Dizzying Heights (John Lennon X Fem Reader)

❃Forget, Fall, Fail❃

His collar was freshly pressed, holding a scent of clean linen and grass from when it was hung out to dry the day before. She hoped she'd never forget what John looked like on this day, for it would be all she'd see of him for a very long time.

They said their goodbyes and John was on his way, along with the boys and their manager Alan Williams. They shoveled themselves into a cramped green van, green like the cart from the ferris wheel, green like the skirt (Y/n) wore when she kissed her love goodbye.

Some time in October of 1960

For Lennon, keeping in touch with (Y/n) proved difficult after the initial weeks. Weeks. The letters arrived less and less, and so did the photographs and calls. He loved her, but it was so hard to keep up with the band and all, he really never had the time to stop and write out a heartfelt letter or make a twenty-minute call.

It was inconvenient. She was becoming inconvenient.

Sadly, (Y/n) was forced to wait for John, unsure of anything and everything they were doing. Hell, they could all be lost at sea and the girl wouldn't have a clue. She grew depressed, isolating herself in her room and refusing to move on. She lived alone at this point, by the docks. It was loud all the time, by people or the waves itself, but rent was cheap.

John couldn't keep himself preoccupied with knowing there was a girl who loved him dearly, separated only by the North Sea.

Unfortunately, John found himself in beds with other women.

Unfortunately, the letters stopped altogether.

Maybe (Y/n) was wrong. It certainly was possible. Was he so impatient that she wasn't considered "easy?" That she didn't "put-out" like other girls might've? He never even asked her. And he certainly didn't pressure her. What did he even want and how could she live up to his ridiculous expectations?

How was such a young go-getter expected to go steady and tie himself down to some girl? Some nobody?

But she wasn't just any girl. No, she was (Y/n)... (Y/n) (L/n). And she had a plan. Didn't she?

Maybe she was somehow wrong twice? Maybe there was just some error or communication and John was still sending those letters, and receiving nothing in return.

But she wouldn't keep making excuses for why or why not this did or did not happen. She was overthinking. But she would stop at nothing to find answers.

So she called George and Paul, but they didn't answer. She tried sending letters again, but they were no good in the end. She gave up, and dug herself into a rut. Unnoticed, unmotivated, unnecessary.

Back in Hamburg, however, the boys were having the time of their lives. They were teetering between fame and failure, a dangerous game, but isn't it an exciting one.

Never really having a place to sleep, staying up all night playing shows, the drugs, the slight illegality of the whole situation was exhilarating.

Juggling between gigs was difficult, but they met and made some new friends. Richard Starkey, for instance. He was the drummer for Rory Storm and The Hurricanes, and he was extremely talented. The band was practically in awe after watching the Hurricanes play. They were touring the same spots as the Beatles, which was nice for Paul, as his girlfriend was the sister to Rory himself.

Sometimes, when their current drummer, Pete, was sick, Richard, or Ringo for short, would fill in for him. Having this substitute drummer opened a new conversation for the other musicians. Could he be a better addition to the band than Pete? Or were they just glorifying them for being around a bit longer in the music scene.

Conversations like this kept John busy from thinking about (Y/n). It hurt him, but after cheating on her once, he felt like he had to do it again. This adrenaline, this chance of being caught, it was incomparable for John.

The rest of the band knew of their friend's blatant infidelity, but they were all simply too busy to tell him otherwise.

But the lows were possibly worse than the highs. The sheer regret John felt from cheating on (Y/n) discouraged him for a while, but he'd always go back, behind hers and to his old habits simultaneously.

And to think, (Y/n) didn't even have a clue.

LMAO MY DRAMATIC ASS CHOOSING THESE SONGS AHAHAHAHAH. ahem. continue.

The picture is of a street in Liverpool during one of the autumn months. I do not own the pictures, I only edited them.