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itsclydebitches · 1 year

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We've all rightly been gushing over Trent listening in on the parent-teacher conference and there are a lot of cool interpretations for why he'd eavesdrop: a crush on Ted, a tendency towards gossip (as seen in "International Break"), the fact that you just can't take the journalism out of the boy, Trent is clearly picking up personal tidbits for the book if the group's initial "Don't print that" worries are any indication, etc. So yeah, it's clear why he'd want/be okay with the door staying open.

Meanwhile, I'm slightly feral over Ted letting the door stay open and what that conveys to Trent.

Based on what we've picked up about his personal life and the direction of this season, we have good reason to believe that Trent was a deeply isolated man prior to Ted arriving. His job makes enemies simply by virtue of the profession itself, especially when you "bring the heat" as hard as he did. Roy flipping the press off at the gala in Season 1 and Nate sneaking out at dark this last episode shows us how journalists are treated on the regular: ignored, dismissed, told to "fuck off" as a matter of course. That's often well deserved, as Roy's two personal stories (Trent's article about him + the response to Isaac's attack) attest, but the end result is still a profession that alienates you from anyone other than your peers. When you're a "colossal prick" in your articles, people hate you all the more.

So Trent at least has other journalist buddies, yeah? Well, not that we've seen. I always think back to that chorus of "--The Independent" in the press room when everyone knew what Trent was going to say and how it... wasn't entirely fun ribbing. I think there's a fair bit of mockery there. Even if others disagree, I doubt that was received well by someone who wears their professionalism as an armor, who takes off his glasses as soon as they're complimented, who was, notably, closeted into his 40s. Trent is a man who is deeply aware of how others perceive him (pointing out his "vibe" feels quite calculated now: highlight what you want people to notice rather than waiting for them to find something on their own) and he is likely to read the worst of most interactions. Cue his shocked, "You really mean that, don't you?" when faced with someone like Ted who is not only genuinely nice, but blunt about it in a way that Trent can't misunderstand, or brush off via denial.

What's his home life like? Married to a woman when he's gay and that's putting a serious strain on them both. He tries to come out and isn't believed. The only other family members we know about are a toddler (who, while lovely I'm sure, can't provide Trent with the kind of emotional support an adult needs) and a father who, if we read the series through Lance's headcanons, may not have been very supportive of his son. Who else does Trent know? Uhhh... other subjects who hate him? Owners like Rebecca who want to use him? A random, potential date that he felt so little for he ditched to get a quote?

(EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to mention the strong implications that Ted was bullied in childhood/as a teenager, based on how he reacts to the whole of the club ignoring him -- resigned but unsurprised -- his reaction to Roy telling him to fuck off after he tries to mend that relationship -- disappointedly awkward "I can't believe I even tried that. What was I thinking?" -- and his body language during the locker room scene -- jumping, furtive glances towards Ted, backed up against the shower stall because shit, he's been in this situation before.

So uh, yeah. Trent may not have had a lot of friends growing up either! That was not the response of a social butterfly, but rather someone who is already very used to being ignored/dismissed/cursed out/threatened, not just within his profession, but within the school-like atmosphere of Richmond's family too.)

I'm by no means reinventing the meta wheel here, but Trent has truly undergone a STAGGERING transformation in Season 3 and the result of that is the reframing of his Season 1 and 2 scenes as, frankly, more depressing than they originally seemed. Seeing him now smiling, singing, gossiping, dressing just in t-shirts, casually snacking, making jokes, letting go enough to be a complete, hyperactive "dork" in front of others... it just hammers home how deeply unhappy Trent was before. How closed off. How closeted--in more ways than one.

So what must it mean to someone like Trent for Ted to leave the door open?

It's not just an open invitation towards community--sit near me, listen in, quietly participate, there's literally no barrier between us--but a staggeringly personal one too. I don't care if a 10-ish year old failing science is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, the fact remains that letting anyone hear a parent-teacher conference with your ex is a hell of a show of trust. That would mean a lot to Trent in general, this acknowledgement that someone trusts the ex-prick journalist with that amount of personal information, but Ted in particular? Oh boy. Ted is the one Trent betrayed with that article! And yeah, Ted forgave him the instant he learned of it, but Trent himself was obviously feeling a lot of guilt, hence him burning his source and orchestrating a firing. Toss in the fact that Ted, despite being a VERY open man on the regular (I still laugh at his "I don't mind" to Rebecca when over-sharing about Michelle) has in fact denied Trent information in the past. No, I won't tell you that was a panic attack. Yes, I will continue the lie that it was food poisoning. Perhaps for Ted it was less about Trent knowing and more about anyone getting at the truth, but at the end of the day it amounts to the same: there was a time when Ted did not fully trust him and Trent justified that fear by writing the very article Ted was looking to avoid, even if Trent approached that situation with as much grace as he could.

So this moment, beyond the humor, just makes my brain go !!!!!! for Trent. Ted Lasso, of all people, has left the door open for Trent Crimm, also of all people, to hear the messy details of his, Henry, and Michelle's life. He is not at all afraid that this information will be spun in a bad light--Local Gaffer's Son Suffers While Father Plays at Coach Across the Pond--despite the fact that Trent is actively writing a book about him. Trent himself is so unguarded in this moment, dressed only in a t-shirt, playing around with his orange, making little quips. The Trent of Season 1 would NEVER. I mean, I think we see small glimpses of the real Trent back then, especially when Ted amuses him enough to coax his guard down for half a second (Trent's reaction to “Make like Dunst and Union and bring it on, baby!" comes to mind. That's a gesture we're seeing a lot now that he's comfortable around the club), but on the whole he was still so, so, so isolated. No one knew the real him: gay, funny, dorky, inquisitive, longing for companionship and using the artificial 'closeness' of journalism to cover that ache up.

Now? Trent is fully a part of the Richmond community and he knows he's a part of it because everyone--Ted, Beard, Roy, Colin, Rebecca--are going out of their way to tell him that, notably in very overt ways. Trent strikes me as someone who wouldn't fully believe it when he's told someone enjoys his company; the kind of wounded, anxiety-prone person who, if casually invited to participate, would assume they're just being polite and he'd actually be an annoyance to them. Trent needs overt, obvious, beat-you-over-the-head-with-it reassurance, which is why Ted is so very good for him because Ted is composed of THE most over-the-top positivity you've ever seen. (Compare that need of Trent's to Michelle thinking that Ted is too much...) When faced with a defensive journalist Ted says explicitly that he liked spending time with Trent. When faced with a still unsure writer who thinks of himself only as an observer--never a part of the team himself--Ted literally begs with monkey noises to hear Trent's opinions. He's blunt to the point of absurdity and someone like Trent who has likely spent the majority of his life hiding/being told that his true self is inadequate needs that level of constant, neon-light reassurance.

So Ted leaves the door open to a personal conversation, refusing to literally bar Trent from his life. The best part? Colin re-opens the door because he understands Trent and he knows his coach; of course Ted wants him included. Colin asks permission to CLOSE the door, not open it, and Trent is seeing this openness again and again over the course of several months, with each episode bringing him further out of his shell as he slowly unlearns that self-doubt. Yes, please stay, please tell us what you think, please offer your advice, please join our Diamond Dogs, please ask us questions (they're no longer perceived as a threat), please become an integral part of our lives. We trust you and we like you and we want you here.

Everyone's waiting for Trent to catch the door again because, you know, the rule of three, but what if he doesn't need to? What if he's past slipping a hand or a foot through the crack and scraping by on what that gets him? He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Colin. He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Ted. Now they've both kept the door open for him, his presence welcomed from the get-go.

Trent doesn't need to sprint for that opening anymore.

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Tedependent #ted x trent #mymetas

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eunchancorner · 2 months

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Two short stories, two longer stories, almost six Google doc pages, 3377 words and one new nickname for Liv, it is with great pleasure and relief that I finally bring you

Three times Ethan tickled his partners, and one time he didn't

Ethan delighted in the soft giggles that arose as he gently squished the small bit of pudge that hung just slightly over the waistband of Streber’s pants. One of his favorite people, who he’d seen at his best, and recently at his very worst, was healing.

“You’re getting soft again,” he commented, resting his head on Streb’s shoulder.

“Ihi knohohohow.”

“I missed your squish so much…”

“Ihit’s nohot that muhuhuch.”

“But it’s something. It’s progress. Progress I’m glad you’ve made…”

Ethan pressed his cheek into Streber’s, feeling his face heating up a bit. He loved how much the genuine affection got to the poor nerd.

Ethan gently pinched up and down Streb’s tummy, listening to his giggles vary in pitch, from his normal voice to high and silly, admiring every adorable sound.

“I think your new squish is even more ticklish than before~,” he teased, adoring the flustered squeak he earned, and unable to resist giving his cheek a little kiss.

“I love you~”

“Ihi love youhu tohohoo.”

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“LIV GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!”

“It’s too late, Ethan, I can’t unlearn your weakness!”

The two had been locked in a chase around the house for several minutes. Ethan had recently let slip a particular secret of his to her sneaky questions, and now he was determined to make her pay for it. The only problem was that she was well-versed in running from her partners’ wrath, so he was having a tough time cornering her. However, he was also growing adept at chasing down his partners, so he had a few tricks of his own.

One of which came in the form of a very conveniently timed boyfriend.

“LEON, GRAB HER!” he shouted as Leon rounded the couch, which he was chasing her towards. In one swift motion, Leon grabbed her under her arms and swooped her up off the ground, leaving her legs to kick uselessly in midair as she protested using several threats and curses.

Ethan stopped in front of the two, taking a minute to catch his breath, before pointing at the redhead.

“You. Did you think you’d get away with that little stunt?” he questioned her.

“Yep, AND I was absolutely gonna remember it, too! I’d FINALLY have a leg up in our tickle fights, you giant ler!”

“Well, now you’ve earned yourself a one-way ticket to getting wrecked, good job. May I, Leon?”

“LEON- I swear to fuck if you hand me over to him I am gonna dump ALL of your protein powder into the toilet!!”

