And He Loves You: Beatles One shots and imagines

Christmas Letters *Requested*

*Requested by@Kaitlin_W1212 * 

Thanks for requesting! 💕   

  You sat at the cafe table kicking your feet, happily holding a steaming peppermint late to your face taking in the bustling Christmas ready New York streets as the world passes you by. The bell on the door rung indicating someone had come in, your eyes stayed fixed in their position; your mind fixed in it's day dreams.

     A group walked over to the table next to you, probably whoever came in before. One of them stumbled grunting, causing you to look over. Four young men in mop tops and one of them sitting on the ground with drink all over him.  "God Geo ye spill everything!" the auburn haired one crowed, "I do not<" the other mumbled, getting up from the floor slowly and reaching for napkins.

    You smiled watching the scene, they seemed familiar, Brits too; The Beatles. The Beatles! You looked over again and made eye contact with the auburn haired, he had a name now what was it? He smiled and waved you over. You grinned and stood up,  showing off your black and yellow dress and matching yellow tights, walking over and sitting i the seat next to him.

  "Ella love, I'd love to thank ye for not screaming first off," he smiled and you laughed a  little, "Name's Y/n L/n," he opened his mouth to say something when another interrupted, "Are ye from round here?"  a doe eyed boy-man asked as you turned, " Oh yeah I was born in Boston moved here when I was twelve," he nodded, "Paul McCartney by the way," he extended his hand with a flirtatious wink, "Tha fogey's John," you clapped your hands, "Ha! I knew it was something like tha!" 

 Another two came to sit, a tall one with his coffee stained shirt and a short blue eyed one being dragged by his noes, the blue eyed ma sat and the taller stood starring at the top of your head, "Ey John who's the bird in me seat?" 

  "It's Y/n L/n George," John replied as if he where to know your name, you looked up at him, making eye contact from a silly angle, "Oh hello Y/n L/n, " he replied quietly, "Well hello George," you smile, "Sorry I took your seat, I can move back to my own, " he shook his head, his piercing brown eyes glinting in the light beautifully, "I'll pull a chair, " 

  "You've got beautiful eyes George," he blushed as he pulled a chair over to you, "Oh thanks, " he almost whispered, his demeanor becoming soft monetarily, quickly returning to it's stoic form, "Why thank ye Y/ L/n, it's Harrison by the way," you smiled, " "Just Y/n is fine, George Harrison, it suits ye," 

  "Well just George is good too," He grinned showing off his pure white fangs, you smiled and pulled your coffee up to your face again, This'll be a good Christmas. You just had a feeling. Feelings are great aren't they?

 ~~~Nine Months Later~~~

  You stumbled inside, setting your bags on the living room couch, not caring about the neatness of it all. Keeping your keys in hand you moseyed your way to the mailbox you'd neglected to check on your way in due to the constraints of your shopping. Eggs and flour should really never be left unattended in a living room. 

    Honestly who cared? You where awaiting a letter from your beloved pen pal of roughly six months. You opened your mailbox by key and where greeted by nothing other than, along with the latest issue of Vouge and some bills, his letter. The letter you received from dear sweet George. Your letter.

  It was addressed from some hotel in Santa Monica, always touring  that one. Gave you very little time to see each other unfortunately. But it smelt like him.  For some one you'd only seen on four separate occasions it may seem rather forward but you where fairly sure you loved him. Ever since that day you'd sent letters back and forth with them all, but something about George's letters where different. 

  He sent one every day, as did you, although they didn't always arrive every day they where sent every day. He always went on beautifully winding,  passion filled descriptions of what went on in his life and mind. He was a beautiful man. You managed to phone each other once in awhile but it was rare, expansive, and you usually missed on another when you tried. This was good though, his written word meant the world. 

 You rushed straight inside not caring that the afternoon was bright and the June sun brought much life to the city, beautiful as the day was you only had one thing on your mind. You sat on thee couch, attending to the eggs and flour once more, amidst your myriads of bags. The letter was once more looked over then opened carefully. It read,

 "Sept. 17th 1965, 

 To my dear, sweet, beautiful Y/n, 

  I'm sorry if I don't write for the next couple of days I'll be flying with no place to stay in, only planes then shows. The next address I'll have for you is in the envelope, a picture for you as well. The road has grown tiresome my love, how I wish to see your face above all those of the fans we meet every day. I'm not sure what it is about you but you're different. You care, You really care. I hope to see you soon but I doubt I'll be able to, my heart aches stronger every moment I'm not by your side.

I know we've only met in person a few times but I don't think I've ever been happier than when I'm holding your hand. I hope this isn't too forward of me to say, especially over letter and not to your face, but I think I just might love you. I long to be in your kind and gentle grasp every waking moment, and m dreams are clouded with your face.

Please my dear sweet bird, hold on for me just a little while longer. If you're heart's strong, hold on, I won't be late. So wait, please wait. I love you so. Please my love, I'll be touring for another couple months but then I'm home. I can possibly steal some time for you my birdy. Come back to New York, see you.

I love you, I'm afraid I have to go now.

Best wishes,

George"

 You leaned back on the couch with ears in your eyes. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. Suddenly the warm sunny day seemed even warmer. You couldn't help but ruin your make up as you held the letter that smelt of George to your chest. He loved you. He loved you and you loved him. How could life get any better than that.

 ~~~Three long months later~~~

 You still couldn't believe  you'd talked yourself into it. You had gone to visit George without even telling him of it. And now, you stood on his front porch step with your suit cases by your side, snowflakes gently raining down upon you. The city seemed quiet compared to New York in the dusk hours. It was beautiful.

  You could here the telly going inside and someone was there, he was in there. He seemed so close yet so far away, You reached out and Knocked gently on his door, your breath foggily forgoing you from the chilly weather. He got up and moved towards the door. Your heart thumped as loudly as his footsteps. 

 The Telly turned off--

His footsteps came to a stop at the door--

The door's locks clacked open--

 Your heart almost burst through your chest--

    And there he stood, his stern expression immediately melting from his face as soon as his eyes met yours. His jaw hung slack and his arms lay by his side. This couldn't be real. "Y/n," he cooed softly, "Geo," you replied, matching his tone. Not another word was needed. He pulled you tightly into his grasp, pressing his chapped, rosy lips against yours for the first time, "I love you George, " you whispered as he held you in his arms, carefully looking you over as if you might disappear if he didn't make sure you where real. 

 "You came to me," he uttered as he bit his lip and stared, "Merry Christmas," you said, your moonlit features forming into a gentle smile, he pulled you tightly to his chest, "Y/n," he breathed, not letting you out of his grasp "Yea Geo?" 

 "Don't leave London,"