#maybe it would be different if i wrote full time instead of my normal job aka being a skirt baron | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dandelion-wings · 2 years ago

Text

While Bennett's Vision acquisition doesn't go as differently from canon as Kaeya's in the Adventurer Kaeya AU, I was kicking the framing circumstances around first while barnsitting this weekend and then with @theabysscomeshome this afternoon, and sketched out something that... kind of matches what I wrote here! I'm being deliberately vague and squishy with ages, but for some clarity, Kaeya is an older teenager and just well behind Diluc and Jean here because he did not have Crepus' tutoring resources for the non-combat parts of the knight trials, while Bennett... was supposed to be a little younger than his voice here ended up sounding. I am bad at writing children. ;; But we don't have actual canon on the age gap anyway, right?

(Also I half-assed a lot of this because I was mostly writing it for the last scene anyway. >> That is the freedom of banging these out as Tumblr one-offs instead of trying to write a longer coherent fic!)

---

ETA: now available on AO3.

---

"Oof!" Bennett hits the ground harder than he thinks Kaeya had expected, twisting his ankle as he ducks away from Kaeya's unexpected back-strike and overbalancing.

Kaeya drops his sword and rushes over to help Bennett up, kneeling down and letting Bennett lean on his shoulder as he prods at the injured ankle. "Whoops. I didn't mean to knock you all the way over."

"It's okay," Bennett assures him, testing the ankle and wincing when he puts his weight on it. "Um, mostly. But I can walk on it!"

He lets go of Kaeya and takes a step to demonstrate, wincing again but refusing to falter. Picking up his sword, he limps over to the side of the Guild's practice ring, where a couple of their dads are watching. He's going to have to be done for today.

"Sorry," Kaeya says, grabbing his own sword and following after. "Not a bad move, though, was it?"

"It was great! I didn't see it coming at all."

"You've been practicing that one on your own, haven't you?" one of their dads asks, looking thoughtfully at Kaeya. "You didn't get it from any of us."

"No. It's… something I remembered seeing my father do once or twice." Kaeya's voice goes quiet, the way it always does when he mentions his old dad, the one who dumped him. Not that he likes to admit that--it's one of the only things he'll get angry at Bennett about, if Bennett slips up and calls it dumping--but their dads have all said so at some point or another. "I thought it might be a useful trick to pull out next week at the knight trials."

"Well, you should try it on someone full-sized, and not a little shrimp like Benny," another of their dads says, clapping Kaeya on the shoulder with a grin. "Come on, let's go a couple rounds."

"Okay," Kaeya says, and follows their dad back out into the ring.

"Hey, Benny, you want a better view?" Without waiting for an answer, his nearest dad scoops Bennett up and sets him on the wall around the ring, then hops up to sit beside him, one hand on Bennett's back to make sure he won't fall backward.

Normally Bennett would enjoy the high-up view, but the moment Kaeya had mentioned the knight trials his good mood at seeing his big brother pull off such a cool move had plummeted. This is going to be the third time Kaeya goes for them, because he's determined to be a knight. Not an adventurer like their dads, even though that's so much better. And Bennett knows there's no way he'd ever make the knight trials even if he wanted to be a knight, which he doesn't. He doesn't understand why Kaeya wants it so badly.

"If he fails the trials this time, do you think he'll give up?" he asks quietly, leaning into his dad's side. He doesn't mean for that to come out hopeful, but he can't hide that he's kind of wishing for it.

"Maybe, maybe not," his dad says, looking down at him. "That's up to Kaeya. You know how badly he wants to succeed."

"Yeah," Bennett says despondently.

"You know he won't be any less your big brother if he becomes a knight, right? He loves you just as much as we do. Having a different job won't change that."

"I know that. But…." Bennett isn't sure how to explain the tangle of feelings in his chest every time he thinks about Kaeya in the Knights. Being away from home even more than he is as an apprentice knight, going off on missions, busy all the time--too busy for Bennett. "What's wrong with being an adventurer like you guys? That's what I'm going to be!"

"There's nothing wrong with it. And you're going to be a great adventurer someday." His dad ruffles his hair. "But there's nothing wrong with being a knight, either. And hey, maybe by the time you're old enough to join the Guild, Kaeya will have gotten bored with the Knights and all their rules and regulations and will want to sign up with your adventuring team instead."

"Maybe," Bennett says, brightening. It's true that if Kaeya stays in the Knights for a while, then he won't have a chance to start his own team, and Bennett can beat him to it. He'd have to join Bennett's then.

"There's that bright Benny smile." His dad ruffles his hair, chuckling. "Make sure you bring that next week when we go to cheer him on, okay?"

"Okay," Bennett says. His dad is already looking away, down at the fight in the ring, so he doesn't try to plaster the smile on as it slowly fades at the thought, once again, of the trials. The notion his dad had spun is only a thin comfort. If Kaeya does pass the trials, why would he give up on his dream after so much work? Bennett wouldn't. And watching Kaeya land a touch on their dad in the ring below, Bennett is glumly sure that this time, he is going to pass. And Bennett is going to have to cheer for him when he does.

He really, really doesn't want to.

***

By the day of the trials a week later, Bennett has all his justifications lined up and solid, the way Kaeya has taught him to prepare excuses before he even runs the risk of getting caught. He's bad luck, and everyone knows that. Their dads have taken him to cheer Kaeya on through the last two trials, and Kaeya has failed both of them. Maybe it was Bennett's luck rubbing off that made him fail. And if it was, maybe Bennett's absence will help him win, finally.

The logic of that is a little too solid, and Bennett spends a few miserable hours contemplating whether he's the reason his big brother is still an apprentice knight instead of a full one after he thinks of it. But that does make him even more determined not to be at the trials. It could be that he really will help Kaeya win with his absence. Either way, he doesn't want to have to watch Kaeya try.

None of their dads would buy it, though, and Bennett knows all of them will go searching when they realize he's not ready that morning. There's enough of them to scour the whole city. To avoid the knight trials, Bennett has to be outside of it. Which means he gets to finally do something he's been anticipating a lot more than he has the knight trials. He's going to go on an adventure, a real adventure, all on his own.

Maybe not a real adventure by the Guild's standards. He knows Katheryne won't give him a commission, so it won't be Guild business, and he won't get paid for it. That's fine. One of his dads had come back from a commission to Old Mondstadt last month with a story of a ruin that had been full of puzzles and treasure, one he'd only gotten to explore halfway before the scholar who'd hired him declared herself done studying the mechanisms and dragged him home. It's full of monsters, too, but Bennett has the sword his dads bought him for his last birthday. It's time to test it out.

His journey to Old Mondstadt starts before dawn, but it's nearly noon by the time he gets there. A rockfall in the canyon, a hilichurl ambush he'd had to run from rather than fight because he couldn't get up the cliffs to the archers, getting frozen by some Cryo slimes by the lake… he's used to those kinds of delays, though, and he's not willing to be phased. None of the arrows hit him anywhere he couldn't patch up, and the sun is warm and bright enough that he's finally getting dry by the time he descends into Old Mondstadt.

The knight trials start at noon, so his dads have probably given up on finding him by now in favor of heading to the trials. They won't be finished until well in the evening. Bennett just has to get back before midnight so that nobody panics. He'll be in a lot of trouble, but if Kaeya passes, probably everyone will be too happy about that to care. Especially once he explains that he was just taking his bad luck to where it couldn't get in Kaeya's way.

With that glum thought in mind, he plunges into the ruins his dad had mentioned, not far from the entrance to Old Mondstadt. The puzzles are hard, and he wishes Kaeya was here, but his dad had done half of them already, and he'd explained the principles behind them while he was telling his story. They're not impossible for Bennett to figure out. All the treasure chests have been opened already, even the ones behind undone puzzles, but… probably those just reset after his dad left. There's going to be really good treasure at the end of this, Bennett is sure of it.

Down one level, then another, and the really good treasure still doesn't show. On the third level down, though, he finds a promising puzzle, way bigger and more elaborate than the other ones. It takes him over an hour to figure out all the way--he keeps accidentally resetting the switches, which doesn't help--but finally it finishes, and a door opens. Bennett rushes forward, grinning, and then finds himself thrown backwards with a yelp as a horde of hilichurls comes rushing out.

It's a rough fight. A very rough fight, and that's by Bennett's standards. He knocks back one hilichurl after another, darts in to slash through samachurls, ducks the heavy shields and axes of mitachurls and even manages to pop up under their guard the way Kaeya has taught them, but there are so many, and they just keep coming. He wishes his dads were here. He wishes Kaeya was here, the way he should be, adventuring with Bennett--but he isn't, and Bennett is going to have to do this alone. And he will. Bennett drives forward with renewed vigor even as hilichurl clubs batter him and bolts burn and freeze him and a whirling axe carves a deep line in his side. He knows it's bad to be losing this much blood. But he got this far, and he can't stop now. Giving up will just get him killed for sure.

At last, he manages to get behind the last mitachurl, copying Kaeya's move the best he can, and as his sword strikes deep the creature vanishes in a puff of smoke. Then the last samachurl, diving through its thorny vines to slash across its front, and the last two hilichurls with one wide strike, and suddenly he's alone in the middle of the puzzle chamber, staring at the still-open door. Beyond, he can see a hefty chest, white paint flaking from ancient metal, gold covered with grime.

Dizzy but triumphant, free hand clasped over his bleeding side, Bennett sheathes his sword and staggers towards the chest. Whatever's in here, he'll bring home, and then their dads will be proud of both of them, Bennett coming back rich from his first adventure the same day that Kaeya finally becomes a knight. He grins broadly as he wedges his fingers under the lid and flips it open.

There's nothing within. Only a few old scraps of cloth that dissolve quickly to dust when the air hits them, and some rusty buckles underneath. Bennett stares down, the grin sliding from his face. Nothing. All that, and there's nothing here? He knows his luck is bad, but….

He shouldn't be surprised. All of his dads have talked about running across this now and then. It isn't just his bad luck. This is part of being an adventurer, his dads have always said--sometimes you get a big score in the course of exploration or a commission, but sometimes you come home empty-handed. The important part is the adventure itself, either way. And he's definitely had an adventure today. Bennett looks down at the wound in his side, his shirt sodden with blood and his hand streaked with red, and forces another grin.

This is still his first adventure. An empty chest doesn't rob him of that. As he folds gracelessly down to the floor, barking his chin on the chest as he goes, the world going blurry and grey all around him, he thinks, with some wonder at the truth of it: he doesn't mind.

***

When he wakes, his wounds are sealed with blisters and charring, and there's something hot and pulsing like his own heart in his hand. Bleary with pain, he's not even quite sure what he's holding, only that it's something he should hold on to, something precious, something he keeps clutched to his chest as he staggers out of the ruins and into the encroaching chill of night.

Somehow he makes it back up onto the bridge leading into Old Mondstadt and down the long road to the winery region south of Wolvendom. The path through the canyon back to the city seems impossibly daunting, especially in the dark, but Bennett staggers on, still holding the hot throbbing thing in his hand. He seems to stumble over every rock and bush on either side of the path as he weaves from side to side, but through the blur of his teary eyes, he does spot the movement ahead. Stepping back, he puts a shaky hand to the hilt of his sword.

"Bennett!" Kaeya's voice rings out before he can draw it, high and urgent, nearly cracking as he rushes forward to yank Bennett into his arms.

"Kaeya? What are you doing here?" It's hard to talk, his tongue heavy in his mouth, but Bennett forces the words out. "You should be celebrating… winning the trials…."

"You really thought I was going to take the trials while you were missing?" Kaeya twists around before Bennett can process that, still holding him close as he shouts over his shoulder. "Over here! I found him. He's hurt- oh, what is this?"

Bennett feels Kaeya's fingers prying his own apart and doesn't resist, letting him take the precious jewel he's been clutching. It's important, he knows that even through the haze of pain, but he can trust Kaeya with it. He can trust Kaeya with anything.

Including his weight, as he feels unconsciousness encroaching once again. He slumps into Kaeya's chest, pressing his face against his shoulder, and lets his big brother hold him up. There's more shouting and ruckus around him, the familiar voices of some of his dads, with Kaeya's softer, cooler tones winding through them. Kaeya hefts him up over his shoulder, assuring their dads that he's got him, and that's the last that Bennett is aware of for some time.

***

Bennett is confined to a bed in the cathedral for five days. He doesn't remember most of it except as vague blurs; his wounds had been cauterized by what his dads proudly tell him is a Vision, but the sisters tell him that burns are easy to infect, and he'd taken a fever on the way home. He sleeps uneasily, plagued by uncomfortable dreams. Every time he wakes, at least one of his dads is there.

Sometimes Kaeya is there too, his hand cool on Bennett's forehead. He's there when the fever breaks at last and Bennett awakes with his head finally clear. Two of their dads are there, too, a little semi-circle of chairs around the bed. His dads are awake, one of them knitting, the other reading a book, but Kaeya is asleep, slumped onto one dad's shoulder, clinging to his arm like he's way too old to do awake. His eyepatch is off, and there's an ugly bruise around the eye, gone yellow and purple with age.

He wakes as soon as Bennett stirs, patting their dad's jacket down for his eyepatch and pulling it on again with a familiar muttered complaint about how it's fine to sleep in, really, before turning to smile down at Bennett with a superior air that doesn't hide his relief. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Bennett says, pushing himself up into a sitting position against the pillow. "What happened to your eye?"

One of their dads sighs.

"You weren't supposed to see that." Kaeya shoots a glare at the dad who had taken off his eyepatch, then turns back to Bennett and shrugs. "But it's no big deal. Captain Ragnvindr got me while my guard was down."

"He what?" Bennett stares aghast, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. "He got in trouble for it, right? A captain of the knights shouldn't go around hitting people. Unless- was he who you had your match against in the trials?"

"I told you, I didn't take the trials. And no, he didn't get in trouble. He told the Grand Master he only hit me because I punched Captain Gunnhildr first."

"What?" Now Bennett is just confused. "Why would you punch Captain Gunnhildr? I thought you said she was nice."

Their other dad snorts behind his hand.

"I only thought so because she gave me some tips for the trials. But the last time I came to visit you, I found Barbara crying in the store room because she refused Barbara's invitation to do something for her birthday. So I told her what I thought of her as a big sister, and I didn't like her response." Kaeya shrugs again.

"Aw, crud." Bennett would probably have punched her too--okay, he wouldn't have, she's a knight captain and a Gunnhildr and she has been nice to him the two times he's come by the Ordo to see Kaeya and run across her there, but he can understand why Kaeya would. Kaeya takes being his big brother seriously. He wouldn't be impressed by someone else making their little sister cry. "You're not in too much trouble, are you?"

"Well." Kaeya leans back in his chair, smirking at Bennett. "Turns out the Grand Master didn't think that was a good reason to punch one of his precious Gunnhildrs, especially after I failed the last two trials and skipped this one. But you don't need to worry about me. Our dads are helping me fill out my application to the Guild."

Bennett knows he should feel bad for Kaeya. He really, really should. But all he can feel is a warm glow of delight, echoed by his Vision, tucked under his thigh amid the covers, blazing bright. "That's great! I mean, that's great you have a back-up. I know you wanted to be in the Knights."

"If Gunnhildr and Ragnvindr are the sort of knight they make captains, it's probably for the best," Kaeya says easily, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll be better off in the Adventurer's Guild. Plus I've been talking to Barbara's dad about helping out part-time in the Church. I won't progress through the Guild as quickly, but it seems like a good idea to know some of the basics of medicine before I join your adventuring team."

"Won't it be the other way around? It's gonna be another two years before I can join the Guild. You'll be senior enough to start your own team first."

"I don't know about that. Even if I get accepted this month, I haven't been on my first adventure yet." Kaeya smiles conspiratorially at Bennett. "It only seems fair that I follow a more experienced adventurer's lead, doesn't it?"

Even knowing Kaeya is only saying it to make him feel good, Bennett can't help but grin back. "We're going to be the best adventuring team ever! I can't wait."

"We are," Kaeya agrees. "It's too bad I won't get to be Sir Kaeya, but really, I think Kaeya of Benny's Adventure Team has a much better ring to it."

#benny kaeya and the seven dads #ascended fic

19 notes · View notes

aforkstuckintheroad · 3 months ago

Text

It's been a while, reading the things I wrote on here, not a lot has changed but a lot has changed. From that last sentence, at least we can establish that my writing has not changed as much, it's just as dramatic.

Some things are different - I am heading to graduate school and I am moving out of my parents home. God, I am so stressed. I procrastinated hard on a lot of really important things and now I feel so behind on everything and the program hasn't even begun yet. I am already playing catch-up.

My life is taking a drastic and dramatic turn. I quit my job a while ago, and since then I've pretty much been at home and in my room. I wrote a post on here previously about how much I love my room most of the time - and yeah, safe to say, it was not that romantic to be stuck in it without purpose or any semblance of meaning for almost two years. My life keeps taking these big turns - that's how 20s go I suppose? One day you're in college, the next you're out and working, then next you're lost and unemployed, the next you're moving countries for grad school. Relatively, these are pretty normal experiences, nothing out of the ordinary, in fact quite privileged in having access to these experiences. Except my stomach hurts all the time and so does my head. This rapid change of scenery over and over again - the adjustment, the departure, the re-adjustment - I can't breathe when I sit and think about it. So I've stopped sitting to think. Now I only feel stress and anxiety. I don't feel sadness, I don't feel excitement. The stress and anxiety have taken over all my feelings. And the guilt for feeling even these two, given all the privilege, will not even let me feel the stress and anxiety in peace - that's an oxymoron, but you know what I mean? I hope you do. I find solace only in the fact that I am not alone, and people out there understand. I feel alone, in my house, with my friends sometimes. But there are people out there. There's always somebody on Reddit going through the same thing as you. So there's that. Everything just feels like a lot of work, and I do not know how to put in the work. I honestly and plainly - do not want to. I have not found anything yet that makes me feel like I would want to put in that work. Maybe all of this will change in grad school, maybe being back in school will turn my life around. But as I've often seen quoted online - you can run away to a different place, but you can't escape yourself. I hope I do better, I want to do better. But as I sit and write this instead of updating my resume and applying for the on-campus job that I really want - I do not know if I will be any better. The job applications and the housing process is really very deeply stressing me out and I leave in 2 weeks. I just want to get there and start my life. But if I'm not able to put in the pre-start work for my life, will I be able to do it once it all starts full swing?

Therapy was barely helpful with my tasks, what is wrong with my brain? I've just started reading Atomic Habits finally, after seeing it everywhere. Yes I am scared to admit that I am reading a self-help book. I guess it's an indication to how desperate I am to change my life. I cannot miss out on opportunities anymore because of my inability to do tasks! It is excruciating. I absolutely cannot do a single task to save my life right away, quite literally. Even if my life depended on it, I would procrastinate for days and days. Like getting my stomach checked out - because it hurts all the time. There's some hypochondria at play there too though, and my sedentary lifestyle is largely to blame. But still, what if there was a real problem there? I refuse to take any action?

I have no control over myself and my body, and thus there is no me and there is no I. It is just an entity, operating at it's own instinctive will. The writer of this, is just a little part that exists somewhere within this entity, but in no way or form can take claim of forming the entire entity. Because the writer has very little actual control over the entity. That is how I feel. Best, the 5% of the entity

0 notes

another-stark-sub · 3 years ago

Text

“Are you in love with him?” - Tony Stark Imagine

Notes: I wrote and editted this in two hours instead of going over my notes. Was gonna be spicy fluffy but it just turned into fluffy, and one of the lines/paragraphs (smth like that i dont remember how long that segment was) is based on/inspired by a fanfic on ao3 I bookmarked. I think it’s debt-free, but I could be wrong. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I’m so sorry im not on here more oftennnnn

- - -

“Of course I am. He’s Tony Stark.” You sighed, a weight finally lifted off your chest. “Who isn’t in love with him?”

Bruce blinked a few times, the confusion evident on his face. “Then, why don’t you tell him?”

You scoffed. These geniuses think they know everything, but they couldn’t see what was glaringly obvious to you. “He’s Tony Stark.”

The perplexed expression didn’t disappear from your friend’s expression. So, you explained further, “It’s already a privilege, beyond that really, to be talking to you, to any Avenger. To work with any of you is an honor, and to be friends with you” -you laughed- “it shouldn’t even be possible for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that. You’re amazing, too.”