Leon gave the small redhead in his hands a glare at the ill-timed threat, shortly before handing her like a ragdoll over to their boyfriend with the simple statement; “Go nuts.”

“W-Wait! Leon! THAT WAS A PROMISE!” she called after him as he returned on his original route to the kitchen, before looking back at Ethan.

“Hi~”

“U-uhm, hi?”

“Wanna apologize for your little shittery?”

“I don’t apologize for that. You know this by now!”

“Really? So you’re just gonna let this happen?”

“Let what ha-” she cut herself off as she realized what he meant. “Oh. Fuck.”

The chuckle Ethan let out was unnecessarily threatening, and Liv felt herself forcing down a nervous smile of her own.

“E-Ethan, no! I-I- I swear, i-if you tickle me, I-I’ll tell someone about it! You won’t know who, and you won’t know when until it’s too late!” she warned, wriggling in his grasp, trying to get herself down.

“Hm, guess I’ll have to tickle ya until you promise not to tell anyone!”

“Wait what-”

She squealed suddenly as Ethan practically threw her down onto the couch beside them and dug his fingers into her ribs, prompting her to grab onto and pull at his arms.

“Ehehethahahan! Nahahoho! Youhu jeheherk!” she insulted him, inadvertently digging herself a deeper hole.

“Liv, the more you fight, the worse it’s gonna get. If you wanna get out of this, you have to be nice. Start by apologizing for being rude~”

“Nehehever! Ihi’ll nehever gihive ihihin!!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her stubbornness, especially considering how hard she was already laughing. Never change, Liv.

He grabbed her left hand, hoisting it up over her head and raking his fingers from her underarm, down her ribs and side, all the way down to her hip, then right back up, causing her to squeal and smack at him with her remaining hand.

“NyAhaHAHahaHAHaha EHEthahaHAN!! WhYhy THAhahAHAT?!” she demanded, her laughter gaining a quality Ethan could only describe as fittingly chaotic. She attempted to twist away from his hand, only to find that Ethan had very well adapted to keeping up with her constant moving.

“Because it makes you sound adorable!~ And because it’s even worse for you, which isn’t as big of a reason, but still a reason. Tell ya what. I’ll make a deal with you. All I want you to do is say sorry for being a little shit today, and you’ll be free! Sound good?~”

Once again, in all her stubbornness, Liv shook her head in refusal. She was always determined to keep from apologizing for her (admittedly harmless) actions, but unfortunately, Ethan seemed to have gained his patience back.

“That’s ok, I’ve got all the time in the world to keep tickling you until you change your mind!~”

“BUHuHUhuHUhuHuhuT Ihi’m TOOHOhohO TihiHIHIcKLihIHISh!! IHI’LL DihihIHIHIE!!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You might be extremely, adorably ticklish but you won’t die! You’ll just either succumb to cotton brain or have to apologize,” he reasoned, “If you were gonna die, it’d probably be from this.”

Suddenly, he let go of her hand and began raking his newly freed hand up and down her other side, moving in the opposite direction to the other, raising her laughter up much higher than he expected.

“FUHUHUHUHUHUCK EHEHEHETHAHAHAHAN!! IHIHIT’S TOHOHORTUHUHURE!! TOHOHORTUHUHUHUHURE!!!” she practically screeched, grabbing onto his hands and flailing every which way in an attempt to escape, even going as far as to attempt to shake his arms to try to pull him off.

“And yet you know exactly how to get me to stop! But you’re not gonna, are you? Because however much you yell it’s ‘torture’ or that it’s gonna kill you, you’ll always keep being a little shit, just so someone will pin you down, and tickle you until you can’t think because it’s just so fun. Isn’t that right?~”

“SHUHUT YOUHUHUR FAHAHAHACE!!” She tried to cover his face with one hand.

“You’re not even denying it at this point! But, I know exactly what’ll get to you. Exactly what’ll get you to apologize, and end your supposed torture~” Ethan cleared his throat and leaned in close to make sure she could hear him.

“Tickle tickle tickle~”

“EHEHETHAHAN NOHOHO!!”

“Tickle tickle tickle~ Such a cute little ferret getting her tickles~”

“YOUHU AHAHAHASS!! NOHO TEHEHEASIHIHING!!”

“But why not, hm? Can’t I give a cute lil ferret her teases and tickles?~”

“WHEHERE DIHIHID THEHE STUHUPIHID FEHEHERREHET THIHING COHOME FROHOHOM?!”

“Well, you’re just like one! You’re wiggly and hyper and love causing mischief until someone gives you attention. So now, you’re a wiggly, ticklish little ferret, who’s getting all her tickle-tickle-tickles~”

“FIHIHINE FIHIHINE IHI’M SOHOHORRYHYHY! NOHO MOHOHORE TEHEHEASIHIHINGGG!” she finally gave in, and Ethan let go, just as he had promised, letting her make her attempts to stop laughing and even out her breathing.

“Youhuhu… ahare fuhucking ruhuhuhuthlehehess…” she managed as she slowly calmed down, earning a soft chuckle from Ethan.

“Maybe you’ll remember that next time. Of course, whether that stops you or spurs you on is up to you~”

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“EHEHETHAHAHAN PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Aww, what’s wrong, Leon? Too ticklish for tummy kisses?~” the goth cooed at his hysterical boyfriend, before peppering soft kisses all over his belly for the second time in a row. In response, he could feel Leon smacking the top of his head as though trying to dislodge him, despite having literally asked for this.

“C’mon, don’t try to push away now. I thought you wanted a soft night in tonight~”

“IHI DIHIHID BUHUT- FUHUHUHUCK!! NOHOT THEHEHEHERE!!” he squealed as Ethan’s kisses trailed around to the side of his tummy, which somehow seemed to be much worse than the middle.

“There’s so many little spots on your tummy, you’re so adorable. My big puppy boy~”

“IHI AHAHAM NOHOT A PUHUHUPPY!! YOUHU FUHUHUCKER!”

“Are you sure? Even if you wanna pull the tough guy routine, you’re pretty puppy-like. You have lots of energy, you’re friendly, you love having your tummy tickled, and if I do this…” Ethan gently pressed his thumb just above Leon’s belly button, making him kick out one of his legs in response. “You kick like a puppy, too! So, I’ve come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, a puppy. Hm, Streber would be proud of me.”

“HEHE WOUHUHUHULDN’T! GOHOHOHOD, EHEHEHETHAHAHAN!” Leon pushed at his boyfriend’s shoulders, pure instinct driving his actions. He loved this, he knew he did, no matter how flustering it was.

But Ethan was never going to hear that.

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Ethan loved his feared ler status.

He found himself lucky to be in a household with so many partners that loved to tickle and be tickled the same way he did, and he found himself even luckier to usually be the one who ended up tickling the others. He was sure he’d won the most tickle fights in the whole house.

Well, next to Aria.

Him and her had been tied for the longest time; Ethan because he never resisted the urge to strike, and Aria because she knew how to keep people from predicting when she’d strike next.

But today, he was going to change that. Ethan was going to show Aria who the most feared ler in the house was, by sneaking up on her and tickling her until she admitted it was him.

And now he was so close!

Closer…

He crept up behind her as she leaned on the back of the couch, idly watching the news.

Closer…

He could hear her humming. She sounded so distracted.

Closer…

He could practically hear her laughing already.

Closer… NOW!

“GOTCHA- WHOA! FUCK!!”

He’d lunged at her, and was taken by surprise when she whipped around, grabbed his wrist and lifted him with her free hand, slamming him down onto the couch, all the air rushing out of his lungs on impact. He coughed a bit as he regained his breath, looking up at her looming over him, her hand still on his chest and his wrist still locked in her grip.

“Uhm… hi?” he smiled innocently.

“Hi there,” she gave him an equally innocent look. That’s never a good sign.

“Well… uhm… how exactly did you do that?”

“Well, you remember how in high school I took ballet one year, and karate the next?”

“L-Listen, you can’t keep blaming all the weirdly impressive shit you do on the weird shit you did in high school!”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said they didn’t have a hand in it, but I have been training with Leon lately!”

“Of course…” he rolled his eyes. It always fucking ties back to Leon.

“So, mind telling me why you were sneaking up on me like a creep?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“W-well, I was uh-” he was cut off with a grunt as Aria’s weight suddenly shifted to the hand that was on his chest as she pulled her legs over the back of the couch; one landing between Ethan’s own legs and one in front of the couch.

“Oww… It hurts when you do that, y’know,” he told her, earning a small eye roll.

“So you’ve complained before. Now answer my question.” She smiled as she saw his eyes widened. He thought I forgot.

“S-so, uhm, I-I was uh… w-well… I… was… uh…” he fumbled for an answer that didn’t incriminate himself, and found himself unable to come up with anything.

“You were plotting something, weren’t you?”

Oh fuck.

“But,” she glanced over the back of the couch, “since you didn’t bring something with you, I’m gonna assume you weren’t planning on doing anything that might result in a lecture from Streber. You weren’t planning on trying to take that little title, hm?”

“Wh-what title could that be?” he asked, averting his gaze, trying to suppress his nervous smile.

“The title of the biggest ler in the house. Because that title belongs to me. And you know how I know that?”

Oh she is absolutely setting this up but how can I NOT-

“Because you’re a cocky jerk?” he smirked at his own words, feeling a tinge of confidence.

That confidence faded as soon as her eyes narrowed at him.

“Because you are awfully ticklish to gentle tickles. Aren’t you?~” she leaned in all too close as she asked, “And luckily for you, gentle tickles are my specialty~”

“W-what are you… i-implying?” he asked cautiously, his eyes locking onto her hand as it moved from his chest to the side of his face.

“I’m implying,” she began as she began tracing behind his ear, causing him to choke down giggles already, “That I’m gonna do to you exactly what you were planning to do to me. Except I’m actually going to make it effective, because we all know what makes you tick, Eth. And you are going to admit that I’m the biggest ler in the house. Or at least the scariest.”

