Paul Mccartney Imagines

40

Paul McCartney's heart thudded as he walked up the familiar path to your house. He'd missed you more than he'd ever admit, and every moment since your father's ban had felt like torture. You were his best friend, the person who understood him better than anyone else, and it was hard to understand why your father had cut him off so harshly. Paul knew his life as a musician might not look respectable to everyone, but he didn't think he was a bad influence—especially not on you.

Paul hesitated on the doorstep, glancing around before finally knocking. He waited, hoping to see your answer, maybe with that familiar smile, but the seconds ticked by in silence. Frowning, he knocked again, this time louder. Still, there was no sound from inside, no sign of anyone at all.

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. He shouldn't have left, but the door was unlocked, and it seemed wrong to leave without knowing if you were okay. Cautiously, he opened it and stepped inside, calling out your name in a quiet voice.

As he entered the hallway, he noticed how quiet it was. Usually, there'd be some noise—a radio playing or someone moving around. But now, the silence felt heavy and unsettling. He paused, listening carefully, and then he heard it—a soft, muffled sound, almost like a struggle, coming from the direction of your room.

Paul's heart dropped as he hurried down the hall, the uneasy feeling becoming pure dread. Without a second thought, he pushed open the door to your room, and the sight that greeted him froze him. Your father was on top of you, pinning you to the bed, one hand pressing down on your shoulder while you struggled beneath him; Paul noticed that his pants were off, and yours were too. Paul looked at your face, tear-streaked and red.

"Get off her!" Paul's voice rang out loud. He was moving forward in an instant, grabbing your father by the collar and hauling him back. Fueled by anger and desperation, Paul pushed him with a force that surprised even himself, sending your father stumbling back.

Your father caught himself against the wall, his face contorted in fury. "What do you think you're doing here, McCartney?" he spat, straightening up with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Paul put himself between you and your father, his fists clenched and his body tense. "I came here because I missed my best friend," he said, his voice steady despite the rage burning inside him. "But I'm not leaving until I know she's safe from you."

Your father's mouth twisted into a sneer, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "Safe? You're the one she needs protection from, not me. I told you to stay away for a reason. You're nothing but trouble, a reckless boy with no future."

Paul flinched at the words but held his ground, his gaze never wavering. "Well... I'm not the one that was just raping her, was I? Plus, She's not yours to control,  and she's not a punching bag for you to take your anger out on." He glanced over his shoulder at you, seeing the tears in your eyes, and his heart broke. "She deserves better than this. She deserves someone who cares for her. Someone who never would even think about hurting her this way." Paul screams 

Your father took a step forward, his voice cold. "This is none of your business, McCartney. She's my daughter, and I'll raise her as I see fit."

"Is that what you call this?" Paul's voice shook as he gestured to you, still curled up on the bed, trying to catch your breath. "Hurting her, terrifying her, raping her—this isn't raising her, it's tearing her down."

Your father's fists clenched, and for a moment, it looked like he might lunge at Paul, but Paul didn't back down. He stayed rooted in place, his gaze hard and defiant. "If you want me gone, that's too bad because I'm not leaving until she's safe. I'm not letting you hurt her again."

For a long moment, your father's gaze shifted between you and Paul, a mixture of anger and frustration darkening his face. Finally, he grew frustrated and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by your shaky breaths.