You tried to find any tick, any clue that he was lying. But Bruce seemed to really believe this. “I know I’m amazing.” You shrugged. “I’m great. I love and I care deeply, and I have a stable job. I have a place for myself, and I take care of myself.” You clicked your tongue. “However, you all, all you Avengers… Forget out of my league, more like off planet.

“And Tony? He said it himself. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Add superhero, figurehead, public figure, ex-CEO, and savior of the universe. Bruce, I have confidence in myself, but Tony is something else entirely. No one is worthy of him or his affections unless they’re a god or another Avenger.”

It was hard to keep up with the statistical analysis you were trying to run. The literal one on your hologram and the one keeping your view of Tony in check. So, defeated, you sighed and leaned back in your chair.

Bruce closed his own work and stood across the lab bench. “Weirdly enough, I’m sure none of us Avengers think that way.” After a few taps of his pen against his palm, he added, “Aren’t there fans making posts about you, too? Tony showed me the, uh, Instagram videos.”

You laughed. “Fan edits don’t make an Avenger. Saving the world does.”

He shrugged. “You help us save the world.”

“From inside Avengers Tower on a computer.” You took a deep breath. “Look, Bruce, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’m not telling him.” You shrugged and brought your statistical analysis back up.

You knew your own worth. You were worthy of an amazing partner and person. Tony Stark, though, was easy beyond that. You had accepted it soon after you realized your own feelings, and while they haven’t dwindled, you knew it was for the best.

~ - ~

Tony had never resorted to this before. It was never a question of his ability to code. In the past, it was because he didn’t need a program or an AI to do it for him. He could always tell if someone was into him. He knew when Pepper was into him. The moment Rhodey gazed at him back in their MIT days. Every single reporter and heiress and model he slept with, he knew when their thoughts turned sexual or romantic.

You, though. With you, he couldn’t fucking tell, and he knew it was because of his own feelings. Tony felt intensely for people before. Pepper, Rhodey, that one reporter all those years ago. However, with you, it wasn’t just that fluttery feeling in his gut or the immediate smile he can’t seem to stop when he sees you. It was the comfort he felt when he heard your voice or the softness he could feel in his heart when he saw a picture of you.

It was like his entire life was full of panic, never resting, never stopping. But when you entered his life with a gentle smile and a quick wit, it felt like he could finally breathe.

It was addicting.

“Sir, I have the calculations.”

“Hit me.”

“Speech diagnostics of you and of Ms. (Y/l/n) are similar. Whenever you speak of her, 79.4% is positive and 18.8% is neutral. Ms. (Y/l/n) has 78.9% positive and 17.2% neutral dialogue regarding you. When she speaks of you, her heartrate increases by 4.6%, and similarly, yours increases by 4.1%. When speaking to each other, heartrate initially increases by 7%.”

Tony nodded. “How does this compare to other Avengers? I gush about Banner like a teenager.”

“Well, sir, while you and Ms. (Y/l/n) have high positive dialogue about other Avengers, all of them have at least a 10% decrease compared to each other. And heartrate varies depending on the topic of conversation.”

Tony snapped his fingers. “Am I excluding all non-super friends? Include any agents, co-workers. Pep isn’t an Avenger after all.”

Friday took two seconds and responded. “You and Ms. (Y/l/n) have a significant difference in speech diagnostics when talking about or to each other compared to any other Avenger, co-worker, and friend.”

When Tony remained quiet, Friday added, “Do you want me to repeat the results?”

“You don’t need to, Friday.”

“But you’re not doing anything with the new information. Would you like me to save these findings?”

“Friday,” Tony warned.

There was silence as the love-wrecked scientist pressed his fist between his brows. Data and cold hard facts said yes, but was it right?

“Sir?”

“Yes, Fri?”

“Would you like me to play examples for you?”

He blinked. “Examples?”

“Yes. Of you and her talking about each other positively.”

It was an invasion of privacy. Tony shouldn’t.

“Play examples.”

Before his rational mind could tell Friday no.

“Are you in love with him?”

Tony’s eyes widened. This was too private. It might not even be about him.”Friday-”

“Of course I am.”

“-stop playback.”

“He’s Tony Sta-”

“Playback stopped.”

Tony scrambled. “What? No, wait, go back. Play it.” Screw rational. You knew he was a narcissist. You wouldn’t expect him to hear that and stop.

“He’s Tony Stark. Who isn’t in love with him?”

“Then, why don’t you tell him?”

“... He’s Tony Stark.”

Tony started to fiddle with something on his desk. “What does that mean?”

Friday answered, “Dr. Banner asked her if she loved you, and she said yes. This means that she’s in love with you.”

Why did he program Friday like this? “I know that. I mean, those two lines. Why does me being Tony Stark stop her from saying something?” Was it the attention? Did you want some sort of normal life away from cameras and international gossip? Maybe it was the Avenging. Having a partner who was always out risking death wasn’t ideal.

Sure, you could be in love with him. But you couldn’t be with him.

“Maybe you should ask her.”

There were celebrities who were able to live normal lives. Some paid to have prosthetics for going outside of moved to a remote country to get out of the spotlight. He thrived off attention, but he could give that up. Avenging, he couldn’t give that up, but maybe he could cut back. Take a mission a month instead of one a week. Or maybe take more digital missions. He wasn’t just Iron Man after all. He was a genius, could hack into the Pentagon if he really wanted to.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I could talk to her.”

~ - ~

The moment you put your bag down on your lab table, Tony said, “You’re gonna be mad.”

You narrowed your brows. “What did you do?” You pressed your palm to your chest. “Oh my god, Peter overwrote my data, didn’t he? Ugh, I know he said he’s great at managing holograms, but really, Tone, you should’ve given him a tutorial before giving him access.” You brought up your holograms to check your data and analysis.

“That’s not it.” Tony stood next to you as you looked through your files. “I did something that invaded your privacy.”

You tilted your head. Closing the holograms, you took a deep breath and slowly asked, “How?”

Tony flashed an embarrassed grin before sighing. “You’re gonna be shocked, too, so prepare yourself.”

You did not know where this was going at all. What horrible thing could Tony have done? Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath and nodded at him to continue.

Tony cleared his throat. “Usually, I can tell when someone has feelings for me. People are obvious about it, but you? You aren’t. So, I had Friday do some analysis on our speech patterns. Me, being in love with you, was one of my controls. You and your dialogue regarding me was the main variable.

“Long story short, I accessed some audio of you and Bruce talking, and you said that you loved me but could never tell me.” He glanced at you. “So that’s why I need to apologize.”

Your expression didn’t change. No, that wasn’t it. You, at first, looked confused. Now, there was just nothing. No expression. No wrinkled brow in anger of flushed cheeks in embarrassment. Nothing.

Tony blinked. “You can shout at me now. If you were confused about when to shout at me.”

You licked your lips before taking a deep breath. “Ok, that was a lot.” You pursed your lips then opened it. But, you couldn’t really think of anything to say. You didn’t even know how to feel. “So you know that I” -you pointed at yourself and then at him- “and that I didn’t wanna tell you.” You shook your head. “Wait, do you know why I didn’t want to tell you?”

A broken scoff left Tony’s lips. “Yeah. I’m a mess.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Wait, you’re a mess? That’s why you think I don’t want to tell you?”

“Among other reasons?”

Other reasons?

You crossed your arms. “Ok, what other reasons?”

Tony looked offended. Still, he listed, “I’m surrounded by cameras, and everyone wants some privacy. Can’t get it if you’re with me. Then, there’s the Iron Man of it all. I went into a wormhole with a nuke. That was also all over the news. Then, there’s the whole daddy issues thing. I’m working on it, but it takes a while-”

He rambled on and on, listing reason after reason, and with each one, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was a weird mix of heartbreaking, confusing, and enraging. The emotions built up slowly with each word that left his mouth, overwhelming you to the point that you couldn’t even say how it happened.

But, as Tony paced and talked so horribly about himself, you somehow ended up in front of him with your hands on his cheeks.

You only realized it when Tony stopped talking and when his breath touched your lips. “What?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You kissed him instead.

It was a hard press of your lips against his. It was short, and it wasn’t much.

But by the way Tony gripped the back of your neck and pulled you back for another kiss, you’d think it was his first kiss. You knew it wasn’t. Not just because you knew he had kissed all sorts of people before you, but because he somehow knew how to make you gasp and melt into him.

While one hand kept you steady, the other trailed down your back and pulled you closer to him. His lips moved fluidly against yours, pushing and pulling, and everytime he moved back, you chased his lips to continue the kiss, because the softness, the passion, the fact it was finally happening, was all too good. You didn’t want it to stop.

Your hands started to move. For someone so rich, his t-shirt was rough when you twisted it between your fingers and pulled it to you. Slowly, you trailed your fingers along the side of his neck. You rubbed your thumb along his pulse point, a reminder that this was indeed real. You were kissing Tony Stark, and- He was pulling away again.

Desperate, you leaned forward, reached around to hold onto his shoulder, and kissed the side of his neck.

He let out a breathy laugh, and before you could suck on his skin, his stubble scratched your cheek.

You looked up at him and giggled when his nose bumped into yours. When your giggles turned into a smile, he kissed you again, a soft and short kiss, before leaning his forehead against yours.

His thumbs rubbed circles into your waist as you lightly scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he seemed busy gazing at you.

“Speechless, Stark?” you teased.

He laughed. For a few seconds, he just gazed at you, seeming to prove your point. Tony’s hand began to wander, from stroking your cheek to pushing back your hair. “More confused.”

Remembering why you interrupted him, you brought your hands to his cheeks again and held him there so he couldn’t look away from you. “You are amazing, Tony. That’s the reason I didn’t want to tell you.” You shrugged. “You’re too good for me.”

His fidgeting stopped. “Well, that’s not true.”

“Tony, you’re an Avenger.”

“Technically, you are also an Avenger.”

“You’re a genius.”

“Who can’t cook scrambled eggs.”

“You literally saved the universe.”

“After producing weapons of mass destruction for decades.”

You glared at him.

He glared back. Then, he fought back. “I don’t plan on retiring.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“I have severe PTSD, anxiety, maybe ADHD, all mixed with trauma galore.”

“And I will learn to help you.”

“I couldn’t give you a normal life.”

“I’d rather have you anyway.”

He opened his mouth, but you instead told him, “I’d rather have you than anything. As long as, well, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

Tony shook his head with a smile. “Cause, I’d rather have you for, well, how does til you get tired of me sound?”

You laughed. “Won’t happen. But, sure.” You kissed him again.You would’ve kept going, but there was something to settle first. “By the way, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Friday recording right now?”

“Friday records everything. It’s in the contract.”

Friday added, “I record everything that happens in the tower.”

“Ok.” You could work with that. “I’ll forgive you for the invasion of privacy.”

Tony beamed, and you couldn’t help your own smile when he did. Still, you continued, “On one condition.” Your own smile turned devious. “I want evidence that Star Spangled Banner took my ice cream.”

Tony burst out laughing. He kissed you again, a deep kiss, and when he was done, he mumbled, “God, I love you,” against your lips.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark oneshot #tony stark #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu oneshot #tony stark fluff #im so sorry im not on here oftennnnnnnnnnnn #dentla schools too busy and i dont wike it #thats not true i do like it its just busy and stressful and doesnt give me time to write #and smut takes me longer to write than fluff #so i can only write fluff rnnnnnn #anyway i miss you all #love you all #hope the universe treats you welllll

293 notes · View notes

tooruluv · 3 years ago

Text

Katsuki Bakugou x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ ...and then there’s you. ❞

description: you and bakugou have hated each other since childhood. through the constant bickering, fighting, and actual fist fights... you had no idea that you had been writing to him.

genre: angst, soulmate au where you have a notebook that you can write to your soulmate in

word count: 3.8k

warnings/notes: strong language, lots of angst, aged up characters, bakugou being bakugou, reader has an air manipulation quirk created as part 1 of 3 for my winner of my tooruluv2kparty contest @katsulovee <33

teaser | part 2

| masterlist

“ ‘cause when the sun goes down, someone’s talking back ” - talking to the moon, bruno mars

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

The storm only escalated, casting the sky in deep blues and greys. Loud rain clattered against the roof of your apartment building, the ceiling of your top floor apartment being the only thing that separated you from the pour.

The rain may be cold, but you were on fire.

You had been livid all day, positively outraged by the man who seemed to always be in your way. He was the most arrogant, most opinionated, and most… loud-mouthed person you ever met. You were screaming from the inside out, burning with rage.

Groaning, you sprawled out on your bed.

Katsuki Bakugou was the biggest fucking issue on the planet. His absurd need to be the best at everything he did, his cold demeanor and venom that spews from his mouth -- you wanted nothing more than to punch him directly in the throat.

With a deep breath, you flipped open your Soulmate Journal.

The world was such a strange place, full of quirks and criminals and heroes and villains. To add on top of that, when you turn thirteen a journal just… appears. And whoever is your soulmate can read everything you write. Once they read it, they can reply or talk to you that way and the ink disappears. There are plenty of rules that go along with it, like if you turn thirteen before your soulmate does, the ink is red until they receive their own journal. Or how the journal itself is indestructible. Or the biggest rule: you cannot write any given name.

When you’re thirteen, your life is full of hope and wishful thinking. Almost everyone at that age is excited to start writing to their Person, the one who they were supposed to be created to be with. You were surprised when you opened yours to find nothing written.

You assumed that you were a bit older than your soulmate, but that was quickly shut down as you wrote in black ink. Your soulmate hadn’t written anything.

It took two months for him to write back. Two months of your excessive writing and nearly diary-like entries. Two months of you wondering if they would ever write back. Until he did.

Today sucked.

That was all you wrote, your past two months of writing still ever present and glaring at you with smudges and hinted annoyance. The ink started to fade like Harry talking to Tom Riddle, reappearing with new handwriting.

It was scrawled across the page with terrible handwriting, very much one of a middle school boy.

Life sucks. Deal with it.

You were now twenty two, an adult and that once hope and love has turned into pessimism and indifference. And life still sucked.

You were pretty famous, your air manipulation quirk one that catches a lot of attention. That, alongside your rivalry with the second most famous hero Bakugou, brought an abundance of recognition. Bakugou completely steals your thunder every chance he has, stealing your light and victories.

You hated him. With the utmost disrespect, you hated him. Since your days in the hero academy, the two of you were at each other’s throats. He would even stop in the middle of antagonizing Deku to make some horrendous comment towards you instead.

You ended up scribbling along the Soulmate Pages, heated rage boiling with each word.

Hey Honey! I need to vent if that’s okay.

Of course.

You would not believe the shit I have to endure in real life. I wish I could describe the hatred I have for this man I work with, he’s a real piece of shit. Anyway, how was your day?

My day was about the same as yours, living with the idiots of real life. If we could write names I would because there’s this bitch I work with that I fucking hate.

Maybe we need new jobs (insert laughing face even though I’m livid right now)

Yeah. Maybe. But we’ll get through it.

It took years for your soulmate to warm up to you. The first interactions were hesitant, slow, and barely considered conversations. But now you can discuss your day as if you were texting a friend, talk about your likes and dislikes.

He was your soulmate after all.

You learned that he was a boy and an only kid, he had a strong quirk, and that he liked ramen. He was a rule follower and his handwriting always used proper punctuation. You told him all about your life and how you wanted to travel away from everything.

You wanted to know who he was, more than anything.

You wished you could tell him your name and quirk, where you lived and who you were. You wished he could do the same.

You’ve tried, of course, to write out your name and location. But the second the words were written onto the page, they turned into a random assortment of letters. Gibberish. Never to be written, never to be known.

“Dude, fucking relax!” You rubbed your temple at your desk, voice spitting venom against Bakugou’s loud vocals. “Not everything is about you, just sit down and wait to be sent on a mission.”

“What did you say to me?”

Katsuki Bakugou had been going on and on about how Deku got assigned to a mission in upper Japan, sent to work with a separate force for a bit to expand his horizon. He was outraged, yelling and standing tall and broad to pretend to be bigger than he was.

You were doing paperwork, trying to concentrate despite his yelling and complaining and bitching. You were hovering above your seat with your legs crossed, papers scattered (it was a habit of yours, to just kind of hover a couple of inches off the surface of things; air manipulation and all that).

“I said,” You turned to look into his ablaze eyes. “Sit down and wait. Not everything is about you.”

You only threw fuel into his fire, you could hear the sparking between his fingers. You turned back to your paperwork.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, you’re not even in the top five heroes.” Bakugou barked in your direction. You could feel his heat as he approached your desk. “You can sit and do your own paperwork all you want! I need to be put on serious cases, just like stupid Deku is always placed on.”

“You can argue with me all you want.” You moved to continue your work, pretending to be unbothered. You could feel the anger boil in your chest. “But you still are and will always be measly little number two. Now shut the fuck up, you’re interrupting those who are actually working.”

He was going to hit you, you knew he was. You two ended up fist fighting all the time, oxygen and explosions ending in destruction. Before he could, your boss walked in with a bellowing, “Bakugou! Get over here, I have something for your loud ass!”

You decided to give him a bored middle finger as he walked away.

They say that words are the way of life. You could say an infinite amount of words and sentences in your lifespan, you could say a word and only ever say it one time. Each assortment of words are different each time, something new every day.

You figured that’s why you hated the soulmate thing.

Finding your soulmate should be one of chance, of pure coincidence and meeting of strangers. With the journal, you are starting something you only hope to find. You could go your whole life without finding your soulmate.

And that is terrifying.

There are horror stories of writing to an endless notebook, sad movies created where the lettering turns back to red before they’ve found each other. You wanted nothing more than to meet and just… be with the man you’ve been writing to since you were thirteen.

It seemed to be some sick joke, a tease in the palm of your hands.

When you were young, you attended UA High. It was meant to be the best school for heroes, grooming them into the best of the best. Both of your parents had been heroes themselves, your mom with a cloud quirk and your dad with wings. You took after a bit of both, no wings and no clouds but could create air currents and manipulate the air surrounding you within a certain radius. It has something to do with your breath and lungs, but you never looked too much into the actual DNA aspect.

When you arrived in the hero program, you passed the tests with ease. You tried to focus mainly on yourself and gaining your own points, alongside a couple of students with the same idea.

You were pissed when you were placed in 1-B instead of 1-A. It was the start of your rivalry with the explosion boy.

Luckily, you quickly gained friends. You actually seemed to have a soft spot for Hitoshi Shinsou, and you and Itsuka Kendou seemed to be the only two with brains (this led to many conversations resulting in shit talking and giggling). So in the end, you weren’t too upset to be placed in the second best class.

And you did get to fight with Bakugou a lot more without punishment, your professor wanting to be number one as much as anyone else.

One particular day that you remember to this day, one that really labeled your hatred for Bakuogu, was just a normal day at first. You were finished with your normal morning classes and just beginning the hero portion of the day, the training and fighting.

Your class was working with Class 1-A for the day, teaming up with one of their students and seeing how your quirks would act both against and with each other.

You were, of course, teamed with Bakugou.

The fucker was already set in his ways, loud and in need of attention at all times. You were well aware of his… loud personality… at that point, being beside Shinsou when he called your class “extras”. He was already someone you wanted nothing to do with.

“Good luck.” Kendou muttered to you when your names were announced as partners. “See ya.”

The second you headed to him, you could feel his apprehension. He wanted nothing to do with you. And you wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, you were hoping for Uraraka as your partner, wanting to see how your air manipulation would work with her gravity.

Apparently the professors wanted to see the oxygen working with the burst of flames. Which, honestly, is cool yes — but it was the person behind the explosions that you did not want to be a part of.

Bakugou was not one to mumble under his breath.

“Why am I paired with you?” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “I could at least be with someone interesting like Mind Control over there.”

You already wanted to punch him. “You’ve obviously never seen my quirk.”

“Clearly it hasn’t been interesting enough to be worth my attention.”

“Say that again when I remove the oxygen straight from your lungs.” You threatened, knowing damn well you didn’t know how to do that yet. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He let out a long exhale, moving into position. You were already flying by the time he let off his first explosion.

