#hi i went icon shopping Again

[fairymint]

“I may be a binary boy, but I might just steal your gender for fun~”

[pucksandpower]

So Good to Her

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the public reacts to the TikTok challenge you and Charles inadvertently participated in

Read So Good to Me (about the TikTok challenge) here

The TikTok that the British influencer posted of his encounter with you and your incredibly generous boyfriend quickly goes viral, racking up millions of views, likes, and comments within mere hours.

It spreads like wildfire across social media platforms, with people sharing it on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook — even LinkedIn of all places. Everyone marvels at this mystery woman with the boyfriend of all boyfriends who casually sent her €10,000 just to buy a pair of shoes.

In a cozy London flat, a group of university students and diehard Charles fans gather around a laptop, eyes wide as they watch the now-viral video for the umpteenth time.

“I can’t believe Charles has a secret girlfriend!” Megan, a petite blonde wearing a red Ferrari cap, exclaims. “How did we not know about this? We follow his every move!”

Her best friend Ethan nods in agreement, his brow furrowed. “Seriously, who is this girl? She’s drop dead gorgeous and apparently Charles is just casually sending her 10 grand for shopping sprees?”

“Okay but like, goals though,” Lexi chimes in dreamily, clutching a Charles Leclerc poster to her chest. “Imagine having a boyfriend who’s not only mega hot and talented but also spoils you rotten. She’s living the dream.”

Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, he can’t just throw money around like that. I bet this whole thing was staged for clout.”

Megan shoots him a withering glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. What would be the point? Charles is already one of the most popular drivers on the grid, he doesn’t need to pull PR stunts for attention.”

“Plus did you see the way he talked to her on the phone?” Lexi points out, rewinding the video. “That was not acting, that was real love and affection in his voice. I’m so soft for them already, ugh.”

The trio falls silent as they watch the clip again, zeroing in on every little detail and facial expression from both Charles’ mystery girlfriend and the clearly shocked TikToker.

Ethan chuckles and shakes his head. “I still can’t get over her reaction though. Just a guy who loves driving fast cars — I mean, the cheek! She really knows how to keep a secret, gotta give her that.”

“An icon, honestly,” Megan declares. “The fact that she told him to donate the money to an animal shelter too ... okay, I can’t even be mad. She seems like a sweet person.”

Lexi sighs happily, starry-eyed. “They’re literally a power couple. The sheer confidence and BDE of it all. I’m so jealous but also like, rooting for them? We have to find out who this girl is!”

As if on cue, Megan’s phone pings with a Twitter notification. Her eyes widen as she swipes to view it. “Guys. GUYS. The TikToker just confirmed her first name is Y/N and posted another video with a few more details about her!”

“Well don’t just sit there, play it!” Ethan demands, practically launching himself across the couch to peer over Megan’s shoulder at her phone screen. Lexi scrambles to join them, bouncing with anticipation.

In the new clip, the TikToker is grinning excitedly at the camera, an extra bounce in his step as he walks along the same Monaco street where he first approached you.

“Right, so I’m sure by now you’ve all seen my video with Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend go absolutely mental viral,” he begins, running a hand through his artfully tousled hair. “Which, can I just say — thank you so much for the insane support and love, you lot are the best fans ever.”

“Get to the point,” Ethan mutters under his breath, earning a sharp “Shh!” from both girls.

“Anyway,” the TikToker continues. “After she left and I finally picked my jaw up off the floor, I did some digging. I headed to that little boutique she mentioned in the call with Charles, just to see if she actually went in and bought anything. Thought maybe if I asked the staff, they might be able to give me some more info, you know?”

Megan, Ethan, and Lexi all subconsciously lean closer to the small phone screen, hanging on to his every word.

“So get this — not only did she buy the shoes, she apparently also went next door and purchased, and I quote, a frankly alarming amount of lingerie. The cashier said she dropped over 5 grand like it was nothing!”

Lexi lets out a scandalized gasp as Ethan chokes on his sip of Red Bull. Megan just shakes her head in wonderment. “The actual legend,” she murmurs reverently.

The TikToker laughs and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the camera. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m definitely sensing some spicy thank you for the shopping money activities were planned for a certain Ferrari driver, if you know what I mean. Get in there, Charles!”

“Gross, I so did not need that visual,” Ethan grumbles, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips all the same.

“Oh shut up, as if you wouldn’t do the exact same if you were dating Charles,” Lexi retorts with a playful shove to his shoulder.

“ANYWAY,” the TikToker presses on, “I did manage to squeeze a few more details out of the lovely shop girl. Apparently Charles’ girlfriend is named Y/N, no last name given for privacy reasons. But she’s a regular customer and, I quote, an absolute sweetheart who only ever has glowing things to say about her man. So there you have it, folks — Y/N and Charles are the real deal and we’re all just peasants watching a fairytale unfold.”

Megan sighs dreamily as the video ends. “Y/N and Charles,” she repeats to herself, already typing the names into her social media search bars. “God, even their names sound good together. I have to find out everything about her.”

“Dibs on making their ship name hashtag go viral,” Lexi calls out, already furiously typing away on her own phone.

Ethan snorts and rolls his eyes affectionately at his friends, but there’s no denying the small, reluctantly impressed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth too. “I give it two days before they’re papped together on some glamorous date night now that the secret’s out. Hope she’s ready for the attention dating an F1 star brings.”

“With that level of confidence and the way Charles clearly adores her? I think our girl Y/N will handle the spotlight just fine,” Megan says confidently.

Lexi nods in firm agreement. “Yep, a true queen. Charles better lock that down and wife her up real quick before one of us tries to snatch her for ourselves!”

***

In a cozy apartment not far from the very street where you had your memorable encounter with the TikToker, three young women huddle around a laptop screen, eyes wide and jaws slack as they watch the now viral video for the umpteenth time.

“I can’t believe this,” mutters Isabelle, a pretty brunette with an impressively encyclopedic knowledge of Formula 1 stats. “Charles has a girlfriend? Since when?”

“And he just sent her €10,000 like it was nothing!” Exclaims Maia, nervously twirling a strand of her platinum blonde hair. “I mean, I know he’s loaded but holy shit, the way he spoils her ...”

The third girl, Claire, bites her lip, a pensive look on her delicate features. “Did you hear what she said at the end though? Just a guy who loves driving fast cars. She was obviously talking about Charles. But the way she said it, all mysterious and like it was some inside joke ... I don’t know, it just rubs me the wrong way.”

Isabelle scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please, she was totally gloating. Didn’t even have the decency to act a little humble about the fact that THE Charles Leclerc is apparently head over heels for her.”

“Exactly!” Maia chimes in, nodding vigorously. “Like okay, congrats, you bagged a hot, rich, famous race car driver. No need to rub it in the rest of our faces.”

Claire wrinkles her nose. “I just don’t get the vibe that she actually cares about him, you know? I mean, who asks their boyfriend to send them money in the middle of the day for some stupid shoes? While he’s working? She seems like such a gold digger.”

“Ugh, you’re so right,” Isabelle agrees, her lips curling in distaste. “Poor Charles is probably blind to it because he’s so gone for her. He didn’t even hesitate to transfer that money!”

Maia sighs dramatically and falls back on the bed. “God, it’s so unfair. Why can’t I find a man who’s that generous and totally obsessed with me? I’d treat him so much better than she does, you can already tell.”

Claire hums and taps her chin thoughtfully. “You know what, I think this smells fishy. How do we even know she’s actually Charles’ girlfriend? For all we know, she could have paid some guy who sounds like him to play along for a TikTok clout.”

Isabelle’s eyes narrow as she considers this possibility. “That’s true ... I haven’t come across any photos of them together or anything. Why has no one ever seen her before if they’re supposedly so in love?”

“Exactly!” Claire exclaims, growing more animated. “I’ve been a Charles fan for years and I’ve never seen or heard anything about a girlfriend. If they’re really dating, there’s no way it wouldn’t have come out before now.”

Maia sits up, suddenly energized by this new conspiracy theory. “Oh my god, you’re right! She’s probably just some wannabe influencer trying to get famous by pretending to be with Charles. That’s so pathetic.”

Isabelle nods slowly, a determined glint in her eye. “You know what? We should do some digging. Try to find out who this girl really is and expose her for the fraud she clearly is. Charles and the world deserve to know the truth.”

“Yesss, I’m so down for an investigation!” Maia says gleefully. “Imagine if we’re the ones who reveal that this whole thing is fake. We’d be doing Charles a huge favor.”

Claire is already pulling up Instagram and Twitter on her phone. “Let’s start by going through the comments on that TikTok and seeing if anyone has identified her or posted any receipts. There have to be some clues somewhere.”

The girls spend the next few hours poring over social media, searching for any scrap of information they can find about the mystery woman who has supposedly captured Charles Leclerc’s heart. They work themselves into a frenzy, convincing each other more and more that you can’t possibly be Charles’ real girlfriend. In their minds, you’re clearly just an opportunistic clout chaser looking for your 15 minutes of fame.

“God, I hope Charles sees through her act soon,” Isabelle says for the hundredth time, shaking her head. “He’s too good for some two-bit gold digger who’s just using him.”

“We’ll make sure he finds out who she really is,” Claire assures her firmly. “And then he’ll have no choice but to dump her lying ass.”

Maia sighs wistfully, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “Do you think once he’s single again, I might actually have a chance? Like, if I run into him at a race one day and strike up a conversation, maybe he’ll realize I’m the girl he’s meant to be with ...”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Claire says with a laugh. “First step is taking down this fraud of a girlfriend. Then we can daydream about being Mrs. Leclerc.”

The girls giggle and go back to their social media sleuthing with renewed determination. They’ve decided you’re public enemy number one and they won’t rest until they’ve exposed you for the fake, money-hungry, clout-chasing liar they’re certain you must be. In their eyes, they’re crusaders for truth, fighting to save their beloved Charles from your clutches.

What they don’t realize, of course, is just how very real and very deep Charles’ feelings for you actually are ... and that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Internet conspiracy theories be damned.

***

In a dimly lit basement somewhere in Italy, a group of die-hard Charles Leclerc fans huddle around a computer screen, their jaws dropping as they watch the video for the umpteenth time.

“Guys, are you seeing this shit?” Enzo, the self-appointed leader of the group, asks incredulously. “Who the hell is this girl and how did she bag Charles freakin’ Leclerc?”

“Dude, we don’t even know for sure that it’s actually Charles,” Giovanni points out skeptically. “She never said his name. It could be some other rich dude with a fast car.”

Enzo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, who else could it be? €10,000 like it’s nothing, is it possible that Leclerc has a secret girlfriend we don’t know about all this time? A guy who likes driving fast cars? It’s obviously Charles! Our boy is LOADED and that’s exactly how he’d spoil his girl.”

Luca nods in agreement, a dreamy expression on his face. “God, can you imagine being with Charles though? Having him call you all those cute pet names and just showering you with love and gifts? I’d fucking die.”

“Yeah, she has to be the luckiest woman on the planet,” Enzo sighs wistfully. “I mean, I’m straight, but even I’d let Charles ruin me, you know what I’m saying?”

The other guys murmur and nod in emphatic agreement, all of them momentarily lost in a fantasy of being Charles Leclerc’s pampered significant other.

“Okay but like, how is this even fair?” Giovanni gripes, breaking the spell. “The rest of us mere mortals are out here busting our asses on Tinder and Hinge, praying a decent girl will swipe right, and Charles just gets to date a literal goddess who is probably a model?”

“Life isn’t fair, Gio,” Enzo says solemnly. “Charles is on a completely different level. He could have any woman he wants and they’d all say yes before he even finished asking. The rules don’t apply to a guy like that.”

Luca suddenly sits up straight, his eyes widening with realization. “Holy shit, guys. Do you know what this means? If Charles is taken, that’s one less F1 driver on the market for all those grid girl groupies to throw themselves at! Maybe the rest of us actually have a chance now!”

Giovanni snorts derisively. “Yeah, you wish. Those chicks are still gonna be busy trying to get with Sainz or Verstappen or Norris. They’re not gonna settle for some nobody Ferrari fan. Let’s be real.”

“Wow, way to kill the vibe, Debbie Downer,” Luca mutters. He turns back to the computer and hits replay on the video, watching enviously as the TikToker clearly shows the €10,000 bank transfer on your phone. “Seriously though, how is this chick not freaking the fuck out? If Charles Leclerc randomly sent me 10 grand I’d be screaming and probably pass out.”

“She’s probably used to it,” Enzo says with a shrug. “I bet this is like, a regular Tuesday for her. Just casually strolling around Monaco, stopping into designer stores whenever she feels like it, Charles’ black credit card weighing down her Hermès purse. The bougiest of WAG lives.”

“God, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with her for just one day,” Giovanni says longingly. “Can you imagine getting to wake up next to Charles every morning? Having him make you breakfast and give you forehead kisses and tell you how much he loves you in that sexy accent?”

“Okay, now you’re just torturing yourself, bro,” Luca laughs. “You’ll be lucky if you can get a Tinder match to agree to split the bill at McDonalds.”

“Why you gotta bring me back to my sad reality like that?” Giovanni groans, chucking a throw pillow at Luca’s head. “Let me live vicariously through Charles’ bougie mystery girlfriend for a little while longer, damn.”

Enzo sighs and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “You know what the craziest part of all this is? The fact that Charles managed to keep a whole ass girlfriend hidden from the world. Like, the media has been speculating about his love life forever and no one had a clue he was actually in a serious relationship. That man moves in silence like a ninja.”

“Yeah, and did you see how he just casually threw out that he loves her?” Luca gushes. “He was all I love spoiling you, you deserve the world. My dude is head over heels for this girl and I am LIVING for it.”

“Ugh, why can’t I find a man like that?” Giovanni whines dramatically. “All I want is a guy who will write me cute Instagram captions in three languages and buy out the Gucci store for me but I guess that’s too much to ask!”

“Maybe if you stanned Charles harder, the universe would reward you,” Enzo snarks. “Start leaving thirsty comments on his shirtless pics, see if that manifests your dream F1 boyfriend.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already do that,” Giovanni retorts with a smirk. “How else do you think Oscar Piastri ended up in my DMs last night?”

“Wait, WHAT?” Luca and Enzo exclaim in unison, whipping their heads around to gape at their friend.

Giovanni bursts out laughing at their shocked faces. “I’m just kidding, jeez! You think I’d be sitting here listening to you losers if Oscar freaking Piastri actually messaged me? Puh-lease.”

“Man, don’t even joke about that,” Enzo grumbles, clutching at his heart. “You really had me going there for a sec.”

Luca huffs and slouches down in his seat. “Can we get back to being jealous of Charles’ sugar baby girlfriend now? I was enjoying that more than whatever the hell this conversation turned into.”

“She’s not his sugar baby!” Enzo argues. “They’re clearly in love! Did we watch the same video? The way he talked to her was mad cute. That’s his GIRL girl.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Luca concedes, holding his hands up in apology. “Charles might spoil her but he obviously adores her for more than just her looks. That’s the real relationship goals right there.”

“Imagine being so secure in your love that you can just ball out on your partner like that and know it’s only going to make them love you more,” Giovanni muses. “Cannot relate.”

Enzo nods sagely. “Charles is just built different, man. In more ways than one.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Luca agrees. “So, are we watching this video another 50 times or are we moving on to the Grill the Grid compilation I found of all of Charles’ most adorably flustered moments?”

Enzo grins maniacally and reaches for the mouse. “Oh, you know we’re watching the hell out of this absolute gift again. And then we’re gonna spend the next three hours cyberstalking Charles and seeing if we can find any other crumbs about who this legendary mystery woman is. For research purposes.”

“This is the most productive thing we’ve done in months and I’m not even ashamed,” Giovanni declares, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the intense social media deep dive they’re about to undertake.

***

In a crowded sports bar in Dublin, a group of die-hard Ferrari fans gather to watch the latest race. But today, there’s another bit of F1-related content that has their attention. They huddle around a phone, repeatedly watching the now-infamous TikTok video.

