#like the guy could have had the whole of London

[polin-erospsyche]

Colin Bridgerton was really that man huh? Like he had all the eligible young girls of London at his feet but really went out there like « let me go find the most powerful woman in London, wife her up, become her slut and make beautiful babies with her so the Bridgerton line can have a great line »

And I respect that on such a level?

[fightingdragonswithwho]

hate to be a hater on the main … but this season of ted lasso excels (once again) at team dynamic and the found family elements and i think the finale absolutely nailed that, i cried, i laughed, it was perfect on that. now as for the individual stories and relationships… yeah, let’s leave it at that

[fearlessstateofmind]

Ooh Great post!

Even Akufo's involvement asside I found the framing/casting of the people in this scene deeply fascinating as a choice the show made because it's also just no longer the case that most premier league clubs are owned by local-ish businessmen who have done well with massive social climbing types like Rupert is meant to be.

We are like two steps on from that reality having gone through smaller time russian oligarchs and Chinese and American businesspeople to the current situation where the heavy hitters are American hedge funds, middle Eastern oil companies, and more than one team that's effectively owned by a very rich gulf country...Rupert's type of rich is no longer the establishment in this space and hasn't been for like 20 years it's gotten a lot more wealthy and largely a lot younger. (The russian oligarch presence is alluded to but as an outlier amoung them?)

And, Rebecca's 'but remember when you all grew up as kids enjoying football' doesn't work at all in that situation - even to the suspension of disbelief on this working on people this was true for etc. Because the current ownership crop (in the premier League and increasingly in contental Europe and the lower leagues) largely didnt get into club ownership for this reason but purely because it was the most profitable business decision.

for ted lasso fans who aren't football fans, the akufo league subplot was pretty directly inspired by the april 2021 announcement of a proposed european super league founded by 12 of the richest clubs in europe competing in a closed group against each other plus 8 other teams tba.

the enterprise was cancelled very quickly after its announcement, but the differences between how that played out in ted lasso and the story as it played out in real life are.....hmmmm interesting choices to say the least.

the esl wasn't proposed by a cartoonishly villainous ghanaian billionaire. it was launched by a c-suite of white european and united states billionaire businessmen/team owners. - real madrid president florentino pérez spearheaded the proposal and claimed CEO position with andrea agnelli (owner of juventus), joel glazer (owner of man u), john henry (owner of liverpool), and stan kroenke (owner of arsenal) making up the rest of the proposed executive board. -these five are worth $2.3B, $13.5B (agnelli family), $4.8 (glazer family), $4B, and $12.9B, for a total of 37.5 billion dollars.

the esl proposal was formally announced on 18 april 2021 and by 21 april all 6 epl founding clubs had publicly announced their planned withdrawal from the league. this wasn't because of a rich white lady giving a heartwarming speech to a room of other rich people, it was because of a mass movement of working class fans denouncing the move as the capitalist greed and exploitation that it was, with some calling for fan ownership of clubs entirely:

i get using real events as inspiration and adapting them to fit a narrative purpose within the story, but i think it's worth it to know what the story line was based on, especially considering the specific racial and class changes that were made reframing the villains and heroes of this particular story.

[captainreecejames]

Can't Have a Good Thing || My ex is a footballer LS2 edition

[masterlist][my ex series masterlist]

summary you go from dating an american footballer to an american driver

pairings ex!christian pulisic x reader, logan sargeant x reader

warnings probably a little anti pulisic but i still love my baby

notes pictures are from pinterest so thank you to all those lovely users (as I wrote this my english teacher from 11th grade came into my job and it was not fun!)

May 2023 ynusername posted -------

liked by cmpulisic, reece and others

ynusername final chelsea game of the season, love you guys

chelseafc awww we love you too yn ❤️ by author

cmpulisic always love having you there ↳ ynusername wouldn't want to be anywhere else

username1 look at my girl dawg, chelsea is embarrassing her ↳ username2 please, christian didn't even play

reece once a blue always a blue ↳ username3 NAH WHY IS THIS SO CRYPTIC ↳ username4 you can't say shit like this then leave DUDE

username5 that chrisyn interaction screams for help ↳ username6 i wouldn't be surprised if they're not dating anymore but trying to keep up appearances ↳ username7 breakup statement incoming ↳ username8 can we get fabrizio to comment on wag breakups please!! ↳ username7 lol can you imagine a here we go! breakup is official! peak comedy

cesarazpilicueta 💙 ↳ ynusername love you too capitan!

July 2023 real life ---------

It’s been a rough few months in the house for the two of you. Christian’s time at Chelsea was most likely coming to an end, and you had just started a new project at work, so your time was filled with that. Nights spent making dinner and laughing together turned to plates left in the microwave and lights out early. Mornings started with short wake up kisses to hardly whispered goodbyes.

In fewer words, the relationship was falling apart. You barely knew what was going on in each others lives anymore, it’s no surprise when he tells you he’s leaving Chelsea.

Chris is still in Florida with his family, enjoying the last few days off before preseason. You had been with him for the 4th of July, but needed to fly back to London almost immediately for a new project and you’re exhausted. When he Facetimes you it’s almost 11:30 at night and your still sitting in your home office, but with how excited Chris is, he can’t tell that you’re operating on extremely low levels of energy. You want to be excited for him, but you can see the writing on the wall.

“Hey babe.” You know what’s coming, but it doesn’t make the shock any less. “I’ve got some big news.” He waits for you to say something, but all you do is blink and nod. “AC Milan are going to sign me.” He waits again for you to say something. “Did you hear me? I’m leaving Chelsea.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Your lack of enthusiasm confuses Christian.

“Then why aren’t you excited?”

Your apathy turns to frustration quickly and you shift in the chair. “Because, Christian, I’m not just going to blow up my life in London to follow you to a new city. I’ve got a job here and it’s going well. I don’t want to have to start all over again. Not to mention learning a whole new language. Have you considered how isolating that would be for me?”

“So what, I just rot at Chelsea because you don’t want to move?” He is now just as defensive as you, words biting at the holes that have formed in your relationship, making them grow.

“I didn’t say that!” You sit up even straighter, putting your phone down against the computer so it stands on it’s own.

“Well it sounds like you don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want to pack up my life and move to a new country where I don’t know anyone.”

You could see the fight leave his body as he came to the same realization you did. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“I think we’re done Chris.” You can feel your heart break that last little bit with the words you say. You love Christian, but with everything you’ve gone through, it’s not enough.

twitter ---------

September 2023 real life ------

In one hand you held your phone, looking down at the details of your train back to London, in the other a hot chocolate to warm you up in the brisk wind of Oxford. It’s how you missed the body in front of you and ended up falling straight on your ass because of it, hot chocolate splashing onto your shirt.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered, pulling your shirt away from your body so it didn’t burn.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” said an American accent. You groaned in your head, not wanting to deal with this. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.” They put a hand in your face, gesturing to help you up, which you took. 

“No, it was my fault, I was staring at my phone,” you told them as they pulled you up. He was strong, and also probably a little awkward as he was still holding your hand.

“Me too, so I really won’t let you take the blame.” His awkward smile was also cute, but you tried not to think that, it wouldn’t agree with your ‘no boys agenda.’ “Do you need another hot chocolate?” The cup was empty at your feet, making you wince. 

“Yeah, probably another shirt too.” It’s at that point that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, and he drops it.

“Let me get you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You’re still very early for the train, but travel anxiety is terrible and you want to leave soon.

“I insist.” Something about his smile and red cheeks makes you say yes to him, and you’re really not sure why. “I’m Logan, by the way.” He’s leading you back into the line of the cafe, smiling at you still.

“I’m YN,” you tell him.

ynusername posted ---------

liked by logansargeant, benchilwell, and others

ynusername exploring oxford finally

bsfinstagram babe you run into any quidditch players ↳ ynusername bitch you know i'm swearing off athletes

username7 damn why are you so beautiful

samkerr 💞 ↳ ynusername ugh bestie i love you

pulisick10 'SWEARING OFF ATHLETES?' Christian mate pulisic what did you do!?! ↳ username8 that is so fucking harsh though like pulisic really did a number on our girl here ↳ pulisick10 ben chilwell still in the likes tho ↳ username8 nah her and ben are friends, like ben was always close with christian and just cause he left doesn't mean that she can't be friends still ↳ username8 also she's still good friends with the women's team ↳ pulisick10 well that's cause the women are better ❤️ by ynusername and bsfinstagram ↳ username8 NOT HER LIKING THAT but also won't argue with that

logansargeant at least the weather was good ↳ ynusername youre right, thank you english sun who comes out once in a blue moon ↳ bsfinstagram I'm questioning things ↳ ynusername well you shouldn't

username11 she's sworn off athletes but has a formula 1 driver in her comments... ↳ username12 fake bitch ↳ username13 two people can be friends right? ↳ username12 she breaks up with christian because of the distance but is talking a driver like he isn't gone more than half the year, she's definitely fake for that ↳ username13 how do you know that's why they broke up ↳ username14 she doesn't she's just being a hater ❤️ by ynusername ↳ username11 damn all this fighting on my comment thread?

username12 not yn liking so many comments, do you read them ↳ ynusername gotta appreciate a good laugh ↳ username13 yn stalks her comments like a real one should

twitter ---------

yn's messages -----------

November 2023 yn's messages ------------

real life --------

Your hotel room is kind of a mess, with clothes thrown around and various pieces of paper on the floor. It’s not really a surprise to Logan, even though he hasn’t known you very long.

After a long day exploring New York City in fairly okay weather, the two of you are relaxing in your hotel room before dinner. “Can I ask you something?” Logan asks. He’s currently sitting in the desk chair, feet propped up on the desk and head hung back. 

“Go ahead.” You’re on your bed, laying like a starfish.

“Would you say yes to going on a date with me?” You sit up straight, staring at him with wide eyes as he doesn’t move.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“No, I’m asking if you’d say yes to me asking you on a date.” His clarification makes you narrow your eyes, but he still doesn’t move. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

That gets him moving, turning the chair to look at you. “So would you say yes or no?”

“I’d say no right now.”

“What about in a month?”

“In a month, when we’re both back in England, I’d probably say yes.”

“Cool,” he shrugs, going back to putting his feet on the desk. “Then I’ll ask you again in January.”

ynusername posted ---------

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon and others

ynusername look who came to visit

lilymhe booooo bring me next time ↳ ynusername you're welcome whenever, he invited himself ↳ logansargeant literally not true you asked me to come ↳ ynusername stop lying! i wanted thanksgiving but you have this job that makes you fly across the world to drive a stupid car or something

oscarpiastri look at him jumping for joy for you ↳ ynusername yeah well, what can i say, I'm a dream come true

bsfinstagram ahhhh just under 2 weeks until you come home!! ↳ ynusername I missed you so much ↳ bsfinstagram debrief over wine incoming!

username18 nope she is definitely dating this driver ↳ username19 it's so weird cause like if she really broke up with christian because of distance then isn't this just so much worse ↳ username20 i don't think they broke up just because of distance, things were probably weird for a couple of months before hand cause she wasn't going to as many mens games, she was definitely going to the women's games though.

timothyweah did you get a hotdog from the hotdog guy? ↳ ynusername yes... why? ↳ timothyweah cause they're good and i just want to make sure that you did ↳ ynusername okay timmy

chelseafcw don't stay too long we miss you ↳ ynusername aww, i miss you guys too

May 2024 ynusername posted--------

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

ynusername Miami you can be pretty but you're on my shit list

landonorris no whyyyyy ↳ ynusername idk might have something to do with my boyfriend dnfing at his home race. ↳ landonorris oh, okay ↳ ynusername but i guess congrats on your win ↳ landonorris thanks ynnnnn! ↳ oscarpiastri someone is still drunk

logansargeant ohhh he's handsome ↳ ynusername yeah and he's got a jealous ass girlfriend so beware ↳ logansargeant love you too babe

username23 finally confirmed that they're dating only seven months later

[famwhy]

I thought of a blurb that’s basically just reader asleep on top of Hobie when the gang (Miles, Gwen, and Pavitr) show up and are noisy asf and Hobie shushes them all but they’re confused cause they can’t see reader who’s under the blankets, until she wakes up and peeks her head out from under the blanket and everyone’s like :0 I was thinking they have like a non-public relationship so everyone in the room is shocked lmao😭 No pressure at all and no hard feelings if you can’t! Love your writing and hope you’re doing well!

You are literally just the sweetest, I appreciate everytime you come into my inbox and compliment me and the fact that you put 'love' in bold and italics? 🥰💞💞💞

Here you go, my love.

Likkle Sleepy Darling

Hobie Brown X F!Reader

Hobie Brown was normally a pretty stoic guy—straight-faced with nothing more than a smug twitch of his lips to give away any sort of expression—but, if he was being completely honest, that all fell apart when it came to you.

You, who was the beam of hope in the dark, despair-filled streets of London he inhabited. You, whose smile shined so bright, you could take out a whole army of shadows with just the stretch of your lips. You, who fit ontop of him so perfectly, you almost resembled (no, a hundred percent did resemble—) the last, missing puzzle piece to his heart as you laid against his chest, lids shut and lips parted just enough to allow air through.

His lips tugged up. You were just so cute, he couldn't resist the urge to tighten his grip around your waist and pull you further into him, allowing the blanket on top of you both to further cascade over your head—completely obscuring your sleeping form.

The moment was perfect—

"That. Was. AWESOME!"

"I know right?! We went in and destroyed doc, I almost felt bad for her."

"You know her friends call her Liv?"

—until, of course, it wasn't.

In came the rowdy group of youngens Hobie somehow ended up befriending—half-suited up as they screamed to each other in the loudest voices they just had to muster up the one time you felt comfortable enough to sleep in his arms.

Allow it, he wasn't having it.

"Ayo, you man—" his whisper came out harsh, and whatever conversation they were having halted just like that, "—'low it, shut up."

They all blinked in unison. "Huh?"

Then, Miles piped up, "what do you—?"

He stopped speaking at the same time Hobie felt pressure being pushed onto his chest from two different parts.

Looking down, the man with multiple piercings was fond to find your squinting eyes peering up at him, half-dazed in that cute, little way that screamed the love of his life like no other.

"Likkle sleepy, aren't you, love?"

A nod.

And then, a chorus of gasps all at once—all followed by—

"Huuuuuuhhhhh?"

[verstappen-cult]

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL | CL16

— 02. THE MEDDLING

PREV. PART | NEXT PART — [ SERIES MASTERLIST ]

summary: in which charles has an embarrassing crush on alex's childhood best friend and everyone meddles. content warnings: faceclaim is taylor hill but you can picture her as you’d like! some cursing and for the sake of the smau imola was not canceled. note: thank you sm for the love you showed the first part! once again if you see some mistakes please know that english is not my first language and i noticed them once everything was finished. if you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know! ♡

INSTAGRAM STORIES

MAY 14, 2023.

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM POST

📍 ROMA, ITALY

Liked by yourusername, lilymhe and 432,503 others

alex_albon Don’t believe anything they say, I won ⛳️

view all 3,799 comments

lilymhe i’m not gonna say anything. 🤐

user35 so it is true. they were with charles and Y/N user36 We don’t know that user37 someone working there confirmed it

charles_leclerc mate you fell like three times

user38 WE GOT THE CONFIRMATION user39 omg this makes it real user40 BUT WAS Y/N ACTUALLY THERE

user41 not his entire comment section filled with charles and Y/N fans 🙄🙄🙄

user42 PARENTS

yourusername shut up you know i won

user43 OH MY GOD OH MY GODDDD user44 i cant believe it i’m having a crisis over this user45 context pls user46 everyone’s saying they were in a double date and apparently this is the confirmation.

pierregasly thanks for (not) inviting me!!!

📍 ROMA, ITALY

Liked by charles_leclerc, zendaya and 756,223 others

yourusername i won. i have witnesses.

view all 2,498 comments

alex_albon keep saying that 🥱

yourusername SHUT UP

user47 not a single pic of charles and her together but we know they were together

user48 feeding us crumbs

user49 she looks so pretty

zendaya tom keeps saying we need to play golf when you’re back in london.

yourusername tell him i’m gonna kick his ass

landonorris you should play with people that actually knows how to play: ME

lilymhe SORRY? yourusername dw lils, i have your back

user50 i love how she’s befriending everyone

user51 thanks to alex user52 and your point is? user51 she’s using him for his fame user53 LOOOOOOL

pierregasly thanks for (not) inviting me!!!

user54 what’s more hilarious to me than this whole “double date” discourse are pierre comments on both alex and Y/N posts because they did not invite him.

Y/N & ALEX’S iMESSAGE

THURSDAY MAY 18, 2023 — PRESS CONFERENCE

charles is sitting next to lando and max, pierre next to him as alex stands in front of them. he’s aware they’re talking about what they’re expecting from this weekend, but he can’t seem to focus on what they are actually saying, only picking up pieces of the conversation. he’s too focused on his phone, the message thread he has with Y/N staring back at him. the last text he has from her is just a simple ‘cool’ after he was trying to play it cool.

“what you doing, charlie?” max asks, playfully poking him in the ribs. he immediately locks his phone, raising his head only to find that everyone is looking at him already.

“i know what he’s doing.” lando wiggles his eyebrows and charles wonders if he really needs his fingers to race. “you screwed up.”

charles knows he screwed up, and definitely doesn’t need lando reminding him the awful mistake he made for just trying not to sound too intense because, of course, he’s made that mistake in the past. and every girl he’s had something with always said the same: ‘you’re too much, charles’, ‘you’re taking things too fast, we should take a break.’ so ever since the last girl he dated, once again, said the same thing, charles promised himself he would not be that guy.

“hey,” alex has this look of pity in his eyes that he doesn’t like, not even one bit. “maybe we could do something to help you.”

“i don’t need your help.” charles’ tone is too sharp and abrupt it’s makes him feel a little bad for talking to his friends like that. but just a little.

“look, you like her, right?” pierre chimes in, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “alex is his best friend, if you want a chance with her, he’s the only one who can help you right now.”

but why does he wanna help him?

alex must see the question written all over his face because he says, “she’s dated a few assholes in the past and i really want something good for her. i trust you, charles.” he tries to look serious which only makes charles laugh. “besides, i have the perfect idea.”