His utter disrespect for you and your quirk not only irritated you, but only was the start of a long term competition on Who Can Be Better Than Who that lasted the rest of your time at UA.

Through the constant loud arguments, the yelling in the cafeteria and the comments just loud enough for the other to hear, the fist fights and the swearing that was reserved only for each other, you found comfort in talking to your soulmate. It was relaxing after a long day of pure annoyance and shit talking to finally just get to have normal conversations with someone you enjoy.

Are we allowed to ask about school in this thing?

I don’t think so.

I’m sighing. Pretend that you could hear my sigh.

Wow, that was a loud sigh.

YOU’RE FUNNY! Anyway, I really want to know if we go to school together :(((

I don’t even think we can talk about JRTPD or BO::SOMD. See, they turn into gibberish.

I mean… we can say school. So we can ask ABOUT school just not… specific schools.

That’s true. I go to a special school and am the best in my class. You’re getting lucky by having me as a soulmate.

Well I would only hope so. Need a smart soulmate for fun facts.

Fun fact: you’re pretty cool. I guess.

Ah, the admission of your love for me.

Not love. I don’t hate talking to you if that does anything for you.

The one person you don’t hate. I’ll take it, Soulmate.

Don’t push it.

We should give each other nicknames. Since we can’t call each other by our real names.

Does the book allow it?

My parents did it before they found each other.

Okay. Like what?

I can call you Hot Head, because you’re hot and because you are always writing about how mad you are.

No.

I can always go with something cute like Honey.

This is gross. I was thinking like gamer tag nicknames.

Okay, Honey.

I take back what I said, asshole.

Honey and Asshole. The perfect pair. We could solve crimes!

I’m going to bed now.

Goodnight Honey ♡ I know that you aren’t reading these but you will in the morning. Dork.

“Do you know who your soulmate is?” You asked.

You were hanging out with Kendou, Monoma, and Shinsou in Kendou’s bedroom. The dorm rooms were all set up the exact same way, but for some reason Kendou’s always seemed to be bigger.

“No idea.” Monoma shrugged. “I don’t think I want to know until I’m older, we’re too young and I want to focus on graduating first.”

“He’s right.” Kendou twisted in her position on her bed. “Why? Do you want to know who yours is?”

“I want to know more than anything.” You sighed. Your head was laid across Shinsou’s lap on the floor. “We get along so well and I try to talk to him every day.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“He told me.” You laughed. “We tried really hard to narrow it down as much as possible.”

“It sounds like he wants to know you too.” Kendou said. She giggled. “I should ask my soulmate their gender.”

“What about you, Shinsou?”

“I barely write to mine.” He shrugged, making your head tilt a little. “I’m sure they understand.”

“I’m sure they do, they were made to be yours.” You looked up at him with a smile. “Of everyone, I thought you would write the most.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because most people are scared to talk to you in real life.”

He flicked your forehead. “You aren’t scared to talk to me.”

“I’m not scared to talk to anyone.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You sighed and closed your Soulmate Journal, the rain now casting a dark shadow across the entirety of the sky. Your face was flushed in red, hair disheveled and you were still in your hero uniform, dirty and kind of burnt.

Katsuki Bakugou had not only interrupted your victory, but he had claimed it as his own. His desperation to be the number one hero hadn’t stopped. It’s been years, you’ve grown past his stupid desire and he simply… hasn’t.

You fought the villain yourself, using your quirk to it’s full capabilities and trapping them in a circle of air. You fought for over an hour by yourself, taking up the mission while out and witnessing it first hand. Your freshly bought coffee was long forgotten as you raced after the thief.

The second you landed the thief, the ball of air dissipating as you grew tired, Bakugou arrived in a fiery feat and handcuffed the villain. Of course, the main photos were of him with the handcuffs, standing proud as if he hadn’t stolen your fight.

His argument was that he did help. Yeah, he did ‒ for three seconds.

Katsuki Bakugou was a piss stain upon himself, truly the worst of the worst who’s own personal interest outweighs anything else in his life. He will never be anything but second best because he never thinks of anyone but himself.

If only he could read thoughts instead of turning his sweat to ignition. Then you wouldn’t have to put your harsh thoughts into tone.

Your Soulmate was one of two people you genuinely enjoyed talking to, he always seemed to be on the same page as you. The other is Shinsou, from your high school. He was the only one you really kept in contact with.

Sometimes you like to convince yourself that Shinsou is your soulmate, since he hasn’t found his either. But you compared the handwriting and it didn’t match at all. Shinsou’s handwriting was much smaller and neater than the man you would eventually call yours.

“This is so fucking stupid!” You screamed, your rage reaching its max.

You threw your journal across your bedroom, the storm masking the sound of it banging against the wall by your bed. You were pissed, you wanted nothing more than to see Bakugou’s downfall. It’s been years. You were over it.

You were over it all. You were over him, you were over not knowing your soulmate, you were over being alone in your stupid apartment. It all reached it’s apex. Maybe you needed a shower, or maybe you needed to move from your job.

Your fit was interrupted by a loud crash on the roof of your apartment building. You nearly jumped at the sound, the sound not even close to the crashes of thunder.

You rushed to the roof, your hero senses kicking in more than your regular carefulness. Once you were outside, you were almost instantly drenched in the rain. Only a couple of yards ahead of you was a man crumbled to the ground; they must’ve hit the roof harder than you thought.

When they turned, clutching their side, you knew instantly who it was.

“Deku?” You rushed towards him. “I thought you were in Hirosaki for some serious villain.”

He moved to stand, much taller and broad than he was back in high school. Yet still with the fluffy green hair and bright eyes with hope always seemingly sewed in.

“I was. I just… I need your help.”

“Why do you need my help?” You helped him stand fully, taking his hand from his side to check for an injury. He wasn’t bleeding. “Doesn’t Uraraka live around here?”

“I don’t… want to involve her in this.” He stood straight. His healing must’ve started. “I… this is something I need you for.”

“Okay…” You crossed your arms. “What do you need?”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Deku started, and you didn’t move. “But it’s Bakugou.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Aero, I know that you two…”

“No.”

“Please, I…”

“Deku, you know more than anyone how and who he is. Whatever it is, he can deal with it himself.” You started back towards the stairs. “I appreciate you coming to me, for whatever reason, but this is something that you have to find someone else for.”

“Don’t think of this as us doing something for him.” Deku rushed to stand in front of you. “Think of it as a favor for me. You owe me one.”

“Don’t do this now.”

“I’m officially cashing in my favor.”

You sighed, “Fine. Can you at least tell me what we need to do for the asshole?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” He nearly jumped in joy. “But you cannot tell anyone. Not Shinsou, not the police, and not our boss. This is under the radar.”

“Oh, shit.” You followed him as you flew next to him. “What are you getting me into?”

tag list: @katsulovee @paradisebabey @seaofemptygold @zhaixiaowen @daylghits @haikyuusimp91 @darknessyournewfriend @samwise-though @liaxxx109

402 notes · View notes

path-of-my-childhood · 4 years ago

Text

Musicians On Musicians: Paul McCartney & Taylor Swift

By: Patrick Doyle for Rolling Stone Date: November 13th 2020

On songwriting secrets, making albums at home, and what they’ve learned during the pandemic.

Taylor Swift arrived early to Paul McCartney’s London office in October, “mask on, brimming with excitement.” “I mostly work from home these days,” she writes about that day, “and today feels like a rare school field trip that you actually want to go on.”

Swift showed up without a team, doing her own hair and makeup. In addition to being two of the most famous pop songwriters in the world, Swift and McCartney have spent the past year on similar journeys. McCartney, isolated at home in the U.K., recorded McCartney III. Like his first solo album, in 1970, he played nearly all of the instruments himself, resulting in some of his most wildly ambitious songs in a long time. Swift also took some new chances, writing over email with the National’s Aaron Dessner and recording the raw Folklore, which abandons arena pop entirely in favor of rich character songs. It’s the bestselling album of 2020.

Swift listened to McCartney III as she prepared for today’s conversation; McCartney delved into Folkore. Before the photo shoot, Swift caught up with his daughters Mary (who would be photographing them) and Stella (who designed Swift’s clothes; the two are close friends). “I’ve met Paul a few times, mostly onstage at parties, but we’ll get to that later,” Swift writes. “Soon he walks in with his wife, Nancy. They’re a sunny and playful pair, and I immediately feel like this will be a good day. During the shoot, Paul dances and takes almost none of it too seriously and sings along to Motown songs playing from the speakers. A few times Mary scolds, ‘Daaad, try to stand still!’ And it feels like a window into a pretty awesome family dynamic. We walk into his office for a chat, and after I make a nervous request, Paul is kind enough to handwrite my favorite lyric of his and sign it. He makes a joke about me selling it, and I laugh because it’s something I know I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. That’s around the time when we start talking about music.”

Taylor Swift: I think it’s important to note that if this year had gone the way that we thought it was going to go, you and I would have played Glastonbury this year, and instead, you and I both made albums in isolation.

Paul McCartney: Yeah!

Swift: And I remember thinking it would have been so much fun because the times that I’ve run into you, I correlate with being some of the most fun nights of my life. I was at a party with you, when everybody just started playing music. And it was Dave Grohl playing, and you...

McCartney: You were playing one of his songs, weren’t you?

Swift: Yes, I was playing his song called “Best of You,” but I was playing it on piano, and he didn’t recognize it until about halfway through. I just remember thinking, “Are you the catalyst for the most fun times ever?” Is it your willingness to get up and play music that makes everyone feel like this is a thing that can happen tonight?

McCartney: I mean, I think it’s a bit of everything, isn’t it? I’ll tell you who was very... Reese Witherspoon was like, “Are you going to sing?” I said “Oh, I don’t know.” She said, “You’ve got to, yeah!” She’s bossing me around. So I said, “Whoa,” so it’s a bit of that.

Swift: I love that person, because the party does not turn musical without that person.

McCartney: Yeah, that’s true.

Swift: If nobody says, “Can you guys play music?” we’re not going to invite ourselves up onstage at whatever living-room party it is.

McCartney: I seem to remember Woody Harrelson got on the piano, and he starts playing “Let It Be,” and I’m thinking, “I can do that better.” So I said, “Come on, move over, Woody.” So we’re both playing it. It was really nice... I love people like Dan Aykroyd, who’s just full of energy and he loves his music so much, but he’s not necessarily a musician, but he just wanders around the room, just saying, “You got to get up, got to get up, do some stuff.”

Swift: I listened to your new record. And I loved a lot of things about it, but it really did feel like kind of a flex to write, produce, and play every instrument on every track. To me, that’s like flexing a muscle and saying, “I can do all this on my own if I have to.”

McCartney: Well, I don’t think like that, I must admit. I just picked up some of these instruments over the years. We had a piano at home that my dad played, so I picked around on that. I wrote the melody to “When I’m 64” when I was, you know, a teenager.

Swift: Wow.

McCartney: When the Beatles went to Hamburg, there were always drum kits knocking around, so when there was a quiet moment, I’d say, “Do you mind if I have a knock around?” So I was able to practice, you know, without practicing. That’s why I play right-handed. Guitar was just the first instrument I got. Guitar turned to bass; it also turned into ukulele, mandolin. Suddenly, it’s like, “Wow,” but it’s really only two or three instruments.

Swift: Well, I think that’s downplaying it a little bit. In my mind, it came with a visual of you being in the country, kind of absorbing the sort of do-it-yourself [quality] that has had to come with the quarantine and this pandemic. I found that I’ve adapted a do-it-yourself mentality to a lot of things in my career that I used to outsource. I’m just wondering what a day of recording in the pandemic looked like for you.

McCartney: Well, I’m very lucky because I have a studio that’s, like, 20 minutes away from where I live. We were in lockdown on a farm, a sheep farm with my daughter Mary and her four kids and her husband. So I had four of my grandkids, I had Mary, who’s a great cook, so I would just drive myself to the studio. And there were two other guys that could come in and we’d be very careful and distanced and everything: my engineer Steve, and then my equipment guy Keith. So the three of us made the record, and I just started off. I had to do a little bit of film music - I had to do an instrumental for a film thing - so I did that. And I just kept going, and that turned into the opening track on the album. I would just come in, say, “Oh, yeah, what are we gonna do?” [Then] have some sort of idea, and start doing it. Normally, I’d start with the instrument I wrote it on, either piano or guitar, and then probably add some drums and then a bit of bass till it started to sound like a record, and then just gradually layer it all up. It was fun.

Swift: That’s so cool.

McCartney: What about yours? You’re playing guitar and piano on yours.

Swift: Yeah, on some of it, but a lot of it was made with Aaron Dessner, who’s in a band called the National that I really love. And I had met him at a concert a year before, and I had a conversation with him, asking him how he writes. It’s my favorite thing to ask people who I’m a fan of. And he had an interesting answer. He said, “All the band members live in different parts of the world. So I make tracks. And I send them to our lead singer, Matt, and he writes the top line.” I just remember thinking, “That is really efficient.” And I kind of stored it in my brain as a future idea for a project. You know, how you have these ideas... “Maybe one day I’ll do this.” I always had in my head: “Maybe one day I’ll work with Aaron Dessner.”

So when lockdown happened, I was in L.A., and we kind of got stuck there. It’s not a terrible place to be stuck. We were there for four months maybe, and during that time, I sent an email to Aaron Dessner and I said, “Do you think you would want to work during this time? Because my brain is all scrambled, and I need to make something, even if we’re just kind of making songs that we don’t know what will happen...”

McCartney: Yeah, that was the thing. You could do stuff - you didn’t really worry it was going to turn into anything.

Swift: Yeah, and it turned out he had been writing instrumental tracks to keep from absolutely going crazy during the pandemic as well, so he sends me this file of probably 30 instrumentals, and the first one I opened ended up being a song called “Cardigan,” and it really happened rapid-fire like that. He’d send me a track; he’d make new tracks, add to the folder; I would write the entire top line for a song, and he wouldn’t know what the song would be about, what it was going to be called, where I was going to put the chorus. I had originally thought, “Maybe I’ll make an album in the next year, and put it out in January or something,” but it ended up being done and we put it out in July. And I just thought there are no rules anymore, because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, “How will this song sound in a stadium? How will this song sound on radio?” If you take away all the parameters, what do you make? And I guess the answer is Folklore.

McCartney: And it’s more music for yourself than music that’s got to go do a job. My thing was similar to that: After having done this little bit of film music, I had a lot of stuff that I had been working on, but I’d said, “I’m just going home now,” and it’d be left half-finished. So I just started saying, “Well, what about that? I never finished that.” So we’d pull it out, and we said, “Oh, well, this could be good.” And because it didn’t have to amount to anything, I would say, “Ah, I really want to do tape loops. I don’t care if they fit on this song, I just want to do some.” So I go and make some tape loops, and put them in the song, just really trying to do stuff that I fancy.

I had no idea it would end up as an album; I may have been a bit less indulgent, but if a track was eight minutes long, to tell you the truth, what I thought was, “I’ll be taking it home tonight, Mary will be cooking, the grandkids will all be there running around, and someone, maybe Simon, Mary’s husband, is going to say, ‘What did you do today?’ And I’m going to go, ‘Oh,’ and then get my phone and play it for them.” So this became the ritual.

Swift: That’s the coziest thing I’ve ever heard.

McCartney: Well, it’s like eight minutes long, and I said, “I hate it when I’m playing someone something and it finishes after three minutes.” I kind of like that it just [continues] on.

Swift: You want to stay in the zone.

McCartney: It just keeps going on. I would just come home, “Well, what did you do today?” “Oh, well, I did this. I’m halfway through this,” or, “We finished this.”

Swift: I was wondering about the numerology element to McCartney III. McCartney I, II, and III have all come out on years with zeroes.

McCartney: Ends of decades.

Swift: Was that important?

McCartney: Yeah, well, this was being done in 2020, and I didn’t really think about it. I think everyone expected great things of 2020. “It’s gonna be great! Look at that number! 2020! Auspicious!” Then suddenly Covid hit, and it was like, “That’s gonna be auspicious all right, but maybe for the wrong reasons.” Someone said to me, “Well, you put out McCartney right after the Beatles broke up, and that was 1970, and then you did McCartney II in 1980.” And I said, “Oh, I’m going to release this in 2020 just for whatever you call it, the numerology...”

Swift: The numerology, the kind of look, the symbolism. I love numbers. Numbers kind of rule my whole world. The numbers 13... 89 is a big one. I have a few others that I find...

McCartney: Thirteen is lucky for some.

Swift: Yeah, it’s lucky for me. It’s my birthday. It’s all these weird coincidences of good things that have happened. Now, when I see it places, I look at it as a sign that things are going the way they’re supposed to. They may not be good now, they could be painful now, but things are on a track. I don’t know, I love the numerology.

McCartney: It’s spooky, Taylor. It’s very spooky. Now wait a minute: Where’d you get 89?

Swift: That’s when I was born, in 1989, and so I see it in different places and I just think it’s...

McCartney: No, it’s good. I like that, where certain things you attach yourself to, and you get a good feeling off them. I think that’s great.

Swift: Yeah, one of my favorite artists, Bon Iver, he has this thing with the number 22. But I was also wondering: You have always kind of seeked out a band or a communal atmosphere with like, you know, the Beatles and Wings, and then Egypt Station. I thought it was interesting when I realized you had made a record with no one else. I just wondered, did that feel natural?

McCartney: It’s one of the things I’ve done. Like with McCartney, because the Beatles had broken up, there was no alternative but to get a drum kit at home, get a guitar, get an amp, get a bass, and just make something for myself. So on that album, which I didn’t really expect to do very well, I don’t think it did. But people sort of say, “I like that. It was a very casual album.” It didn’t really have to mean anything. So I’ve done that, the play-everything-myself thing. And then I discovered synths and stuff, and sequencers, so I had a few of those at home. I just thought I’m going to play around with this and record it, so that became McCartney II. But it’s a thing I do. Certain people can do it. Stevie Wonder can do it. Stevie Winwood, I believe, has done it. So there are certain people quite like that.

When you’re working with someone else, you have to worry about their variances. Whereas your own variance, you kind of know it. It’s just something I’ve grown to like. Once you can do it, it becomes a little bit addictive. I actually made some records under the name the Fireman.

Swift: Love a pseudonym.

McCartney: Yeah, for the fun! But, you know, let’s face it, you crave fame and attention when you’re young. And I just remembered the other day, I was the guy in the Beatles that would write to journalists and say [speaks in a formal voice]: “We are a semiprofessional rock combo, and I’d think you’d like [us]... We’ve written over 100 songs (which was a lie), my friend John and I. If you mention us in your newspaper...” You know, I was always, like, craving the attention.

Swift: The hustle! That’s so great, though.

McCartney: Well, yeah, you need that.

Swift: Yeah, I think, when a pseudonym comes in is when you still have a love for making the work and you don’t want the work to become overshadowed by this thing that’s been built around you, based on what people know about you. And that’s when it’s really fun to create fake names and write under them.

McCartney: Do you ever do that?

Swift: Oh, yeah.

McCartney: Oh, yeah? Oh, well, we didn’t know that! Is that a widely known fact?

Swift: I think it is now, but it wasn’t. I wrote under the name Nils Sjöberg because those are two of the most popular names of Swedish males. I wrote this song called “This Is What You Came For” that Rihanna ended up singing. And nobody knew for a while. I remembered always hearing that when Prince wrote “Manic Monday,” they didn’t reveal it for a couple of months.

McCartney: Yeah, it also proves you can do something without the fame tag. I did something for Peter and Gordon; my girlfriend’s brother and his mate were in a band called Peter and Gordon. And I used to write under the name Bernard Webb.

Swift: [Laughs.] That’s a good one! I love it.

McCartney: As Americans call it, Ber-nard Webb. I did the Fireman thing. I worked with a producer, a guy called Youth, who’s this real cool dude. We got along great. He did a mix for me early on, and we got friendly. I would just go into the studio, and he would say, “Hey, what about this groove?” and he’d just made me have a little groove going. He’d say, “You ought to put some bass on it. Put some drums on it.” I’d just spend the whole day putting stuff on it. And we’d make these tracks, and nobody knew who Fireman was for a while. We must have sold all of 15 copies.

Swift: Thrilling, absolutely thrilling.

McCartney: And we didn’t mind, you know?