“Can you believe it? €10,000 just like that!” Exclaims James, a tall, lanky guy with a mop of curly hair. “I mean, I knew Charles was loaded but damn ...”

“Forget the money, did you see his girlfriend?” Tom, a stocky redhead, chimes in. “Absolutely stunning. Like, how does a race car driver land a girl like that?”

Mark, a quieter guy with glasses, rolls his eyes. “Uh, maybe because he’s Charles freaking Leclerc? The man’s a beast on the track and has the face of a Greek god. Girls probably throw themselves at him left and right.”

The guys all mutter in begrudging agreement, a note of envy coloring their voices. On screen, the video replays yet again, showing you confidently calling up your boyfriend and securing the small fortune without batting an eye.

“God, what I wouldn’t give to have a woman look at me the way she probably looks at Leclerc,” Tom sighs wistfully.

“In your dreams, mate,” James scoffs. “Girls like that are way out of our league. We can’t compete with a Ferrari paycheck and Monaco real estate.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair though,” grumbles Mark. “The dude’s already got it all — talent, fame, money. Leave some for the rest of us!”

On screen, the video reaches the part where you coolly inform the gobsmacked TikToker that you don’t need his measly €2,000 and he should donate it to an animal shelter instead. The guys let out low whistles, clearly impressed by your classy move.

“See, that right there, that’s what separates the Monegasque princess types from regular girls,” says James with an air of authority. “We would’ve taken the cash in a heartbeat.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m a man of principle,” Tom jokes, puffing out his chest exaggeratedly. The others snort and shove him playfully.

As the video ends, the guys sit back, each lost in their own wistful imaginings of what it must be like to be Charles Leclerc. To have the money, success, and effortless charm to win over a girl like you.

Mark is the first to break the contemplative silence. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” he muses thoughtfully. “I mean yeah, Charles is a lucky bastard, no doubt. But that girl, she seems like a real catch too. Like the kind of person who’d keep you humble and grounded, even when you’re a superstar athlete with the world at your feet.”

The others consider this, nodding slowly. “Fair point,” concedes Tom. “Behind every great man and all that jazz. Leclerc may have his millions but he still needs someone to call him out on his BS from time to time.”

“Exactly,” agrees Mark. “And did you hear the way he spoke to her on the phone? The dude’s completely smitten. He may have all the money and fame, but I bet she’s the real prize in his eyes.”

“Alright, alright, settle down Dr. Phil,” James interjects with a good-natured eye roll. “You gonna start writing romance novels in your spare time now? Maybe they’ll make a movie — The Tifosi Who Loved Me: A Charles Leclerc Story.”

The guys all crack up laughing at that, the tension broken. Their envy towards Leclerc’s charmed life remains, but it’s now tinged with a newfound respect and even a touch of empathy.

“Y’know, jokes aside, I do hope he realizes how lucky he is to have her and treats her right,” Mark says sincerely as their chuckles subside. “A love like that seems rare these days.”

Tom reaches over to clap Mark on the shoulder. “No worries, mate. Did you see the dopey grin on Charles’ face in those paparazzi pics of them together that came out earlier? That man is whipped with a capital W. He knows he’s got a keeper.”

“As he should,” nods James sagely. “Behind every great Ferrari champion is an even greater woman keeping his ego in check. Tale as old as time.”

On that note, the guys clink their pint glasses together, silently saluting the unnamed woman who stole the heart of Charles Leclerc and the envious admiration of Formula 1 fans worldwide. The mystery girlfriend with impeccable style and a heart of gold.

As the pre-race coverage starts up on the bar TV, the guys settle in to cheer on their favorite driver, their fleeting jealousy replaced by the camaraderie and excitement of race day. But in the back of their minds, a single wistful thought remains — what they wouldn’t give to find a love like Charles and his girl seem to share. Guess that’s just one more thing to add to the list of reasons to idolize Charles Leclerc.

***

Among the hordes of viewers obsessively replaying the clip are three best friends gathered for a girls night at a posh Parisian penthouse. Colette, the willowy blonde draped across a velvet chaise lounge, takes a sip of her champagne and shakes her head in wonder.

“God, can you imagine having a boyfriend who just casually drops 10k on you like it’s nothing? Talk about relationship goals,” she sighs dreamily.

Next to her, Nadia snorts derisively while scrolling through Instagram on her phone. “Oh please, like that’s hard to find. I bet loads of rich guys would do that for their girlfriends. It’s not that impressive.”

From her perch on a tufted ottoman, Stephanie raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? You think Liam would send you that kind of cash without batting an eye? Mr. I-Need-To-Check-With-My-Financial-Advisor-Before-I-Buy-A-New-Tie?”

Colette erupts into giggles at the scathing impression of Nadia’s banker boyfriend. Even Nadia cracks a reluctant smile before tossing her sleek dark hair.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, that TikTok chick’s boyfriend can’t be THAT special. I’m sure if we did the same challenge our boyfriends would come through too,” she declares with more than a hint of competitiveness in her voice.

“Oooh yes, let’s do it! Let’s recreate the video and see what happens!” Colette squeals, bouncing up and down on the chaise with excitement.

Stephanie, ever the voice of reason, looks uncertain. “I don’t know, guys ... isn’t it a bit tacky to demand money from them like that? What if they get mad?”

Nadia rolls her eyes. “Oh come on Steph, live a little! It’s just a silly experiment. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Okay, okay fine,” Stephanie relents, unable to resist her friends’ cajoling. “But I’m blaming you both if Omer breaks up with me over this!”

“Deal!” Colette grins impishly as she grabs her phone. “I’ll go first — let me call Henry and we’ll see if he’s as generous as Mystery Monaco Man.”

With a deep breath, she dials her property developer boyfriend and launches into her rehearsed plea as soon as he picks up. “Baby!” She whines. “You’ll never believe what happened. I’m out with the girls and my Louboutins broke! Like the heel just totally snapped off. I’m absolutely gutted, these were my faves. Is there any way you could send some money to my account so I can grab a new pair on the way home? Pleeeaaase, I’ll love you forever!”

There’s a heavy pause before Henry’s clipped voice comes through, tinged with annoyance. “Christ, again with the bloody shoes? What is it with you women and wasting my hard earned money on bits of leather you don’t need? Can’t you just take the broken ones to get fixed?”

Colette’s perfectly glossed pout trembles, her blue eyes shining with disappointed tears as Nadia and Stephanie look on in pity. “Never mind,” she mumbles. “Forget I asked. Chat later.” She hangs up and flings her phone down despondently.

“What an ass,” Nadia spits. “You deserve so much better.” Colette shrugs sadly but rallies as she turns to Stephanie expectantly.

“Okay Steph, your turn to give Omer a ring! Let’s hope he restores our faith in rich boyfriends everywhere.”

Stephanie grimaces but dutifully calls her Qatar-based hedge fund manager beau. In her most saccharine voice, she makes her case. “Habibi, you know that gorgeous YSL bag I showed you last week? It finally came back in stock but only for today! Could you maybe pop some cash in my account so I can treat myself? I’ve been working so hard lately and-”

“Wallahi Stephanie, how many handbags does one woman need?” Omer cuts her off irritably. “If I buy you this one, I don’t want to hear any more whining for designer things for at least 6 months, got it? I’ll send you 500 euros, that should more than cover it.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks, I guess ...” Stephanie replies glumly before ending the call. She shakes her head at her friends. “Well, it’s something at least?”

“Hardly,” Nadia scoffs. “These men, I swear. Okay, time for me to show you girls how it’s done. Watch and learn, ladies.”

With a confident smirk, she video calls Liam who answers distractedly, clearly still at the office despite the late hour. “This better be important Nadia, I’m right in the middle of-”

“Liam. Focus,” Nadia cuts him off crisply. “I need you to send €10,000 to my account right now. No questions asked.” She arches a commanding eyebrow, daring him to argue.

Liam just blinks at her for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. “I’m sorry, you need me to do what now? 10 grand, are you mad? For what possible reason?”

“To prove you love me,” Nadia retorts smugly. “I saw this thing on TikTok, some girl’s boyfriend sent her-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Liam interrupts. “I’m not one of your little social media playthings to manipulate for views, Nadia. My money is not a toy. I’ll buy you a thoughtful gift for your birthday next month, but I’m not in the business of flinging cash at you for no reason. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real work to do. Goodnight.”

With that he abruptly ends the call, leaving Nadia staring at the blank screen, a red flush of embarrassment and anger creeping up her elegant neck. Stephanie and Colette exchange knowing looks.

“So … that went well,” Stephanie quips sarcastically.

Colette sighs morosely as she flops back onto the chaise, hugging a silk pillow. “Maybe that girl’s boyfriend really is one of a kind. God, I bet she feels like the luckiest woman alive. Can you even imagine being THAT loved and adored?”

Nadia seems to deflate, her bravado evaporating. “No,” she whispers. “I can’t. You’re right, Col. Mystery Monaco Man is clearly in a league of his own. I bet he makes her feel like an absolute queen every damn day.”

Stephanie nods thoughtfully, twirling a lock of hair. “You know what though? Good for her. She seems lovely and down-to-earth in the video. If anyone deserves that fairy tale romance, it’s a girl like that who doesn’t even realize how special it is.”

“Ugh, so true. god I’m depressed now,” Colette groans, reaching for the champagne bottle to refill her glass. “To Mystery Monaco Man — may he set the standard for rich boyfriends everywhere. And to the girl who’s lucky enough to love him — may she live happily ever after and never take a single moment for granted.”

“Hear, hear,” Nadia and Stephanie chorus, clinking their glasses against Colette’s.

As the bubbles fizz on their tongues, the wistful faraway looks in their eyes betray the same thought — what they wouldn’t give to trade places with you for just a day, to know what it feels like to be cherished so completely by a man like Charles. To them, you’re living the ultimate dream.

If only they knew the best part isn’t the extravagant gestures or lavish gifts.

It’s the little moments. The soft kisses pressed to your temple. The fingers intertwined with yours. The sleepy smiles over morning coffee. The shared laughter and inside jokes. The unwavering support and unconditional acceptance. The bone-deep feeling of safety and coming home.

That’s the real fairy tale. And no amount of money could ever buy it.

***

Back in Monaco, Lando Norris slouches comfortably in his gaming chair, eyes glued to the triple monitors in front of him. He’s meant to be reviewing telemetry data in preparation for the upcoming race weekend, but the notification chime from his phone proves far too tempting. Lando picks up the device, fully intending to only glance at it for a second before dutifully returning to his work.

But then he sees it — the TikTok that at least a dozen people have sent to him in the past hour alone. Curiosity piqued, Lando clicks on the video and watches intently, his brows steadily rising towards his hairline with each passing second.

“Wait, is that ...” he mutters to himself as the clip plays out. When your boyfriend’s voice comes through the speakers, Lando’s eyes bug out comically. “Holy shit, it is Charles! And Y/N!”

A knock on the door makes Lando jump slightly. Before he can respond, a familiar mop of tousled chestnut hair pokes into the room. “Hey mate, did you see-” Max Verstappen starts to say.

“The TikTok of Charles simping hard for Y/N? Yup, watching it right now,” Lando finishes for him, eyes still glued to his phone screen in fascination.

Max invites himself into the room fully and flops down on the couch. “Absolutely crazy, right? Who just casually sends their girlfriend 10k for a random pair of shoes?”

Lando snorts. “Certainly not you, you stingy Dutchman,” he ribs playfully. Max chucks a throw pillow at him in retaliation.

“Hey, even I splurge on my girlfriend sometimes!” Max protests. “I just bought her ... erm ...” He racks his brain trying to remember the last lavish gift he purchased unprompted.

“A six-pack of Sugar Free Red Bull last week?” Lando supplies dryly.

“... Shut up.”

The two dissolve into snickers before turning their attention back to the TikTok, which has now looped to the beginning again.

“Charles is so whipped for Y/N,” Max observes, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “He’s just asking to get taken advantage of, throwing money around like that.”

“I think it’s kinda sweet,” Lando admits with a shrug. “He just wants to make her happy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same if your girl asked!”

Max scoffs. “What, fall victim to a gold digger? No thanks mate.”

“Y/N’s hardly a gold digger and you know it,” Lando chides. “She works hard for her own money and buys plenty of expensive gifts for Charles too. They just like spoiling each other ‘cause they’re in luuurve.” He draws out the last word in a silly voice, making dramatic kissy faces.

“Yeah, yeah, true love and all that sappy bullshit,” Max says dismissively, though there’s no real heat behind it. “I’m just saying, no way in hell I’m sending 10k on command for a pair of fucking shoes!”

Lando hums thoughtfully. “I would.”

Max’s head whips around to stare at him incredulously. “You what.”

“If it was the right girl? Sure, I’d do it,” Lando says nonchalantly. “Maybe not for something frivolous like shoes, but if my girlfriend called me up and said she needed 10k transferred ASAP? I’d do it, no questions asked. You gotta have that level of trust.”

Clearly torn between wanting to take the piss out of his friend and feeling a reluctant sort of respect, Max just grunts noncommittally in response before turning back to rewatch the clip once more.

Debate rages online among the fans about the cute interaction. Most find the whole thing adorably romantic, cooing over what a doting and generous boyfriend Charles is. They swoon at the obvious love and care between you two, speculating excitedly in the comments about when Charles might pop the question.

Others are more cynical, rolling their eyes at Charles “simping” so hard and accusing you of only dating the Ferrari driver for his money. However, these naysayers are quickly drowned out and ratio’d by your legions of adoring supporters.

Through it all, you and Charles pay the speculation little mind, blissfully wrapped up in your fairytale romance.

Charles returns home that evening to the mouthwatering aroma of his favorite pesto pasta dish wafting from the kitchen. He grins when he spots you at the stove, swaying your hips to the sultry jazz music playing from the speaker as you stir the sauce. Quietly, he comes up behind you and slips his strong arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Mmm, smells amazing,” he murmurs appreciatively.

You turn in his embrace and loop your arms around his neck, smiling radiantly up at him. “Welcome home, Cha-Cha,” you greet him, using the silly pet name that never fails to make him chuckle and scrunch his nose adorably. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“And what’s for dessert?” Charles asks with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.

Biting your lip coyly, you untangle yourself from his arms and saunter off towards the bedroom. “Come find out after we eat. Oh, and I picked up a little something special to express my gratitude for earlier ...” you call over your shoulder with a wink.

Charles’ megawatt grin could power all of Monaco for a year. Viral TikTok or not, the Monegasque knows he’s already the luckiest man in the world to have you as his partner through this crazy ride called life.

No amount of money could ever compare to the joy of being loved by you.

[midnightanxietytm]

I have a silly idea :3

imagine Mabel recounting the “accident with the leaf blower” to the reader, who then proceeds to make sure Ford isn’t around and tells her about the “kissing practice robot” incident from high school (which they witnessed) if you don’t know what I mean watch the land before swine commentary video

meanwhile Ford is down in the basement and suddenly stops what he’s doing and is like “I feel a disturbance in the force.”

A/N: Oh my god the kissing bot is so iconic, Ford is such a dork for that one lol. Hope I met your expectations with this one , its been a while since I've written something more lighthearted. Thanks for the request!

Contents: Mabel and Reader spilling tea, talks about kissing and romance and other sappy things. Ford x Reader more implied than anything. Short and fun.

Word count: 500

You know something is wrong because Mabel isn't smiling, Mabel is always smiling. She walks through the gift shop door and goes straight to sit on the counter next to you with a big sigh.

“Alright, spill it, sunshine.” You say with a small smile, putting down the book you'd been reading in order to give her your full attention.

She looks up at you with big round eyes. “I dunno… The date went well, he even kissed me!” You gasp in pretend shock and that gets a small giggle out of her. “I know right?! But like… It felt weird! It wasn’t bad! Just weird… maybe I need more practice…”

That makes you laugh as you prop yourself near the checkout; “Mabel, darling, kissing isn't really some equation you can figure out, maybe he just wasn't the right person.”

