DECIDED TO UPDATE BC YOU FILLED MY NOTIFICATIONS AF HØLY CRAP

THIRTEEN comments for next week !!! Love you guys !!!

Also I dropped some unintended sexual innuendos,,,, free internet cookies for anyone to spot them lol ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

aLSO here's some photos/gifs to help you ✨ imagine—

^^^ look at confused dat smol bean

^^^ sorry not sorry

^^^^ dAdDY

^^^^ baby boy <3

^^^ height differences motherfricker

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"What do you mean you got a promotion?" Paul asked, hooded eyes suddenly wide with surprise. Ringo immediately stopped dancing all around the living room.

"It's true, it's true!" Ringo grinned. "I get to be his secretary!" And after that he quickly added: "Of sorts."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Of sorts?"

"Yeah but—" Ringo blushed a bit, suddenly remembering how his boss' accent was. "He said he'll explain everything tomorrow."

Paul hummed, raising his cup of hot cocao to his lips. "So," He began. "What's your boss like?"

"Oh," Ringo chewed on his lip. "Um, he— he's a-attractive?"

Paul choked on his hot chocolate, spilling the drink all over the front of his shirt.

"What?"

"No I mean— crap, let me rephrase that-" Ringo rushed over to the kitchen to get a towel.

"Richard Starkey if you did what I think you did—"

"Heck no!" He cried, face turning fifty shades of scarlet. "He's my boss!"

"Oh you sweet summer child," Paul took the towel from him and pressed it to his face. "I think it's the other way around."

"Wha—"

"Think about it! You're basically one of the worst candidates for a secretary!"

"Hey!"

"No offense," Paul quickly said. "But really, why would he give you this big of a promotion?"

Ringo opened his mouth to answer— maybe something about him being a hard-worker despite being late all the time— but closed it.

"I..." Ringo bit his lower lip. "He called me "doll" but—"

"Ringo!"

"It's jus' hard to take it all in, okay?" Ringo yelped. "But, look at the brightside— I get a bigger paycheck without doing so much work?"

"That's not the only bigger thing you're getting," Paul muttered under his breathe and, thankfully, Ringo didn't catch it. "I don't know Ritch..."

"But Paul," Ringo whined. "We'll be able to pay the rent and we'll be able to afford those miscellaneous things you want!"

Paul sighed. "If he goes all hanky-panky on you I'll—"

"I won't let him." Ringo swore, sounding like a boy scout. "Royal promise."

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"Woah," John raised his eyebrows. "You're early as fuck."

He rolled his eyes at him. "It's barely seven, Lennon."

"Even your sass is early," John chuckled, going over to lean against the wall right behind Ringo's old cubicle. "So," He leaned closer. "I heard you're the new escritoire?"

"Please speak more French, it's sexy." Ringo husked, looking up through his eyelashes. He heard John mutter a curse, and he giggled. "I win."

"I know," He muttered, a surly pout forming in his lips. "But, Ringo, I was thinking—"

"Oops," Ringo interrupted, blue eyes going wide at the clock behind John's head. "Crap, I have to fix up before 7:30." His gaze shifted to John's face. "By the way, you were saying?"

"Nothing." John's frown was replaced with his usual expression. "Want me to help? You've got a shit-ton of stuff."

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"Morning sir," Ringo beamed. George (A/N I'm tired of calling him "Mr. Harrison" all the time) turned around, dark eyes meeting his blue ones.

"Ringo," The shorter shivered. Oh god, his accent. "I'm surprised you checked in early. Change of sleeping habits?"

Ringo let out an unintended snort. "If you call your roomate splashing you with cold water that, then yes." Then he blushed, heat rising to his cheeks. "Sorry sir, I— M-My mouth kinda runs itself sometimes."

"It's alright, doll." George's lips curled up in a small, amused smile. Ringo's stomach made flips. "By the way, I dropped some files for you to sort in your brand new office."

"Oh, um, a-about that sir... Why did—"

"I hire you?" He finished. "Easy. You're a hard-worker— You've got potential, doll, you just have to push more effort in doing so." George said it so effortlessly, as if he rehearsed it over and over last night. But nonetheless, it made Ringo feel appreciated— entirely different from Maureen's whines and John's sarcastic quips.

"I don't wanna sound corny and all but, thank you. Really."

George patted his shoulder. Not the "okay, okay, now get going" sort of pat— Ringo felt him squeeze his arm, a bit harder than expected because by lunch he could still feel his hand on him. Maybe it was unintended— maybe not. Ringo shivered. Maybe Paul was right. Oh god—

"Hey Ritchie?" Maureen called out. "Mr. Harrison wants to see you."

He looked up. "About what?"

"Dunno," She shrugged. "He said to, quote and quote "grab whatever current writing paraphernalia you got" and head over to his office."

"Oh— Um— Right," I'm the new secretary or whatever French term John said. Ringo thought as he grabbed his new organizer notebook (bought by yours truly) and took one of those BIC pens before rushing over to his boss' office.

"We're leaving in ten," George said in that authorative (dominant, per se) tone of his. He looked at Ringo up and down before raising an eyebrow (even doing that, he still looked attractive): "You might want to fix your hair, Ringo."

"So-Sorry," He flushed, quickly carding a hand through his hair. "Where are we going, if I may ask?"

"One of my meetings. Remember what I told you? All you gotta do is write down whatever I tell you to. Got that, sugar?"

Well that's new. "Yes sir."

He smirked a bit. "Good boy."

Before Ringo could open his mouth George started walking towards the elevator. He closed it shut, fearing that he'll get annoyed with the sudden questions, and jogged over to the lift. He tried to ignore the stupid, fluttery feeling in his chest when George praised him and tried to focus on the task at hand. It was a bit hard, though— with George's hand lingering on his arm whenever they walked towards some other important person at said meeting and him subtley praising him ("good boy" "that's great, doll").

Yet he promised Paul that if he'd ever tried anything– not that he would, right?— he'd tell him.

But there was a teensy, weensy little problem there. And by problem, it pretty meant Ringo's reactions. It was as if George was taking note of what particular thing made him blush— mostly using it to his advantage like the dominative, control freak he was. And Ringo, well Ringo was supposed to dislike the weird baby-talk and the nicknames but—

Strangely, he... liked it. As weird as that sounded.

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YAY CRAPPY UPDATE

THIS IS 1K WORDS THO LOL SO YEAH FRIDAY AS PROMISED