“Ihi- I’m n-not denying y-you’re the s-scariehest, Jehesus fucken Christ,” he managed, feeling his heart pounding in his chest from the threat of tickles alone. “B-but you are not th-the biggest leher… that’s me.”

“Hm. Then it looks like I am going to tickle you for the biggest ler title.”

“Oh th-that’s just n-nohot fair…”

“It’s completely fair! After all, isn’t that what you were gonna do?” she began to trace down his neck, causing him to squeak and grab her wrist. She raised an eyebrow at him, moving her finger in slow circles in the spot it was trapped in.

“Let go of my hand, or I’m going to tickle you so bad you won’t even be able to think about today without getting in a lee mood,” she warned, and the look she had made Ethan sure she was being very serious, so he did as she said.

“Good, now how am I going to do this, hm? Should I play a little first, see how loud I can make you laugh without going for your worst spot, or should I go for that infamous little kill button right away?~ And even so, which one? The one where my hand would be trapped to trace until you can finally lift your arm, and even then there’s no guarantee I’ll stop, or do I go for the one where you can’t protect your poor little spot, leaving me to trace in whatever little shapes I want, and all you can do is laugh and laugh and laugh, because we both know you won’t be able to get out a single word. So many decisions to make, and the longer I take to make them, the more flustered you’ll be, but I think I know what’ll make it ten times worse. One simple little question, that you ask all too often; What do you think I should do?~”

I think you should be less fucken terrifying, he thought, but truthfully he didn’t know if he could get a word out. Being teased by anyone else isn’t so bad, but this was Aria. She knew exactly how to get to him too flustered to manage a word, and it was working all too well. He tried to give any kind of answer, but the words caught in his throat, and all he could manage were a few flustered squeaks.

“Ethan~ If I can’t get a straight answer, I’ll just have to decide for myself, and you know I’ll pick what gets you the most~” she warned him, hovering her hand over his ribs and watching him flinch and try to squirm away, pressing his arm to his side in an effort to block her.

“A-aria… P-plehease…” was all he could manage. He wasn't sure what he was trying to ask for, maybe mercy, but either way she seemed to be having none of it.

“What’s wrong, darling? Too scared to give me an answer? That’s ok, I think I know exactly what to do~” she cooed before she began to gently pinch up and down his side, causing him to finally release all the laughter he’d felt bubbling up in his chest. He squealed and twisted under her in an attempt to hide himself, but a quick scribble to his other side sent him right back onto his back.

“Arihiahahaha! Plehehease, wahahahait! Nohohohoho!” he begged, resisting the urge to grab her wrist again and instead opted for grabbing his own shirt to try to ground himself.

“I don’t think I will, Ethan~ We’ve both waited long enough for me to tickle you, and if you had to wait any more, I think you’d regret saying that, wouldn’t you?” She began to skitter her nails lightly against his ribs before he could answer, making him laugh louder and kick his legs to try to dispel the energy. She chuckled softly as she watched him struggle to sass her, unable to get any sort of coherent thoughts within the fireworks of his brain to come up with something snarky to say. She traced up and down his ribs, delighting in every squeak and change in pitch, listening to him come so close to absolutely losing it just because he was that much worse off with such gentle tickles. As much as she wanted to dig in and watch him flail, listen to him cackle, she knew this was so much worse.

Occasionally she’d dip just between his ribs and underarms, ripping a squeal from his throat, and just as quickly, she’d be back to his ribs. She could see how badly it got to him; the way he’d tug at his poor shirt when she got a little too high and yet how he’d just barely whine when she’d leave it alone so fast.

“What’s wrong, Ethan? Can’t handle your tickles? Why are you so whiny, hm? Is there something you’re expecting?~” she couldn’t help but tease him, knowing exactly what he wanted; for her to finally go after his death spot, for his brain to fill with fog and fireworks and be able to do nothing but laugh, to fulfill the buzzing anticipation that only got worse every time she tricked him.

Gradually she let up under she had her hand just hovering above that little spot that she knew she could destroy him with, smirking as she listened to his nervous, giddy giggles.

“Well, Ethan?” she asked, “Got anything to say?”

“P-plehehease, Ahariahaha… I-Ihi’m sohohorry, y-youhu’re th-the bihihiggehest leheher, I wahas wrohohong… plehehease, juhust doho ihihit ahalreheheheadyyy…”

Aria blinked down at him. He’s… asking me to wreck him. Just like that. In exchange for admitting it, he wants me to destroy him.

She smiled, and then she chuckled quietly.

“You’re adorable when you’re desperate~”

Before Ethan had time to process it, his wrist was released and he felt an unbearably gentle tracing in that little kill spot between his underarms and ribs, sending him into utter hysterics. She watched as his shoulders shook with laughter, his arms clamped to his sides and he tossed his head back, and yet he seemed almost relaxed. She knew why, too; the anticipation of going after his worst spot was finally over, he finally got the tickles he’d been expecting from her.

After a few more moments of tickling him senseless, she finally let up, gently patting him on the head and giggling softly as he batted at her hand.

She looked up to see their other six partners staring at her from a few feet away, all six pairs of eyes wide and all six faces blushing. She couldn’t resist the urge to smirk and raise her hands in wiggling claws, which sent all of them running in different directions, watching Confi struggle to make a decision before following Liv to her room.

Title secured.

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louissolovely · 7 months

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ੈ♡ DATING MATT HC’S!! ⋆｡˚

summary- Matt dating fem reader

warnings- none I don’t think

✩DATES I feel like dates for Matt consist of food and literally doing anything together 😭 (very simple guy) you guys could be sitting at the kitchen counter or in his car eating Taco Bell and laughing from scrolling through TikTok and bro will go home thinking you guys just had the most romantic date ever. It’s honestly super cute because he never gets bored of you and just being there with you makes him feel happy. (Cue nothing by Bruno mars☝🏽)

✩COMPLIMENTS bro is the rizzler idc what you or yo mamma says. He knows exactly what has you kicking and giggling and what makes you bust out laughing. Especially when guys come up to you and say something corny, he can tell how hard your trying to keep in your laugh to not hurt the poor guys feelings which makes him want to laugh even more. It’s honestly adorable when he compliments you because it’s literally out of nowhere. Which is why it makes your heart flutter every time because how genuine it is. “Wait when did you get your nails done? They look so good baby let me see” and he takes your hand SHOOT ME NOW OMG

✩LOVE LANGUAGE is 100% quality time. He’s always trying to invite you places and when you simply cannot show up he feels like you most literally never want to speak to him again. You’ve never felt so terrible. You always make it up to him tho which makes him feel a tiny bit better. Most of the time tho he understands but still tries to throw in a slight joke cause why not. “You’re not coming? Well just say you want to break up damn.” You never find it funny😭. He’s always trying to get you into every vlog and car video. He just wants to be in your presence 24/7 and you don’t mind not one bit. Unless you do then you’re literally lying but wtv. He also feels like he needs you to be there in case he really needs you. If he’s getting jumped by his brothers and losing an argument he’s 100% sure he’s correct about (the horror and betrayal on his face when you tell him he’s wrong) or if he’s scared to do something on his own and needs you to help or simply do it for him. He’s just so boyfriend ugh I can’t do it.

✩KISSING omfg I’ve been waiting for this moment. FOREHEAD AND SHOULDER KISSES BRO. You can tell this has been on my mind for a while. He’s just so sweet with it too he’ll just grab you face and plant a cute ass kiss on your forehead ughhhhhhh I hate this man. Or if he’s comforting you and your face is in his neck and he’s rubbing your back and he places kisses on your shoulder. Bonus points if you’re sitting on his lap.

✩ANNOYING THINGS HE DOES I feel like he can be your favorite person and your worst enemy at the same time. He definitely just randomly jabs you in the side with his finger. Bro idk if this has ever happened to you guys but that shit doesn’t fucking tickle it HURTS SO BAD. And he’ll just keep doing it whenever for whatever. At the most random times too like it’ll be dead silent and he just jabs you in the ribs with the straightest face while your body just gives the most dramatic reaction. He doesn’t care how much you hate it actually he’ll keep on😭. It makes you laugh most of the time and you’ll complain but sometimes your just not in the mood and you get so annoyed and give the most attitude cause what is he doing..he looks at you with furrowed brows “what is wrong with you??” And start just attacking you and jabbing you everywhere possible and you are hurting. You’re trying to yell and be mad but it turns into laughing and now you’re just stuck like that. Sorry

That’s it I’m going to bed but Matt is tloml just needed this to be cleared🫶🏽

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #fanfic #headcanon #x reader #fiction

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nico-di-genova · 2 months

Text

In My Mind, You are Safe

A/N: What was meant to be a one chapter drabble has spiraled out of my control and now become a fic that requires timelines and setting. Anyway, enjoy part 2 from Lawrence's POV. Registered AO3 Users can read here, if they want! :)

Lawrence thought the worst sound he could hear was that of his son’s tears – the frightened sobs when he called after his bike accident and apologized first before even explaining what had happened. He thought it would be the hitch in Lance’s breath when he asked what to do, what he should do. In reality, the worst sound is the absence of it.

He finds himself missing the simplicity of two broken wrists. Now, Lance has broken ribs, a fractured skull, a jagged line of angry red stitching that runs from lower sternum to his hip. It all makes a broken toe look juvenile. Lawrence feels stupid for even panicking over hairline fractures and a two-week recovery time. He feel stupid for putting a six year old in an unpredictable machine in the first place and letting him grow an appetite for it.

Lance’s mother pushed for golfing, tennis, swimming even at one point. Lawrence should have listened.

Lance still cannot breathe on his own, and Lawrence is already forgetting the natural sound of it – instead he has grown familiar with the steady beep of a heart monitor and the snoring habits of Fernando Alonso.

The man is curled over in a chair he is two days away from establishing residency in, head resting alongside Lance’s bruised thigh, finger looped through his son’s limp pinkie. It is a sight that Lawrence wishes wasn’t familiar. A sight that forces him to confront the truth of their relationship, not that they were doing a phenomenal job at hiding it in the first place.

