted him now.

When you got home that night, the feeling had not left. It was more manageable while you were away, but you felt like you were coming home to a house that was once full of life, only to no longer harbor that same feeling. You had never realized how much life George brought to your daily routine even when you didn’t live together. For a moment, you wondered why this was affecting you so much. Perhaps you were overreacting. You would see George again. It would just be longer than usual until you did. You released a heavy sigh, a sliver of hope that you could push this feeling out of your mind, for at least a little while, had begun to show itself.

Until night fell. You glanced at the back door.

The porch light.

That fucking porch light.

The entire time you lived here, you barely even acknowledged its existence. But ever since George made you aware of it, you think of it every night. Subconsciously, you thought maybe if you were consistent in putting it on every night, he would come back. He would find his way to you, sensing your desire to see him, and you would never be apart again. Never be alone again.

You turned it on again, simultaneously hopeful in your delusional scenario and growing impatient at how long your heart wanted to keep up the act.

The next morning, going by the door to shut the light felt like a walk of shame. What were you waiting for? George had his own schedule. His own life. He would see you when he could. You couldn’t help but start thinking if George was missing you as much as you were feeling every day was so bleak without him.

But yet, that night, you turned the porch light on again. Feeling an overwhelming, compelling urge to stay, you opened the back door, stepping out onto the patio. You stared up at the light, admiring the wonderful golden hue of the small bulb inside its painted glass shade. The shade was brushed in bright yellow, matching the bulb and some other accents of the house’s exterior decor. It seemed so much more prominent at night. It was the only thing visible from far away. A sign of life in the home. You smiled at the thought. You would’ve probably never got around to use it if it wasn’t for George. He truly did bring new life into your home.

Thanks to the light, you could see the first few rows of flowers in your garden surrounding the large tree in the center of the yard. This was your gradient row, as you loved to refer to it as. The row where George had taken many creative liberties, creating a smooth-flowing spectrum of colors around the tree like a color wheel. The warm tones faced the house, showing you your lovely spread of roses, tiger lilies, and marigolds.

The marigolds reminded you of the light. Bright, yellow, and outstanding. It was also one of the only few flowers in your garden that George had not given you petals from. You turned back to the light. You decided it could be your marigold petal. At least for now.

You didn’t stay long. You quickly returned inside, shuffling briskly back down the hall, trying to make it to the bathroom before the tears dripped off your face and down onto the floor.

The following morning, as your fingers brushed against the switch to turn off the light, you let out a loud sob. It had rained in the middle of the night, and the sight outside the back door, one of gray overcast and a messy, muddy garden, made it all feel much too real. You couldn’t hide it anymore. You missed George. Oh, how you missed him. One day a week wasn’t enough anymore. You needed more of him. So much more. More than your own mind, body, and soul would ever know.

You considered taking off work today, as your mangled emotions were surely draining your energy. But realizing that staying home would only twist the knife further, you conceded. It was almost as if any choice that life could make would've been wrong in your eyes. Whether you went to work or stayed home, you felt uncomfortable. If the work day went quickly, you were dreading coming home to face your feelings again. Yet, if the day dragged on, you groaned at the thought of having to endure more time until your fateful reunion with George. You were incessantly unsatisfied. Insatiable, even. The only correct answer was George. You needed him to give you what he had promised you, whether he was waiting for you to admit it or not. At this point, you wouldn't have even cared if you sounded desperate. You were desperate. You didn't care if you had to call him right now and divulge everything you felt. How badly you wanted and needed him. Your brain was chasing a fierce addiction, and George was your dealer.

That night had been the hardest so far. You couldn't even bring yourself to walk down that hall. The light wasn't going to be some magical beacon to signal George. You felt like you were holding onto nothing. You didn't care if the light wasn't on tonight. It made no difference anymore.

You went to sleep early that night. Your main thought process was to sleep as much as you could to make the days go by faster. You didn't even want to think about this Saturday. Your soul felt like it was grieving. But grieving what? George didn't break up with you. Technically, the two of you never even established any sort of declaration of a relationship anyway. But you felt like you belonged together. You were his and he was yours. As sweet as the thought was, you quickly shoved it away as you felt your eyes welling with tears.

You turned on your side to try and sleep when you heard a noise outside. It sounded like a low thud, but fairly close to your house. You shrugged it off at first, until you heard it again a few minutes later, sounding closer this time.

You sat up in bed, overtaken by fear. Living alone, you always worried about having to fight off intruders. Luckily, nothing had ever come of it. Until now.

Grabbing a broom from your hall closet to arm you, you headed into the living room. Your first instinct was to check out the front window, being too scared to open the door.

You peered through the curtains, seeing nothing to the left or right of the door, the street only illuminated by the porch lights of your surrounding neighbors. Of course the universe had to think of a way to remind you of what you were desperately trying to put out of your head.

You closed the curtains, ready to go back to bed when you heard what sounded like wet footsteps coming from your back door.

Oh fuck.

If this really was an intruder situation, you were anything but prepared. You glanced at the back door, hiding behind the hall corner. With your breath held and your muscles stiff as the wooden boards beneath your feet, you took slow steps down the hall. You lurched forward to quickly lock the door, which you normally did anyway but forgot that night as you never actually made it to the door without crying.

Knowing that the lock was safely in place brought you some time. Being closer to the door, you heard another sloshing sound, as well as some angry muttering. With your luck, the intruder slipped on the wet and muddy grass and was now disoriented, leaving you time to- well, do what, exactly?

You hadn't thought this far. Do you call the police? Make a loud noise in retaliation in hopes to scare them away? Armor yourself with throw pillows to burst through the door and use your broomstick to beat them senseless? Your mind was racing. The most reasonable thing to do in that moment, although it hurt quite a bit, would be the answer to whether this was really a life or death situation.

You turned on the porch light.

When the illuminating glow hit the grass below, you saw a person laying there, covered in mud, clearly not anticipating the new biome that had been created in your backyard. You screamed, causing the person to immediately look up at you. Upon making eye contact, you felt your heart spring up into your throat before free falling down to your stomach. You threw open the door, feeling like you were being fled with a million emotions at once, all conflicting each other. You stood there in shock, only being able to choke out one single word.

“...George?”

“I thought I told you to keep that bloody light on! I almost broke my neck out here!” George shouted, but couldn't keep a straight face long enough to be convincing, dissolving into a puddle of laughs back onto the ground. You felt your whole body fill with happiness. You dropped the broom, running out into the yard, slippers and all, squealing all the way before landing on top of him, trapping him in a tight hug.

You kissed him faster than your brain could process what you were doing. The familiar feeling of his soft skin, luscious hair and beard, and plush lips made your whole being swell with euphoria. Your golden yellow silk pajamas were now full of mud, but it didn't matter. George was back here with you. And you didn't need anything else.

“You’re getting all muddy, love.” George giggled, pushing damp strands of hair away from your face.

“I don't care!” You shouted while laughing, pressing loud, wet kisses across his face and neck. George wrapped his arms around you, resting his hands on your waist. You pulled away, staring into his eyes. It may have been late at night, but you felt wide awake as ever. Before you even opened your mouth to speak, you knew there were tears dripping down onto your cheeks. “I didn't think I'd see you again for a while.”

“I planned to stop by before I left, but I didn't have much time during the day.” George confessed. “I wanted to surprise you, but I'm realizing it might have been a better idea in my head.” He looked around the yard, then at his muddy clothes, eliciting a light chuckle. “Thinking about it now, I probably should've called first.”

“I'm just so happy to see you.” You replied, not even hearing half of what he said. You heard he planned to come back for you, and that was all you needed to know. “But I'm guessing your plan involved you being able to see once you got back here. Hence the, you know, porch light.” You averted your gaze, adding a nervous laugh.

“First I tried hopping over the fence, and tripped over that.” George explained, staring back at the gate. “Then I tried to walk quietly, and slipped in that big puddle over there. Not to mention I tripped over the center gradient, so I apologize for that. I'll be sure to fix it the next time I'm around.” He added with a swift cup of your chin and a kiss to your lips. You looked at the tree, seeing the warm toned flowers slightly uprooted, tiny specks of dirt adorning their golden petals. Honestly, that didn't even matter to you. The image of George trying to sneak into your backyard and failing miserably made you erupt into laughter again.

“I suggest you have to get cleaned up now, don't you?” You asked, running a finger through the thick layer of mud adorning his jeans.

“Well, yeah, but I refuse to get your floors all dirty.” George declared. You helped him up off the ground, trying your best to smudge the dirt out of his hair, as well as your own.

“You can leave the clothes in the laundry room. I'll deal with them tomorrow.” You replied. George shot you a look, helping you brush some of the grass off your pajamas.

“So it's already been decided that I'm spending the night, then?” You smirked, not saying anything back. George smiled, sneakily pinching the skin on your waist. You squealed, playfully batting his hand away. You turned to walk back to the patio when he spoke again.

“Even after we get out of these filthy clothes, we still have to get ourselves clean, you know.”

You froze, a chill running through your spine, excitement filling your body. You whipped your head around, grabbing George’s hand and leading him to the stairs. You were about to open the door when he put his arm out to stop you.

“I know you're excited, love, but I still don’t want to bring all this mud into your clean house.” He seemed genuinely concerned by this issue, but at this point, nothing was going to stop you.

“Okay, fine. Easy fix.” You stated, slipping the straps of your pajamas off your shoulders, followed by your underwear. George’s eyes widened as he watched the silken fabric pool around your ankles, leaving you completely nude standing on the patio. The cool air of this particular spring night began to wash over your body, and you shivered slightly. You weren't sure if it was from the sudden breeze, or the tantalizing feeling of this whole situation, but either way, your nipples were completely hard.

Seconds later, George followed suit, removing his muddy shoes, followed by his equally sodden shirt and pants. He stopped at his underwear, feeling a flash of uncertainty. He was no stranger to being nude, but being nude while standing on the back porch of his lover’s house in the middle of their classy suburban neighborhood? That was a new one.

He turned back to you, taking in the sight before him. Seeing your fully bare form, taking one slow drag of his eyes over your lower half, he quickly shuffled off the remaining piece of clothing and tossed it on the floor with the rest. You opened the door, scooping your clothes up in one swift motion, walking a mere few feet and tossing them in the laundry room to be dealt with eventually. You couldn’t be bothered right now. George did the same, keeping his clothes in a neat pile right beside yours, placing his boots by the door. He stood there for a few seconds, gauging your readiness to proceed. With a smirk on your face, you grabbed his hand, leading him into the bathroom.

You opened the shower curtain and turned the water on, feeling the warm steam slowly fill the room. You adjusted the water to a comfortably neutral temperature before climbing inside, leaving space for George to join you. You stayed under the stream of water, allowing it to take its time to rinse all the mud off your arms and legs, and most of it out of your hair, leaving you with a fresher start before moving on to shampoo and soap. You looked over your shoulder at George, who now seemed rather chilly, so you switched places, allowing him to rinse off as well. He had been wearing more covering clothes than you, so there wasn’t much dirt he needed to get off his body, but his hair was a different story. He spent extra time using his fingers to comb through his beard, which seemed to be a prime target for all that grass and soil.

Getting started on washing your body, you had briefly turned away from George to grab your soap. Before you could open the container, you heard a low shudder coming from behind you. You looked at George, who was now staring at you, while sporting quite the erection. You giggled, lightly poking his stomach. “Am I taking too long for you?”

“You know, for someone who wanted me so badly outside, and is now teasing me about having to wait, you’re quite mad, aren’t you?” He stated, glancing down at himself while continuing to rinse his hair. You laughed louder this time.

“I figured we would clean up first.” You said innocently. He chuckled.

“Why do that when we’re just gonna get dirty again, love?”

You bit your lip, holding back a whimper, but the way your legs involuntarily began to clench shut gave it away immediately.

You nodded. “I see. Well let’s get it on then.”

