The Snow Can Wait

just a cute little scene with reader and Paulie

GN!Reader x Paul McCartney

You woke up in the middle of the night, the dimness of the room was broken only by the light of cars slowly passing by the street. Only a few seconds after your eyes adjusted to the dark, you noticed that the other half of the bed was occupied only by Paul’s abandoned blanket.

The white blanket slid easily over your body as you got up to see that the clock indicate just past three in the morning.

You walked to the door, silently thanking the soft rug that shielded your feet from the cold floor, thinking you’d probably find Paul sitting in the living room chair with the bass in hand (or, even more often, he’d be sleeping with the bass about to fall out on the floor).

A flight of stairs later, you saw the figure of Paul standing against the living room window, and you didn’t have to look twice to understand the real reason he was there.

The room had a bluish hue, the white walls perfectly reflecting the light coming in through the window. Paul was wrapped in his favorite green robe, his still-perfect hair didn’t even seem to belong to someone who hadn’t even started the day.

The pine tree, decorated with appreciation by Paulie and you a few days earlier, filled your nostrils with its signature scent even before it was visible in the dark.

“So… she shows up and that’s enough for you to leave me alone in bed, huh?” You announced your presence, feeling the cold air from the larger room finally hit you.

Paul didn’t even seem startled, almost as if he knew you’d find him there. You walked towards him slowly and heard the low sound of his laughter before he extended his arms, an invitation to join him at the window.

“Didn’t want to wake you up, luve” Paul whispered. The world always seems so silent at three in the morning that it felt wrong to speak too loudly “You were sleeping like a baby squirrel when I got up, it would be a crime.”

He draped one of his arms gently over your shoulder, placing a long kiss on the side of your cheek. Paul was smiling serenely, reluctant to share his attention at that moment with anything other than the window and you.

“Baby squirrel, you say” You wondered, putting your arm around his waist and snuggling into Paul’s warm embrace “I think it’s just a selfish excuse to not share the snow with me.”

White flakes filled every stretch of the view. The streets gleamed as if dotted with tiny diamonds and the trees that had been bare at dusk, now carried a thick, fuzzy layer of ice that resembled ice cream balls more than anything else.

The Christmas decorations of the neighboring houses tried their best to fight a battle against the white that threatened to sink all colors, but it wasn’t looking at all favorable.

Paul’s eyes traveled lazily across the length of the window, getting distracted only to place one more kiss against your hair.

“I woke up and it was all white already. I came running like it was Christmas morning” He said, gently patting your shoulder.

On your first winter with Paul, all those years ago, you discovered that one of the things he loves most is the silent nights where everything turns to snow and the world seems to exist with unshakable peace.

“I should have guessed” You whispered, following Paul’s eyes to a nearby branch that gave way under the weight of the snow “It’s the only way to get you out of bed when it’s cold.”

“The snow can’t wait, my dear” He chuckled, warming the room a little more for a few seconds.

You love a lot of things about Paul, that’s for sure. The way he makes sure not to wear matching socks, the way he likes to carry your shampoo on trips (just to remember the smell of your hair), his voice when he just woke up or the way he always manages to have a few more minutes in bed with you every morning. It is his laugh, tho, that can make all the butterflies in your stomach flutter like you were a field of flowers on a sunny day.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He asked, his eyes still traveling the view like he was getting the first glimpse through the window.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful” You said, staring at the smile that danced on the lips of the man you loved “The snow is pretty cute, too.”

Paul laughed louder this time, putting himself in front of you. He gently stroked your face and moved closer, his beautiful eyes flashing in your direction and his hands pinned to your waist, looking deep into your eyes.

“Merry Christmas, my dear” He whispered at last, before sealing his lips to yours for a long moment, so hot you didn’t even care for the cold fingers that threatened to run across the skin beneath your sweater.

“Christmas is… is still two weeks away, Paulie love” You replied confused, unable to ignore the desire that formed on your lips from his kiss.

“Well, it looks like I already have my present anyway, doesn’t it?” He whispered, pulling your face against his and finally deciding that the snow could wait.

It was time to go back to bed.

Queen/BoRhap writing prompts!

These can be used for any fandom but I had both Queenandthe Beatles in mind while writing these. This is my first time doing this but I figured if I’m not going to write a fic why not help others out! I hope these aren’t crappy, oops.

1. “Why are your lips so god damn soft”

2. “You’re such a tease”

3. “You’re hot when you’re mad”

4. “Stop blushing so much people are gonna start wondering”

5. “What if (band members/persons name) walks in”

6. “Turn on the lights I want to see your face”

7. “Why would he write a song about me”

8. “It’ll be our little secret”

9. “Tell me how does one dance so badly”

10. “Cause I love you.” “Yah?” “Yah yah.” [that was so bad and cheesy]

11. “We are at an important dinner we can’t just leave”

12. “I’m tired of scrabble, how about a game of truth or dare”

13. “Pinky promise”

14. “You have horrible taste in music”

15. “Shirts have buttons for a reason”

16. “Take a picture it’ll last longer”

17 “If I’m that bad then come teach me”

18. “That skirt’s awfully short”

19. “Quiet down someone is going to hear us”

20. “Don’t call me cute. I’m not cute”

-I’ll be making more of these for sure but this was my first time making a prompt list and I don’t really know if I did it right but eh. Also sorry that they’re bad I’m just not that creative, oof. (sorry that it’s so short I’ll try and make some longers lists but for my first one this should be good-ish)

With A Little Luck

• Words - 1,169 (hehe)
• Paul McCartney x Reader
• Absolute fluff. Pretty much candyfloss at this point.