She lets out another big sigh, but you can tell is more resigned and hopefull this time. “Yeah, I guess… Besides, I really don't want another leaf blower accident.”

You laugh again, Mabel has that charm. “The what accident now?”

“Oh my gosh, I never told you?! It's so embarrassing; I was obsessed with that boy, who turned out to be a bunch of gnomes by the way, and I wanted our first kiss to be perfect, so I stuck a photo of him on a leaf blower on suction made and used it to practice.” When she said that, both of you started to laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes. “I-t left like this huge bruise on my face!”

You lean your head on the table, trying to stop laughing, but the mental image of Mabel with a leaf blower stuck to her face is too much.

“Oh gosh you're just like your grunkle!” You say in-between wheezing.

“Wait which one?” Mabel asked, rubbing the tears off her eyes.

“Okay so…” You began, looking around just to check Ford wasn’t near. “Your Grunkle Ford, back in high school he built this robot…” You look around again, holding back laughter and bringing down your voice. “It was this mannequin head with a rubix cube for a mouth and it had an alarm that wouldn’t stop playing until he…” And you did quotation marks with your hands. “...kissed it right.”

And you both started laughing all over again. “That's so dorky oh my gosh!”.

“Right!? He's such a nerd.” You say, and there's a softness to it that eases Mabel's worries about romance all together. “It fell from his locker once and it started blasting the darn alarm! He couldn’t go anywhere for a week after that without people mimicking kissing noises. It was gross.” You chuckle and sigh, sitting back down on your stool. “Compared to that, a leaf blower is no big deal!”

“Compared to what?” Says a third voice.

You and Mabel snap your heads, seeing Ford standing on the doorway behind the vending machine.

Crap.

[crosbyism]

"but then again this is the guy who’s publically known for loving to eat ass so"

I'm sorry, I thought Nate eating ass was fanon. Are you telling me this is an actual canon fact??

god i love when people don’t realise how much “fanon” around sid and nate is actually canon. it’s like heroin to me. also bc it’s like. 90% of the stuff in fics (which is probably why people assume it’s fanon but. oh boy it’s not. there’s shockingly little fanon around these two, mostly because canon is so abundant).

yes, nathan mackinnon is a known ass-eater. let me direct you to this post, anon. you’re welcome.

other nate (and sid) facts you might not have realised are canon:

nate is a known advocate for therapy. he’s been seeing a sports therapist since 2017

they wear matching clothing all the fucking time, sid has said publicly that he started wearing white sneakers and updated his wardrobe due to nate’s influence (iirc nate might’ve even bought him his first pair of white sneakers? either that or it was a “he told me i need to so i did” situation). they share a tailor. unfortunately i now have to bring your attention to the fact that since they have an alarming amount of matching clothes that they’ve bought for each other, that means that they in fact have to know each other’s clothing sizes off by heart. they also low-key share clothing btw

their families celebrate canada day together and their dads are best friends. in-law behaviour goes crazy

nate did in fact stalk his way into sid’s heart (got the same personal trainer and agent at age 13; built his house next door in 2017; they’ve been spending every day in the summers together since at least 2015. sid cooks for them daily, or at least did pre-pandemic. sid refuses to use nate’s gym tho so they always use sid’s).

nate used to have a fan twitter account more or less where he rooted for the pens. it was active until 2017.

sid and nate regularly go to summer weddings together as each other’s dates. they have done this since, once again, at least 2015

nate has confirmed that he used to have a poster of sid on his wall as a teenager (he didn’t confirm he used to jerk off to it but frankly. i think that’d be saying the quiet part out loud)

when sid won the cup in 2009 and held the parade in cole harbour, nate stood by the side of the road watching it. he was about to turn 14, he was already working with sid’s trainer and agent, and he was about to start attending shattuck (sid’s junior high). due to old pics we also know that this was RIGHT before nate had his first growth spurt and hit puberty. i’m not saying seeing sid with the cup kickstarted nate’s puberty and gave him his first boner but i’m not NOT saying it

nate dated vanessa morgan of riverdale fame in his rookie year. she’s now good friends with elias petersson from the vancouver canucks (this means nothing but i do think it’s a very funny coincidence).

nate schmidt, formerly of the VGK, once failed a drug test (it turned out to be a testing-fuck-up); when nhl players were asked about it natemack iconically said “i don’t think he was sticking a needle up his ass” (i just like this one)

when he was a kid, the one other thing sid wanted to be was a hairdresser. nate, on the other hand, “didn’t have a plan B”

nate is canonically possessive of sid (see: the asg 2024) and sid is canonically delighted by this and into it

they go on so many lunch dates in the summer my dude. they go grocery shopping together. like there’s so many pics of them in grocery stores or out having coffee or weird green shakes

oh i almost forgot, they went on a roadtrip through ireland last year. they’ve been on holiday together multiple times over the years though. done some eurotripping together and stuff. in 2015 they spent three months together, three weeks of which were spent living in sid’s santa monica condo together just the two of them

sid has put up a picture of every stanley cup winning captain in his basement since 2008, when the pens lost in the scf to DET. apparently this serves as motivation for him to win the cup. he notoriously does not watch the playoffs after the pens are out

however, he partied so hard at nate’s cup party he actually closed down the party with his dad. nate is the only non-teammate sid’s ever been seen supporting for a cup run (he’s also never been to his teammates’ cup parties afaik so. there’s that)

also they talked on the phone daily and between periods during nate’s cup run. they also canonically have almost weekly phone dates that can run multiple hours. quote nate “i can’t talk to anyone else the way i can talk to him”

they each have pictures of the two of them together framed in each other’s houses

there’s rumours they’re building adjoining houses on neighbouring properties in cape breton next to a golf course bc apparently being neighbours in halifax isn’t enough or something. this one is as yet unconfirmed by reputable sources though

[huggybearluvr]

*clears throat* so... PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE lukey boy going out shopping with reader?? would love to see him having to model what he bought for himself (that the reader totally didn't force him to) when they get back home and reader is just "OMGGG GOOO SLAY YOU'RE POPPING OFF KING AAAAHHH😫😫" PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Fashion Icon | lh43

Masterlist

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Reader

Summary: You finally take Luke suit shopping and insist on a fashion show.

Warnings: None

Seeing as Luke and his brothers have been sharing suits since they were young, you finally deemed it time to take Luke suit shopping for himself.

You went to a local shop, and got a private room in the back.

"Alright baby, give me a show," You smiled as you sat back in the chair wine glass in hand watching as Luke headed into the changing room shutting the curtain behind him.

After a few minutes he pulled the curtain back stepping out, "What do you think?" He asked tugging on the sides.

"Give me a twirl," You smiled, spinning your finger showing him the movement.

He laughed spinning around.

"Now strut your stuff," You smiled.

He rolled his eyes shaking his head dramatically walking around you.

"omg slay! You are popping off king!" You said clapping as he finished off his walk with another twirl and curtsy.

He was now laughing along with you, "Your insane," He said poking your cheek making you laugh even more.

"Alright try on the next one," You said shooing him back into the changing room.

He came out in another suit this one was a gray one.

He gave you a little walk around, before noticing your phone was out now recording his antics.

He quickly made his way to you trying to take the phone.

"Give me the phone baby," He demanded.

"No one will believe me if you delete it!" You argued.

"Fine, you asked for this," He said before tickling your sides.

You began laughing hysterically dropping your phone in an attempt to push him away. He was quick to grab you phone and delete the video.

"Your no fun," You sighed as he handed you back your phone.

"Oh really? I'm no fun?" He asked as he began his antics again attacking your sides throwing you into a fit of laughter once more.

"Fine your fun! You're Fun!" You squeled out causing him to stop.

"That's what I thought," He smiled leaning in to place a kiss to your lips.

You smiled into the kiss landing a smack on his ass," Now go try on another," You smiled.

[evieelyzabethh]

Hey can u do a spike smut

I have another Spike smut fic coming so I'm gonna use this to drop my sfw and nsfw Spike headcannons because fun fact, the buffy brain rot is real and I have over 100 pages of buffy reboot material. anyways...

warning: not proofread

sfw:

Spike purely smokes because he thinks it makes him look cool. I think when it comes to vampires, they either physically cannot feel the effects of drugs or are lightweights. He hates the smell of smoke, hence the duster jacket, and refuses to smoke in his crypt because of the shit ventilation

Speaking of smoking, William was most definitely asthmatic. He had no friends in boys school because too much physical movement sent him wheezing. He did enjoy horseback riding though

He has poetry stashed somewhere, I just know it. Under some slab of rock or rolled in some random alcohol bottle pirate style, it's somewhere.

Spike would love an English major or anyone who has a hobby aligned with creative writing. This doesn't mean he'd automatically show you anything he's written but he'd be more open to the possibility sooner rather than later.

Very picky with what he steals/wears. He will not just put any old rags on. He dressed Drusilla and he is a fashion icon and I stand by that

As for him with a partner, I do think he is the type to fall first and incredibly hard

I think how familiar you are with one another would dictate a lot. If you were a Scooby, I wouldn't say he'd keep his distance, but he wouldn't be super outright with his affection. There'd be some playful banter here and there, dare I say some flirting, and maybe even some gift-giving every now and again. He's like a crow, he'd be the type to drop things on your windowsill just because it reminded him of you

If you two didn't know each other, he'd most definitely be the stalking type. Every time you're walking home from school, there WILL be a dark figure following you around. You're getting harassed by some rando? If you paid attention to the newspaper, you'd see they mysteriously went missing. You can go from eyeing something while window shopping to it magically ending up on your doorstep

Never the one to make the first move. He wouldn't say a word unless he was 100% confident that you liked him back, and even then, there'd be a lot of hesitation

He would love a forward partner. Someone who makes his insecurities melt away and who he doesn't have to worry about them ever getting over him. When he loves, he loves forever. He has all of time to love you and his ideal partner would be someone who wants to spend all of time with him

He is such a romantic!!! I think he would be so into matching couples costumes or just matching outfits in general. Super into domesticity wherever he can get it, decorating a home together, cleaning together, cooking together, doing anything together

Since he can't have a job, I do see him being a house husband. It gives him something to do during the day. Wears a 'kiss the cook' apron and pouts if you don't give him kisses while wearing it. I headcannon that he spent time all over Europe, including France, and had some really good pastries at some cafe that closed like 200 years ago and made it his life's mission to recreate them. The grocery bill is high but it makes him happy

Valentine's Day is his absolute favorite holiday and he makes a big deal of outdoing himself every year. Not in terms of money or extravagance, but meaning. He treats every day as a new one to know more about you. It's not enough to know your favorite color, he needs to know the exact shade, exact hue, and exact context you love it in. He knows your allergies, remembers your favorite outfits, and keeps track of your cleaning habits so he can make everything shiny and new when you forget yourself. He becomes a master of all trades to make you whatever you want exactly how you want it

He does really like Halloween, too. He's a huge fan of the Scream movies. He dislikes when horror movies try too hard. Being so used to gore, blood, and guts, he prefers a funnier, more unserious scary movie

Speaking of blood, he starts out against drinking from you. He used to only do it to kill someone, or at least with the intent to cause harm. He didn't trust himself not to get overwhelmed and hurt you. But I feel like at some point he either gets hurt on patrol or his stash gets low and you both forgot to restock and he has to. It was a very close call, and he couldn't bring himself to even look at you after the fact. He only warms up to it if it's necessary. He avoids it, but there are always slip-ups. He has bitten you during sex a few times when he got a bit too into it. He says he refuses to do it unless it's for your pleasure

He is so obsessed with you, if you couldn't tell. You're his favorite person, favorite scent, favorite taste. Not to be slightly yandere on main, but he would kill for you and kill himself if he wasn't enough for you. Never leave you. Never hurt you. Spike would never.

nsfw:

He is neither an ass or tits guy, he's just a 'you' guy. Absolutely everything about you gets him going. You think it's funny at first until you're trying to eat a bowl of spaghetti and he's staring at you, hard. It's not his fault the stray sauce around your lips looked like blood and vampire you is a very hot concept to him

You guys have to own a house. The noise complaints would be too much and you'd get evicted. I do see him as more of a groaner than a moaner, but sometimes it's just too much and it's both. Sometimes it's just one hand gripping the pillow your head is resting on, the other on the headboard, and his head in the crook of your neck practically whimpering as you milk his cock

You also have a tendency to get pretty loud, and as much as he loves your voice, his super vampire hearing can't take it sometimes :(

Doesn't really matter the position, but it's hard and he's so big. You can feel him in your damn ribs and it's choking you up. You don't even realize how loud you are. It's not until you hear his raspy voice in your ear. "I know, love, I know. It's a lot, but I need you to be a bit quieter. You're hurting me." And you pout a bit and try to mumble apologies that just sound like gibberish. You try, futilely, but surely he must understand that you can't help it. Not when it's this good. He whispers again, rubs where your belly bulges from his dick, but it doesn't seem to work. He eventually flips you over to shove your head in the pillows and you were far too out of it to complain. You like it a bit rough anyway.

As mentioned previously, he is a biter. He can't help it, it's instinct honestly. Its not like you mind, you clench even harder when he does. The sudden smell of iron is drowned out by the stench of sex and sweat, and the piercing feel of his fangs into your neck only stings for a bit. He makes up for it by licking up whatever spills <3 Being with a vampire was always going to be at least a little painful

He likes his hair pulled. You're fingers in his hair in general is heaven on earth, but being pulled around a bit is nice

Has a thing for tearing your clothes off. He really does like being a vampire, feeling big and strong in a way he was never able to when he was human. There is a feral piece of him, maybe its the demon inside him or it was always present, but seeing your clothes in pieces after the fact just scratches the itch in his brain

Speaking of brain, enjoys giving and receiving head equally. Being absolutely obsessed with you, and very secretly obsessed with the taste of your blood, he could die happily with your cum on his lips. Between your legs is his favorite place for real. As for receiving, it's his favorite way of shutting you up in any scenario.

Bruises. Everywhere. Hickeys. Everywhere. He's possessive but not exactly an exhibitionist, they end up along your collarbones and your thighs. Places where they can easily be hidden or revealed

Plays old music because he's old. He refuses to use modern technology because he likes his old as dirt aesthetic but definitely plays sexy orchestral music. I simply do not believe him to be an RnB kinda guy

He likes seeing you in his clothes after!! Going back to the whole love for domesticity thing, it just feels right. He's, shockingly, not always a horny fuck in the morning. Sometimes it feels more right to just look at you, the pretty after sex glow on your face, your messy hair, your cheeks pressed into the pillow. If you get up before him and put on what he had on the night before, it just completes the picture.

When he is a horny fuck in the morning, it's still just as soft and slow as the non-sexual mornings. He likes to be the big spoon simply because it's easier to slide his dick between your thighs and hold your tits at the same time

[mokulule]

A Pinch of Salt - snippet 2

Okay, so I have been reminded by @clockwayswrites that I could post some things instead of just hoarding them like the dragon in my icon. So here ya go. Maybe I'll even get around to updating Catnip in the coming days who knows. Previous

Fuck, Danny cursed internally as he struggled to keep up with the long-legged stride of Trenchcoat. Whatever had happened to that ghost to make it into something like that was not good, he needed to do something! But as long as Trenchcoat was here he couldn’t exactly do as he usually would: transform and punch it. The man had seemed very ready to do something to Danny and the unspeakable soul situation going on had Danny extremely leery of finding out what that something was.

At least getting eaten seemed unlikely from the man’s earlier horrified response.

So running.

They went down a hallway, up a staircase, down another hallway and into a would have been shop. They stopped for a moment in the square space catching their breath. Trenchcoat let go of him to go peek back around the corner. Finally Trenchcoat’s shoulders relaxed.

