#Isolated Time Acceleration | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherry-leclerc · 4 months ago

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reckless driver ☆ mv1

genre: photographer!reader, angst, moody!max, yearning, jos hate club

word count: 9.9k

Switching to be Max’s personal photographer wasn’t a planned note on your agenda. Neither was him opening up. A lot of things weren’t, therefore, making his growing crush on you catch him completely off guard.

inspired by reckless driving, lizzy mcalpine !

cherry here!...would it be a regular cherry fic if it didn’t hurt ya just a little bit?

All he knew was how to be perfect.

It has nothing to do with his looks, doesn’t even mean this in a condescending way. The perfect shade of watercolor eyes. The perfect mix of dirty blond hair. The perfect color of pink that taints his lips. The perfect curve of his nose. This had nothing to do with that.

For fucks sakes, Max! Jos grits his teeth tightly, marching closer and closer. The accelerator is there for a reason!

From a very early age, Max’s vocabulary grew an excessive amount, but again, it mainly had to do with how many curse words he could count based on angry verses his dad would often spit at him. By the time he was five, he knew them all, and he knew them by heart. Something inside of him became almost immune to all of that. The hurtful comments, the hatred behind his eyes, the annoyance of not being the best. There was nothing he couldn't handle. And if he remembers well enough, then he can still vividly hear the conversation between his parents.

Just one more, Sophie. Maybe then, if we’re lucky, we’ll have another boy. One that actually has potential.

He swore to be the greatest in that very moment. No matter how much he wanted to give up, he never would. Not when he was constantly put down by his own father, or when the nerves ate him alive, making his skin crawl—no. He wouldn’t give into being a failure. Wouldn’t satisfy them ever.

So, he prayed. He prayed every single night for the new baby on the way to be anything but another boy. Let it be a girl, let it be an alien, let it be anything but a boy. Because even though he was just a kid, he knew that if there was another opportunity for Jos to train another son of his, he’d take it, and Max would be left as some unfinished project.

And lo and behold—it was a girl.

He never really knew true happiness until that very moment. He cried a whole lot when he first held Victoria and everyone thought it was adorable, but no one knew just how much this meant to Max. He would continue to be his father’s main focus, and that’s all that mattered. He would craft himself to be the winner he knew he needed to be in order to get a solid smile from him, even just once. Either way, a few years later his parents wound up getting a divorce, so all was good.

Now, at this very moment—he had finally done it.

Being a World Champion felt the way he knew it would: unreal.

Yes, the fireworks and the cheers were a part of that, but the warm hug from Jos was what really made it all worth it. All the snarky comments, all the panic attacks, all the isolation growing up—it was all worth it.

That’s a good boy! Jos yelled, rustling his sweaty hair before grinning widely. That’s how you do it!

He wishes to remember this moment until the day he dies, and hopefully, if he's lucky enough, a bit after that. Whatever the case might be, he’s content, but now there’s something new.

Higher expectations.

You were born to be the greatest, Max. You were destined to outbeat those who are stupid enough to think they have a chance against you. They don't. No they fucking don’t because you, Max Verstappen, are one hell of a lion. Jos takes a sip of champagne, swallowing harshly and not at all quietly. And you wouldn’t want to fuck that up, now would you?

The answer is no. No way in hell would he let his father’s affection slip away. Not when he’s been dreaming of it for so long. He’s worked—and he’s worked hard—for this. There’s nothing, nor anyone, who would matter as much as Jos Verstappen and being the best driver there could ever be.

But then—just then.

You came along.

You should have said no. Looking back at it now, you really should have said no.

And yet. You couldn’t have possibly known that from the very beginning.

Funny enough, you started off as Checo’s photographer. You loved it. He was easy to work with. Not only was he nice to you, but so was his family. The work environment was healthy and fun. Your dream job, really, there was nothing to complain about.

But one by one, from a nearby corner—always a nearby corner—you watched as Max’s photographers rapidly lost their minds and quit. It’d start off with a scowl from him and end with a huff from them, dropping their expensive cameras and leaving without sparing a second glance.

It isn’t until photographer number eight where things really do take an unexpected turn.

For you.

“What do you say?” Christian’s voice booms with need.

You blink hazily. “I-I’m not too sure. I mean, Checo and I work so well together…”

“No, I know what—and trust me, I feel bad for doing this—but we’re really counting on you. You get along with everyone. Everyone loves you! Who’s to say Max won’t?”

“And what if he doesn’t?” you fight back. “Then what? I quit too?”

“First of all, he will. And second of all, that won’t be necessary because he’ll love you.”

“You’re that confident?”

“I am.”

You sigh, rolling your tired neck before looking back at him. “Well, I’m not. I need to think this through.”

The Red Bull principal nods. “Of course! You need time, of course. But please—you’d be helping us all. Especially Max.”

You’d be a liar if you were to say that his words hadn’t stuck with you. What did he mean by ‘especially Max’? Was it to get the wheels spinning? If it was, then it was definitely working.

Adjusting your camera strap that hangs around your neck, you stare off into the distance as if you might find the answer somewhere in between the clouds. And maybe you did find it. The answer, you mean. You were one hundred percent certain now that you wanted to stay with Checo, you just didn’t know how to break the news to Christian who has done so much for you ever since you started working at Red Bull.

“I heard about the offer,” a deep voice rumbles next to you, making you jump with fear, clutching your camera towards your chest like some sort of secret weapon. The Dutchman remains unbothered, taking in the same sunset as you once were. “Christian tends to do that. Put people on the spot. I hate that about him.”

In a way, you’re sort of surprised by him even speaking to you or that he even knows about your existence. Over the past few years, you’ve only interacted with him a couple of times. Once, when he won his first championship. Twice, when he won his second. And thrice, when he won his, well…third. And they were all due to the awkward congratulatory hug you felt yourself forced to give since everyone around you was doing the same.

Other than that, you had no reason to cross paths with him despite working for the same team. You two always stayed on opposite sides of the paddock, but it was never intentional, it was just the way things played out. Until now.

“You really shouldn’t say you hate the man who's making your dreams come true,” you whisper, struggling to find your own voice.

Max hums. “All I said was that I hate that about him, not that I hate him as a person.” A beat. “And for your information, he isn’t the one making my dreams come true—I am.”

“He gave you a chance—”

“A chance he knew someone else would have taken if it weren’t him.” That shuts you right up, silence lingering. Seeing as you both were standing on the terrace overlooking the paddock, you two watched as Christian and Checo converse with one another, hands on their hips like some kind of businessmen. “I worked hard to get to where I am, so please, don’t give him all the credit when we both know that's not true.”

More silence. “Listen, I think I’m going to—”

“Turn him down and continue working with Checo?”

Your voice catches. “W-what?”

The Dutchman clicks his tongue, like he’s got you all figured out. Three conversations over the past three years and he thinks he has you all figured out?

“I can’t say I blame you. You don’t think we’ll work well together, and quite frankly, I would agree. We wouldn’t. You’re too…nice.”

You have to laugh. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“It’s supposed to be the truth,” he’s ricochets.

Turning towards his tall frame, you huff, hair washing over your face before faking a tight smile. “And you’re too…complicated.” Something about the way his gaze darkens at your words makes you want to back down like some shivering dog, but miraculously, you remain still. “And that’s not a compliment.”

“Didn’t sound like one.”

“Well because it’s not.”

He’s not too far from you, and honest to God, that made you shake more than you intended. There was something about him—there always was. Even though you never really worked close to him, you knew there was something there, hiding between the crease of his brows, and now, standing this close to him, you can see it all in a new perspective.

Max releases a breath, bored and unexplainable. Runs a hand through his hair, turns his face for a second before connecting his gaze back to yours. “Look, you appear to be a sweet girl, but…I think you should turn down Christian’s offer.”

“Why?” He’s taken aback. You catch it the moment his lips twitch in the slightest. You tilt your head, urging him to answer. “You must have a reason, so what is it?”

“You’d hate working with me.”

“And you get to decide that?”

Max rolls his eyes. “Have you enjoyed this conversation so far?”

“No.”

“Then you probably wouldn’t enjoy our time either. And I’d just rather not waste my time on you finding out. No offense.”

“No, no, none taken,” you respond sarcastically. By now, Christian and Checo have spotted you both, secretly hoping there was some sort of friendship forming. They wave cheerfully and you mimic their movements.