ALEX’S iMESSAGE — MAY 18, 2023

INSTAGRAM POST

📍 VENICE, ITALY — MAY 19, 2023

Liked by scottyjames31, lance_stroll and 976,665 others

yourusername a few days ago i had the pleasure to celebrate two of my favorite people, Chloe and Scotty James. and spent two wonderful days filled with love and joy in the beautiful venice! so happy for you both. 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏼🩷

i wish i could stay here forever, but back to reality for now. :(

view all 7,455 comments

user55 i didn’t know she’s friends with the strolls

lance_stroll I have very embarrassing videos of you, just remember that 🍾

user56 why lance and Y/N look kinda good together

user57 That’s exactly what I was thinking. They would look pretty good as a couple user58 he has a girlfriend user59 and Y/N is probably dating charles user57 only rumors

user60 back to reality? she’s not gonna be in the paddock this weekend?

user61 why would she? nobody wants her there

user62 i thought she was in italy for the gp

user63 just a coincidence user62 still hoping she’ll be there

francisca.cgomes I’m gonna need to borrow that beautiful dress! ❤️

user63 she really knows everyone now user64 literally. she was just one time at a race and befriended everyone

user65 i feel like we’re missing something

Y/N’s iMESSAGE

SATURDAY MAY 20, 2023 — THE MISSION 007 DINNER

the second you see a head of brown hair standing at the door, you want to walk over to where alex is sitting and smash his head on the table. you made sure before arriving to the restaurant that charles was not gonna be there tonight, even lando told you he was busy with some ferrari event. obviously, both lied to you.

“hey, charles!” george, who’s standing next to you, his girlfriend carmen at your other side, waves at him. and for the first time since that fateful dinner a few days ago, you make eye contact with his bright brown eyes.

butterflies break free inside your belly, even when you try to repress everything he makes you feel.

you’ve known charles for no more than ten days but it really feels like you’ve known each other your whole life. everything is so easy with him, you can’t remember when was the last time you felt this way, if it ever happened.

you thought everything was going well between you two and, for a minute, you let yourself believe he could like you. but then he gave you the cold shoulder and everything came crashing down.

and that’s your problem. you always feel so much in so little time that when things don’t go the way you’d like, everything hurts twice as hard.

there’s no one to blame but you.

“hey,” is it possible to like the sound of his voice so much that you feel your knees going weak?

“you’re the last one to arrive. here,” george shares a look with his girlfriend that you don’t really know how to read, and both move aside. “you’re sitting here tonight. we’ll go find our seats.”

you want the earth to swallow you. you want to be in a plane far away from here because the seat george is pointing at it’s right next to yours.

before you can open your mouth to say something, the couple slips away. and suddenly it feels like you and charles are the only ones in the room.

no one says a word for what feels like hours. you’re actually trying to find a excuse to leave when charles sighs, defeated.

“i’m sorry.” his voice is almost a whisper, something only for you to hear. “i acted like an idiot.”

“yeah,” you agree because you don’t know what else to say. he did act like an idiot, ignoring you for days, not answering your texts even when you asked him if something was wrong.

“i can explain if you’d let me.”

his brown eyes bore into yours, so soft and sincere your heart skips a beat. and even if you want to say no, your whole body begs you to accept.

“let’s eat first and enjoy the evening,” his face lights up like a kid on christmas day. ��then i’ll let you buy me dessert and we can talk.”

TWITTER — SUNDAY MAY 21, 2023

TAGLIST (bold means i couldn’t tag you) — @leclerc16s. @willowpains. @berrnuu. @minkyungseokie. @sassyheroneckgiant. @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir. @nessacarty1. @a1leexxa. @storminacloud. @lovstappen.

note: i hope you liked it. i’m sorry if i forgot to tag you! please let me know what you think, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. <3

[cheriladycl01]

Hi!

Could you please write something for whichever f1 driver you want with a reader who's a children's books illustrator and author? Maybe they get to know each other because his niece is obsessed with her books and he took her to one of her events.

I'd like to see how the grid and the media would react to someone so bubbly, kind, and creative!

Thnx!! <3

My sunshine - Lewis Hamilton x ChildrensAuthor! Reader

Plot: Lewis comes home to find his niece and nephew obsessed with one lady’s books! Little did he know you’d end up being his whole future!

“What you reading there?” Lewis asked as he grabbed some fruit from the fridge and started to cut it up. Babysitting was one of his favourite free time activities.

“MAE THE MAGICIAN” they both yell at him, making him pause cutting the fruit. He knew his niece really enjoyed reading but to see his nephew so excited about this book was odd.

“Mmmm what’s it about?” Lewis asks as he starts to make little snack boxes for the two, ready to take them out to the park.

“This girl called Mae, and she helps Gaia and George using her Magic tricks, she’s funny” the girl describes to her favourite Uncle.

“Woah, what kind of magic tricks does she do?” He asks.

“She makes sure their homework is complete and their beds are made for when their mum gets home!” His nephew explains.

“Oh and then this book is good to. Can we show you our library uncle Lewis” his nephew begs looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes that he couldn’t say no too!

He follows them up, being taken to one of the smaller bedrooms that was being used as as playroom/ library. There was an expanse of books, but what caught his eye was how many of the same author there were.

It was the same one as the book they were reading from earlier. It seemed she had lots of kids books varying in ages from very young, basically just pictures books, to a series of books which reminded him of the Rainbow Magic Series that his brothers girlfriend had read when she was younger.

They all had titles of careers with a matching name. Both boys and girls.

Alex the Astrologist

Bianca the Brain Surgeon

Colin the Conductor

Daisy the Dragon Tamer

Ethan the Ecologist

Freya the F1 Driver

Who?

That intrigued him.

“Have you guys read all of these?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Of course! She’s the best! Our favourite” one of them exclaims as they re-order books that had been misplaced.

“Which ones your favourite?” He asks his nephew.

“She wrote one about me! Called Kaiden the Karate Master” he exclaims making chopping actions with his hands.

“And you?” He asks Willow.

“She wrote one about me to called Willow the Writer” she says shoving the book at him happily to which he looks through looking at all the cute little illustrations to which he later researched that they were actually drawn by the author as well.

Upon doing further research and trying to get some of her latest books on pre-order he went down a rabbit hole, finding her instagram which was incredibly cozy and just what he expected from an author.

There was a few posts of her charity work and what she did around her community. The links led him to her official website where she had her various charities, an about her page that he couldn’t help but browse but he also saw a part where it showed up and coming events.

“Willow? Kaiden? How would you feel about going to meet Y/N Y/L/N, maybe get a few books signed?” He asks the next morning, wondering whether that would be something they were into.

“YES!” They’d both screamed.

He sent you a DM on Instagram explaining that he was planning on bringing his niece and nephew to your book signing in London. You replied immediately which shocked him, explaining you’d be more than happy to do a private signing afterwards for him and his family and how you were a huge fan of his.

At the book signing.

You were pretty exhausted after the public signing and needed to have a break and just grab a drink where your throat was on fire for talking as much as you had.

But within the hour you were ready to see Lewis and his niece and nephew. They were so polite to you when you stood up to greet them and what shocked Lewis even more is how easily you communicated to the younger kids.. It was like second nature to you how you used your hands to basically animate everything you say to make you seem so youthful and energetic.

“Hi I’m Lewis and this is Willow and Kaiden” he introduced and from after that he was insanely smitten with you, everything you did he would watch with wide eyes.

You spent the time interacting with the kids and signing the copious amounts of books that they had bought for you to sign. You also talked to them about upcoming stuff that they would enjoy where they had really liked your career series for young children.

“Hey I know you might think this is a little soon but I’d really like to take you out some time, for dinner” he asked one his sibling had taken the kids outside to the car say that he could ask you some more personal questions. They ranged from what you enjoyed to how you got into writing children’s books specifically.”

“Well, I think I would really like that, I don’t think I’ve ever been out on a proper date” she smiles looking down and blushing lightly at the comment.

”Never been on a proper date, I’ll have to treat you right then?” he smirks looking over you.

“Where would we go?” You ask politely starting to collect the books left over from the signing.

“Out to a restaurant or a movie, maybe a picnic at some point when it’s warmer the weather isn’t great right now” he says stepping closer to her.

After the book signing you and Lewis went on dates, lots of them and to say his niece and nephew were excited was an understatement you would randomly turn up to family events and they’d start to get your books early and not published Waterstones versions that normally were gifted to them.

“Baby I really want you to come to a race with me, I want to show you off to everyone there and how cute you are. I bet the grid will love you just as much as I do. Actually scrap that, that’s impossible” he smiles and you can’t help but giggle.

“Of course I’ll come with you Lew” you smile leaning across him and kissing his check, before gripping his hands and holding them.

“You ready to meet everyone?” He asks with that soft chocolaty voice that could make you melt.

“I think so, I’m just kind of nervous what they’ll think” you say a light blush forming into your face wondering if you’d embarrass yourself on camera, or if they’d ask you questions … it was hard.

“Well, for the record I know they’ll love you. You want a run down?” And you of course nod wanting to know as much as possible.

“Well, there’s my teammate Charles who you’ll probably meet first in the garage. You’ll love his girlfriend Alex she’s a diamond and you’ll talk about fashion no doubt!” He grins and you not trying to take in the names knowing more are to come.

He talks about his ex team-mates George and Valtteri and how you’d get on with both of them pretty well. He also knew Lando and Daniel would love you, as you all had very similar bubbly people personality’s.

He was excited to show you off to not just them but everyone, you weren’t like the other Hollywood Stars and actresses you were just so … normal? NOT that he would ever describe you as that, because that almost felt like an insult to you.

“Are you nervous baby?” He asks looking over to you as he pulls into the paddock.

“A little, I’ve never been around this many people here before” you say looking over to him, grabbing onto his hand on the gear stick.

“You’ll be fine, and you’ll finally get to watch me in my job. I love watching you write and draw but I want you to see what I do” he nods and you smile, loving this side of Lewis.

He had this intimacy that you’d never experienced with anyone else. Little things he appreciated knowing that you’d never had with anyone else.

You walked through the paddock together scanning your little pass on the thing seeing an awful picture of you come up that Lewis must have submitted.

“Lewis what the hell!” You asked gazing at the picture he’d chosen.

“What! I love that photo of you!” He smiles happily gazing at you looking at the picture that slowly disappears.

“Come on, let’s get you to the garage so you can get familiar with everything” he smiles a hand sneaking round your waist as he guides you through the bustling paddock.

When you enter Ferrari Garage your greeted by all the mechanics, a lot of them with young children knowing exactly who you are and wanting pictures to show their kids when they got home.

Charles and Alexandra greeted you only 30 minutes later and you and Alex got along great, taking Roscoe and Leo for walks around the paddock while she tried to help you adjust to all the hustle and bustle of life in motorsport.

“So how long have you and Lewis been together now?” Alex asked with a small polite smile.

“Oh! It feels like forever! He’s only been so sweet and like to me” you grin, your voice getting louder and louder as you talk about Lewis. Alex notices and can’t help but smile at how you’re talking about Lewis.

After meeting Alex and Charles the next people you ended up meeting was Lando and Oscar. Lewis had asked you to grab his water bottle from the car which he’d left behind and you got lost on your way back the two McLaren drivers immediately noticing and recognising you.

They helped you back to the garage just as they were being called for the race and that they needed to get into the car.

Then next thing you knew as you were watching Lewis come round a corner, a little drift as skidded in the gravel but caught himself well enough that it didn’t lessen his time too much.

Then you were casted on the TV screens and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

You gave a polite little wave and grin to the camera before it panned off of you and back onto the race.

“And that’s Y/N Y/L/N she’s the current partner of Lewis Hamilton and she’s a very well known author of children’s books, ones that actually my own children read and I just know they are going to be kicking their feet that I got to meet her today” the commentator offers with a little chuckle.

“Yeah what did you think of her?” The other commentator for Sky Sports asks.

“Ah she’s just so sweet, she wouldn’t stop talking about her writing and I was more than happy to listen and she was so polite and happy and god’s I want her in the paddock more often, she’s such a little ray of sunshine”

After all the excitement, you had this energy around you that you couldn’t describe and it gave you loads of writing juices. You got home to the hotel that night and you wrote down all your ideas, sat in Lewis lap.

You knew for sure you’d be coming back to way more races and you’d been missing out!

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[goldsainz]

❝ SO LONG, MONACO ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . charles leclerc x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . use of y/n (once, i think), cursing, a whole load of angst, charles is an asshole, rushed ending, barely proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . you love monaco, but it has run its course just like your relationship has.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . i am obsessed with ttpd, i don’t care what anyone has to say, it was a masterpiece and i will not take criticism about it. this is based on so long, london i really recommend listening to this while reading, or just listening to it in general if you need a good cry. i have been writing this for months now, so i hope you guys like it and please dont mind the ending it was the best i could do 😔💙

[ word count: 3,4k ]

You walked through the streets of Monaco, mystified by how bright the city looked even in the night. The street lights were enchanting to witness, and the chatter of people made you appreciate the small country even more. So private, yet so lively, like a hidden spot you had loved so much you just had to make it your home. 

The walk to Charles’ apartment is more calming than expected, you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ve been pulling at a thread that is almost undone. No matter how hard you tried, there was no use in pulling him tighter when he had already pulled out of the relationship.

You were, in all honesty, tired. 

You swore your back almost hurt from all the efforts you made to keep him with you. It’s like you both had settled for conformity, for the monotony of not bothering to do anything. You were together for the sole sake of how harder it would be to separate, but not because of the love you had for the other, simply because of the aftermath of breaking up after 6 years of relationship. Moving out, telling your friends and family, the whole world scrutinizing what went down when really nothing had gone down. There was nothing that could go down, to begin with. 

Your relationship had become more of a commodity, one that was draining you while your boyfriend continued his life like nothing was going on. Maybe that was your problem, you simply cared too much. 

And so you stopped trying to make him laugh. Stopped making those small efforts that had amounted to hundreds of gestures that went unnoticed by him. Maybe you were selfish for that, for wanting his undivided attention to things that weren’t that great. After all, he had his own things to wallow over, things that were simply greater than you.

You tried to blame Ferrari. Ferrari that always was the topic of conversation. “Can you believe they made pit so late?” Yes, I can. “Do you think I’m putting to much faith in the team?” Yes, you are. You don’t tell Charles all the things you should, you share his sadness and give him a shoulder to cry on, just to receive that small amount of affection. 

His sadness gives you the taste of what once was and now isn’t. You can’t find in yourself to blame him for becoming dependent on Ferrari, because haven’t you become the same way for him?

It isn’t long before your walk is over, and you have to face the moment you want to dread, but instead there is relief that surges in your heart. A feeling you resent but equally embrace. 

You step into the elevator, pressing the button for his apartment that you wonder when you decided to let everything go on for as long as it did. That is something you incriminate Charles for. Did he really think you’d be willing to stand in the rain for him forever? Eternally condemned to wallow his sadness, were you supposed to be sad for as long as he was? And for a while you did, you shared his sadness but you didn’t have much more in you to give him. There was only so much pity you could feel, so much empathy you were willing to subject yourself to. 

The elevator rings, a sign that you should get off and take whatever is yours and get away from Monaco.

You put the key in the keyhole, and enter what once was your home and now looks almost like a staged apartment, ready to be shown off and sold to the highest bidder. It feels eerie, what once was so familiar is now a distant memory you’re ready to get over.

Most of the boxes are all closed and ready to be sent away, with a few things left in shelves and drawers. You remember calling your family and asking if you could stay with them a few days, you felt ashamed at how you left everything behind just to come back to it so unexpectedly. 

“Chérie, you don’t have to leave. I can stay with Joris until you find your own place.” no more ma chérie, just chérie. It seemed you’d both unconsciously already made the graves for your relationship. 

“This is your place, Charles. I’m not going to kick you out of it.” you smoothly respond, trying to focus on taking whatever is left on the shelf by the TV. 

Your hand brushes against an old photo of the two of you. His hands around your waist, you looking up at him with a huge smile on your face, with Monaco as the landscape behind you. 

“This was our place, I don’t even—” he stops himself, like it pains him to say whatever is on his mind, resigned he sighs and changes his answer, “I might have to sell this, it’s too big for just me anyway.” 

The implication of his words would have sent you down a spiral a few months ago, now you don’t even reminisce on the what-if.

“Either way, I’ve already arranged a place to stay. I really don’t want to inconvenience you, this is your home not mine.” you say, and you watch as his jaw clenches and his eyes dim, but it is too late now to go back. You’re both too far gone. 

“Okay, then.” he sighs, and although you’ve made peace with the end of your relationship you want him to fight for you. It is his nonchalant way of going about life that makes you mad, and what sealed the fate of whatever remains of your relationship were left.

You’ve fought so hard and for so long, you want to make him feel what you felt. Retribution comes to you in his resignation, and yet it is simply not enough for your greedy, broken heart.

It pisses you off how so much of your youth he got to witness, how he got all the special moments of your life and now you cannot even recognise the girl you once were. All those dreams, all that naïveté, has long since died and is now buried in Monaco.

“It’s late and I’m really tired, so tomorrow morning I’ll have them pick up and ship off my things.” 

“Where are you staying?” he tries to be casual, tries to hide the desperation in his voice, but fails to do so because you know him too well. He fears you know him better than anyone ever has. 

“A hotel nearby,” you easily answer, 

Don’t let me go.

A beat passes, he opens his mouth and closes it shortly after, like he’s not sure what to say or how to act.

Please, don’t let me go. 

“Do you need me to take you there?”

“No, I’m okay, it’s a short walk from here.”

And so you put away the few things you were holding, brushing past him like he’s a stranger in the street. You’ve seemingly packed up your whole life in a few boxes, and you feel oddly calm about it. Hopeful about the future, all resentment you could have has turned into motivation. 

You seal the last open box, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. There are no scores to settle, no need for revenge, this chapter of your life has been sealed and you are ready to continue with whatever the story of your life has prepared for you.

“Text me when you get to the hotel, yes?” you pause at his words, and a part of you wants to curse him out for being the way he is, because despite everything he is a kind man. You just wish he could've been as kind to the old you as he is to the current you. And you wonder why you're given all this kindness, when you have both your feet out the door and every single remainder of your love has been tucked away. It is not fair, but nothing really is when it comes to love.

“Sure,” you say as you nod, a small smile gracing your face, though you're sure it looks close to a grimace. 

You walk out of the apartment, leaving your copy of the keys on the table next to the door. As it closes, you let out a sigh and go out the same you came in, calm and collected. With the broken, bloody pieces of your heart in his hands and you with the same blue heart of his you know so well.

You don’t text Charles when you make it to the hotel. 

You twist and turn in your bedsheets, not being able to sleep once again. You can't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. And so you do what you've been doing for months, you go over every step and stone of your relationship.