Lance only smiles, genuinely smiles, at things he cares about – that he’s deemed worthy of expending the energy on. Chloe’s dog, Chloe, his mother, good food, the first snow fall in Montreal that promises decent skiing and now apparently Formula 1 veteran, Fernando Alonso. Lawrence knows his son, knows he is a bad liar because his tell is written in the very core of him. He’s spent too many years and too many billions trying to make Lance smile the way Fernando has so easily managed it.

But now Lance smiles at nothing, and Lawrence finds he doesn’t mind if Fernando beats him to it. He just wants his son back.

“His, um, his eyebrows. I think they twitched today,” he tells the nurse when he comes to check Lance’s vitals.

“They could have,” the nurse says, not dismissive, but not validating to Lawrence’s optimism either. He lifts Lance’s sheets to inspect the healing along Lance’s stomach and disturbs Fernando from his sleep in the process. Bandages and gauze are peeled away with careful fingers and then there is the sight of Lance’s mutilated abdomen, just as gruesome as the night they first wheeled him out of surgery. Pink skin, still raw and angry and raised against the stitching holding him together. Skin yellowing around the cut, only marginally better than the dark bruising that was once there. It is the visible reminder that the steering column of Lance’s car, a car Lawrence had given him and deemed safe, nearly took him away for good.

“His neurological activity has been improving since we took him off the sedatives,” the nurse says, when he glances at Lawrence and seems to see the guilt. It is meant as a piece of good fortune, instead it reminds Lawrence of the medically induced coma they are working to ease Lance out of. The coma he was in to prevent seizures caused by the swelling on his brain. Because he’d hit the wall at a top speed of nearly 200 KPH and his helmet had done an admirable job of keeping him together but could only manage so much.

“So when can the tube be removed?” Fernando asks, wiping at the sleep crusted at the corners of his eyes. He looks annoyed to be woken, like he was having a particularly wonderful dream. Lawrence envies his ability to sleep at all.

“We’re not there yet.”

Fernando grumbles something in Spanish. The nurse, unfortunately, is fluent, “If you want him to keep breathing, then yes.”

“Is choking him. He would hate it.”

“Well, he’s not really in a position to make requests.”

A strange position for both Lance and Lawrence to be in. The first instance where money does not hold sway, other than affording Lance the luxury of a private suite and all the comforts that can be provided while he remains unconscious and unmoving. It also secures a lounge that neither Fernando nor Lawrence have made much use of. Other than to make cheap cups of coffee from the Keurig and complain about the taste.

“Breakfast?” Fernando asks, once the nurse deems Lance safe and unchanged, leaving both men to sit awkwardly with Lance being the divide between them.

Lawrence shrugs, “Sure.”

“Shit coffee?”

“Is there anything else?

“Shit tea I think.”

Lawrence laughs, dry and humorless, “Coffee’s fine.”

If you put enough milk in it, it’s almost drinkable. But Lawrence doesn’t actually care about the taste, it’s more the caffeine he needs – or, more accurately, the sleep he is fighting. There is a fear in him that if he closes his eyes Lance will somehow stop breathing for good in his absence. Like he’s only still here because Lawrence’s unwavering control is willing him to be, and not the ventilator.

“You sleep yet?” Fernando asks when he returns with two steaming styrofoam cups of joe, offering one to Lawrence with the milk already added. Fourteen days is a long time to get to know someone when you’re both tied to an unconscious twenty-five year old.

Lawrence shakes his head and sips from the coffee gratefully, it’s clear he’s been here too long because the sludge has begun to go down easier. “No, not yet. Didn’t want him to wake up alone.”

It’s clear from Lance’s condition that he will not be alert anytime soon, but Lawrence doesn’t want to risk it. He hadn’t been there after Spain, had only gotten to the hospital two days later when Lance was already post-op and loopy from the pain meds.

“Hi dad,” he’d slurred, “I’m all good now.” He’d proceeded to try to give Lawrence two thumbs up, but the casts they’d cemented his wrists in were clunky and his body uncoordinated. Lawrence had spent the flight speaking with Lance’s doctor, discussing everything from cost to recovery plan. Everything had been clinical and controlled until he was faced with the sight of Lance, disheveled and clad in a hospital gown half hanging off one shoulder, that made it all hit him like a freight truck.

He can’t miss being here when Lance wakes up, not again. He had his assistant bring him his laptop and any pressing work, has Fernando bring him coffee, has his wife bring him changes of clothes and the occasional cup of decent espresso, and he sometimes dozes off in the straight-backed chair, but waking up with a crick in his neck and pain in his back is enough to keep him fighting against it. He knows it’s all starting to take a toll though. When he goes to the bathroom he is faced with the sight of a man who sits just outside of death’s door, hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked. Sometimes he thinks Lance might be waiting there with him, it’s not always easy to chalk that up to sleep deprivation.

“I will watch him,” Fernando says, sipping from his coffee, “Wake you up if anything changes.”

“No, no. I’m okay.”

“You will end up in a hospital bed beside him soon,” Fernando shrugs, like he’s unbothered by the thought, “If you do not rest.”

He’s right, Lawrence knows it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Besides, he is not the only one who has found it impossible to leave Lance’s side. It’s race day in Hungary and Fernando isn’t in a car. Both of the Aston drivers have been replaced by their reserves, morale in the garage has reached an all-time low. Fernando isn’t in the headspace to race though, so Lawrence doesn’t press it. He doesn’t need two drivers on life support.

“I’m okay for now.”

Fernando shrugs again, and then drops it. He is not the sort to hold someone’s hand and coax them into doing something. Lawrence thinks that’s maybe why Lance might like him. His son has always been stubborn, always pushed against those who try to guide him, or those who try to tell him he’s somewhere he does not belong. Lawrence has learned he performs best under pressure, when he has something to prove, which was why he had wanted Fernando as their second driver to begin with. The downside to Lance’s unwavering drive is that he often ignored the limit, pushed where he shouldn’t, took risks that were unneeded, and then ended up paying the price for his mistakes.

Silverstone wasn’t Lance’s first crash, it was just the first where he hadn’t managed to get out on his own. At first Lawrence hadn’t been all too worried. In the small span of time where he’d known Lance had gone off, but the cameras hadn’t found him yet, he’d been disappointed, frustrated because they both, Lance and Fernando, had been doing so well. Fernando was pushing, ignoring team orders, but Lance was responding, defending, winning. It had felt, at first, like a confirmation of all that Lawrence knew to be true. That Lance was good, great even, he just needed a fire lit under his ass and something to work for.

And then the cameras found him.

‘Stroll is in the wall!’

‘Lance? Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright.’

The silence had stretched on, the crackle in Lawrence’s headphones sending a chill down his spine. Lance’s race engineer had radioed him again and again, but each time the empty crackle only seemed to grow in length.

‘Lance, confirm you are alright. Confirm.’ It stopped becoming a question, but a hopeful demand.

Lawrence had watched as Fernando stumbled out of his own car, barely waiting until the vehicle had stopped moving before he was sprinting across the gravel toward where Lance’s car was crumpled against the wall. There was smoke, flames breaking out at the rear end. He turned away when Fernando pulled Lance from the wreckage, had seen the flash of blood spreading rapidly across the green of Lance’s suit and knew there would be no response.

He hasn’t thanked Fernando for saving his son, hasn’t forgiven him for the crash either. They speak around it in the same way they speak around Fernando’s finger around Lance’s pinkie. It is becoming harder as the days stretch on, harder to ignore the desperate way Fernando looks at Lance sometimes, like he is willing him back into consciousness with the same force he pulled him from the car with.

“His mother is coming by today,” he says instead, pointedly ignoring how Fernando is sipping from his coffee with one hand and holding Lance with the other.

“How long?”

“She hasn’t said, probably no more than an hour.”

Claire can’t stand to see Lance like this. Singapore had been bad enough for her, this has been her worst nightmare. She visits Lance in short bursts, where she can ensure he is still breathing, even if it’s not of his own will yet. They don’t speak, in the same way he and Fernando hardly do, too much tension that threatens to boil over and they don’t want any of it to land on Lance. People in comas can sometimes hear what’s going on around them, at least that is what Lawrence has been told, so they all play nice in hopes it will mean the kid will come back to them faster.

Claire visits, Fernando leaves. Claire leaves, Fernando returns. Lawrence sits immovable through it all and Lance remains unchanged. A system.

“I will go, text me when I can come back?”

Lawrence nods. He ignores the way Fernando casts one last look at Lance, the longing, the worry, the guilt that is imbedded there. He is mad at Fernando in the same way he is mad at himself, he blames Fernando for causing the crash, blames himself for putting Lance in the car, like they were both responsible for Lance being here in the first place. But Lance has broken two wrists biking, ruptured his eardrum wakeboarding, sprained his ankle snowboarding, and he’d returned to all of those sports without pause afterward. If time could be reversed, neither he nor Fernando could have kept Lance out of that car. Because Lance is stubborn, it’s who he is. He doesn’t give up, even when the odds are stacked against him, and that’s how Lawrence knows he will wake up. He has unwavering faith.

———————————-

“We should have cards,” Fernando says, two days later, when they’re both sitting in silence watching the third rerun of Jumanji on the tv. “Or that game, the hippo one, something to do.”

“Hungry hippos?” “That one, yes.”

Lawrence knows it, knows Lance and Chloe used to play it because he can still remember the chaotic noise of it – Lance’s frustrated yells when he lost. It used to give him a headache.

The sparsely used lounge, it turns out, has a deck of cards stored in a cabinet. Lawrence finds it when he’s searching for spare sugar for his third cup of coffee that day, since they’d exhausted the packets stocked at the coffee bar.

“Do you have a 2?” Fernando asks, leaning forward in his chair, propping his chin on one hand and his large collection of cards in the other.

“Go fish.”

Fernando groans, reaches out to grab a card from where they’ve balanced them on Lance’s knee. There’s four threes spread across his thigh and four sixes along his calf, both of them are Lawrence’s wins.

“You have a four?”