“We lost it for now.” Actually it was more like the ghost lost interest in them; as they’d gotten further and further away from the central plaza of the mall the ghost had stopped following them. Not that Danny was going to tell Trenchcoat that. He had no idea how he’d explain it in a way that didn’t make him extremely suspicious. His hair was dripping salty water making it hard to forget he’d already been assaulted twice - he did not wanna know what else the man stored up his sleeves.

Preferably, somehow he’d get Trenchcoat to leave.

The moment of inattention cost him as he was grabbed once again by Trenchcoat and towed through the would-maybe-someday be a store to a door in the back. This led to a store room and a door to the outside. It was unlocked it turned out and Danny realized this was probably how the man had gotten in.

“Alright, kiddo, time to leave.”

Trenchcoat opened the door and pushed at Danny’s back.

“No way!” Danny exclaimed digging his heels in.

“Yes way,” Trenchcoat mocked, “go home kid, I’m a professional.”



 There was no way Danny was leaving, not at this point. Ghosts were his area of expertise - or well, Danny couldn’t really claim to be an expert, but they were his responsibility at least! He had a unique skillset and no matter what Trenchcoat claimed, he did not look any sort of professional. He made his opinion of his claim known by giving the man his most dubious look.
 - 
John hated teenagers and this teenager in particular.

He didn’t know what it was about teenagers, but they were just merciless in their judgment in a way adults were probably usually too polite to be. In any case that little up and down there, with the slightly raised eyebrow made him feel like he’d worn a clown costume to an accounting job.

“Bloody Hell, will you just leave before I decide to feed you to the specter!”

The boy crossed his arms, standing his ground. “You can try.”

John dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“What are you even doing here?” “I’m here for the ghost.” Plain, even, said with not a smidge of hesitation. “You’re here for the-“ John cut himself off, hands opening and closing, inwardly cursing children and their stupid dares. “And what pray tell where ya gonna do when you found the ghost?”“I figured I’d try talking to them.”“You what?!” John spluttered. He’d expected him to say he hadn’t expected to find a ghost, there went his theory of this being a dare.

“There is no talking to that!” He pointed vaguely in the direction they’d lost the spectral storm. “Of all the sodden-“

“Them.”

John’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” “Them. They are a them, not an it or a that.”

John opened and closed his mouth. Was he really getting a lecture on pronouns?

“It is a spectral storm. Whatever poor spirit it used to be, is not there anymore. There’s no mind there, it’s pure emotion out of control. There’s no way back from that.”

The boy scowled at him, clearly disagreeing. It didn’t matter. 
John pointed at the door.

“Leave.” “No.” They stared at each other neither giving an inch.

Urgh, this had to be why Batman was so grumpy all the time. John could not do this. He threw up his hands and turned around. He worked around things, not through them and here he was engaging in the folly of arguing with a bloody teenager.

“Suit yourself.”

Gods, he needed a smoke. He’d hardly finished the thought before he was pulling the package of smokes out of its pocket with practiced ease. He was lighting the smoke by the time he noticed the unimpressed look he was getting. Satisfied, he took a deep drag and slowly breathed out the smoke. The kid grimaced and John smirked.

“Those are gonna kill you.” “As opposed to the rest of my lifestyle?” He returned with a nod in the direction of the Storm that probably couldn’t kill him, but the kid didn’t know that. Satisfied at the way the kid’s nose scrunched, he walked back the way they came from.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Kid asked falling in step with him, and John just knew he was being annoying on purpose with that tone of voice. He was not gonna bite. He was an adult. He kept his gaze straight ahead as the kid started guessing.

“Excorcist? Ghostbusters wannabe?”

There was a pause, then a flash of a sly smirk John only caught because he’d stopped to look down the hallway.

“Ectologist?” The suggestion hit John like a metaphysical sledgehammer and he recoiled in disgust.

“Fuck. No.” He shuddered an extra time as if that would remove the oily feeling. “I’m an occult detective. You happy now? Shit kid, you don’t pull your punches do you?”

-

“So what’s the plan, Trenchcoat?”

“Trenchcoat,” John mouthed to himself before shaking his head. “The plan is you keep out of the way and I deal with the raging ghostie.”

“Yeah, no, you’re gonna do better than that. This is not my first time dealing with a ghost. But I don’t know what occult detectives do.”

John pondered the statement about this not being the first time he’d dealt with a ghost, and maybe there was something to the death magics he gave off after all. He groaned internally, why was he doing this?

“Standard practice, kid. Contain and banish.” He held up first one finger then two.

Danny rolled his eyes. It didn’t sound too different from his approach to ghosts, he caught them and sent them back to the ghost zone, but Mr Occult Detective didn’t exactly carry around a Fenton thermos.

“And how do you contain? No,” he offset the clearly sarcastic response. “I mean what are your requirements?”

Trenchcoat rolled his eyes, but humored him.

“I need a large enough open space and a small moment of preparation, then just gotta lure it in and do a binding spell.”

Danny narrowed his eyes and looked towards where he felt the raging storm of ghost energy. “Like the plaza.”

“Ideally yes.”

“So you need a distraction.” Danny started walking. A hand fell on his shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you’re so insistent to stay, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Danny shrugged off the hand and turned around.

“The plaza is the center of the their power. You need someone to lure them away.” Danny watched the emotions flash across the man’s face with a small bit of amusement. He really didn’t want Danny involved if he could help it. Finally the man’s face settled on exasperation.

“I will figure something out.”

Danny smiled, taking a step backwards.

“No, you will give me a ten minutes headstart to lure our ghost friend far enough away they won’t immediately notice your stench so close to the heart of their haunt.”

As if sensing his intentions Trenchcoat made another grab for him which he dodged. And then he ran. He was sure it was only the threat of the ghost that prevented the man from yelling after him.

He just hoped he’d listened, because Danny was about to go piss off an already raging spirit. Trenchcoat better be ready.

Fun times.

[sebscore]

BLOOMING BOND | LEWIS H.

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader 

warnings: reference to his iconic 'imagine' tweet. talk about having kids. talk of not wanting an unpresent father. swearing.

author's note: this post by @allkindfangirl inspired me to write this and I hope she enjoys it :) 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Aunt Y/N, can you braid my hair, please?'' Willow walked up to the breakfast table, holding her pink hairbrush. 

The woman put her drink down, smiling down at the young girl. ''Of course, honey,'' she slid her chair back and got up, ''we'll do it inside so I can get ready myself.'' Y/N stuck out her hand and Willow swiftly took it. 

''Willow, what do you say to her?'' Her mother glanced at her, trying to look stern. The small girl huffed, seemingly embarrassed by her mother's reminder of having manners. ''Thank you, Y/N.'' The slight frown turned into a toothy grin as she looked up at her uncle's girlfriend. 

''You're welcome, Willow.'' Y/N chuckled, winking at Lewis who smiled at the pair. A skipping Willow dragged her inside the vacation home and made their way towards the bathroom. 

The rest of the family watched them leave with loving eyes, endeared by the interaction. ''Willow is obsessed with her.'' Nicola stated, looking at her brother. 

Her sister nodded her head. ''I know,'' she agreed, ''her hair needs to be like Y/N's, her clothes need to be like Y/N's- it's all I'm hearing these days.'' She sighed, not out of annoyance or agitation, but out of happiness that Willow had found a role-model in her brother's partner. 

''That's adorable,'' Lewis giggled, ''Y/N also loves her and Kaiden- always talking about how such good kids they are and wanting to buy them stuff.'' He told his family, recalling the times they had gone shopping and Y/N would see certain items that reminded her of the two kids. 

''It's very sweet.'' Anthony commented, the smile on Lewis' face bringing one to his own. 

Carmen scratched her voice. ''The little ones were very excited to see the two of you again. They were even naming all the things you could do together.'' The weeks leading up to the family vacation, Willow and Kaiden had been telling their grandmother's ear off about how much they were looking forward to it. 

''We were excited as well, it's been a while since we've all spent time like this together.'' Lewis answered, his heart melting at the thought of his niece and nephew being all giddy about seeing him and Y/N again. 

The other family members agreed. ''Yes, thank you so much for organising this, Lu.'' Samantha thanked him, sending an appreciative smile his way. 

''No, you don't have to thank me! It's my pleasure.'' He brushed her words off, growing shy. 

A comfortable silence fell upon them, bathing in the family time and the beautiful sight of the morning glow in Bali. That didn't last long, though. 

''CANNONBALL!'' 

The loud voice of Kaiden cut through the peace and the sound of someone landing in the pool interrupted the tranquillity of the moment. Lewis' brother-in-law quickly followed after his son and everyone went back to either eating or getting themselves ready for the activities of the day. 

''Nice braid, Willow.'' Lewis complimented his niece as she walked past him to go outside with her new hair, a braid with several flower accessories attached. 

''I know, Y/N did it.'' She told her uncle in a 'duh'-tone. 

Lewis simply laughed and walked to their room, finding his girlfriend changing into a beautiful spring dress. ''Hey, beauty.'' He kissed her cheek, admiring her in the mirror. 

''Hi, honey.'' Y/N smiled at him, adjusting the straps on her shoulders. 

''I just ran into miss Willow who had a beautiful braid in her hair.'' He grinned, grabbing his swimming trunks from his suitcase. ''I told her it looked nice and she just went ''I know, Y/N did it' with a little attitude, it was the funniest thing.'' He recalled the interaction with his niece, chuckling to himself. 

''I wonder where she gets that sassy attitude from.'' Y/N smirked, glancing at her boyfriend with a raised eyebrow. 

Lewis took off his infamous Senna shirt and threw it at her, the woman smoothly catching it. ''I have no idea what you're talking about, darling.'' He pretended, sheepishly smiling. 

''Oh, Mister 'Imagine' doesn't know what I'm talking about, huh?'' Y/N lightly mocked him, folding his shirt and laying it on one of the chairs. 

The Mercedes driver took off his shorts and boxers, switching them for his swimming wear. ''Anyway,'' he changed the topic, making her laugh, ''we were just talking about how well you and the little ones get along.'' A fond smile found its way to his face, remembering the conversation he had earlier. 

''Really? That's cute, Lew.'' A few years ago it would have freaked her out if she knew his family had been talking about her, but a loving bond had bloomed over the course of her relationship with Lewis and now she considered them family as well. 

''Yeah,'' he walked up behind her, trapping her in a back hug, ''it made me think about something.'' 

''About what?'' Y/N looked at him through the mirror. 

''About us having our own kids.'' 

The sudden mention surprised her, her eyebrows raised and eyes widened. They had discussed it before, but some time had passed between that last conversation and now. ''Oh.'' 

''I know we said we would continue the discussion when it's my last F1 season, but I just couldn't help but think about it when you walked away with Willow.'' Lewis confessed, a dreamy look in his eyes. 

''I understand,'' she smiled, ''you'd be a great dad, Lewis.'' 

Sometimes it was hard to ignore the warm feeling she got when she saw Lewis with kids, it made her daydream about her future with the Formula One star. Y/N was okay with waiting until Lewis was ready to retire, though. She wanted a present father for her children- not one that was away most of the time and missed all the important milestones in their children's life. 

''And you will be the most amazing mother.'' He pressed a kiss to her temple, reveling in the feeling of having the love of his life in his arms. 

''Sir Uncle and Aunt Y/N sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes baby. In a baby carriage!'' Kaiden and Willow chorused, yelling the popular playground nursery rhyme through the house. 

The couple laughed at the comedic interruption, pulling away from one another. ''Maybe it's not that bad to wait a few years, I'm not ready for that yet.'' Lewis joked, grabbing a towel and his phone. 

''Dream on, honey.'' Y/N teased, walking to their bathroom and taking the sunscreen from one of the cabinets. 

Lewis stuck his head through the bathroom door, a smirk playing on his lips. ''I do have a wild imagination.'' He winked, referring to his own song with Christina Aguilera. 

''Fuck off, XNDA,'' she tried throwing a discarded towel at him, ''I like Kendrick more, anyway.''

[starkwlkr]

Ruby is such an icon‼️

could you do something where her pre-k does a daddy and daughter dance and Charles takes her shopping for a new dress and ruby helps charles get all ready (like the princess he is)😭😭?

beauty and the beast | charles leclerc

When Y/n got an e-mail from Ruby’s school saying that they were going to have a father daughter dance, the first thing she did was make sure Charles was free of anything F1 related. She then texted Charles a screenshot of the e-mail. Charles was far too excited when he got the message. He started to book nail appointments and asked around with his friends who had kids on which shop had the best dresses for little kids. He truly wanted everything to be perfect. He had even asked Pascale if she could do Ruby’s hair for the dance, which she happily accepted.

“Okay, let’s go Ruby Jules, we only have a week until the dance and we still have to get your dress!” Charles called out from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m a pretty princess! I’m a pretty princess! I’m a pretty princess!” Ruby sang as she walked down the stairs with her little purse that Charles bought for her.

The father daughter duo went to multiple shops in Monte Carlo and by 2 PM, Ruby had finally found the perfect dress. Before they could continue with finding her shoes, they decided to eat so Charles drove to their favorite restaurant.

“There’s this girl in my class and she says her maman is putting makeup on her for the dance.” Ruby told Charles as they ate their lunch.

“If this is your way of asking if you can put makeup on, the answer is no.” Charles replied.

“But it’s glittery! Maman has pretty lipgloss.”

“You can put a little and that’s it.”

Ruby groaned. “When can I put the rest on?”

“When you’re older.” Charles replied.

“Old like you?” Ruby asked honestly.

“Just eat your food.”

The day before the dance came and Ruby was watching the dancing scene from ‘Beauty and The Beast’. She watched Belle’s movements and copied them exactly. She even wore her favorite pink tutu so she could feel like a princess. She wanted to be like Belle so she searched for a pair of her maman’s heels and put the on her tiny feet.

“See? You have to do it like the Beast! You’re noticing right.” Ruby explained to her papa.

“You’re a better dancer than me, Mon amour. I don’t know how to dance.” Charles admitted.

“Grab my hand and I’ll show you.” Ruby reached out to him.

“If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”

When Y/n got home from grocery shopping, she found Ruby and Charles on the floor giggling. She found it cute until she saw her heels she wore at her wedding on the floor.

“You look so beautiful, Ruby! Let me take a picture so I can send it to your uncles and aunts. Oh, my sweet girl.” Pascale placed a kiss on the girl’s cheek. She had just finished doing Ruby’s hair.

Ruby smiled at Paascale camera and even did a pose. Pascale then called for Charles, who was just done with his tie, to take a picture with his daughter. The father and daughter smiled as Pascale took multiple pictures.

“Papa, can you stand right there?” Ruby pointed to the spot next to Pascale. “Wait, come here, your hair isn’t pretty enough! It has to be likes this!” She ‘fixed’ his hair like she saw her grand-mère do to him thousands of times before.

“Mon amour, it’s fine. Where do you want me to stand?” Ruby pointed again to where she wanted him.

Charles was confused, but he did was he was told. “Grand-mère, take a picture of me like this please!” Ruby then did a couple poses of her own with her tongue sticking out and holding up a peace sign.

“You sneaky girl.”

“You two look so adorable.” Y/n awed at her family. “Hopefully Mathéo has a mother son dance. Is that a thing? It better be.”

“If not, we can always make one right here,” Charles placed a kiss on Y/n’s lips. “We have to go, don’t wait up, this princess and I are going to party all night.”

In reality, by 9:30 PM, they were both knocked out on the sofa since all the dancing and eating many slices of cake tired them out.

liked by carla.brocker, landonorris and 748,890 others

charles_leclerc our first school dance of many!

danielricciardo was landonorris the dj?

y/nleclerc the best dressed in the entire dance <3

arthur_leclerc did you fall? please tell me you did and that someone recorded.

View all 34,477 comments

[sheenashifts1217]

Pick a Pile No.1

Welcome to my first Pick a Pile :)

This is a collective reading so it may resonate more for some than others. Take what helps you and leave what doesn’t. 💗

If you’d like a personal reading, I currently have a deal in my shop for a free five song channeled playlist with any purchase of an s/o reading. Check my pinned post for more details.😊

What Advice Will Aid Your Shifting Journey

Choose pile 1, 2, or 3

Take a breath and simply pick the one you feel most drawn to.