Although sleep doesn’t consume you, the memories do. Those unforgiving, wretched memories about the downfall of your relationship. As you lie awake, the weight of your thoughts presses down on you, each recollection sharper and more painful than the last. 

You reminisce on the brighter days, filled with laughter and pure love, where every touch was like electricity on your skin and every word a promise of a future together. You recall all those moments you fought to make him laugh, to bring back the warmth that had once been effortless. But those bright memories are quickly overshadowed by the darker ones— the fights that grew more frequent, the silences that stretched longer, the love that slowly turned to resentment. 

Every detail is vivid in your mind— he look in his eyes as he drifted away, the chill that settled in your bones each night he didn't fall asleep beside you. You replay the conversations, the accusations, the desperate attempts to salvage whatever was left. But despite your efforts, the spirit of the relationship was long gone, leaving behind a shell of what once was.

As the memories flood back, you feel the anger and sadness welling up inside you. You gave so much of yourself, your youth, your energy, only to be left with the empty shell of a broken dream. You think about how he swore that he loved you, yet the proof was never there. 

You recall that last fight, by then the stitches of your relationship had come undone, the fabric of your shared experience torn beyond repair. There was nothing left to cling onto, nothing more than your delusion and the memories you held close to your heart. 

“Mon amour, why did you stay awake? You know how long I take at the factory.” he whispers, almost cooing at you but also filled with exhaustion. Like you being awake is another burden you're placing on him, now that he has to deal with your awakened mind. 

“Couldn’t fall asleep, I guess.” you answer, playing with the ends of your hair, not daring to look at him. 

You watch as he places his stuff on the ground, taking off his shirt and entering the bathroom to wash his face and prepare for sleep. It is quite a shame you have no intentions of sleeping, or to let the misery you're living through go on.

“I’ll join you in just a moment,” he calls out from the bathroom, his voice muffled from the ajar door between you.

“Okay,” is all you come up with, all you can muster to respond.

The silence in the apartment grew heavy. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo through the room, each second stretching out into eternity. 

As you listened to the sound of water running, you traced patterns on the bedsheets with trembling hands. You couldn’t shake the feeling of suffocation, of being trapped in a life that wasn’t quite yours. The dreams you once nurtured seemed distant, obscured by the everyday struggles and compromises.

When Charles emerged from the bathroom, the lines of fatigue etched deeper into his face. His eyes met yours briefly before he turned away, pulling a worn t-shirt and slipping under the covers beside her. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet you could see the coldness that he seemed to reserve especially for you. He made no effort to kiss you, to hold you, those miniscule actions were like finding gold nowadays.

It was now or never, you had decided. You had gained courage all day to finally speak your mind, the least he could do is listen and try to fight for you. For the remains of your love that hadn’t yet dusted away.

“You know,” you begin tentatively, your voice almost shaky with emotion, “it feels like we’re drifting apart. I miss us, Charles.”

He turned to you sharply, eyes flashing with something like shock and annoyance. “I’m tired, Y/N. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

“But we never talk about it!” you exclaimed, frustration boiling over. “Every day, it’s the same thing. You come home late, exhausted, and we pretend everything’s okay. But it's not okay! It hasn’t been for a long time, and I need more than this.”

He sighs heavily, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Sure you are,” you retort back, voice tinged with bitterness. You knew he would dismiss your feelings, but it still stung.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m always second, Charles.” you retort, “I stay awake each night wondering if you still care, if there is even some part of you that misses me like I miss you.”

“You always find something to complain about, don’t you?” he turns to you with his eyes narrowed, “You know how much I’m dealing with Ferrari, I thought you’d have some empathy for me, at least.”

“I’m not complaining, Charles. I’m trying to talk to you!” your frustration has now reached its peak, “I miss us. I miss the days when we actually talked, when you actually listened.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says, ignoring your words once more. “Do you think this lifestyle pays for itself? Because, news flash, it doesn’t. You signed up for this, don’t put this on me now.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” you ask, resigned to your situation and the emotions that have overtaken you, “You're never here, Charles. I feel like I’m living with a stranger instead of the man I fell in love with.”

“Well, maybe if you didn't make everything so difficult,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He doesn't dare to look at you, he can't bear to see the expression on your face.

You feel tears stinging in your eyes, a mix of anger and hurt washing over you. “I’m not making things difficult. I’m asking for us to work on our relationship, to make time for each other.”

“I don’t have time,” Charles shot back, his voice cold and distant. “This is the life we have now. Deal with it.”

“Is this really what you want?” you demand, your voice rising. “A relationship where we just coexist, where we’re barely holding on?”

He turns away from you again, his silence cuts deeper than any words ever could. You feel the despair, the realizations sinking in that your relationship might be beyond repair.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking with emotion.

“Then what do you expect me to do?” he retorted, his frustration matching yours.

“I expect you to fight for us, Charles!” you exclaimed, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I expect you to care enough to try.”

He doesn’t respond, the silence a stark reminder of how far you had both drifted apart. You wiped your tears away, feeling the weight of your crumbling relationship pressing down on your chest.

“If you can’t even talk to me, then maybe we’re already done.” you say quietly, the finality of your words hanging in the air.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t reach out to you. You turned away from him, curling up on your side of the bed, feeling the emptiness of your once vibrant love surrounding you. As you stared into the darkness, you wondered if you had reached the end, if this was all the closure you would get.

As you laid there, enveloped in the silence that now seemed thicker than ever, you realised that something inside you had shifted irreversibly. The pain of his indifference cut deep, but so did the clarity that you couldn’t continue living forever like this, forever under the blue of his days.

The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, you couldn’t bear it any longer. With a shaky breath, you gathered your resolve and spoke softly into the darkness, voice trembling with both sadness and determination.

“I think… I need some time,” you began, your words tentative yet resolute. “Time to figure out what I want and what’s best for me.”

He turned to you then, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and resignation. “What are you saying?”

You struggled to find the right words. “I’m saying… I’m saying that I’m done, Charles. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I deserve more than this.” 

His expression hardened, a flicker of frustrations crossing his face. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

“I’m not giving up,” you shot back, “I’ve been fighting for us for so long, but you… you're not even here, I can’t keep begging for your attention, for your love.”

Charles doesn't respond immediately, his silence echoing loudly in the room. You felt a wave of sorrow wash over you as you realized that your love had turned into a battlefield of neglect and misunderstanding.

“I thought we could fix this,” he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe we could have,” your heart breaks with every word you utter. “But it’s too late now, I’m exhausted, Charles. I’m exhausted from trying to pretend like you care and for trying to fix something beyond repair.”

He sits up at your words, finally looking at you, the weight of your failed relationship heavy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, mon ange. I never meant for it to end like this.”

“Neither did I,” you replied softly, “But I can’t keep living like this. I deserve happiness. We both do.” he reached out to touch your hand, but you gently pulled away, the gesture feeling hollow now.

You sat there in silence, you knew that walking away would be the hardest thing you had ever done, but you also knew it was the only way forward.

Without another word, you stood up from the bed. Looking at him, the man you loved with all your heart but who had drifted away from you.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” you tell Charles, and he doesn’t fight you, just wordlessly nods and longingly looks at you as you step away and into your living room.

You stood at the window of the hotel room, staring out at the city that had been your home for so long. The cobblestone streets, the azure waters, and the gentle hum of luxury. This place, once your sanctuary, now felt like a prison of memories that had soured with time. A reminder of a love that couldn't withstand the weight of reality.

Outside, the familiar sights and sounds of Monaco stirred memories that tugged at your heart— lazy afternoons by the beach, candlelit dinners overlooking the harbour, stolen kisses beneath the starlit sky.

But today, as the plane ticket lay on the table beside your suitcase, you knew it was time to leave Monaco behind. Despite the love you once felt for this place, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest, the realisation that your time here had run its course.

As you walked out of the hotel and down the winding cobblestone streets towards the waiting car you had called, you allowed a tear to trickle down your cheek because despite everything you really fucking loved Monaco. For so, so long.

But you’ll find somewhere new.

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

Tom Blyth x Actress!Reader

TBOSAS Vogue Interviews — Rachel + Tom

(next part will be you and Josh’s interview)

no descriptors other than reader being shorter than tom but i use she / her. click [HERE] for the table of contents for all things tom x actress!reader

for the interviews, rachel and tom are still paired up since they’re the leads, and you’re with josh. sorry hunter hshxhsdi. also in this tbosas has been out for a month so the cast is allowed to talk specific scenes and give “spoilers”

The first bit of the video shows short clips of some answers, but no context as to what the questions are.

“Oh that’s an easy one, my girlfriend,” Tom can’t help but smile.

Rachel playfully slaps him with the card. “I was going to say her!”

~

“Pepper jack,” Rachel shrugs.

“Maybe… maybe a sharp cheddar?” Tom laughs.

~

Tom sighs, “that was quite a hard scene to film. After each take I’d ask if she was alright at least a couple of times.”

“Honestly the games as a whole, because I missed a lot of the stunt training.”

~

THE INTERVIEW —

“Hi Vogue, I’m Rachel Zegler.”

“And I’m Tom Blyth. Today we’re here to ask each other some questions, rapid fire.”

Rachel shuffles the interview cards around. “Okay first question, what would you say was the most difficult scene to film and why? Ooh I have my answer already.”

“You go first, I’m still thinking,” Tom laughs.

“Well for me, the most difficult scenes physically were honestly… the games as a whole. I missed a lot of the stunt training so to have one of my first scenes be me running like crazy screaming for Jessup, it was pretty intense.”

Tom blushes a little. “Sort of piggy backing off of Rachel’s answer, the hardest physically I’d definitely say my scene with Josh when we’re running out of the arena. The first few takes were stopped fairly quickly because either he or I would trip. But the most difficult emotionally, the scene in the cabin with Coriolanus and Nova May.”

“Aww,” Rachel puts her hand over her heart. “That’s was so cool to watch you both but yeah I can for sure see why it would be difficult. Did you guys rehearse it a lot?”

Tom shakes his head. “Not at all actually. We ran through the lines a few times but as far as acting out the whole scene, not until we were on set and they wanted a run through. And thankfully after the third take they were satisfied. That was quite a hard scene to film. After each take I’d ask if she was alright at least a couple of times.”

Off camera, someone asks “how long have you guys been together?”

“Pretty much since we met,” Tom tries, and fails to hide his smile. “So she and Josh were actually cast on the same day in June of 2022. At that point Rachel and I had already been cast, and the 4 of us, it just so happened that we were all in London for one thing or another and we all went out to dinner that night. Knew I fancied her right away, and I wanna say it wasn’t even a couple of weeks later that I asked her to be my girlfriend. Sorry I know I went off topic. To answer your actual question, almost a year and a half.”

Tom and Rachel chat for a couple of minutes as cameras are moved around to capture different angles.

“Next question, something a lot more lighthearted. If you were a cheese, what—”

“Pepper jack,” Rachel shrugs, not elaborating.

Tom bursts out laughing. “You had that answer ready awfully quick.”

“What can I say, I’m a cheese girly.”

“I guess that’s my go. Pepper jack is a good answer by the way. I’ll go cheddar. Maybe… maybe a sharp cheddar?”

Rachel taps her chin as if considering what Tom just said. “Yeah, I could see sharp cheddar. Okay guys sorry they’re motioning behind cameras that we have to speed it up. This is rapid fire and we’ve only answered two questions, sorry!”

“Sorry guys! Okay okay next question. Who is your favorite person to run lines with? Oh that’s an easy one, my girlfriend.”

“I was gonna say her!” Rachel faces the camera. “You guys, she’s seriously the best person for that. She memorizes lines sooo fast. By the end she won’t need a script to help you and she’ll be able to still correct you if you mess up!”

“What — oh wait I’ve already asked that question,” Tom flips through the cards, “okay here we go. If you could play any other character in the film, who would you play?”

Rachel claps and points at Tom. “We were just talking about this! I’d either want to play your character because I think it would be so fun to kind of switch to the villain. Or Nova May because hello she’s a badass.”

“Do you know what, and I swear I’m not making this up, my answers are the same as yours. either Nova May because I feel like she’s the opposite of Coriolanus in a way. Or Lucy Gray because I love that even after the games, she’s stayed true to who she is and she doesn’t let Coriolanus corrupt her.”

Rachel and Tom chat again as cameras and lights are moved around. They each do 2 questions.

“Okay we’ve each got one more question. Ooh this one’s fun! You’re stuck on a deserted island for a month and can have five things with you, what do you bring? And it says people don’t count,” Rachel thinks for a moment, “you go first because I need to give this some real thought.”

“No people, okay let’s see… my phone, one of those solar power generators so I could plug things in, phone charger, a book, and mini fridge. I’m sure I could cook some things up and be able to save them for later.”

Rachel nods in approval. “I am going to copy your first three things because I think I’d go crazy not being able to at least write out my thoughts in my notes app or something, or record what’s happening on my camera. But for my last two things, a guitar now that I can play, and… oh crap this is harder than I thought. And… a surfboard! If you’re stuck on an island that’s the perfect time to pick up a new hobby.”

“I think we’re finally getting the hang of this, of course right at the end. Oh I have the last question that’s right. Let’s see… what three characters from other shows or films do you think would do well in the Hunger Games?”

“I love that question!” Rachel nearly falls out of her chair. “Definitely someone from Game of Thrones — ooh or House of the Dragon! You know what, Juliette would do really good. A bow and arrow can take you really far in the games and that’s her go-to weapon.”

Tom smiles and blushes once again at the mention of his girlfriend, or at least the character she plays.

Rachel thinks about her last two answers. “Joel Miller from The Last of Us, and Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.”

“Why Spencer?”

“He’s a literal genius. I bet he’d be able to rig a bunch of traps that no one would suspect and he’d be able to eliminate most of the other tributes without any physical contact.”

“Ahh I didn’t think of that. Hmm also from House of the Dragon, Aemond Targaryen. He’s quite ruthless isn’t he, he’d have no problem getting rid of the other tributes. And also Clint Barton, like you said because a bow and arrow is a really good weapon to have. Also… Uhtred Ragnarsson from The Last Kingdom.”

Someone behind the camera says it’s time to wrap it up.

Tom smiles at the camera, “thank you so much for having us.”

“We hope you enjoyed watching, bye!”

TOM BLYTH x ACTRESS!READER TAGLIST —

@callsignwidow | @spencerstits | @coconut-dreamz | @daenerysqueenofhearts

[love-bitesx]

: ̗̀➛ PROTECTOR. hobie brown x reader

summary: spider-man makes a point of walking y/n home every night, but after befriending them as hobie brown as well, his feelings get complicated. words: 3.5k REQUESTS OPEN ! warnings: non-explicit sexual harassment (a man is very creepy to reader), reader isn't gendered! but be aware, author is female, so possible afab bias, i tried my hardest i swear. all characters are adults :) author is british so this is my interpretation of his silly little slang from what ive experienced hehe also divider credit: cafekitsune a/n: may feel a little ooc, but in my headcanon, when he's pining the way he is for reader, he's so soft. also, spider-man and hobie r completely different personalities u cant tell me otherwise. first time writing hobie so pls give me opinions ty. enjoy!!!!!

“is it home-time already, darlin’?”

there he was. the familiarity of routine washing over you, turning your head to see him propped up against the brick, spikes on display and guitar pick flipping in between his clothed fingers.

“spider-man, my hero,” you sighed and clutched your non-existent pearls, a smirk on your lips.

“you know i hate that,” kicking off from the wall of the pub you just clocked out of, he stuffed his hands into his patched up jacket, his bouncy stride meeting yours on the pavement.

“i know,” you smiled, allowing your bag to fall from your shoulders and into his outstretched hand, as always.

it had become a routine, over the course of a few months, that the one-and-only spider-man would escort you home from work in the late hours. at first, it didn’t seem real. why would he decide to spend valuable time most days walking you home, when he could be out fighting whatever darkness lurks in the shadows? you’ve asked him, almost every time, but he always gives the same, vague answer;

“who else is gonna keep you safe, love?”

his legs were longer than yours, by a mile. so he had to slow his usual pace for you. naturally bouncy, his booted feet tapped against the pavement like a kick drum, and you wondered whether that was the radioactive blood in his veins, or his natural energy.

laughter flittered through the dark streets as you caught up, it had only been a day since you last saw him, but being a crime-fighting, fascist-killing superhero, there was quite a lot to pack into a 24 hour day.

he bounced off the walls of passing buildings, recreating his fights with the air that hung between you both, throwing in some exaggerated punches here and there, to elicit an extra giggle or two from you. you almost got lost following his animated recreations, but he kept an eye out for the roads ahead. he’d memorised all the paths leading to your apartment.

it had all started a few months prior, after a particularly long shift at work. constantly over the span of a few hours, this guy would not leave you alone. no matter how many times you refused his advances, a smile on your face, masking the unsettling pit in your stomach at the sight of his grin. drink, after drink, after drink, he ordered just to stare at you the whole night, crude gestures and words thrown your way.

you’d gotten used to it, working at a pub in the depths of london, it wasn’t ever unusual to get unwanted advances. but something about this guy, you couldn’t shake it. ~

“what time do you finish, ay?” his accent was thick, you placed him somewhere up north.

“i’m not sure,” you muttered back, forcing a smile.

“oi, come on! ‘course you know what time you finish,” his words were slurred, and his eyes hadn’t left yours once, “was thinking we could ‘ave some drinks together, tha’s’all.”

“sorry, i can’t tonight, i have to be up early tomorrow,” you giggled, and if he wasn’t so drunk, he’d definitely have picked up on the nerves lacing your words.

“come on,” vowels drawn out, he made an attempt to stand up to meet your height, the proximity of him sending a shock of fear to your heart, until a strong hand clapped against his chest, the force almost sending him backwards.

“pack it in, dickhead, they said ‘no’,” a deep, almost calming voice spoke, contrasted completely with the stern, threatening tone of his words.

you looked to meet your protectors gaze, and it almost stunned you. he was tall, taller than you, for sure. dark, smooth skin with an aura of pure mayhem, silver piercings protruding from his face. adorned with a ripped, skin-tight plain top and denim vest, littered with badges, patches and just about any accessory known to man.

his eyes were what really held you. a heavy look, dark brown with the most unique feeling of strength and power that you’d ever seen. you could’ve easily gotten lost.

deciding you’d stared at him long enough, though, you broke the eye contact, diverting it back to the man who looked a humorous combination of terrified and offended at the same time.

“‘s alright mate, we were just talking, back off, yeah?” his liquid courage built up, ignorant of the taller man’s hand still pushing against his chest, ring-clad hands seeming to leave an imprint.