Swift: I think it’s so cool that you do projects that are just for you. Because I went with my family to see you in concert in 2010 or 2011, and the thing I took away from the show most was that it was the most selfless set list I had ever seen. It was completely geared toward what it would thrill us to hear. It had new stuff, but it had every hit we wanted to hear, every song we’d ever cried to, every song people had gotten married to, or been brokenhearted to. And I just remembered thinking, “I’ve got to remember that,” that you do that set list for your fans.

McCartney: You do that, do you?

Swift: I do now. I think that learning that lesson from you taught me at a really important stage in my career that if people want to hear “Love Story” and “Shake It Off,” and I’ve played them 300 million times, play them the 300-millionth-and-first time. I think there are times to be selfish in your career, and times to be selfless, and sometimes they line up.

McCartney: I always remembered going to concerts as a kid, completely before the Beatles, and I really hoped they would play the ones I loved. And if they didn’t, it was kind of disappointing. I had no money, and the family wasn’t wealthy. So this would be a big deal for me, to save up for months to afford the concert ticket.

Swift: Yeah, it feels like a bond. It feels like that person on the stage has given something, and it makes you as a crowd want to give even more back, in terms of applause, in terms of dedication. And I just remembered feeling that bond in the crowd, and thinking, “He’s up there playing these Beatles songs, my dad is crying, my mom is trying to figure out how to work her phone because her hands are shaking so much.” Because seeing the excitement course through not only me, but my family and the entire crowd in Nashville, it just was really special. I love learning lessons and not having to learn them the hard way. Like learning nice lessons I really value.

McCartney: Well, that’s great, and I’m glad that set you on that path. I understand people who don’t want to do that, and if you do, they’ll say, “Oh, it’s a jukebox show.” I hear what they’re saying. But I think it’s a bit of a cheat, because the people who come to our shows have spent a lot of money. We can afford to go to a couple of shows and it doesn’t make much difference. But a lot of ordinary working folks... it’s a big event in their life, and so I try and deliver. I also, like you say, try and put in a few weirdos.

Swift: That’s the best. I want to hear current things, too, to update me on where the artist is. I was wondering about lyrics, and where you were lyrically when you were making this record. Because when I was making Folklore, I went lyrically in a total direction of escapism and romanticism. And I wrote songs imagining I was, like, a pioneer woman in a forbidden love affair [laughs]. I was completely...

McCartney: Was this “I want to give you a child”? Is that one of the lines?

Swift: Oh, that’s a song called “Peace.”

McCartney: “Peace,” I like that one.

Swift: “Peace” is actually more rooted in my personal life. I know you have done a really excellent job of this in your personal life: carving out a human life within a public life, and how scary that can be when you do fall in love and you meet someone, especially if you’ve met someone who has a very grounded, normal way of living. I, oftentimes, in my anxieties, can control how I am as a person and how normal I act and rationalize things, but I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and what they do and if they follow our car and if they interrupt our lives. I can’t control if there’s going to be a fake weird headline about us in the news tomorrow.

McCartney: So how does that go? Does your partner sympathize with that and understand?

Swift: Oh, absolutely.

McCartney: They have to, don’t they?

Swift: But I think that in knowing him and being in the relationship I am in now, I have definitely made decisions that have made my life feel more like a real life and less like just a storyline to be commented on in tabloids. Whether that’s deciding where to live, who to hang out with, when to not take a picture - the idea of privacy feels so strange to try to explain, but it’s really just trying to find bits of normalcy. That’s what that song “Peace” is talking about. Like, would it be enough if I could never fully achieve the normalcy that we both crave? Stella always tells me that she had as normal a childhood as she could ever hope for under the circumstances.

McCartney: Yeah, it was very important to us to try and keep their feet on the ground amongst the craziness.

Swift: She went to a regular school...

McCartney: Yeah, she did.

Swift: And you would go trick-or-treating with them, wearing masks.

McCartney: All of them did, yeah. It was important, but it worked pretty well, because when they kind of reached adulthood, they would meet other kids who might have gone to private schools, who were a little less grounded.

And they could be the budding mothers to [kids]. I remember Mary had a friend, Orlando. Not Bloom. She used to really counsel him. And it’s ’cause she’d gone through that. Obviously, they got made fun of, my kids. They’d come in the classroom and somebody would sing, “Na na na na,” you know, one of the songs. And they’d have to handle that. They’d have to front it out.

Swift: Did that give you a lot of anxiety when you had kids, when you felt like all this pressure that’s been put on me is spilling over onto them, that they didn’t sign up for it? Was that hard for you?

McCartney: Yeah, a little bit, but it wasn’t like it is now. You know, we were just living a kind of semi-hippie life, where we withdrew from a lot of stuff. The kids would be doing all the ordinary things, and their school friends would be coming up to the house and having parties, and it was just great. I remember one lovely evening when it was Stella’s birthday, and she brought a bunch of school kids up. And, you know, they’d all ignore me. It happens very quickly. At first they’re like, “Oh, yeah, he’s like a famous guy,” and then it’s like [yawns]. I like that. I go in the other room and suddenly I hear this music going on. And one of the kids, his name was Luke, and he’s doing break dancing.

Swift: Ohhh!

McCartney: He was a really good break dancer, so all the kids are hanging out. That allowed them to be kind of normal with those kids. The other thing is, I don’t live fancy. I really don’t. Sometimes it’s a little bit of an embarrassment, if I’ve got someone coming to visit me, or who I know…

Swift: Cares about that stuff?

McCartney: Who’s got a nice big house, you know. Quincy Jones came to see me and I’m, like, making him a veggie burger or something. I’m doing some cooking. This was after I’d lost Linda, in between there. But the point I’m making is that I’m very consciously thinking, “Oh, God, Quincy’s got to be thinking, ‘What is this guy on? He hasn’t got big things going on. It’s not a fancy house at all. And we’re eating in the kitchen! He’s not even got the dining room going,’” you know?

Swift: I think that sounds like a perfect day.

McCartney: But that’s me. I’m awkward like that. That’s my kind of thing. Maybe I should have, like, a big stately home. Maybe I should get a staff. But I think I couldn’t do that. I’d be so embarrassed. I’d want to walk around dressed as I want to walk around, or naked, if I wanted to.

Swift: That can’t happen in Downton Abbey.

McCartney: [Laughs.] Exactly.

Swift: I remember what I wanted to know about, which is lyrics. Like, when you’re in this kind of strange, unparalleled time, and you’re making this record, are lyrics first? Or is it when you get a little melodic idea?

McCartney: It was a bit of both. As it kind of always is with me. There’s no fixed way. People used to ask me and John, “Well, who does the words, who does the music?” I used to say, “We both do both.” We used to say we don’t have a formula, and we don’t want one. Because the minute we get a formula, we should rip it up. I will sometimes, as I did with a couple of songs on this album, sit down at the piano and just start noodling around, and I’ll get a little idea and start to fill that out. So the lyrics - for me, it’s following a trail. I’ll start [sings “Find My Way,” a song from “McCartney III”]: “I can find my way. I know my left from right, da da da.” And I’ll just sort of fill it in. Like, we know this song, and I’m trying to remember the lyrics. Sometimes I’ll just be inspired by something. I had a little book which was all about the constellations and the stars and the orbits of Venus and...

Swift: Oh, I know that song - “The Kiss of Venus”?

McCartney: Yeah, “The Kiss of Venus.” And I just thought, “That’s a nice phrase.” So I was actually just taking phrases out of the book, harmonic sounds. And the book is talking about the maths of the universe, and how when things orbit around each other, and if you trace all the patterns, it becomes like a lotus flower.

Swift: Wow.

McCartney: It’s very magical.

Swift: That is magical. I definitely relate to needing to find magical things in this very not-magical time, needing to read more books and learn to sew, and watch movies that take place hundreds of years ago. In a time where, if you look at the news, you just want to have a panic attack - I really relate to the idea that you are thinking about stars and constellations.

McCartney: Did you do that on Folklore?

Swift: Yes. I was reading so much more than I ever did, and watching so many more films.

McCartney: What stuff were you reading?

Swift: I was reading, you know, books like Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, which I highly recommend, and books that dealt with times past, a world that doesn’t exist anymore. I was also using words I always wanted to use - kind of bigger, flowerier, prettier words, like “epiphany,” in songs. I always thought, “Well, that’ll never track on pop radio,” but when I was making this record, I thought, “What tracks? Nothing makes sense anymore. If there’s chaos everywhere, why don’t I just use the damn word I want to use in the song?”

McCartney: Exactly. So you’d see the word in a book and think, “I love that word”?

Swift: Yeah, I have favorite words, like “elegies” and “epiphany” and “divorcée,” and just words that I think sound beautiful, and I have lists and lists of them.

McCartney: How about “marzipan”?

Swift: Love “marzipan.”

McCartney: The other day, I was remembering when we wrote “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”: “kaleidoscope.”

Swift: “Kaleidoscope” is one of mine! I have a song on 1989, a song called “Welcome to New York,” that I put the word “kaleidoscope” in just because I’m obsessed with the word.

McCartney: I think a love of words is a great thing, particularly if you’re going to try to write a lyric, and for me, it’s like, “What is this going to say to that person?” I often feel like I’m writing to someone who is not doing so well. So I’m trying to write songs that might help. Not in a goody-goody, crusading kind of way, but just thinking there have been so many times in my life when I’ve heard a song and felt so much better. I think that’s the angle I want, that inspirational thing.

I remember once, a friend of mine from Liverpool, we were teenagers and we were going to a fairground. He was a schoolmate, and we had these jackets that had a little fleck in the material, which was the cool thing at the time.

Swift: We should have done matching jackets for this photo shoot.

McCartney: Find me a fleck, I’m in. But we went to the fair, and I just remember - this is what happens with songs - there was this girl at the fair. This is just a little Liverpool fair - it was in a place called Sefton Park - and there was this girl, who was so beautiful. She wasn’t a star. She was so beautiful. Everyone was following her, and it’s like, “Wow.” It’s like a magical scene, you know? But all this gave me a headache, so I ended up going back to his house - I didn’t normally get headaches. And we thought, “What can we do?” So we put on the Elvis song “All Shook Up.” By the end of that song, my headache had gone. I thought, you know, “That’s powerful.”

Swift: That really is powerful.

McCartney: I love that, when people stop me in the street and say, “Oh, I was going through an illness and I listened to a lot of your stuff, and I’m better now and it got me through,” or kids will say, “It got me through exams.” You know, they’re studying, they’re going crazy, but they put your music on. I’m sure it happens with a lot of your fans. It inspires them, you know?

Swift: Yeah, I definitely think about that as a goal. There’s so much stress everywhere you turn that I kind of wanted to make an album that felt sort of like a hug, or like your favorite sweater that makes you feel like you want to put it on.

McCartney: What, a “cardigan”?

Swift: Like a good cardigan, a good, worn-in cardigan. Or something that makes you reminisce on your childhood. I think sadness can be cozy. It can obviously be traumatic and stressful, too, but I kind of was trying to lean into sadness that feels like somehow enveloping in not such a scary way - like nostalgia and whimsy incorporated into a feeling like you’re not all right. Because I don’t think anybody was really feeling like they were in their prime this year. Isolation can mean escaping into your imagination in a way that’s kind of nice.

McCartney: I think a lot of people have found that. I would say to people, “I feel a bit guilty about saying I’m actually enjoying this quarantine thing,” and people go, “Yeah, I know, don’t say it to anyone.” A lot of people are really suffering.

Swift: Because there’s a lot in life that’s arbitrary. Completely and totally arbitrary. And [the quarantine] is really shining a light on that, and also a lot of things we have that we outsource that you can actually do yourself.

McCartney: I love that. This is why I said I live simply. That’s, like, at the core of it. With so many things, something goes wrong and you go, “Oh, I’ll get somebody to fix that.” And then it’s like, “No, let me have a look at it...”

Swift: Get a hammer and a nail.

McCartney: “Maybe I can put that picture up.” It’s not rocket science. The period after the Beatles, when we went to live in Scotland on a really - talk about dumpy - little farm. I mean, I see pictures of it now and I’m not ashamed, but I’m almost ashamed. Because it’s like, “God, nobody’s cleaned up around here.”

But it was really a relief. Because when I was with the Beatles, we’d formed Apple Records, and if I wanted a Christmas tree, someone would just buy it. And I thought, after a while, “No, you know what? I really would like to go and buy our Christmas tree. Because that’s what everyone does.” So you go down - “I’ll have that one” - and you carried it back. I mean, it’s little, but it’s huge at the same time.

I needed a table in Scotland and I was looking through a catalog and I thought, “I could make one. I did woodwork in school, so I know what a dovetail joint is.” So I just figured it out. I’m just sitting in the kitchen, and I’m whittling away at this wood and I made this little joint. There was no nail technology - it was glue. And I was scared to put it together. I said, “It’s not going to fit,” but one day, I got my woodwork glue and thought, “There’s no going back.” But it turned out to be a real nice little table I was very proud of. It was that sense of achievement.

The weird thing was, Stella went up to Scotland recently and I said, “Isn’t it there?” and she said, “No.” Anyway, I searched for it. Nobody remembered it. Somebody said, “Well, there’s a pile of wood in the corner of one of the barns, maybe that’s it. Maybe they used it for firewood.” I said, “No, it’s not firewood.” Anyway, we found it, and do you know how joyous that was for me? I was like, “You found my table?!” Somebody might say that’s a bit boring.

Swift: No, it’s cool!

McCartney: But it was a real sort of great thing for me to be able to do stuff for yourself. You were talking about sewing. I mean normally, in your position, you’ve got any amount of tailors.

Swift: Well, there’s been a bit of a baby boom recently; several of my friends have gotten pregnant.

McCartney: Oh, yeah, you’re at the age.

Swift: And I was just thinking, “I really want to spend time with my hands, making something for their children.” So I made this really cool flying-squirrel stuffed animal that I sent to one of my friends. I sent a teddy bear to another one, and I started making these little silk baby blankets with embroidery. It’s gotten pretty fancy. And I’ve been painting a lot.

McCartney: What do you paint? Watercolors?

Swift: Acrylic or oil. Whenever I do watercolor, all I paint is flowers. When I have oil, I really like to do landscapes. I always kind of return to painting a lonely little cottage on a hill.

McCartney: It’s a bit of a romantic dream. I agree with you, though, I think you’ve got to have dreams, particularly this year. You’ve got to have something to escape to. When you say “escapism,” it sounds like a dirty word, but this year, it definitely wasn’t. And in the books you’re reading, you’ve gone into that world. That’s, I think, a great thing. Then you come back out. I normally will read a lot before I go to bed. So I’ll come back out, then I’ll go to sleep, so I think it really is nice to have those dreams that can be fantasies or stuff you want to achieve.

Swift: You’re creating characters. This was the first album where I ever created characters, or wrote about the life of a real-life person. There’s a song called “The Last Great American Dynasty” that’s about this real-life heiress who lived just an absolutely chaotic, hectic...

McCartney: She’s a fantasy character?

Swift: She’s a real person. Who lived in the house that I live in.

McCartney: She’s a real person? I listened to that and I thought, “Who is this?”

Swift: Her name was Rebekah Harkness. And she lived in the house that I ended up buying in Rhode Island. That’s how I learned about her. But she was a woman who was very, very talked about, and everything she did was scandalous. I found a connection in that. But I also was thinking about how you write “Eleanor Rigby” and go into that whole story about what all these people in this town are doing and how their lives intersect, and I hadn’t really done that in a very long time with my music. It had always been so microscope personal.

McCartney: Yeah, ’cause you were writing breakup songs like they were going out of style.

Swift: I was, before my luck changed [laughs]. I still write breakup songs. I love a good breakup song. Because somewhere in the world, I always have a friend going through a breakup, and that will make me write one.

McCartney: Yeah, this goes back to this thing of me and John: When you’ve got a formula, break it. I don’t have a formula. It’s the mood I’m in. So I love the idea of writing a character. And, you know, trying to think, “What am I basing this on?” So “Eleanor Rigby” was based on old ladies I knew as a kid. For some reason or other, I got great relationships with a couple of local old ladies. I was thinking the other day, I don’t know how I met them, it wasn’t like they were family. I’d just run into them, and I’d do their shopping for them.

Swift: That’s amazing.

McCartney: It just felt good to me. I would sit and talk, and they’d have amazing stories. That’s what I liked. They would have stories from the wartime - because I was born actually in the war - and so these old ladies, they were participating in the war. This one lady I used to sort of just hang out with, she had a crystal radio that I found very magical. In the war, a lot of people made their own radios - you’d make them out of crystals [sings “The Twilight Zone” theme].

Swift: How did I not know this? That sounds like something I would have tried to learn about.

McCartney: It’s interesting, because there is a lot of parallels with the virus and lockdowns and wartime. It happened to everyone. Like, this isn’t HIV, or SARS, or Avian flu, which happened to others, generally. This has happened to everyone, all around the world. That’s the defining thing about this particular virus. And, you know, my parents... it happened to everyone in Britain, including the queen and Churchill. War happened. So they were all part of this thing, and they all had to figure out a way through it. So you figured out Folklore. I figured out McCartney III.

Swift: And a lot of people have been baking sourdough bread. Whatever gets you through!

McCartney: Some people used to make radios. And they’d take a crystal - we should look it up, but it actually is a crystal. I thought, “Oh, no, they just called it a crystal radio,” but it’s actually crystals like we know and love.

Swift: Wow.

McCartney: And somehow they get the radio waves - this crystal attracts them - they tune it in, and that’s how they used to get their news. Back to “Eleanor Rigby,” so I would think of her and think of what she’s doing and then just try to get lyrical, just try to bring poetry into it, words you love, just try to get images like “picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,” and Father McKenzie “is darning his socks in the night.” You know, he’s a religious man, so I could’ve said, you know, “preparing his Bible,” which would have been more obvious. But “darning his socks” kind of says more about him. So you get into this lovely fantasy. And that’s the magic of songs, you know. It’s a black hole, and then you start doing this process, and then there’s this beautiful little flower that you’ve just made. So it is very like embroidery, making something.

Swift: Making a table.

McCartney: Making a table.

Swift: Wow, it would’ve been so fun to play Glastonbury for the 50th anniversary together.

McCartney: It would’ve been great, wouldn’t it? And I was going to be asking you to play with me.

Swift: Were you going to invite me? I was hoping that you would. I was going to ask you.

McCartney: I would’ve done “Shake It Off.”

Swift: Oh, my God, that would have been amazing.

McCartney: I know it, it’s in C!

Swift: One thing I just find so cool about you is that you really do seem to have the joy of it, still, just no matter what. You seem to have the purest sense of joy of playing an instrument and making music, and that’s just the best, I think.

McCartney: Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?

Swift: We’re really lucky.

McCartney: I don’t know if it ever happens to you, but with me, it’s like, “Oh, my god, I’ve ended up as a musician.”

Swift: Yeah, I can’t believe it’s my job.

McCartney: I must tell you a story I told Mary the other day, which is just one of my favorite little sort of Beatles stories. We were in a terrible, big blizzard, going from London to Liverpool, which we always did. We’d be working in London and then drive back in the van, just the four of us with our roadie, who would be driving. And this was a blizzard. You couldn’t see the road. At one point, it slid off and it went down an embankment. So it was “Ahhh,” a bunch of yelling. We ended up at the bottom. It didn’t flip, luckily, but so there we are, and then it’s like, “Oh, how are we going to get back up? We’re in a van. It’s snowing, and there’s no way.” We’re all standing around in a little circle, and thinking, “What are we going to do?” And one of us said, “Well, something will happen.” And I thought that was just the greatest. I love that, that’s a philosophy.

Swift: “Something will happen.”

McCartney: And it did. We sort of went up the bank, we thumbed a lift, we got the lorry driver to take us, and Mal, our roadie, sorted the van and everything. So that was kind of our career. And I suppose that’s like how I ended up being a musician and a songwriter: “Something will happen.”

Swift: That’s the best.

McCartney: It’s so stupid it’s brilliant. It’s great if you’re ever in that sort of panic attack: “Oh, my God,” or, “Ahhh, what am I going to do?”

Swift: “Something will happen.”

McCartney: All right then, thanks for doing this, and this was, you know, a lot of fun.