Annoyed, Fernando resignedly passes the card over Lance’s body.

—————————

On day seventeen, Lawrence sleeps. It is not entirely his choice, but rather his body’s refusal to operate any further without rest. He stands to go to the bathroom, and when he does the room spins. Fernando catches him, guides him to the couch in the lounge.

When he wakes up there’s a blanket thrown over him and a stiff pillow beneath his head. It is dark out, Lawrence is thrown by the lack of light because it had been distinctly morning when he had gone to pee. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, to wipe the sleep from his eyes and blink until the room comes into focus.

Distantly, he can still hear the steady beep of the heart monitor, the hiss of the ventilator, the sounds that reassure him Lance did not give up while Lawrence slept soundly. It is only comforting for a moment, until he remembers the dream he had in which Lance was screaming for help and Lawrence could not reach him. The way he kept trying to claw his way through debris and rubble to reach his son, but the screams only seemed to grow further and further away until they tapered off into whimpers and then into the crushing sound of silence.

He stumbles from the couch, pulling the twisted blanket from his body as he goes, and only breathes when Lance is in his sight once more.

In the dark, the shadows of his face seems more prominent, the paleness of his skin more ghostly. Lance doesn’t tan, he goes from white to burned in the span of a few hours, but he is not normally the color of a piece of paper either. It’s eerie, discomforting, makes Lawrence think of his choked off screams from the dream.

Fernando seems to have also lost his battle with sleep, the man is passed out once more with his head pillowed on Lance’s bed. His hand rests around Lance’s wrist, an upgrade from the pinkie, fingers resting along the kid’s pulse point.

Lawrence, for the first time, truly tries to take stock of his son’s injuries. He studies the bruising on his face, the swelling that has gone down and been replaced with bruised eyes and tender skin. The yellowing marks around his neck that continue below the line of his hospital gown. The two splinted fingers of his right hand that Fernando has been so careful to avoid. It’s better than it had been, easier to look at, but still makes Lawrence taste bile at the back of his throat.

‘He’s lucky to have survived at all,’ he’d overheard one of the nurses say while Lance was still confined to the ICU. He’d been on the phone with Claire and had to physically hold himself back from saying something nasty. But he supposes, now that he really looks at Lance, they hadn’t been wrong. A skull fracture, major blunt force trauma, the g-forces he’d sustained to his body in the crash, it is a miracle he’s even still here.

Lawrence feels suddenly grateful, to God, or to Fernando, he isn’t sure which.

“Lance?” he whispers, like the boy will suddenly open his eyes. Like he’s a child asleep in his bed and Lawrence can rouse him with a gentle shake to his shoulder and a kiss to his temple. Like it’s an early morning where he can pull a groggy Lance from his bed and bring him to the track before the dew has even dried from the grass, watch him do laps in a kart that still sits on the side of too big for him.

Lance doesn’t wake up, but Lawrence is almost positive he sees his finger’s twitch, curling instinctively in his sleep. He doesn’t miss that it’s fingers from the hand Fernando is clinging to, the same pinkie the Spaniard had made his lifeline.

———————————

The next morning he proposes Fernando return to racing. Media day starts in Belgium tomorrow and they could have Fernando there in time if he left within the hour.

“No,” Fernando states, not even considering, not even bothering to have emotion in his voice.

Lawrence grinds his teeth, “We can’t keep making excuses, Fernando. There’s money tied-up in this, my money. You have a contract-.”

“And? Fuck your money. I do not care about your money, or the sponsors. Have Felipe race the rest of the season. I will not go.”

Lawrence is standing at the foot of Lance’s bed, arms crossed, anger beginning to course through him. Fernando, relaxed in his chair, with his hand around his son’s wrist looks right at home. Lawrence thinks of those same hands pulling Lance from his burning car, those hands pressing forcefully to Lance’s wound, blood coating his gloves and soaking through to his fingers. He thinks of Lance holding those hands, kissing them, knowing them because Lance has idolized Fernando since he was a child and Lawrence knows the look he gives Fernando now is not that of an awed fan but that of someone who has grown into something more.

“What are you,” Lawrence finds himself blurting out, asking not because he really wants to know, but because he needs to, “to him, what are you?”

Fernando looks at him, blinks, shrugs, “I do not know.”

The resigned honesty of it makes him even angrier.

“But more than teammates?” He demands, “More than a mentor? I know my son, Fernando, do not lie to me.” Lance once dated a girl who he was convinced he was going to marry. Took her to races, to dinners, to birthdays and parties and every family event he could conceivably sneak her into. He’d looked at her with the same wide-eyed wonder Lawrence sometimes caught him looking at Fernando with, like he couldn’t believe they would settle for someone like him. Like he was only worth settling for.

“More, yes,” Fernando concedes, but doesn’t expand.

“He loves you, I think,” Lawrence says, because he has never seen Lance look at anyone, since that girl, the way he looks at the man.

Fernando finally looks sad then, face falling, eyes filling with that familiar guilt.

“I know.”

“He’s almost half your age.”

“I know,” the guilt deepens. He finally drops Lance’s wrist, pulls away and keeps his hands curled in his lap, like he realizes this is finally the moment Lawrence stops ignoring the truth of them.

Lawrence thinks about asking him to leave, knows he could force him to go to Belgium if he wanted, bring out terms like ‘breach of contract’ and ‘lawsuit’, but Lawrence is not a cruel man, especially not where Lance is concerned. He allowed that girl into their lives, into his own birthday party that was meant only to be for close family, all because Lance had asked. And when they’d broken up, he’d put Lance back together – let him cry and scream and throw the belongings of his room around until there was no more energy left in the kid and then he’d sat Lance down and told him it would all be okay. He kept saying that. Through Formula 3 when Lance would win and still not feel like it was enough because the other boys would say he bought the trophy. When he hit Formula 1 and would go to his driver’s room instead of the media pen after a race because the tears wouldn’t stop flowing and his own frustration at himself became too much. Lawrence would be there, he would always be there. But Fernando was here now too, and he guessed that counted for something.

He uncrosses his arms, drops the fight because he’s tired and the room is too small for such arguments, “You stay now, and you better mean it.”

Fernando swallows, nods, “Okay.”

Felipe and Stoffel race in Spa on Sunday.

——————————

By week four, Lawrence is beginning to lose it. He’s become immune to the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the bland taste of the cafeteria food, the beeping of machinery that keeps Lance alive. It all becomes background noise, until he’s numb to it all, just existing. The coffee doesn’t taste bad anymore, it tastes like nothing at all.

He watches Jumanji for the sixth time and finds that the film is growing on him.

Fernando has not left.

“So how did it start?” Lawrence asks one night. He’s twirling hospital spaghetti on a fork, picking at hamburger meat listlessly with the metal prongs.

Fernando slurps one of the noodles, “Me and him?” he asks, pointing to Lance with his own silverware.

Lawrence nods. He has gone past avoiding the topic to wanting to understand it.

“Um,” Fernando starts, “Bahrain, I think.”

“This year?”

“No, uh, last.”

So when Fernando had sang Lance’s praises to the cameras. Lawrence had assumed that was all for show. He’d been warned of the drivers poor sportsmanship, his un-teammate-like behavior.

“So you weren’t trying to impress me?”

“No I was,” Fernando admits, “wanted you to think you had gotten your money’s worth at first.”

Fernando had not come cheap, but he still wasn’t as much as Newey was shaping up to be. He’d taken a good chunk from Lawrence, but not enough that he would seem like a bad investment so early on. He maybe had been laying the groundwork for a contract extension, if the car proved to be a challenger.

“So when did it-?”

“Become serious? Summer break.”

Lawrence thinks he remembers that, Lance mentioning something about a yacht, his voice lilting with obvious joy over the phone. You could hear when Lance smiled, his voice changing with the shape of it. They’d had lunch a few days later and there was an obvious mark on Lance’s neck, something he kept trying to hide with a hand when he would lean an elbow on the table and rest his neck against his palm. Lawrence didn’t care to know about his son’s sex life, in the same way he cared little about Chloe’s, he cared only that both of his kids were happy. And at the time, Lance had seemed to be. He hadn’t questioned it past that, even when he'd seen Fernando’s name pop up as a text notification on Lance’s phone and seen the way Lance blushed over his salmon and orzo.

“And you’ve talked about it, you and him? About the future? He’s young, Fernando. He can make his own choices, yes, but I don’t know if he’s thinking in the long-term yet, not really.”

He doesn’t meant to imply Fernando is old, but they’ve both been twenty-five, both known how it seems like you are weathered and just beginning all at once. Like you have the answers, you just haven’t figured out where to apply them yet.

Fernando bites at another noodle, “Yes, we have talked. Some. But it’s not- we are not- I don’t know.”

“Serious?”

“Maybe.”

“But you’re here. You don’t have to be.”

“It’s serious enough for this. I need to be here, when he wakes up, not racing circles. I would be no good in the car right now. My head is-“ he motions vaguely in the air with his fork, a piece of tomato soaked hamburger falls off of it and plops onto the white linens of Lance’s sheets. Lawrence understands that. Can respect it even. He also maybe isn’t the one to judge a relationship. Not with a divorce under his belt and his own wife younger than him. He just has the inherent need to make sure Lance is safe, cared for. He’s had the same need since he first held Chloe in his arms and realized what it was to be a father.

Fernando picks up the hamburger, drops if back onto his own plate, but the red stain it leaves behind stays.

————————

Twenty-nine days after Lance’s crash Lawrence is returning from making his daily Keurig coffee, stirring the milk into the sludge with a stir stick when he looks up to see Lance blinking back at him.

The cup falls from his hands, splatters against the linoleum and spreads in a puddle across the floor. Specks of it land on his dress pants, some of it on his hands, he hardly notices the burn of it. Lance, bleary-eyed and groggy stares at him, blinks slowly.

“Lance,” Lawrence sobs. Lance’s eyebrows furrow, the movement so startling because he has been without any for so long that Lawrence cannot help the strangled sound that escapes him. The noise pulls Fernando from his sleep, he lifts his head from the bed and looks from Lawrence to Lance before letting out a cry of his own.