“think it’s time for you to leave, mate,” he spat back, mimicking his slang.

a moment of silence followed. you’d fully expected the drunken creep to swing a punch, or at least bite back, but under the weight of the taller man’s stare, he seemed to lose all fight he had in him. with a final murmer of something you couldn’t quite hear, and unsure you really wanted to, he stumbled backwards, slipping into the crowd.

“thank you,” you broke the silence, to which the man shrugged.

“he was a pig,” he brushed it off like nothing, and you couldn’t help but smile at his attitude. raising his newly free hand, he stretched it towards you, tight in a fist.

“hobie, hobie brown,” he greeted, and his accent completely erased the ‘h’ from his name.

“y/n l/n,” you smiled, accepting his offer and spudding him, the cold metal of his rings against your knuckles. you couldn’t help but grin at the oddity of his presence.

hobie kept you company for the rest of the night, ranting about his thoughts and opinions of various important subjects, ranging widely from drinks of choice to the existence of capitalist propaganda in modern media, all of which you hung onto every word of.

it wasn’t long until he’d managed to book him and his band into a few slots on the pub’s makeshift stage that stood empty on the other side of the room, smiling to himself at how authentically excited you seemed to hear his music.

when he left, his vacancy was immediately obvious. the booming pub feeling oddly silent without him.

after closing up for the night, you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, switching the lights off with one hand and fiddling with the keys in the other, shaking the door to double check you locked it well enough. body aching from being on your feet all day, you yawned, stepping autopilot into the darkness. the night air was chilling, causing you to wrap your jacket tight around your body. cursing at yourself for not bringing another layer, or pre-ordering a taxi home.

“oi,” you heard from your right, turning quickly to the familiar call.

stumbling on the pavement, the drunken creep from earlier pointed towards you.

shit.

you hadn’t expected him to actually wait for you. it’d been hours since he left, he was insane. what was he thinking?

grabbing the keys from your pocket, you gripped them in your freezing hands in defense.

“where’s your little friend, huh?” he spat, clearly enraged by hobie’s interruption earlier. he stepped closer, and you stepped back, trembling as you tripped slightly on the pavement.

“ay, is this twat bothering you?” a voice called from above.

wait, above?

craning your neck up, you made eye contact with possibly the last person you expected.

“spider-man?”

and from that night, he’d met you every time. waiting outside the pub doors, no exception, to walk you home.

“hey!” spider-man’s upbeat calling snapped you instantly back to him, jumping slightly as you finally noticed he was directly in front of your face, white eyes narrowed on your demeanor, “where’d you go, huh?”

“sorry,” paying him an apologetic smile, “just thinking.”

“wanna clue me in, darlin’?” his tone was playful, but the soften of his masks expression felt genuine.

“just thinking about the day i’ve had,” you lied, unsure whether his spidey senses could tell. not that it was rare for you to think about how you met, but you didn’t want to bring it up again. if he could tell, he didn’t let on.

“whataboutit?” he sped up, slipping back to your pace and slinging his lanky arm over your shoulders, basically hanging onto you as you walked. he liked walking with you like this. it made him feel powerful, like he was keeping you extra safe.

“hobie’s band played again!” you exclaimed, and if he’d been paying attention, he would’ve seen the way your face lit up at the memory. unfortunately for him, his eyes were trained on webbing a chocolate bar from a passing vendor. god knows why it was still open, but he was glad it was.

“hobie, again, huh?” taunted spider-man, punching your arm playfully with the fist that gripped the newly stolen snickers bar, “starting to think you’re replacing me, love.”

“never,” you teased back, elbowing his side, hearing the jingle of his badged vest, “hobie’s just…”

ears pricking, he clung onto the words you were speaking, anticipating possibly hearing something he didn’t want to.

“he’s just so cool,” you breathed with a smile, and he almost verbally sighed in relief, stopping himself in order not to rouse suspicion. he smirked under his mask, “just got this feel about him, so easy to talk to, and he’s so talented! you know, i’ve almost learnt all the lyrics to his songs.”

his heart just about exploded. in fact, he thinks he could pinpoint the exact moment it did.

he played off his burning cheeks, clearing his throat and incredibly glad his mask hid his flustered expression.

“you should come see him, you know,” you looked up at him, and though you knew his answer was ‘no’, it was worth a try, “i can hide you in the back if you don’t wanna be seen.”

“come off it, love,” he dismissed, avoiding your gaze, but his back was tingling like pins and needles under the warmth of it, “i’m not keen to meet the man stealing you from me.”

“fuck sake,” you laughed and pushed his arm off you, brushing off his playful flirting.

his confidence was excelling. the friendship you had formed over the prior months had stemmed from his childish charm, and it hadn’t faltered once.

“well, here i am,” you brought your pace to a halt, hovering in front of the door to your apartment building.

“i’ll miss you tonight,” he fell against the wall, eyes stuck on you. you couldn’t see it, but you could feel his smirk.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, i finish at 11,” you stepped towards him.

“i’ll be waiting,” he kicked off from the bricks, raising his hand to ruffle your hair, much to your protest, before practically disappearing in front of your eyes.

you were left grinning to yourself, much like every night.

“what’s up, bruv?” hobie’s friend elbowed him harshly in the ribs, causing him to rip his eyes from you.

“nothing,” he huffed, but by the lack of sustenance and playfulness in his reply, his friend was less than satisfied. hobie was a carefree, reckless guy with a constant spurt of irony, and seeing him with a sullen expression and no bite back, was worrying.

“come off it, hobie,” another one piped up, sitting across from him with an empty pint in one hand and cigarette in the other, pointing the latter in his face. he huffed, “you’ve been slumping for like 3 months now, and you’ve only been writing sappy love songs.”

the table snickered, and even hobie’s lips curled into a smirk. his friend was right, he wasn’t even nearly like his usual self. he blames you for that.

“who is it then, huh?” his friend pushed, cigarette still hanging in front of hobie’s face, ash crumbling off the end, “has our ol’ hobie brown got himself a partner?”

“oi, you know i hate labels,” he smirked again, knowing he was lying. not that he didn’t usually hate them, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that every time you made your way to the front of his mind, he was urged to call you his. his partner. his person. his love. just his.

he always did hate consistency, anyway.

“another round, guys?” your voice ripped him from his thoughts, your scent somehow drifting above the sticky smell of beer and cigarettes, he pinned that down to his spider abilities, but he’d be a fool to ignore that he had simply just memorised the aroma.

“please, darlin’,” hobie’s friends chirped up, grinning at you thankfully. he cursed the burning feeling in his chest.

“i could do you guys a deal,” you smirked playfully, and he looked up to meet your eyes. you looked beautiful tonight, like usual. he was fucked.

“if you lot give us a song, it’ll be on the house,” you smiled hopefully, taking note of their usual orders just incase they agree.

“sounds like a plan,” hobie reached his hand out to you, open for a handshake, to which you took. soft hands falling into his calloused ones, he couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt.

turning away, you left to get their usual set up sorted, feeling him still watching you, to which you threw him a smile over your shoulder.

it wasn’t unusual at all. his eyes would always find you. at the table with his mates, his gaze would swim through the crowd to yours. even on stage, lost in the moment with himself and his guitar, it was you he always found his eyes trailing back to. it wasn’t like the other men in the bar, it wasn’t predatory desire or lust, but it was warm. it was safe.

he had three options, really; confess himself to you as hobie brown, coming clean about the way he felt about you, the warmth in his heart that spread across his spine whenever you smiled at him, eventually having to come clean about his alter-ego. he could confess as spider-man, to which he’d have to come clean about his actual identity. or option three. stay silent and suffer in his own pity. bite his lip and pretend his heart wasn’t yearning for you.

but, he prided himself in being able to speak his mind without hesitation. confident in his word, suffocated in his silence. he would always say: if he ever bit his tongue, to kill him there and then. well, here he is; begging for mercy at the barrel, his tongue bleeding from keeping his heart locked in his chest.

he was fucked. well and truly.

“anything special happen today?” spider-man nudged you, taking a worried note of your unusual quietness recently. it was the same night, he’d picked you up like normal, and hopped along beside you.

“the band played again,” a swelling smile bloomed on your lips, “other than that, not really.”

your voice was hollow tonight. easily mistakable with your naturally soft tone, but to his trained ears, it didn’t feel right.

stopping immediately in his path, his bouncy steps ceasing, you quickly copied him. confusion slipping behind your eyes.

“what’s up?” you questioned.

“you know you wanna tell me,” he stepped around you, arms falling over your shoulders from behind, heavy with his full weight. something about the mask, it gave him a confidence with you that he’d quenched as hobie.

you sighed and rested your head back against his chest, taking him by surprise. there was something intimate about the way your eyes were closed, body resting against him. your brain was hectic, he didn’t need his spidey senses to see that.

“there’s just…” you spoke, eyelids feeling heavy as you opened them, looking up to see him. head split in two, you were unsure if you even wanted to say it out loud, “there’s this guy.”

it was almost cruel how fast his heart dropped, plummeting like a boulder into the pit of his stomach. body stiffening, his head was spinning so fast he didn’t even have the conscience to mask it.

“i just can’t get him out of my head, it’s so stupid,” if your wistful look wasn’t answer enough, the outpour of dissonance he could feel from your body told him it was serious.

“not another fella tryna steal you from me,” he chuckled, but his voice was weak, vulnerable. you hadn’t heard it like that before.

untangling yourself from his weighted grip, you leant against the wall of the building you were stood in front of, staring up into the night sky. there was something so embarrassing about admitting a silly little crush.

“not another one, technically,” you spoke softly, a hint of a smile tickling your lips at the thought of him, he stepped closer, “i’ve already told you about him.”

and he stopped dead in his tracks. mind racing a million miles an hour, picking apart every word you said. was he stupid? was he reaching? seeing something that wasn’t there? he was the only one you’d spoken about, but surely not, right?

shifting closer again, his body begun to feel the heat radiating off you, barely an inch between you both. he towered you, as always, the spikes on his jacket and mask hitting the streetlights perfectly, giving him an orange glow. you bought yourself to look at him, and though you couldn’t see the eyes beneath, you felt his gaze.

insufferably close, closer than you’ve ever been, you could feel your heart in your chest. a tension that you hadn’t quite felt before, bubbling in the air between you.

“say his name, love,” his voice was low, lower than normal, and a twinge of familiarity hit your chest hearing the deeper tone, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. chills dripped down your spine at the new found feeling.

gulping, you could feel his name in your throat, struggling it’s way out.

“hobie.” your voice was barely above a whisper, but considering he almost had you pressed against the brick, he heard every syllable. and god, did it sound good.

“again?” he croaked, just wanting to confirm, needing to hear it again, needing to hear you say it, relish in every beat.

“hobie,” you repeated, louder this time, more conviction in your chest, “i like him, like a lot.”

he went silent. dead silent, barely moving. heat radiated from him, and you could’ve sworn in the vacancy of sound that you could hear his heart pounding against his chest. reaching up, your hand trembling slightly, you placed it there. on his chest, feeling the material of his suit, the humanity of his heartbeat. he melted into it.

“are you o—“

“i need to tell you something.” he interrupted you.

it was your turn to be silent, eyes heavy with intrigue, begging him to continue.

without a word, his ring-clad hand ghosted your skin, drifting past the air between you and to the base of his mask, sliding along his neckline for the seam, and dragging it up over his face, revealing the man within.

your heart stopped, a thousand things flashing through your head, through your heart, surging in your bloodstream. you didn’t even know what to say, what to think, how to comprehend it.

“hobie?” your voice was small again, shrunk beneath the look in his eyes, the desire.

embarrassment waved through you for a moment, a sudden panic of the earlier confession, your chest pounding at the possible rejection.

he didn’t even leave the thoughts enough time to fester, however, because his hand that was holding his mask was suddenly flush against your jaw, the material falling softly onto your neck. thumb trailing the comfort of your cheek, revelling in the feel of your skin, warm against his hands, he leaned forward.

his lips were on yours, without a word. gentle, but rough. the tension escaping through the feeling of him pressed into you, desire leaping out of every shared breath. his other hand fell to your waist, and yours stayed firm on his chest, bunching the fabric in your hand to bring him closer. he obliged, of course, and the kiss deepened. his head spun.

pulling away for breath, you kept your eyes on his lips, disbelief swimming around your brain, colliding with the need to kiss him again.

“y/n,” his hand brought your eyeline to his, “i like you, too.”

you couldn’t help but smile, relief washing your body out.

“like, a lot.”

he kissed you again. and again.

a/n: hope u enjoyed!! pls let me kno if ur did, this is my first time writing for him <3 thanku!!!

[alotofpockets]

The set up | Alessia Russo x Reader

Where your best friend Gio sets you up with his sister.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.5k

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“Come on, just let me set you up with one more girl.” Your best friend begged, making you roll your eyes. He loved trying to set you up, but nothing ever really came from it. “Like your other set ups worked so well.” 

“Please, just one more before I head off to Bali. I can’t leave you here all on your own.” Oh he could be so annoying. “I have friends besides you Gio, you know that right?" You give him a friendly shove. 

“Y/n, she’s totally your type. Just give me one more chance.” You knew when he was putting up his best puppy eyes, that you weren’t going to be able to say no. “Fine, but it will be your going away present, so don’t expect anything else.”

You checked your phone one more time to check if you had gotten the right restaurant, a reservation for two under the name Russo he had said. Why he had used his name instead of yours was a mystery to you, but that mystery quickly unravelled when you saw the girl that was sitting at the table the waiter was leading you to.

“Lessi?” The girl looked up with confusion written all over your face, just like yourself. “Hey y/n/n, what are you doing here?” 

“Well, apparently Gio tried setting me up with you.” Alessia chuckled, “Of course he did.” You hesitate for a moment, which Alessia seems to notice. “Sit, this place has amazing food. Plus Gio is paying for the whole thing.” Now it was your turn to laugh. “How did you manage that?”

You settle into your seat while Alessia tells you how she convinced her brother to pay for the whole date. Alessia was right, the menu had some great choices, as you looked through them you wondered why Gio would set you up with his sister, was this one of his jokes, or was he serious about this?

"So, how have you been?" Alessia asks, breaking the brief silence. "I feel like it's been ages since we caught up properly." You had met Gio back in college, and had known his whole family for ages. 

“It really has been a while, hasn’t it? I’m doing well. I got promoted at work which prompted my move to London, they offered me a managing position at their location here. I’ve been getting used to the changes, home and work wise, but overall I’m really happy with the change. How have you been? Has Arsenal been treating you well?” Now that you think of it, you hadn’t been to one of her matches since made the move to Arsenal. You often joined Gio and the Russo family on seeing Alessia play for either club or country, having watched her grow from a college athlete to this phenomenal professional player. 

Alessia tells you all about her move to London and her time at Arsenal so far over the pizza’s that you both ordered. It had actually been really nice hanging out with the girl one on one, something you hadn’t done all too often. 

When both your plates are empty, you don’t want to leave yet but you know you’ll have to say goodnight because you have work in the morning. “This was really nice Less, would you want to do it again some time?” You didn’t know how the blonde was looking at this set up as an actual date, or just as friends catching up, but as the evening came to an end you realised just how much you had enjoyed her company, and how much you would like to go out with her again.

“I had a great time, and I would love to do it again sometime, it’s a date.” Your heart warmed at the words ‘it’s a date’, glad to hear that she was feeling the same way. “Do you want to mess with Gio a bit?” She suggested, and she told you her plan after you agreed. 

You step into Gio’s apartment without an invitation to come in, or saying hello. “Your sister? You set me up with your sister?” You tried your hardest not to smile. His eyes widened, “I really thought you guys would hit it off, and if not it would just be funny.” You shake your head and walk out of the door again. As you get in your car you quickly send Alessia a text.

Y/n: Part one of the plan has been executed :)

The next day you eagerly await Alessia’s text, after lunch your phone finally buzzes with a message from her. 

Alessia: Part two is in motion!

You smile at the message, imagining what Alessia has cooked up, as she was clearly enjoying pranking her brother as much as you were.

The plan was to make Gio believe he messed up with setting the two of you up, while actually you already had your second date planned. 

The second date was even better than the first one, instead of sitting down at a restaurant you went to an arcade. When you headed in the bustling arcade filled your ears, as Alessia led you right to the first game. “Ready to get crushed?” A sparkle behind her eyes told you enough about how tonight was going to go. “Bring it on.” You said back with determination.

You smirk as you get ball after ball in the basket, Alessia was doing well too, but your points were definitely going up quicker. When the timer ends, you have almost double the points she has. Alessia looks over in disbelief. “Less, how did your brother and I get to know each other?” She thinks for a moment before it finally dawns on her, you were both on the basketball team in college. “Okay, so that game doesn’t count because there was an unfair advantage. Let’s move on.” 

She takes your hand and drags you to a new game, where the both of you are just as competitive. The wins were divided more now, her being better at some games, and you better at others. All in all, you had a great time. 

At the end of the night she invited you to come see her play on Sunday, an offer you gladly accepted. It had really been too long since you had seen her play, and you were interested to see how her playing style had changed since she joined the new club. 

She walked you to your front door, “You’ll be at the airport tomorrow as well right?” You nod, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world” Gio was leaving for Bali tomorrow, and his family and a couple of his closest friends were coming to wave him off. Since you had stormed out of his apartment, the two of you were good again, but he still had no idea that you and Alessia had started dating. 

Before she turns around to get to her car, she leans in and pecks your lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You kiss her again, wanting her with you a little longer. “Goodnight Less, text me when you get home?” With a nod and another quick kiss, you watch her drive off. 

The next day you meet the Russo family at the airport. No one wanted to say goodbye, but you knew you had to since Gio had a plane to catch so you stepped up first. You give him a big hug, “I’m going to miss you, Gio. Have an amazing trip, and send me all the updates please.” 

Gio noticed the two of you embracing, and started smirking instantly. He walked up to the two of you. “I knew it!” You rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah yeah, you finally set me up with a good one.” He hugged the both of you. “I’m very happy for you both. Take care of each other while I’m away?” With a promise that you would, he went off to board his plane.

After you, more of Gio’s friends went ahead and said their goodbye’s, and last but not least, his family did as well. Alessia stepped back from saying bye with teary eyes, the goodbye being emotional for the family. She walked right towards you, and you wrapped your arms around her in comfort, no longer caring about the little plan you had made. 

Carol walked up to the two of you, “Want to join us for dinner tonight, sweetheart?” You looked over to Alessia to make sure she was okay with you saying yes to her mom. When she agreed with a nod and a smile, you told Carol you would love to. 