“I hope we get along—I really do,” you say with a smile as you wave enthusiastically over at Christian who lets out a whistle and sends you an excited thumbs up.

His jaw clenches.

“If not, you’re really going to hate having me around.”

By now, you’ve completely understood why every other person has quit on him.

Your blood boils deep inside your veins for the millionth time in the past hour. His large hand covers his face as he continues speaking with his engineers. They all look back at you, half-amused, half-pitiful. They grimace when you try once again to get a picture of him, only to get shut down by him spinning around to make you face his back.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter beneath your hot breath, glaring harshly to the point you feel a migraine growing, pounding the sides of your head. Marching off, you cross over to Checo’s side of the garage, watching as he discusses his strategies with a couple of his crew members. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds, flashing a bright smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Pleading for you to take me back?” He laughs, eyes crinkling, freckled nose scrunching with humor. “It feels like I’ve signed my life away.”

“Ah. Come on. It can’t be that bad. Give him some time.”

“It’s been a month!” you exclaim. “What more does he need?”

The Mexican driver’s eyes soften, feeling bad for the swap neither of you wanted, but knew was necessary. Checo knows how patient you can be, how sweet and caring you tend to act towards those you truly care about. And right now? He worries you won’t ever reach that point with Max.

A heavy sigh. “Max isn’t much of a talker, you know that. But maybe—in order for him to get comfortable around you, he needs you to do something that the other photographers didn’t bother doing.”

Your stomach churns. “Like what?”

He smiles warmly. “Getting to know him.”

Maybe Checo was right. Maybe all Max needed was a friend—someone to talk to.

Sliding back to your side of the garage, you sheepishly walk over to the grumpy Dutchman. Currently, he’s sitting down on the floor, back pressed against the wall, scrolling through his phone. “C-c-can I talk to you?” you ask, nervous fingers lacing through the hoop of your jeans.

He doesn’t bother raising his gaze. “Can you even talk to begin with?”

“S-sorry?”

This time, he does look up, looking past his lashes. “Your stutter.”

Lamely, your mouth opens, only for you to find it drier than the Sahara Desert. The crack of your voice is a clear indication over your weak attempt to speak and that just makes you a blushing mess. Fuck him. You took several speech therapy classes to try and get rid of it, but him pointing out a stutter you thought has gotten better over time makes you want to be photographer number nine.

You glare—hard. You mentally go over your dialogue and that itself makes you feel small. Embarrassed. So, instead…you don’t say anything at all.

There’s a reason no one likes to work with him.

And you think you just found out.

Some days are easier than others. Some days are harder.

Today?

Today was awful.

“Jesus Christ, Max! What the fuck was that?” Jos yells, nearly pressing his face against the Red Bull driver who stands close by, watching him flinch in the slightest before regaining composure. You’ve heard rumors—plenty of them. Between mechanics, between Checo and a few other bystanders, you heard them all. How Jos’ behavior was unbearable to deal with, especially when it came to him and Max. You just never thought you’d witness it firsthand.

“My brakes weren’t working,” he replies, holding eye contact that would have left you in a coma. “It was never my intention to crash.”

“See, you say that, and yet everytime I come and visit, you always seem to be messing up one way or another,” Jos hisses, face beet red, and a splash of saliva spraying over Max as he grits his teeth, taking a step back. “I’m confused—do you want to lose the Championship this year or what?”

“No,” the Red Bull driver fires back, firm and quick. Blue eyes translate to a darker shade as they look to where his dad wears a mocking smile. “I’m winning that title, don’t worry.”

Running a hand against his stubble, Jos rolls his eyes before releasing a tired breath. As if he’s the one working endless hours. As if he’s the one who just crashed against the wall at a terrifying speed he couldn’t decrease even if he tried. As if he’s the one with the bruised temple.

Everything was just always about him.

“Don’t bother resting until you figure out how to fix all the shit you’ve caused.” Sharp eyes narrow. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Max whispers, watching as he storms off without even saying goodbye to anyone else that wasn’t Christian himself. So much for having him around. Frustrated, he angrily yanks his gloves off, throwing them against the wall and walking the opposite direction.

Something tells you to leave him alone—let him be. You get why he’s upset, but you checking up on him probably wouldn't help. Also, you're supposed to be mad at him, right?

And yet.

“Wait up!” you gasp, out of breath.

Clenching his jaw, he stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you with accusing eyes. “Why are you following me?”

“I just…” Coming to a stop as well, you wince at your sudden side stitch. “He shouldn’t have yelled at you that way,” you finish, analyzing the way his body stiffens. “Especially in front of everyone.”

Blue orbs flicker past your figure for a second, then he lets out a lopsided smile. “I bet you enjoyed it, though. You know? Because I’ve sort of been acting like a dick towards you…” The small smile disappears, replaced with a thin line.

“I didn’t,” you find yourself admitting. His brows raise up with surprise, and even you’re surprised to be telling the truth. You should feel good about this moment—someone finally told him off, someone finally put him in his place. But you felt none of that satisfaction. If anything, you felt bad. Swiping your tongue against your lips, you purse them awkwardly. “And you haven’t been a dick. He has.”

And for the first time—he laughs.

You blink, bewildered at the sound, but he doesn’t seem to notice that. “Like father, like son, right?” he jokes, making you feel like this was all some sort of fever dream. He continues, squatting down against the wall until he sits down completely against the cold pavement. “Your perspective about me has suddenly changed, or what?”

Hesitant, you choose to sit across from him, tucking your legs beneath your butt. His eyes close, smiling softly. Though I doubt it, he mumbles. “I just think I had you all wrong, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” he encourages. “Why?”

You swallow. “Well…because—now it all makes sense. Why you’re so cold towards everyone, I mean. You do get it from your dad, but it’s also not your fault.”

“My dads not the problem,” he hums. “I am.” Your legs are slowly becoming numb, buzzing like a thousand ants are crawling on them, but you don’t dare move an inch, scared of ruining the moment of him being so honest despite being allergic to it. “I let him down constantly and he’s just being…candid.” His eyes open, focused like he’s known you’ve been here all along, sitting across from him. “The issue here is that no one seems to get that. And that’s fine, but I do.”

“C-c-can I…” you cringe at the sound of your stutter, biting harshly down against your sore tongue. You expect him to laugh—make fun of you in any way possible—hold it over your head…but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits patiently for you to feel comfortable enough to continue your question. Your chest loosens up, along with your anxiety. You never thought he’d help with that. “C-can I ask you a q-q-que—”

“A question?” he finishes your sentence, you feeling immensely grateful. You nod. “Sure,” he answers.

Repeating the question over a couple of times, you find yourself feeling more and more comfortable around him and it’s only been a couple of minutes. “Why do you belittle me?”

There’s no way of hiding his shame now as his head hangs low, dirty blond hair hugging the sides of his face with a thin layer of sweat, a purple bruise forming due to his crash of high impact. A tsk. “I want you to know that I don’t hate you. Regardless of what you might think.”

You nod, paying close attention.

He shrugs. “But I just don’t think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s it?” you ponder, genuinely lost. “You haven’t-t-t even given me a chance to prove myself. Maybe we can?” A beat. “Or maybe you’re not telling the w-whole truth.”

A playful scoff erupts from this throat, ignoring your comment. “You’re right. I haven’t given this a fair shot.” A calm look paints his normally stoic features. “And it doesn’t seem like you’ll be quitting anytime soon.” Reaching out to swat his race boot, you smile, eyes crinkling. The Dutchman chuckles. “So maybe we should start getting along, no?”

“I agree,” you comment, straightening your shoulders and extending your legs, instantly feeling a wave of relief from the pressure. “I-I-I’d like t-that.” Pause. Your smile stretches. “I’d like that very much.”

What you know now is obviously something you didn’t know back then.

So realistically, you fell into a friendship that ended like most.

Complete, utter disaster.

As time went on, Max started to change for the better. His glares turned into soft smiles, his monotone voice turned into something that was more untroubled. He was starting to become someone you consider a friend, and you couldn't help but wish he felt the same way too.

“Come out and have a drink with us,” you say, carefully cleaning your lens with the back of your shirt. He looks up from where he packs his things into a small duffel bag. You nod enthusiastically. “Come on, it’s my birthday and I want you there. Celebrate my birth, celebrate your win—it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t like to party,” he confesses, scrunching his nose like the thought alone makes him want to puke. “Never have, never will. Happy birthday, though.”