(Top left pile 1, top right pile 2, bottom pile 3)

Pile 1

Lyrics standing out:

“You b**** ain’t like me

Dance in the breeze

A man with the sleaze

Stop it, get another topic

I got the nerve

And I block it

You’re a brat

Cause I never repeat

Do what I say like Simon

I’m a VIP

Sorry I’m pretty and easy to hate”

Okay pile 1, I SEE YOU GUYS!!! 💅🏼 This pile is short and sweet because you all know what you need, self aware queens. You all know your power, and as you should. For those of you in this pile who really know your power, own it more, step into it, actually practice it.

It feels like you all know what you need to do and you know you can shift, you’re just being lazy. PUT THE WORK IN. But frl, it seems like you guys really just need to set some time aside to focus on shifting and your DR because you know what to do, you just feel too busy. It’s okay to take a breath. Some of you all in this pile may also be rushing yourself. Allow yourself to accept what your experiencing and just let it flow. It’s already yours, you already have all of your desires.

Overall, pile 1, you guys are baddies whether you know it or not. Step into that power, own it, and use it. Make time for yourself and slow down a little. You don’t have to experience everything at the same time, that’s why you have a life, spend it.

Confirmation: 222, 444, Aquarius, ford mustang, hot pink, purple number 4, Elmo?, Sesame Street, Disney, neon green nails

Pile 2

Lyrics standing out:

“Trying to cover up my face

Try and stay calm

Something missing

I think looks wrong

When pretty isn’t pretty enough

What do you do?

I could change up my body and change up my face

You can win the battle

Insecure

Try to ignore it

I don’t know why I even try (I see the starfish position)

Just feel like sh*** over and over again”

Hi pile 2! You guys are giving me 2020 shiftok vibes. A lot of you probably started to practice shifting around 2019/2020 and were fed a lot of misinformation and now you feel like that is stopping you, but it doesn’t have to, let that go. You are in charge of your own reality so take that misinformation and use it as a learning experience. Don’t be discouraged because it was false or didn’t work for you, that’s good because now you’re one step closer to knowing yourself and what does work for you!

You may be a person that is on social media a lot in general or just hyperaware of others lives and you’re comparing yourself to them. STOP IT. Everyone’s experience is their own. When you see someone else’s success or experience, you don’t know what went down before that. Focus on yourself and what is meant for you, will happen. Accept it and take charge of it. You may be one who relies on others success for your own motivation as well, this is your sign to rely on yourself. Connect with your higher self and trust your intuition.

Keep going pile 2! You guys have put in time and energy this far, what’s a little longer? Your efforts are not in vain. You’ve got this. Trust yourself!

Confirmation: tiktok, iPhone, 13, dodge, dodgers, football, Dallas cowboy cheerleaders, red white & blue, Olympics, gymnastics, toe nails, 12

Pile 3

Lyrics standing out:

“Light headed

For some reason I find myself lost in what you think of me

And too confused who I should be

In a big old world

We’re so alike

When I cross that line

It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body they stuck me in

Am I pretty enough to lie to you

Let me be the void you fill

I am quantum physics

My witness brings me to existence

So I can be your girlfriend boyfriend”

Hello my lovely pile 3! You all feel trapped either in your bodies or just to this reality in general. You have put shifting to your DR on a pedestal or even a part of you doesn’t want to accept that it’s real because you may not feel worthy. Remind yourself that you are constant, flowing energy.

Some of you have been so focused on “finding yourself”, that instead you have used the 3D to define who you are in the 4D. Make the two align.

Try to focus more on the “what” of shifting, instead of the “how”. Feel those connections and emotions you have in your DR. Maybe focus on one in particular that is important to you. Focus on one DR at a time. You have overwhelmed yourself with the thoughts of wanting to shift and being everywhere at once. Take your time and enjoy your CR as well. Shifting is an act and a journey, it’s real life, so make sure you’re still taking care of yourself.

In summary, you are more than your body. You are your thoughts and emotions and your actions, your love and energy you spread. Own that energy and use it for your benefit. Focus on who you are and what it is you want. Try to have a clear idea of that, then connect to it. Once you feel that connection, that’s it. Congratulations it’s now yours. Forget the 3D and just know it’s already yours.

Confirmation: red, Taylor Swift, (Taylor’s version), reputation, Niall Horan, train, Liam Payn, 2222, lock and key, hearts, stars, moon, “go piss girl”, dress to impress

[itsonlydana]

I wanted to ask if you could please please write sonething about Thranduil x fem!reader (in an established relationship) where they go shopping for dresses together because reader needs one for a ball they are going to attend. And you know Thranduil being the fashion icon he is, is only picking the best of the best like he wants reader to slay and him being completely dedicated and not afraid to keep everyone running and busy for that haha

Pretty in Pink & Beautiful in Blue | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

You and Thranduil go shopping

tags/warnings: fluff, really rich!Thranduil

word count: 3,1k

an: i started this when i went shopping for my Eras-Tour dress but then writers-block hit me over the head and I had barely any time to even try getting back into it.. welp

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

You look absolutely horrendous, stuffed into the tiniest fitting room with harsh white fluorescent light showing off the tiniest of flaws and impurities on the contorted face looking back at you in the four mirrors – seriously, who needs to see themselves like this in not one, but four mirrors? Definitely not you, not right now, or ever, if you're completely honest, because if the lightning doesn't hold any punches back, then you wouldn't as well.

"Darling, are you alright?" Thranduil's voice carries over the blaring instore music, which has been rotating around the ten same chart songs, not just overplaying them but they didn't do them any favors by playing them at a volume that made normal conversation impossible. Any attempt of quietly asking Thranduil for a bigger size or a dress that didn't look atrocious becomes futile by the tunes of pop and weirdly mixed-in raving music. 

"I have a headache and the dress is stupid," you call back and lift a hand to massage your temple. 

The thin curtain rustles as Thranduil opens it a slit and immediately the room shrinks even more. Your boyfriend, not really boyfriend – the word doesn't quite fit for the tall man scrutinizing the yellow number that sits so tight around your bust that breathing becomes harder, tilts his head and the long strands of his blonde hair fall to your naked shoulders. "Sorry, I didn't catch that over the –" he gestures to the speakers built into the cheap ceiling tiles and the corner of his mouth twitches in disgust "music. Again, what did you say?"

You lean closer to the mirror, plucking at the fabric around your waist for a bit more room. "I said my head's about to explode and so will this dress if I even think about exhaling what little air I have left in me." If the mirror didn't look like it hadn't been cleaned in forever you would've rested your forehead against it to cool down a bit but there are fingerprints and weird handprints all over so you decide against that and simply pout. 

Thranduil smiles in sympathy and lets his large hands move soothingly over your arms. "Let's get you out of this dress and us out of this, well, disgrace of a boutique, yes?" he asks, kissing the back of your head. 

"Mhm," you hum in agreement though it irks you that he had been right from the start that this shop wouldn't have any fitting clothes for the gala you were invited to. 

Or any gala. But especially not the benefit ball one of Thranduil's closest friends had organized to be held in the old national theatre two weeks from now – so, relatively close considering you had pushed the whole shopping for a dress and jewelry and shoes away from your mind until Thranduil had nonchalantly asked over breakfast which color his suit should have and you nearly broke down over your avocado toast and eggs because you hadn't the faintest idea. The first stores you tried had been disaster after disaster, not only given the underwhelming amount of dress choices that made the list for maybe-just-maybe-possible-if-i-don't-find-anything-else more so because you had stubbornly tried to convince Thranduil that you would be fine. You did not need his help, thank you very much you know what you like and what looks good on you but then the disappointed groans over annoying zippers or itchy fabric grew simultaneously to the headache that pounds away behind your temples and led to where you were now: metaphorically waving the white flag.

Thranduil's lips move to the left, teasingly nipping the shell of your ear. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing," he murmures lowly and you give in to a chuckle. 

"We'll see, honey."

Not even half an hour later you're biting your words as Thranduil strolls into one of the chicest stores you have ever seen and immediately gets greeted by two young girls who smile brightly as he slides over his credit card before you have the chance to protest. 

This is nothing like the overfilled tourist spots that have clothes ranging from toddlers to clothes fit for old ladies who strangely smell all the same and offer you mints that had been dusting up in the bottom of their handbags for longer than you have been alive for. 

For one thing, you realize there are no more than two articles of each thing hanging on the clothing racks, and secondly, everything's hung up. There aren't tables with meter-high folded jeans on them which makes it impossible to actually find the size you're looking for without playing Tetris; all the heavy wooden tables are beautifully decorated with necklaces, rings as well as bracelets in all metals. The ambiance is the total opposite and the chilled air is a blessing after the sweaty hours of pulling on dresses and walking around kids screaming for the new Elsa shirt. 

Thranduil obviously feels more at ease here, he fits right in with his sharp dress pants, the white knitted sweater top, and the large brown sunglasses that he pushes up into his light hair as he becomes the center of attention by simply existing in this space. Day by day you're in awe of him.

"So, Darling, what would you feel more comfortable in — a lighter chiffon, satin crepe, or simply normal satin?" Thranduil steers you both in the direction of a rack with a few dresses that have caught your eye while Thranduil gives your size to the girls. 

"I honestly have no idea." You shrug your shoulders in a soft laughter but that doesn't discourage him.

"Then I will pull out one of each and you try them all on," Thranduil says and his eyes crinkle in what you could call full-hearted delight, "Oh, I have dreamt about this! Now, come on," he throws a look at the nametag of the redhead that expectantly trails after you two, "Tauriel, could you be a dear and show my love where the dressing rooms are?"

"Of course," Tauriel chirps and offers you a warm smile and her elbow which you hesitantly take.

Thranduil quickly leans in for a kiss before he's already back on flicking through the dresses. "Ah, we will take a bottle of iced water as well! Bring that to the fitting rooms, I will join you in a minute."

As your shoes click over the wooden floors Tauriel gently pulls you along into a separate area closed off from the large windows that flood the showroom with natural light but have a clear view into the much quieter street yet you let out a tensed breath when you see there's no way anyone from the outside can see you here. The space is just as open with no more than five stalls that probably fit three or four people and they have heavy red curtains instead of the flimsy ones that offer basically no protection whatsoever. A few low tables are strewn over the carpeted floor, each with two dark red sofas that offer those waiting a seat, and to your surprise, there's already a clear bottle of sparkling water on one of these tables.

"You're really fast," you note as Tauriel pulls one curtain open and takes your jacket.

"Of course, practice paths the way to perfection and we offer nothing but perfection," she says and her smile shows two dimples on either side of her lightly dusted cheeks. 

Though it sounds like a … practiced slogan, you fully believe her. 

"Okay, I have some dresses I would like you to try on." Thranduil comes around the corner, holding a glass of water himself that he takes an appreciating sip of. Close behind him, the other woman carries what he apparently had picked out for you with effortless grace, despite the fact one of the dresses must weigh a ton by the amount of fabric that pools over the arms of the blonde. Thranduil slides into the chair positioned toward where you stand in the open curtains, gawking as the woman hangs the first dress on the wall inside the fitting room. A smirk rests on Thranduil's lips and he props up both arms on the chair, leaning his head against his fist. "Now, you have fun with these, yes?" he drawles.

After the curtains close and you're left alone to undress, brushing off your shoes to stand on the wooden floor, folding your pants and shirt into a neat pile that you put on the small bench provided, you let your hands run over the ruffles of the pale pink dress. There isn't a tag or anything else that could help you figure out the price or size but when you step into the dress you find it sits perfectly around your chest and brushes the floor just enough that a pair of heels would lift it accordingly.

Despite the room you have you hold your breath as you zip up the dress yourself. While looking in the mirror you pull the frilled arms to sit on your shoulders, the frill and tulle tickling your skin lightly like sunray kisses in the morning, and in the golden light, you stare at the reflection in the mirror, full-on blown away by the gentleness this dress radiates and how the crystal embellishment in the corset-like bodice glitter and shine like teardrops.

"Okay," you say, "I've got the first one on!" 

The chatter of Thranduil and the girls outside falls silent as you pull away the curtain and shyly make a few steps forward. In a lame and awkward movement – the result of the blank stare that took over Thranduil's face – you gesture to the dress rustling with the movement.  "Ta-da?"

"Pretty," he finally says and lifts a finger, "give me a twirl, sweetheart?"

You follow his request and the ruffles fly up as you turn around yourself, chuckling at the airy feeling of fabric floating around, gemstones glittering as much as the amusement and adoration twinkles in Thranduil's eyes. Just for him, you courtesy, tipping your head down in one smooth, practised movement at the same angle you bend your knee and send him a cheeky wink through lowered lashes; an act that rewards you with deep laughter.

"We will take this one," Thranduil orders when you straighten up again.

You tilt your head in confusion. "I haven't tried on the other ones yet."

"I know." Thranduil sits back in his chair and folds one long leg over the other. He seems unbothered by your inquiring look that changes into scrutinizing at his casual demeanor. He copies you, tilting his head to one side and brushing the long hair that follows back behind his ear again.

"What?" he asks and lifts an eyebrow, "Darling, I'm rich. Try on whatever you like. It does not matter if we leave this shop with one dress packed up or four. All that counts is that you have fun and find a gown you feel comfortable in for the ball. Now –," Thranduil takes a moment to smile at you after his lips had contorted into that much-to-sure-of-himself smirk that appeared on his faultless face whenever the talk of money and his habit of spending – in your humble opinion – far too much and carelessly on you lightened your cheeks up. "Tauriel will hold on to this pretty number while you change into the next one."

The heat doesn't leave your face at all as the redhead slips behind the curtains, though it's far more gentle when you realize the woman shows no interest in your body but her chilled hands work fast yet precise on unzipping the pink dress; her professionalism is only broken when a mischievous and knowing smile flits across her lips.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, holding up the midnight blue gown that has more layers than any of the others: "If I may be so honest and direct – many men walk into this store to shut their wives up with new clothes or such but your man?" she laughs once and shakes her head, "You've chosen well, that's all that I can say without sounding as jealous as I am."

"Oh," you blush again. Being put under such a spotlight, even one as soft and golden as the lamps around you, is never easy even though it's quite common nowadays. Being around Thranduil has that affect, that much you had noticed right when you two met and of course, you know that being on the arm of one of the most gorgeous rich men you've ever seen pushes you in the lens as well. Not once has anyone ever told you that he's yours. Your choice. Your man. Butterflies spread in your stomach, looping through the hot blood until you hiccup a burst of laughter. 

"I'm wasn't used to being spoiled that much," you don't know why exactly you feel the need to confess but maybe it's less of a need for confession or the defense and deflecting answers you normally gave but rather something more simple – hushed conversations about a boy between two girls in a fitting room. 

And following the encouraging nod from Tauriel you lean into the conversation. You whisper while she helps you step into the dress, giggle as she pulls on the satin strings that tighten the simple yet elegant bodice and quickly fall into fawning over Thranduil's openness to buy you whatever you want, whenever you want. 

"–so I just gave in and let him bring me here," you ramble and pull in your stomach slightly for Tauriel to drape the fabric correctly, looking up at you through her cocky red fringe, "A good decision, much better than trying on another one of this tight latex dresses, because now I can actually breathe and you are so so nice!"

"You're one of my favorite customers as well. The others can be so boring and uptight. It's refreshing to dress you; you don't complain and look much happier to be around me," Tauriel says and stands up from where she had kneeled, laying her hands on your shoulders and the thin straps to turn you around to the mirror. She smiles at you in the reflection, red contrasting the ink-blue shimmering dress like a fire blazing through the night, her smile contagious and unstoppable. "We should probably go out and stun your man into silence again. Before you came out he just couldn't stop talking about what colors fit your skin tone best and on and on he went–" She wiggles her eyebrows teasingly, "all that stopped the moment he saw you in that pink dress. Go get him again, tiger!"