The second you finished your statement, George wasted no time grabbing your waist and pressing his lips against yours. It was a hungry kiss. Passionate. Longing. It had confirmed he missed you just as much as you missed him. You put your hands in his hair, which was now much softer under the water. You were the one to take that passion further, feeling his lips part and allowing your tongue to enter his mouth. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy this, moving his hands from your waist down to your ass, kneading it softly yet with an impatient edge to it. You were tempted to hook one leg over his waist, but the slippery floor beneath you made you fearful of losing your balance, so you refrained. But you wouldn't have even had time to take action, as George quickly pulled away, spinning you around and pushing you up against the shower wall. You put your hands out, both of them splayed out on either side of your head as your cheek made contact with the cold tile. George grabbed your waist again, slowly grinding against you, slightly pressing you between the wall and himself. The contrast in temperature between the cool, flat surface and the steamy air made your head spin before he even did anything else. He leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your earlobe.

“I think you've waited long enough, my beautiful flower.” You moaned softly at his statement as you felt him enter you. Slowly, savoring it just as much as you. It was a bit of a stretch, but you never found it painful. The combination of the warm water and your mutual arousal provided a decent amount of lubrication.

George continued to leave kisses around the shell of your ear and down to your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder. Once he was all the way in, he steadied himself before going any further. “You doing okay, love?” He cooed, patiently waiting for your response.

You sighed blissfully, softly nodding your head and letting out a low “mhm” while taking in all the sensations around you. The mix of everything made you whine in pure ecstasy, feeling so full in the best way possible, not wanting to say or move much in fear of losing your grip on it. You felt like you were in a different world, where it was only you and George, and nothing else mattered. However, you were not in the mood to be kept waiting either, feeling like you were holding your breath a bit, waiting for his next move. You took another deep inhale and exhale, releasing another moan in the interim. “It's okay,” you mumbled, “you can keep going.”

George nodded, starting with a soft, slow pace. Even with shallow thrusts, you were already in heaven. You quickly got lost in the rhythm, hearing his occasional breathy sighs directly into your ear. Hearing him enjoy it just as much as you were only turned you on more. And the more George fell into a rhythm as well, the faster he went. His thrusts became quicker and harder, pushing you up against the wall with each motion. Your moans had just become one long groan of pleasure, the way your nipples dragged across the cold wall with each thrust stringing you along even further.

When you felt that pressure start to build, you couldn't even form a coherent sentence to signal anything, the only word falling from your lips a meek “George...” before a high-pitched whining overtook you again. George shushed you softly, rubbing his thumbs along your waist as he brought you closer to the edge.

“I know, flower. I know.”

What felt like seconds later, you felt your orgasm crash over you, a noise that sounded like a mix between a moan and a scream flying from your mouth, proclaiming your everlasting love and worship of the man behind you, feeling yourself begin to slump against the wall, trying to catch your breath. George finished shortly afterwards, his grip on your hips tightening as he came inside you. He tilted his head back, a low, steady groan signaling his release. He had no choice but to use the wall for support as well, nearly falling on top of you after he slowly slid out. It was times like these you considered turning off the shower head and just filling up the bath instead, as your legs felt like jelly by this point, leaving you with minimal energy to hold yourself up.

Before you could say anything else, you felt George’s hands on you again, running his fingers through your hair. You smelled the familiar scent of your shampoo, feeling it glide through your hair as you closed your eyes again. He held you tenderly, guiding your head to the water, gently tilting it back to rinse the suds from your hair.

Once finished, he started on your body, massaging the soap all over your back, making sure to be careful around any areas that were currently more sensitive than usual. You sighed happily, feeling pampered like royalty, so grateful to have him here with you.

After a few minutes, your legs didn't feel like that of a newborn giraffe anymore, so you turned around to face George, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before taking the bar of soap. “I got it from here.” You giggled, finishing yourself off before starting to help him out as he eyed your shampoo. It wasn't what he used, but it smelled nice, and there wasn’t much of a choice in this situation. He chuckled before squeezing a small amount onto his palm, looking down as you lathered up his chest and stomach.

Once you both had thoroughly cleaned up, you turned off the water and stepped out, fetching some large fluffy towels and equally soft robes to only increase your level of comfort. By now, both of you were free of mud, partially dry, and ever so tired. Wasting no time to climb into bed, you snuggled up against George, resting your head on his chest.

“I'm so happy you came back.” You whispered, placing a kiss right over where his heart is. George giggled, caressing your arm.

“I would've always come back, flower.” He paused with a pensive sigh. “I enjoy every second I spend with you. You give me new life. A new purpose to an already wonderful experience.” You stared up at him, eyes wide in awe. It was the first time he had openly expressed his feelings to you without hiding them behind his usual cheeky humor. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.

“You have no idea how special you are to me.” You beamed, craning your neck up to kiss his jawline, surprised when he turned his face and you landed on his lips instead.

“And you to me.” He replied. You enjoyed the streak of added sappy statements from George, but you knew it was a big step for him, judging by the deep breath he took afterwards, followed by a swift “Let's get some sleep, love.”

“Okay,” you agreed, “but let me just make sure I locked the back door first.” George nodded, getting comfortable on his side of your bed as you hopped out from under the covers, shivering again as the cool night air came back with a vengeance on your naked body. You quickly put your robe on and shuffled down the hall. You clicked the lock shut and went to go back to your room when you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. Something yellow.

You looked around until you spotted it again, sticking out of the side of George’s boot. Bending down to get a closer look, you moved the muddy laces and pulled it out. A tear almost fell down your cheek and you held it between your fingers. A petal from one of your precious marigolds, presumably stuck there when George tripped over them on the way in. You smiled warmly, feeling your heart soar at the idea that George can give you a petal every visit, even if he didn't realize it. Without saying anything, you put the petal in the pocket of your robe and made your way down the hall, trying not to disturb George as you quietly slipped back into bed.

==============================

IT'S FINALLY HERE Y'ALL 😄 I'm so happy I can share it and it was definitely a fun plot to continue!

Taglist: @peaceloveandstarrs @queen-of-stars @nosegoes @cocteautwiny @thatgoesinthere-misshapes

(If you want to be added to my taglist, feel free to send an ask and let me know! 🥰)

#george harrison #george harrison x reader #the beatles #beatles #the beatles x reader #the beatles fanfiction #beatles x reader #beatles fanfiction #george harrison fanfiction #george harrison imagine #george harrison x y/n #george harrison x you #george harrison smut

[givemequeen]

#george harrison #george harrison smut #george harrison fluff #george harrison x you #george harrison x y/n #george harrison x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #john lennon smut #john lennon fluff #john lennon x y/n #john lennon x reader #john lennon x you

[ssl0t]

If you don’t let me suck your dick I’m gonna kms

#george harrison #paul mccartney #ringo starr #the beatles #60s #the beatles x reader #beatlemania #John Lennon #i’m so down bad #if you don’t let me suck your suck dick #arrrrrrrgh

[warnersister]

Gonna give you a baby (smut)

The Beatles x Reader, Paul McCartney x Wife! Reader

Summary: you and Paul have fertility issues, the three men with a thing for you see this as a great opportunity to lend a helping hand. -> hate this one didn’t write it well🤧

Warnings: mentions of infertility, pregnancy, filthy smut, five-some, degrading (slut, whore, etc), hand-jobs, oral (f+m receiving), just a lot.

Requested by: @jill-smith-123

You and Paul had met in the early 50’s. Your family had moved in just down the street from him and the 10 year old McCartney was awestruck from the moment he laid eyes on you. The next day, he’d showed up at your house, to which your less-than-pleased father had answered the door, with a bow-tie and bouquets of flowers he’d taken from your mother’s new garden, to ask you to accompany him to the local youth centre for disco night.

He’d bought you a sherbet straw while he puffed on candy cigarettes before pecking your lips with tight-shut eyes mid way through you dining along to The Andrews Sisters’ song your mother had on vinyl.

When you were each a bit older, you’d accompanied Paul to the cavern club sitting in the front row as you’d hummed along with him, his eyes never drawing away from your own. Then he’d take you for dinner, a real fancy restaurant that his uncle owned, and he said that he’d pay - but it was always on the house.

Eventually, another three boys had somehow weaselled their way into your life and the product was an up and coming band: The Beatles. John Lennon, George Harrison, Pete- (scratch that) Richard Starkey and your boy Paul McCartney. And it was no secret that the three also had a thing for you - between the constant bickering and playful flirtations, Paul brushed it off because he always knew in the end that you were always his, and he was always yours.

Especially when he proposed on your twentieth birthday in 1962. Beatlemania crazed the nation and it wasn’t long before scandalous magazines began to accuse the boys of unruly acts and Paul was no different. And realistically, Paul saw the only way fit to prove his innocence to you was to ask for your hand in marriage. With your father’s approval of course… (?)

The fame never concerned you, nor did it necessarily appeal to you either - so you’d had a small ceremony in the local church, doors locked for a healthy gathering of your closest family and friends and an after party conjoined with a reception in the Cavern Club into the early hours of the morning.

“Y’know love, I never read a rule that said your first night had to be with your actual husband.” George had whispered into your ear, smirking at you after seeing the look on your face. “Not her first night.” Paul responded, hints of jealously in his tone as he threw you over his shoulder and off to his car.

That was also the night you’d discovered Paul’s intense breeding kink. His hips pushing into you at a bruising rate, lips failing him as he stuttered out his desire to see you full with his children.

But that was the problem.

“Am I the problem?” You’d asked Paul as you buried your face in his neck, crying after umpteen times, you still weren’t pregnant. “No, no, not at all dove.” He caressed your back gently. “We’re just going to have to be moved patient and keep trying. You’re perfect.” He said softy, cupping your puffy face between his hands, looking you over with a concerned gaze.

“Hey, woah woah woah what’s up lovey?” John asked as the other band members entered the room. They all ran to your side, helplessly watching the tears roll down your cheeks. “I can’t get pregnant.” You sniffed, hiccuping as the tears continued to flow. Ringo’s hands cupped yours as his sad eyes looked into yours. “Maybe there’s just not enough.” He said and your brows creased.

“Y’know our offer is always on the table.” George’s continued. “What offer?” You asked, confused. “Y’ mean you never told her, paulie boy?” John cocked his head. “No, cause I know what you lot are like.” “What y’ on about?” You ask again. “All of us.” George said. “Y’ mean-” “all of us at once.” John took your chin between his fingers and squatted down to where you were sat. “Wrecking y’ can handle us, dovey?” Shocked, you look from John to Paul who had a knowing smirk frowning on his lips. Without thinking, you nod at them. Suddenly, you were swept off of your feet and into the arms of John. “Let’s make you a baby.”

A king size bed was certainly not big enough to support the five of you, but in the boys’ desperation, you certainly managed. You were placed down gently on the bed, soft covers enveloping you as the four starved men looked down at you with lustful eyes. Your clothes were practically torn from your body, apparently them being to impatient to allow you to get undressed properly.

Paul caressed your hair gently before leaning into kiss you, as you begin to feel light kisses and licks on your breasts. You look down to see John staring back at you, a cheeky grin on his lips. He bit your nipple harshly and you hissed, screwing your eyes tight and throwing your head back. “Better get used to that if y’ want a baby.” George said, tracing his hand up and down the sensitive skin on your inner thigh.

Then all the delicious contact went again and you groaned, searching for the friction they were giving you. “Y’ want a baby? Y’ gonna have to let us get undressed first.” George chuckled. When they were undressed, John situated himself between your legs. “Oi, shift she’s my missus I’m having the first go.” Paul grumbled. “And the reason she can’t get pregnant.” John replied smugly, but was shoved out of the way by your husband. “Y’ gonna show em what a good slut y’ are for me, hmm?” He asked, fingers wandering down your thigh and towards your heat, beginning to pump them at an agonisingly slow pace.

George yanked your hair back and forced you to look at him, your mouth falling agape in the process. “Y’ gonna be good for us? Gonna give old Paulie a baby?” He taunted, rubbing himself a few times before forcing his length into your mouth. Gagging slightly, you tried your best to open your throat in the position you were in.

A heat built up inside of you, warmth rushing as you chased your high but it was soon stripped from you. Unable to complain, the disheartenment was soon replaced by something much larger - you and Paul groaned simultaneously, George doing the same as you sent vibrations flying through his cock.

After a while of Paul’s bruising pace, you rest his unwavering hips stutter as he released into you, you doing the same and realising all over him. George pulled out of your mouth and thrust himself into his hand a few times before also cumming. “Such a filthy whore.” Paul taunted, enamoured by the drool leaking from your lips.