“You’re no fun,” you mumble, placing your camera back into your own bag. “I wish you’d be more fun.” A beat. “Wait. What do you do for fun?”

“I don’t have any. I just…live a quiet, peaceful life whenever I’m able to.” He throws his bag over his broad shoulder. “I like it better that way, anyways.” With that, he walks out of his driver's room.

Gathering the rest of your things quickly, you chase after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “It’s okay to have a quiet life if that’s something you want, but, I don’t know…” You turn the corner, soft hair whiplashing. “Aren’t you able to…well, put that aside for special occasions?”

“Like what? Your birthday?”

You blush heavily. “Well—no. But maybe yours? I know it’s coming up. What are you gonna do then? Stay home working on a crossword puzzle?”

“Not necessarily. Perhaps I’ll read a book, who knows.” Still walking towards his car, he momentarily turns back to look at you, watching as your cheeks glow bright pink. He smiles before turning back. “I’ll make sure to let you know.” Unlocking his car, he raises a brow. “You coming?”

“Can’t,” you pant softly. “Promised Checo that I’d help him find a gift for Carlota.”

“His daughter or his wife?”

Seeing as they share the same name, you can’t help but giggle. “I’m actually not sure.” Flashing one last smile, you wave sweetly. “I’ll make sure to let you know!”

He keeps his eyes on you, watching as you jog towards Checo who laughs as you trip over a nearby rock, nearly falling. Max laughs to himself, feeling an unfamiliar burst of happiness. But that all flies right out the window as soon as his phone buzzes deep inside his pocket, making him groan.

“Hey, Dad.”

He ends up texting for your birthday and you end up doing the same. You end up going out to party and he ends up staying home. Point is, you do exactly what you two said you were going to do, so when a last minute texts comes through at midnight, you’re low key appalled.

Max, 12:00pm

Are you home?

He knows where you live because you once told him. You’re just surprised he remembers.

Yeah? Where are you?

Max, 12:04pm

Come outside. Bring a sweater.

The ocean roars loudly as you two make your way closer towards the shore. The breeze is ice cold, but you aren’t complaining. He is, though.

“Shit. It’s freezing.”

A giggle. “Need a jacket, princess?”

Sending a deadpan expression, he shrugs you off, choosing to sit close enough to see the waves, but far enough to not get wet. “I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this, but…I got you something.”

“Max,” you coo, admiring the film camera he hands you as if it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing because when it comes to him it means everything. “This must’ve cost you a fortune,” you whisper, fingers tracing the rim of the black camera that shines against the moonlight. “You shouldn’t have.”

“And you shouldn’t have stuck around. But you did. So…thank you.” The tides grow louder, making him do the same. “I never really said it, but I’m grateful for having you as a friend.”

You freeze and he seems to notice what he said, too.

“Co-worker?” he tries, cringing.

You relax. “F-f-friend sounds better.”

And there it is again, that warmness that only seems to appear whenever you’re around. It should be alarming, but at this point it's not. If anything, it’s normal.

“Now I feel like shit,” you speak up, bumping your leg against his. He hums. “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday. And if you know anything about friendships, then you’d know that presents are a vital thing.”

“Don’t fret. I don’t need anything else other than…” he trails off. “How was your birthday, anyways?”

You don’t notice his sudden shift. Or maybe you did. Either way, he doesn’t know. You snort. “Got shit-faced, what else do you expect? Though, I faintly remember Abby kissing the bartender, so that was cool.” When he fails to recognize the name, you roll your eyes as if you’re dealing with a third grader. “Checo’s photographer? She’s awesome. Has her own car.”

It’s his turn to laugh now. “And you don’t?”

“Nope. But God, I wish. Maybe one day.” You dig your feet deeper into the sand, twisting your lips before smacking them as if that might help hydrate them. You squint an eye. “I’m barely home, so there’s really no need for one yet. I can sense you wondering.”

“I was,” he admits. Swallowing, he mimes your movements. “I’m barely home, either.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Do you?” he returns with no response.

You ponder. “I know I miss my parents. My sister. But other than that, no—maybe not.”

“I don’t either.”

“But I thought you were a homebody?” you accuse.

“Well, I am, but…I miss my home. The place I paid for with my own money.”

“What home don’t you miss, then?”

“The one my parents tried to convince me and my sister that it was. We had all the family portraits and the typical white picket fence, but it just never felt like home to me. And I don’t miss that.”

“Oh.” Just oh.

“Yeah,” he follows with a raspy voice. “Oh.”

Tugging the jacket closer to your chest, you shiver. Surely your nose is burning bright pink and your lips are chapped, but nothing felt better than this moment for some reason. “I don’t like your dad,” you mumble beneath your breath, hoping the wind would hide your confession, but if it didn’t, you wouldn’t care.

It didn’t.

Scoffing, Max nods. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“I don’t like the way he speaks to you. It’s not—normal.” A beat. “Do you think it is?”

“I do,” he hums, blinking slowly as he watches the way a bird gets caught in the wind, trying to lurch forward but only getting sent back. “You get used to it.”

“You shouldn't have to,” you whisper, brows pinched up with concern. “I know I said you were a complicated person, but you’re not. And—and I just don’t want you to think that it’s true.”

He’s the first to disconnect his eyes from yours, feeling a burning sensation forming in the depths of his throat. It’s not completely unknown, he’s felt it many times when he was a kid. The only difference was that he used to feel it behind his eyes as well. Which is why it catches him off guard this time around—years later.

“You’re not like him, Max,” you say with reassurance. Blue eyes soften up, feeling a rush of emotions. This is something he didn’t even know he needed. Tilting his head, he opens his mouth lamely, words getting stuck like a boy and not a man. You smile tenderly. “And I hope you know that.”

He drives you back home that night despite saying you’d be fine walking back. You fall asleep for the next thirty-minutes, and he overthinks through all of it. Fingers tap against the steering wheel, taking occasional glances to where you breath softly.

“I told you to bring a sweater,” Max groans once you enter his car. “You’re going to freeze to death.”

You wave him off. “I think I’ll survive.”

As soon as you arrive at the beach, you’re quick to rub your hands against your skin, wishing to have some sort of blanket. With a knowing look, the Dutchman rolls his eyes, slipping off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Thanks,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek, suppressing a smile.

Hearing his teeth chatter, he blows his cheeks out, squinting his eyes when a particular gust of wind slaps him across the face. “Shit. It’s freezing.”

“Need a jacket, princess?” you tease, enjoying the way his lips form a snarl.

You giggle.

It’s his favorite jacket, the one you’re wearing.

It’s his favorite because of that.

“I’m fucked,” he whisphers to himself, grinding his teeth until he feels them squeak. He tries to focus on the road, but that seems to be the most difficult task in the world when he has you right besides him. And he isn’t thinking anything sinisterly dirty—he’s not—but instead, he’s dreaming.

I can be different, he thinks to himself, repeating the same words over and over. I can be someone she likes. If I try hard enough, I can do that. Planning ahead was always something he hated, but just thinking about it now makes his veins rush with excitement. As if the possibility of you might exist somewhere down the line.

You said some things he never thought he’d hear, because to be quite honest, he never thought someone would understand him the way you have. For the longest time, he thought a fucked up person like him could only get with an equally fucked up person or simply he’d have to live by himself for the rest of his life.

And here you came, proving him wrong.

He doesn’t realize how fast he’s going, how he’s pressing hard on the gas. Not until you groan. “Fuck. Are you alright?” he asks with concern as soon as he hears your head thud against the window from his jerky turn at the roundabout.

“Yeah.” A beat, then a giggle. You rub your head. “This is gonna bruise.” He winces, taking a glance. Keep your eyes on the road, you laugh, but he can’t. Not when your eyes crinkle the way they do. Like your eyes have a dimple of their own. He’s never seen that on anyone else. “We’ll be twins,” you state as some sort of lame joke. And it does the job because he’s quick to let out a chuckle.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Pulling up to your house, you go in to unbuckle yourself before slipping the jacket off. He shakes his head. “Keep it.”

“That wouldn’t make any sense,” you try. “I’m already home, I’ll be fine. Put it on.”

“Well I’m not cold anymore,” he pushes back. “It’s fine, really. I have plenty—what’s one missing?”

“It's freakishly soft,” you debate, furrowing your brows with concentration. “Okay. Thanks, Max.” Grabbing your film camera, you let out a shy smile. “For this too. Just—for these past few hours. I had fun.”