Yet again I’m hitting out with something that I wrote in my notes and never read over so uhhh, enjoy and ignore the mistakes. Or point them out to me and I’ll fix them. Who knows. All I know is that I’m lazy, anyways, enjoy. And s/o to @mcrvellouslystcrk who asked me to tag them in Paul fics so I wrote a Paul fic. Peace nd Love nd all that

Whether it be immense glamour or relaxed slobbery, He would be hard pressed to find fault in you, he thought to himself

Naturally, he adored it when you were dolled up. Stood in a tight gown; silk fabric hugging your skin, face illuminated by the flashes of cameras, of course none brighter than your smile.

Or in one of his t shirts, legs bare and spots scattered across your face like constellations in the night sky. When he was lucky enough to see you like this, it was usually with Martha curled by your side, her head in your lap as you read contentedly. When he would try and lean in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, Martha would bark grumpily at the disturbance, and Paul would pout.

‘She’s my dog!’

‘Not anymore.’ You would laugh, as your hand came down to ruffle her fur.

Despite his exclusion, He always warmed up from head to toe when he saw his girls together.

But even better - when you wore nothing. Your sweaty body underneath his, pupils blown and mouth slightly open, making the sweetest sounds, your soft hands tightly gripping him as he found the deepest spot inside you.

Perhaps that was his favourite, because it was reserved for only him.

He was selfish like that, when it came to you. Like a toddler with their toys. He was extremely unwilling to share you, which became a running joke when you visited the studio. George would make sure to greet you first with a smile and a nice long hug - just long enough to rile Paul up. Then it was Ringo’s turn, who made sure to take his time asking how you were and sharing stories of his own. At this point, Paul could usually take no more and had dragged you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your torso and head nestled into your back. It was from this position John usually spoke to you, about books, music, Julian, all the while ignoring the whiney McCartney behind you. John was a talented man, musically, intellectually and especially when it came to ignoring Paul.

Things had been tense in the studio lately. Creatively, the four were starting to disagree, to differentiate, to pursue new styles. Although there had been no real trouble, the power dynamic was shifting, the drugs were causing arguments, and the pressure of the new film was mounting. Paul found himself more stressed than ever, and at the end of the day. John, George and Ringo all had wives to go home to. Families. Which is what he longed for really.

It was John that inspired him. You’d not long left, leaving them to work out the kinks on one of Paul’s songs, a pleasant little piece about their hometown. You’d brought sandwiches for them all, and though he appreciated the gesture, Paul had no appetite. He waited for you to leave before he threw his over to George, who began to eat them without hesitation. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. His other musical half was squinting at him (probably because he’d forgotten his glasses) with a smirk.

‘Would you quit moping Macca. We’re all getting fed up with all that pretty pouting of yours.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Paul replied haughtily, nose in the air as he carried on aimlessly pressing the keys of his piano.

‘Oh I think you do mate, Come on. Put on your big boy pants and make ‘er a McCartney’

Paul began to sputter ‘I…you…ah…I do-‘

John crumbled into laughter, as did the other two, as if they were all in on a joke at Paul’s expense.

Once he had regained composure, Paul began to seriously consider Johns words. He didn’t often pay much attention to John’s advice, After all, he spent more time cleaning up Johns messes than anyone else on this world, but this time… maybe… just maybe he had a point. That afternoon, he left early to go and buy a ring.

He wrestled with himself on how to do it.

A romantic dinner? A spontaneous trip abroad? He pushed the key in the door as he mused over and over.

‘You’re home early?’ You smiled, jumping into the hallway. Your face was red, and the house was unusually warm. Specks of flour dusted your hair and there was a dusting of sugar on your lips. A record crackled in the background and he could hear the pater ring of Martha’s paws in the kitchen.

‘Had to pick something up. You look like you’ve been busy,’ He remarked, ruffling the flour out of your hair.

Your cheeks reddened even more, this time with embarrassment.

‘Oh well, eh, you see. I was sorting through the bookshelf and I sort of found a recipe book, and well I looked in it and it was your mums and I was flicking through it and on one of the pages it said Paul’s favourite and so I thought…’ You looked up at him with big eyes and his heart swelled. The ring began to feel like a dead weight in his pocket and he broke out into the grin of his life.

You were unreal. So effortlessly kind and beautiful, he didn’t think a person as wonderful as you could even exist, let alone, love him. And the fact you were nervous about doing the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him made you even more endearing.

You were still staring, trying to gage his reaction and he stepped towards you, closing the gap and holding your face between his hands. He leaned in, softly looking down at you through his long lashes.

‘Marry me.’

‘Wha-‘ he interrupted you with a kiss, firm and passionate, as if it were the last kiss you two would ever share. He needed you to know how sincerely he felt.

‘Please. Be the next Mrs McCartney.’

You were speechless.

‘I… Of course! Of course I will!’ You stepped up to kiss him, and he removed one of his hands to reach down and fumble in his pocket, pulling out the little box.

You broke apart and he dropped to his knees.

‘Mum would’ve loved you,’ he smiled, though his throat was tight and he was at risk of letting a tear or two slip out. ‘Not as much as I love you. And now I promise I always will.’

He slid the ring onto your finger, an emerald encased in diamonds supported by an elegant silver band. You stood still, overwhelmed. Surely life couldn’t be this good? The pair of you were stood, smiling goofily at one another, hands intertwined.

As you stared at the Beatle, arguably the most sought after man in the world, you thought to yourself, I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

As he stared at you, the most beautiful person he had ever had the privilege to know, he thought to himself, I’m the luckiest man in the world.