Paul Mccartney Imagines

32

The sharp pangs in your lower abdomen woke you well before dawn. Curling into a ball beneath the covers, you pressed your palm against your stomach as if the pressure might somehow counteract the pain radiating through your body. Sleep was out of the question.

When you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door, you squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to worry Paul. But he was already awake, his steps careful as he crossed the room.

"Love?" His voice was low and warm, a melody of concern that made your chest tighten. "What's wrong?"

You peeked up at him, your lips pressed into a thin line. "It's nothing. Just... you know, the usual."

Paul crouched beside the bed, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he studied your face. His fingers brushed your clammy forehead. "The usual, eh? That bad this time?"

You nodded reluctantly, wincing as another cramp twisted through you. He sighed, leaning forward to kiss your temple. "You should've woken me."

"I didn't want to bother you," you mumbled, closing your eyes again.

Paul shook his head. "Bother me? Don't be daft." He stood, tugging his robe tighter around himself. "Right, you stay put. I'm going to sort this out."

Before you could argue, he disappeared, leaving you to wonder what "sorting this out" meant to him.

From the kitchen came the faint sounds of bustling—drawers opening and closing, the metallic clink of pots, the sharp whistle of the kettle. You smiled despite yourself. Paul wasn't exactly a natural in the kitchen, but he was determined when he set his mind to something.

When he returned, balancing a tray laden with a hot water bottle, tea, and a small plate of biscuits, you could've cried at the sight of him. His brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully set the tray down.

"Right, love," he said with a proud smile. "Tea first. Then we'll deal with the rest."

He handed you the steaming mug and settled on the bed beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. You sipped slowly, the warmth spreading through your cold hands.

"You didn't have to do all this," you said softly, looking at him over the cup's rim.

Paul smirked, leaning back against the headboard. "Nonsense. Caring for my girl is part of the job, isn't it?"

You felt your cheeks heat, though whether it was from his words or the tea, you couldn't say. "Well, thank you. This helps more than you know."

"Not done yet," he replied, grabbing the hot water bottle. He tucked it gently against your stomach, adjusting the blanket around you like you were made of glass. "There. Warm enough?"

You nodded, sinking deeper into the comfort he'd created. Paul wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His free hand moved to your stomach, tracing circles over the blanket. "That helping?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"Mmhm," you murmured, the pain finally dulling.

"Good," he said, kissing the top of your head. "Because you deserve to feel better, love. Hate seeing you like this."

"You're too good to me," you whispered, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

Paul's expression softened as he looked down at you. "Not possible," he said, his lips curving into a small smile.

The day passed in a haze of warmth and care. Paul insisted on staying by your side, fetching anything you needed before you could even ask. He tried to distract you with humor, telling exaggerated stories about George and Ringo's antics on tour.

"Did I ever tell you about when Ringo nearly missed the train because he wanted to buy a pasty?" Paul said, grinning.

You chuckled weakly. "That sounds about right. Did he at least get it?"

"Oh, he got it, alright," Paul laughed. "Nearly got left behind for it, but he said it was worth it."

Paul dimmed the room, lighting a few candles for a softer glow. He then returned to your side, curling up next to you and draping an arm protectively around your waist.

"You're the best, you know that?" you murmured, tracing patterns on his chest with your fingertips.

"I try," he said, his voice teasing but his eyes warm. "But, love, I'm just doing what any man in his right mind would do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Your breath hitched at his words. "Paul..."

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips that was both tender and reassuring. "I mean it," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "You're everything to me."

The sincerity in his voice made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you," you whispered.

"Lucky for you," Paul said, his grin returning, "you'll never have to find out."

You spent the rest of the evening in his arms, feeling more loved and cared for than ever. Even as the pain ebbed and flowed, Paul stayed by your side, proving that his love wasn't just for the easy days but for the hard ones, too.

And as you drifted to sleep, his hand resting gently on your stomach, you realized that with Paul, you'd found something rare and beautiful—a love that held you through it all.