When Gio landed you were still at the Russo’s, and you Gio had added you all to a group chat called ‘Bali updates for the fam’, you smiled at the way he included you with his family, as the five of you watched his video showing you all the hotel room he would spend the first night.

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[evansbby]

an update from me :)

hey everyone, i know i haven’t been very active on here lately. and the reason is because a lot of things in my life have changed. i’ve been debating even sharing this but i feel like i’m in a good enough position to be okay with sharing it.

so these past two years, i had been super active on here (late 2022- early 24) and that was because, well, I didn’t really have anything else. that’s because I had graduated in 2022 and then i just couldn’t find a job in my field. like so many other recent graduates, it was just so hard and tough and it really made me lose all faith in myself.

i found myself to be in the worst mental state i had ever been. I cut myself off from my friends, felt like a burden towards my family, was having meltdowns and panic attacks almost daily, even started eating unhealthily and was just overall in a very bad place.

HOWEVER, i always felt like I could come on tumblr and that’s why i was so active and writing all these stories because honestly, they were almost like a crutch to me. like the ONE thing i had to look forward to in life during those times was the feedback I’d get when i posted a fic, and honestly it’s what kept me going. like i swear to god, on some days this blog and community was the only thing that i had to look forward to and keep me going, and writing felt like such a huge escape.

because i felt so USELESS. like i was wasting my life and not making any money or being able to kickstart my career after uni, and that it would be like this forever, so when I was writing it actually felt like I was doing something with a purpose. honestly on some days I would literally wake up early and go sit in Starbucks all day just writing my fics like i was cosplaying working or something just so I’d have a purpose. (I don’t go to Starbucks anymore lol boycott)

anyways, i never shared this on tumblr these past few years bc you guys don’t understand what a failure i felt like. i would sometimes get asks on here asking what i did for a job and I’d feel so embarrassed of my current state of being unable to find a job when it felt like everyone else who had graduated with me had one and obtained one so easily. like i felt ASHAMED.

i remember once i got an ask asking what my job was and I just said “fashion marketing” bc that was one of the things i wanted to do and id done an internship in that field so i just put that but it was a LIE i was unemployed and the most depressed ive been in my whole life but I thought maybe i could manifest it.

ANYWAYS, and you’ve probably already guessed it, but the reason I’m not so active anymore is because I did eventually find a job. a really good one that I’m enjoying so much and I’m so happy at. Finally, I’m feeling like myself again, like I’m living that life in London as a twenty something that I’d see everyone on tiktok living!! Like I’m finally just having fun, going out with friends, being active, having money to spend on fun things etc.

and it feels so surreal and crazy because when i was depressed and jobless, it made me doubt myself so much. Like the constant rejections and failed interviews made me doubt myself and lowered my self esteem so much and I thought I’d NEVER achieve this life that i have now! And I don’t want to jinx it but I literally thank God every day for finally granting me this because I really feel like I would’ve gotten worse and worse and IDEK.

But back to the main point, and so because of my new job I just don’t have that much time for tumblr anymore. But this isn’t a goodbye post… not at all! I find that when I’m super busy in life is also when I get the most motivated to write! Like for example in summer 2022 I was on here so much and that was the summer I had the most fun, was the most busy. I think when I’m busy in life, I get motivated to write.

Which I believe is the case right now, because I’m SO motivated to complete all my stories, I keep thinking about them and writing them slowly, so please don’t think anything is abandoned! I just wanted to make this post to be more transparent about what’s been going on in my life and what had been going on these past two years. That maybe someone else going through something similar can see that eventually, everything does work out.

Anddd I don’t really know how to end this. I just want to say, yall don’t understand just how thankful I am for having this blog, this platform, to write my stories. For having you guys. Because who knows how much worse my mental state would’ve been these past two years when I didn’t have ANYTHING else going for me, if I hadn’t had this blog it would’ve been so much worse.

Thank you so much for believing in me and enjoying my stories and always always letting me know how much you enjoy them. And I’ll say the truth; I know everyone says that engagement on tumblr has been bad lately but I can say that bc of you guys I have literally never EVER had this issue. And that’s not me being big headed, that’s just the truth and it makes me so happy and grateful. Yall always came through for me and still do now! Every time I think my fic is going to flop, you guys come through for me. I appreciate it so much. You guys have no idea how much you helped me when I was at my lowest. And continue to.

Many thanks

Me 🩷🩷🫶🏼🫶🏼

[everywherea11thetime]

So High School | ln4 x singer!reader| smau

warnings: mentions of sex

a/n: added a lil espresso bc it was way too short:/

y/ninstagram

liked by 300,405 others

y/ninstagram: New single out now! It’s called so high school. I wanna thank jack for helping produce this and i wanna thank my boy for being my muse<3 You know who you are i love you;).

view all comments

fan63: YESS Y/N IS FEEDING USSSS

fan95: hello who is this about😭

fan24: girlll “you know how to drive i know Aristotle” imma need every person who has a license in the world

fan78: is this abt a race car driver?

→fan75: Nascar maybe??

mclaren: We love the song y/n🧡

→fan35: ariana wyd here?

→fan40: is the song about a mclaren driver?

→fan28: girl no

twitter

fan40: guys I think so high school is abt a McLaren f1 driver and here’s why. Most obvious one, in her song So High School she says you know how to drive i know aristotle, so it’s somebody in the racing world, then on her anouncement mclaren commented saying that they “loved the song” know it might just be that y/n a McLaren f1 fan but also maybe they met at the bahrain gp that y/n was in march. coincidence I THINK NOT.

→fan38: girl im not gonna lie ur kinda onto something…

→fan82: nurse shes out again!

F1wags

Liked by:y/ninstagram and 18,974 others

F1wags: Lando Norris and singer/songwriter Y/n Y/Ln spotted at Club Gascon in London out only a week after speculations of who her new song So High School was about. People said they had their romantic dinner then were spotted walking to the guildhall art gallery. New couple alert?

view all comments

fan64: Y/N IN THE LIKES?????!!!!

fan71: guys maybe that twitter thread was right…

fan49: she dates to many guys, im scared for lando

→fan57: her song abt him is literally how she wants them to be forever bsffr…

fan35: Not my two worlds colliding

fan91: im actually so ready for this relationship

fan86: the next album is about to be so fireee

fan63: @/y/ninstagram @/landonorris care to explain yourselves???

→y/ninstagram: No thanks

→landonorris: no we’re good

→fan63: WE’RE!!!???????

fan54: THEY HIT THE PENTAGON

Texts between lando and y/n

y/n: should we just hard launch already?

landino: I mean they kinda already know.

y/n: alr im making the post, make yours sweet please. I dont trust you

landino: awhh please baby i had a whole caption out😔🤚

y/n: don’t come crying to after mclaren scolding you again babe

landino: YIPPIEEEE

y/ninstagram

y/ninstagram: you know what you wanted and boy, you got her🧡 ft real pic of me on the last slide watching lan and his friends listen to so high school

tagged:landonorris

comments

maxfewtrell: still haven’t recovered from that song…

→landonorris: wanna play gta tonight?

→maxfewtrell: NO

→angryginge13: NO

→martingarrix: NO

→ maxverstappen: NO

→ danielricciardo: NO

→ y/ninstagram: damn, American Pie then?

landonorris: love you babe(i would have chose kill)

→ y/ninstagram: oh what’d you say “no sex for a month”

→ landonorris: NO I SAID I LOVE YOU AND YOUR THE BEST PERSON ON THIS EARTH AND YOUR SO AWESOME AND COOL😍❤️❤️❤️💕💕😘😘🥰(plz lemme eat u out)

fan40: I WAS RIGHT AND U ALL SAID I WAS CRAZY

fan83: the fifth slide!!!!???

fan74: they’re actually so cute omg

landonorris

liked by:y/Instagram and 1,031,495

landonorris: it’s true, swear, scouts honor . Also me n her if we were in gta🤭

Comments

Maxfewtrell:WAIT I JUST GOT THE SCOUTS HONOR LYRIC… GROSS

→ landonorris: sorry💁

→ y/ninstagram: sorry💁‍♀️

martingarrix: I will never be able to look either of y'all in the eye

→ y/ninstagram: sorry💁‍♀️

→ landonorris: sorry💁

Y/Instagram: i told you to make it sweet…

→landonorris: this IS sweet…like you😛

→y/Instagram: blocked and reported

fan57: 3RD SLIDE IS SO MOMMY🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Mclaren: hey can we maybe not

fan10: y/n plz I could treat you so much better

→landonorris: did you not listen to the song?

carlossainz: landos not so little anymore🥲

→y/Instagram: definitely not little

oscarpiastri: guys please tell them to stop making out in front of me I. AM. TIRED

Y/Instagram

liked by landonorris and 2,275,286 others

y/ninstagram: ESPRESSO SONG AND MUSIC VIDEO OUT NOW!

veiw all comments

landonorris: you mountain dew it for me😻😻😻

landonorris: first

landonorris: most beautiful amazing gorgeous person on this earth🤭🤭

→y/ninstagram: 🤭🤭🤭 cmere🤭🤭🤭

→ landonorris: yes ma’am🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

fan45: not Lando being a simp on main

→landonorris: AND I WILL DO IT AGAIN

fan76: why does vroom vroom guy keep getting songs😔

→y/ninstagram: the d is fireeeeee

☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎☺︎

a/n2: sorry this took so long and was so short, collage is not for the weak and I've had tests all week

[maikissed]

the day I saw your eyes, I stayed

jude bellingham x reader

warnings: none, just a tad of sexual tension, yeah

note: there is going to be part 2! I planned to write the whole story in one shot but I gotta go to sleep now and was too excited about this rubbish (jk, I love it tbh). And he scored today, whoop sorry for any mistakes!!!!

Rose got herself a new boyfriend. The name brought up in presence of your girlfriends caused much of a fuss. It was a grand revelation and as much as it surprised you as well, you did not share the enthusiasm as every other girl in the room. Not because you felt envious, jealousy was never your thing, you rather grew worrisome. The excitation over the fact that Rose secured herself a football player of such range – famous, a hot topic, high quality player, one of the most valuable characters in the England national team, highly payed, and to add to that: uncommonly gorgeous - absolutely knocked your friends of their feet, but to you… To you it was a sign of massive trouble. People like him belonged to a world where individuals had their impeccable ways to draw from their fame, money and phenomenon as much as they could, despite the morality or ethics. Rose always mingled among various groups of people, there were musicians, actors, even politicians. She was a lovely girl, very pretty, her modelling career developed quickly, spectacularly. But she still haven’t made her name the way she aimed to. You suspected the boys she chose were always an occasion, a special addition to make her reach for more, to be seen, to feel special and unique. She was determined, regardless of the consequences, regardless of the fact how many times she has suffered and burned herself even almost to the point of absolute destruction. It felt awful to even reminisce it. But that’s how it’s been so far, it was the path she has chosen. Although this time this whole situation felt much different, there was a spark in her eyes that could tell you many things. But you would define it this way: she intended to hold onto him, she wanted to keep him. He seemed like the greatest prize. But who would have thought that the massive trouble you feared from the very start would be your burden to deal with?

Jude Bellingham.

Girls were over the moon when the time has come and Rose invited you all to join them in a private lounge in one of the most exclusive clubs in London. You scoffed when you heard the name of the place, you remembered the time when you and Lucia tried to sneak in there, but the bodyguard was too smart to fall for your theatrics. Only precisely selected people could party there. It was one of those grand and fancy places. So you found yourself invited, at last. Yet you weren’t very thrilled about the way you were about to spend your Saturday night. It turned out you would be the only single person there.

And him? The man, the hot topic himself? He was taller than you envisioned, maybe the hair added to that? His smile truly was bright, he was well built, broad shoulders, but not too muscular, well, he was an athlete. The Brummie dialect annoyed you at the start, but the itch seemed to cease as you payed attention to the tone of his voice, there was nothing particular about it, it was just right, good, not screechy, not too deep just… pleasant. He was an amiable guy, you thought to yourself, polite and friendly at the first contact. You realised you were a careful observer until he turned to you to greet. Now you were very much noticed, now you had to act as a part of the events, not a shadow and analyser. And situation very much changed. Time seemed to slow down so suddenly, you found yourself in the strangest state of unconsciousness, like a scene in a movie where the background blurs and any noise is muted, when the spectator is deprived of any other senses despite the sight to notice those specific details that are supposed to made him feel the sublimity of a given moment. And the source of it was in his eyes, you realised, and the way he smiled softly as he extended his hand to you. It was strange and disturbing, his eyes seemed to be the darkest ones you’ve ever seen, but you most definitely had seen eyes like his before, no doubt about it. You took a breath, blinked, fought to not fall into this depth that almost sucked you in. He was smiling, now something slightly impudent about it, and you realised he truly was stunningly gorgeous. Strangely, insanely attractive. Just a simple look into his eyes made you stumble into a realisation that there was something different about this man. And it frightened you.

You did say your name back, did you?

As the night went by you decided to stay in your attentive observer state. You felt safer there, although decency inquired you to engage in few conversations with your friends. Tonight you felt tense, carefully sipping the wine, you tried with all your might to relax and stop examining so intensely the boy seated opposite you. Few new conclusions you came into in the last hour was the fact that he was a great interlocutor, he listened as well, and his smile was one of the most pleasurable things you’ve experienced in your lifetime. You just couldn’t take your eyes off. And another conclusion was that him and Rose was nothing of exclusive. No lingering stares, no secret touches. After all, they met quite recently. She wondered if she bagged him already. And if so, would they all be there if she did? He did not seem like the kind to make such effort to get himself a girl he was not seriously interested in. Rose was not the type to act restrained and unavailable. She crawled into many beds the first night she met someone. You kept yourself far from casual hook-ups and one night stands, just a simple thought of it made you uncomfortable. But for her it was a common thing, if you could use such words. So, was he really interested?

After a while all of your friends decided to use the night to the fullest as the alcohol finally kicked in, rushing to the dancefloor and you truly couldn’t find the spur to join them. You were seriously thinking about taking a French leave. And you almost succeeded.

“You’re not enjoying yourself much, are you?” a well known voice reached you from behind and you turned your head in its direction.

Something in your gut jumped as you spotted Jude. He took a seat beside you. You smiled as his scent reached you, fresh, citrus with addition of something stronger and… alluring.

“I’ve had a long day. Tired, I guess” a safe and simple answer.

His full attention was on you, no one here to accompany you. It begun to feel overwhelming because you did not expected his gaze to be so intense.

“I know the feeling. Find myself in a constant state of weariness lately, cannot get rid of it” he played with his glass, the liquid looked like orange juice.

“Well, you live quite the fast and exciting life” you noted, observing as the corner of his mouth rose a little at your comment.

“Where are you from?” he asked, not continuing the subject you just raised.

“Here, London, born and raised” you smiled again before lowering your gaze, finding the glass of wine interesting “Became as gloomy and morose as this city”

“I wouldn’t describe you with such words” his voice was soft when he said it, something itched in you to ask what words would he use to describe you, but raising the glass of wine up to your lips saved you from that. You hoped you didn’t blush.

“My grandmother always says that I’m an old soul. Emphasizes it like it’s a virtue” you continued.

“That’s a very interesting thing to say about someone. Mine says that I’m a lovely companion although I use way too foul language and it’s scandalous” he frowned funnily and you laughed at the information, he quickly accompanied you.

“Well, I haven’t yet got the occasion to hear some of that tonight”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman” he murmured “It would be improper to throw fucks around in presence of a pretty girl” a lively glint in his eyes as he looked at you.

Now you definitely blushed.

The conversation flowed from there, and you realised you grew more comfortable with each passing minute. He truly was a great listener, and a good companion. He made you laugh many times and suddenly you stopped regretting leaving your apartment for this night out. He was not daft or arrogant as you might have presumed before you met him, being smothered by all this money he had and a name he’s gotten himself at such young age. The complexity of his persona could be spotted in his eyes as you payed closer attention, but it was his words and the way he picked on any subject you brought, that expressed his maturity and wide perception. You haven’t met a guy like him in a long time.

“What are you guys doing here? Come on down, join us!” it was Charlotte’s comment as she came to the longue after a while.

You haven’t even realised how much time has passed and how much alcohol you have already poured into yourself. You only picked on that as you stood up, dizziness hit you like lighting but you composed yourself, agreeing on Charlotte’s and then Jude’s proposition. As soon as you joined the dancefloor, Rose spotted you both, throwing her hands around Jude, guiding him deeper, keeping him closer. He kept his eyes on you as she did it and a strange feeling stroked you as you kept his gaze. Charlotte grabbed you by your hands, singing the words out loud, the song was energetic and lively, you laughed at your friend. Others from your pack nowhere to be seen. So you loosened up and tried to keep up with your drunk companion. The dancefloor became quite chaotic, people jumping around, your eyes landing on Jude from time to time and to your surprise he was looking your way as well. There was a lean and tall guy that jumped in front of Jude, almost stumbling over him and you laugh at that, seeing that Jude laughed as well, his attention still on you. You wanted to share this fun with him directly, but it was forbidden since the realest fact of this night was that he was not yours to have.

“I need to pee!” Rose shouted near you and you turned, watching as she grabbed Charlotte with her, leaving the dancefloor.

You stopped and decided to follow your friends but felt someone’s presence behind your back before you made any move.

“Now I can tell you’re enjoying your night!” Jude called next to your ear, this way you could hear him well despite the thumping music.

When you turned around you noticed how close he stood, you had to raise your head to look at his face, his big and dark eyes gazing down at you, full lips twisted into an amused smile. You returned the smile.

“You are a terrible dancer” you shouted back to him, your voice filled with laughter.

“That’s a fact” he nodded “But you’re quite good, show me more” he reached for your hips to draw you deeper into the dancefloor and you laughed out, throwing your head back as he lead you with him.