“Yeah,” he hums gingerly, running his hand along the steering wheel. “So did I.”

This grabs your attention, ears perking up like some German Shepard. “Am I dreaming? Did Max Verstappen just say he had fun? With me?” you interrogate, eyes shining.

He groaned, tossing his head against his seat. “I take it back—”

“You can’t do that—”

“I take it back,” he repeats firmly, but the amusement poured into his accent tells you otherwise. “Now get out of my car.”

You poke your tongue out at him before raising your hands up defensively. “Drive safe,” you shout over your shoulder as you walk towards your house, backward. “Oh! I almost forgot to ask!” Rushing to his side of the car, you signal for him to roll his window. He does, quirking a brow. You grin. “Let me take you out.”

His heart thuds. Pulses. Skyrockets.

It’s a scary feeling.

You beam. “Yes! As your birthday present! Let me take you out. Just you and I.”

“You and I?” he repeats robotically, blinking with round eyes.

A nod. “Yeah. Just like today. You took me out and gave me an amazing gift. Let me do the same for you.” Pause. “Please?”

It dawns on him that this is the first time a girl has asked him to hang out. Whether it’s romantic or not, it doesn’t matter, and the way you bat your cartoon eyes makes him spiral, feeling his breath hitch. “Y-y-yeah,” he finds himself saying. “Sure. Why not?”

“You only turn twenty-seven once,” you hum. Like that might seal the deal besides the fact that he’s already accepted.

The Dutchman chuckles nervously, fighting the urge to just…God.

“You only turn twenty-seven once,” he agrees, sharing a tight smile, hands gripping the leather wheel.

Your plans end up getting pushed back due to your guys’ tight agenda. The season is tough on not just him, but the entire team. McLaren is thriving, sometimes more than Red Bull, and that has everyone feeling on edge.

Chewing your nails, you watch as Lando crosses the finish line, nearly a minute ahead from the Dutchman. You know he’s not going to want to talk about it, but he will. He has to.

Because Jos is here.

“You’re getting quite comfortable on that second step,” Jos says tauntingly. He’s not yelling—not like the other times—and somehow, that just makes him scarier.

“I’m not,” Max defends as he rubs a sweaty hand against his face. His hair is longer than usual, so that doesn’t help the awkwardness he feels when he has to push it back. “We still did good—”

“Good is not good enough,” he hisses, pressing a finger against his son's suit, making him take a step back before he regains composure. “Unless it is. For you, I mean.” Silence. “So what? Is it?”

“No,” Max mumbles, fighting the urge to push him back. He’s thought about it—many times. And maybe he’s reached his limit, and maybe he can do it…

But he’d never dare to in front of you.

Blue eyes quietly plead for you to leave. And yes. That would be the wisest thing to do right about now, but your feet betray you. They’re super glued, you begin to suspect. Why else would you not be able to move?

“You used to be so good,” Jos points out, eyes only getting sharper. “What happened? What’s distracting you? Who’s distracting you?”

Max’s eyes flicker for a second—just a fucking second—to where you stand, paralyzed, and he prays he doesn’t notice it. But he does.

Turning to face your small figure, Jos lets out a shallow laugh, a confused expression mapping his wrinkled face. “Are you serious?”

“I—” Max tries, but is waved off by his massive hand.

“A crush isn’t going to get you anywhere, Max, come on, you know this.” Jos rubs his eyes, aging quickly. “Especially with a girl like her.”

“I-I-I,” you stutter, feeling your face grow red. Swiftly, this makes you feel as dumb as when you first met Max, but somehow worse.

A million times worse.

“Y-y-you what?” Jos mocks your stutter, walking closer to where you stand. “You what?”

“H-h-he doesn't like me. So, there’s no need to…w-w-w—”

“Worry,” Max fills in, marching to stand in between you two, and you immediately feel your shoulders relax, but your breath continues to struggle to find its way out of your system. “There’s no need to worry. I just had a bad race, it happens. It’s no one’s fault.”

“Except it is!” Jos finally screams, spraying his saliva with every punctuation, something you’ve come to realize happens when he gets fired up, which nearly occurs every time he's here. The only difference is that this time, you’re caught in between the argument. Jos breathes heavily, chest puffing. “It's someone's fault, and I’ll lay it out for you since you can’t seem to take responsibility—it’s your fault.”

“No, it’s not,” you protest from behind Max, feeling courage quickly expand through your ribs because you knew that wasn’t true. “It’s no one’s fault.”

But someone like you is invisible to someone like Jos Verstappen.

Ignoring you, he gets rid of that last step that separates Max from himself, faces inches apart from one another. And it’s terrifying how similar they are. Their eyes, their nose, their lips. The only thing separating them from being twins was Max’ kindness.

“Say it’s your fault,” Jos orders with a solid and demanding tone. “Say the crash was your fault and that you fucked up.”

You’re breath catches once again, frantic eyes darting to where Max clenches his fists before letting them relax.

“The crash was my fault—”

“It's all your fault,” Jos adds.

The Red Bull drivers lips twitch. “The crash was all my fault…” A beat. “And I fucked up.”

“Max,” you whisper, gingerly grabbing his hand. He flinches at your touch and pulls away as soon as his dads eyes linger down to where you two connect. You wither.

“Get your act together,” Jos threatens with fury before walking out, slamming the door behind him.

You jump at the unexpected sound. No one speaks, no one moves, no one dares to acknowledge what just happened.

Max Verstappen lands second on this week's podium, Crofty announces, pulling you away from the daze you were stuck in. Max’s gaze switches over to the T.V. as he stiffens. Say, what are the chances he wins this year's Championship against Lando Norris who seems to be having the time of his life in that McLaren?

“You did good out there—”

“No. I didn’t.” He looks away. “But that won’t matter because that Championship is mine.”

Mine.

You notice he’s reverted back to his old habits the moment he gets snappy. The moment he starts blocking everyone out, including you. You sort of saw it coming, but still—it hurt. And it took you a moment to realize, realize why it burned so much.

You loved Max Verstappen.

He’d always been unapproachable. Spine-chilling, even. But ever since you two started talking to each other as more than strangers, you realize he was none of that. He had once been kind, once been sweet, but this was all Jos’ fault. Weeks went by—months, even—and all you ever really did was snap pictures of him on the stimulator. That’s it.

It’s as if your friendship never even existed.

It came as no surprise when he failed to pick up your phone calls and texts. He was awfully good at doing that. By the time you were a month away from the Championship, you had stopped trying.

Max can feel the awkward tension he had created. It sat there between you two every time you followed after him like a dog on a leash, timidly taking his picture, afraid of getting the wrong reaction out of him. It had happened a couple of times in the past, when you first started working for him, so it seemed you were trying to prevent history from repeating itself. The slight sting in his chest took a jab at him every time without fail.

Vegas was typically a good time for both the drivers and people like you. You’d be the first to admit how easy it is to get lost in the gist of it all.

Except this time around, it was hard to live through it.

Hey. You home?

Max groans, rubbing his eyes until they’re wide awake, picking up his phone.

Max, 12:00pm

Are you okay?

A minute scrolls by.

I have your present.

The first thing he notices is his jacket. His initials are sewn onto the sleeve. He didn’t even know that was a thing, but the sight of it made his stomach flip. “Looks good on you,” he compliments as soon as he enters your car. You chuckle.

It’s a nice jacket. The best one I own.

He notes how smooth you drive, like a grandma. You’re precise with your turns, ahead with your signals—extremely observant.

“See how I steer the wheel,” you speak up, wiggling a neat brow. “Unlike you.”

“I said I was sorry,” he laughs, getting a reminder of the last time you two were together. “How’s the bruise?”

“Nearly gone.” A beat. “How’s yours?”

He smiles, remembering about his own. “Nearly gone.”

“Told you we’d be twins.”

You take him to a nearby park. It’s lame, I know, you apologize, wincing shyly. I’m not good at this, but I hope your present makes up for it.

“This is great,” he eases your nerves, seeing how they scribble across your face. “This is my first time at a playground, actually.”

Your eyes widen as soon as you sit down on the yellow swing. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Huh.”

He takes a seat on a nearby swing, following your soft kicks against the sand. “My dad preferred to have me on the race track than waste my time on anything else.”