“My turn now, birdie?” Ringo asked and you hummed, still dazed and coming off of your high. “He asked you a question. You being a disobedient slut for him?” John asked and you shook your head no. “Y-yes, your turn Richie.” You managed to stutter out.

His dick hardened at his routine nickname, needing no time to prepare you so without warning, sliding himself straight in. He let out a big breath of air at the feeling of your soft wall enveloping him. He began thrusting at an agonisingly slow pace, you in turn, crying out in desperation. “Patience now, doll.” Ringo told you. “Good things come to those who wait.” He took his time with you, not knowing when an opportunity like this one would come again.

Your head fell to the side and your eyes connected with John’s, who looked down at you with a small shit-eating grin. He leant down and licked your ear love, whispering gently “gonna give me a hand job while you let your husband’s friend take you?” You moaned at his question but nodded at him, raising your hand to rub up and down his hardening cock, swiping the tip a few times to use his pre-cum as some sort of lubricant. You pulled away and spat saliva into your palm, beginning to jerk him off at a faster rare. “Isn’t your first rodeo, is it dove?” John asked with a chuckle. “Got you well trained, haven’t I chick?” Paul said, leaning down to latch his lips onto yours.

Your high came excruciatingly slow, Richard building up the pace to the point he could no longer take it and took you animalistically, only stopping to release his seed deep into your womb and felt you cum over him. Waiting long enough for some of it to sink in, he slowly pulled out and kissed at the cold air attaching his sensitive member.

John released into your hand and felt his cock re-stiffen at the sight of you licking your hand clean. “Fuck. Me next.” He said, walking around the bed to your feet and positioning himself between your legs, feeling yourself being manoeuvred like some inhuman marionette. He moved you until your face was in the sheets and back arched for him, arse and sweet warmth on display for him. “Can’t let any of their cum get out, can we love?” He’d asked tauntingly, nails digging painfully rough into your hips.

He slipped in quickly, cock twitching at the sound you made, sensitive from the numerous rounds you had been put through. “Can’t believe Paul gets to keep you all to himself. A little slut all for him.” He said, staring to pepper kissed down your back while his hands found your breasts. Your arse was unquestionably bruised, as was your neck from the way Ringo and George were sucking at either side of it. John let out his load deep inside of you, full ovaries feeling themself being stuffed by the liquid trickling down into them.

George had waited so patiently for his turn, so patient with a so painful hard-on that he was going to make you regret giving him. Seeing himself torture you would be enough of a reason to make himself wait a few more moments. He spun you around and returned you into your back, kneeling down to kiss and worship the skin of your inner thighs, yet never close enough to provide the friction you so-desperately needed.

He kissed and sucked at your clit, thumb coming up to rub it as his tongue delved deep into your walls, making you cry out at the sight of their cum on his tongue. He thrust it into you a half a dozen more times before standing up and forcing his elongated cock into you. You hissed, pained by the repetitive beatings your intestines were receiving.

“Such a good little brat for us aren’t you?’ Paul asked, staring down at you as if a predator staring at its helpless pray. “Yes, ‘m good.” You repeated, doing as you were told as he tapped your chin to tell you to open it. You parted your lips and allowed your husband to force his dick into your already sore and throbbing throat.

George’s hips snapped at a consistent and quick pace, eyes not deferring from yours as he watched you take his bandmate’s cock so well. “Take him so well, don’t you dove?” He asked, praising you as you hummed and Macca moaned. George put his thumb onto your overstimulated clit and pressed down harshly. You cried out but tried your best to keep your throat open. “That’s if, keep it open.” Your husband taunted. And with a few more final thrusts, George cummed inside of you as you did the same, Paul releasing deep down your throat and you refrained from coughing - instead harshly swallowing and wiping the remaining resales from your mouth with your tongue and the back of your head.

“You were such a good girl.” John said, petting your hair gently and pecking your forehead. “Y’ alright, princess?” Ringo asked and you looked up at him and smiled with a nod. “Definitely gonna give Paulie boy a baby for being so good.” George added as he strolled your leg comfortingly. You enjoyed the praise you were receiving, letting the men manoeuvre you so you were in Paul’s lap. With your eyes shut, you felt yourself being lowered onto his cock and you hissed in both oversensitivity and surprise. You looked at your husband with tired eyes. “Don’t want any of it to go to waste.” He said with a wink and cheeky little smile. “Thank you.” You mumbled, drifting to sleep on his chest their quiet conversation turning into distant white noise.

A week or two later, your head was in the toilet bowl as Paul pulled your hair back into a make-shift pony tail and caressed your back at seven in the morning to let you be sick. “It’s alright love, think you’re coming down with something.” He said, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead to check for a fever. It was winter after all and your unreliable immune system was no match for England winters. “I’ll take you to the pharmacy, yeah?” And you’d nodded, wiping your mouth and letting him lead you out to the car.

You weren’t sick, unless your count baby fever. You were pregnant. Pregnant with a child. Pregnant with Paul’s(?) baby. The two of you were overjoyed and as were the rest of the boys when they found out, although offering if you wanted to have two in there just to ask, not minding the sight of you naked and belly swelling with a child.

And eight and a half months later, two weeks premature, your water broke at midnight. Paul sped to the hospital, mentally timing the distance between your contractions to tell the midwife when you got there. After a while of pushing, swearing, breaking Paul’s fingers, and him nearly dainton at the sight of the head coming out of such a small area, at seven minutes past 8, your son was born.

The boys all crowed around, in awe at the new baby in your arms. “He has his mother’s chin.” Paul notes, grinning from ear to ear. “And his fathers face.” The lads then piped up. “And Ringo’s droopy eyes-” George stated but was Vito off by the man himself “oi, oh yeah actually he does. And John’s nose.” John hummed. “And George’s eye colour and ears.” You all began laughing.

Whoever’s paternal child this may be, he was certainly a gift you yourself, your husband, and the three men who tagged along with you.

[swaying--daisies]

Reminding myself of the existence of this ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE that came out around this time last year for absolutely no reason whatsoever 🙃 it just fills me with so much love and joy 🥰

#i just love anything art x beatles related 🥰 #and this video is truly a masterpiece 😭 #the craftsmanship? the story? the heart and spirit and fantasy of the beatles story all captured so lovingly and creatively? #this came out in the year of out lord 2022!! #we were so blessed #like their resources for artists is INFINITE and the Now and Then video was… what is was?? #peter jackson i’m staring at you very hard 👀 #the beatles #beatles #now and then #I’m only sleeping #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #Youtube

[wheresthebus]

Why does George look like he’s about to jump in an X-Wing and blow up the Death Star?

#george harrison #the Beatles #Star Wars #paul mccartney #john lennon #ringo starr #all you need is love #death star #x wing #x wing pilot #x wing fighter #luke skywalker

[cielo-chii]

Hello everyone!

Here we are ! Enjoy my pathetic entry for @macca-is-art Mclennon NSFW story based on our mental omegaverse fan fic

In less of thirty minutes online

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #george harrison #ringo starr #comic #cielo.chii #the beatles fan art #macca is art #ao3 #stay tuned #I made a lot of mistakes so forgive me #I really hope you will enjoy macca is art new comic #it’s spectacular #omegaverse #paul x john #my art

[slavicprincess1966]

paul, george, & dames

#paul mccartney #george harrison #damon albarn #the beatles #blur #my art #as you were av x

[harrisonarchive]

Photo by Leslie Bryce.

“I remember interviewing them, and in those days, honestly, George wasn’t the most exciting Beatle. As a journalist, you’d go after John or Paul of Ringo. George’s introspection made us afraid of getting too much of the mortal sin for a broadcaster, namely dead air. But in retrospect, that was very wrong. I think now that if we had given George the courtesy and respect he deserved, his whole persona might have changed. But none of us did that. It was the other three who got 90 per cent of the action. When he was interviewed, George was always direct, never flowery with his words. He answered succinctly. If he could answer in two sentences, he never made it into a paragraph. He had kind eyes. When you spoke with him, he looked directly at you. You knew there was sensitivity at work.” - Bruce “Cousin Brucie” Morrow, Here Comes The Sun: The Spiritual and Musical Journey of George Harrison (2006) (x)

#George Harrison #quote #quotes about George #The Beatles #George and fame #Bruce Morrow #Kinfauns #1960s #1965 #fits queue like a glove

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Strawberry Lemonade

Gardener!George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: About as close as it can get to smut without there actually being any sex

Warnings: Heavy makeout session, lotsa hickies, and a bit of a spit kink but who's counting, eh?

Words: 2.3k

Summary: 1971 era; Reader hires George as a gardener and quickly falls in love with him (Reader is wearing a dress but gender is unspecified)

=======================================

==================================

You had been trying to get closer with him for several days now. He was always busy working. After all, he was technically working for you.

To be fair, you had hired a gardener, and you didn't know what, or rather who, to expect. Although, had you been given a selection based on appearance, you would have gladly chosen him anyway.

There was something about him that was positively alluring. You thought he was so handsome. And in the three Saturdays he had been working in your backyard, all you managed to find out about him was his name. George.

George looked like your typical gardener, with his scruffy hair and worn out denim, his only focus being his craft. In all honesty, your favorite thing about his appearance was how little he cared for it. He had no desire to be neat. He found beauty in the natural world.

You enjoyed staying with George while he worked. He didn't seem to mind either. He loved telling you all kinds of things about each type of flower, such as where they originated from and which ones could be used for natural remedies in certain teas, soups, and medicines. You didn't even have to ask any questions. He was just ready and willing to share the information, which benefited you as you were still too shy to say much to him. His extensive knowledge was undoubtedly adorable. When you saw how excited he got every time he told you a fun fact, it only made you want to extend the conversation.

You loved George's voice. The way he spoke, slow and sultry, was so calculated in the best possible way. Every word he said was uttered with meaningful intent. He never spoke just to speak. He always spoke to connect. You noticed George licked his lips a lot when he spoke. You weren't sure if it was just a quirk, a nervous habit, or a flirtation technique.

Your fascination with him began on his first Saturday of coming to work. He noticed the rather large section of orange lilies in the center of your garden, acknowledging them as being your favorite. Before he left, he handed you a singular petal from said flower that had fallen off, placing it in the front pocket of the creamsicle colored dress you were wearing. After closing the gate behind him, he turned to look at you one last time.

“Orange is my favorite color, too.”

You allowed George to decorate the garden however he wished, which he was immensely appreciative of. If he felt that certain flowers looked better beside each other, or grew better in certain types of soil, who were you to oppose his artistic vision?

On this particular day, you had chosen to stay on the patio while he worked. You had prepared a plate of fresh strawberries, but knew that fruit could attract bugs that might eat your flowers. You had paired it with a tall glass of lemonade, and as you sat down, you questioned your decision. It was a particularly warm day, and George had already been working for a while. You thought he could use a refreshment too, or at least maybe some company. 

Careful not to startle him, you walked over and offered him the glass of lemonade. Looking up at you, he smiled and reached for the cup, his gloves leaving a trace of fresh soil along the bottom. You thought it was quite endearing. You admired the way the short, dark brown hairs of his mustache grazed the top of the straw.

After taking a single sip, he handed the glass back to you, smiled again and went back to work. You figured maybe he wasn't thirsty, so you returned the cup to the patio table. Instead, you plucked a single strawberry from the plate and offered him that as well. He hesitated before taking it, but decided to accept it, removing his left glove so as not to dirty your hand. The way George’s fingertips brushed your palm when he reached for the berry made you shiver, but you tried not to show it. You think he still noticed.

He ate the small fruit in one bite, leaving only the piece with the leaves. Seeing that a few seeds were still left on the tip, he moved to the edge of the garden, scooped out a small patch of dirt, and placed the fruit inside, covering it up. You looked down, accepting the fact that you owned a strawberry bush now.

You turned to walk back to the patio again, but he motioned towards the large tree next to where he was working.

"You can stay." His voice was almost a whisper. "I don't mind."

You fetched your snack from the table and sat down against the tree without a second thought. You knew you were going to have dirt all over your mulberry colored dress when you stood up, but you didn't care. You would do anything to spend time with him.