Swift: You’re the best. This was so awesome. Those were some quality stories!

#this just might be the longest post I have ever posted #I have so much work so I'll read and edit later #taylor swift #paul mccartney #Rolling Stone magazine #interview #folklore era

1K notes · View notes

danihow · 3 years ago

Text

Two strangers

Park Sunghoon x GN!Reader

Enhypen

Summary: Some people are meant to be in your life until the end, most just stay a few chapters, and much to you dismay or your fortune, Sunghoon was one of those.

Word count: 2.4k words.

Warnings: Fights, arguments, yelling, discussing, falling out of love, maybe a bit toxic?, heavy angst, angsty ending, just full on angst.

A/N: I wrote this in two hours on sunday night after selecting a random playlist in my spotofy and landing on this songs (a, b, c, d), I am actually not too find of it AT ALL, but I know i cant erase it an dtry again, so I hope i didnt actually lost the track of it at least four different times. THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD, if yall dont like it let me know so i can sit down with it a bit more.

Maybe this was wrong all along.

How could you ever think this would work?

For god's sake, he's a goddamn idol, and you are just a normal person who works a normal job.

Mind wandering all over the place, picking up on everything that passes through it but sticking to nothing.

You were tired, you were emotionally and mentally drained from anything and everything in this relationship the two of you held, at the beginning, everything seemed to be perfect, a relationship that bloomed between two humans, one that flourished with the cherry blossoms on the trees of the park the two of you met, three years ago.

Your mind could still recall the way Sunghoon's eyes were lit up in a beautiful brightness while he talked to you, a wide smile on his face under the mask he wore, his eyes like crescent moons, the beauty mark on his nose bridge gaining your attention on multiple times as you stared at his eyes; all the times you left a small peck over it when you two cuddled still fresh on your mind. He was beautiful, you always knew that but over all of the beauty he held it was the way he treated you that made you finally fall head first for him.

But just as the blossoms are meant to flourish, they are meant to fall from the tree and perish against the concrete. And so did you two.

You couldn't exactly pinpoint when in time you two changed, your couple dynamic experiencing some drastic twirls and turns until it all seemed to have been just a dream, a far memory painted in watercolor that slowly faded to a scale of greys. None of you noticing when you stopped cuddling on the sofa together and started sitting on the opposite ends, when your hands stopped holding the other's and instead reached towards your phone more and more, when your gazes stop smiling when he got home from work, when your body stopped aching for his warmth every time he spent several days away.

Some time ago you two held a love so warm and pretty it could melt the ice and make flowers bloom anytime and anywhere just by being there, looking deep into the other's eyes with such love and adoration it was clear for anyone that surrounded you.

Now, when you two looked at the other you both felt like this was a whole new person, different from the one you muttered small “I love you”s every time you felt like it, now his eyes held some sharp edges that made you scared of cutting yourself into, your eyes dark to the point his heart felt itself crouching in fear of its depth, not recognizing what could be there if he was to turn on the light.

You didn't felt like a couple now, just like two persons that hold a title over whatever you have going on. That's what it was now, you guessed, just a title of partners that were tied more by it than by the love you were supposed to have, just a formality for everyone to see- wait, for no one to see.

No one could see what you were, the fact making your heart scrunch in your chest every time you thought of it, the two of you loving behind the walls of your apartment, his job getting in between the two of you ever since the beginning.

When you two started dating it was official for a few people, you, him, your parents, your siblings and no one else, and you were okay with it, your heart full of love totally okay with the idea of having a secret relationship, comfortable with it most of the time. But then, as time went by, and he didn't seemed to make you two public any time soon you started getting sick of it; hate slowly boiling in you against your own relationship.

Maybe... maybe that's when it all started to fall. That night.

You two had gotten in a huge fight, you suggested telling the public your relationship, letting the world know that Park Sunghoon had a partner, and it was you, but oh how he disliked the idea, fear of the media itself felling all of his senses, and what started as a discussion ended up in yelling your lungs out to each other, the burdens the two if you held strike to the other without any hesitation.

He had stormed out, not wanting to keep on listening to your screams and staring at your teary eyed faced. That was the first time you two applied the ice law, going on for three days without speaking a word to the other, both elongating your stay out of the apartment you shared just to avoid the other for a bit longer. But your still love dazed heart couldn't handle it, him ending up cuddled on top of your body as you two cried out, his breaking voice pleading you to wait a bit more for him, both of your voices mashing up in apologies and sobs, settling to break out the relationship to his group and agency.

Right there. That was the exact moment the downfall of your relationship started, the tip of the iceberg, the beginning of an unpleasant rollercoaster.

The smiles and mutters of sweet nothings late at night turning slowly into serious bickering and double edged words just to end in a crying session of apologies and amends, trying to band aid the crack that grew between you.

Maybe, your heart guessed now, we were never actually together, always having differences between you but letting them slide, piling them up at the bottom of it all just for them to start breaking up the surface, like Pompeii. Maybe, it was always meant for the crystal home you two had to break in pieces and never be glued back together, even if you two tried countless times.

Gluing back the fallen pieces seemed to work, at least the first times, but them, the crease grew and grew, your boyfriend ploddingly morphing into a stranger who you shared a bed with, a name you once knew becoming just letters that lit up something in the back of your mind.

"I KNOW you Y/N, stop changing the facts so much." He had said, hand brushing through his hair as he turned to face you, exasperated.

"Maybe you don't actually know me! Have you ever thought about that?" You had snapped back, fingers pointing to your head and then at him, making him more exasperated.

"You are my partner, how could I not know you?"

"There are multiple ways, Sunghoon, too many." You said, voice dropping low again, tired.

"Go ahead then, I'm all ears." He said back, arms spread wide to show you how he was willing to listen, head nodding for you to begin.

"I told you I hate sleeping without a blanket on, yet, you still complain I carry one around." You start, your stressed heart speaking for your brain.

"I hate the dark, and if you knew that, you wouldn't let me walk alone back to our apartment when visiting you at the dorms." Two tunes higher, slowly, passively raising your voice as his face did not changed, unamused and somehow making you exasperated yourself.

"If I eat too many berries I get an allergy on my skin, yet I still eat all the berry cakes you buy me on our anniversary just for you to laugh at my red lips and blushed skin."

"I don't like St. Valentine’s Day, I in fact believe it is a dumb celebration, and yet you manage to make me celebrate it."

"And if you gave me a couple more minutes I could make a WHOLE damn list, Sunghoon." And now you were back to your voice raised, his eyes blank, scanning your own before snapping.

"Are you trying to tell I don't care about you? Is that it!?"

"MAYBE I AM, SUNGHOON, may- maybe I implying that, but I guess at the end is what you want to understand, isn't it?" You said back, keeping the two meter distance between the two of you, not daring to get closer or farer.

"I can't do this today, Y/N, I-" he said, eyes leaving yours, brain turning to try and know what to do, letting your argument go. With large and silent steps, he walked back, taking his coat and opening the door. "Goodnight." He said just as the door closed behind him, leaving you standing alone in your living room.

That was the first time he didn't came home after a fight, staying over at Jay's for two days before returning, but it never came back to what it was, and you both noticed it right away.

You initial relationship just a far memory of the past, unreachable.

As time passed the Sunghoon you loved was not there anymore, and the Y/N he loved wasn't either.

It appeared you were now strangers who once loved each other. Your relationship just a myth that sometimes appeared, when the high appeared once every blue moon. Now, both of you rarely talked, rarely acting as the couple you were supposed to be.

Two strangers holding on to a thread that connected them, used to the presence they once loved, unable to let go.

He now came home late at nights lately, his workmates seeing how decayed he looked, tour own coworkers noting your dreary behavior. Neither of you shone anymore, together or alone, the light that had captivated the other disappeared.

And, much to your unfortune, you were the first one two pick up on it, when one day you missed the brightness he had, meditating and coming to the painful conclusion that you took it away, you had turned him off instead of powering him up.

The both of you were the cause of your own downfall.

Sunghoon didn't lit up the room anymore, and you hated yourself for it. A sudden urge of giving him his spark back flooding you, the little love you still held in your heart for what he was before being the boost you needed to let go.

And, even if you didn't knew him anymore, it hurt, it hurt to pack your bags and take the initiative to leave, because leaving this apartment you shared meant to leave all of what you were behind, leaving him behind.

You didn't talk, you barely kissed anymore, but the idea of what it was and what it could've been feeling like a hundred knives against your tired heart.

You left Sunghoon's life for good on March 21st before midnight, taking in your arms your last bag of clothing after leaving a letter on the counter you two used to cook dinner together. Taking all of you to start again far from him, an attempt full of the very last drops of love you could find for him to shine again, to light up the world like he used to, to be the person he was supposed to be.

He wasn't supposed to come home that day until 2 a.m., but, as if the universe was in need of a decent closure to this chapter in time you found him at the lobby, his tired figure waiting for the other elevator to go up home. Eyes locking with yours as you stepped out, bag in your shoulder and box in your hand.

"Y/N?" He had muttered, and oh, how long it had been since you felt emotion in his voice as your name fell from his lips.

"I'm sorry." Was all you could say, pleading him to eventually forgive you with your gaze, tears pricking in your eyes as you turned.

You knew that was an image your brain would never manage to forget, the way his eyes were glazed in unshed tears that slowly built, the glint of happiness they once held when they landed on you replaced by the deepest sadness, you'd seen him wear. His heart realizing from your two words more that you could ever tell him, but what hurt you the most was the way he didn't fought you.

He didn't say anything back, he just stood there, watching you leave his life, making you know he understood, that he knew it had to happen even if neither of you wanted to admit it.

You left Park Sunghoon, for good.

When he walked in your apartment and your stuff missing finally sunk on him, you were gone, you weren't his Y/N anymore, but it didn’t pained as much as he thought, brain slowly realizing how it had to be made, calling himself a coward for letting you do it first.

His knees hit the floor, a hand flying to his chest as his heart stung in a weird feeling, a feeling that drowned him but made him feel alive again, but because he was feeling. His heart sensing too much too fast, tears started falling and he started sobbing, all of the hurting he bottled up this past months finally snapping.

Letting you go was hard, but he was no one to fight for you to stay in his life when he had burnt you out. Something in his heart forcing to accept how it was maybe the best, even if it hurt like a bitch.

Maybe it was wrong all along.

Maybe you two were just a chapter that had to happen in each other's lives.

And maybe, losing yourselves to the idea of your love was necessary.

But it all didn't make it less hard.

And now, a year after your silent break up he dared to appear on the show you watched, a small smile on your face as you saw him shine again, maybe not as bright as before you, but far brighter than how you left him. At least you now knew all this pain wasn't for nothing, and he from his stage hopes you are starting to shine again, just as how you did when he fell in love.

Because even if you once were his all just as he was yours, you are now two strangers in hopes for the other to shine.

To you, Sunghoon was just an idol.

And to him, you were a person he once knew.

This is a work of fiction, people mentioned or involved are actual human beings and none of this work is based on actual facts over the celebrities mentioned nor is intented to portray them in a realistic way.

Any problem detected on the information given may be comunicated to me via DM.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon angst #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon #enhypen x y/n

50 notes · View notes

westcoastrry · 3 years ago

Text

Can’t Help If This Is Us

Hello friends. I’ve worked super hard on this fic. I’m not a fast writer so this took my while and I’m super happy with the way it turned out! Special thank to my bestie @harryforvogue . I wouldn’t know how to spell or about even write if it wasn’t for her so thanks you ugly fart face.

Also I wrote this entirely for free so all I ask is for feedback. I would really appreciate it and would love to hear your thoughts!

literally mate please let me know your thoughts. PLEASE. I beg.

WARNING: there is smut in this and mentions of the mafia.

I hope you enjoy reading Kiara and Harry’s story as much an I enjoyed writing it. 11.5k words

A fic about Kiara, a normal girl who works at a coffee shop in the upper east side of New York, where she meets Harry. A man who is caught up in a job he doesn’t want but is working hard to craft a better life for himself.

Fuck me like you wanna make love

Call me when you wanna stay in touch

Lie together just to gain trust

Say what you wanna say, can't help if this is us

Moving to New York was a fresh start for Kiara.

It’s only been a couple of months, but she has grown accustomed to the city.

She has an apartment in a not-so-great part of town, but it is close to her University, and the view from her balcony isn’t too bad. She is a coffee connoisseur, so when her pregnant friend and neighbor, Trina, helped her get a job at a cafe on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, how could Kiara truly not make the best of her newfound city life?

“An Americano please?” a deep British voice asserts.

Kiara’s cleaning off the steamer about an hour into her morning shift when the man with long chocolate curls speaks to her. Kiara has been working here for a month, and some very high profile people have come to the shop, but Kiara has never seen this man, but he sure looks important. He is in a suit, all black, and the only accessories are the multitude of rings he has on his fingers. The rose one catches her eye first, then the big gold H.S letter rings. Those are his initials? What is the point of that? Is this man obsessed with himself?

“Americano?” he says more lightly, snapping Kiara out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, I- Americano,” Kiara stutters.

Kiara isn’t one to get easily flustered, but how can she not be when this six-foot sexy man was towering over her in a suit, asking for black coffee.

Only real men drink black coffee.

She works around the machine expertly until the man’s voice interrupts her. “You’re new here?”

“Yeah,” she responds, swiping a curl off her forehead. Managing her naturally curly type four hair in the bipolar New York weather has been a challenge. Most days, she wears her thick hair in a bun, or when she can afford to get it done, box braids. “Started working here a month ago.” Kiara hands him the coffee in a brown to-go cup.

“Hmmm. I’m here all the time. I’m sure I would have noticed a new pretty employee.”

“Guess I’m not all that pretty then,” Kiara fires back, handing him a receipt with a pen to sign.

Harry doesn’t really know what to say to that because he actually does find Kiara pretty. He likes that her face is an even brown color with a few beauty marks. He likes the color of her light brown hair, and he really likes the sound of her voice. It’s sort of angelic, even when she is snapping at him.

Harry smugly hands Kiara his hefty card (the first indicator that this man has money) and signs the receipt. He drops some cash on the bill.

“That’s your tip. By the way, I do think you’re pretty.” His eyes flick down to her name tag. “Kiara.”

Kiara rolls her eyes at the man. He probably walks around life getting everything handed to him because he’s rich, white, and hot.

Screw him and his stupid cute dimple, Kiara thinks to herself. She goes to grab the receipt he signed and see’s two fifty-dollar bills stacked on each other.

Her mouth forms into an “o” shape. A hundred dollars on a three-dollar coffee? What sense does that even make? This had to be a mistake.

“Hey Kiara, are you okay?” Trina, who’s waiting tables today, asks. She has her brown apron tied over her baby bump with a few crumpled receipts and pens tucked in the pockets.

“I just got tipped a hundred dollars,” Kiara says, still shocked.

“You go, girl!” Trina enthusiastically shouts. “Who was it? A regular?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him before. Brown curly hair, dressed in a nice black suit-”

“Oh, that’s Harry,” Trina smiles. “Everyone loves Harry. He is a cutie. Been getting coffee here for a long time. He owns the strip club down the street.”

“I’m sorry. The dude owns a what?”

“A strip club bar type thing,” Trina shrugs. “Very fancy. It’s pretty much only for the elite. He is super nice. Everyone loves him here! He bought me a crib and this fancy high-tech stroller when he found out I was pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, he is kinda a dick if you ask me,” Kiara mutters under her breath.

“He tipped you a hundred dollars, and you’re calling him a dick?” Trina curiously questions.

“He called me pretty! And he had this arrogant ambiance to his voice. And what is with all the rings? It’s tacky.”

Trina places her hands on her hips.“Oh, just say you find the man hot! It’s okay to admit you find Manhattan’s most eligible and rich bachelor hot. I don’t blame you. I would get on it if I wasn’t thirty and pregnant.”

“I’m not admitting anything. Besides, I don’t have time for men. Men just cause problems.”

“Oh, you're telling me?” Trina points to her bulging belly. Kiara snorts at her friend and starts to walk away to grab more coffee beans from the storage, and Trina follows closely behind her. “You need to have some fun! Loosen up. Get your head out of that textbook. You have been living next to me for three months, and I haven’t seen you invite not one boy over! I know that vibrator you use is tired.”

Kiara grabs the box of coffee beans and turns back around to face Trina. “My vibrator is doing me just fine.”

Kiara’s whole life has been centered around academics. She was a really smart kid growing up. She had a good start to life too. However, Kiara’s wholesome childhood took a turn at twelve when her Dad died in a car accident. The accident was horrific for her entire family, but it hit her mom the worst. Her mom went from being a well respected physician's assistant, to being a drug addict, and Kiara had to grow up at the tender age of twelve just to take care of her mother. Around the age of fourteen Kiara’s mom got shipped off to rehab, and she ended up weaving in and out of foster homes until she was eighteen. Kiara realized that she never wants that to happen to her future family. She has been working hard on her academics because she hopes to have a stable income, so she can give her future kid the life that she never had.

It’s not like Kiara didn’t want to go and mingle around. Meet a new guy, have a one-nightstand, maybe even possibly fall in love. However, the dating scene as a brown skin woman in a whitewashed part of the city isn’t as easy as it sounds. Kiara doesn’t teeter the line of looking ethnically ambiguous. She is clearly a Black girl. Caramel skin, tight curls, full lips, and wide hips. Kiara likes these traits that she carries. In fact, she loves them, but men don’t. Specifically, men that aren’t her race. Not to mention that Black men are hard to come by in this particular part of city.

The simple fact is most white men don’t like Black women.

It’s even arguable that Black men don't even like Black women.

And Kiara is okay with that. She doesn’t need to be approved by a bunch of white people, nonetheless ones with penises. She just wishes she had more options to date within her race, or at least find someone who genuinely liked her.

Maybe that’s the reason why Kiara doesn’t want to go out and find a man to have some fun with. She knows he’s going to be white, and she will have to endure hundreds of questions about her race and her hair or meet racist parents, and she has done that all before.

So, for now, instead of explaining this to Trina, her very white friend, she will just blow off her questions about why she isn’t sleeping around or why she doesn’t entertain the idea of going to bars to find cute boys.

+++

The next day Kiara is off work. She spends her day sitting in her bed, in red pajama shorts and her university sweater, studying for her midterm. She got through quite a bit but is still a little worried about not getting an A. About an hour into her studying, she hears bickering from Trina’s apartment.

“I don’t know what you are being so shy about. Just ask her! You are great with girls.”

“No, I’m great at fucking girls. Trying to establish a genuine connection, I haven’t done that in a while.”

“I believe in you! Now go!”

Knock

It’s another guy that Trina has been trying to set Kiara up with. Trina does this about every other month. Very rarely does Kiara entertain the idea and sleeps with them, because she is bored, but it usually doesn’t go further than that.

Kiara opens the door to her apartment and there stands Harry. He is holding a boutique of red roses in one hand, and his other is behind his back. The suit he is wearing today is slightly different. Same silhouette, but this time the suit is brown. Kiara finally gets a good look at this man, and fuck.

Green eyes, full bright pink lips. Wide shoulders and defined biceps that show he does work out but isn’t a gym rat.

Gucci loafers. Now, this is an interesting man.

“What are you doing here?”

Harry nervously gestures to the flowers in his hand. “I brought you this.”

“You just came here to bring me flowers?”

“I also brought you this,” Harry pulls his hand from behind his back and shows a bottle of wine he got when he went on a business trip in Napa. He was saving the wine for a special occasion, like the next time he would go visit his mom, but this is more than a special occasion in Harry’s eyes. He is trying to swoon this girl.

Kiara smiles at him and grabs the wine bottle. If it’s one thing Kiara has learned in her adult life is that she loves wine. She usually only gets the cheap stuff from the liquor store down the street, but Kiara has never seen this bottle before.

She walked to her kitchen, leaving Harry staring at her dumbfoundedly. She pulled out two wine glasses from her kitchen cabinet.

Normally Kiara wouldn’t entertain this. Especially since she has a test to study for. However, she can’t lie and say she hasn’t been worked up...sexually.

“Alright, you brought me wine. You are welcomed in.”

Harry follows her inside the apartment, feeling a bit awkward. Usually, Harry never found himself at a girl’s place. He always took his one-night stands back to his house and had his assistant, Trevor escort them out in the morning.