This gets an eye roll out of you, soft wind fanning your face as you kick back and forth. “That explains it all.” He shuts his eyes momentarily, enjoying the silence. Far enough away, he can hear the city—but that’s the least of his worries.

You’re the first and only one to give me a childhood so late in life. Round eyes flicker towards him where he digs his shoes into the sand, not worried about the uncomfort it'll cause. If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve gone my whole life without knowing what a playground is like.

The thought alone is saddening. Your mind makes up an image of young Max, looking into the distance at every other kid who runs towards slides and monkey bars as he straps his helmet and slips on his gloves, longing to know what it’s like to have a normal youth.

“Don’t feel bad.”

Your lip wobbles. “Don’t make me feel things, then. Why would you say that?”

“I thought we could open up to one another,” he jokes, but you can hear his seriousness in it. That’s all he’s needed, after all—someone to talk to. “Should I shut up from here on out?”

“No,” you reply rapidly, gripping your hand around the metal chain. “Don’t you ever shut up.”

His smile relaxes, eyes opening as he tilts his head, then looks up ahead at the moon. And it’s one of those nights where it’s scarily white—almost too much. One might think it’s a flashlight, by the way it shines, but there’s a clarity to it that makes it easy to admire. “I don’t think I love my dad.”

You try not to let out a reaction. “You don’t mean that.”

“No…” He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “I think I do.” A shrug. “I respect him. A tiny bit, but I do. But love?” A bitter scoff. “God, I don’t even think he loves me.”

“Sure he does—”

“He loves my success,” he cuts you off. “And it’s embarrassing how everybody knows it.”

Neither of you are swinging anymore. Gathering your thoughts, you look down at your lap, inspecting your dirty shoes. “If it helps, I love you, Max.” In a heartbeat, his blue eyes dart towards you, seeing the way you breathe evenly. “Is that surprising to you?” He doesn’t answer. He couldn't answer. And boy did he want to. Smiling tenderly, you nod. “It’s not that hard, really.” You begin to swing again, as if you didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on him that left his heart in his throat, beating at an abnormal speed. “Not when you’re so patient with me.”

The chain squeaks, making him snap out of his daze, blinking harshly. “I hate my stutter. I’ve had it tugging at my leg since I was eight. Don’t know what caused it, but it’s been there, trust me. So, when you made fun of it a while back, I thought to myself: this guy is a real douchebag.”

Shame pours within him as he recalls that interaction. Checo had told him about his photographer's stutter and how hard it was to hold a conversation with her at first, but the longer they worked together, the more he found it endearing. And that’s exactly what Max felt the moment you became his photographer at a stage in his life where he still didn’t know you all that well other than the fact that you carried your camera like a newborn baby.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t be,” you cut him off. “I don’t hold grudges. Plus, you’re quite helpful now that you’re used to my stammering, don’t you think?”

Guilt fuels him as he apologizes with his eyes. “I shouldn’t have mocked you. Ever.”

“Probably.” A hum. “But the way you read my mind makes up for it.”

He’s been doing a lot of that, without even realizing it. He concludes your sentences without batting an eye about the words you’re trying to get out, trying to express. And in all fairness, you hadn’t noticed it either, not until Checo pointed it out.

That’s how normal it had become.

“My stutter was my number one insecurity growing up.” Connecting your gaze back to where he’s already looking, you draw your eyebrows in with gentleness. “And you made it go away.”

Before he can think his words through, he opens his mouth. “I love your stutter.”

You blink, bewildered at the comment. Then—you laugh.

“Thanks?” Your volume increases. “Never heard that one before.”

Screwing his eyes shut, he shakes his head, grimacing at the sound of his voice replaying inside his crowded mind.

“What I’m trying to say is that I love you,” he rambles, much faster and correctly this time, making you stop your laughter, eyes going wide once again. “Is that surprising to you?” he whispers, awaiting a response with anxiety dripping from his fingertips that clench around the chain that loops around the swing, giving it security.

“You mean as friends, right?” you ask carefully, making his stomach drop.

“I don’t think friends think about each other the way I think about you,” he confesses, out of breath by the sudden shift he’s caused. “I see you differently.”

As soon as your lips part to say something, he pleads silently as if saying: please, just hear me out. And that’s exactly what you do.

He’s standing right in front of you now, pacing back and forth like some football coach as you watch him like a clueless cheerleader who sits on the sidelines. He clears his throat after a lengthy minute.

“I noticed you first when you walked into your interview four years ago.”

Your mind races back to a moment in time where your camera was significantly cheaper and your dreams were larger than life.

He nods, watching as you recollect the memories that were tucked in the far back of your brain, like it didn’t matter for the longest time, which to be fair, it hadn’t.

“You were supposed to be my photographer.”

Your brows furrow, completely lost by his words. “What?”

His large hands run through his shaggy hair from his slumber that you had ripped him away from. “From the very beginning, it was supposed to be you and me. But…”

Neat brows narrow down harder. “But what?”

Max stops his pace, killing his tracks that lands him right in front of you looking up at him with innocent eyes. He sighs. “I said I didn’t want you working with me.”

“Oh.” A beat. “It’s always been this way, then? You not wanting me near you?”

“For a while,” he says quickly before cringing. “But now that we’ve worked together, I realize the mistake I made. How many years it could’ve been us…”

“What’s the real reason?”

Flinching, he squirms under your focus. “What?”

You nod, encouraging him. “You always said it was because you didn’t think we would work well together, and look at us now—we have.” Leaves rustle from the dozen of trees that wrap around the park. “What was the actual reason?”

He’s known the answer to this question from the moment you joined the team, more specifically, Checo’s. He knew the answer to the question the moment he crossed that finish line, claiming his first Championship like the greedy man he was carved out to be by his own father.

He’s just not sure how you’d take it. Coughing awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, he avoids eye contact. “I knew you’d distract me.”

Your stomach twists like a licorice. “Oh God—have I?”

“No!” he yelps, but the defense he guards up like a soldier lets you know that that’s nowhere close to being true. You shrink, increasing the distance between you two. His palms begin to sweat. “You haven’t—”

“Your dad was right,” you whisper. “I have been a distraction to you. That’s why you’ve been having such a weird season compared to the previous ones…”

“No,” he presses firmly. “The car has changed, that’s why I’ve been driving differently, it has nothing to do with you.”

But you don’t seem to engage with his words, instead, you shake your head like an angry child who never gets their way at the candy store. “How can you love me when I’m the reason your dad puts you down every chance he gets?”

It’s like you forced your fingers in at an open wound, one he tends to forget is there when he’s with you, but when you mention it's existence, he remembers why he dreads it so much.

“He talks to me like that because he’s a shitty dad, not because of you,” he says, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I liked you the second year I won my Championship. The first time you said my name.”

“Congrats, Max,” you say with an awkward smile after you pull away from an even more awkward hug. “You did good.”

“I was infatuated by you the third year I won my Championship.”

“You can’t keep firing your photographers,” Christian lectured him with a tired voice, making his accent sound ten times stronger. “Especially when we don’t even have their replacement.”

“I haven’t found one I like,” he says as he watches you walk by, heading towards Checo with a bright smile, bragging about a recent setting that puts your old photos to shame. He looks away when you turn towards his garage, as if you felt his eyes on you. “It’s not my fault.”

“No, young man, it is,” the team principal presses, letting out a tired sigh. “You need to mature with the idea of having one, if not—”

“If not what?”

“If not…uh…we’ll…” Christian looks around for a while before turning back to the Dutchman. “We’ll have to take a different approach.”

“Yeah?” Max questions with amusement. “Which is?”

Christian shrugs. “Swapping Checo’s photographer with yours.”

This makes the Dutch physically recoil. “I’ve told you a thousand times already—it would never work out. She’s too…happy all the time.”

“And maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Max lets out a shaky breath, watching your chest rise and fall as if you find it harder to breathe with every passing second.

“And I haven’t won my fourth,” he begins with a light smile and an even lighter tone. “But I already know that I love you.”

This is it. The last smile of his. Of that soft dimple of his that caught you by surprise the first time you saw it. It's the last time because you know that whatever happens after is going to ruin it all.

“I love you—”

“I don’t.”

His lips run dry, forcing a small chuckle like he didn’t hear you right. “I’m—I’m.” He smiles hesitantly. “B-but you said…” No more wind circles around you. “You said it.”

“I know.” You wince, brushing your hair back, annoyed with it by now. “I know I did, but…Max. I didn’t mean it in that way.”