She encouragingly nudges you forward, a motivation much needed because after her small speech you rather want to run up to him and kiss him senseless but instead of following that instinct, you push away the curtains and find him pacing the room up and down. His head snaps to you instinctively, completely blending out Tauriel who walks past you with a mumbled: "Oops, may have chatted a bit too long" and stares at you.

"My my."

"So?" 

The dress follows your steps toward him. Immediately he scans the hem, sharp eyes already calculating.

"We need to shorten it," he says and beckons you closer with two fingers. You stop in front of him, his head at the level of your heart, fluttering underneath the silky fabric covering your chest. One of his hands comes to rest on your hips, rubbing his thumb in slow circles while the other inspects the hem. "An inch will suffice if you wear a higher heel, two for your pair of kitten heels." 

"Mhm," you ponder and lift the dress just enough for your ankles to flash into view. 

Without taking his eyes away from you, Thranduil's hand slips to caress the delicate skin. "You look beautiful if I haven't told you that already." 

"You haven't," you tease and shudder as he scratches his nails over your calve. "I wouldn't mind hearing it again, though." 

The hand on your hip wanders to your lower back and in a second he draws you down to him, evoking a squeal and laugh by the surprising tip to your balance. "You, my little firecracker, you are beautiful in this dress," he drawls but before you can lean in further, hoping to get a kiss out of this as well as the compliments, he playfully taps your arse. 

"You have no shame," you scoff, cheeks flaming hot and you do your best not to check for Tauriel, who you can hear hiding her laughter behind a soft cough. 

"Get your pretty and beautiful self into that last dress or I'll show you how shameless I can be," Thranduil says it like a joke – you, however, can read him like an open book, and the words written on the audacious smirk his lips curve into are far too bold and totally something he would do. 

Out of any other ways to answer if you didn't want your voice to fail you, you stick out your tongue and disappear behind the curtains. 

The rest of the evening flies by in more dresses and Thranduil's reaction to every single one catapults you to a completely new sphere of feeling loved and desired. By the time you try on a silver dress that hugs your figure close and has a neckline that plunges deep down, he looks ready to bark out the order to pack it all up and go home but instead, he draws you into a kiss and leaves you breathless enough to only nod in agreement of the dress. After the dresses comes the jewelry, most of it pieces that Thranduil insists on buying as well, no thought going after any price – as soon as you smile at your reflection of fiddle with a charm on a wristband, Thranduil whisks his hand and it's added to the growing pile of evening wear. There's no possible way you would ever have a chance in deciding what exactly you will wear to the gala but Thranduil makes sure there are enough options.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[mavrintarou]

[Daddies in December] Miya Osamu

I tell you, Miya Osamu is something else.

Warning: trigger (accidental black eye), smut

.

Osamu finally looked at his phone after the sudden rush in the kitchen. He felt the vibration of his phone in the back of his pocket but couldn’t check it until almost an hour later.

His eyes widened and he zoomed into the picture Y/n just sent him.

Look, I’m a pirate!

She had an eye patch over her left eye with a smile that never fails to flutter his heart.

He didn’t bother to look at the time and pressed the camera icon, video-calling her.

She rejected his call and he called again.

I’m in a parent-teacher meeting.

Osamu let out a frustrated sigh, so many questions were attacking him, and he needed answers.

.

“Kitchen.” Was all he said when Y/n stepped foot into his shop.

Y/n and Megumi, the cashier exchanged looks. “He’s been waiting for you,” Megumi whispered, “asking every five minutes if you’re here yet.” He gestured for her to hurry and go, “good luck.”

Y/n dragged her feet and sighed before walking towards the kitchen where Osamu’s office is located. She smiled and greeted Osamu’s staff in the kitchen as they all stared at her with wide eyes.

She stepped into Osamu’s office, and he was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He quietly ordered, “close the door.”

As if she were a child in trouble, she closed the door behind her and then looked at her husband. “It was an accident,” she quickly said all under one breath. “I was at the wrong spot and wrong time and… didn’t see the baseball…”

Osamu inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I don’t like you getting hurt, anywhere on your body but Y/n,” he paused before stating, “what if it wasn’t your eye but instead your tummy?”

“I know,” Y/n mumbled, she had those exact thoughts, and thank the Gods it was her eye instead of her tummy. She placed both her hands on her flat tummy, where their baby was nourishing.

They had just found out they were expecting, Y/n being almost ten weeks pregnant.

Osamu has since then become even more protective and clingy. He has changed all the ingredients in their home, waking up earlier to pack her breakfast, three snack packs, and lunch. It was all approved meals and snacks for pregnant women.

Without further questions, he opened his arms, “come here.” She shuffles over and stands in between his long legs, allowing his long arms to wrap tightly around her waist. “I swear I cannot leave you alone without you getting hurt some way or somehow.” He pulled away and gently, ever so, tilted her chin upward, “can I see it?”

“Sure,” Y/n answered as he carefully lifted off the patch. She hears his breath hitched, “I’ve been icing it, so the swelling went down.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t stop the bruise from forming.” Osamu clicked his tongue; the skin was already turning a shade of blue and purple. “Those asshole students.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face against his broad chest. “I’ll be more careful and be more aware of my surroundings.”

“You need to let them know you are pregnant.” He has told her to announce it to her coworkers and students but she has been putting it off. But with this incident, Osamu is about to make the announcement himself.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow, I promise.”

.

Y/n refrained from announcing her pregnancy because she was the daughter of the principal. It was already challenging trying to get the teachers to treat her fairly and equally without special privileges. With the news of her pregnancy spreading around the school like wildfire, the staff and students all congratulated her.

“Haku,” Y/n has been pleading to the high school boy kneeling before her to stand up. “I’m fine, please… get up.”

He refuses to bulge. “I’m so sorry,” he said for the nth time. He felt even more guilty after hearing about her pregnancy.

“Okay, I accept your apology, please stand up now.” She has been trying to pull him up. Y/n suddenly thought of something. She cleared her throat before voicing hesitantly, “you know, me trying to get you off your knees will only make me stressed and upset…”

Haku immediately looked up at his teacher with panicked eyes and stood up, pulling his teacher up from a bending position.

Y/n smiled softly, patting him on the head, “it was an accident, I forgive you, okay?”

.

Y/n unwrapped the last snack Osamu had packed her, snacking on it and relaxing against her office chair.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Miya, I cannot take you seriously at all.” Y/n’s colleague giggled, they burst out in a fit of giggles.

“I know – I can’t even take myself seriously at all when I see my reflection.” Y/n choked, wiping her teary eyes. “I noticed that Osamu can’t even look at me.”

The eye patch on her eye did make Y/n look a little ridiculous and she got plenty of stares when she was out in public but it was better than revealing the ugly shade of blue and purple skin underneath.

.

Y/n found her husband in their bed, crawled towards him, and swung her legs over Osamu’s body, straddling his waist. “Look at me,” Y/n demanded sternly before her serious expression morphed into a playful one. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “Do you think I’m ugly with my purple eye?”

Osamu set his phone down, frowning before glaring at her. “You are not ugly at all.”

“Even with my purple eye?”

Osamu reached to pull her down so he could press a kiss to her forehead before pressing a kiss to her purple eye, murmuring, “even with your purple eye.”

Y/n slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him. “Good, for a second there I thought you found me ugly.”

Osamu rolled his eyes but a smile was on his lips. “It’s hard to take you seriously…”

Y/n hummed in agreement, pressing kisses to his neck. She could hear his breath hitch and smiled mischievously.

They have not had sex since they discovered she was pregnant two weeks ago.

“Y/n…” Osamu whispered his Adam’s Apple bobbed. He could feel her bare heat, rubbing over his cock, the only thing separating and preventing him from thrusting into her pussy was the cotton material of his boxers. “You’re really testing my control right now…”

Y/n lifted her head to stare down at him, “is that what it is? You haven’t touched me in two weeks because you’ve been controlling it?”

“I don’t want to hurt you and the baby.”

Y/n couldn’t help but giggle, “’Samu, love – you won’t hurt us. At all.”

He looked away with embarrassment, “I might be too hard on you…”

She pecked his lips softly, assuring him, “you won’t, I know you, you won’t ever hurt us intentionally.” Her hands shift to cup his chest, running her thumb over his nipples and making him hiss. “So, please make love to me, I need you.”

Osamu stares into his wife’s eyes, remembering why he fell in love with her in the first place. His lips curve into a smile and he looks away before chuckling. “Your purple eye…”

Y/n rolled her eyes, getting off of him and then off the bed.

Osamu tried to reach for her but missed. “Baby, please – don’t leave, come back… I’ll make love to you.”

“Hold on,” she murmured, going into their closet, she reached for the nearest tie and returned. “I’ll cover my eyes because I don’t want you killing the mood while I’m trying to cum.”

.

“Wish you could… see this…” Osamu said quietly, looking at his cock already oozing cum.

Kneeling in between her spread legs was his wife, eyes covered with his tie and wrists bound together with another tie.

“I never thought I get so turned on being tied up like this,” Y/n whispered, “I’m getting impatient, ‘Samu…”

Osamu presses the tip of his cock to her pussy, smearing his fluid against her clit. It absolutely makes him feral to spread his cum all over her. With her eyes covered, it was a different type of excitement within Osamu.

He pushed her tied wrists, positioning them above her head. “Be a good girl and keep it there at all times.”

“Yes, daddy…”

Osamu lets out a breath, “fuck – you just know how to push my buttons, don’t you?”

“I can push all your buttons, daddy.”

Hooking her legs over his shoulder, he folded her nearly in half and entered her in one full thrust. “I should enjoy fucking you in this position before your belly gets bigger.” His hips roll in smooth motions, “after all, this is the position that probably knocked you up.”

No matter how many times Osamu has taken her in this position, it always feels like the first. She remembers the first time Osamu discovered this position, and how deep he felt inside her, it has since then become his favorite position to put her in.

Her cute whimpers were in sync with his thrusts, exciting him, and making him fasten his pace.

“You feel so… soft… softer than usual,” he pants, “you’re squeezing me so tightly…”

“Osamu,” Y/n whimpered, “ah – I love it… I love how deep you are…”

Osamu shifted onto his knees, pounding deeper into her. Their room echoed with skin on skin.

“So close…” Y/n chanted, her belly coiled with tingles and tremors before cumming.

With a groan, Osamu slowed his pace, spilling his cum deep inside. His body jerked and tremble as Y/n’s pussy squeezed and milked every ounce out of him.

Osamu gently releases her legs. He grabs her bounded wrists and brings them over his head, hooking them around his neck. With a supported hand around her lower back, he tugs her upward.

He reached to pull down the tie covering her eyes. “Hey,” he smiles, kissing her. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, “that was mind-blowing.”

. . .

E/n: will come back and edit!

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

[gothhabiba]

loving your falafel research saga and just wanted to ask - something I remember hearing about falafel is that while Israeli culture definitely appropriated it, the concept of serving it in pita bread with salads, tahini etc. is a specifically Israeli twist on the dish. I wonder if you found/know anything about that?

The short answer is: it's not impossible, but I don't think there's any way to tell for sure. The long answer is:

The most prominent claim I've heard of this nature is specifically that Yemeni Jews (who had immigrated to Israel under 'right of return' laws and were Israeli citizens) invented the concept of serving falafel in "pita" bread in the 1930s—perhaps after they (in addition to Jews from Morocco or Syria) had brought falafel over and introduced it to Palestinians in the first place.

"Mizrahim brought falafel to Palestine"

This latter claim, which is purely nonsense (again... no such thing as Moroccan falafel!)—and which Joel Denker (linked above) repeats with no source or evidence—was able to arise because it was often Mizrahim who introduced Israelis to Palestinian food. Mizrahi falafel sellers in the early 20th century might run licensed falafel stands, or carry tins full of hot falafel on their backs and go from door to door selling them (see Shaul Stampfer on a Yemeni man doing this, "Bagel and Falafel: Two Iconic Jewish Foods and One Modern Jewish Identity," in Jews and their Foodways, p. 183; this Arabic source mentions a 1985 Arabic novel in which a falafel seller uses such a tin; Yael Raviv writes that "Running falafel stands had been popular with Yemenite immigrants to Palestine as early as the 1920s and ’30s," "Falafel: A National Icon," Gastronomica 3.3 (2003), p. 22).

On Mizrahi preparation of Palestinian food, Dafna Hirsch writes:

As Sami Zubaida notes, Middle Eastern foodways, while far from homogeneous, are nevertheless describable in a vocabulary and set of idioms that are “often comprehensible, if not familiar, to the socially diverse parties” [...]. Thus, for the Jews who arrived in Palestine from the Middle East, Palestinian Arab foods and foodways were “comprehensible, if not familiar,” even if some of the dishes were previously unknown to most of them. [...] They found nothing extraordinary or exotic in the consumption, preparation, and selling of foods from the Palestinian Arab kitchen. Therefore, it was often Mizrahi Jews who mediated local foods to Ashkenazi consumers, as street food vendors and restaurant owners. ("Urban Food Venues as Contact Zones between Arabs and Jews during the British Mandate Period," in Making Levantine Cuisine: Modern Foodways of the Eastern Mediterranean, p. 101).

Raviv concurs and furnishes a possible mechanism for this borrowing:

Other Mizrahi Jewish vendors sold falafel, which by the late 1930s had become quite prevalent and popular on the streets of Tel Aviv. [...] Tel Aviv had eight licensed Mizrahi falafel vendors by 1941 and others who sold falafel without a license. [FN: The Tel Aviv municipality granted vending license to people who could not make their living in any other way as a form of welfare.] Many of the vendors were of Yemenite origins, although falafel was unknown in Yemen. [FN: Many of the immigrants from Yemen arrived in Palestine via Egypt, so it is possible that they learned to prepare it there and then adjusted the recipe to the Palestinian version, which was made from chickpeas and not from fava beans (ṭaʿmiya). Shmuel Yefet, an Israeli falafel maker, tells about his father, Yosef Ben Aharon Yefet, who arrived in Palestine from Aden [Yemen] in the early 1920s and then traveled to Port Said in 1939. There he became acquainted with ṭaʿmiya, learned to prepare it, and then went back to Palestine and opened a falafel shop in Tel Aviv [youtube video].]*

But why claim that Yemeni Jews invented falafel (or at least that they had introduced it from Yemen), even though its adoption from Palestinian Arabs in the early days of the second Aliya, aka the 1920s (before Mizrahim had begun to immigrate in larger numbers; see Raviv, p. 20) was within living memory at this point (i.e. the 1950s)? Raviv notes that an increasing (I mean, actually she says new, which... lol) negative attitude towards Arabs in the wake of the Nakba (I mean... she says "War of Independence") created a new sense of urgency around de-Arabizing "Israeli" culture (p. 22). Its association with Mizrahi sellers allowed falafel to "be linked to Jewish immigrants who had come from the Middle East and Africa" and thus to "shed its Arab association in favor of an overarching Israeli identification" (p. 21).

Stampfer again:

On the one hand (with regard to immigrants from Eastern Europe), [falafel] underscored the break between immediate past East European Jewish foods and the new “Oriental” world of Eretz Israel.** At the same time, this food could be seen as a link with an (idealized) past. Among the Jewish public in Eretz Israel, Yemenite falafel was regarded as the most original and tastiest version. This is a bit odd, as falafel—whether in or out of a pita—was not a traditional Yemenite food, neither among Muslims nor among Jews. To understand the ascription of falafel to Yemenite Jews, it is necessary to consider their image. Yemenite Jews were widely regarded in the mid-20th century as the most faithful transmitters of a form of Jewish life that was closest to the biblical world—and if not the biblical world, at least the world of the Second Temple, which marked the last period of autonomous Jewish life in Eretz Israel. In this sense, eating “Yemenite” could be regarded as an act of bodily identification with the Zionist claim to the land of Israel. (p. 189)

So, when it's undeniable that a food is "Arab" or "Oriental" in origin, Zionists will often attribute it to Yemen, Syria, Morocco, Turkey, &c.—and especially to Jewish communities within these regions—because it cannot be permitted that Palestinians have a specific culture that differentiates them in any way from other "Arabs." A culinary culture based in the foodstuffs cultivated from this particular area of land would mean a tie and a claim to the land, which Zionist logic cannot allow Palestinians to possess. This is why you'll hear Zionists correct people who say "Palestinians" to say "Arab" instead, or suggest that Palestinians should just scooch over into other "Arab" countries because it would make no difference to them. Raviv's conclusion that the attribution of falafel to Yemeni immigrants is an effort to detach it from its "Arab" origins isn't quite right—it is an attempt to detach it, and thus Palestinians themselves, from Palestinian roots.

