A John Lennon x reader self-insert fanfic.
When you get a weekly job doing a newspaper round to help provide for your family, you take notice of a house secluded within forest upon a hill, realising that as long as you've lived in Liverpool, walking...
Friday 6th April 1973 Henley-on-Thames, England 1.52pm
Getting the train from Liverpool to Henley-on-Thames took much longer than we were both expecting. John could hardly even remember the last time he boarded a train, let alone know how to check the timings and tickets. But we did manage, leaving just before ten in the morning.
Apparently Mimi was to watch over the house while we were away, keeping an eye on the cats and everything else. John said she adored them, despite the fact that she wouldn't admit it.
It was absolutely pissing it down, rain pattering down on the floor with excessive force, April showers making themselves present. We were settled under the shelter of the station, and to my right, John was sat on top of his suitcase, polishing off the tupperware box that was once full of salad pasta that we'd brought with us as we waited for George to pick us up.
"He shouldn't be long," John grumbled between the last mouthfuls of pasta. "I told him around two."
The rain continued to fall with no sign of stopping. At least it wasn't too cold, I thought grimly, turning to look at John who was clicking the tupperware shut and shovelling it into his rucksack.
"Ye sure ye brought the camera?"
I scoffed at him, "'Course I did. How could I forget it?"
One year for one of his recent birthdays, John had been gifted a very nice (and expensive, mind you) camera from Paul who claimed it would do him some good to take up photography. He'd taken a few pictures, but eventually lost interest as he would've actually needed to go out, so shelved it. Until now, that was.
The honking of a car horn snatched us from our conversation. George had pulled up on the other side of the road and was now clambering out of his car, rather unsuitably dressed for the rain in just a t-shirt and flannel shirt paired with some simple jeans, shielding himself from the drops as he sauntered over to us. His long hair was tied up behind him, a look which suited him, and his moustache was the same as before. His car was a sleek and black Porsche, modern and extremely nice. I wouldn't have expected anything more; he was a car guy after all. You can't be a Formula 1 driver and not have an impressive car.
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"Hullo," he smiled, grin toothy and welcoming as it was before. "Johnny boy," he said, Scouse accent thick, nodding towards him and clapping him on the shoulder.
"Georgie Porgie," John replied, ducking his head and peering down over his glasses at him.
Then George turned to me, extending his hand to me. "And the Mrs," he smirked as I took his hand, his long fingers wrapping around mine as he shook it firmly. As I began to retract it, he swiftly lifted it up to his lips, causing a blush to spread from the base of my neck all the way to my cheeks, and John to mumble something unflattering under his breath.
"Always a little charmer, weren't ye Hazza?"
"Aye, naturally."
We exchanged pleasantries, thanking him for picking us up and George offering to take both of our suitcases to the car.