Lance lifts a lethargic hand to the tubing at his mouth, tries to pull it out with muddled fingers.

“Aye, no,” Fernando panics, pulling Lance’s finger away and trapping them in his own grip, “We’ll get someone, we take it out now, yes?”

Lance nods, makes a choked sound around the polyvinyl. His fingers curl around Fernando’s hand, gripping, responding to the touch. Lawrence can’t stop looking at the movement as he stumbles for the call button beside Lance’s bed. He can’t stop shaking. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Fernando soothes, brushing Lance’s hair back from his forehead in an intimately calming gesture.

Lance’s panicked breathing through his nose worsens. He looks from Fernando to Lawrence with ever-widening eyes.

“You’re okay, son,” Lawrence tries, kneeling beside Lance’s bed and pressing a firm hand to his shoulder when Lance tries to rise against the wires and tubing keeping him down.

The coffee soaks into the knee of his pants. Lance chokes again.

“You’re okay,” they both repeat, hoping that it will be true.

#strollonso #strollonso fic #probably so many medical inaccuracies but whatever ya know #google was my friend but also probably lied to me at points #lance stroll #fernando alonso #my fic

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ihavemanyhusbands · 10 months

Note

can you write something where reader goes to the bear on a date w some asshole who turns out stood you up and made you seem like an idiot for sitting there alone waiting for him to show up for nearly an hour all the while Richie aka FOH rockstar is constantly checking in on you and fuming inside bc how could anyone be so fucking mean and rude to such a perfect girl?!? You end up staying anyways cause you know this reservation was hard to get and you’re not gonna let the restaurant loose money but also obv you’re not gonna leave without trying the food hello…but also cause Mr. FOH rockstar in the nice suit is vvvv charming and you wanna know all about him…..And Richie ends up comping your whole meal and giving you extra dessert <3 and maybe you leave your number on a napkin for him idk

I just know S2 Richie would be such an angel omg ❤️

——

Richie made no comment as he poured you a second glass of wine. He saw you glance at your phone and how your face fell a little at the lack of notifications.

He looked at the empty chair across from you and shook his head just a little in disbelief. You hadn’t ordered anything yet and it had been over an hour since you’d gotten there.

He hated seeing you looking so dejected, especially since he’d already seen your smile directed at him a few times. You seemed so hopeful at the beginning of the night, a lively gleam in your eye.

He’d been extra attentive with you, but tried not to seem too overbearing. The more time passed, the more your shoulders slumped. At some point, you stopped glancing at the front entrance.

He had the biggest urge to punch whatever motherfucker had stood you up and curse him out for being so ungrateful. But instead, he gave you a small smile as you thanked him for the wine, and he decided he was going make sure that the rest of your night was better.

"You know, the chef's special tonight is not one you want to miss," he said, drawing your interest. "An impeccable short rib ragu with pappardelle and pecorino Romano. Pairs real well with what you're drinking, actually."

Your stomach grumbled at his description of the food. You'd been eyeing the dishes people had ordered around you, but you'd denied yourself all of it while you waited. You sighed in resignation, mustering your best smile for him, grateful for his generous attention.

"That sounds lovely, I'll definitely get that," you said, trying to ignore how your eyes were stinging. “Thank you.”

Again, he felt a stab of hatred for that stronzo. He now also felt the urge to kneel down in order to be eye level with you, so he might wipe your tears away if they fell. But of course, there was no way he could fucking do that.

“Comin’ right up,” he said with a wink, striding back into the kitchen.

When he returned, he stalled until you took your first bite so he could see your reaction. Your eyes widened as you hummed in the delight, momentarily forgetting everything else.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” He smiled.

“Oh my God,” you agreed with a nod, smiling a little more genuinely. “You were so right.”

“Only the best of the best for you,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

You couldn’t help but blush at his words, glancing at his retreating form. You chowed down with gusto, occasionally looking up and meeting his eye across the room. You had to admit he was very handsome, not to mention charming.

You appreciated the fact that he had been so kind to you. Sure, maybe it was all part of his job, but the interest felt genuine to you. Maybe getting stood up wasn’t the worst thing in the world, wounded ego aside.

He brought out a special dessert that he confided was not on the menu, and once more he made your skin tingle slightly with a wink.

By the time you finished, you felt much better than you had in the past two hours. You waved him over to ask for the bill, but he shook his head.

“No bill tonight,” he said, placing a hand against his chest. “It’s all on me.”

“What?” You asked, genuinely confused. “I mean I— I just… really?”

He chuckled. “Yes, of course. As long are you are satisfied and content, that’s all that matters here.”

You blinked, then laughed a little incredulously.

“More than that. I think this might be my new favorite restaurant,” you said. “Do you have pen and paper?”

He pulled out a small notepad and a pen from his back pocket, handing it to you. You wrote down your name and phone number, then doodling five stars underneath.

“I hope this isn’t too forward,” you said coyly, handing it back to him.

“N-not at all,” he beamed, his cheeks growing redder. “I was actually hoping you would.”

——

#richie jerimovich fanfiction #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich blurb #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader

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1eos · 1 year

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wait what did you mean by “kardashians brought pop culture to slaughter and bts delivered the final blow”? I SWEARRRRRR im not trying to be one of those “gotcha!” anons but i keep seeing sm ppl posting abt pop culture / counter culture being dead, and a lot of it in relation to renaissance and i’m just confused by it 😭😭 i’m not even a kpop listener i just think u put these things eloquently

i love asks like this bc my initial reaction before and after i realized this is a genuine question was night n day.

anyways the kardashians were a very very calculated rise to fame at any cost nd were maybe the first people to be on reality tv and skyrocket into mainstream fame (unfortunately) and kim's obsession w stealing everything from black people and marketing it out spearheaded the generic insta baddie aesthetic which is responsible for at least half of the desctruction of unique pop culture. if you look at the 2000s the shit was weird but it was unique. go back even further and the shit club kids were doing influenced fashion EVERYWHERE now everyone is passing around the same name brand outfits, everyone's going to the same surgeon to get their unique features changed into the same racially ambiguous lewk, you don't need talent, you don't need charisma you just need to look like you have money and therefore you deserve fans that will die to be scammed by you.

so the kardashians put pop culture on the slaughtering board right? and then here bts comes. also just copying what black ppl do 1 to 1 until they blow up internationally and start producing some of the most generic western bait pop to be palatable enough to all the white children of the world and their token black friends. but this generic music is taking over the world. the hype isn't in the content but its in the numbers. their fans begin to become obsessed with streaming numbers, video views, breaking records etc. the music is irrelevant. its all about the numbers and being on as many unskippable ads as possible. so now the industry follows behind the biggest (and worst) fandom of all time and award shows, journalists, online content curators who could be informing pop culture accurately are just saying whatever these people want to hear. giving accolades to soulless 'hits' bc they want to avoid death threats or just get a cut of the zombie streaming pie. good pop culture is DEAD. if it werent for the few big black girlies in the industry like beyonce who can do whatever we'd be in hell! no one can sing cuz theyre getting ribs removed to fit into corsets and no one is dancing bc the rented mugler bodysuit has to be returned with no damage and it's all just very very generic.

ofc there are rare interesting performers that pop up but bc they dont fit into the mold they get bullied out like poor mitski wants to be an actual artist nd they hate her for it. anyways kris jenner is going to hell for the evil she's brought into the world

#i blacked out and typed way too much but as a girl whose formative years were in the 00s #a real peak of pop culture this shit is SAD!#and ik its not just me being old bc when u look at what going viral on tiktok a LOT of it is throwbacks #hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm its almost like the current shit not hitting!

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autocrats-in-love · 7 months

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Can i please request again "Someone's in denial" part 4? i wanna see what happens😭 Your writing's so amazing and though of course i'm curious, there's absolutely no pressure if you don't want to❤️ Have a nice day!!🥧🍧

Someone's in Denial (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The villain’s car pulled up outside an old-looking home in a quiet neighbourhood. A bit run down, but nothing about it suggested it belonged to a criminal mastermind. Even the car had camouflaged itself as something older and dustier.

“Can it turn invisible, too?” The hero asked, undoing their seatbelt.

“It’s supposed to, but I’ve never gotten it to work,” the villain said, giving the car a pointed look as they closed the driver-side door behind them.

The car whirred, seemingly annoyed.

“You have not tried.” The villain responded.

“Uh, this is all great, but shouldn’t we-” the hero pointed to the house.

“Right.” The villain said. “Come along.”

The hero followed the villain to the door. The villain slotted a simple key into the keyhole, turned it, and opened the door.

The villain kicked off their sneakers--the agency randomly grabbed a pair of shoes from their closet before arresting them--and swept their hand out grandly.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” They said.

The hero smiled despite themselves. They had left their diary in the car. They didn’t want the villain to be able to grab it and flick through the pages. They went to sit on the couch as the villain went past them to the kitchen.

“We should be safe, for now,” the villain said, looking for something in the cupboards. “Ah, here we are.”

The villain held it up for the hero. It looked like a small, red button. They pushed it. Nothing happened. The hero looked around, expecting to see or hear something.

“What did that do?” the hero asked.

“I forget, but-” the villain tossed the button on the counter and walked into the living room. “-I remember thinking it was really important when I made it. So I push it whenever I come here.”

They sat down next to the hero. The hero looked them over and was suddenly very self-conscious. They hadn’t had time to think about what they were wearing, with the kidnapping and the interrogation and the escape and the being shot at. But they had been arrested early this morning, while on a walk. They were wearing leggings and a very loose fitting t-shirt. The villain, on the other hand, had on ripped jeans, a tank top, and a zip-up hoodie they were in the process of pulling off.

“Are you alright, there?” the villain said, amused.

The hero took their eyes off the villain’s shoulders.

“You said we would talk.” The hero said.

They rubbed their sweaty hands on their lap. The villain fiddled with a ring on their thumb.

“Yeah, I did.” The villain said.