The blue eyed Dutch takes a step backward, noting the uncomfortableness the sand is causing his feet to feel now that the adrenaline is gone. “What do you mean?” he murmurs with embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

Licking your lips, you focus on a tree that stands behind him, how fucked up looking it was. As if someone stabbed it over and over again until it bled wood chips.

“I do love you—but as a friend.”

“Why, though?”

“Friendships last longer,” you respond, like you’ve had the answer sitting on the tip of your tongue for the longest time now. “Relationships don’t.”

“Ours could,” he tries, feeling pathetic. “I’m good at everything. I bet I’ll be good at a relationship, too.”

“A relationship is not a game, Max,” you argue, your voice slightly raising, making him clench his jaw. “And I’m sure you think it is because you're such a perfectionist, but it’s not that easy. There’s a lot of dedication that goes into it.”

“Then I’ll be dedicated to you,” he says. “Heart, body, and soul. I swear. Just—give me a chance.”

“I can’t…”

“But why not?”

“Because all I see is a friend!” you shout, regretting it instantly. His skin loses its natural color, switching to a ghostlike state. His pink lips snap shut like a bear trap. And his furrowed brows revert back to their usual place. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you massage your temples that suddenly feel painful.

“We’re so different from one another, Max. Your life is written down, from birth to death. And you know you’ll live a good one. And mine—mine is constantly changing. I mean, look at it. A few months ago I was working with your teammate and now…”

He remains silent, patiently watching your lips move with every word that pinches his feelings like the biggest bully. “The love I hold for you is there…but not the same way yours is there for me. Your life moves fast, and I’m barely even able to keep up with a conversation with this fucking stutter that appears most times with others, but very few with you.”

Still nothing. Just his eyes focused on this jacket now, like he's already reclaiming it. “And I really do thank you for that, I do. But I thank you the most for letting me get to know you for who you really are. Not who you pretend to be or what others say you are—and I wish I could reciprocate, but…I just… don’t.”

An eternity passes by, it feels like. He doesn’t even know how long you two have been standing here now, but the sunrise is a clear indication that it’s been forever. And he doesn’t feel tired, nor does he feel upset…

He just feels dumb.

“I get it,” he finally speaks up. “We view each other differently and that’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It's not your fault,” he repeats, wearing a warm smile, hoping you'd believe his lie. That and he doesn’t think he can handle much more. All he wants to do is go back home. “I’m just glad I had someone to talk to for a while. And, well—I’m sorry. I must have gotten confused by the situation. Maybe I don’t love you, who knows. I probably just got excited, you know? Went my whole life without having an interaction like ours, maybe I’m convincing myself to believe in something that was never there to begin with. For either of us, that is.”

I just got excited, is all.

He did end up winning his fourth Championship the way he said he would. You did end up taking that perfect picture as he stood on that podium, shining as bright as his golden trophy. Jos was happy, Christian was happy, the entire team was happy, but you and Max?

Blue eyes lock with yours, feeling the differenceness between it all. He still loves you, he realizes. He wasn’t confused after all. But neither were you.

All you saw was your best friend, and now you’re not even sure you have one anymore. You two no longer hang out, you barely even speak to one another despite spending most of your days together. He still smiles at you from time to time, but it’s not the same. Nothing could ever be.

And it was a soul crushing thing to realize.

“Congratulations,” you muffle against his race suit as you hug him without your arms fully wrapping around him and his hardly wrapping around you. “This is your moment, Max.” A beat. “No one else’s.”

You’re talking about his dad. He knows that.

Chuckling, he nods. Like he’s sure of that now. That all his success is his, and his alone. That you have finally managed to matter the most in his life—not his trophies, not his father’s respect.

You.

Pulling away, he still feels your invisible hug linger on him in a way he can’t explain and neither could you. You dig into your pocket, pulling out a silver bracelet.

“Your birthday gift.”

Right. You never got the chance to give it to him after the last real conversation you two ever had. After that, both of you ignored the fact it ever even happened, and in a way, he was grateful for that, but that didn’t stop it from stinging. Looking down at it, he reads the engravement, feeling his heart take a last lap.

To my favorite open book. With love.

He laughs, clutching his fist around it. “I’m nowhere close to being an open book, but…thanks. I love it.”

You giggle, eyes crinkling with tears as you brush them away. “Not at first, but—eventually. It takes time.”

The cheers rise, but neither of you acknowledge them. Not even when they chant his name, over and over.

“You’ve peeled me,” he admits, nearly whispering. “Completely.” Your breath hitches, sucking in that breath that cost to take in. Max shrugs with a gentle grin. “You’ve peeled the lemon,” he jokes with a shaky breath of his own, blue eyes switching to a darker shade that makes your limbs go weak. “So—do your fingers burn?”

You force a laugh. The kind that makes your head tilt just a bit before tippy toeing to give him a proper kiss on the cheek. He goes still.

“I wish they did. That’d make my decision much easier to go through.”

With that, you step away, the Dutch immediately being over taken by journalists, photographers, the FIA, the drivers—everyone except the only person he really wants there celebrating with him.

His mind is racing faster than his Championship winning car. What decision? What could you possibly mean by that—

Christian embraces him, ruffling his sweaty hair as he pours a bottle of champagne over his head, laughing with glory. Max shakes his head, leaning down to ask the only question that ever made his heart break before he ever even got a response.

“Did she quit?”

Christian knows exactly who she is, but what catches him by surprise is how agitated he appeared to suddenly get. The team principal shrugs. “We’ll find you a new one!”

“No,” Max whispers in disbelief as he tries to find you from a distance, but all he sees are flashing lights that begin to cut his patience thin. “No.”

I wanted her.

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readerforexiao · 2 months ago

Text

𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃: 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Sung Jinwoo x Fem!Reader | romance, angst, fluff | childhood friends to lovers, denial + unspoken feelings + mutual pining, hurt / comfort, canon universe, emotional vulnerability and isolation, trauma ... tba

⌗ "I am human regardless of the power running through my veins. It lies within my heart, my human heart which feels ever so deeply, that I am bound to feeling emotions such as fear, hatred, greed, and love"

⌗ Word Count: 3.3k

⌗ Synopsis: Despite knowing that everything given demanded a price, and everything taken had a cost, Jinwoo would have done everything for you, relinquished all he had. But when granted power without end capable of continuous growth beyond that of limitation, he feared before he reasoned, and in his panic had he pushed you away. Still, you could love him no less even as his presence thinned into absence. Eventually, Jinwoo realized he could only run as far as you'd let him.

⌗ A/n: been working on this since feb. i am as hopeless with my writing as i am hopelessly in love with Jinwoo 💙

THEY MADE, AND IN THEIR MAKING, THEY UNMADE. And it became their legacy retold in history.

For the greatest of empires had they built upon the spine of the land, upon the hum of the earth’s uneven breaths and the shifting of its sands. But as they raised them into lofty castles of grandeur, into bridges that crossed ravines and forded gushing rivers, they had brought them to ruin by the thirst for more. Even the alliances forged by the blood of sacrifice— meant to be immortalised in legend— were cleaved apart with the blade of mistrust wedged deep between the scapula.

Once, when the fields of flowers had been kissed by the sun and caressed by the moon. When forests of old sheltered life beneath the canopy of their trees, and streams of pure birth coursed outward, nourishing all they touched. Light felt softer then. And time must have moved without urgency, too. For even the silence was sure to have been alive, full of meaning, full of breath. Until their petals were plucked and their rivers bloodied.

Trees were splintered. Wings clipped. Skin carved. And it had been such that nothing ever remained untouched. For the blame worthy were indeed beings of flesh— mortal… frail. Frail in what lies inside unspoken of. What mattered most.

They trample and are trampled by what lies beyond their control. And they break and are broken by the hands of those they love, envy… fear.

When the gates appeared and hunters rose from among the panic with powers beyond their grandest desires, disaster had been mistaken for salvation. Hunter Guilds were established to combat the monsters. But beneath their banners, division grew. Subtle at first, then swift, accelerating the downfall of what was already fraying at the seams.

In a cruel game where the strong preyed upon the weak, the greedy devoured the humble, and the wicked turned their blades to the innocent. Sins were repeated, not repented. For the power that descended upon them, disastrous in their hands, would be their undoing.

And so it was to be, as if writ by fate’s hand— humanity were forever doomed to become the ruin of every story. A final chapter none could ever rewrite.