You have not payed much attention to the closeness of your bodies as long as the songs were quick and your movements kept rapidly changing with the rhythm. Still, you haven’t realised the sound slowing, a more sensuous song sounded from the loudspeaker, you knew this one. If the reason could break through the basses that reached your ears, you would finish your dance right this moment. But the fact was that it did not. So you continued, with your hands placed at his shoulders you begun to move your hips. Your eyes closed as you turned around, your back to him, he was not touching you, not directly. He took your hands in his and you started to raise it up in the air, you smiled when you felt his breath on your ear. Your joined hands stayed up longer, his on the other hand slowly trailed lower and lower, down your forearms, then your shoulders, then down your body. His touch sure yet lenient and soft at the same time electrified you. Carefully and attentively, making sure to not touch your breasts on the way, he rested them on your hips, feeling the rhythm you kept on. You were not sure if it was him that pressed on you or was it purely your movement, but your back met with his front fully, and a sharp intake of breath stuck in  your throat at the realisation. His hands still rested on your hips, making your body move with no pause. You were close, too close, you could already feel too much. But you found it difficult to part with him, to stop it and call it improper. Your eyes wide open but blind. You only focused on the sense of touch, feeling him moving with you. Your hands fell down to reach his head and then levelled on his nape and you kept them there. Feeling something growing inside of you, along with a rough shot of adrenaline that made your heart beat strongly against ribs. Once more his breath landed on your ear, close, closer. A strange sensation squeezed your throat and you realised you swallowed back a moan. It was like a rough strike, you turned around to face him, with intention to take a step back, but he held you closer, pressing his palm against your back. You sighed and met his eyes. Dark, darker. You wanted to run.

“Thank you for the dance” you said innocently and he watched the movement of your lips as you spoke.

A daring smirk appeared on his mouth and you shuddered. Were you trapped now?

You had to run. So you did.

[tavolgisvist]

Paul about the breakup of The Beatles in The Lyrics, 2021

The four of us just knew how to fall in with each other and play, and that was our real strength. That made it all the more sorrowful to think that our breaking up was almost inevitable. So there’s a wistful aspect to ‘Get Back’. The idea that you should get back to your roots, that The Beatles should get back to how we were in Liverpool. And the roots are embodied in the style of the song, which is straight-up rock and roll. Because that was definitely what I thought we should do when we broke up – that we should ‘get back to where we once belonged’ and become a little band again. We should just play and do the occasional little gig. The others laughed at that – quite understandably – because by then it was not really a practical solution. John had just met Yoko, and he clearly needed to escape to a new place, whereas I was saying we should escape to an old place. Reviving the old Beatles just wasn’t on the cards. It was too late to be recommending that we not forget who we were and where we once were from. If my dream at the time really was to get back to where we once belonged, John’s dream was to go beyond where we once belonged, to go somewhere we didn’t yet belong. I’ve already mentioned how in September 1969 we were in a meeting and talking about future plans, and John said, ‘Well, I’m not doing it. I’m leaving. Bye.’ In the ensuing moments, he was giggling and saying how this felt really thrilling, like telling someone you’re going to divorce them and then laughing. At the time, obviously, that was wildly hurtful. Talk about a knockout blow. You’re lying on the canvas, and he’s giggling and telling you how good it feels to have just knocked you out. It took a while, but I suppose I eventually got with the programme. This was my best mate from my youth, the collaborator with whom I’d done some of the best work of the twentieth century (he said, modestly). If he fell in love with this woman, what did that have to do with me? Not only did I have to let him do it, but I had to admire him for doing it. That was the position I eventually reached. There was nothing else I could do but be cool with it.

(Paul McCartney about Get Back (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

That was coupled with the business problems at Apple Records, which really were horrible. The business meetings were just soul-destroying. We’d sit around in an office, and it was a place you just didn’t want to be, with people you didn’t want to be with. There’s a great picture that Linda took of Allen Klein, in which he’s got a hammer like Maxwell’s silver hammer. It’s very symbolic. And that’s why we have the little nod and a wink in the middle section to ‘You Never Give Me Your Money’, in the lines ‘I never give you my pillow / I only send you my invitations’. That whole period weighed on me to such an extent that I even began to think it was all tied in with the idea of original sin. Even though my mum had christened me as a Catholic, we weren’t brought up Catholic, so I didn’t buy into the concept of original sin on a day-to-day basis. It’s really very depressing to think that you were born a loser.

(Paul McCartney about Carry That Weight (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

The Beatles stuff all got too heavy, and 'heavy' at that time had a very particular meaning for me. It meant more than oppressive. It meant having to go into meetings and sit in the boardroom with all the other Beatles and with the accountants and with this guy Allen Klein. He was a New York spiv who had come over to London and talked to The Rolling Stones and persuaded them he was the man for them. Prior to that, he had persuaded Sam Cooke he was the man for him. I smelled a rat but the other chaps didn’t, so we had a fight over it and I got voted down. I was trying to be Mr Rational and Mr Sensible, and it all went haywire. It was early 1969, and The Beatles were already beginning to break up. John had said he was leaving, and Allen Klein told us not to tell anyone, as he was in the middle of doing deals with Capitol Records. So, for a few months we had to keep mum. We were living a lie, knowing that John had left the group. Allen Klein and Dick James, who sold our publishing in Northern Songs without giving us a chance to buy the company, were both hanging around in the background of this song. All the people who had screwed us or were still trying to screw us. It’s fascinating how directly we acknowledged this in the song. We’d cottoned on to them, and they must have cottoned on to the fact that we’d cottoned on. We couldn’t have been more direct about it. ...

Contracts were written on funny paper. Lying behind the song is the idea of the contract as a relationship between two people. The negotiations are at once business negotiations and romantic negotiations; I’m thinking of the lines ‘And in the middle of negotiations / You break down’. The breakdown in negotiations is also a kind of nervous breakdown. The problem was that, by this stage, everything was up for negotiation, and miscommunication was the order of the day. We weren’t really writing together anymore. Each person was bringing in little bits of this and little bits of that. And we all knew that phase of our lives, of being The Beatles, was coming to an end. We were working towards an album, knowing it was probably going to be our final fling. Though Let It Be was released later, Abbey Road was indeed the last album we recorded in the studio. There was an upside, however. I’d got married to Linda, and our relationship offered some respite from the dreary infighting and the financial stuff. The lines ‘One sweet dream / Pick up the bags and get in the limousine’ were a reference to how Linda and I were still able to disappear for a weekend in the country. That saved me.

(Paul McCartney about You Never Give Me Your Money (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

This was just after The Beatles broke up, and I was trying to establish myself as a solo artist with a new repertoire. If it was going to work like the Beatles repertoire had worked, I had to have a hit. One in two songs had to be a hit. So, this was a conscious effort to write a hit, and Phil was very helpful. We knew that if we had a hit, it would cement our relationship and we would keep working together, which we did with the RAM album. It would prove that we were both good – he as a producer and I as a singer songwriter. Releasing my first solo song after the breakup felt like a big moment. Thrilling, though tinged with sadness. It also felt like I had something to prove, and that kind of challenge is always exciting. The song went to number two in the UK singles chart and number five in the US Billboard Hot 100, so it did pretty well. Of course, this was still a time when there was a bit of tension between John and me, and this sometimes filtered into our songwriting. John made fun of this song in one of his own, ‘How Do You Sleep?’The only thing you done was yesterday And since you’ve gone you’re just another day One of his little piss takes.

(Paul McCartney about Another Day (1969/1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

This song was written a year or so after The Beatles breakup, at a time when John was firing missiles at me with his songs, and one or two of them were quite cruel. I don’t know what he hoped to gain, other than punching me in the face. The whole thing really annoyed me. I decided to turn my missiles on him too, but I’m not really that kind of a writer, so it was quite veiled. It was the 1970s equivalent of what we might today call a ‘diss track’. Songs like this, where you’re calling someone out on their behaviour, are quite commonplace now, but back then it was a fairly new ‘genre’. The idea of too many people ‘preaching practices’ was definitely aimed at John telling everyone what they ought to do – telling me, for instance, that I ought to go into business with Allen Klein. I just got fed up with being told what to do, so I wrote this song. ‘You took your lucky break and broke it in two’ was me saying basically, ‘You’ve made this break, so good luck with it.’ But it was pretty mild. I didn’t really come out with any savagery, and it’s actually a fairly upbeat song; it doesn’t really sound that vitriolic. If you didn’t know the story, I don’t know that you’d be able to guess at the anger behind its writing. It was all a bit weird and a bit nasty, and I was basically saying, ‘Let’s be sensible. We had a lot going for us in The Beatles, and what actually split us up is the business stuff, and that’s pretty pathetic really, so let’s try and be peaceful. Let’s maybe give peace a chance.’ The first verse and the chorus have pretty much all the anger I could muster, and when I did the vocal on the second line, ‘Too many reaching for a piece of cake’, I remember singing it as ‘Piss off cake’, which you can hear if you really listen to it. Again, I was getting back at John, but my heart wasn’t really in it. This is me saying, ‘Too many people are sharing the party line. Too many people are grabbing for a slice of the cake, a piece of the pie.’ The ‘sleep in late’ thing – whether that was accurate, whether John and Yoko actually slept in late or not, I’m not sure (although John often was a late riser when I would drive out to Weybridge so that we could write together). They were all references to people thinking that their own truth was the only truth, which was certainly what was coming from John. The thing is, so much of what they held to be truth was crap. War is over? Well no, it isn’t. But I get what you’re saying: war is over if you want it to be. So, if enough people want war to be over, it’ll be over. I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but it’s a great sentiment; it’s a nice thing to think and to say.

I’d been able to accept Yoko in the studio, sitting on a blanket in front of my amp. I’d worked hard to come to terms with that. But then when we broke up and everyone was now flailing around, John turned nasty. I don’t really understand why. Maybe because we grew up in Liverpool, where it was always good to get in the first punch of a fight. The whole story in a nutshell is that we were having a meeting in 1969, and John showed up and said he’d met this guy Allen Klein, who had promised Yoko an exhibition in Syracuse, and then matter-of-factly John told us he was leaving the band. That’s basically how it happened. It was three to one because the other two went with John, so it was looking like Allen Klein was going to own our entire Beatles empire. I was not too keen on that idea. John actually had Allen Klein and Yoko in the room, suggesting lyrics during writing sessions. In his song ‘How Do You Sleep?’ the line ‘The only thing you done was yesterday’ was apparently Allen Klein’s suggestion, and John said, ‘Hey, great. Put that in.’ I can see the laughs they had doing it, and I had to work very hard not to take it too seriously, but at the back of my mind I was thinking, ‘Wait a minute, All I ever did was “Yesterday”? I suppose that’s a funny pun, but all I ever did was “Yesterday”, “Let It Be”, “The Long and Winding Road”, “Eleanor Rigby”, “Lady Madonna”, . . . – fuck you, John.’ I had to fight them for my bit of The Beatles and, in fact, for their bit of The Beatles, which many years later they realised and almost thanked me for. Nowadays people get it, but at the time I think the others felt they were the ones who were victims, who were being hurt by my actions. Allen Klein already had a history with The Rolling Stones. I just thought, ‘Oy oy oy, no, this guy’s got such a bad reputation.’ And good old John says, ‘Oh, if he’s that badly talked about, he can’t be all bad.’ John had this kind of distorted thinking, which was amusing sometimes. But not when someone was going to take everything that John and George and Ringo and I owned and had worked really hard to get.

So, I stood up as the sensible one and said, ‘This is not good.’ Klein wanted twenty per cent, and I said, ‘Tell him he can have ten, if you have to go with him.’ ‘Oh no, no, no,’ they came back. ‘No, he wants twenty.’ It seemed to me they were just fucking out of it and making no attempt to do anything sensible. A lot of hurt went down during that period in the early 1970s – them feeling hurt, me feeling hurt – but John being John, he was the one who would write a hurtful song. That was his bag.

(Paul McCartney about Too Many People (1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

Towards the end of 1969, John had quite gleefully told us it was over. There were a few of us in the Apple boardroom at the time. I think George was away visiting family, but Ringo and I were at the meeting, and John was saying no to every suggestion. I thought we should go back to playing smaller gigs again, but the answer came back: ‘No’. Eventually John said, ‘Oh, I’ve been wanting to tell you this, but I’m leaving The Beatles.’ We were all shocked. Relations had been strained, but we sat there saying, ‘What? Why? Why? Why?’ It was like a divorce, and he had just had a divorce from Cynthia the year before. I can remember him saying, ‘Oh, this is quite exciting.’ That was very John, and I had admired this kind of contrarian behaviour about him since we were kids, when I first met him.

He really was a bit loony, in the nicest possible way. But whilst all of us could see what he meant, it was not quite so exciting for those left on the other side.

(Paul McCartney about Dear Friend (1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

This is one of my favourite songs. It's a ballad with a brass section, but it’s always felt Victorian in style to me. It’s very heartfelt. ‘A love so warm and beautiful / Stands when time itself is falling’. I like that idea, instead of just saying, ‘It will go on forever.’ I got a good feeling writing this song, and listening to it now, I still do. ‘Love, faith and hope are beautiful’. The brass solo is lovely for me because it harks back to the brass bands that were so common when I was a kid; there would often be brass bands in the park or in the streets. My dad played trumpet, as I never fail to mention, and he had his own little band – Jim Mac’s Jazz Band. The first instrument he bought me was a trumpet, and he taught me the scale of C which, when you go on the piano, becomes B-flat. It’s all very complicated. That’s why we didn’t even bother learning music. I realised that I wanted to swap the trumpet for a guitar, so I asked his permission, and he said, ‘Yes, okay.’ ‘Warm and Beautiful’ was written well after the demise of The Beatles, and at this time we knew sadness. I knew about delving into your mind to look for help and looking for some sort of solace in a song. I liked the idea of writing a song in a universal way that dispels the sadness. You write about the wonderful things you know in the world, and you try to write so that it will sing well and be well received by people dealing with grief something that inevitably surrounds all of us at one time or another. On a more personal level, the main inspiration for the song was Linda…

(Paul McCartney about Warm and Beautiful (1976), The Lyrics, 2021)

After The Beatles thing became so depressing, Linda and I decided we’d get out of London and start living full-time on our small holding in Scotland. It was quite a difficult period because of the band’s breakup but it allowed me to see another side of myself. First and foremost, we did everything for ourselves, and at this point it was Linda, Heather, Mary – who was still a baby – and me. If we needed something to eat, we’d go into town in the little Land Rover, come back up, and cook it. We didn’t have anyone helping us, except for one guy, the shepherd, because it was a little sheep farm. It was an experience that allowed me to be a man. <…> I’d grown up in Liverpool and gone on the road with The Beatles around the world and then around again, and now here I was on a farm in the middle of nowhere, and it was sensational. <…> This was the kind of thing I’d never done, ever, in my life, and it was amazingly liberating. I got to do all the things I think a lot of young people still dream about today – the famous ‘gap year’. I sense a lot of people want that freedom, escaping the rat race…

(Paul McCartney about When Winter Comes (1992), The Lyrics, 2021)

After the breakup of The Beatles, I wouldoften just sit around a lot. Sometimes I sat in the kitchen while the kids were playing. Maybe they were drawing. Maybe they were doing bits and pieces of homework. In this case, I came across the chords and I just felt optimistic, and I liked the idea of a song saying that help is coming and there’s a bright light on the horizon. I’ve got absolutely no evidence for this, but I like to believe it. It helps to lift my spirits, to move me forward, and hopefully it might help other people move forward too.

(Paul McCartney about Great Day (1972/1997), The Lyrics, 2021)

Wings, which we began in 1971, was in many ways an experiment to see whether there was life after The Beatles, to see whether that success could be followed. It was the result of asking myself, ‘Am I going to stop now?’ The Beatles were so wonderful and all-encompassing, so successful. Now, should I stop and look for something else to do? But I thought, ‘No. I like music too much, so whatever the something else is, it will be music.’ <…> But it wouldn’t be The Wings, like The Beatles. Just Wings. My problem after The Beatles was, who’s going to be as good as them? I thought, ‘We can’t be as good as The Beatles, but we can be something else.’ I knew that if I were to go ahead with this project I’d have to tough it out, but I had reserves of courage from being part of The Beatles when pennies were thrown at us at the village hall in Stroud, when we were still starting out. <…> Starting off a new band is always a lot of fun, but it’s a lot of hard work too; you have to establish yourself. Following The Beatles was one of the most difficult things for me, just trying to live up to those expectations. It was even more difficult for her [Linda]. I started to write songs for Wings from 1971 onwards, when we got started, and I tried to keep them away from The Beatles’ style. There were avenues I could go down that I wouldn’t have gone down with The Beatles, like bringing in the influence of reggae, which Linda and I got into in Jamaica. I fancied doing something crazy, and Wings allowed me a little bit more freedom. So, this is a love song in which Cupid’s arrow is referenced, but it’s a malevolent arrow. It’s possible I’d seen an illustration of Cupid and thought, ‘Cupid fires a bow, but I’ll switch it. It won’t be love; it will be the opposite.’ The character in the song has been wounded. He’s been cheated on. And it could’ve been a great relationship, could’ve been fantastic. As things stand, you couldn’t ‘have found a more down hero’, because there was nobody more down than me at that moment. So, get it together and bring your love. I have always had a soft spot for this song. There’s a nice horn riff in it, and it’s funky. Sometimes you write to get a sort of feeling rather than a perfectly ‘correct’ lyric. Sometimes the lyric can be secondary to the feeling. This one has as much, or more, to do with the feel of the song, the groove.

(Paul McCartney about Arrow Through Me (1979), The Lyrics, 2021)

John described ‘Coming Up’ somewhere as ‘a good piece of work’. He’d been lying around not doing much, and it sort of shocked him out of inertia. So it was nice to hear that it had struck a chord with him. At first, after the breakup of The Beatles, we had no contact, but there were various things we needed to talk about. Our relationship was a bit fraught sometimes because we were discussing business, and we would sometimes insult each other on the phone. But gradually we got past that, and if I was in New York I would ring up and say, ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’

(Paul McCartney about Coming Up (1979), The Lyrics, 2021)

It’s very possible that I’d been feeling down in London. I was back in the solace of family and Liverpool, and what with the Beatles troubles down south, I was likely thinking, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to get home and have that comfortable feeling again?’ So, there may have been some of that in the background. I wouldn’t rule it out. When I wrote the song, I hadn’t been back home to Liverpool for a long time. But now I was at my dad’s house, which wasn’t quite home because it was a house I’d bought him when I got some money – a five-bedroomed mock Tudor place in Heswall near the River Dee. But it was still Liverpool, and it was ‘homeward’. So I added, ‘Once there was a way to get back homeward / Once there was a way to get back home’. The song turned out to be quite soulful, and I think that’s what attracted me to those lyrics in the first place – that notion of consoling a baby or reading kids a bedtime story. ‘Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry / And I will sing a lullaby’. Those are lines – or something with a similar sentiment – that most parents probably say to their children to soothe them when they’re growing up.

