Act naturally, Love

Act naturally, Love

littlepoisonedpen

Прочтений 329
Голосов 10
Частей 37

Для взрослыхЗавершенная история пнд, фев. 16, 20262h 13m

1960s drummer funny love music

Y/N didn't plan on falling for Ringo Starr-it just sort of happened. One minute she's minding her business, the next she's caught up in late nights, bad jokes, and a drummer who loves with his whole heart and none of the fuss. The lads, of course, have opinions. John Lennon takes the mick every chance he gets, Paul McCartney acts innocent while stirring the pot, and George Harrison just watches, waiting for everyone else to catch up. There's a chart knocking about. No one's saying what it's for, but it keeps being updated-and that alone feels suspicious. Between the teasing, the love, and a surprise quietly minding its own business in the background, this is a story about finding something real in the middle of the noise... even when Liverpool never shuts up about it.

Все права сохранены

Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.

Вам также может понравиться

THE CHERRIES - A Sandlot Story

|| A SANDLOT STORY || (you are 13-14 years old btw) San Fernando Valley, a small town smack in the center of California, summer of 1962. The kind of place where the sun didn't just shine, it lingered, stretching the days long and golden until everything felt dipped in honey. Lawns buzzed with sprinklers, radios hummed from open windows, and somewhere, always, you could hear the crack of a baseball bat echoing through the streets. But even in a place that looked this calm, there were lines drawn as clear as chalk on pavement... On one side, you had the Cherries and the Cake-Eaters. The rich. 'Cherries' was what people called you girls, though never to your faces. It was the polished shoes, the pressed skirts, the neat ponytails tied with ribbon. Your parents had money, or at least enough of it to make sure your lives stayed clean and carefully curated. You walked into places like you belonged there, like the world had already made room for you. And then there were the Streets. The boys. Dust on their jeans, scuffed sneakers, shirts half untucked and sun-faded. They didn't walk anywhere, they ran, climbed, shouted. They lived outside, in empty lots and overgrown fields, building their own kingdom out of nothing but a baseball, a beat-up glove, and whatever rules they decided mattered that day. Different worlds. Same town. And somehow, always orbiting just close enough to collide. But, for some reason, that border seemed to vanish between you and Benjamin Franklin Rodriguez.

Подробнее

Требования к контенту