"Yemeni Jews first put falafel in 'pita'"

As for this claim, it's often attributed to Gil Marks: "Jews didn’t invent falafel. They didn’t invent hummus. They didn’t invent pita. But what they did invent was the sandwich. Putting it all together.” (Hilariously, the author of the interview follows this up with "With each story, I wanted to ask, but how do you know that?")

Another author (signed "Philologos") speculates (after, by the way, falsely claiming that "falafel" is the plural of the Arabic "filfil" "pepper," and that falafel is always brown, not green, inside?!):

Yet while falafel balls are undoubtedly Arab in origin, too, it may well be that the idea of serving them as a street-corner food in pita bread, to which all kinds of extras can be added, ranging from sour pickles to whole salads, initially was a product of Jewish entrepreneurship.

Shaul Stampfer cites both of these articles as further reading on the "novelty of the combination of pita, falafel balls, and salad" (FN 76, p. 198)—but neither of them cites any evidence! They're both just some guy saying something!

Marks had, however, elaborated a little bit in his 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food:

Falafel was enjoyed in salads as part of a mezze (appetizer assortment) or as a snack by itself. An early Middle Eastern fast food, falafel was commonly sold wrapped in paper, but not served in the familiar pita sandwich until Yemenites in Israel introduced the concept. [...] Yemenite immigrants in Israel, who had made a chickpea version in Yemen, took up falafel making as a business and transformed this ancient treat into the Israeli iconic national food. Most importantly, Israelis wanted a portable fast food and began eating the falafel tucked into a pita topped with the ubiquitous Israeli salad (cucumber-and-tomato salad).

He references one of the pieces that Lillian Cornfeld (columnist for the English-language, Jerusalem-based newspaper Palestine Post) wrote about "filafel":

An article from October 19, 1939 concluded with a description of the common preparation style of the most popular street food, 'There is first half a pita (Arab loaf), slit open and filled with five filafels, a few fried chips and sometimes even a little salad,' the first written record of serving falafel in pita. [Marks doesn't tell you the title or page—it's "Seaside Temptations: Juveniles' Fare at Tel Aviv," p. 4.]

You will first of all notice that Marks gives us the "falafel from Yemen" story. I also notice that he calls Salat al-bundura "Israeli salad" (in its entry he does not claim that European Jewish immigrants invented it, but neither does he attribute it to Palestinian influence: the dish was originally "Turkish coban salatsi"). His encyclopedia also elsewhere contains Zionist claims such as "wild za'atar was declared a protected plant in Israel" "[d]ue to overexploitation" because of how much of the plant "Arab families consume[d]," and that Israeli cultivation of the crop yielded "superior" plants (entry for "Za'atar")—a narrative of "Arab" mismanagement, and Israeli improvement, of land used to justify settler-colonialism. He writes that Palestinians who accuse "the Jews" of theft in claiming falafel are "creat[ing] a controversy" and that "food and culture cannot be stolen," with no reflection on the context of settler-colonialism and literal, physical theft that lies behind said "controversy." This isn't relevant except that it makes me sceptical of Marks's motivations in general.

More pertinent is the fact that this quote doesn't actually suggest that this falafel vendor was Yemeni (or otherwise) Jewish, nor does it suggest that he was the first one to prepare falafel in pitas with "fried chips," "sometimes even a little salad," and "Tehina, a local mayonnaise made with sesame oil" (Cornfeld, p. 4). I think it likely that this food had been sold for a while before it was described in published writing. The idea that this preparation is "Israeli" in origin must be false, since this was before the state of "Israel" existed—that it was first created by Yemeni Jewish falafel vendors is possible, but again, I've never seen any direct evidence for it, or anyone giving a clear reason for why they believe it to be the case, and the political reasons that people have for believing this narrative make me wary of it. There were Palestinian Arab falafel vendors at this time as well.

"Chickpea falafel is a Jewish invention"

There is also a claim that falafel originated in Egypt, where it was made with fava beans; spread to the Levant, including Palestine, where it was made with a combination of fava beans and chickpeas; but that Jewish immigration to Israel caused the origin of the chickpea-only falafal currently eaten in Palestine, because a lot of Jewish people have G6PD deficiencies or favism (inherited enzymatic deficiencies making fava beans anywhere from unpleasant to dangerous to eat)—or that Jewish populations in Yemen had already been making chickpea-only falafel, and this was the falafel which they brought with them to Palestine.

As far as I can tell, this claim comes from Joan Nathan's 2001 The Foods of Israel:

Zadok explained that at the time of the establishment of the state, falafel—the name of which probably comes from the word pilpel (pepper)—was made in two ways: either as it is in Egypt today, from crushed, soaked fava beans or fava beans combined with chickpeas, spices, and bulgur; or, as Yemenite Jews and the Arabs of Jerusalem did, from chickpeas alone. But favism, an inherited enzymatic deficiency occurring among some Jews—mainly those of Kurdish and Iraqi ancestry, many of whom came to Israel during the mid 1900s—proved potentially lethal, so all falafel makers in Israel ultimately stopped using fava beans, and chickpea falafel became an Israeli dish.

Gil Marks's 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food echoes (but does not cite):

Middle Eastern Jews have been eating falafel for centuries, the pareve fritter being ideal in a kosher diet. However, many Jews inherited G6PD deficiency or its more severe form, favism; these hereditary enzymatic deficiencies are triggered by items like fava beans and can prove fatal. Accordingly, Middle Eastern Jews overwhelmingly favored chickpeas solo in their falafel. (Entry for "Falafel")

The "centuries" thing is consistent with the fact that Marks believes falafel to be of Medieval origin, a claim which most scholars I've read on the subject don't believe (no documentary evidence, + oil was expensive so it seems unlikely that people were deep frying anything). And, again, this claim is speculation with no documentary evidence to support it.

As for the specific modern toppings including the Yemeni hot sauce سَحاوِق / סְחוּג (saHawiq / "zhug"), Baghdadi mango pickle عنبة / עמבה ('anba), and Moroccan هريسة / חריסה ("harissa"), it seems likely that these were introduced by Mizrahim given their place of origin.

*You might be interested to know that, despite their Jewishness mediating this borrowing, Mizrahim were during the Mandate years largely ethnically segregated from Eastern European Zionists, who were pushing to create a "new" European-Israeli Judaism separate from what they viewed as the indolence and ignorance of "Oriental" Jewishness (Hirsch p. 101).

This was evidenced in part by Europeans' attitudes towards the "Oriental" diet. Ari Ariel, summarizing Yael Raviv's Falafel Nation, writes:

Although all immigrants were thought to require culinary education as an aspect of their absorption into the new national culture, Middle Eastern Jews, who began to immigrate in increasing numbers after 1948, provoked greater anxiety on the part of the state than did their Ashkenazi co-religionists. Israeli politicians and ideologues spoke of the dangers of Levantization and stereotyped Jews from the Middle East and North Africa as primitive, lazy, and ignorant. In keeping with this Orientalism, the state pressured Middle Easterners to change their foodways and organized cooking demonstrations in transit camps and new housing developments. (Book review, Israel Studies Review 31.2 (2016), p. 169.)

See also Esther Meir-Glitzenstein, "Longing for the Aromas of Baghdad: Food, Emigration, and Transformation in the Lives of Iraqi Jews in Israel in the 1950s," in Jews and their Foodways:

[...] [T]he Israeli establishment was set on “educating” the new immigrants not only in matters of health and hygiene, [77] but also in the realm of nutrition. A concerted propaganda effort was launched by well-baby clinics, kindergartens, schools, health clinics, and various organizations such as the Women’s International Zionist Organization (WIZO) and the Organization of Working Mothers in order to promote the consumption of milk and dairy products, in particular. [78] (These had a marginal place in Iraqi cuisine, consumed mainly by children.) Arab and North African cuisines were criticized for being not sufficiently nutritious, whereas the Israeli diet was touted as ideal, as it was western and modern. […] [T]he assault on traditional Middle Eastern cuisines reflected cultural arrogance yet another attempt to transform immigrants into “new Jews” in accordance with the Zionist ethos. Thus, European table manners were presented as the norm. Eating with the hands was equated with primitive behavior, and use of a fork and knife became the hallmark of modernity and progress. (pp. 100-101)

[77. On health matters, see Davidovich and Shvarts, “Health and Hegemony,” 150–179; Sahlav Stoller-Liss, “ ‘Mothers Birth the Nation’: The Social Construction of Zionist Motherhood in Wartime in Israeli Parents’ Manuals,” Nashim 6 (Fall 2003), 104–118.]

[78. On propaganda for drinking milk and eating dairy products, see Mor Dvorkin, “Mif’alei hahazanah haḥinukhit bishnot ha’aliyah hagedolah: mekorot umeafyenim” (seminar paper, Ben-Gurion University, 2010).]

**On the desire to shed "old, European" "Jewish" identity and take on a "new, Oriental" "Hebrew" one, and the contradictory impulses to use Palestinian Arabs as models in this endeavour and to claim that they needed to be "corrected," see:

Itamar Even-Zohar, "The Emergence of a Native Hebrew Culture in Palestine, 1882—1948"

Dafna Hirsch, "We Are Here to Bring the West, Not Only to Ourselves": Zionist Occidentalism and the Discourse of Hygiene in Mandate Palestine"

Ofra Tene, "'The New Immigrant Must Not Only Learn, He Must Also Forget': The Making of Eretz Israeli Ashkenazi Cuisine."

[reidsaurora]

"Hot Chocolate, White Lies" ~ A. Hotchner

Summary: Aaron might be a pain in the ass to shop for, but at least he's cute.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader (Reader does wear makeup)

Word Count: 1,444

Content Warning: mild swearing, mentions of food, i think that's it!

Extra Notes: i took creative liberties with the things featured in this fic, sue me (also sorry for the sh!tty summary, it will happen again) // icon in collage is by @catsadams

Beta Read By: @theghouligan 🫶🏻

Originally Written: 10/12/2023 through 10/19/2023

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Halloweek masterlist can be found here!

There were many things you were unsure of, but one thing you did know was that autumn was your absolute favorite time of the whole year.

The mornings when you were both home from cases usually started slow and sweet. You'd wake up ten minutes past your alarm, Aaron's chapped lips the only thing strong enough to awaken you from your slumber. You'd press to know why he allowed you to be late, but he'd just insist, "We have nowhere important to be. Besides, you just looked so peaceful. How could I ever wake you?"

When you finally rolled out of bed, his hands would be on your waist, his lips trailing soft kisses down your neck as the two of you made your way into the kitchen. You'd start on a pan of French toast while Aaron put on the coffee, stealing quick kisses as the two of you glided around the space, each of you already anticipating the other's every move.

Then, you'd eat together in the breakfast nook, the sunlight glowing all around him, somehow making his five-o'clock shadow and bedhead seem ethereal. The conversation would flow from topic to topic as easily as water flowed downstream. But this particular day, there was one topic Aaron seemed to be actively avoiding.

It was a week from his birthday, and while he knew better than to tell you not to get him anything, he would still put his foot down about making a big deal out of the situation. If one person found out, then they'd all find out, and truly, his only wish every year was to spend his birthday with the person he loved most, not the entirety of the FBI. He'd much rather have take-out and a cheap bottle of wine in the comfort of his own home than hors d'oeuvres and expensive champagne with people he hardly knew.

Still, you'd tried all morning to get him to crack and tell you what he wanted for his birthday. But his response was always the same: "You're the only thing I need, my love."

One somewhat pointless conversation and a plate of French toast later, the two of you were headed back to the bedroom to get ready for the day ahead. He'd head into the bathroom to shave, and you'd steal glances of him as you got dressed in the bedroom. Then he'd do the same, eyeing you with absolute love and adoration as you applied layers of makeup he still insisted you didn't need, even after years of marriage.

Soon enough, you'd arrive at your favorite little bookstore and cafe. Any onlooker would immediately be able to tell just how in love Aaron was with you, sporting a matching sweater you'd clearly picked out and his hand only parting from yours to open the door, which he insisted on doing any time you went anywhere together.

"Alright, I'm setting you free," he joked, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Don't cause too much chaos in the romance aisle, okay?"

You giggled, leaning up to kiss him on the lips for once. "I'll only squeal if they have anything signed by my favorite author."

And with that, he was headed off to the cafe side of the building, going to collect a cup of your favorite hot chocolate. Most people preferred to drink coffee while they shopped, but to you, nothing beat curling the sleeves of your sweater around your hands and sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Even after years of coming to this place, you still hadn't figured out how they made it taste infinitely better than other hot chocolate you'd ever had.

Once you were absolutely sure Aaron was in line at the cafe, you were bee-lining in the opposite direction of the romance aisle and over to the literary fiction section.

While you'd originally told Aaron you wanted to go to the bookstore under the guise of wanting to see if they had a copy of a new release you'd been excited about, you secretly had other plans. If he wasn't going to tell you what he wanted, you'd take matters into your own hands.

You peered around one of the shelves to make sure he wasn't looking, letting out a quick sigh of relief as you spotted him reading something on his phone.

You had all of about three minutes to find a couple books that he hadn't read, which was no small feat. Nearly every second of Aaron's free time was spent devouring a novel, and while you loved that he had found a hobby he truly enjoyed, it also made it devastatingly hard to buy him new books.

In roughly two and a half minutes, you'd managed to find three books that you were sure Aaron would love. Then, you were all but sprinting over to the romance section and grabbing the first book you saw, reading the back cover nonchalantly as your husband walked up.

You were reading the back of some novel about two rival scientists falling in love when Aaron got back with two cups of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie the size of your face. "Your drink, my dear," he said, holding out one of the cups.

You took the cup from him, inhaling that first anticipated sip of the warm liquid. "Thank you."

"You found anything interesting yet?" he asked, a hand meeting the small of your back.

You shook your head, placing the scientist romance novel back on the shelf and picking up another book with a beautiful pink cover. "Nothing much. No signed copies so you'll be glad to know I won't be disturbing the other readers with my squeals."

He chuckled, a deep sound that made butterflies go off in your stomach every time you heard it. "Thank you, I'm sure it's appreciated," he kidded. He took the tote from your shoulder, immediately registering the weight of the bag. "Nothing much?" he inquired.

Before he could open the bag to look inside, you were swatting his hand and snatching it away. "It's… an encyclopedia I promised Reid I'd get for him if I saw it."

Aaron cocked an eyebrow at you. "Since when do you go shopping for Reid?" he inquired, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue.

You wracked your brain for some kind of response that sounded at least halfway truthful. "He hasn't been able to find it anywhere and he knew we liked coming here, so he asked me to check next time we came."

That skeptical brow of his only raised itself higher. "Well, there's one flaw with your story and that's that I'm a profiler and I know when you're lying to me."

Before you could form a rebuttal, he was taking the bag out of your hands again. "Aaron, don't-" you barely got out the words before he was holding up the copy of The Midnight Library.

His brows furrowed as he held up the book, examining the cover for a moment. "This isn't a romance."

You let out an exasperated breath at his examination. "That's kind of the point, Aaron."

"Well, I thought we came to find a copy of that new book you've been looking for."