You didn't talk, but just being there with George felt like heaven. You would occasionally glance over at him while he trimmed the thorns from the rose patch. Or the way he moved the marigolds next to the daisies to create a pastel gradient. He turned around just as you were staring at him and made eye contact with you. Feeling your cheeks blush, you offered him another strawberry to ease the tension. He showed you his gloved hands as if to say he couldn't, to which you held the berry up to his lips, requesting he take it from you directly.

George leaned forward, lacking hesitation, and took a bite. His plush lips, which were now stained with strawberry juice, kissed your fingers as you held the heart-shaped fruit, the red pigment dripping down your hand. He gazed at you so intensely you felt like you were shaking. You placed the stem back on the plate and set it on your lap.

Returning his piercing stare, you placed your fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean. Three weeks ago, you didn't even know his name, and now you were licking his strawberry flavored spit off your fingers. But you could tell this had an effect on him.

You took another sip of lemonade, and, noticing the rapidly emptying glass, offered him the final sip. He accepted, finishing the rest and placing the cup on the grass beside you. Once he was close enough, he tucked his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to place his lips against your own. He tasted like strawberry lemonade. When he pulled away, a thin string of saliva was bridged between your lips, the sunlight revealing the slightest tint of rose gold from the fruitful concoction. Your eyes widened when you looked back at him, perplexed by his actions despite you wanting this more than anything. You didn’t expect him to feel the same way.

Without saying another word, George removed the glove from his other hand, placing the now bare hand on the back of your head, his other hand resting on your shoulder. He gently guided you to lay back, his hand protecting your head as you made contact with the grass below. He briefly stroked your hair before removing his hands, instead placing them on both sides of your hips. He stared down at you, rubbing his hand over your stomach through the fabric of your dress.

“Do I have permission to touch you, my flower?”

You nearly moaned at his new name for you, although you were a bit confused as he was technically currently touching you. But still, you nodded, intrigued by what he would do next.

George trailed his fingers up your torso towards your shoulders. He stopped at your chest, eyeing it for a short while. Normally a position like this would’ve been quite compromising for you, but you were surprisingly comfortable. 

He hooked his fingers under the straps of your dress, dragging them down your shoulders, stopping right before they had completely fallen, preventing the fabric from leaving your chest entirely bare. He leaned forward to place small kisses across your chest, neck, and shoulders, occasionally biting softly. In one particular spot on the crease of your neck, he bit down a little too hard, but you didn’t even care. The gentle brushing from the coarse hairs of his beard provided a wonderful contrast between pain and pleasure. You threaded your hands through his hair, the loose waves beautifully framing his face. You felt his hands firmly massaging your hips with every breathy whimper that fell from your lips. 

Once George decided your upper body had been marked thoroughly, along with a few wine-colored shapes ever so slightly bubbling to the surface of your skin, he ended with one final kiss to your lips. Your hands moved from his hair to cradle his face, raking your fingers across his beard. He pulled back to look at you again, every monochromatic tone of his heavenly brown eyes twinkled in the evening sun. Even now, you were still utterly speechless.

Removing his hands from your hips, George began drawing small circles with his fingers on the exposed skin just below the hem of your dress. He looked back up at you, a small “May I?” leaving his lips, to which you nodded again. George shook his head.

“I need to hear you this time, flower.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. You were so overwhelmed by the current situation that even forming a phrase of one simple word felt like an arduous task.

“Yes.” You whispered. George nodded slowly, placing his hands flat against your thighs, sliding his fingers up underneath your dress until he reached your hips, rubbing his thumbs along the fabric of your underwear. Holding you by the hips over your dress was not enough. He wanted to feel the warm softness of your skin. He wanted to become one with you in any way that he could.

George laid on top of you, knees at your sides to support his weight as he resumed kissing you. But you wanted him closer. Lifting your legs, you locked them around his waist, pushing him flush against you, forcing his arms higher towards your chest. This caused the straps of your dress to fall completely down your arms and the hem to scrunch up past your hips, your entire dress rolled in the center of your body like a belt, rendering you almost fully nude while George was still fully clothed. But you didn’t care. Your actions could be so brave and bold, yet saying a single word to him felt far too intimate.

“So beautiful…” His words were lost in thought right along with him, his lustful stare raking over your neck and chest before moving back up to your face. While he may have had his full weight on you now, you tried your hardest to move your hips beneath him. Your body ached for the slightest of friction, wantonly arching up to grind against his clothed crotch. He looked down as you did this, the corners of his lips curling into a slight smirk, almost mocking your neediness. But as you moved, you could feel the outline of him, slowly nearing full hardness, straining against the confines of his jeans. He wasn’t fooling anyone. He wanted this just as much as you did.

You softly gripped him at the shoulders, massaging your hands up his neck and back into his hair as he laid atop you again, burying his face in your chest, adding more blushing roses to the already blooming garden just above your nipples. That was one place George would look, but never touch. He repeatedly got quite close with both his mouth and fingers, watching as your eyes pleaded for him to touch you everywhere, but decided to save that journey for another time. He opted for keeping his hands firmly at your hips, guiding you while you continued to grind against him, your eyes closed and your head tilted back, completely willing to lose yourself in the immense pleasure.

Just as you felt yourself beginning to falter in rhythm, nearing the edge, George pulled back and stared at the sky. Noticing the change in the amount of daylight, he sat up, much to your confusion.

“Unfortunately, it’s time for me to go.” He said matter-of-factly, pushing the straps back up to your shoulders before moving to pack up his tools.

“Already?” You whined. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to my personal schedule, now would it?” He teased. You thought he was walking toward the gate but instead stopped at a small patch of red violets he was tending to earlier. He was there for a few seconds before returning to you, who was now standing up, dusting the dirt off of your dress. George reached for your hand, and you felt something touch your palm. He placed a small kiss on your lips before gazing into your eyes again with the same intense stare.

“We’ll make more time for each other next week, my flower.”

You opened your mouth as if to reply but was consistently halted by some invisible force. By the time you felt like you could respond, George was already closing the gate behind him. You peered down at what he had left in your hand: a single petal from one of your red violets. You looked back up to see George still standing at the gate, predicting your confusion. He met your puzzled expression with a punctuating wink before walking to his car. You twirled the plum-colored petal between your fingers as its inspiration caught your eye out of your peripheral. Your cheeks immediately blushed a light pink as you saw the same color in a series of small love bites that were currently forming across your chest.

==================================

I just got a new computer today, and I thought what better way to celebrate than to finish one of my fics! This was the one that got the most votes in my poll of which WIP y'all wanted first. And I know it's quite long overdue, but I hope you enjoy! 🥰

#the beatles #beatles #the beatles x reader #the beatles fanfiction #george harrison #george harrison x reader #george harrison fanfiction #george harrison imagine #beatles x reader #beatles fanfiction #george harrison x you #george harrison x y/n

[bangsinc]

Can i request a spot x reader Who likes to draw him and lets him stay in their house.

Also you are life saver since you are the only one who is writing spot headcannons ♡

✏️Spot and an artist reader who lets him crash!(Hcs/Drabble)🗯️

I’m so sorry I couldn’t think of something silly for a title.. BUT TYSM FOR THE COMPLIMENT! I rly wanna give him love since nobody is rn! He’s so pookie

No warnings, just fluff. Mutual pining! Yay!

For the majority of the past couple years, Spots been an outcast to society, someone who wouldn’t be welcome anymore no matter what he did or how he hid. A job, something that could have saved him, wasn’t feesable anymore, and he couldn’t find anyplace to live.. that is, until there was you.

You were a complete godsend to this.. creature. A place to stay was more than what he could ask for. He didn’t need to eat, or do much anymore, but he still wanted a sence of community.

He could never repay you, never. The only person that’s ever been kind to him is letting him stay for.. nothing in return. As a way to return the sentiment and ease the overbearing guilt he feels that someone (as amazing and beautiful as you) let him into their home with open arms, he steals things.

Expect little trinkets! Oh? You like video games? That’s crazy because he just came across this one copy of..

He doesn’t crash persay, he lives. He craves the affection and love, so it’s difficult for him to not spend every night in your home. It’s warm, cozy, and best of all you don’t seem to care for what he looks like.

And like.. yknow, maybe you guys cuddle sometimes.

As for your hobby of drawing him, he would consider it the highest honor. You see him as something worth replicating on pen and paper? You want to show it to others too?? Congratulations, you just earned yourself a free model.

Gushes over your work, maybe keeps some of it for himself. Oh, he’s crushing hard. Maybe he’ll even try to draw you! Don’t expect anything.. good though. He was a scientist! Not an artist! But.. it would mean a lot to him if you kept what he gave you. It’s the least you could do, make him a happy little guy.

He may not be expressive, but you can almost see the flattery oozing from him as he eyes your work with the upmost curiosity. You’re so talented!

Little Drabble!

The lights of your bedroom, dim and gentle, reflect upon his pale face. He looks around curiously, his expression as it usually is, unreadable. He looks at you for a moment, the hole on his face narrowing in almost panic.

“T—thanks for letting me stay agai—look, I can’t really repay you or-“ He mumbles, rocking back and fourth on his feet nervously.

Your expression wracked him. The kind, empathetic smile on your face didn’t wane once, even if you both knew there wasn’t any way he could pay you back. You stay quiet, mainly to find the right words to tell him. With every passing second, doubt knawed at him. This was too good to be true.. this was going to end sooner than he hoped. You were going to tell him to get ou—

“That’s okay, don’t worry about it.” You speak, your voice quiet as to not startle him further. The weight of your words pressed on his shoulders, making it difficult for him to catch his breath.

“Really?” He approaches you swiftly, a sence of hope painted his expression, the brush that was his feelings painting a portrait of never ending gratitude.

“Really.” You repeat his words, arms outstretched, your smile never once waning. He can feel his spotted emotions get the better of him and he’s quick to bring you into a hug, his face digging into the crook of your neck.

#spider man #spiderman #the spot #across the spiderverse #the spot x reader #bangsinc #idk lol #x reader #fluff #spider punk #amazing spider man #into the spider verse #spider man: across the spider verse

[mclennonlgbt]

Combination of McLennon and Paul is dead

This is a post that I found on "Paul Is Dead: Examining The Life And Death of James Paul McCartney" FB group.

When this person writes "ShepLennon", they mean Billy Sheard (aka Faul) x Lennon.

They are confused but they've got a spirit lmao.

"*Bear with me a long post:

“McLennon” was not real. But SHEPLennon may well have been, and that solves a mystery…

Among Beatle fans there are some who believe that John Lennon and Paul McCartney were lovers from an early age. That they were soulmates, no one disputes, but there are many who disagree about John and Paul being the couple known as “McLennon”. Paul was extremely promiscuous with women, and seemed to put up with the fact that John seemed to be in love with him, or at least would get jealous. George Harrison famously told of a night in Hamburg where Paul was shagging some bird and John walked in, had a fit and cut up the girl’s clothes with scissors.

There are some pics of John and Paul gazing at each other with affection – as you’d expect from closely bound young men going through something unprecedented together. You can also find photos of J&P also looking with similar fondness at George and Ringo (they would practically sit on top of each other), all through 1963 and 1964, and part-ways through 1965.*** (More on this another time.)

Within the “McLennon” fandom, there is this great ‘mystery’. They all wonder why the breakup and the acrimony, etc, which makes no sense to them.

The thing is, the break up of the Beatles, the ugliness of it and the lingering distrust and resentment CAN’T make sense unless you understand that in September of 1966, Paul was assassinated and by November replaced by William Shepherd.

And that (because the Beatles initially believed that Paul had died in an accident, therefore having no reason to resent him, personally) the deeply grieving band initially had no personal issues re Billy, beyond wishing he’d not been ‘necessary’ (or ordered). It’s true that George, Paul’s OLDEST friend, never took to Billy, but John and Ringo go on fine with him.

Were Paul and John lovers? The man who sometimes comes into these forums and calls himself Liam Steen (who, like Billy and all of the MPL plants tells some truth mixed in with misinformation) said “No”. He emphatically and repeatedly said Paul McCartney was straight, and that he never did drop acid. Steen also said (emphatically) that JOHN and BILLY WERE attracted to each other, at least, and may have been lovers.