❝𝙷𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. 𝙼𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜❞

❝𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎.❞ - 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚜

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

THE SUN TOOK LEAVE OF THE WORLD, bequeathing to the veil of shadow. The traffic lights turned green, engines stirred, and wheels began rolling. Uproar hurled through the streets as a motorbike wove between the blurred cars, its growl reverberating down the asphalt vein.

In the merging of headlights, you had seen his eyes; the speckle of blue within the grey that surfaced when caught in the gleam of luminosity. Those eyes sought you out, flicking from face to face with urgency, like a caged bird who mourned for the sky. He moved through the world shaped by his tragedies and misfortune, brave yet labelled weak and mocked as a coward.

Life altered him more times than one could count, wearing him down in the most horrid ways. He was the boy who knew pain too intimately, considered it a companion even if it had never been a desired one.

His smile had always held too much apology, stretched over a face that had forgotten genuinity. His shoulders drew taut and his spine locked in rigidness beneath a jacket worn and torn by responsibility and fight; the posture of someone taught by repetition to brace for the worst and never expect anything better, for the clothes on his back and a growing stack of unpaid bills were all he had.

Like a shadow, he carried himself, bowing his head as if he might offend the light. And though he had tried to stay small, to slip by unnoticed, mockery found him like a breath upon his neck all the same, as if daring him to think he deserved even that.

Their words cut deeper than any beast ever did. The sharpness of their laughter and ridicule hollowed him out, but he did what he had to do, even if it made him fold into himself and apologise for being weak and a pathetic stain on the world.

Your hand, cold against the heat of skin, held your neck where the phantom ache of his name still echoed alive.

You remembered the night the call came. When the hospital’s number flashed across your screen and how it hadn’t startled you at first because he had been in and out of emergency rooms enough times for it to feel like a routine. Bruises, fractures, and the occasional concussion, but he never stayed long. He had always walked out alive in the end. But that night had been different when Jinah’s voice, strangled by apprehension, threaded through the call.

The memory became one impossible to shake, for you had leaned close to his motionless body and inhaled the scent of ash and iron until it could not be forgotten. The image of him, every inch of exposed skin buried under gauze and wrapped so thickly it seemed he might disappear beneath it, burned into your mind.

"You idiot... stupid… stupid…" You hadn’t meant to say it in anger, but the words slipped from your quivering lips anyway, too heavy to hold back because so foolish, he was. Always so stubborn and persistent to a fault.

You couldn’t call it strength— what he did. Could not deem such reckless behaviour noble, even if he had done it all to provide for her, to ensure she had what she needed. To carry a burden that should not have been his alone. There was nothing noble about the way his body lay there, broken and unrecognisable beneath the bandages. Nothing admirable in the way he hadn’t stirred for days, no sign that the man you knew was still fighting to come back while his sister, whom he had done it all for, was left with nothing but the unbearable routine of waiting.

She had spent her days running back and forth between the hospital and home despite your protests. Nights were lonely, though she had grown accustomed to it. She always had her phone nearby as she waited for you to call with any change or any sign he would wake. She didn’t have the luxury of giving up. Not while her brother lay there, just like her mother. Not while he had made sure she wouldn’t have to.

Neither of them deserved this. And yet, here they were.

Red lights blinked overhead and as the cars rolled to a stop, you stepped off the curb, swept into the tide of pedestrians, moving like rain dissolving into the ocean, loose, unbothered, flowing with the kind of ease that comes from having somewhere to go but no urgency to get there. But you moved differently, slipping between them, quicker, with purpose. A single note out of tune. Your pace outmatched theirs. You couldn’t walk slowly— not tonight.

Bit by bit, the press of bodies thinned and the noise of car horns and voices had fallen away like smoke in the wind. Eventually, only the quiet rhythm of your breath and your footsteps remained.

Your knuckles struck wood, once, twice, then once more, until after a pause, the door creaked open.

“You're late."

“Work ran overtime," the warm ambience of her home welcoming you as you entered.

"You don't have to lie, you know." She wiggled her brows, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Jinwoo will be happy to see you"

“Dumbass” you muttered more to yourself than her, closing the door behind you.

Jinah went back to her show, drawing her knees up beneath her on the couch. The hum of the program filled the room but your attention drifted elsewhere, onto the shelf where dust clung faintly to the edges of picture frames, untouched for who knew how long. One in particular caught your eye. It was of Jinwoo and Jinah, years younger, caught mid-laughter, their faces bright and unburdened with a joy that no longer visited, a kind that did not belong to the present.

The second frame held a photo of Jinwoo and his mother. He couldn’t have been more than five, clinging to her with the easy trust of a child. His small chin rested against her shoulder as his feet dangled behind her, a supportive hand keeping him steady and sure, as if she’d always known exactly how to hold the weight of someone else’s world.

She was beautiful. Truly beautiful. Touched by the rare grace that only motherhood could shape. Time had aged her in each photo, but not unkindly for she wore her maturity well, like silk and aged wine, bearing those marks with pride. You saw a woman who lived, perhaps not perfectly, but wholly. A woman who had loved deeply, lost deeply, and still found a way to keep going.

When your eyes opened, the memory had receded. Still, her eyes sought yours in the familiar blur of your vision. But as your focus returned fully, you realised you had mistaken Jinah for her mother. Had come close enough to forget just how long it has been since.

You ruffled Jinah’s hair, like her mother had once done to you and she swatted your hand away, urging you to her brother’s room before you could do it again.

You made your way down the hallway, where the walls had been lined with so many memories, some of which you could only vaguely recall. Crayon drawings curled at the edges, left untouched since their mother fell ill. Neither of the siblings had the heart to take them down, despite how much they grew to hate them, for she loved those scrappy stick figures and food-stained paper. Above those childish doodles there hung a neat row of school certificates tucked into tarnished gold frames. Jin-ah’s name had stood out in bold across them, impossible to miss. Achievement after achievement. You loitered there in search of a name that never appeared and never would, and you moved on… what else could you do.

The door to Jinwoo’s room stood ajar. You peered inside. Livid greys and a gentle white light bled from the computer screen where he sat hunched over, his shoulders slouched and his spine curved in a way that suggested he’d been sitting there for hours staring at the monitor yet not really seeing it.

You didn’t knock. You hardly ever did. You offered the door a cursory nudge with your knuckles at most, but even that was rare. More often, you pressed it open the rest of the way and slipped inside if he hadn’t already been the one to draw you in first.

The creaking hinges might as well have been a greeting.

“Jinah was right…” you walked in, “You are brooding."

The mattress dipped beneath your weight with a muted groan, but still had he yet to acknowledge you. For a bated breath, nothing changed.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, swivelling his chair to face you. When his voice came to be, it came with the faintest brush of retraction and you were caught off guard by the low timbre.

Caught in a moment of process, you hadn’t replied, but your attention directed elsewhere, and Jinwoo followed your gaze to his desk where the clutter offered an unmistakable answer to his own question.

He understood immediately.

You wouldn’t have come all this way, at this hour by choice, not when he had made his distance so glaringly evident. He thought.

His eyes faltered on the cans of beer strewn across the surface, then moved to the one in his hand. A fleeting twitch of his fingers betrayed the desire to sweep them aside, out of your view, but he reined it in and tilted his head back, his throat working with practised ease as took a large gulp.

There had been no visible sign of intoxication on him, nothing in his posture to suggest the careless abandon of too much drink, and his movements, too, were steady and unshaken as he lowered it and settled it amongst the rest, making you pause because you knew something hadn't been quite right; you just couldn’t prove it beyond mere speculation.

“… You always had a bad sense of timing,” he said, blinking in short intervals until the distance in them fled, and he'd been something other than what was in front of him.

For some reason, discomfort slithered up your spine at the way he looked at you, the way he said that, as though a centipede had begun its crawl with a thousand legs prickling your nerves and seeking to burrow beneath your skin.

“I wasn’t planning on coming”, you confessed reluctantly, unable to voice what troubled you. Only that it had been marked in the fringe framing his eyes and in the finger tapping against the second-hand clock on his thigh.

“Then why did you?” he prodded.

“Because I gave you two weeks”

So you had known.

Part of him felt relieved, but the rest simmered with frustration. “So it’s not because Jinah called you?”

“She did, yes,” you admitted, “but I would have come around sooner or later”

All this time, Jinwoo believed he was successfully avoiding you when really you had only been allowing him that.