You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a small huff of amusement. "I suppose I should come clean. I did lie to you."

Aaron's mouth flew open in fake shock. "No! I never would've guessed."

"Not about that," you grumbled, slapping his arm. "About why we're here in the first place. I wanted to find you something for your birthday."

His features wrinkled in embarrassment, a small sigh escaping between his lips. "Well, now I look like an ass."

You were inclined to agree, he did kind of look like an ass. But he was a cute ass and you wouldn't want him any other way. Hands flying up to his cheeks, you pulled him down for a long and soft kiss. His wrinkles of slight mortification melted away as he settled into your touch, the scents of hot chocolate and new books taking over each of your senses.

Aaron was the first to pull away, moving his kiss from your lips to your forehead, before meeting you with an expression filled with admiration. "You-"

"-'Didn't have to get me anything.' I know," you finished for him. "But these ones seem really interesting and I thought that maybe we could read them together."

His mouth curved upward into that smile of his that was so sweet, so loving, so… Aaron. "If I'm going to share a book, I'm always going to hope it's with you."

-> taglist: @1234-angelika @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @the-lucky-ones311 @mercuryvapours @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @paintlavillered @lavhoes @rhyanishere @namorswhore @danielle143 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @ah-blossom @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @bbbbbbbbbbbbbbl @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahargrove @cwritesforfun @maelartasch @lover-of-books-and-tea @juismissing @captainchris-pike

[fryktheciller]

with you, though

anderperry + charlie being a slut

summary: neil freaking out at the flower shop

Wind through the hair, sunlight on the face, and sunglasses sitting proudly on the nose—that’s definitely not Neil, at least not now. That's, most definitely, Charlie Dalton, driving a car that wasn't his, without a license, and with Knox's clothes. He's so cunty one might actually think he owns both the car and the clothes and has the right to drive. 

Neil’s poor soul is tortured and has been for quite a while. He had asked Todd out, and the interaction went a little like this:

–Todd, listen… would you like...i mean, if you want to of course, to hang out- I mean, go out? Next...next week, perhaps? After the latin test?

The blonde blushed at the request and the eloquence it was made with. He replies in one breath and with anxiety:

–Yes, I mean... It would be great. Saturday's good. Sure

Neil noticed, other than the embarrassment the roommate replied with, a glint in his eyes, bright and sparkling, perhaps even more than the light that was kissing his face and brown locks. That light—that's what tortures him ever so sweetly; it has bewitched him completely. 

With Charlie, he had to get flowers—not really because he wanted to, but rather because of Charlie himself, who claims to know everything about dating. They get out of the car (alive and well, against every expectation) and get into the tiny little flower shop, filled with bright and intense-smelling blooms.

 –Whatcha getting him?

–Have no clue, honestly.

–Now that's the spirit!– and Dalton smiles, patting Neil on the shoulder. –I'll be over there with the short brunette; call me if you need anything. 

Perry nods, without even listening, and watches him leave. He had thought about everything but the flowers and blames himself for that, partially because he doesn't have a clue about what flowers Todd likes and because he doesn't really know if he wants flowers in the first place.

He starts wandering slowly between the big, black buckets filled with seasonal blossoms. Pretty much everything blooms in that period; if there were fewer flowers, it could have been easier, Neil swore. 

Asking Charlie isn't an option. "He'll make me get some roses and end it there. I adore Charlie, but for pity's sake.” He thinks, reading the Latin names written on some wooden signs inside the buckets. 

“Which nouns were irregular? Uuh… mater, matris; pater patris, and then what? The flowers, god."

Some wild roses had something mischievous in the way they stood proud, with open petals and straight stems. “It's a Goethe reference, you silly!” they looked like they were saying.

Neil falls for that a little and bends down to look at them better: florid yet so young, sweet and wild, and a rosy color that was so elegant and bright at the same time. 

“Like when he comes out of the shower and into the room, all flushed with wet hair,” and blames himself for thinking such things in a public place.

He gets up and walks away, over to a table filled with green and smaller buckets. There were tulips, standing like they were about to wither, even though sunlight was over them entirely. 

“Tulipa sylvestris… Tulipa is from the first declination; Sylvestris is from... Sylvester, perhaps?

Did he write something about them? Did I read something? 

No, no, no, he said his mother loved them.” 

And he moves on, walking over to the hyacinths, the purple ones. They stood proud, almost stern, in the shadow. 

“They mean joy... or I’m proud of you? Don't remember.It would be cute, though; I give him the flowers and go, “I got these for you because I'm proud of you,”” and he smiles stupidly, like only a fool who’s in love does.

He sees clearly now. Looks over at Charlie, who turns around and flashes one of his iconic grins. “I love Charlie; like, look at him” and smiles again.

He moves on, now with an actual idea in mind. 

“Philadelphus coronarius, both from the second declination. Oh, so pretty,” and smiles once again. “They look like orange blooms. That’s what that poem was about; where did he even see these?” and he looks at them, white and canid. Petals so thin they were almost transparent; the faintly colored pistil; the thin stems, somehow so resistant to hold 8 to even 12 buds of flowers; and then the leaves, so dark and intense, almost to compensate for the purity and innocence the petals transmitted. He moves his attention to Charlie’s coarse and vibrant laughter and the girl’s sweeter one. “He's taking her to bed tonight.”.

There was a tiny ant breaking the flower’s fairness, walking expertly between petals and blooms.

“He wanted to spend a summer in Greece or Italy; that’s what he told me. They have such a faint, bitter scent, too.” and he bent down, his gaze still following the ant. 

“The light in his eyes when he told me that...” and he smiled foolishly. 

A second later, he’s looking at a blondie, wrapping up a sprig of mock oranges and a couple of wild roses that begged him so much to choose them in a light brown paper. “How did Calvino’s story go? Je voyage en amour? Perhaps.” That’s not really his case: traveling for love, but he felt the same way. The blondie’s delicate hands were now tying a fine white lace around the small bouquet. 

Charlie reaches him, holding the flowers as Neil paid for them. Once done, he turns around and smiles faintly, to which Charlie replies with a much sweeter grin than usual. "Homosexuals,” he thought, with irony and fondness, as if he weren't bisexual himself. 

–Think he’ll like them?

–Of course, trust me. 

Neil smiles at him, a weird feeling in his stomach and dizziness seizing him again. He got in the car, followed by Charlie.

–The short brunette wanted to get to know you, told her you were taken.

Charlie blurts out with a chuckle; the other laughs heartily and smiles sarcastically, turning at him.

–Yes, Charlie. Thank you.

***

With a heavy breath and the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, Todd wakes up abruptly and sits up on the bed. The room's dark, the air stale and hot. He takes off the light wool blanket from his knees and gets up, opening the tiny window and moving a thin curtain. April’s moonlight enters shyly into the room, lighting a messy bed with undone sheets and a perfect one: sheets tight and covers straight. 

“It was a dream; I was dreaming,” the blonde whispers to himself, in front of the window, all cold from the night's humidity. The knot in his throat tightens, his limbs are numb, and something like butterflies starts to move in his stomach. His eyes burn with tears that start to fall, hot and slowly, one by one, wetting the pajama shirt or making a slight plop on the wooden floor. 

–I did want to go to Italy or Greece. With you, though. 

The blonde goes back to bed, body heavy and mind numb. The thought of the next day’s classes makes it hard to breathe. His head hurts,his lips contort downwards, eyebrows furrowed and it hurts to keep that expression on; there’s nothing he can do anyway, tears steaming uglily and wetting the messy flannel sheets, his arms wrapped around his stomach, in a fetal position under the blanket, freezing and sweating at the same time, as the cool wind moved slightly the curtain. 

One second later, he’s awoken by the loud halls and the sun lighting up the room. His face is still sticky from the tears; a sense of tiredness in every inch of his body only made him want to cry more, but he’s just too tired of the swamp of pain he’s been in for almost 6 months. Images of spring are still running through his mind, as if nothing happened: long afternoons spent studying in the sunlight and coming back into the dorm rooms when the sun starts peaking.

Spring is when everything is reborn—everything, but Todd.

notes: hi!! i want to start by apologizing, i have no right to write such outrageous things; with that being said, this has been sitting in a corner of my google docs page for like months, and after editing for weeks it still feels really off but i cant tell if its just me or the whole idea is completely mad ok

[lillaluna]

kill this love ch.1

Pairing: Neuvillette x f!Reader x Wriothesley

Tags: modern au

14 February. This date started to annoy you a week ago, as soon as the first hints of hearts appeared in shop windows. It's a strange coincidence, because a week ago you were dumped by your boyfriend. You'd been together for half a year and the moron suddenly realised you weren't a couple. Oh, yeah. A week before the damn day.

You took a sip of wine and set the glass on the low glass table that stood in front of the soft blue sofa where you'd been trying to pull yourself together for the past hour to drown out… What, love? No, probably not. You weren't entirely sure if this relationship was love, but you felt something more for this creepy jerk than for anyone else you'd been around before.

Staring at one point in front of you, you couldn't hear what the TV was saying. You tucked your legs under you, wrapped your arms around them, and put your head in your lap.

It felt so empty inside. And you wanted to cry. You wanted to, but you couldn't.

"Should I call him?"

You let out a loud "pfft" and shook your head, waving that stray thought away like a pesky fly that was especially assertive and loud today, the bloody 14th of February.

Dropping your feet off the couch, you reached for the glass again, the red liquid wavering in it as you brought it to your soft lips. Lips that HE kissed greedily every time, falling to them as if his life depended on each, even fleeting kiss.

And then he just walked away.

Maybe that's not what he meant. Well, some people do that, break up before the holidays so they don't have to give a gift, or maybe he just hasn't decided if he loves you, and Valentine's Day greetings are a confirmation of that fact.

You set your glass down and your hand reached for the phone that lay in front of you periodically signalling incoming notifications.

"I could just hear his voice and say hello…" You muttered to yourself, justifying your own idiotic actions.

You unlocked the gadget, pressed the green handset icon and went to the 'keys' section. Your finger hovered over the first digit of his number. The thought that you'd deleted him from everywhere just for this occasion vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and you were already dialling the familiar digits.

Your heart pounded and your hands went numb as you clicked the icon with your thumb, then put the phone to your ear, waiting for an answer. Your heart pounded in your chest as if trying to break free.

1… 2… 3 beeps.

Nothing. The answer was answered by silence.

Now you're going to feel like an even bigger fool. But, he just might not have heard the call, right? Couldn't he? How awful it is to find excuses.

You pressed reset on the call and tossed the phone lightly to the other edge of the couch, before taking the wine glass in your hand and sitting in the original pose, wrapping one arm around your legs. Each drop of wine, each sip becoming an ajar of sorrow for the call you had made. With a glimpse, you glanced at the phone lying aimlessly on the padded surface. It has become a symbol of all the accusations against your own true and gentle soul.

"Should have held back, you idiot," you muttered to yourself, starting to sway slowly from side to side. Closing your eyes for a moment, you thought you were about to cry and the long-awaited relief would come. But time went on and on, and you just frowned even more, trying to squeeze out a tear.

You shuddered and almost spilled the rest of the wine on your beige house suit when you heard your mobile phone ring.

Your heart skipped a beat and then started beating so hard you could hear your pulse in your ears.

"He didn't hear it after all."

A slight smile touched your lips. You set the glass vessel on the table, lowering your feet to the floor and getting up from the couch. Your palms sweated as you leaned over to the opposite end of the upholstered furniture and picked up the phone.

Your heart plummeted downward. An unfamiliar number was ringing.

You threw your head back, covering your eyes, ta bit your upper lip. What a vivid disappointment.

The phone continued to ring. You looked sadly at the incoming number again. You answered the call.

"Sorry to bother you so late, but you called me a few minutes ago." A man's voice came from the receiver. Calm, soft, collected.

Except.

"I don't think I called," you mumbled in a slightly hoarse voice, "just a second."

Pulling the receiver away from your ear, you found a number in your outbox. This number. It was the same as his, but with a different number at the end. You put the gadget to your ear again, the man on the other end was still waiting.

"Yeah, sorry, wrong number," you sighed, and turned around to sit on the couch.

"It's a pity," the voice replied suddenly, and you heard a smile.

"Why pity?" you asked in confusion.

"You have a pleasant voice," the man replied without hesitation.

You smiled crookedly and pressed your lips together before replying.

"So do you," you paused for one, brief moment before continuing, "would you like me to call you tomorrow?"

…

And you did call. Tomorrow, and then the day after that. The next evening after that, the stranger called you himself, and the morning after, you were greeted with a good morning wish in a text message. Your evening conversations could last for hours. Discussing everything in the world, you lost track of time, completely relaxing under the velvety voice of a man. Even without knowing each other's names, you discussed the most difficult, personal, intimate moments of each other's lives and it was so easy, so self-evident, because the clear realisation that you would never see each other gave you complete freedom in what you wanted to say, but would never risk it, knowing that you would meet the man face to face.

…

It's been almost a fortnight since you started talking to him.

"He makes it so easy for me, and…" you said, thoughtfully stirring the coffee you had just taken from the machine.

You and your colleague were standing in a large hallway that was flooded with bright sunlight streaming through the glazing of the main building of the law firm you worked for. You didn't hold a high position, just worked with paperwork from past cases, making sure there was no confusion about qualifications, or years labelled on the documents.

"Hey," you called out to the girl standing next to you as she was peering over your shoulder with her mouth slightly open, not paying any attention to you.

You turned around, and basically immediately realised that you could justify the fascinated look of your colleague. Entering through the main entrance, the hall was crossed by a tall man, without exaggeration, of angelic beauty. A strict blue suit emphasised his good physique, and his posture gave him away as something of an aristocrat, no less. His long white hair was gathered at the nape of his neck in a low ponytail, but for all its collectedness, a few curls were poking out of it, so harmoniously that you could argue that this supposed carelessness was a well-crafted image. But he was handsome. Very.

The man made his way to the lift, and a moment later went into it, and your colleague seemed to snap out of her trance.

"Who's that?" she asked still turning round to you, the moment you turned to her.

"Someone we'll never get to meet," you said with a smile, "men like that are out there," you pointed your chin upwards, indicating the top floors of the building you worked in.

Navia, who was standing next to you rolled her eyes and took her ready coffee from the machine.

"What are you writing us off right away. That's probably my future husband".

You chuckled nervously.

"I'm a realist and men like that look at girls who match their status".

Taking a sip of coffee you walked towards the staff lift, Navia following behind you, wailing about how you can't dream and you're generally dry by nature.

…

"How was your day?" asked the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Not bad", you replied languidly, pouring wine into a glass, "we have a small change at work, changed the staff, mostly among the senior management, but nothing serious. Hopefully it will be," you said on a sigh, setting the bottle down on the wooden table top.

"I understand," the soft male voice replied, and you heard him take a sip, "I'm going through some changes in the workplace right now, and to my dismay, they're going to be massive. As a manager, I will be forced to change people's lives, and I fear not for the better."

"Are you facing layoffs?" You asked with interest, walking from the kitchen to the living room, holding a glass filled with white wine. You sat down on the soft sofa, leaning back against its backrest.

"I'm afraid so," the man said not cheerfully, seeming to regret what he was about to do. "Can we talk, about something other than work, it's been a bloody awful day today?"

"Sure," you almost muttered into the receiver, "I've had a… today."

You didn't have time to finish when you heard a knock on the door.

"Someone's here," you informed the stranger, and putting your glass on the table, got up from the couch. There was another insistent knock on the door.

"Will you open up?" The man inquired.

"Apparently I'll have to," after these words you walked towards the front door. You weren't expecting anyone, and you couldn't even guess who might have come, especially at this hour. Not that 9 p.m. was late, but guests were more likely to leave than come in at this hour. You twisted the lock and pushed the door handle open.

A chill ran through your body, as if you'd been splashed with ice water.

"Wriothesley?" you exhaled, and hurriedly pressed the red handset on the screen of your mobile phone.