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#the beatles

Are You Kind to Blokes?

pairing: Paul x M!Reader

summary: reader is sent to get a fluff story on The Beatles but ends up getting a bit more than he intended.

With the close quarters of the back room and the man you’re sharing the space with looking at you like that, you think your skin may just burn off. Paul McCartney sits in front of you- right in front of you- with your knees brushing together as he moves to get a lighter from his trouser pocket. Once it’s retrieved, he slowly lights a cigarette between his lips without losing your eye. He smiles at your dumbstruck awe.

This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. You’ve interviewed a million celebrities- Bob Dylan, Elvis, Little Richard- and he should be no different. He’s just a man- an extremely attractive man. An extremely attractive man that you could swear has been flirting with you since you stole him from the dressing room.

You came to the venue with three other reporters from your publisher for one on one interviews with each Beatle. You’d hoped you’d get Paul, but being the youngest you got the last pick. So, it was left to fate. Unless.

With the Jesus controversy still fresh, the others were too busy fighting over John to notice you walk your way into the dressing room and call on Paul. Since you basically snatched the lad from your colleagues, you had to hide a bit. So, already familiar with the particular venue, you began to lead him off to a room that, honestly, more closely resembled a closet.

“Are you trying to steal me away?” Paul’s hands were deep in his pockets as he walked with a casual smile.

You’d walked him far from the noise of the dressing room by then without much said. After worrying your bottom lip, you said, “I thought it’d be best to get some quiet.” He had only hummed a response but his eyes told so much more. As a reporter, you’ve learned the importance of body language and you knew just what that smirk and trailing eyes meant. It had you fighting back a growing warmth tingling throughout your skin.

Now, pushed away in the quiet room, you could hear the subtle squeak in the wood of the chair as Paul leaned forward, blowing out a puff of smoke. “You’re quite a bit more good looking than I’m used to from reporters.”

You feel the heat creeping up your neck and clear your throat. “Movie star looks isn’t a prerequisite in this field.”

He eyes you carefully. “Aye. Not bad to have, though.”

Ignoring the comment as best you can, you pull out your notebook and skim the questions. They’re all basic and have been asked a million times but that’s what your publishers wants- the same old, same old.

You ask a few of these questions and get the generic answers. But you stop before going to the next question - if you weren’t a Beatle, what job would you have?- and cringe before it leaves your lips. Instead, you start, “Your bass playing is amazing,” and see you’ve made him squirm a bit. He sets back in his seat with crossed arms and you smile. Interesting. “Some say you’re revolutionizing the instrument. Would you agree?”

“I don’t know. We just play what sounds good, y’know?” he muses his hair, distractedly.

Cocking your head to the side, you say, “But it’s true. You’ve turned your bass into more than the foundation of a song. It’s a counter melody, at times. It can stand out from the song without overpowering it. It makes for a beautiful composition.”

Paul gives an awkward chuckle and shifts in his chair. “If you say so. I’ll believe anything from a pretty face.”

You know he’s deflecting but you can’t help the smile growing across your lips. “Are you regularly this kind to your interviewers?”

“Well,” he draws out the word with a wicked grin. “I try to be kind to everyone- s’only right. Though, people get different versions of kindness- if you’d like.” It’s your turn to squirm again and he’s opening his posture with the newly gained ground. “Are you kind to other blokes?”

You both move forward a bit and Paul’s knee ends up just barely between yours and yours between his. Desire churns low in your stomach as you desperately fight it back. This isn’t how the interview was supposed to be going but Paul only moves closer and you all but invite him to. “I, um- Yeah. I am.”

“I don’t believe I caught your name.” You say your name on an exhale and he raises his brow, moving closer all the while. “Nice to meet you, y/n,” his warm breath leaves the ghost of a kiss on your cheek and then he’s standing up and straightening his tie. In an instant, his entire demeanor has changed and you almost think you imagined everything.

You can’t help but let out an audible sigh as you gaze up at him, too dumbstruck to move from your chair. Paul goes for the door and you think it’s all over but he turns back, his face still so different than it was moments before. “You can wait in my room, if you’d like. Get an exclusive interview- keep most off the record.” With a devilish wink, he’s gone and you’re left to wonder how you’re supposed to find his room.

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One testament to the ignorance and arrogance of my classmates in middle school was this one time when we were asked to name our favorite movie.
I said The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour because at the time I was fond of its random, surreal humor.
Most of the other kids chose movies from the last couple of years or so, some of which weren’t appropriate for preteens, if I recall.

They all didn’t believe me, and said I was making it up.

It’s one thing to not know the names of The Beatles’ films, but entirely another to accuse somebody of lying about it, don’t you think?

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