Photographs, videos, and gifs of John and Billy throughout 1967 and up through the recording of “Hey Bulldog” seem to bear this out. Lots of pictures of John and Billy walking through London with Martha the dog (likely Billy’s ‘familiar’) or driving together, and what seems to be some clear flirtatious ‘like lovers’ gazing, and touching.

Yoko told a story of Billy being called “John’s princess” by the staff at EMI, and also of hearing John calling out “for Paul” in a very needy, vulnerable way. Which sounds like she heard them having sex, but I digress.

All of that ENDS after the trip to India, where some sort of ritual was performed, connected to Paul (and using an artifact of Paul’s) that left the other three, most particularly John, completely traumatized, and for the rest of their lives.

The break was the beginning of Billy’s eventual ‘breakdown’ as the band no longer wanted to work with him (probably why he became so overcontrolling during the White Album) and John’s almost immediate attachment to Yoko. Both Linda and Yoko were alums of Sarah Lawrence College (a known ‘spook’-feeding school) and the men eventually married them within a week of each other… like lovers trying to piss each other off, or show that they were moving on. But John and Billy never did move on.

First they fought, and some of the legal wrangling that extended all of that had to do specifically with Billy being determined to continue using Paul’s name and identity (but that’s another story and “How do you sleep” was about exactly that).

But Billy and John were obsessed with each other and never stopped writing and talking about each other. There is a tape of John Lennon, at the piano, writing “Real Life” singing: “hold you in my arms/and now you’ve a baby, and another on the way…”

https://itspaulthewalrus.tumblr.com/post/651703402830708736/serenade-meow-amclennonblog-john-cries-while

And of course, now Billy won’t shut up about how much he loved John. When asked if John could return how he would spend the day with him, Billy answers, “IN BED.”

https://bewaremylove.tumblr.com/post/87659554397/q-if-john-lennon-could-come-back-for-a-day-how

The big “McLennon” mystery is not unsolvable if you begin from the premise that Paul McCartney was dead and John (for whatever reason) transferred his love to someone who was (at best) a facsimile of Paul, who made it feel like his Macca was still around, and who would both drop acid with him and be a lover.

And the break up after India makes perfect sense then, too. The McLennon people want to believe that the break up came because John wanted to be ‘out’ with “Paul” and Billy wouldn’t do it, wanted a family. And maybe that did happen. But Billy, by his own admission, is a witch and a magickian**** who tried to do something with Paul’s spirit while in India, through ritual that may well have included a blood element (ask me about Oblahdi, Obladah, sometime…) and that left John nearly psychotic".

#mclennon #paul is dead

[beachylupin]

can you pls write a blurb where remus finds you asleep on the couch and it’s all fluffy and cute

thank you for being my first request, anon!! i hope this is kind of what you wanted! word count: 1k warnings: besides the mention of curling up and dying in the third sentence there really aren't any warnings, remus being cute, domestic fluff (??)

Dozed Off || Remus Lupin x Reader

Work today was hard. The customers were rude, your boss was a dick, and you didn’t make anything for tips. You just wanted to go home, curl up, and die.

But you couldn’t. That isn’t the way the world works. As soon as you got home, you had to unload groceries, shower, and start dinner so that you and Remus could eat when he got home from work. That’s how it always was when he woke up early to work at the factory: he would shower while you cooked so that you could both be clean and fed before you’d both pass out from exhaustion, whether it be on the couch or your bed.

You toed off your shoes at your front door and sighed, taking in the unkempt flat.

The two of you had been especially busy lately. With Harry’s birthday coming up, you both had taken extra shifts to get him something special. 

“We need to get him something that will top whatever ridiculous thing that Pads is getting him,” Remus mentioned a few months ago. “Something that makes the ickle lad go ‘Wow!’”

The two of you had also been helping James and Lily plan a party for the tot since it fell on the day after the full moon, and Remus wouldn’t be up to much of anything on that specific day besides attending the party and sitting down.

Your flat had been nearly abandoned because of it. It was used for eating and sleeping; none of the normal shenanigans that you and Remus got up to. Dishes were piling up, clothes were strewn everywhere, and every flat surface had been decorated with things that didn’t belong on them.

You looked at your couch longingly. Glancing at the time, you figured it wouldn’t do any harm to just sit for a few minutes. You desperately needed to rest your aching feet.

Giving in, you tossed the groceries on the kitchen counter then plodded your way to the couch, falling on it when your shins met the deck. It felt softer than ever before, and the worn brown leather sucked you in, determined to make you stay.

Remus sighed, trudging his way up the stairs to the flat. He was actually in a good mood, which was a nice change of pace for him. Good moods nowadays were few and far between since he was nearly always at work or asleep: not spending nearly enough time with you.

As he approached the door, he noticed the stark silence coming from the flat. When you were cooking, you were usually blasting whatever artist you were in the mood for that day. Sometimes, Bowie could be heard crooning all the way down the hall, while other days, George Harrison kept you company as you bent over the hot stove.

But today, there was nothing, which either meant one of three things. One: you were finally using the tape deck Remus had gotten you for your birthday. Two: you were angry. Or three, and worst of all: you weren’t home yet.

Preparing for option two or three, he opened the door quietly, slipping inside, and pushing it shut without a click.

“Love?” He called as he took his shoes off, noticing yours on the mat. He glanced toward the kitchen, seeing nothing except a bare stove and the bag of untouched groceries. “You alright?” He asked apprehensively. When he got nothing in return, he immediately knew it was option two. Not the worst, but definitely not the best.

“Whatever Dick said to you today doesn’t matter,” Remus said, peering down the small hallway to try and hear any noise. Both doors were open, meaning you weren’t in the shower. The bedroom was the next possible place you could be in your small flat. 

“You know that guy lives up to his name. You’re home now, love. Everyone here adores you,” he said into the open bedroom. He peeked his head inside, seeing nothing.

Eyebrows furrowed, he backtracked down the hallway.

That’s when Remus found you: small puffs of air leaving your parted lips, eyes gently closed, looking as peaceful as ever still in your apron from work.

His heart clenched at the sight. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over you as softly as he could. Remus pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead then tiptoed away, letting you rest.

“Baby,” Remus cooed, lightly pushing your hair off your forehead, watching your eyes flutter slightly open. “You want to shower while dinner cooks?”

You hummed at the scent of his aftershave. “Time ‘s it?”

Even through bleary eyes, Remus looked good. He had freshly shaved, leaving his face smooth. His hair was slightly wet, showing off the natural waves in his sandy blond hair. He lost his normal sweater and slacks for just a white t-shirt and sweats.

“Uhhh…” Remus looked over his shoulder at the clock on the stove. “Seven.”

“Seven?!” Your eyes flew open as you sat straight up. “Shit! Dinner!” You groaned, your hands meeting your face in frustration. “I’m so sorry, Rem. I didn’t mean to doze off, and I-”

“Hey, hey,” he said, grabbing your shoulders lightly. When you met his eyes, he smiled. “It’s okay. I got it handled.”

“I know, but-” You looked around him, noticing how clean the flat was. “Remus. You worked today! I was supposed to do that!”

He scoffed, pushing his damp hair off his forehead. “You worked too! It’s okay to let me do things sometimes, love. We’re a team.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping forward. “I just feel bad.”

Remus rolled his eyes playfully, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Well, go shower, okay? We’ll eat dinner after, and then, I’ll figure out a way to make you feel so much better.” He kissed your lips firmly, pulling away to leave you breathless. He kissed your cheek, then nipped your jaw lightly.

“I love you,” you said, now cupping his face in your hands before he could go any further. “You know that, right?”

Remus smiled. “I know. I love you more.” He kissed you again before pulling away, leaning in so that his breath tickled your ear. “Now, go shower before dinner is burnt, and I have to eat you.”

#answered ask #remus lupin #marauders era #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin drabble

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

Do You Want To Know A Secret (Teen!George Harrison x Teen!Lennon!Reader)

A/N: Hello, Happy Easter! I'm posting another oneshot, because why not? I feel like it could have been a little better than what I wrote, but I was in a bit of a rush to get it out. Who doesn't love some George?

Summary: It's 1961. You're John's sister and he refuses to let you talk to anyone in his band (and vice versa) despite your house being their practice location. George scores some alone time with you one day, and sings you a little song he composed for you.

WARNINGS: SUGGESTIVE BEHAVIOUR; the reader is pretty confident in this oneshot. Mentions of sex, but nothing further than a heated make out session/ neck kissing really occurs in this. Swearing, probably, but I could be wrong. George starts out shy but he is not by the end. There are probably some typos as well oops.

This one is T rated, but just read at your own risk because as mentioned, sex is discussed

It was 1961, a relatively warm Friday evening after dinner, where an eighteen year old George Harrison was accompanied by a nineteen year-old Paul McCartney, on the way to the Lennon household.

Band practice was that night, the newly renamed "Beatles" preparing for their next gig at the Cavern Club just that following evening. George had his guitar case in hand, and Paul, his base, as they walked and talked.

John's house could be spotted from where the two were now, and George, who was talking in that moment, lost train of thought when he spotted someone just outside the front door.

That someone was you. John's little sister. Aged eighteen; like George.

George could feel his heart fluttering as he watched you move around the front garden, watering can in hand as you tended to the little flowers in the window planters.

"Don't stare," Paul lightly chided in a sing-song tone, wagging his finger at George when he came back down to earth, cheeks flush at the idea of having been caught looking.

"But look at her," George groaned, hand gesturing towards you haphazardly before dropping it down helplessly at his side. "Just look at how perfect--"

"And off limits," Paul added quickly.

"... she is," George sighed as he finished his sentence, a rather upsetting frown on his face. The boys had since halted walking, making sure to be far enough away that you weren't in earshot of their conversation.

"Look, Harry," Paul rested a hand on the younger boy's shoulder in comfort. "I know how you feel. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think she was a looker, y'know?"

Paul and George glanced over at you for a moment, before he continued.

"... but if I had a sister, and three lads who couldn't keep their eyes off her, I couldn't say I wouldn't be doing what Lenny's doing right now."

George knew that Paul was right. As much as he hated it, John loved you very much, and was cautious of any guy trying to be near you, especially now that you were a young adult, and not some child.

Every time the band gathered at John's house, everyone seemed to be under a microscope-- including you. The boys weren't allowed to talk to you, and you couldn't even look at anyone without your brother hollering at you to get upstairs, or to refocus back to your homework, or whatever task you had at hand.

But in moments like this, where the protective older brother wasn't around, George took every chance he could to greet you with a smile on his face.

And he wasn't going to stop now.

"I get it, mate. I just... there's something about her." That's the simplest George could have explained it to Paul. He wasn't about to disclose that he dreamt of you almost every night, or that he relished in the moments of excitement and anxiety of being able to see you, if only for five seconds out of his entire week.

And he certainly would not have told him about the songs he was composing; his muse being you, of course.

It was all just one giant secret, and as much as George wanted to tell you, all he thought of were downsides in result of revealing such a thing to you.

George thought that you, for starters, were leaps and bounds out of his league, he was scared of being laughed at, and he would have been absolutely horrified if John were to ever find out.

The negatives drastically outweighed the positives, so he was better to keep his mouth shut.

George and Paul continued their trek to the building, and when they finally made it to the walkway leading to the door, you turned your head, smiling gently and waving to them once you realized who it was.

"Good afternoon, lads," you greeted politely, and George nearly melted at the sound of your voice.

"Hello, Miss Lennon," the boys responded in unison. George cringed a little at that, pushing through the door with Paul following close behind. As much as he wanted to stick around, he knew it would have been too risky.

And thank God he made made that choice. John was waiting for them in the main foyer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't seem too happy, but he wasn't quite pissed off, either; almost as if he were in limbo of the two.

"'Bout time yous showed up. Me n' Pete've been waiting forever. C'mon, now." John waved his hand as he headed for the basement stairs, and the boys wordlessly continued on so they could begin their practice. George only looked over his shoulder once before descending the steps, hoping to have caught just one more glimpse of you, but to no avail.

"We have a show tomorrow, and you boys decided to be a quarter of an hour late!" John complained on as he threw his guitar strap over his shoulder. Pete was in the corner of the room on his drum set just shaking his head as he grabbed his drumsticks and tapped a little on his instrument. he must have been there for a while already.