(Paul McCartney about Golden Slumbers (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

It became a refuge of sorts, and it was nice to get away from London and everything – both the good and bad – that comes with the city. I would drive a Massey Ferguson 315 tractor and mow the hay, and I loved that because I’d been a nature fiend as a kid, and this freedom just gave me time to think – ‘Down to Junior's Farm where I want to lay low’. It was such a relief to get out of those business meetings with people in suits, who were so serious all the time, and to go off to Scotland and be able just to sit around in a T-shirt and corduroys. I was very much in that mindset when I wrote this song. The basic message is, let’s get out of here. You might say it’s my post-Beatles getting-out-of-town song.

(Paul McCartney about Junior's Farm (1974), The Lyrics, 2021)

The context in which the song was written was one of stress. It was a difficult time because we were heading towards the breakup of The Beatles. It was a period of change partly because John and Yoko had got together, and that had an effect on the dynamics of the group. Yoko was literally in the middle of the recording session, and that was challenging. But it was also something we had to deal with. Unless there was a really serious problem – unless one of us said, ‘I can’t sing with her there’ – we just had to let it be. We weren’t very confrontational, so we just bottled it up and got on with it. We were northern lads, and that was part of our culture. Grin and bear it. One interesting thing about ‘Let It Be’ that I was reminded of only recently is that, while I was studying English literature at the Liverpool Institute High School for Boys with my favourite teacher, Alan Durband, I read Hamlet. In those days you had to learn speeches by heart because you had to be able to carry them into the exam and quote them. There are a couple of lines from late in the play: O, I could tell you But let it be. – Horatio, I am dead I suspect those lines had subconsciously planted themselves in my memory. When I was writing ‘Let It Be’, I’d been doing too much of everything, was run ragged, and this was all taking its toll. The band, me we were all going through times of trouble, as the song goes, and there didn’t seem to be any way out of the mess. <…> Around the time we recorded ‘Let It Be’, I’d been pushing the band to go back out and play some club dates – to get back to basics and just bond again as a band, end the decade like we’d begun it, just playing for the love of it. We didn’t get to do that as The Beatles, but that idea did inform the direction of the Let It Be album. We didn’t want any studio trickery. It was supposed to be an honest, no-overdubbing album. It didn’t exactly end up that way, but that had been the plan.

(Paul McCartney about Let It Be (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

This song is also an analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as I was beginning to find happening around this time in our business dealings. Recording sessions were always good because no matter what our personal troubles were, no matter what was happening on the business front, the minute we sat down to make a song we were in good shape. Right until the end there was always a great joy in working together in the studio. So there we were, recording a song like ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ and knowing we would never have the opportunity to perform it. That possibility was over. It had been knocked on the head like one of Maxwell’s victims. Bang bang.

(Paul McCartney about Maxwell's Silver Hammer (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

In much the way that Linda wanted to flee from New York society– the constrictions of Park Avenue and Scarsdale – I wanted to flee from what The Beatles had become. I was hoping to escape, she was hoping to escape. So we had this feeling that we had each pulled the other ‘out of time’. Though the song was written immediately after The Beatles’ breakup, it was somehow included under the Lennon-McCartney rubric, where it doesn’t belong. It was one of my first solo songs, but because of the deal, it got caught in the publishing net. That was very annoying. <…> …the central idea being that there’s so often a split between the inner and outer. <…> The elements of fear and loneliness are very much to the fore. ‘Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you’ is itself a troubling idea. While it’s true that Linda is the person I’m addressing, it’s also true that I’m dealing in fiction. Starting with myself, the characters who appear in my songs are imagined. <…> In any event, this song isn’t the conventional way of presenting a relationship, or of some of the contradictions that can arise from being in love. <…> It shows the fragility of love.

(Paul McCartney about Maybe I’m Amazed (1970), The Lyrics, 2021)

John went to the exhibition, and I think that was when he and Yoko met, towards the end of 1966. He climbed up a ladder to see what she’d written on the ceiling, and got close enough to it to read it, and it said, ‘Yes.’ So he thought, ‘That’s a sign; this is it,’ and they fell madly in love. Once they were an item, there was the whole Beatles recording thing, where she would be there too. I think this started at the beginning of the ‘White Album’ sessions – so, around the end of spring in 1968. And at first we all – all of us except John – found it pretty intrusive, but we went along with it and worked around her. And eventually I came to the realisation that, look, if John loves her, we’ve just got to let it be, and we’ve got to support this relationship. That was basically my feeling. Then, a year or two later, The Beatles broke up, and it was a bad period, a real low point, where everyone was taking potshots at everyone. And I felt that John and Yoko were particularly good in the potshot department, saying things in interviews, or comments that would make their way to you. They would say not always very pleasant things, and looking back on it, I sort of think, ‘Why? You’re annoyed, so say something unpleasant?’ Over time, the situation eased off and my relationship with John got better, and I used to see him in New York or speak to him on the phone.

(Paul McCartney about Golden Earth Girl (1993), The Lyrics, 2021)

I’m not sure I thought of it at the time, even though this was well after The Beatles disbanded, but I can’t help connecting the oppressiveness associated with that phrase to the oppressiveness that coincided with the end of The Beatles. Not that The Beatles are over exactly. It’s not like we were some little band that never had another record; even though half of us have died, the phenomenon continues stronger than ever. Everything I do seems to be painted with ‘Beatle’…

(Paul McCartney about Put It There (1988), The Lyrics, 2021)

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[coffeeshades]

—true blue ⭑ part i

summary: two strangers meet in a city of millions, only to discover they've been searching for each other all along.

pairing: pedro pascal x f!reader.

word count: 7.3k

warnings: age gap, angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol, loneliness, nostalgia. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know! (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hello lovelies, i’m back with another story! hope you guys enjoy it and happy reading <3

London had a way of swallowing you whole, especially on days like this—when the sky was nothing but a massive stretch of gray, heavy and low, threatening rain but never delivering it. The city seemed to disappear into the clouds, a wash of neutral tones that made everything feel colder, quieter.

Six months in, and you still weren’t used to it. The grayness, the dampness that clung to your skin, or the way the city seemed to keep you at arm’s length, never quite welcoming you in.

You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck as you walked into the café, your breath fogging the glass for a moment before pushing the door open.

The warmth hit you immediately, the smell of roasted coffee beans filling your senses. The place was small, cozy, and comfortably worn—wooden floors scuffed by years of foot traffic, walls lined with photos of the city taken from angles only locals would recognize.

It was a great place, one you had found early on in your stay. Most of the baristas knew you by now, especially Tom, who greeted you with a nod as soon as you walked in.

You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater, slightly too big but soft and comforting, and ran a hand through your frazzled hair, still somewhat damp from the earlier drizzle. You hadn’t bothered with an umbrella; London rain was more a constant mist than a downpour, not enough to get soaked but just enough to make you feel cold in your bones. Your dark pants clung to your legs, and your worn black boots scuffed the floor as you made your way to the counter.

It was late afternoon, your favorite time to stop by. Usually, you had to battle before work-rush. But you were free today. Most people had already grabbed their coffee and gone back to their lives, leaving the café quieter, almost meditative. You liked that. It was one of the few moments in your day where you didn’t have to think about the silence that otherwise hung over life.

New York had been noisy, full of distractions, but here, the quiet was inescapable. It followed you home, lingered in the corners of your rented flat, and made you feel more alone than you ever had back in the States.

“Hey, Tom,” you said, offering him a small smile as you dropped your purse onto the counter.

He smiled back, his hands already reaching for a cup. “The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You leaned against the counter, absently scrolling through the phone. Emails. Work messages. Nothing personal, nothing to distract you from the dull rhythm of solitude you’d grown so accustomed to. A novel you’d just finished reading peeked out of your bag.

As you waited for the order, the bell above the door chimed softly, and you felt someone step up beside you. You didn’t look up, not at first. The presence was warm, close enough to feel but not close enough to intrude. You were just another person standing in line, waiting for coffee.

Then you heard the voice.

“A large iced black coffee, please,” the man beside you said, his voice deep, casual, the kind of voice that made you listen even when you weren’t paying attention.

Another barista nodded, moving quickly to prepare the drink, and you tried not to feel the man’s presence. But it was hard not to. He wasn’t looking at you, but could sense him—the quiet weight of someone standing just close enough that it made you aware of yourself.

“Blue.”

The word pulled you out of your thoughts, and you glanced sideways, confused. “Sorry?”

He was smiling now, his expression easy, as if we were in on some joke. He nodded toward your bag, where the book was still partially visible.

“The cover of your book. It’s blue.”

You blinked, your brain trying to catch up with the conversation. “Oh…yeah, it is.” You managed a half-smile, still unsure of where this was going.

“You must think I’m weird now,” he added, his tone teasing, but there was something behind his eyes—something almost vulnerable, like he was testing the waters.

“No, not really,” I said, shrugging. “I just wasn’t expecting...that.”

“It’s just…uh, lately, I’ve been reading a lot of books with blue covers,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. It was slicked back, but not perfectly—there was a curl that had escaped, hanging slightly over his forehead, giving him a disheveled charm. His brown leather jacket looked well-worn, like something he’d had for years, and his white sneakers were clean but scuffed, like they’d seen their fair share of travel.

“When I saw yours, it made me think of that. Sorry to bother you.”

“No, you’re not bothering me,” you said quickly, feeling an odd need to put him at ease. “Not at all.”

You took him in more fully now, and something clicked. There was a familiarity about him, something that tugged at the edges of recognition, but it hadn’t fully registered yet. Dark jeans, black t-shirt, the jacket slung casually over his frame, and those clear glasses that made him look both intelligent and approachable. His smooth skin seemed ready to tip into weathered, his dark hair almost shot full of gray. Solidly middle aged. 

There was something unguarded about him. Something real.

Before you could figure out where you knew him from, Tom interrupted, handing you the coffee with a nod. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” You reached for your card to pay, then paused, glancing back at the man beside you.

“Do you want it?”

He looked at you, clearly surprised. “Want what?”

“The book.”

You gestured toward the blue-covered novel still poking out of the bag. “I finished it earlier today. You can add it to your collection of blue books.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, no, I can’t take that from you.”

“Of course you can.”

You pulled the book out fully, holding it out to him. “I’m done with it. And you seem interested.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, slowly, he reached out, his large hands brushing against yours as he took the book. His fingers lingered on the cover for a moment, running over the title as he read it out loud.

“It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over.”

You watched as he flipped the book over, his fingers tracing a small bullseye doodle inked on the back of his hand, just between his thumb and index finger. It was such a small detail, but it told you something about him. You suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

“It’s a good read,” you said, slipping the card into the reader. “It’s about mortality, grief, love… you know, the usual light fare.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sounds like my kind of book. Gut-wrenching, then?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “I think I have a thing for devastating literature.”

“That makes two of us.”

Tom handed him his iced coffee, and he nodded gratefully, still holding the book like it was something fragile. “Thanks again,” he said, glancing at the title one last time. “I’ll make sure it’s in good company.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” you said, gathering your things. You had to go home before the rain started pouring.

As you stepped toward the door, you felt the chill from outside starting to creep back in, and just before the door closed behind you, you heard him call out, his voice soft but sure.

“I know I will.”

The cold wind hit you as you stepped out into the gray street, but this time, it felt different. Less like a wall, more like a breeze pushing you forward. Something had changed, though you weren’t sure what yet.

The rain had picked up again, tapping against the windows of your flat like impatient fingers. The days were growing shorter now, the afternoons fading into evenings before you even had time to notice. Autumn had a way of settling into your bones—the way the cold crept in through the cracks, the muted light casting long shadows across the room, the golden hues of fallen leaves scattered on the pavement outside.

You had made the flat your own in small, quiet ways. A few plants scattered along the window ledge, books stacked unevenly on shelves that were too small to hold them all, some even on the floor, and a woolen throw draped over the worn arm of the couch. The place wasn’t large, but it was enough—just one bedroom, a kitchen that overlooked the small living room, and large windows that framed the world outside in a way that almost felt intimate. It smelled like home now—a mix of coffee and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle burning on the table.

You were halfway through folding a pile of laundry when the phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. You wiped your hands on your pajama shorts before picking it up, smiling as Olivia’s name flashed across the screen. She called at least once a week, sometimes more if she had something “urgent” to discuss—which, in her world, could range from a new recipe she'd tried to the latest celebrity drama.

You answered on the second ring. "Hey, Liv."

“Finally!” Her voice came through the speaker, bright and full of life. “I’ve been texting you all day.”

You balanced the phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up a stray sock from the couch.

“Sorry, I was at work. Just got back a little while ago.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “You’re always at work. You know that’s not healthy, right?”

You could rattle off a hundred reasons why being a medical resident wasn’t healthy—none of it was. It had taken you months to find your footing at the hospital. You hadn’t really made any friends outside of work, just the occasional outing with Sabrina, a fourth-year who’d taken you under her wing like the hospital’s den mother.

You rolled your eyes, tossing the sock into the laundry basket. “I know, I know, but you know how it is.”

“Whatever,” she said, clearly moving on. “So, guess what?”

You smiled, already bracing myself for whatever tangent she was about to dive into. “What?”

“I found this article about why cats are secretly plotting against us, and I swear, it’s changed my whole perspective on Peanut.”

“Peanut? Your ten-year-old tabby who sleeps all day and barely looks at you?”

“Yes! That’s exactly why it makes sense. He’s too quiet. Too calm. He’s plotting, I know it.”

You laughed as you wandered into the kitchen to grab a Coke from the fridge. “Olivia, he’s a cat. I think you’re safe.”

“Don’t you dare dismiss me, okay? I have facts. I’ll send you the article.”

“Can’t wait,” you said dryly, leaning against the counter as you sipped your drink.

There was a brief pause on her end, and then her voice softened, shifting to something more serious. “But really, how have you been?”

You glanced out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass in slow, steady lines. “Same old. The hospital, laundry, eating dinner in front of the TV. You know the drill.”

“Nothing new?” she pressed.

“Not really.”

You hesitated, a brief smile tugging at your lips as you remembered the café. “Although… I think I met Pedro Pascal the other day.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by a shriek so loud you had to pull the phone away from your ear. “What?! Shut up, shut up! You what?”

“I mean…I wasn't sure it was him when it was happening, but now I'm kinda positive.”

“Girl, how positive?” Her voice was breathless, excited in the way only Olivia could manage.

You chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into the cushions, curling your legs under you.

“I don't know, pretty positive?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Did he give you his name?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then how do you know it was him?” She sounded like she was about to combust with impatience.

“Because I talked to the man, Liv. He looked like him; I don't know. Maybe…maybe it wasn't him."

“You talked?!” she nearly screamed. “Oh my God, what did you talk about?”

“Not much,” you said, shrugging even though she couldn’t see you. “It was about my book—the one I was reading.”

“What was he like? Was he charming? Did he look at you with those eyes?”

You could practically see her waggling her eyebrows, and you laughed, shaking your head.

“Calm down. He was just… normal. Kind of charming. We didn’t talk for long, though.”

“Normal? Pedro Pascal is not normal. People would die to have a conversation with him, and you’re over here like, ‘Oh, we just talked about a book."

You smiled, running a hand through your hair, which had dried into a messy wave. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not! This is huge!” she insisted. “Did he ask for your number?”

“No, are you crazy? ” You snorted. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You’re killing me here.” She groaned. “How do you not make the most of a moment like that? You had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to shoot your shot, and you’re telling me you just let it go?”

“It wasn’t like that, Liv,” you said, still laughing. “It was just a casual conversation.”

She let out another exasperated sigh. “You’re hopeless. Completely hopeless.”

“Okay, well, I have to go,” you said, picking up the empty laundry basket and setting it aside. “I still have to make dinner, and it’s getting late.”

“You’re brushing me off because you don’t want to admit you missed your chance with Pedro Pascal.”

“I’m brushing you off because I’m starving,” you corrected.

“Fine, fine. But promise me this isn’t the end of the story. If you run into him again, you have to—”

“Not gonna happen."

"Don't be so pessimistic. If you run into him again, you tell me."

"Not gonna happen, but fine."

“That’s all I ask,” she said, her tone suddenly cheerful again. “Okay, go make dinner. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Liv.”

“Bye!”

You hung up, dropping the phone onto the couch as you stared outside again. The rain had softened into a steady drizzle. The flat was quiet, the only sound being the occasional hiss of the radiator and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions. It was a small life you had built here, simple and quiet. But there was something comforting about it too. Even if you hadn’t figured everything out yet, there was a strange sense of peace in the routine of it all.

And yet, the thought of that brief encounter at the café lingered in the back of your mind, like a spark that hadn’t quite caught fire.

A week had passed since the encounter, but you couldn’t shake him from your mind. It was ridiculous, really. You hadn’t asked for his name, hadn’t lingered long enough to let the moment stretch into something more. But the man with the deep voice and warm laugh had somehow taken up residence in your thoughts.

It was as if the quiet, unremarkable routine you’d built for yourself here had been cracked open, just a little, by that brief, unexpected meeting.

Still, you tried not to think about it too much. But every time you walked past that café, your steps slowed, as if you expected to see him again, leaning against the counter with his easy smile.

By the time you actually went in again, a full week later, the cold October air was biting at your skin, and your mind was no more settled than it had been that day.

You ordered the usual—a flat white—and lingered by the counter as Tom prepared it, his familiar movements almost soothing in their predictability. You were lost in thought, half-aware of your surroundings, when Tom placed the cup on the counter.

But this time, there was something else.

A small package, wrapped in brown paper and tied neatly with a blue ribbon.

“What’s this?” you asked, staring at it like it was some kind of puzzle.

Tom smiled, his thick accent wrapping around his words. “Someone left it for you.”

You blinked, completely baffled. “What is this, a secret admirer thing? Because I gotta say, Tom, I wasn’t prepared for that kind of drama today.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not from me, love. But someone wanted you to have it.”

Intrigued, you grabbed the coffee and the package, thanking him before heading to your usual spot by the window. The window fogged slightly from the heat of the café, offering you a misty view of the street beyond.

You sat down and placed the package in front of you, staring at it for a few seconds as your mind raced. What the hell is this? Your fingers traced the edges of the paper, carefully undoing the small ribbon before pulling the wrapping away.

A book. Of course, it was a book.

You smiled faintly as you read the title aloud: Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead.

The cover was blue—deep and rich, just like the one you’d given away the week before. The faintest blush crept up your cheeks as you realized who it must have been from.

Your heart did a weird little somersault in your chest as you ran your fingers along the cover. Before you even opened it, a folded piece of paper fell out and landed softly on the table. You unfolded it, smoothing the creases, and read the note inside:

Hi, stranger. I realized five minutes after you gave me your book that I didn’t ask for your name. How rude of me. I’m sorry. I walked out of there as soon as I realized and walked a few blocks, but you were gone.