Harry was nervous because this wasn’t a one-night stand. This was him bringing wine and flowers to a girls’ apartment, which he barely knows.

Just like Kiara, Harry also hasn’t been in the dating scene in a while. He has been busy with work, and it’s not easy what he does.

“So why did you come all this way to bring me wine?” Kiara asks Harry, pouring some wine into a glass and handing it to him. “I know you don’t live in this part of the city.”

“I don’t.” Harry sits on the barstool by the kitchen countertop. “I told you I thought you were pretty. Nice place, by the way.”

Kiara looks for the sarcasm on Harry’s face when he compliments her one-bedroom apartment but doesn’t find any. Kiara’s apartment isn’t ugly. But it probably is nothing compared to what Harry lives in.

Kiara takes a gulp of her wine. “It’s kinda trash actually. This is the ghetto.”

“You go to Columbia?” Harry asked, noticing her university sweater.

Kiara takes one more gulp of her wine, finishing off what is left in her glass. She was going to answer Harry’s question. She really was. But she got a good look at his bone structure. The way his jaw is a perfectly angled line. The way his Adam apple moves when he takes a sip of his wine. Even the way his fingers glide against the glass.

She begins to wonder how his fingers would feel against her.

“Kiara?”

That was it for Kiara because she doesn’t think she can keep herself composed in front of this beautiful rich man.

Instead of pouring her wine, Kiara grabs the bottle and starts to chug the wine like she is a trucker drinking a Samuel Adams.

Her lips remove from the bottle with a pop sound. Harry is now staring at Kiara completely taken aback by her actions. “What are you really here for, Harry? Sex? Because we can cut the small talk part.”

“Maybe I actually like you, Kiara.”

“You don’t like me.”

“Who told you that,” Harry counters.

Harry watches closely as Kiara struts towards him.

“I thought you were into blonde models?”

“Where are you finding this information from?” he questions.

“Google.”

Harry smirks. “So you’re googling me?”

“You know, if you wanted to know more about me, you could have just asked.”

Kiara cut him off with her lips attached to his. She wanted him to shut up, but she also wanted to kiss him.

Killing two birds with one stone.

Harry’s lips move in sync with hers, and he places his ringed hands on her back, pulling her closer to him.

If Kiara is being honest with herself, Harry’s lips feel like magic. It’s been a while since Kiara has kissed a guy, and she feels butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

“Kiara, what are we doing?” Harry mumbles into her mouth.

“We are gonna go back to my bedroom, and you are going to fuck me. Hard.”

“A-are are you sure about that?” Harry stutters on his words.

“We both know you didn’t come here to take me out on some date. So let’s just do this.”

Harry should have confidently responded and said, “No, Kiara, that is not why I’m here. I’m here because I actually find you attractive, and I know you have been working at the shop for about two weeks now but I have been very nervous to ask you on a date.”

However, his mouth went dry because Kiara threw off her sweater and her perky boobs sat fully on her chest.

“Kiara-”

“You know,” Kiara rests the palm of her hands on his muscular chest. Kiara has the upper hand and she sees it in the way Harry was staring at her, gaping at her actions. She loves being this bold. Upper chest bare for a man who is practically drooling over her boobs. Kiara likes to be in charge, but only for a little bit. After a while she wants to be taken care of. In bed that is. “For a man of such little words, you are talking so much right now.”

Harry grabs both of her wrist, but keeps her hands placed upon his chest. He knows his heart is racing a mile per minute. Kiara feels it and for a second she thinks to herself that there is no way she is causing this man's heart to skip beats.

Kiara stands up on her tippy toes and lets her tongue dart out to touch right below Harry’s ear suckling on the spot until it turns a nice red shade. She detaches her lips with a pop.

“You want this,” Harry whispers.

“I need this,” Kiara responds back.

“Tell me what you need Kiara.”

Harry’s right hand brushes over her bare breast, causing her to buckle a bit and stumble onto Harry’s chest.

“Hold yourself up, love, and tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me,” Kiara whines.

With that, Harry holds Kiara's hips and roughly turns her away from him. Her hands went out and to grab at the granite countertop, holding herself up as much as she possibly could.

“How do you want it, hmm?” Harry whispers, quickly shrugging off his blazer and undoing a few buttons from his shirt. He begins to place wet kisses along the back of her shoulder. “I can fuck you right here, bent over the counter top. Or I can take you to the bed.”

“Here,” Kiara choked out through a moan.

“Can you handle it?” Harry teasingly asked her.

“I can handle it.”

“Can I take off your shorts?” Harry asks in a more serious tone.

“Mhmm, yes please.”

Harry shimmies down Kiara’s shorts. He takes the time to run his hands over her ass. The contact of her hot skin and Harry’s ice cold rings feels good to Kiara. She wants him to spank her, but she isn’t exactly sure what Harry is into and now she wishes she was sober enough to vocalize what she likes in bed so her needs can be met.

“Let's get a good orgasam out of you. Can I eat you?”

“Yes. God Harry, you're teasing me.”

“Not teasing,” he reassures her. “Just wanna know what you like.”

Harry gets down on his knees and opts for pushing her gray panties to the side instead of taking them off. Her core is glistening in her arousal and the smell alone makes Harry’s dick twitch in his boxers.

“Stop staring at it and-” Kiara cuts her sentence off with a yelp because Harry has attached his plump lips to her clit, giving her small kitten licks.

Kiara doesn’t really prefer to be eaten out. Most men's mouths don’t really do it for her. However, Harry is doing a very good job at keeping her legs shaking. She wants to turn around and look at him, but everytime she tries he delves deeper and deeper in her core, until she can barely hold herself up.

“M’mmm. A little higher please?”

Harry smirks against Kiara’s core because the little please she added to the end of her request tells him that she is slowly letting go of the tough exterior she puts up.

“Here? Is this good?”

“Yeah. Fuck right there please.” Kiara grips at the counter harder until her fingertips turned white.

“Been eating your veggies, huh?” Harry talks against Kiara’s core, the vibrations making her shudder. “You taste good love.”

Kiara is unable to respond because Harry is really going at it. His hands tightly grip Kiara's hips. His face is completely buried in her cunt, and he feels a slight ache in his jaw from the motions he makes with his mouth.

He continues to lick over her swollen folds, and then wraps his lips around her clit, which makes Kiara arch her back and push onto him. She is a panting mess, mouth wide open, eyes pinched together. She begins to thrash around but Harry grips even tighter at her hips.

“Stay still love.”

“I can’t,” she whined. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Why don’t you ask to cum?”

Kiara chokes on her spit slightly when Harry pulls his mouth from her pussy, and dips a finger inside of her. “Am I not entitled to an orgasm?”

“You are if you wanna be good for me.”

“Well if you're looking for a good girl I think you have come to the wrong place-”

Harry adds a second finger to her, which shuts Kiara up. “Ask nicely and you can cum.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna be so-”

“So what?” Harry asks her.

“Dominant.”

“You're lucky I’m not spanking you.”

“What's holding you back?” Kiara challenged.

Harry gets up from off his knees, and his free hand reigns down a heavy smack on her ass.

“Ask me nicely,” Harry demands, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of her.

“No.”

Smack.

“Ask nicely Kiara. I can do this all night.”

Kiara snaps her head back to look at Harry. “No.”

Smack.

The three spanks that Harry had given to Kiara were much harder than the first. So hard that Harry started to see an outline of his hand print.

It's when Harry gives her one more smack and pushes his fingers deeper into her, hitting a sensitive spot that Kiara gives in.

“Fuck, Harry please just let me come,” Kiara struggles to say with a couple tears falling from her eyes from being so wrapped up in pleasure.

“Say sorry.”

“I’m sorry. So damn sorry. Please, I'm so close.”

Harry laughed at how her personality has done a complete one eighty. She went from being a complete brat to now begging him for an orgasm. “You are?”

“Yes please.”

Once Harry feels her pussy tighten around his fingers he pulls them from inside of her. “I don’t think you are that sorry.”

Kiara let out a whimper at the loss of connection. Her legs are still shaking and she almost slipped off the counter but Harry was quick to catch her.

Harry's strong arms snaked around to the front of Kiara’s stomach, letting her stumble back into her arms. She felt Harry’s hard cock press up against her raw ass.“Easy now.”

Usually, Kiara would give Harry some witty comments, but right now she is too worked up from being so close to her orgamsm. She feels a bit fuzzy, not sure what to do next. Her core aches and all she can think about is getting off.

Her hands go down to rub at her clit, but Harry quickly smacks it away.

“That's my job tonight alright? You gonna let me fuck you? You're gonna be good so I can get you off properly.”

Kiara nods her head.

“Verbal consent Kiara.”

“Yes please.”

“Good girl.”

Harry’s smug voice echoes in her ear as he places wet open mouth kisses along her neck. Harry is really enjoying himself. She felt him smile against his neck when he started to coax soft moans out of her.

Kiara weakly pushes Harry's head away from her neck.

“Doll, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I'm good. Can we just take this to my bedroom?” Kiara politely asks. “I think I will be more comfortable there.”

When Harry gets a good look at Kiara, he can tell he has pushed past the first layer of her tough exterior. He knows there is probably much more fight and sass in her, but right now she looks vulnerable.

“Yes of course we can,” Harry held his hand out and Kiara willingly took it as he led both of them to the bedroom.

When they arrive, Kiara sits at the edge of her queen sized bed, and Harry lets go of her hand. She whines a little at the feeling of Harry’s hands slipping away from her.

Harry chuckles at the girl. “Let me just take my shirt off darling.”

Kiara watches closely as Harry’s fingers undo the buttons one by one. His silk shirt gilded easily off his toned shoulders. He made his way to sit at the top of Kiara’s bed leaning against the headboard, and Kiara crawled on her hands and knees toward him.

“Christ,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

Harry spreads his legs wider, which allows Kiara to sit comfortably in his lap. She let her hands roam up and down his tattoos starting with the birds on his collar bone. She then notices the butterfly right above his tummy. When she places her left hand on it, tracing the wings, Harry sighs contently at her touch. It’s a comforting touch, one that he has never experienced with his one-night stands.

Harry breaks a sweat on his forehead when Kiara continues to trace his tattoos. His broad chest stops moving up and down because he begins to hold his breath. He isn’t really sure what she is doing, but it feels good. Good enough for Harry to exhale and relax into the bed.

For Harry, sex with girls usually got directly to the point. Of course, there was foreplay, but not to any extent like this.

Having someone else’s hands on your body is a part of sex. However, this feels much more intimate than that. He’s got that feeling of butterflies in his stomach when Kiara begins to run her hands all over his body. It felt like he was in high school again, having sex for the first time and being so nervous because you don’t know what to do. But in this case, the nerves and butterflies don’t come from a lack of knowledge of the female anatomy. It comes from being completely enamored by the beauty this one girl holds.

And for just a second, Harry questions if he deserves this to feel the way he feels right now. Warm and a little drunk on the feeling of love. He doesn’t love Kiara, at least not yet anyway. But he feels like at this moment, Kiara cares for him. And even if she doesn’t care for him, he wouldn’t mind existing in this false reality he has created in his head for a really long time.

Something about having his body touched in such a vulnerable way is making him feel things he has never felt in his life.

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Kiara points out, fingers still tracing his butterfly tattoo.

“Yeah, I have been collecting them over the years.”

“Which one was your first one?” Kiara asks curiously.

Harry brought Kiara’s delicate hands up to the swallows on his chest.

“These ones,” Harry’s voice shakily said. Kiara takes her index finger and begins to trace the birds.

“How old were you?” Kiara asks, keeping her eyes looking at the birds.

“Sixteen,” is all Harry says, trying to keep his past where it belongs. In the past.

“That’s young. You don’t regret any of them?”

“No, actually. I think they all tell a story. Sure, some of them are stupid, but they all got some meaning behind them.

Kiara innocently brings her hand up to his cheek, cradling his face. “You gotta tell me about them one day. You have so many.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed in response.

“Let’s kiss some more,” Kiara suggested, wiggling her hips in Harry’s lap to find a comfortable position.

Harry nodded his head in response letting his lips touch Kiara’s, but not yet giving in to her request. His hands find their way to her lower back, and Kiara’s hands now have made their way up to his shoulders.

“You look good. You know that?” Harry says against her lips.

Kiara now has a grin on her face and blushes at Harry as if she has never received a compliment in her life.

Kiara brushes a brown curl off of Harry’s face with her index finger, “You can’t give me compliments while I’m buzzed off of wine because you might make me fall in love with you.”

Harry smiles. “Why don’t I just fuck you like I love you?”

Harry realizes what he said and awkwardly takes his hands off of Kiara’s body, nervously running his hands through his hair.

Kiara see’s the worried look on Harry’s face, but she is just a tad bit too intoxicated to process the weight of Harry’s words.

“Or you could let me fuck you,” Kiara bodly suggests. “I just haven’t done it in a while, so you might need to take over when my legs get sore.”

Harry nods, his forehead pushed upon Kiara’s. He kisses her again, and is taken by surprise when she lightly bites on his lip. She then gives a quick kiss to the corner of the month, and then his throat. She leans over to kiss his collar bones, and Harry takes the opportunity to grab a handful of her ass.

He then slowly peels her underwear off of her. He drags it slowly past her thighs looking down at her soaking wet core.

“You’re wet,” Harry mummers into her ear.

Kiara cups Harry’s dick through his boxers, and slides them off of his hips.

Harry groans in pleasure when he feels her hand touch his hard dick that is leaking pre cum.

“Don’t get too cocky now,” her hand lazily pumps at Harry's length, which she finds to be quite impressive in size.

“Kiara, don’t forget who is in charge here,” Harry grits through his teeth.

Kiara dips her head down to lick at Harry's heavy balls, she then continues her way up to his shaft until she makes her way to his tip and suctions her lips around the pink swollen flesh.

Harry looks down at the Kiara, who is giving him those innocent eyes, as if she doesn’t have his entire dick in her mouth

“Oh fuck me,” Harrys rolls his eyes, and lets his head fall onto the headboard.

“I will. But let me suck you off first.”

Kiara passes her thumb over his dick, and kisses all around the tip. She licks him up and down before taking him into her mouth entirely, making sure to make eye contact with him.

Harry places his hand gently over Kiara’s head, asking permission to touch her. She blinks at him signaling to him that it's okay.

He took a rough grip to Kiara’s brown curls, moving her head up and down in a steady rhythm.

“That's it,” he encourages as Kiara suckles on his tip. “Fucking hell.”

She pulls her mouth from Harry's length and gives him a few sharp tugs.

“Slow down,” Harry pants. “Want to be inside of you when I come. Can you handle it?”

Kiara swings one leg around Harry’s lap, her core just inches away from Harry’s throbbing dick.

“Yeah I can.”

“Well what are you waiting for?”

Kiara slowly slides down on Harry’s dick, and his hands cling to the sides of hips, coaxing her on her way down. Harry groans at how tight and snug she feels around him.

Kiara is about halfway down when the blissful feeling starts to hit her. She tightens her grip on Harry’s shoulders biting her bottom lip.

“What's wrong? Thought you said you could handle it.”

Bravely, in one push Kiara glides right down Harry’s dick.

Harry groans with pleasure as soon as she makes it all the way down. His hands go out to grip her ass, and help her bounce up and down.

“That's it. Good girl. You like it when I call you that?”

“Yes,” Kiara responds, picking up her speed so that her tits move up and down with her.

“What do you want me to call you? I can call you my good girl, a slut, or whore. Which one do you prefer?”

“A whore,” Kiara is slightly embarrassed at what this man is doing to her, but she is so wrapped up in the lust of the moment that she really couldn’t care less.

“You're my dirty little whore, hmmm?”

Harry cranes his neck down to place a kiss on her tongue, lapping his tongue over her soft skin that smells like a floral scented perfume. He moans softly into her neck and squeezes at her fleshy hips.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your dirty little whore,” Out of nowhere Harry thrust his hips up to meet hers. “Fuck, Harry!”

Harry placed a wet kiss behind her hair before speaking, “How about you get on your hands and knees for me. I can fuck you like that.”

“Okay,” Kiara withdraws herself from him with ease due to how wet she was. She props herself on her hands and knees and arches her back for Harry.

Harry places a hand on her lower back. He rubs the tip of his dick over her wet folds before pushing in.

Harry moves slowly at first, testing out the waters to make sure he isn’t hurting her. Her sweet moans are only egging Harry on, and he is sure he isn’t gonna last another five minutes inside of her.

“Please Harry. Fuck me faster please.”

Harry hands grips on Kiara's fleshy love handles. It is a little tight for her liking however the pain is quickly drowned out by the intense pleasure she begins to feel.

This is a dirty shag. Harry is pounding into her at such an extreme pace that Kiara can’t even get a full moan out. Her little “uhhhh’s” and “nggggs” only encourage Harry on.

Kiara’s orgasm hits her first and it's just as blissful as she thought it would be. Legs trembling, her arms are no longer propping herself up, instead her right cheek is pushed up on the bed, and a bit of salvia is foaming out of her mouth.

“I’m gonna, oh god Kiara. Just give me a sec- fuck!”

Harry’s orgasm shortly follows and it's just as euphoric for him as it was for Kiara. This was one of the most satisfying sexual encounters Harry has had in a while and he wants to enjoy every second of being buried in Kiara’s warmth.

Harry was about to pull out from her but when he looked down at where they were connecting he realized how fucked he was.

Not only did he not wear a condom, but he most definitely came inside of her.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles under his breath.

How could he be so careless? This has never happened to him. Harry has had quite the extent of sexual partners and he makes sure to always use a condom.

He wants to blame it on the wine but he didn’t even finish his glass.

“I need a second,” Kiara tiredly whispers, panting.

“I didn’t use a condom.”

“I’m sorry?” Kiara says still coming down from her high.

Harry runs his hand through his tangled hair nervously, “I didn’t use a condom. I haven’t had sex in almost a year though. I get tested regularly too. I’m sorry it just slipped my mind. I can run out and get you some plan B.”

“It's okay,” Kiara responds. She turns her head around to look at Harry. “Do you mind pulling out now though?”

Harry looks down at his dick, and then looks up at Kiara. “Oh yeah shit uhh.” He grabs on to Kiara’s hips and slowly pulls out of her.

“I haven’t had sex in like six months by the way,” Kiara slowly turns herself around to face Harry who has now tucked himself back in his boxers. “It could be longer honestly… it's been pretty dry here until now.”

“Yeah, same. Busy with work and what not.”

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence. Kiara has the sheets up to her bare breast, and Harry is not only taking in the raw beauty of the girl in front of him, and still beyond shocked he forgot to put on a damn condom.

“Well, I can get you some plan B. I think there is like a Target down the block from your apartment.”

“No, it's fine!” Kiara responds way too quickly. “I mean like, Trina has a stash in her car. I can steal from her in the morning. You don't have to rush out if you don’t want to. It’s not safe to drive at night, and you probably have such a long way to go.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Harry shakes his head. “No...errr it's not. I would really like to stay.”

“Okay well I’m gonna pee. And clean myself up. I can bring you some water?”

“Water would be great.”

Kiara nods at him, standing up so that her white sheet is wrapped tightly around her body. She knows that there is no reason to hide from Harry. He just took her from behind and called her a whore, but Harry isn’t just any man. He is a man who looks like a greek god, and fucks like one too. So Kiara couldn’t help but be a little self conscious.

Kiara quickly comes back with two glasses of water. She has even changed into an old ratty T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear.

Kiara hands Harry a glass and he takes a sip, “You know,” she starts, crawling into bed next to him. “If you told me you fuck like that maybe I wouldn’t have put up a fight at the cafe.”

Harry blushes, setting the glass on the nightstand next to him. “Didn’t plan this, you know. Not that I mind. Trust me, I like this.”

“I would be lying if I didn’t say I thought you were cute.”

“Oh,” Harry playfulls wiggles his eyebrows, scooting himself closer to Kiara on the bed. “Please do tell me more.”

Kiara pouts at Harry until he places a kiss on her bottom lip, another sloppy wet one on her cheek. He grabs at her sides, tickling her.

“Har- Harry! Stop, please!” Kiara begins to laugh uncontrollably. She even attempts to pull Harry’s enormous hands from her body but has no luck.