They took a deep breath. The hero’s heart raced. They stared at the villain. They were always staring. Chronically obsessed with everything their enemy did. The villain would often stare back, usually with an entertained look on their face. A smile that the hero knew was for them alone. Now, the villain was looking at the floor.

“Do you remember last year, when I broke your ribs?” The villain asked.

“Uh. . .yeah,” the hero said, a bit confused.

“You complained about it so much. You still had to fight me, and every time it looked like you were losing, you would whine about how I had an unfair advantage.”

“It was the worst time, too,” the hero said. “We were short on replacements and I was in the middle of moving house.”

The villain glanced up at them and smiled, genuine and sweet.

“It was so cute.” they said.

The hero’s cheeks heated.

“What?” They asked, flustered.

“I know I love to joke, but wow, was it adorable.” The villain rubbed the back of their neck. “I kind of knew I liked you already, but I thought about you all the time after that.”

Everything was fine. The hero felt like they had just been lit on fire, but everything was fine.

The hero pulled on the fabric of their leggings, trying to keep their smile from getting too wide.

“Really?” they said. “Interesting.”

The villain rolled their eyes but didn’t stop grinning.

“Alright, your turn.” They said, nudging the hero. “When did you realise how cool I am?”

The hero thought about it for a moment. “There wasn’t a single event that made me like you. It was a whole lot of things. I can’t really pin anything down.”

“And yet you’ve spent the last few years pretending to hate me.” the villain said.

“Yeah, so I didn’t lose my job! You don’t have anyone to answer to. I have at least a dozen superiors who wouldn’t react kindly to this news. And look, they didn’t!” The hero said.

“I can’t believe they want to kill you.” the villain responded.

“Me neither, honestly.” The hero ran a hand through their hair. “I knew they would have a big problem with it, but not enough to execute me. I never thought that clause would matter.”

“What clause?” the villain raised an eyebrow.

“In our contracts, there was something specifying they could-” the hero made a throat-slitting gesture. “-if we switched sides. I didn’t know this counted.”

“Your agency is messed up,” the villain said.

“I’m starting to get that vibe,” the hero responded.

The villain took the hero’s hand. It sent sparks of electricity all through their body.

“I promise I’ll stay with you. Protect you. It’s my fault.” The villain said. “We can just lay low for a while.”

We. The hero was on a high they hoped to never come down from. They shrugged.

“I guess. If you’re going to make a big deal out of it.”

They leaned in and kissed the villain. Their companion enthusiastically returned it. Their hands were running through the hero’s hair and gently holding their waist. The hero felt another blush coming on. It didn’t matter. The villain couldn’t see it. Even though the hero knew there were agents combing the city for them, they couldn't help but feel that all was at peace.

THE END

#villain x hero #hero x villain #not a prompt #hero snippet #villain snippet #kiss

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italoniponic · 2 years

Note

Congratulations for the event! May I request hcs of Leona and Floyd (seperated pls '^^) with a s/o who's significantly shorter than them but is still bold? Like their s/o is 150cm but doesn't give a shit and still annoys the hell out of them and threatens them even tho they don't stand a chance against them.

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

| Notes: Hi, dear! This made me remember a Brazilian expression about short people that have little to no patience for things (the exact word for that doesn't translate to english). It’s like saying “oh, that angry shortie, right?” That’s the feeling I’m looking for here lol And I changed Leona and Floyd’s nicknames just for the sake of adding a bit of personality to this reader, so instead of herbivore and shrimpy, we have “meerkat” and “flounder”. A-ha title reference just bc~ Thanks for the request <3 |

Leona Kingscholar, Floyd Leech x g!n short reader / headcanons / fluff & comedy / teasing / reader has 150cm and is feral / movies references / use of “you” pronouns

Cherry’s Harvesting event 🍒 Masterlist

Fighting High and Low

“Enjoying the Sun, little meerkat? Or am I doing a shadow for you?” You snorted at those words, turning to face Leona Kingscholar who was resting his arm on your head. But you wouldn't let him just take advantage of you like that. You elbowed his rib and stuck out your tongue. This was a typical scene for you two;

As Leona met you more and more throughout your early days in the NRC, he gradually became interested in you. Not only because of the situations you got into sometimes, but also because of the way you faced everything so bravely even though you are the height of a child. He thought you were a very special source of entertainment at first;

Teasing you has become one of the peaks of Leona's day. Studying could suck, being bothered by annoying herbivores even more so, but seeing your angry face and your attempts to fight back with him always improved his mood. Your courage — and a bit of senselessness — sets you apart from the rest and Leona gets to respect that;

That's why he nicknamed you “meerkat”. There is a little tale for children in Afterglow Savannah that the most clumsy of the meerkats managed to be friends with a large wild boar and was brave enough to find a safer place for his flock. They said he was kind of crazy and Leona remembered laughing a lot at this story when he was little;

When you nudge him out of your way, step on his foot, or call him an “furry electric pole”, Leona remembers this classic character from his land. Would you dare to throw yourself in front of a lion like him and say what you think, without being afraid to die? Absolutely. You already called him “lazy cat”, wringing a delicious laugh out of him;

And to your worst bad luck: you liked to see Leona laugh. Sometimes not laughing in a smug way, but genuinely. Because, as time went on, you came to realize that this is how he laughed during the provocations between you. His smile, wide but light, showed a joy never seen before. You once even literally tried to climb Leona to see his smile more closely;

Having a smaller height in relation to that multitude of jungle trees that you called colleagues was a problem at times, but you didn’t let yourself be felled by it. And there were other short guys full of rage and courage out there, so you didn't feel alone in your problems. You were one of the few people who made Leona pay attention to something and not necessarily annoy him in the process;

Before, when you were still really annoyed by his attitudes, you would pull him by the tail to get his attention. “I'm sorry, with my height, I can't reach your shoulder,” you'd comment, making a cute but mocking pout. To which Leona would lift you up by your arms and reply, “Now you have my attention, annoying meerkat.” But this was in the past;

Not that you have lost the ability to call him creatively. You literally jumped near him, managing to reach his shoulder and announce your presence. Leona would give you a little look, seeing your hands sliding down his arm without letting go, and grin. You two are a pretty weird pair;

No matter the situation or environment, Leona likes to lean on you and defend himself without concern from your punches to his torso and your kicks to his shin. You lose complete track of time or what people are talking about but it's so fun that it's worth it;

When you eventually confessed your feelings, it was time for your first kiss. You laughed, asking if the most dignified lion could squat down for you to reach him and in response, Leona held on by the waist, so that you ended up even taller than him. “Is the view from the pride rock beautiful?,” Leona asked. “Um, the Lion King over here is more.”

“Hey, little flounder… smooth? What's that face?” Why do light breezes always carry a tsunami with them? You sighed as you felt a big, tall presence leaning against you. Floyd Leech had another one of those big, toothy smiles on his face, his eyes staring at you with a mysterious glow. You tried to step on his foot and run from there;

From the very first moment, Floyd felt that you would be an interesting person to get along with. You must have been one of the shortest people he has ever met — in general, everyone is already short to him — but, there is something in your gaze and in your stubbornness to accept yourself as a prey in that ocean of dangers that awakens unexpected feelings in Floyd;

Therefore, he likes to observe you and talk with you, observing your reactions and the way you act. Floyd would joke that this is “tasting the food” but in reality, it's a very detailed study of you as a person. This is what helps Floyd in any quarrel. He knows exactly what to say or do to disarm you and hit your nerves just right;

Proportionally, you ended up getting his way of acting. At first, you responded to Floyd's taunts in the same way. When he asked where you were because he didn't see you, you said you were right below him, ready to punch his balls. You also have this thing where Floyd would lift you up by the collar and you'd try in vain to kick him in the stomach;

But, now more experienced, you found a way to cut Floyd’s animation before it stretched any further than it should. It was only when you started complimenting the fact that he was tall that everything would lose its grace. However, sometimes you would give such an ironic and backhanded compliment that a smile would quickly return to Floyd's face. Did you really think you would get rid of him so easily?;

Your affectionate nickname as “flounder” is a joke about the favorite type of fish of a famous mermaid in the Coral Sea. She was friends with an especially fearful flounder, but at the right moments, he swallowed his fears and even managed to hit an eel with his tail. Floyd can see these same characteristics in you;

It makes Floyd even imagine what you would be like if you were underwater because his original form of eel is immense and if you were really a flounder — or a shrimp, whatever — you would remain a cute little thing that he would like to bite and tease. And you would have the same amusing folly of trying to hit him with your short tail;

Certain times, when you were in a bad mood and Floyd appeared, you would run up to him to hang yourself in his arms as if he was a large tree branch at your disposal. Floyd didn't care because it was kind of funny. “Do you think my arm is a plank?,” he laughed. “Forgive me for stealing the joke, but honestly, I'm short-tempered today,” you'd reply, frowning;

Without you two being able to stop it, something else came up between you. The pranks and jokes were getting less serious and ended up becoming a cool dynamic banter. Floyd liked to mess your hair up and give your head a strong caress, which you responded to by holding his back tight and sometimes climbing on him like he was your seahorse. Imagine the chaos in the hallways;

Falling in love with a tall person has its advantages. Floyd also sees this in your case as well. With you next to him, he could just hold you in front of someone and let your cute little face melt the person's heart. To which he ends up blurting out that this effect would be short-lived because you’re a little gremlin — as if he weren’t some ninety-one foot tall Godzilla;

When you had called Floyd to go in the yard that day, he thought it was funny that you had climbed up on the bench and stared at him from up there. “Will you try to dive on me, little flounder?,” he asked, amused and curious. “Only if I'm going to kiss you, stupid!” And it was in that moment that Floyd was sure you were the one.