Paul and George hurriedly grabbed out their instruments, apologizing so the older boy's complaints would cease. "As long as you're ready to play now, I don't care."

John always got sort of tense when the other three boys were over, hyper-focussed on keeping you away from them and vice versa. He was more or less worried about Paul trying to flirt with you, so a lot of John's poor behaviour stemmed from that.

Little did he know that it was actually George who'd fallen head over heels for you.

But that wasn't something to worry about in that moment. What was important was that practice began, and that they had to see improvement before their show just that following night.

Practice was going well. They had been at it for nearly an hour at that point, and the more they worked, the more pleased each boy was with the sound. They took a brief pause for some water, and John was rifling through his pile of lyrics sitting on a table in the corner of the room, trying to decide which one to practice next.

As George finished the last drop of water in his glass, John piped up, "I don't have all my songs here. Must've left them in my room."

"Which ones?" George asked, empty glass still in-hand. "I'm running up for a refill, might as well grab that for you as well."

"I think I left them on my desk at the side. You sure you don't want me running up?"

George swatted his hand as he started for the stairs. "Don't worry 'bout it. Be back in a jiff."

George hopped up the stairs, leaving his glass on the kitchen counter next to the sink before moving down the main foyer. He paused at the front door to peek out the window to see if you were still outside, but he didn't see you from where he was standing. He sighed gently before turning and making his way up to the second floor.

George made his way down to John's room at the end of the hallway. It was the only room with the door open, and before he even made it into the room, he could see the pile of lyrics on the desk, right where John said they'd be.

He picked up the pile, shuffling through them and counting the pages as he did so. He took one more brief glance around the room to make sure he wasn't missing anything else. When he decided this was all he needed, he turned on his heel and headed out to the hallway.

George was just about to make it to the stairs when he felt someone take hold of his arm, and swiftly tug him into one of the other rooms. The moment was a blur for him, and it took him a second to piece together what happened. He was standing in the middle of the room-- your room.

And you were only three feet away from him, back against the door, and cheeks glowing pink.

"Hello," you smiled gently, and George had no clue what to say, pages clutched tightly against his chest as his brain swirled with millions of thoughts.

"Hi," he squeaked, face burning in humiliation at his flustered state, but he was in your room, for Christ's sake. Your room! He had no clue what to say to you, mouth hanging open as he tried to search his brain for some other words.

"Look, I know we're not supposed to be doing this," you expressed, and George could feel his heart doing violent flips in his chest, especially when you pushed yourself off the door to take a step or two closer to him. This was the longest conversation he had with you, to date.

"Johnny would kill me if he knew I had a boy in my room, you know," you took a moment to pause, and all George could do was nod his head in agreement, intoxicated by the way you walked, and the way you talked. There was a hint of something in your voice... but the boy couldn't quite place what it was. Yearning? That couldn't be right... could it?

"But where's the fun in that, huh?" You asked, hands clasped behind your back, eyes staring right back into his, and George couldn't help but break his gaze first, utterly intimidated by your confidence. His eyes fixated to the dress you were wearing, and he could see a playful smile dancing on your lips in his peripheral.

"... You like what you see, Georgie?" You asked lowly after a moment, and his stare shot back up to your face again, certain his legs were numb. The nickname rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, so perfectly. The things it was doing to him...

"I..." he could barely speak, breaths ragged. Not one coherent thought was at the forefront of his brain, other than one simple word.

"Pretty." Your smile was a little more genuine now after he said that, and you reached a hand up to tuck a little strand of hair behind your ear.

"You think I'm pretty?"

George just nodded again. It was only now that he realized how much shorter you were compared to him, as you were only a foot away from him; the closest you'd ever been. He was looking down at you, but you were, in no way, intimidated by him. It was actually quite the opposite.

"You know, Georgie, you're pretty handsome, yourself," you professed, smiling wider as George's face burned even hotter.

He couldn't even thank you, scared of what would have happened if he tried to utter any kind of response to you. You reached out to rest a hand on his arm, and your smile faltered just a little.

"You're really tense... am I making you uncomfortable?" George's eyes widened, swallowing nervously as he shook his head 'no' as quickly as he could. He didn't want-- whatever this was-- to stop. The sincere upturn of your lips returned, and George couldn't help but flit his gaze down to your lips.

If only he had as much confidence as you, he might have just dipped down to have a taste...

"Look, I don't wanna keep you any longer. I know Johnny's gonna be looking for you soon." You thought for a moment before mentioning, "usually after you boys leave, he's down there for another hour or so practicing his own songs. Come back and see me after, yeah? Get to know each other a little more?" You raised an eyebrow expectantly, and George nodded his head again.

"Okay," he managed to whisper, resulting in you rising to your toes, and wordlessly pecking him on the cheek.

He felt like he was dreaming.

"Run along now, before they get suspicious!"

George's feet, though seemingly glued to the floor moments before, took off quickly, opening the door, and disappearing out into the hallway, shutting it closed behind him. As soon as he was on his own, he sighed heavily, the rush of oxygen in his lungs making him feel light-headed.

For someone who seemed so innocent in the open, around others, George could never have guessed how much of a minx you were behind closed doors. One part of him was still in denial that his interaction with you was even real, let alone meant to be flirtatious in any way...

But man, he would have been stupid not to take you up on your offer. It was just another hour he had to spend practicing, and he'd be right back in there, hopefully earning another kiss on the cheek from you.

George looked at the lyric papers in his hands one last time before sighing one more time, and going back downstairs. He passed his forgotten water glass in the kitchen, mind on an entirely different planet.

He returned to the basement, handing John the papers. He thanked the younger boy, pausing for a second to watch him move to grab his guitar.

"Where's your glass, Harry?"

George tensed when John asked that, hand on the neck of the guitar.

"... Left it upstairs,"  he responded.

"Thought you were grabbing a refill?" John's inquiries had George grasping for what to say next, but he was quick enough.

"Refilled the glass up there, drank it, and figured I'd be fine for the rest of practice."

His confession, though a lie, was believable enough for John, who just nodded his head slowly and drew his attention to the papers after a second, discussing which song they were going to practice next.

George just flew under the radar then, and he mentally cursed himself for being so careless. He look a quick glance at Paul, who was giving him a look; almost as if he knew something happened up there.

But he would never know the truth.

The shared glance fell apart when John advised everyone to get into position for playing, and they did just that.

The hour seemed to drag, George felt; but as time moved on, the more anxious he began to feel again. By the time everyone was packing up to leave, he was almost vibrating with anxiety.

He wanted to be close to you again so badly, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself as he had in the last interaction.

Pete, Paul, and George wished John a good night, and climbed the stairs to the main floor in that order, leaving John alone to continue practicing. Pete left Paul and George in the main hallway with a little wave, and a short "see yous tomorrow," before taking off out the front door.

Paul grabbed the door handle next and turned back to George, who stood in one spot a little too far away from the door.

"... Not walking home with me?" He asked in confusion, and when George didn't have a disposable answer, the pieces seemed to be finally clicking for the other boy.

He opened his mouth as if to lecture George on how bad of an idea sticking around would be, but instead, he tightened his jaw, shook his head, and waved to him.

"G'night Harry," he tossed a little wave out before taking off into the dusk.

He was alone now.

That could only mean one thing.

George eyed the stairs, knowing that if he turned on his heel and walked out right then, it'd be one of the biggest mistakes in his life. But he couldn't deny the fact that he was nervous; intimidated by you, and your assertive, rather sexy behaviour from earlier.

He took a deep breath, grabbing the railing, and hiking up the stairs slowly.

He stood outside your bedroom door much longer than he would have liked to admit, taking deep breaths and reciting words over and over again in his brain, as if this whole interaction were scripted-- as if he knew what was going to happen.

When he finally composed himself properly, he rapped on the door gently, hoping you would hear his presence on the other side. When you finally came around to open the door, his heart skipped a beat.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back," you voiced softly, leaning against the doorframe, handle still in hand. You sounded a little relieved, almost, seeing the boy on the other side of the threshold.

You were in your pyjamas, a set that showed enough skin on your arms and legs that it made George, red-faced, shake his head to reactivate his brain, which pretty much short circuited.

"You goin' to bed?" His words left his mouth faster than he realized he was even saying them. Sure, it was getting late out, but would you have really changed if you were expecting company?

"Well, that depends. Will you be joining me?" You were so quick on your feet in response that it honestly impressed George, the heat returning to his face as he tried to think of what to say next, not daring to drop his line of sight below your chin.

"I'm only teasing you," you laughed after a moment of watching George squirm, pushing off the doorframe and allowing him to enter your bedroom again. As he passed you, he caught sight of you gazing up his body, shrugging and adding a little "... maybe," to the end of your sentence.

You were such a tease, and George set his guitar case off to the side, facing away from you, so he could hide just how giddy and flushed he was just being in there with you again. He rose to his feet and turned to face you. You were only a few feet away from him again, eyes on him intensely, smile still present.

"... I hope you know just how glad I am that you came back," you expressed again, honestly. George raised an eyebrow at that, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wanted to tear his gaze from yours so badly, but your face was just so gorgeous to look at, and he didn't want to be caught looking at your outfit again; he knew some more teasing would surely ensue if he was caught staring.

"Why wouldn't I come back?" George replied bashfully, shrugging his shoulders a little. "Wouldn't miss a chance to be here, with you, for the world."

Your stare softened at his words, beaming as your own cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. George wasn't sure you were really expecting something like that coming from him. "... You really mean that?"

George desperately wanted to elaborate a little further, but he just settled on giving you a little nod, smiling back shyly at your question.

"Maybe I thought I might've scared you off for being so forward earlier," you admitted timidly as you turned on your heel. You took a seat at the edge of your bed, and George surveyed your movements, eyebrows lifting a little when you reached out to pat the empty space next to you on the mattress after a moment.

"Care to take a seat?"

George accepted the invitation, and you felt the bed dip when he sat down. His eyes cast down to the floor, face still red at the idea of being in your presence; having your attention.

"You know, Georgie... my brother can be pretty stupid sometimes. But making this house the place for band practice, I think, was one of the best decisions he's ever made."

His eyes met yours again at your words, and you shrugged one of your shoulders.

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't been dying to talk to you. Or get to know you. You seem so kind, and you're so attractive, and John wants to keep you away from me, and I'm so sick of him deciding what's best for me."

Your eyes cast down between the both of you for a moment, and George could feel his heart trying to leap out of his chest. His fingertips felt numb, mouth hanging slack as you continued your profession.

"I knew the only way to get close and alone with you was to bring you in here. And I saw the way you were looking at me earlier, and I had to get you to come back."

It felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Was he really that obvious when he was in here last?

"It's thrilling... having a boy like you in my room, while John's clueless out there as to what we're doing. What we could be doing..."

George's mind was going places he was never expecting it to that evening, especially with the help of you voicing it aloud. He was in utter disbelief of what you were telling him, convinced he'd fallen asleep throughout the day, and he was caught in some blissful dream he wished would never end.

"I feel a little selfish, springing so much information on you at once... but every time I see you, I desperately want to be with you; and today, I had to jump to take that chance. I couldn't wait another week, another day."

You smiled sheepishly, not really expecting George to say anything after that. You were honestly just trying to get your thoughts off your chest, and now that you had, you felt a lot better. You were also pleased with the little look of shock on George's face. You liked doing that to him.

You decided to break his trance by nodding over to his guitar case sitting on the floor. "So... You have plans to serenade me, Georgie?"

Your question definitely brought him back down to earth, and he took a quick glance at the case before looking back to you. Your confession was still ringing clear in his head like a bell. He felt he didn't have the words to admit his feelings as clearly as you had right on the spot...

He did, however, have the words pre-planned as lyrics, in a multitude of original songs he wrote for you.

"... I do, actually," he agreed, standing up to open his case and retrieve his instrument. George was feeling a little more excited now, knowing any girl these days would swoon at the idea of having music written for them, and he just hoped you would too.

He returned to the bed, deciding against tossing the strap over his shoulder. He faced you so you could hear and see every little thing he did. He was at least glad he didn't get performance anxiety on the guitar.

He gently strummed out a few different notes, deciding in his head which song he wanted to perform for you. One in particular stuck out in his mind, and he couldn't deny that it was the perfect choice.