“Okay, okay,” she gives up, Harry pulling his hands off of her. “It was the whole curly hair, suit thing. I love a man in a suit, and you know you got an Americano. You have good taste in coffee.”

Harry smiles. “You make good coffee.”

Kiara hums awkwardly, not making eye contact with Harry, instead opting to stare at his mermaid tattoo with abnormally large tits.

“I like your hair too,” Harry speaks up. “It frames your face nicely. It was the first thing I noticed about you.” Harry’s ringed hands make their way to the top of Kiara’s thigh, rubbing her soft skin. “Then it was all the pins you had on your apron. You have a lot.”

“Oh. Yeah I’ve been collecting them over the years.”

“You had one that said, ‘Don’t be a damn.’ What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Kiara shrugs, breathing out a relaxed sigh. “It was like my third year of undergrad. I studied abroad at the University Of Edinburgh, in Scotland and this guy who had a jewelry shop said it to me. The next day I came back he just gave me the pin and told me to always keep it with me.”

Harry smiles at Kiara with adornment, “I have family in Scotland. I’m from London though. Grew up there with my mum most of my life.”

“What brought you to New York then?”

“School then work. I went to Columbia,” Harry says, giving her the shortest answer possible. “I noticed you had it on your sweater earlier…. You know before you tore it off.”

“Shut up!” Kiara groans, striking Harry’s chest. “But yes I do go to Colombia. Just for my teaching credentials. I want to teach history.”

There is a beast of silence. “Are you sure if I stay the night? I don't want to intrude-”

“I want you to stay the night.”

Harry’s heart warms because no girl has ever said that to him. The feeling of butterflies swarming around in his tummy has come back, and he knows his cheeks are heating up in embarrassment.

“Alright.” Harry pulls Kiara’s body closer to him which makes her squeal in surprise. “Only if you keep me warm for the night.

+++

Harry is awake before Kiara.

Harry is used to waking up early for his job, and usually, he would be on his way to get his morning coffee and then head on down to the club.

However, he just can't leave the girl he just fucked last night.

Her breaths are short, and he can feel her heart thumping against his chest. She was properly attached to him, and Harry really liked it. Having her this close to him.

He takes the time while Kiara was asleep to not only watch her sleep peacefully but look at all the artwork she has displayed on her walls. There are no family pictures that Harry can spot, just a picture of her and Trina on her desk. It looks like they are at some club. Trina has a drink in her hand that looks like she is about to spill and Kiara is downing a shot.

Kiara stirs a bit in her sleep and Harry watches as she slowly blinks her eyes open.

“You're warm.” She blinks. “Do you want breakfast?” Kiara offers, nuzzling herself in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I make a really good omelet.”

Harry laughs. “Kiara I really can’t keep up with you.”

Kiara begins to innocently pepper kisses all over Harry’s neck. “What do you mean?” she pouts.

Harry groans once Kiara sucks on a sensitive right beneath his jawline. “For starters, you didn’t like me at all when we first met. Then we fucked because you claimed I was here just for sex. And now you are offering to make me an omelet.”

“What are you here for then?” Kiara presses.

Harry sighs, looking down at the pretty girl all tangled up in his arms. Harry knows exactly what he wants. He is twenty-seven and he is really looking for love. A life-long partner who he can come home to after a hard day at work. A partner who makes getting up in the morning all worth it. Someone who he can take out on dates, maybe even take to meet his brother.

He wants to take a leap of faith with Kiara. He wants to ask her on a date, however, he can’t bring himself to do that. He doesn’t want to put this girl in harm’s way because he likes her.

And it's not even about Kiara getting hurt. He would never let anything physically happen to the people he cares about in his life. It’s honestly about the hurt she would experience if something happened to him.

“I-”

Harry is interrupted by Trina barging into the bedroom.

“We will be late for the train if you don't get your ass up! You always sleep in--” Trina pauses once she realizes her best friend is wrapped up in her other best friend’s arms. “Oh fuck.” Trina points back to the door. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

“Shit,” Kiara grumbles to herself. “I forgot I had work.”

Harry watches as Kiara frantically pulls her underwear up her body. When she realizes Harry is staring at her, she turns around to slide on her black lace bra.

Harry isn’t trying to be that much of a dick, staring at Kiara while she is getting changed. It's just that her ass is littered with marks from his heavy handy, and a light bruise on her loved handles from holding her securely on his lap, while he pounded into her.

The bruises were tainted with the memory of last night, and Harry notices how every little mark told the story of their rough and passionate sex. Looking back on it Harry doesn’t know if he was too rough with the young girl. He doesn’t like that it was possible that he may have hurt her.

“You need to go,” Kiara demands, pulling her jeans on, and then her white shirt.

Harry picked up his white button-up shirt off the floor and threw it over his shoulder. “Kiara, was I too rough? Maybe you should put something on the bruises--”

“I’m going to be late for work Harry,” she snaps.

“Are you mad?”

Tears well up in Kiara’s eyes and this is very unusual for her. She never cries. She is not even sure why she is crying. She pauses for a moment not answering his questions.

“I’m fine,” Kiara answers with her back still facing away from Harry.

“You’re crying, Kiara.”

“I’m not!” Kiara yelled, throwing her hands up in the air turning around. “I- I’m just a little overwhelmed.” Kiara’s breath gets caught in the back of her throat. “I have school, and I work full time, and I’m interning at this elementary school...and that…” Kiara points to the bed. “That was the best sex I have ever had, and now I look like a complete freak.” She wipes a tear with the back of her hand. “I look like a complete freak because all we did was have sex and now I’m crying. It doesn’t have much to do with you I think. I’m just a little stressed.”

That was a complete lie and Kiara knows it. At this moment, she could care less about school or the stress of work. Its that empty feeling you have after sex knowing that this isn’t a forever thing. Harry will go back to being Harry, and she will go back to being Kiara. It is simply just sex...nothing more.

Harry gets off the bed in just his unbuttoned shirt and boxers. He tests the waters by placing a comforting hand on her back. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just show yourself out please.” Kiara walks away from Harry’s hold, grabbing a scrunchie off her desk, and her purse. “I have to go.”

Harry doesn’t stop her. He knows that if he stops her he is gonna want to kiss her. Then he is gonna convince her to come back to bed with him, and he can’t do that. For her sake.

+++

“Are we not gonna talk about it?” Trina asks while she is driving her SUV.

Trina and Kiara usually take the subway together. It works out much cheaper for the both of them, but they can’t be late for work. Not during the Monday rush. Kiara is in the passenger seat pulling up her hair and frantically covering up a few hickies on her neck from last night. Trina is driving just a little bit above the speed limit, trying to make sure they both get there on time, and also worrying about her best friend who isn’t her usual bubbly self.

“There is nothing to talk about, other than I need some plan B,” Kiara replies dryly.

“You're joking.”

“Nope. Pass me your purse.”

Trina keeps one hand on the wheel and hands Kiara her purple purse from the back seat.

“Kiara you had sex with my best friend. Unprotected sex.”

“Exactly just sex,” Kiara shruged, digging up the pill from the bottom of Trina’s bag. “And I’m your best friend!”

“You are both my best friends!” Trina argued. “You know the poor boy actually likes you right?”

Kiara rolls her eyes. “Did he tell you that?”

“Yes! Actually, he did! More than once!”

“He is lying. I’m just a normal broke student. And him? He is a fucking rich man but he looks like a literal greek god! Trina you know I googled him. His past girlfriends are models! White, skinny blonde models. I’m not white, skinny, or blonde!”

“He was a party boy in the past!” Trina retorts. “He likes you, okay? He just has trouble communicating his feelings. I know you like him too. You just have this strange idea in your head that you are not good enough for him! Which is ridiculous.”

“It's whatever,” Kiara huffs, pooping the pill in her mouth and swallowing it, “It was a hook-up. A simple one night stand.”

“It’s okay to want something more Kiara.”

“He doesn’t want something more! It's so painfully obvious,” Kiara throws her hands up in the air.

Trina knows how stubborn her best friend is. It's why they get along so well. They both have this hot headed temperament. However, Kiara never really likes to give herself time to relax. She likes to be busy but it is clearly taking a toll on her mental health.

“Let me take you out drinking after work.”

Kiara turned her head towards her friend and smiled. “Thank you. Now we are speaking my language.”

+++

While Kiara’s working, a part of her secretly wishes that Harry would show up for his americano. She is trying her hardest to convince herself that he is not worth her energy or time, but the sex is still fresh in her mind and it doesn’t help that her body is showing evidence of what took place last night.

There is still that dull satisfying ache between her legs, the sound of Harry calling her a dirty whore plays on rewind all day. She is practically daydreaming about having sex with Harry again while making coffee.

Harry was the first man to meet her needs in that manner. Sure she has cum during sex a couple times, but it wasn’t anything mindblowing. In fact her orgasms were usually underwhelming, but with Harry he knew what he was doing. His dominance was a complete turn on.

And sure Kiara could be fuck buddies with Harry. But she thinks she deserves a little more than just casual hookups. She wants a relationship because at the end of the day, she wants to build a family. A family that makes up for her broken one.

Kiara has sat down and contemplated this before. Is it inherently selfish to want to fix her childhood trauma with a family of her own, but fuck. Can you really blame her?

+++

When Kiara gets home she quickly changes into a simple black dress. It hugs her curves nicely and it's the dress she usually pulls out when she used to go clubbing with Trina (which has come to a halt because of her pregnancy).

The subway ride to the club is filled with laughter and Trina having to help Kiara actually get on and off the train (because she pregamed at the apartment).

Once they got to the club, Trina walks up to the front of the line with Kiara.

The bouncer's eyes lit up as soon as he saw Trina, “Hi Trina. Umm, should I tell Harry you are here? James is also here too. I can let him know as well.”

“Harry is here?” Kiara questions.

Trina whispers in her ear, “Yes, this is his club.”

“I’m gonna need more drinks if I have to look at his stupid face again.”

Trina playfully rolls her eyes, “Yes, you can let James and Harry know we are both here.”

The bouncer pulls out his walkie talkie and opens the door for Trina and Kiara.

Kiara supports herself on Trina’s arm as they walk into the club, “You didn’t tell me we were going to Harry’s club?”

“I know, I thought you might put up a fight about it.”

She probably would have put up a fight about it, however she wouldn’t actually mind seeing Harry's stupid, beautiful looking face again.

The club itself is beautiful. The ceilings are covered with mirrors, and hanging down from them were stunning crystal chandeliers. The chairs are red, and glass tables are placed strategically in each booth. There is also a bar with some red stools, and a huge red door near it.

“What’s back there?” Kiara asks.

“The strip club. But we don't need to go over there. C’mon you wanted some wine, didn’t you?”

Trina and Kiara made their way to the bar and a heavily tattooed girl with a name tag that says Drew is working on the opposite side of the counter mixing drinks.

“Hey, Trina! What are you doing here? You can’t drink.”

“It’s for my friend, Kiara.” Trina gestures to her Kiara, who drunkenly waves back at Drew “She will take some wine, something sweet. I’ll just have some sprite”

Drew grabs a wine glass and puts it on the table before walking away. “Coming right up”

“James is that new guy you are seeing, right?”

“Yes. He works for Harry.”

Kiara has heard Trina mention James on multiple occasions. She even thinks he has come to the cafe a couple of times for lunch, but Kiara can’t put a name to the face. She is unsure if Trina and James are dating, but she is not sure how far she should pry. She does briefly remember Trina telling her that James does not care about Trina being pregnant. In fact Trina told her one day during their thirty minute break at work that James is just happy to be a part of Trina’s family.

“Mhmm. So Harry owns this club?” Kiara asks, taking a sip from her wine that Drew provided for her.

“Yeah. He owns a few more too. I believe it's a family business or something?”

Kiara sighs before downing the rest of her wine. “Just eat the fucking rich already.”

“Kiara? Trina?”

Kiara spins around on her chair, holding up her second glass of wine that Drew had given her and made eye contact with Harry.

He looks breathtaking. Hair neatly combed out of his face, tailored suit, ring decorated fingers that Kiara thought was repulsive, but now she can't stop thinking about how they feel against her heat.

“Trina, it's Wednesday,” Harry sternly told her, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, slowly breathing in and out, trying not to lose his temper at his best friend.

“Are you not happy to see me?” Kiara says, standing up. She almost trips on her heels but Harry grabs her arm.

Kiara places her hand on Harry’s cheek. “I know you have to be happy to see me. You don’t fuck someone like that unless you hate them or love them. And who could hate me?”

“Okay!” Trina chippers up, grabbing her friend and bringing her back to the barstool. “Maybe we should get some water in you, okay?”

Harry is flustered because way too much is happening at once. Harry has told Trina multiple times that Wednesdays are not a good time to show up at the club. He has his meetings on Wednesday, and dangerous people are always floating in and out of the club talking business with Harry. He just wants to keep Trina and Kiara safe.

“Drew put all their drinks on my tab,” he tells the dark-haired bartender. “Trina, did you drive here?”

“No, we took the subway,” Trina answered.

Harry sighed frustratingly. “Okay. I'll take you two home. Just don’t leave here until I come get you.”

“Harry,” Trina starts. “I'm sure we will be fine. It’s not that big of a deal. James is here anyways--”

“Trina please.”

It's the crack in Harry's voice that caused Kiara to stop drinking her wine and look up at him.

Trina shoots Harry a look of sympathy. “Okay fine. We will stay here until you're done.”

Harry exhales the air he was holding in, a nervous habit he is still trying to break. “Okay. I will be done soon.”

“What's got his panties in a twist?” Kiara snorts as Harry walks away.

“I’m not sure actually,” Trina responds. “He is always stressed at work. I’ve been trying to get him to take a break for ages, but pulling that man away from his job is an impossible task.”

“He always seems so tense.”

Trina laughs, “Yeah maybe you can help him with that.”

“Well I see you have been helping his fellow associate...James.” Kiara wiggles her eyebrows at Trina.

Trina dramatically sighs. “Don’t even get me started on him.”

“What? I thought things were going great!”

“They are!” Trina assures Kiara. “But I’m still not sure what he wants. I’m pregnant and thirty. I really don’t want to fool around anymore. I want to settle down. The baby is coming soon and I won't have time for hookups and flings. He says he doesn’t mind that I’m pregnant, but he hasn’t said he wants a relationship with me.”

“Why don’t you just be upfront with him and ask?”

“Because I don’t want to scare him off!”

“You deserve someone who is upfront with their feelings, Trina. You are never gonna know until you ask.”

Trina sticks her index finger in Kiara’s face. “I’m not doing shit until you figure out what's going on with you and Harry.”

“Fine I’ll admit. The dick is good.”

Trina squealed. “I knew it, you filthy whore!”

“I'm just a little nervous. What if he is just hooking up with me for some weird black girl fetish? What if he is a racist?”

“I can tell you that's not Harry.”

“Am I ready for this?”

Trina takes a sip of her sprite. “I dunno. You know the answer to that question, not me.”

“Well I don’t know, and you don’t know. So that's my cue to keep drinking.”

Trina rolls her eyes and is about to tell Drew that this will be Kiara’s last glass of red wine until she makes eye contact with a man walking towards them.

“Fuck,” Trina grabs her purse then grabbed Kiara’s wrist. “Don’t talk to him okay? Just don’t look at him and maybe he will go away--”

“Trina... Haven’t seen you in a while.” The man's voice is heavy and dark. When Kiara looked up at him the first thing she noticed is that he is extremely well dressed, with a bling out watch on his wrist. “Who is the lovely lady you brought with you?”

“Leave her alone Dorian.” Trina says.

“What's your name?” The man reaches out to touch Kiara’s lower back but she flinches away.

“Don't touch me! Who do you think you are?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Feisty. Pretty too. You are one of Harry’s girls?”

“Excuse me? One of whose girls?”

“Are you not a dancer for the club?” the man asks in a condescending town that sets Kiara off.

“Oh hell no. You know damn well I’m clearly not stripping so what is it that you want from me?”

Trina leans into Kiara’s ear. “Kiara please leave it alone,” She grabs her wrist but Kiara quickly pulls it out of her grasp. “Let's just go.”

“No, let the girl talk Trina. She has quite a mouth on her anyway. Maybe she can put it to a much better use.”

Slap

Kiara’s hand connects with Dorian’s face before Trina could stop her. Trina knows her friend has a temper but so does Dorian. The slap slightly echoes over the music and gains a few people's attention including Drew, who stops mixing her drink and keeps her eyes on Dorian, who clenches his jaw and fixes his suit on his shoulders, trying to regain his composure.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters quietly.

“And what the fuck are you gonna… Ow!” Dorian roughly grabs Kiara wrist and drags her towards him.

He holds her hand above her head. “You don’t know who you are messing with. Do I need to show you?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Kiara begins to squirm. “Let go of me before I kick you in the crotch--”

“Hmmmm. Maybe I should teach you a lesson. Don’t think Harry would mind if I borrowed one of his girls.”

“Refer to me as one of Harry’s girls one more time and I will do more than just slap you.”

“Dorian. Let her go.” Kiara’s eyes float from the man holding her wrist to Harry who is stalking up to her with a man right next to him. His voice was deep and assertive. Something Kiara never thought Harry to be other than when he was in bed.

Dorian lets Kiara’s wrist go and she stumbles back a bit towards Trina.

“Harry!” Dorian loudly greets. “I was just telling one of your whores she needs to watch that mouth of hers.”

“She is not a dancer, Dorian.”

“Oh, is she not? Such a shame,” Dorians eyes shamelessly rake Kiara up and down. “With a body like that I’m sure she could attract some clients for you.”

Kiara launches at Dornian but Harry is quick to grab her this time pulling her into his chest.

“Behave. Please,” he whispers in her ear.

“Dorian, you need to go.”

“Harry, you know better than that. Came here for my money. Come here every Wednesday to get my payment.”

“Well, you're not getting it today. Come by tomorrow.”

“Funny you say that since you know the history between me and your father--”

“I don't give a fuck about the history between you and my father!” Harry seethes stepping closer to Dorian. “You don’t see him here do you? I made you a deal. You will get your money, just not tonight. You don’t get to threaten my friends and then just demand money.”

“You don’t want to test me boy--”

“No, you don't want to test me. Not tonight. Leave.”

Dorian smirks at Harry before raising his hands up in defeat. “I’ll be here tomorrow. If you don’t have my money there will be problems.”

Harry watches Dorian walk fully out the door before turning to Trina and Kiara. “Both of you. My car now.”

“What just happened?” Kiara questions.

“Trina just take her to the car.”

+++

The car ride back to Kiara’s apartment is silent. Kiara sits in the back confused as to why Trina and Harry kept whispering to each other. A whole conversation is happening and Kiara’s trying to keep up, but she can only get bits and pieces of what the two are saying.

“I might be still drunk but I can hear you know.” That is a lie.

Harry’s eyes glance up to the rear view mirror. “Are you okay Kiara? He didn’t hurt you right?”

“No but I did hurt him. Slapped him. And if you didn’t come and interrupt I was about to kick him in the balls.” Kiara hiccups at the end of her sentence.

“She is right,” Trina agrees. “She is more of a fighter than she leads on to be.”

“Exactly!” Kiara yells. “So if you would have given me the chance I would have fucked him up.”

Harry, who was clenching his hand at the wheel during the whole drive, lets go and smiles. “I believe you Kiara.”

+++

Harry makes sure to walk Trina into her apartment safely, before helping Kiara to hers which was a challenge in itself because she can’t even walk in a straight line.

“Woah,” Harry says, wrapping his strong arms around Kiara’s waist trying to keep her balance. “How about you sit down on the bed?”

Harry helps Kiara walk into her bedroom and he slowly sits her down on her bed. Her hair is completely ruined, her dress slightly bunched up at her hips and her lips gloss slightly smudged. Harry thinks she looks beautiful. He is staring a little too long before he realizes he should help her take off her heels.

He gets down on one knee and his fingers begin to work on the claps of Kiara’s heels until she wraps her leg around Harry’s neck and pulls him closer to her thigh.

“Wine makes me horny.”

“I know,” Harry pushes himself away from her, no matter how tempting she looks, and goes back to undoing her heels. “But I think it would be smart if I get you to bed.”

“Why was that guy asking you for money?”

“Asking me anything but that.”