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst headcanons #twst fluff #cherry's writing #cherry's harvesting

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nobodylikety · 5 months

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hello nyúl, am here to request a foreigner (spanish) reader who is in Korea for Uni and starts dating school president dahyun but a year into a relationship reader starts missing home and dahyun ends up calling readers parents to help her make all of readers hometown food or foods from there childhood and when reader gets home they are surprised by this gestured by ends up loving it of course, then you can make it even fluffier by dahyun giving YN 2 tickets back to Spain for the summer holiday as a surprise present

Hey! How are you doing? <3

You always send me good ideas and request for fics, thank you very much 🥺🩷 I know I still have some of your requests pending, and I'm slowly working on it! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

There is no place like home

School president! Dahyun x Spanish exchange student! reader

tags: College AU! fluff.

notes: fem pronouns used!

For someone born and raised in Mojácar, a small city in the province of Almería, embarking on the exciting experience of studying in Korea, particularly in the vibrant and enormous Seoul, was practically a dream.

So shortly after your arrival, the immensity of said culture immersed you in an absolutely unknown world, where the main difficulty had been from the beginning the language barrier (because let's be honest, at the beginning you couldn't pronounce annyeonghaseyo correctly not even to save your life), although soon, between classes and new faces, you caught the attention of Dahyun, the class president.

And well, how could you not catch her attention? You always seemed like a lost puppy hanging around the hallways, speaking a language practically unknown to her, and for god's sake, it surprisingly made you look adorable doing it.

But again, and just as from the beginning, the language barrier presented itself as a challenge, so the interactions between you and her were mostly simple greetings and smiles. Because you couldn't speak Korean to save your life, nor could she speak Spanish. However, as the days went by, the spark overcame problems as earthly as a linguistic obstacle, through patience and friendly gestures, dissolving the difficulty of her first encounters.

Because beyond that, you and Dahyun had learned to communicate through gestures, shared laughter, and genuine expressions. The connection grew day by day, turning their friendship into something deeper and more meaningful. And of course, over time you learned one or another Korean expression or sentence, purely through the process of adapting to the environment, but it was no longer crucial. You told each other everything, without saying a word.

And as your friendship intensified, excitedly sharing your Spanish roots with Dahyun, as well as the tenderness of discovering Korean traditions together, the sum of each and every one of those experiences strengthened their connection.

Which wreaked new havoc on you.

So after some time, you felt trapped in a whirlwind of emotions. The attraction grew, and every moment with Dahyun was a rollercoaster of sensations: you felt fascinated by Dahyun's vibrant energy, her infectious joy, and the way she lit up any place with her presence; You felt anticipation for her text messages, or you got giggles and butterflies in your stomach when you looked at each other.

All of that was, according to you, the worst and at the same time the best that could happen to you. You loved being by her side, but you also feared the always possible probability of a one-sided love.

Except it wasn't a one-sided love.

Although you didn't know it yet.

Because the turning point came on a starry night, during one of the now routine night walks through Seoul, when Dahyun, with a special shine in her eyes and her heart beating strongly against her ribs, confessed her feelings for you. It was a moment full of nervousness, because the words were different, they were another language, but the sparkle in your eyes revealed those same passionate feelings and finally, love resonated clearly.

But after a year of shared laughter, walks around the city, and mutual support, you began to experience a quiet melancholy. You were nostalgic for your home in Spain, longing for the familiar streets of Mojácar, as well as the aromas of your mamá 's cooking and the comforting meals she prepared in your childhood, remembering how she used to say that 'the cuisine of Mojácar is the best exponent of the gastronomic tradition of the Costa de Almería'.

And for Dahyun, who never took her eyes off you (because deep in her heart, she still associated you with the image of the adorable lost puppy wandering the college hallways, which was what she saw when she met you for the first time), she clearly observed the melancholy in your eyes and didn't need to ask anything about it. Sje just knew it.

And with ingenuity and determination, Dahyun decided to take action. So while she was slowly laying out a plan that she hoped would cheer you up, one day while you two were sharing a quiet walk around campus, Dahyun took your phone with a mischievous smile.

“Would you mind if I took your emergency number? You never know when we might need it,” Dahyun said, playfully.

Without even thinking and with a giggle, you gave her the phone number she had asked for. Anyway, you thought it was always good to have someone other than yourself have your emergency contact, just as a precaution. You never know, right?

And of course, what you didn't know on that occasion was that Dahyun was planning something special. That night after Uni, Dahyun discreetly left to make an international call.

"Hola, es esta la casa de reader? Uhm, soy Dahyun y, uh, su hija y yo hemos estado saliendo por un año y poco más. Llamé porque me gustaría conversar una situación con ustedes" Dahyun explained respectfully, using the Spanish she had learned.

So, after a pleasant conversation (and less difficult than Dahyun expected, given her little knowledge of Spanish), she shared her idea with your parents. Together, they created a plan to transform your dorm room into a piece of Spain. Your parents' help was very useful for Dahyun, being able to recover numerous family recipes, details about your home, and anecdotes that only your true friends could know.

So with information in hand, Dahyun gave free rein to her efforts for the surprise. Since you and Dahyun did not coincide in all classes, since academically you had different interests, consequently you two had different class dismissal times. And that day, after the end of her classes, Dahyun had run to your dorm room while you would still be engrossed in your studies for about two more hours.

You had a kitchen in your small dorm room, but you didn't usually use it, since you had little or practically no time to cook something decent, and therefore, you tended to eat with Dahyun outside or heat up microwave dinners; so at that moment, Dahyun had your entire kitchen to herself and she was ready to get to work.

The first task that Dahyun set himself was to prepare Ajo Colorao, a typical dish in almost the entire province of Almería, including Mojácar, your hometown, and which you had stated more than once that you loved to eat. So in the kitchen, and with the ingredients scattered all over the counter, Dahyun immersed herself in the process. First she prepared Ajo Colorao, a dish that, according to your parents had explained to her during the phone call, is made up of a puree that has the consistency of a salmorejo and where cooked potatoes are combined with desalted cod, chorizo pepper, garlic, tomato and cumin, and that you particularly liked to accompany with bollo de panizo, a typical bread from Almería.

Then, the second masterpiece on her gastronomic list was Patatas in ajopollo, a dish that reminded you of Sunday lunches, characterized by family reunion and togetherness, as well as shared laughter. Dahyun remembered that your parents had told her that the trick for this recipe was to first brown the bread, almonds and garlic in a frying pan with oil at low temperature until it turned golden brown, and then mash everything in a mortar until it was obtained a a soft, but thick mixture. Soon she understood that this pasty mixture was 'ajopollo', and that it accompanied the potatoes.

The aroma that filled the kitchen while Dahyun prepared your favorite dishes evoked the homely memories of your childhood in Mojácar and while now she was cooking the papaviejos —a typical dessert from Almería, preferred by the little ones, and whose ingredients simply consisted of potatoes, milk , flour and sugar—, she reflected on the connection she had built with you since you two had been dating, more than a year ago. Dahyun had the feeling that with each ingredient that fell into the pan it not only seemed to carry with it the very essence of your hometown, but also your happiness. She had noticed how homesick you had been lately, and this surprise was intended to do just that.

Make you happy.

Because if Dahyun loved something about you dearly, it was your smile.

With that in mind, Dahyun checked the clock, taking note that it was almost time for you to return to your room after classes. And it was just in time, because a few minutes later, she heard the slight struggle while you inserted the key, and then a 'click' when removing the lock. You paused for a moment, noticing a familiar scent hanging in the air.

And then, as you opened the door, the sight of the unfolding in front of you, left you speechless. Dahyun had transformed your modest room into a corner of Mojácar in the heart of Korea.

Dahyun, with a nervous and anticipatory smile, was waiting for you standing next to the table. Her eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, while she held an apron that revealed her as the author of this surprise feast.

"Welcome home!" Dahyun exclaimed happily when you entered. Your eyes met and the knowing glow between them conveyed the affection and dedication she had invested in this surprise.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the incredible surprise Dahyun had prepared for you. In turn, your face lit up with a mixture of surprise and excitement, and your eyes shone as you recognized every detail that evoked your distant home.

"Dahyun, how...?" You murmured, not finding the right words to express your gratitude.

The table was decorated with details reminiscent of Mojácar, from small flags to photos of local landscapes. Dahyun had learned a lot about your culture and wanted you to feel a piece of home in that moment.

"Do you like it?" Dahyun asked, her eyes shining with hope while pointing to the plates.

You nodded, unable to contain your excitement. You approached the table and looked at each dish in awe, and Dahyun, with her apron on, began to describe each dish excitedly, revealing how she had contacted your parents for authentic recipes and cooking tips.

The table was full of delicacies, from succulent Patatas en ajopollo to the Ajo Colorao that you remembered with nostalgia. There were even papaviejos, your favorite childhood dessert, perfectly golden and sprinkled with sugar.

And as you ate each dish, you felt your eyes filled with tears of gratitude. Every bite reminded you of home, your mother's kitchen, and the family meals you had missed so much. Dahyun, carefully observing your every reaction, was satisfied to see that her surprise was achieving the desired effect.

But just when Dahyun couldn't feel happier and prouder of her small achievement, and after finishing dinner, you got up to hug her tightly.

“I can’t believe you did all this for me,” you said, your voice filled with emotion. "You're amazing, Dahyun."

Dahyun reciprocated the hug, feeling your heartbeat. “Your happiness is mine,” Dahyun whispered. "And even though we are far from Mojácar, I want you to feel like you have a home here with me."

But the surprise didn't end there! There was more!

Because while Dahyun shared with you a handful of churros, which she had personally gone to buy at a Spanish place in the area, she handed you an envelope containing tickets back to Spain for the summer vacation.

"I want you to have the opportunity to hug your family and enjoy meals from home in person," Dahyun expressed, her eyes shining. She then came up to kiss you gently on the forehead, on the nose, on the cheeks. She practically drew a map of kisses on your face, and you let her do it.

And so, between traditional dishes and affectionate gestures, another chapter of your story with Dahyun was woven, a story that transcended borders and demonstrated that home is not always in a physical place, but in the shared heart.

Dahyun was your home.

And that being the case, there is no place like home.

#twice imagines #twice x reader #dahyun #dahyun x reader #dahyun imagines #twice dahyun #kim dahyun

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