He was a little worried about how you'd feel about his playing, and the lyrics, but he wanted to show you that he could be confident about this, especially since he was nearly certain now that his feelings were reciprocated. But he had to play it cool.

"It is a work in progress. I've only half of it written, but I really think you'll like it," George explained to you before allowing the notes to fill the air around you both.

"Listen,

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?

Closer,

Let me whisper in your ear,

Say the words you long to hear,

I'm in love with you."

It was only then that you realized this was the first time you'd ever seen, or heard George play. This beautiful genius was being hidden away from you this whole time, and it was a blessing to see his work up close.

His left hand slid along the fretboard so easily, thumb and fingers on his right tickling the strings as if it were second nature to him. You couldn't decide which hand you wanted to look at. His digits were skillful on the instrument, and George made sure to almost exaggerate his movements to impress you.

He pretty much had you in a trance, now, daydreaming about what else those hands could do...

"I've known a secret for a week, or two,

Nobody knows, just we two,"

George had been worried the whole song about messing up the notes, eyes so focused on where his fingers were going... But he glanced up at you, realizing how hypnotized you were, like putty in his hands, and he decided there was nothing to worry about.

He decided to sing right to you now, soft eyes on your face, and when your field of view locked with his, he knew he wouldn't dare break the stare.

"Listen,"

This wasn't a song anymore.

"Do you want to know a secret?"

This was his confession.

"Do you promise not to tell?"

His way of showing you what you really meant to him.

"Closer,"

He wasn't clouded by any insecurities or doubt anymore.

"Let me whisper in your ear,"

Your gaze flitted down just enough to watch George's canines poke out from behind his lips as he sung, and your eyelashes lowered at the sight of his beautiful mouth.

"Say the words you long to hear,"

Your mind was absorbing the lyrics like a sponge in water, every single word eliciting a feeling so strong in your heart, you could hear it pumping in your ears.

"I'm in love with you."

George hummed away as he played the final notes, a little smile still on his lips when he let the last chord ring out into a room of silence.

When that stillness remained for a moment, George couldn't help but ask with a little bit of hesitation, "Well... what do you thi--"

He couldn't even get the rest of his question out before you darted at him, lips smashing into his as if he were about to disappear forever.

He let out a little surprised hum before he pulled the guitar out from between the both of you, and you took it as an opportunity to push your body closer to him, arms wrapping around his collarbone.

He blindly set the guitar down to lean it against your bed, and when he let go of the neck of the instrument, his hands went for your hips, squeezing your sides gently before pulling you right up into his lap. your actions bloomed a type of self-assurance within him he had no idea he could even possess.

It was your turn to squeal excitedly, but George's lips on yours muffled the sound. One of his hands snaked around to the small of your back before it slipped under your shirt, his palm dragging up your spine. His fingertips took note of each vertebrae it dipped up and down into, like the frets on his guitar.

This, George decided, was better than a dream. This whole situation unfolding around him made him feel as though he died and went to heaven.

He pulled his lips away from yours, free hand reaching up to grip your chin and directing you to tilt your head up. His lips suckled on the side of your neck, and the sound coming from your mouth was absolutely euphoric to him. But he removed his palm from your chin to cover your mouth, his other hand still feeling and memorizing every curve and dip in your back.

"You must be quiet, Love. Wouldn't want your brother knowing about all this fun we're having up here, eh?" Your eyes rolled back at his words, groaning into his hand as you felt George drag his teeth gently along the column of your throat.

Knowing you were enjoying this as much as he was only brought more confidence to his actions, and he let his tongue poke out to leave a large, wet kiss on your collarbone.

You were squirming in his lap, fingers sliding up into his hair and tugging so he knew he was doing everything right.

He groaned at the friction you were creating at the hips, and he pulled away from your neck to kiss your lips again after removing his hand and placing it on the back of your neck.

You swallowed his moans as you continued to grind in his lap, but both of your movements paused when you heard the guitar come crashing down to the carpeted floor. It wasn't as loud as it could have been, but it was loud enough.

You both kept an ear out, knowing that might have caught the attention of someone downstairs, and when you began to hear footsteps shuffling around, you began to panic a little, eyes wide and darting back to George, whose face was flushed from the assault of your kisses, and hair was a tangled mess from your fingers.

"You gotta hide," you rushed out quietly, and though you tried to climb out of George's lap, his hands kept you planted right where you were.

"What are you doing?!"

"... What if I didn't?" He challenged you a little, a daring smirk at his lips.

"Had you not been so naughty, with all that moving and teasing, the guitar wouldn't have fallen, eh? And we wouldn't be in this situation at all." The points of his canines were showing again, and you groaned at his words.

"George, I'd love to continue this, but John will kill you if we're caught, and we can't do this if you're dead!"

"Well then we just won't get caught," he responded simply. He was blinded by desire, his confidence seeping out of him like sap from a tree as he placed his mouth back on your neck.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and you both heard a knock, George not showing any sign of stopping his actions.

"Don't come in, I'm-- I'm not wearing any clothes!!" It was the first thing you could blurt out to whoever was on the other side.

"Oh, baby, that'd be a sight to see," George mumbled against your skin, pulling your top down just enough so he could suck a dark spot just above your left breast so you could easily hide it away, and you sighed heavily at the contact, face burning red.

"Just heard a loud thud. Just making sure all is okay," it was John on the other side; completely oblivious to the actual scene occurring on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, a book from my shelf was knocked over! N-nothing to worry about!"

George grabbed your chin again when you were finished talking, shoving his tongue right into your mouth as you both heard John respond with, "oh, okay. Just making sure you're alright. Have a good night."

You listened closely as the footsteps quieted, and when there was no sign of anyone else on the second floor, let alone at the door, you pulled away from George's kiss.

"Well... how was that?"

"Risky," you replied, a rather unimpressed look on your face as you unraveled your arms from George's shoulders and crossed them over your chest.

"Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore, Love," he tried to give you another kiss, but you placed your fingers against his lips. It was your turn to smirk mischievously.

"You know what, Georgie... I think you've had enough action for tonight."

You could see the smug grin fall right off George's face as you removed your hand. Surely you had to have been joking. But when you pushed a little to get off him, his arms fell to his side, a little pout on his face.

"You're serious? Love, you got me all hot and bothered..."

"George, you really thought we were going to go all the way tonight with other people in the house?" You laughed out loud at that; and when you said it like that, he would have had to agree that it did sound ridiculous.

"Trust me, Georgie, I want to," you placed a hand on his cheek in comfort, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he looked up at you as if he was the shy boy you interacted with just an hour before.

"But we both know doing that in an empty house would be far better than having to keep quiet about it, huh?"

All George could do was imagine that situation, eyes drifting shut, and tilting his head into your caressing hand.

"You're such a damn tease," he mumbled, eyes blinking back open after a moment.

"All good things come to those who wait," was all you said, leaving one, sweet kiss on his lips before pulling away, and nodding to his guitar. "We better pack you up and send you home."

You watched as George situated himself, placing his guitar back in the case, closing it and picking it up. You wrapped your arms around him gently, planting another kiss on his cheek.

"By the way... I think that song was beautiful," you whispered to him, and when you pulled away to see him smiling at you, you couldn't help but match the grin on your own lips.

"See you next week? Same time?"

"You don't even have to tell me twice," George responded with, and you just had to lean in for one more smooch on the lips, to which he eagerly reciprocated.

He then opened your window up, and took a step out. You watched as he climbed down the corner of the house slowly, and before he took off down the road, he blew you a kiss, to which you mimicked catching with your hand.

As George headed home, the sun now fallen over the horizon, those intimate moments he shared with you were at the very forefront of his mind. His hands could still feel your bare skin under his fingertips, and his mouth tingled as he remembered what it was like to have your lips on his.

He was just craving for the next moment he had alone with you.

______________________________________

A/A/N: And there we are! hope you all enjoy this, and I hope your Easter weekend was full of sun, and fun! Please let me know if you want to read more so I know it' worth it to post!

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[givemequeen]

I want everyone to know that you’re mine: George Harrison x reader

request(s): - can you write a smut about George being like possessive and wanting the reader to be loud during sex bc “I want everyone to know that you’re mine” and if possible have it happen bc maybe the reader was getting hit on by the others and George wanted to reiterate who she was with? Thanks so much! - Can you write something smutty for George? - pls i need more george smut 🥺🥺🥺 im in love w him 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (aren’t well all) a/n: do any other authors get horny when writing smut or... pairing: George Harrison x reader summary: teasing George (just realised i put in the wrong summary! it is correct now tho, whoops!) warnings: sexy time! dirty sexy time! orgasm denial (female) oral (male receiving). unprotected sex (remember to wrap it before you tap it, lads). ass smacking. kinda harsh sex but not too harsh. jealous!george word count: 3651

George always got off the stage horny. He said it was a combination of a lot things but you knew the roar of the crowd and the fact you were there watching and waiting for him was what really got him going. He wanted you to see his success, just like you wanted to show how proud you were of him. He had, after all, worked so hard to get where he was. So, you never missed a show. 

Tonight was no different, George, despite being engrossed by his performance, couldn’t stop looking backstage to look at you. You had worn a short dress today and no underwear. You had whispered this delicate information to him just as he was getting on stage and when it was too late for him to do anything about it. But the look on his face was priceless, pure shock and desire. 

As soon as the last song was over, he bolted off stage, not even waiting for their final bow, and rushed towards you, nearly toppling you over. He picked you up, hands flying to your ass, and spun you around. 

“Fuck, I’m so hard, I’ve been waiting all night for this.” He growled in your ear, pushing his boner against you. “Let’s go baby, please.” You laughed and placed your hand on his chest, pushing him back. 

“We can’t leave, there’s the after party.” You winked before walking away to congratulate the other boys with a polite kiss on their cheeks. 

Once their instruments were safely set to the side the five of you headed outside to your cars. George followed close behind you, his hand low on the small of your back, finger feeling the fabric to remind himself you weren’t wearing any underwear. You got into two cars, You, George, and Paul on one and Ringo and John on the other. 

The cars sped away from the crowds of fans and headed to the hotel you were all staying at. The hotel had organised a party for the band in their presidential suite. It was going to be filled with roadies, journalists, music producers, and models, and you couldn’t wait to use this opportunity to tease George. 

You were sat between the two boys with one of your hands on George’s thigh, your slim fingers drawing circles in his inner thighs. 

“That’s driving me wild, I’m going to fuck you when we get to the room.” George muttered as he pressed his lips to your ear.

“So, did you like the show?” Paul asked, oblivious to what was going on. He had light a cigarette and was offering some to you and George. George accepted, placing it between his lips and lighting it. Something about him lighting a fag drove you wild and you couldn’t wait to fuck him once you go to the hotel but the game you were playing wasn’t going to end soon.

“Of course, you were amazing tonight.” you said, momentarily placing a hand on his knee and removing the one you had on George’s thigh.

George sat up and you smiled, knowing he had taken the bait. Paul smiled happily and thanked you.

“You look great tonight, love.” Paul smirked. “That dress... is it new?” You could hear George practically growl next to you.

“Yes!” 

“Looks stunning on you, love.” he met your eyes and smiled that charming smile of his. “You look stunning tonight.”

“Back off McCartney.” George said, placing a protective arm around you.

“C’mon Georgie, don’t be ridiculous.” you said, pushing off of him.

“Yeah, Georgie.” Paul teased as the car came to a stop, having finally reached the hotel.

George reached over to him but Paul jumped out of the car. Cameras immediately starting flashing, fans were yelling the boy’s names all around you. You kissed George’s cheek before getting out, pressing your ass into him as you moved over him. George grabbed your waist and pulled you to him, pressing his boner against you.

“Behave, I see what you are doing.” he said before letting you go.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” you smiled, grabbing his hand and walking into the hotel through the screaming crowds. 

Once in the suite you headed off to find your group of friends. They were an assortment of journalists and roadies who followed the band around. Naturally, you spent a lot of time with them which caused a friendship to flourish. In this group of friends was a specific roadie who George hated as George claimed he had flirted with you. Your boyfriend wouldn’t listen to reason since you repeatedly told him he was gay and was more interested in him than in you.

“Thats just an excuse to touch your boobs.” George had said, pouting.

“No because he surprisingly does not touch my boobs.” you had rolled your eyes and left it at that. 