“Okay. Did you mean it?”

Harry slides one heel off her foot and looks up at her. “Mean what?”

“When we met.” He grabs Kiara’s other foot. “You said I was pretty. You meant it?”

Harry is silent for a couple seconds, his voice low. “Of course. Why would I be lying about that?”

Kiara shrugs as Harry glides her shoe off. “Guys are assholes. Well most guys are.”

“Mhmm. Where can I find some clothes for you?”

“Top drawer.” Kiara points at her dresser right in front of her bed. Harry walks over to get some clothes and places them on the side of her bed. “When I moved here I hooked up with this one guy from my class. I thought there was something going on between us ya know? He was nice at first. So I was gonna ask him if he wanted to go on a date because well, at that point we were hooking up. Turns out he had a girlfriend.”

“Sounds like a dick. Can I unzip your dress?”

Kiara nods her head and stands up hastily, turning around so her back is facing Harry. “I feel like I’m never good enough to be the girlfriend.” Harry listens closely as he zips Kiara’s dress slowly. Her delicate skin has goosebumps on it. When he gets all the way down to the top of her butt he pushes the dress off her shoulders, and allows her to step out of it.

“I’m good enough to hook up with. But never good enough to meet the parents or keep around longer than a couple weeks.” She turns around to face Harry, and grabs the shirt he picked out for her, throwing it over her head, and ignoring the pair of sweats he brought her, opting to stay in her underwear.

“So do you find me pretty in a fuckable way? Or do you find me pretty enough to keep me around longer than a few weeks?”

“Do you want me to answer that? Because you are really drunk, and my goal isn’t to scare you off.”

“Yes please,” she hiccups. “If you want to fuck around lets just be up front about it. Think I’ve gotten my hopes up about too many guys and I just wanna know.”

“Well I always think it's time for me to settle down,” Harry explains to her. “I’m twenty seven and my mum will not stop bugging me about it.” He laughs but Kiara stays silent. “I guess dating is just a bit confusing for me.”

“Confusing?” Kiara questions, tugging at the bottom of her shirt to make sure it is covering her butt.

“I really didn’t expect to be around this long. I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff Kiara, stuff that I really shouldn’t have done because it put my life at jeopardy. I think I never settled down because I didn’t think I was able to.”

“And what about now? Do you think you can settle down.”

Harry inhales and exhales quickly. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay.” Kiara turns her back to Harry and walks to her bed. She is definitely disappointed in his answer, but she knew she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep seeing you Kiara,” Harry quickly responds, breathlessly. “I want to take you to dinner.”

“You don’t have to pity me Harry-”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry cuts her off. “I like you Kiara. You're a nice girl, beautiful too, and I mean that. My life can be… menacing to say the least. I like you enough not to drag you into my bullshit.”

Kiara tiredly rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. “What exactly is the bullshit?”

“It's my family business and my family… Well, they are interesting people.” That is all Harry could tell her without explicitly saying, “Instead of going into finance with my business degree from Columbia, I had to join my dad’s mafia and fix all his mistakes while he lives in a mansion, even though all I have ever wanted was to have absolutely nothing to do with the “‘family business.’”

“You seem like you don’t want to talk about it.” Kiara is now sitting with her knees up to her chest on her bed and Harry is towering over her small frame.

“No. I’m not a big fan of my past. But I want to get to know you, and you can get to know me. I’m busy with work, and sometimes it's hard for me to open up, but I’d really appreciate it if we took this slow.”

Kiara pouts. “So that means I can’t convince you to stay the night? Even if I suck you off?”

Harry smiles at her. “No.” He places a kiss on her forehead. “But I will come get you tomorrow at seven for dinner. Does that work?”

“Yes it does. Thanks for bringing me home tonight.”

“Anytime. I mean that.”

Kiara flips over to her side, hands resting underneath her head. “Drive safe.”

Harry is unsure about his life. In fact he is unsure about leaping into this with Kiara. He knows they aren’t dating, and that's good for him. He needs time to figure out his life. He knows if he wants to be in Kiara’s life, he has to pay off his fathers debt’s and get out of the mafia, or else he will never truly have the life he wants.

Right now, he can see a future with Kiara. He can see himself waking up next to her, making breakfast. He can see himself enjoying a domestic life with her.

He knows he can’t have that right now. But he sure is gonna work like hell for it. For her.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #haryr styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles angst #mafia!harry #harry styles mafia #harry styles x oc #harry styles x woc #harrystyles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #ha

374 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift.

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you.

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb.

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms).

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you.

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or—

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment?

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.”

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all.

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?”

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh.

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous.

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine.

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva.

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you.

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?)

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.”

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood.

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute.

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually.

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty.

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee.

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs.

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating.

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled.

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted.

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you.

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.”

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?”

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says.

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic.

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook.

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread.

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine.

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.”

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet.

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says.

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple “no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.”

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy.

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited.

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention.

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

A few weeks later, you get sick.

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode.

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance.

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says.

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty?

Wait.

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts #bts au #cypherwritersnet #bts fluff #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x oc #joy.masterlist

2K notes · View notes

sgt-paul · 4 years ago

Photo

MUSICIANS ON MUSICIANS: Paul McCartney & Taylor Swift

❝ During the shoot, Paul dances and takes almost none of it too seriously and sings along to Motown songs playing from the speakers. A few times Mary scolds, ‘Daaad, try to stand still!’ And it feels like a window into a pretty awesome family dynamic. ❞

interview below the cut:

Paul McCartney: Yeah!

McCartney: You were playing one of his songs, weren’t you?

McCartney: I mean, I think it’s a bit of everything, isn’t it? I’ll tell you who was very … Reese Witherspoon was like, “Are you going to sing?” I said “Oh, I don’t know.” She said, “You’ve got to, yeah!” She’s bossing me around. So I said, “Whoa,” so it’s a bit of that.

Swift: I love that person, because the party does not turn musical without that person.

McCartney: Yeah, that’s true.

Swift: If nobody says, “Can you guys play music?” we’re not going to invite ourselves up onstage at whatever living-room party it is.

McCartney: I seem to remember Woody Harrelson got on the piano, and he starts playing “Let It Be,” and I’m thinking, “I can do that better.” So I said, “Come on, move over, Woody.” So we’re both playing it. It was really nice.… I love people like Dan Aykroyd, who’s just full of energy and he loves his music so much, but he’s not necessarily a musician, but he just wanders around the room, just saying, “You got to get up, got to get up, do some stuff.”

Swift: Wow.

McCartney: Well, I’m very lucky because I have a studio that’s, like, 20 minutes away from where I live. We were in lockdown on a farm, a sheep farm with my daughter Mary and her four kids and her husband. So I had four of my grandkids, I had Mary, who’s a great cook, so I would just drive myself to the studio. And there were two other guys that could come in and we’d be very careful and distanced and everything: my engineer Steve, and then my equipment guy Keith. So the three of us made the record, and I just started off. I had to do a little bit of film music — I had to do an instrumental for a film thing — so I did that. And I just kept going, and that turned into the opening track on the album. I would just come in, say, “Oh, yeah, what are we gonna do?” [Then] have some sort of idea, and start doing it. Normally, I’d start with the instrument I wrote it on, either piano or guitar, and then probably add some drums and then a bit of bass till it started to sound like a record, and then just gradually layer it all up. It was fun.

Swift: That’s so cool.

McCartney: What about yours? You’re playing guitar and piano on yours.

Swift: Yeah, on some of it, but a lot of it was made with Aaron Dessner, who’s in a band called the National that I really love. And I had met him at a concert a year before, and I had a conversation with him, asking him how he writes. It’s my favorite thing to ask people who I’m a fan of. And he had an interesting answer. He said, “All the band members live in different parts of the world. So I make tracks. And I send them to our lead singer, Matt, and he writes the top line.” I just remember thinking, “That is really efficient.” And I kind of stored it in my brain as a future idea for a project. You know, how you have these ideas… “Maybe one day I’ll do this.” I always had in my head: “Maybe one day I’ll work with Aaron Dessner.”

McCartney: Yeah, that was the thing. You could do stuff — you didn’t really worry it was going to turn into anything.

Swift: That’s the coziest thing I’ve ever heard.

McCartney: Well, it’s like eight minutes long, and I said, “I hate it when I’m playing someone something and it finishes after three minutes.” I kind of like that it just [continues] on.

Swift: You want to stay in the zone.

McCartney: It just keeps going on. I would just come home, “Well, what did you do today?” “Oh, well, I did this. I’m halfway through this,” or, “We finished this.”

Swift: I was wondering about the numerology element to McCartney III. McCartney I, II, and III have all come out on years with zeroes.

McCartney: Ends of decades.

Swift: Was that important?

Swift: The numerology, the kind of look, the symbolism. I love numbers. Numbers kind of rule my whole world. The numbers 13 … 89 is a big one. I have a few others that I find…

McCartney: Thirteen is lucky for some.

McCartney: It’s spooky, Taylor. It’s very spooky. Now wait a minute: Where’d you get 89?

Swift: That’s when I was born, in 1989, and so I see it in different places and I just think it’s…

McCartney: No, it’s good. I like that, where certain things you attach yourself to, and you get a good feeling off them. I think that’s great.

Swift: Love a pseudonym.

McCartney: Yeah, for the fun! But, you know, let’s face it, you crave fame and attention when you’re young. And I just remembered the other day, I was the guy in the Beatles that would write to journalists and say [speaks in a formal voice]: “We are a semiprofessional rock combo, and I’d think you’d like [us].… We’ve written over 100 songs (which was a lie), my friend John and I. If you mention us in your newspaper…” You know, I was always, like, craving the attention.

Swift: The hustle! That’s so great, though.

McCartney: Well, yeah, you need that.

McCartney: Do you ever do that?

Swift: Oh, yeah.

McCartney: Oh, yeah? Oh, well, we didn’t know that! Is that a widely known fact?

Swift: [Laughs.] That’s a good one! I love it.

Swift: Thrilling, absolutely thrilling.

McCartney: And we didn’t mind, you know?

McCartney: You do that, do you?

McCartney: Well, that’s great, and I’m glad that set you on that path. I understand people who don’t want to do that, and if you do, they’ll say, “Oh, it’s a jukebox show.” I hear what they’re saying. But I think it’s a bit of a cheat, because the people who come to our shows have spent a lot of money. We can afford to go to a couple of shows and it doesn’t make much difference. But a lot of ordinary working folks … it’s a big event in their life, and so I try and deliver. I also, like you say, try and put in a few weirdos.

McCartney: Was this “I want to give you a child”? Is that one of the lines?

Swift: Oh, that’s a song called “Peace.”

McCartney: “Peace,” I like that one.

McCartney: So how does that go? Does your partner sympathize with that and understand?

Swift: Oh, absolutely.

McCartney: They have to, don’t they?

Swift: But I think that in knowing him and being in the relationship I am in now, I have definitely made decisions that have made my life feel more like a real life and less like just a storyline to be commented on in tabloids. Whether that’s deciding where to live, who to hang out with, when to not take a picture — the idea of privacy feels so strange to try to explain, but it’s really just trying to find bits of normalcy. That’s what that song “Peace” is talking about. Like, would it be enough if I could never fully achieve the normalcy that we both crave? Stella always tells me that she had as normal a childhood as she could ever hope for under the circumstances.

McCartney: Yeah, it was very important to us to try and keep their feet on the ground amongst the craziness.

Swift: She went to a regular school .…

McCartney: Yeah, she did.

Swift: And you would go trick-or-treating with them, wearing masks.

Swift: Ohhh!

Swift: Cares about that stuff?

Swift: I think that sounds like a perfect day.

Swift: That can’t happen in Downton Abbey.

McCartney: [Laughs.] Exactly.

McCartney: It was a bit of both. As it kind of always is with me. There’s no fixed way. People used to ask me and John, “Well, who does the words, who does the music?” I used to say, “We both do both.” We used to say we don’t have a formula, and we don’t want one. Because the minute we get a formula, we should rip it up. I will sometimes, as I did with a couple of songs on this album, sit down at the piano and just start noodling around, and I’ll get a little idea and start to fill that out. So the lyrics — for me, it’s following a trail. I’ll start [sings “Find My Way,” a song from “McCartney III”]: “I can find my way. I know my left from right, da da da.” And I’ll just sort of fill it in. Like, we know this song, and I’m trying to remember the lyrics. Sometimes I’ll just be inspired by something. I had a little book which was all about the constellations and the stars and the orbits of Venus and.…

Swift: Oh, I know that song — “The Kiss of Venus”?

Swift: Wow.

McCartney: It’s very magical.

Swift: That is magical. I definitely relate to needing to find magical things in this very not-magical time, needing to read more books and learn to sew, and watch movies that take place hundreds of years ago. In a time where, if you look at the news, you just want to have a panic attack — I really relate to the idea that you are thinking about stars and constellations.

McCartney: Did you do that on Folklore?

Swift: Yes. I was reading so much more than I ever did, and watching so many more films.

McCartney: What stuff were you reading?

Swift: I was reading, you know, books like Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, which I highly recommend, and books that dealt with times past, a world that doesn’t exist anymore. I was also using words I always wanted to use — kind of bigger, flowerier, prettier words, like “epiphany,” in songs. I always thought, “Well, that’ll never track on pop radio,” but when I was making this record, I thought, “What tracks? Nothing makes sense anymore. If there’s chaos everywhere, why don’t I just use the damn word I want to use in the song?”

McCartney: Exactly. So you’d see the word in a book and think, “I love that word”?

Swift: Yeah, I have favorite words, like “elegies” and “epiphany” and “divorcée,” and just words that I think sound beautiful, and I have lists and lists of them.

McCartney: How about “marzipan”?

Swift: Love “marzipan.”

McCartney: The other day, I was remembering when we wrote “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”: “kaleidoscope.”

Swift: “Kaleidoscope” is one of mine! I have a song on 1989, a song called “Welcome to New York,” that I put the word “kaleidoscope” in just because I’m obsessed with the word.

Swift: We should have done matching jackets for this photo shoot.

McCartney: Find me a fleck, I’m in. But we went to the fair, and I just remember — this is what happens with songs — there was this girl at the fair. This is just a little Liverpool fair — it was in a place called Sefton Park — and there was this girl, who was so beautiful. She wasn’t a star. She was so beautiful. Everyone was following her, and it’s like, “Wow.” It’s like a magical scene, you know? But all this gave me a headache, so I ended up going back to his house — I didn’t normally get headaches. And we thought, “What can we do?” So we put on the Elvis song “All Shook Up.” By the end of that song, my headache had gone. I thought, you know, “That’s powerful.”

Swift: That really is powerful.

McCartney: What, a “cardigan”?

Swift: Like a good cardigan, a good, worn-in cardigan. Or something that makes you reminisce on your childhood. I think sadness can be cozy. It can obviously be traumatic and stressful, too, but I kind of was trying to lean into sadness that feels like somehow enveloping in not such a scary way — like nostalgia and whimsy incorporated into a feeling like you’re not all right. Because I don’t think anybody was really feeling like they were in their prime this year. Isolation can mean escaping into your imagination in a way that’s kind of nice.

Swift: Get a hammer and a nail.

McCartney: “Maybe I can put that picture up.” It’s not rocket science. The period after the Beatles, when we went to live in Scotland on a really — talk about dumpy — little farm. I mean, I see pictures of it now and I’m not ashamed, but I’m almost ashamed. Because it’s like, “God, nobody’s cleaned up around here.”

But it was really a relief. Because when I was with the Beatles, we’d formed Apple Records, and if I wanted a Christmas tree, someone would just buy it. And I thought, after a while, “No, you know what? I really would like to go and buy our Christmas tree. Because that’s what everyone does.” So you go down — “I’ll have that one” — and you carried it back. I mean, it’s little, but it’s huge at the same time.

I needed a table in Scotland and I was looking through a catalog and I thought, “I could make one. I did woodwork in school, so I know what a dovetail joint is.” So I just figured it out. I’m just sitting in the kitchen, and I’m whittling away at this wood and I made this little joint. There was no nail technology — it was glue. And I was scared to put it together. I said, “It’s not going to fit,” but one day, I got my woodwork glue and thought, “There’s no going back.” But it turned out to be a real nice little table I was very proud of. It was that sense of achievement.

Swift: No, it’s cool!

McCartney: But it was a real sort of great thing for me to be able to do stuff for yourself. You were talking about sewing. I mean normally, in your position, you’ve got any amount of tailors.

Swift: Well, there’s been a bit of a baby boom recently; several of my friends have gotten pregnant.

McCartney: Oh, yeah, you’re at the age.

McCartney: What do you paint? Watercolors?

Swift: Acrylic or oil. Whenever I do watercolor, all I paint is flowers. When I have oil, I really like to do landscapes. I always kind of return to painting a lonely little cottage on a hill.

McCartney: She’s a fantasy character?

Swift: She’s a real person. Who lived in the house that I live in.

McCartney: She’s a real person? I listened to that and I thought, “Who is this?”

McCartney: Yeah, ’cause you were writing breakup songs like they were going out of style.

Swift: That’s amazing.

McCartney: It just felt good to me. I would sit and talk, and they’d have amazing stories. That’s what I liked. They would have stories from the wartime — because I was born actually in the war — and so these old ladies, they were participating in the war. This one lady I used to sort of just hang out with, she had a crystal radio that I found very magical. In the war, a lot of people made their own radios — you’d make them out of crystals [sings “The Twilight Zone” theme].

Swift: How did I not know this? That sounds like something I would have tried to learn about.

McCartney: It’s interesting, because there is a lot of parallels with the virus and lockdowns and wartime. It happened to everyone. Like, this isn’t HIV, or SARS, or Avian flu, which happened to others, generally. This has happened to everyone, all around the world. That’s the defining thing about this particular virus. And, you know, my parents … it happened to everyone in Britain, including the queen and Churchill. War happened. So they were all part of this thing, and they all had to figure out a way through it. So you figured out Folklore. I figured out McCartney III.

Swift: And a lot of people have been baking sourdough bread. Whatever gets you through!

McCartney: Some people used to make radios. And they’d take a crystal — we should look it up, but it actually is a crystal. I thought, “Oh, no, they just called it a crystal radio,” but it’s actually crystals like we know and love.

Swift: Wow.

McCartney: And somehow they get the radio waves — this crystal attracts them — they tune it in, and that’s how they used to get their news. Back to “Eleanor Rigby,” so I would think of her and think of what she’s doing and then just try to get lyrical, just try to bring poetry into it, words you love, just try to get images like “picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,” and Father McKenzie “is darning his socks in the night.” You know, he’s a religious man, so I could’ve said, you know, “preparing his Bible,” which would have been more obvious. But “darning his socks” kind of says more about him. So you get into this lovely fantasy. And that’s the magic of songs, you know. It’s a black hole, and then you start doing this process, and then there’s this beautiful little flower that you’ve just made. So it is very like embroidery, making something.

Swift: Making a table.

McCartney: Making a table.

Swift: Wow, it would’ve been so fun to play Glastonbury for the 50th anniversary together.

McCartney: It would’ve been great, wouldn’t it? And I was going to be asking you to play with me.

Swift: Were you going to invite me? I was hoping that you would. I was going to ask you.

McCartney: I would’ve done “Shake It Off.”

Swift: Oh, my God, that would have been amazing.

McCartney: I know it, it’s in C!

McCartney: Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?

Swift: We’re really lucky.

McCartney: I don’t know if it ever happens to you, but with me, it’s like, “Oh, my god, I’ve ended up as a musician.”

Swift: Yeah, I can’t believe it’s my job.

Swift: “Something will happen.”

Swift: That’s the best.

McCartney: It’s so stupid it’s brilliant. It’s great if you’re ever in that sort of panic attack: “Oh, my God,” or, “Ahhh, what am I going to do?”

Swift: “Something will happen.”

McCartney: All right then, thanks for doing this, and this was, you know, a lot of fun.

Swift: You’re the best. This was so awesome. Those were some quality stories!

#paul mccartney #old paul #taylor swift #*m #💖#grandpaul #silver stubble #(aahh king)#(I LOVE HIM SO MUCH F*CK OFF EVERYONE)#(the thumbs lads. its always about the thumbs)

594 notes · View notes