I finished the book, by the way. It was beautiful. I loved how real and layered the main character was. I also laughed so much; I didn’t think a novel this heartbreaking would be such a joy.

Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling now. Since you gave me one, I thought I might return the favor. I think this is a long shot since I don't know if you are a regular, but I hope you are. I hope this finds you.

Enjoy.

Love, Pedro.

You stared at the note for what felt like a full minute, your mind slowly processing the words. Oh my god. Pedro. So you weren't delusional after all. It had been him. All this time, you’d been trying to convince yourself that it was some random guy with a coincidental likeness, but no—it was him.

The smile that spread across your face was involuntary, and you felt your cheeks flush with the sudden realization that you had somehow fallen into a casual book exchange with him. Your fingers traced the edge of the note, and you leaned back in the chair, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

For the next several days, the book accompanied you everywhere—on the train, to work, in bed at night. You found yourself highlighting passages and underlining sentences that spoke to something deep inside you. The book was dark and witty, a strange blend of humor and melancholy that left you thinking long after you’d closed it each night.

You hadn’t seen Pedro again, though you hoped—each time you entered the café—that maybe he’d be there. Maybe you’d exchange a few more words; maybe this strange little connection would become something more.

But days passed, and there was no sign of him.

A week later, you finished the book. As you placed it on the nightstand, you knew what you had to do.

It was only fair to continue the game, wasn’t it?

And there was one book that immediately came to mind—Alone With You in the Ether. The cover was, of course, blue.

You spent that morning getting ready, your usual routine of sluggishness replaced by something else—anticipation, maybe. You pulled on your blue navy scrubs and your running shoes, taking a little extra care with your hair, though you weren’t quite sure why.

At the café, you ordered the usual and approached the counter with the book neatly wrapped in brown paper. When Tom handed you the coffee, you slipped the book into his hands, along with a note:

Hi, Pedro.

That’s okay, no need to apologize. To be fair, I didn’t ask for your name either, so that makes the two of us very rude people. I’m so happy you liked the book. As for the one you gave me—wow. I think it’s going to stick with me for a while.

Now, this one is really special to me. I read it earlier this year, and even though it’s kind of a drag to get through in the first few chapters, once you get the hang of it, it’s totally worth it. And yeah, it made me cry a little because it explores what it means to be unwell and how to face the fractures in yourself and still love as if you’re not broken. Really happy stuff, I know.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Love,

You hesitated for a second before writing your name at the bottom of the note. You had to, right?

You couldn’t keep this up forever without knowing who the other person was.

As you handed the book to Tom, excitement bubbled inside you, and you felt a strange sense of giddiness that you hadn’t experienced in ages. You were exchanging books with this enigma of a man—this charismatic, famous man who somehow understood the same quiet parts of the world that you did.

As you left the café that day, the autumn air crisp and cool around you, you realized just how much had changed in these past few weeks. you’d been living in your head for so long, buried in stories and thoughts that weren’t your own, but now—now there was something tangible.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt alive.

It had been days since you’d left Pedro the book, and though a small part of you hoped to hear back, you hadn’t expected it. Surely he had better things to do than trade novels with a stranger. Yet, here you were again, standing at the counter of the café, that familiar flutter of anticipation creeping up on you.

“Just a matcha today,” you said to Tom, trying to rein in your caffeine habit. He raised an eyebrow, surprised at the switch, but didn’t say anything as he rang you up. “It’s surgery day,” you added, shrugging.

When he handed you the drink, there it was—a familiar brown-wrapped package slipped discreetly into your other hand. Your pulse quickened. You did your best to keep cool, to act as though this was just another day, but your fingers betrayed you, trembling slightly as they closed around the package.

“What now?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the excitement was barely concealed in your voice.

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. “Another one. Same guy.”

You didn’t even sit down. You stood right there at the counter, carefully peeling away the paper. Another blue book. The Book of All Loves. A smile tugged at your lips, warm and uncontainable.

Inside, a folded note fell out—this one thicker, the creases worn, the ink smudged in places. Your hands shook slightly as you unfolded it and began to read.

Hi again, stranger—

Well, I guess I can’t really call you that anymore, now that I know your name, huh?

He had written your name at the top—three times.

The letters were neat but hurried, repeated as though he were testing how it felt to write them. The ink stuttered in places, lingering on the curves of each letter, like he had taken his time. It is such a gorgeous sight. To see your name in his handwriting awakened something in you. 

There. It’s stuck in my head now. What a great name, by the way. I could probably write it out a hundred more times and still not get tired of seeing it. Is that weird? That’s probably weird. I’m rambling again.

So, the book—wow. It hit me in ways I didn’t expect. You weren’t kidding when you said it was about being unwell, but it was more than that. The characters were dancing on this fragile edge between chaos and peace, and I felt that. And that church scene...

You paused, feeling the tenderness of his words wrapping around you, pulling you in closer.

The way they held hands—it was more than just a gesture. There’s something about it that felt so raw, so intimate. In a place where you’re not supposed to be that close, it made it all the more... heartbreaking. Have you ever felt like that? Like you’re carrying all this weight but still holding onto this tiny sliver of hope that someone will see you for who you are? Without needing you to explain every scar?

His words resonated deeply, tugging at something tender within you, as if he had unknowingly plucked a string that had long been silent.

Do you get what I mean? Or am I just talking in circles again?

The next part of the note was a jumble of thoughts, ideas pouring out in bursts. He wrote about the book's characters, how they reminded him of his own isolation, even when surrounded by people. He confessed that sometimes he felt as though he wore a mask—something to hide behind—but books like this allowed him to drop it, if only for a little while.

I think I’m really good at pretending sometimes, you know? We all are, right? But in books, I don’t have to pretend. It’s like I get to be myself for a little bit, without all the noise. Does that make sense? I’m probably being too heavy, sorry. The truth is, I feel comfortable writing to you. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the books, this exchange—like it’s okay to be vulnerable. Or maybe I’m just being dramatic.

There was a little smiley face drawn beside that sentence, and you found yourself laughing softly, the sound light in the quiet café.

Anyway, thanks again for sharing this with me. It’s a gem. I thought I’d give you something in return—something that fits. Have you read The Book of All Loves? It’s about love beyond romance. I think you’ll like it.

Until next time.

Love, Pedro.

You stood there for a long time after finishing the note, his words echoing in your mind, stirring feelings you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge. The way he wrote—so raw, so real—made it feel as though you weren’t just two strangers exchanging books. It felt deeper, like an unspoken understanding had passed between you, hidden in the lines of each letter, in the ink that had smudged under the weight of his thoughts.

Your heart swelled with a mixture of emotions. Just hearing from him has made you so driven, so romantic, so excited. The brief connection you had made through these letters felt real, almost tangible, as though roots had begun to take hold beneath the surface of your everyday life.

You read the note again, slower this time, savoring every word, every thought he had poured onto the page. His question lingered.

Have you ever felt like that?

Of course you had. You had spent most of your life searching for that connection, that elusive feeling of being truly seen without needing to explain every wound, every hidden corner of yourself. And now, through these letters, it felt as though Pedro saw something in you that others hadn’t.

The thought was ridiculous, you knew that. But still, there was comfort in it, in the way he opened up to you with such ease. There was something undeniably romantic about it—this quiet exchange of words and books, of thoughts and feelings that had probably never been shared aloud.

You carefully folded the note, tucking it back into the book, and cradled your matcha in your hands. A small smile played at the corners of your lips, warmth blossoming in your chest. You weren’t sure what this was—this strange, beautiful exchange—but whatever it was, it made you feel seen. It made you feel connected.

You didn’t mind being lost in the unknown.

Weeks passed, and your days fell into an easy rhythm—a rhythm that beat around the exchange of books and letters with Pedro. Each novel was chosen with care, both of you quietly mindful of keeping them short, under 300 pages, so they could be devoured quickly.

But the real reason wasn’t the books themselves now—it was what came with them.

The letters.

They weren’t just pages full of thoughts about the stories. They were windows. Each one revealed more of who he was, and in return, you found yourself offering up pieces of yourself. You couldn’t help it—the way he wrote, the way he asked questions that no one else dared to, as if he genuinely wanted to know you. And so, you let him in.

After finishing The Book of All Loves, your response was a little more vulnerable than you’d expected. You’d thanked him for the recommendation, told him it had cracked something open inside of you. “It’s strange,” you’d written, “how a book about love that exists in such quiet, unassuming forms can make you feel like you’ve been missing it your whole life. I’ve never thought much about love outside of romance—what it means to love a moment, a gesture, the way the wind feels when it hits your skin in the early morning. All I've ever known of love is how to live without it. I just can’t seem to find it. This book made me think about all the things I’ve taken for granted. The small loves. The unnoticed ones.”

Pedro’s letter back had been equally intimate. “It feels good to read this from you,” he wrote. "To know that maybe we’ve both been looking for something neither of us can really name. I guess there are certain things we stumble upon that make us feel less alone in our strangeness.

When I read your letter, I thought about a lot of things I haven’t said out loud. I thought about how it’s always felt easier to live without love, or at least to live like I didn’t need it, as if needing it would somehow make me weaker. I think of all the times I’ve skimmed over beauty just because I didn’t want to stop and notice what was missing. Reading your words made me realize that maybe I’ve always been chasing something, too, not realizing that these quiet, unassuming moments—like the way the rain sounds against the window at night or the exact shade of blue that the sky becomes before sunrise—maybe they’re as close as I’ve been to something real.

The words spilled out slowly, and you read them twice, tracing each line with your fingertip, as if trying to hold onto every word for a little longer.

When you said the book cracked something open in you, I understood. We don’t let ourselves soften often, but it sounds like, maybe, there’s been a little space for that now. Like maybe you’ve felt things so quietly, you didn’t even know they were there. You’re right, though; love is everywhere. It’s the way a good song can feel like home. It’s knowing how you take your coffee. And it’s weird to realize how much of it we let slip by, out of fear or habit or because we think love should look a certain way.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I guess I want you to know that you’re not alone in this. You’ve got someone here who gets it, at least a little bit. Someone who, honestly, feels like he’s been missing something without ever quite knowing what that something was. Maybe it’s just easier to say things like this when it’s written down. Maybe it’s easier to feel a little more when there’s distance.

But then I think of you, and I don’t want to feel that distance anymore.

Take care, alright? I’ll be here, waiting for whatever thought strikes you next. And thank you, for opening up like that. For letting me know I’m not the only one.

All the best,

Pedro

These letters had become your heartbeat, something that brought life back into you. At work, during breaks, you’d find yourself pulling out the latest book, fingers brushing the edges of the envelope tucked inside, knowing his notes and highlights were waiting for you.

Your rounds at the hospital became lighter, as if you carried a secret with you—one small, fragile thing that had started in the most unexpected of ways. How could you focus on anything when he writes you letters like this? When he spills his heart for you, a stranger?

Six days after his last letter, you sat at your kitchen counter one quiet evening, surrounded by the soft glow of a single warm light above. Outside, the evening had taken on that deep, inky blue you could get lost in, a shade that felt like a private world of its own. In front of you, a cinnamon roll sat on a small porcelain plate—the sort of indulgence you love to treat yourself to every now and then. The glaze stuck to your fingers as you leaned over a blank page, pen poised, waiting to shape your thoughts for Pedro.

Taking a deep breath, you began:

Pedro,

I’m sending you Never Let Me Go—a book that, in all its stillness and grace, moved me to tears. It’s a familiar feeling; there are so many things that make me cry. It’s not always the big, cinematic moments either, but the quiet, fleeting ones, the kind that Jane Austen might say ‘touch upon the tenderness of our sensibilities.’ Like when the last pages of a book make everything about the world seem profound, or when I see the first bloom of spring among the winter trees. I saw the movie years ago and cried so hard I could barely speak afterward. And, perhaps, I think there’s something remarkably necessary about being moved to tears—it’s like life’s way of keeping our hearts soft, open to the little aches and wonders.

So I’m sharing it with you, hoping it’ll do the same.

You paused, smiling to yourself, imagining him finding that description and wondering if he’d tease you for it. As the words settled onto the page, you felt a kind of sweet comfort, and maybe even a thrill, in knowing this note would soon be in his hands, bridging your two worlds once again.

It was four days later when Pedro's response finally arrived, tucked inside a copy of Night Sky with Exit Wounds. The book’s deep, stormy cover filled your eyes. But your day had already been a whirlwind. You’d spent the night studying for a complex surgery, barely catching three hours of sleep before sunrise. By morning, you were dashing through your routine, gulping down a few rushed sips of coffee, grabbing your coat, and flying out the door.

When you stopped by the café to find Pedro’s book and letter, your heart skipped at the sight of it waiting for you. But with your schedule pulling you in ten different directions, you could only clutch the book close, flash a half-awake smile at the barista, and promise yourself that you’d savor it later, once the day slowed.

Finally, around eight that evening, you arrived home, exhausted yet satisfied—the surgery had been a success, and you’d somehow managed to juggle the day’s relentless demands. Dropping your bag, you kicked off your shoes and sank onto the couch, barely making it past the door before you reached for the book.

His letter was tucked between the pages, Pedro’s handwriting skimming the edge of each line as though his words had been poured onto the page in a hurry, with just enough restraint to make each word count. The sight of it made you pause, drawing a deep, steadying breath as you began to read, his voice almost palpable in the air:

I know this one comes faster than you've probably expected, but the desire to write to you is all-consuming. It takes up space in every corner of my mind, like someone has rearranged the furniture in my head, and I keep bumping into things I didn’t realize were there. You should know it’s not normal for me. I’m usually good at keeping things compartmentalized, managing my thoughts, especially when I know I shouldn’t be entertaining them at all. But here I am, practically pathetic, writing you like some infatuated idiot who can’t keep his head on straight. I suppose that’s what I am.

There’s so much I want to ask you, even if it seems silly. It’s weird, I know, but I want to know everything: your favorite color, the exact shade of it, and why it sticks with you. I want to know how you take your coffee, if you’d let me make it for you, and if you’d like it bitter or sweet. Do you sleep on the right or left side of the bed? I’m trying to imagine you in those small, quiet moments—those times that people rarely share with others, the ones that make you feel like you’re finally seeing someone’s real life. Perhaps I want that with you. Hell, I’d probably just take watching you stir sugar into your coffee and feel like it’s some grand revelation.

I know I’m rambling. Some poet's probably rolling in their grave at this poor excuse of an epistolary attempt. But I feel like I could say anything to you here, let it all pour out, and you wouldn’t turn away. I guess I’m testing that, aren’t I?

This book I'm giving you is sharp but soft. It’s like Vuong’s words walk this fine line between resilience and surrender, which maybe is why they get to me. There's a line I love: “In the body, where everything has a price, I was a beggar”—I keep coming back to it. It gets under my skin, thinking of how much of my life I’ve spent doing just that: begging for something that felt like love but never fully was.

I guess that’s what makes me wonder. Is that what love is? Some beautiful, endless begging, hoping to be seen fully and held even with all the mess? I think about my past relationships, all the ways I tried to be someone I thought they’d love or, at least, understand. I don’t know if you can relate, but I always ended up feeling like I was only showing the parts I thought they’d like, and I could never quite manage to bring myself whole into it. Not that they were all bad, but…they left me feeling a bit like I was holding my breath, waiting for something I didn’t even have a name for.

I don’t feel that way with you. And it scares the hell out of me.

Have you ever loved like that? Loved in a way that left you feeling half-complete but more alone than ever? Do you think we can really know each other, or is it all just pieces we collect and hope fit together someday? Sorry, that’s bleak—I told you, I’m pathetic.

Still, writing this, I feel more real than I’ve felt in years. You’re already changing something in me, and maybe I’m a fool, but I think that’s worth every messy, flawed attempt I make to get closer to you.

Love,

Pedro

The last lines hung in the air, sinking deep like an echo through a still room.

Holy shit.

His admission felt like the thrill of stepping onto the edge of something limitless, knowing that he, too, was caught in the same current, swept into this quiet, growing bond that defied every attempt to be named. There was nowhere else you wanted to be.

For years now, you've saved all of your romanticism for your inner life, but now it seems to spill over into reality, coloring the world around you with a new intensity. It seems to spill over into your response to him.

Pedro,

I’m sitting here, pen in hand, trying to put to words what has only lived in my thoughts and quiet places inside me. It feels strange, like I’m peeling something hidden, revealing not just what I am but what I’ve long been afraid to be. But I think you’ve sensed that, haven’t you? Somehow, in these letters, it feels possible. You’ve done this to me, you know. And if you’re pathetic, then, God help me, so am I.

When I read your letter, I felt this pulse of recognition—your words so familiar, as though I’d known them before they were written. That line from Vuong—I lingered over it, too, so many times, until it felt like my own skin.

Isn’t it strange, the things that stay with us, hidden until someone else touches them? I’ve always had this…this longing to be seen in the fullness of myself, even the parts that feel a little too much or not quite enough. And yet, I’ve been equally terrified of it, of offering myself in a way that leaves me standing, raw, in front of someone who might not want what they see.

But with you, the idea doesn’t scare me as much. Even saying that feels like a confession.

You asked if I’d ever loved like that—loved in a way that left me both half-alive and lonelier than ever. I have. Not often, but enough to know the ache of it, that hollow feeling of wanting so badly to be known, only to realize I’d kept parts of myself hidden, guarded, fearing they wouldn’t understand or that I’d be asked to change. I’ve spent so many years rationing my softness, saving my sentimentalism for my own private thoughts, as though loving deeply was something to be ashamed of. But here I am, writing to you, letting it spill.

What about love, then? What do I think of it? I think of love as a kind of surrender, a rare, strange act of bravery and recklessness all at once. I think it’s choosing to step closer to someone when you know you might break your heart in the process. And maybe, sometimes, it’s a little like begging—but only if the person you’re begging to see you is also showing you something of themselves, a part they’re just as afraid to share.

Which is to say: you make me want to be that reckless. You make me want to know things I would have otherwise only dreamed of. I want to know your favorite hour of the day, the one that makes you feel alive even when you’re alone. I want to know what you’ve never dared to say aloud. If I could watch you, just once, as you sit in the quiet of the morning.

Maybe that’s the kind of love I want—one where the questions never end, where the silence says as much as the words, and where I don’t have to hide anything away.

Love,

a/n: alright! so what do you guys think about this one? i wanna know your thoughts!!! like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed it, i will gladly appreciate it <3

a second part will be posted soon!