The Beatles Oneshots/Imagines/Preferences

John Lennon 17

(I am no romanticizing or condoning any abuse. If you're in abusive relationship, please get professional help. You are not alone!)

To say that you're mentally exhausted with life... is understandable. John is your life. You've met in 1957, dated in 1959. Married in 1965, and now the year is 1969. Epstein is dead. Tensions amongst the once "Fab Four." John and Paul would argued daily in the studio. George was tired of it and he said he's quitting after the "Let It Be" album is released. Poor Ringo, he just wants to bang his head on the drums.

They were sick of it, you were sick of it. Worst, when John would come home, boy does he let take his frustration out of you. SMACK!

You hold your cheek, refusing to make eye contact with your husband. "I bust me ass working all fucking day, and I come back home with no fucking food on the table. Do I earn money by being a lazy bum?!" You flinched at his shouting. You were tired, you work as well. From nine to five. Yet, you didn't respond. Afraid that John would hit you again.

"I- I'm sorry, I was about to prepare dinner now-" You tried to explained. John grab both of wrists making you yelp. "Dinner was supposed to be done long ago, ye always want me to be angry with ye the whole time, don't you?!" You shook your head furiously. "N- no honey, I'll make dinner qui-" Before you can finish your sentence, he pushes you away. Making you fall to the ground. "DINNER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE READY BEFORE I CAME HOME. ARE YE FUCKING STUPID!?"

You sat up, embracing yourself whenever he going kick you or not. No, he picks you from your arms and pushes you to the couch. "No, please, John. I promise to come home early and make dinner before you come back from the studio!" You quickly said. "I'm gonna say it again so ye can hear it clearly. This is going to be the last time I'm going to say it, dinner should be ready before I COME BACK FROM THE STUDIO. DO YE UNDERSTAND ME, Y/N!?"

You nodded and quickly made your way to the kitchen to prepare dinner. "Y- y- yes, of course. Dinner will be made shortly." You forcibly smile. John stares at you and walks towards you. You clench your hands tightly on the pan, afraid that he'll hit you again. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and kisses your cheek where he slapped you earlier. "God, I'm just tired, Y/n. Tired with this shit, with Paul, with everything." Again, he kisses your cheek and walks away. Heading to the bedroom you two shared.

Once you hear the door shut, you let tears fall. You were tired as well, and you know soon you will have to leave him. For now, you began to cook while crying softly in pain.