But you could now feel George’s eyes on you across the room as you sipped on a drink, lounging on one of the velvet sofas, and talked to said roadie. George had been starting at you the entire time you were there but he had been caught in a conversation with some music producer.

John came over to join you, sitting by your side and placing his arm on the sofa behind you. He started mumbling about the concert and the party but he was so drunk you couldn’t understand him so you simply patted his shoulder and nodded. You could feel George watching you and suddenly an idea came onto mind.

You stood up and sat back down across John’s lap. He smiled up at you and hugged you, clearly ready to sleep. You ran your fingers through his hair and glanced up at where George had last been but he was gone. You glanced around, suddenly worried that you couldn’t find him.

“Love.” George said from behind you. You jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. You looked back and smiled, George was upside down!

“Georgie, you’re upside down!” you laughed.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, cocking his head sideways. His face was tense, clearly unhappy at the situation but you couldn’t care less, he had to live a little. “Get off his lap.”

“No, I’m just happy.” you threw your arms around his hips, dragging him towards you, and ignoring his second question. “And you?”

“Lets get out of here.” he whispered, leaning over and starting to pull you away from John, who just flopped backwards and promptly fell asleep.

“What? No! The night is young.” you whined before standing up and dragging George over to the dance floor. 

Dozens of people had congregated in the centre of the room and were dancing widely. Arms were thrown up and hips were swung to the rhythm of the music. You pulled George to the centre and placed your arms on his shoulders. His hand went to your hips, pulling you close.

“You look gorgeous tonight.” George said, his lips chasing yours. “What were you doing on John?”

But you ignored him and allowed yourself to feel the music, the thumping of the bass resonated deep within you. You threw your head back and immediately George’s mouth went to your neck. He kissed and sucked on the skin there, surely leaving marks.

“Georgie, careful.” you frowned, chastising him.

“Lets go, my love, I want you.” he pressed himself against you. “I need you.”

“I can feel that.” you giggled.

“Do you want me to fuck you right here? Huh? In the middle of the room and let everyone see how well you take my cock?” his voice was low, its vibrations travelled all the way down between your legs.

“Fuck, Georgie.” you palmed him through the jeans, looking around to make sure no one could see but everyone was too high or drunk to notice.

“Lets go.” he wrapped his longer slender fingers around your wrist and pulled you towards the exit. A couple people tried to stop him to talk to him but he was a man on a mission and practically shoved them aside. Once outside the suite, George picked you up and pressed you against the wall.

He began kissing you like a starving man, hands slipping under your dress to grab your ass. You moaned as he pressed himself against you and you rocked your hips against him, desperate for some friction. George pressed himself further against you, preventing you from moving.

“No, you don’t get to do that after how you have behaved all night.” he sunk his teeth onto your flesh and you yelped, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“I’ve been good, Geo, what do you mean?” you lied, kissing his face.

“You and I both know thats a lie.” he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him. “You’re gonna do as I say and if you’re good maybe I’ll cum in you.” George set you down and grabbed you, pulling you towards your room.

Once inside, he picked you back up and took you over to the bed, dropping you on it. You watched in anticipation as he slowly took his shirt off. You rubbed your thighs together, desperate for some friction.

“Stop that.” George snapped. “You don’t get to do that.” he shook his head and you.

Finally, his shirt came off. He threw it on the ground and unbuckled his belt. He dropped his trousers and took himself out of his pants. While staring right at you, George stroked himself. You bit your lower lip, eager to have him in you.

“Stand up.” he ordered, you did as he requested, your eyes sliding down to his erection. “Kneel.” you dropped to your knees and looked up at him.

“Now what?” you asked sweetly, trying your best not to look at it.

George stayed silent, he trailed his fingers through your hair and tugged it back so your mouth fell open. He grabbed himself and guided your mouth towards him. You stuck your tongue out, allowing his cock to rest on it, and closed your lips around him.

“Good girl.” he said, his other hand went to your chin, pushing it up so he could see better.

You closed your eyes and moved your head forward until his cock hit the back of your throat. You gagged slightly but remained there until tears formed in your eyes. You pulled back, gasped your air, and did it again. Slowly, you let your tongue explore him. It went over the ridges and veins of his cock, mapping out every inch of it.

One of your hands went to his hips for stability, the other going between your legs. You slipped two fingers inside of you and rocked your hips the same way you bobbed your head backwards and forwards. You moaned, the vibrations of your moan made him buck his hips forward.

He groaned and collected your hair into one hand. He pulled you back so only the tip of his cock was inside your mouth, and slowly pulled himself out. A single line of spit and pre-cum connected you and his dick. He grabbed his cock and placed it back into your mouth.

“Mouth open.” he slowly pushed his hips forward. You held your breath, fingers stopping inside of you, and felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as he made his way down your throat.

Then, at the same excruciatingly slow pace, slid himself back out. George did this a couple times before slamming into you with no warning. You choked on his cock but that didn’t stop him. He grabbed your jaw, hand so big his fingers nearly reaches your ears, and fucked your mouth. 

“Fuck...” he groaned. “This is what you get for being a slut.” his eyes were trained on yours. “Stop fucking touching yourself, you think I don’t notice?” reluctantly you removed your fingers from yourself. “Now take my cum.” he pushed his hips into your mouth one last time before finishing inside of you. As his cum shot out, he rolled his hips, and you licked his cock, making sure every last drop came out.

Then, he slid himself out. You stuck your tongue out and blinked up at him. “Good girl.” he slid his finger down your cheek and shoved them into your mouth, reaching the very back and making you gag. “Swallow.” you did as you were told. “Now get up.”

“Yes, daddy.” you stood up and George’s mouth was immediately on yours. He reached behind you and pulled down the zipper to your dress. The short sleeves of the dress fell from your shoulders. George pulled it over your head, leaving you completely bare. He pushed you onto the bed, grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs apart, and dragged you to him.

His fingers slid up your thighs at an excruciatingly slow pace, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most. He looked up at you through his lashes, there was pure hunger in his eyes.

“Please Geo.” you whined.

“What do you want, my love?” he asked getting closer to you. You bit your lower lip and nodded. His fingers slid into you and you moaned. “Louder.” his fingers curled inside you and you moaned louder. He began working his magic inside of you, moving his fingers with such precision and rhythm that made you thank your lucky stars that he was a musician.

Your mouth hung open as you let moan after moan spill out of you. His thumb went to your clit, gently massaging it. Your thigh were threatening to close but George had placed his hands over them, pressing them down. You moaned his name and told him you were close.

“Good girl.” he said as he pulled his fingers away from you.

“What the fuck?” You groaned, dizzy from the pleasure and alcohol. You watched as he sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap.

“Sit here.” You did as you were told and straddled his thigh.

“What now?” 

“Get yourself off.” he shrugged.

Heat rose up to your cheeks. Get yourself off? On his thigh? You swallowed and nodded. You rocked your hips, a small whine escaping your lips at the sensation. His thigh was hard, the muscle under rubbing against you in the best way possible.

“You don’t think I want to fuck you?” he growled, his hands went to your hips gripping you tightly and urging to move faster. “You don’t think I want to shove my cock in you and make you come?”

“I know you do.” you moaned. “Oh, George...”

“Then why do you behave so naughtily? Flirting with Paul and John right in front of me? It’s like you’re begging to be punished.” he tutted, shaking his head.

One hand went to your breast, squeezing it harshly. You moaned his name as he licked your nipple. You rocked your hips against him faster, determined to orgasm. 

“I wasn’t flirting.” you lied as you quickened your pace.

“Don’t fucking lie, slut.” George said grabbing your jaw. You looked at him and reached for his cock.

You jerked him off at the same pace you rocked against him. Each time you moaned his name his hips jerked. You moaned it louder and he kissed you, you moaned it even louder and he played with your breasts.

But George’s patience was wearing thin. He flipped you around, laying you on the bed and crawled over you. His mouth was on you, his kisses sloppy, and with no warning, he slammed into you. You gasped his name, unable to do much else, and squeezed your thighs around him and he relentlessly pounded into you.

“Louder, love. I want everyone to know that you’re mine. I want everyone to hear how well I fuck you.” he grabbed your hands and pinned them above you, exposing your neck.

His mouth attached itself to the soft skin there and began sucking. You went to complain but a sharp slam of his hips shut you up. Instead, you moaned and moaned. Each slam of his hips making you go louder. You yelled his name and his rhythm got sloppy.

George pulled out of you and turned you around with ease. He pulled your hips up, exposing your ass to him, and aligned himself, his dick pressed against you. He rubbed his tip against you slowly, almost as though taunting you. You pushed your hips back and he pulled away.

“Oh George, fuck me please, please.” you moaned. 

He smacked your ass and slowly slid in to you. He quickly returned to the ruthless pace he had set before. His hand slapping your ass as you gripped the sheets. His fingers went around your hips, meeting your clit, and began drawing circles. 

You were coming undone, the brutal slamming of his hips against yours filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with the effortlessly skilled movement of his fingers against you was pleasantly overwhelming. He leaned over you, pressing his chest against your back and pulled your hair back. 

“Are you going to come?” he groaned. “Come for daddy, you’ve been good. I want to hear you.” 

You nodded and let yourself loose. The explosion of pleasure took over you, making your body go limp. George held you up as he continued fucking and fingering you. You unapologetically moaned his name over and over until your throat felt raw.

Just as you were coming down from your high George slammed his hips into you one last time and came inside you. His cum shooting into you felt delightfully familiar. You clenched around him and gripped the sheets so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if they ripped.

George collapsed on top of you, cock still inside you and weight crushing you. He gently kissed your shoulder, hand going around your body to squeeze your breast. His cock was still hard when he slipped it out. You rolled over and smiled at him but he was staring between your legs.

He licked his fingers and pushed his cum that had began leaking out of you and down your thighs back in. You winced at the wave of pleasure that crashed against you like aftershock. 

“This pussy is mine.” he said, reaching down to kiss it. 

Bonus:

George had returned from the bathroom and scooped your limp body in his arms. He had taken you into the bath and sat behind you, your back against his chest, wet bodies pressed together, as he gently cleaned you up. Then, he had tenderly dried you, taking extra care around your thighs, and taken you back into bed were you were now spooning.

“Was that good?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Very.” you mumbled.

“It wasn’t... too much?” 

You turned your head to look at him and smiled, placing a hand over his cheek.

“I liked it. I love it when you’re possessive. It was very hot.” you gently kissed his cheek. “I love you.” you murmured and spun your whole body around to face his.

“I love you too.” he said, pressing his head into your hair.

You reached your hand down his pants and hesitated. George nodded and reached to pull your own underwear down. You wrapped your hands around him and felt as he got hard. 

George laid back, his hands on your hips guiding you over him. He comfortably slid into you, like a key into a lock, and you both happily sighed. You fell against him, bare chest against bare chest, and slowly rocked your hips. George wrapped his arms around you and met your movements half way.

“I’m sorry love, I can’t last any longer.” he groaned.

“Cum in me, Geo. Fill me up.” you whispered, your words driving him wild. 

It was the most comfortable filling, his hips crashing against yours - once, twice, three times - as he came undone. Then, you remained like that, his cock buried deep in you and his mouth kissing your skin, until he softened. You pulled yourself away from him and he tucked himself back in.

He pulled you against him, his whole body wrapping around yours, and fell into a deep slumber.

BONUS BONUS:

The next morning you stumbled over to the wardrobe, George watching your naked behind body from the bed, and pulled on plaid trousers and a pink cardigan to match. He helped you as you got ready, kissing your cheek and neck or wherever he could reach.

You walked hand in hand towards the elevator and made your way down to the private room the hotel had given the band for their meals. Inside was John, Ringo, and Paul, all sat around a round table filled with food.

They all looked up as you entered and started laughing. Unsure, you cocked your head to the side and asked them what was so funny.

“Did you have a good night?” John said, wiggling his eyebrows, between fits of laughter.

Realisation dawned on you, they probably heard everything. You shut your eyes in embarrassment but George was having none of it. He pulled you to his side, arm going around your shoulders and led you to the table where breakfast was set.

“Piss off, you lot are just jealous.” he said, rolling his eyes and ignoring their howls of laughter.

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