He stared at you.

You had always managed to complicate things for him and all along had he known your presence to be too much for him to resist, that a second in your company and he’d be bound to your every whim and tied to a mess of emotions he spent too long pretending he could move beyond. But in truth, he hadn’t because he knew he could not. Not really.

He lifted the can to his lips when your hand came upon his and stilled his movement. He smiled then, behind the metal. Though not with joy or relief or even bitterness, but because your touch aroused what he knew he was at present and perhaps for much of his life he would be undeserving of.

“You never ask,” He uttered in a breath almost missing, a breath nearly lost.

“Would you have answered?”

Fair enough.

He’d give you that.

Still… You never pried. Never pushed him into corners where he had to confront things he wasn’t ready to face, as if you perfected the balance of letting him come to you while at the same time knowing when to pull him by the ear and rein him in, and that frustrated him as it did attract him.

You took the can from him.

Although he hated it, he knew you were right. There was no use pretending anymore. No use keeping up the act. You had obviously caught on, and Jinwoo, astute and self-aware, knew better than to waste time on futility. He couldn’t push you away any further. And honestly, he no longer wanted to.

Annoying. His head fell against your stomach. Did you always have to be so... you?

“I would have answered,” he affirmed, “If only you had been the one to ask.”

Jinwoo’s hands encircled your wrists, his hold gentle and his touch almost pleading, like someone drowning alone for far too long. As if he had weathered shifting tides that pulled the shore from beneath him, endured squalls that reshaped the very landscape around him.

Like a man who clawed for the surface, desperate for the blaze of the sunlight in his eyes, for the agony of breath to tear through his lungs and burn the salt from his throat, he needed proof that he was still alive. That the scars and shattered bones, torn limbs and bloodied tears, all meant something.

Then again, it’s not like he gave you the chance to ask.

With your heart racing ahead of your breaths, your palm smoothed over his head. He hummed low in his throat, pressing closer to your abdomen. Close. Maybe too close. But not uncomfortable. Not awkward. You were still the same to him, in all the things that stirred his memories with fondness.

“I like the haircut, by the way,” you remarked, still threading gently through his hair, curling at the ends, scratching lightly at his scalp in a way you knew he liked.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he said flatly, leaning back.

“I’m not, you look good. Like you aged overnight in a cool, ‘I’m a reliable older brother who has his act together and is single-parenting his teenage sister while somehow managing not to emotionally combust’ kind of way.”

You tried to ruffle his hair, but he caught your wrist, slightly irked. “That was oddly specific and sounded much like an insult”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. You look the part of a mature young man, put together and all. Girls like that sort of thing.”

His grip tightened slightly in warning, not enough to hurt.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, tugging your hand back. “But seriously, how many poor souls fainted?”

Jinwoo was unimpressed. “You’re the worst.”

“That’s not a number,” you replied in a sing-song.

He exhaled through his nose, the closest thing he ever got to a laugh when you really pushed him. “You are worse than Jinah”

“High praise,” you grinned.

Jinwoo dropped onto his bed without ceremony, back hitting the mattress with a soft thud, one arm tucked behind his head. “That wasn’t a compliment”

Oh, but it was. You sank into his chair.

Jinwoo turned onto his side to face you.

The fear that had gripped him each time death pressed so near he could taste it always ended the same: with a final prayer. For himself. For the ones he’d leave behind. His mother and father would never see the boy who had raised himself into a man worthy of their pride. Only Jinah would remain to walk a path alone, chasing dreams they might never witness unless some cruel mercy woke their mother from her endless sleep, or brought their father from wherever he had disappeared to.

And you… whom he had loved longer than he had dared to breathe it aloud.

Back when, in the muck and dust of your childhood, your small fists had burrowed into the sand, not knowing the handfuls you threw found their way to him. He could only stand there taking it, his eyes wide but in awe, as if the hole you dug were a hundred-dollar bill placed into the hands of a struggling man. He had known it then, even. Perhaps not as love entirely, but as something precious to him.

The tide rose and washed into the holes he carved out since the disaster of the double dungeon, and further, into the fissures time had hidden and never healed. The fear of losing you had kept him at bay as he grew because it was better to remain your friend than to gamble and lose what little joy life had given.

Jinwoo exhaled, long and dreary, letting the dolefulness fall with the breath, he called your name so softly, so full of care and affection.

“I missed you”

You swallowed hard, blinking like it might steady the way the room tilted around your heart.

It wasn’t fair!

The way he said things like that and didn’t seem to realise they landed like an arrow between your ribs. Like he could just drop a quiet I missed you after pushing you away and not expect the ground to shift under your feet and unsettle you.

But that was Jinwoo, wasn’t it? Never loud about what mattered, but never careless either.

“I missed you, too” you whispered.

And he smiled.

He smiled. His eyes fluttering close, lashes falling against the tops of his cheeks, and for once, there was no tension in his brow, no shadows carved beneath his eyes. Just the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as sleep found him.

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luvtak · 7 months ago

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depollute me, gentle angel -`✮´- ljn

the feeling of falling in love has never been so sweet <3

genre/tw jeno x reader!! fluff so sweet it’ll rot your teeth! baby & honey used as petnames, jeno being shy and wonderful and in love, minor dreamies features, kissing, the honeymoon phase personified, gender neutral reader! mostly unedited.

w/c 1217

a/n well its been a minute since i’ve written for one of my dreamies, but i hope you like this one <3 i wrote it quick in the middle of the night, and i hope you can tell, its just the tone this love needs 🫀 please enjoy and let me know if you liked it!!

Jeno has never been in love.

When he was younger he thought he might be, a distant memory of a smile, a slight graze of cold hands. Butterflies in his belly and pink cheeks… but those feelings were always fleeting, a quick rush before the fluttering went away.

No Jeno has never been in love, but he think he might be. Two months ago, you walked up to him in the park, pretty lips drawing up; your smile so dashing he had to return it. That smile turned to a phone number, a phone number to a shared cup of coffee—He can’t believe a question about directions have led you here…

You look so sweet under the streetlight, skin aglow and eyes alight.

The pavement is isolated, no one else but the two of you breathing. His hand urges to hold yours, but he can’t trust his palms not to be clammy; He can’t trust his fingers not to shake or the blood not to rush to his face. He wonders if this is being in love, if the feeling always causes discomfort… he wonders if you feel this way too, if the pads of your fingers ache with the need to touch him, the way his do.

Earlier in the night you’d met his friends, grinning the whole time and telling jokes like you’d known them forever. So beautiful, he thought, like a picture that wasn’t finished until you were painted in.

Jeno knows he probably looked silly and love struck, so obvious in his affection that Hyuck made annoying whipping sounds, and Mark pinched his red hot face.

He couldn’t help but smile thinking about it, his lips lifting so high his eyes become crescents—a perfect picture of joy, so alluring you can’t help but ask,

“What’s got you so happy, baby?”

“Nothing, just glad you liked them is all.”

And you did, you liked Jaemin and his quiet chaos, Jisung and his hesitant happiness at the older boys mischief. Yes, you like them, and how could you not when you see Jeno in them all.

He’s there in their laughter and their harmless jokes, you can hear him in them, and you love them for it.

“Well, you love them, Jen… so how could I not?” You see the impact this has on him, the shaky breath he releases into the cold air and the way his strong hand clenches with nerves. He hasn’t touched you all night, too shy and too infatuated, so you reach out to him. Your hands coming to grasp at his arms, rubbing gently at his shoulder blades. He wraps himself around you so quickly, almost like he was waiting for you to say it was okay—such a sweet boy he is, waiting for permission even when it’s always a yes.

You met him in a moment quite like this, quiet and intimate… strangers then but not now.

You thought he was handsome and when he asked for your phone number you were convinced it was a joke. How could someone as lovely as him want to know you? but he did, and now he’s here with you: his face in your neck, and you love him you really do.

You feel his lips first, pressing the sweetest kisses behind your ear and smiling into your hair. Every touch a confession, every caress a promise from a devotee to his deity.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

“You make me so shy, honey…” He says, “so so shy, it’s like I could forget my own name.

“You don’t make me shy… you make me feel alive.” You tell him, and you mean it.

Every moment with Jeno is like accelerating on an empty freeway, like you might just fly if you drive fast enough.

He’s silent after you speak, the passing cars being the only sound around for miles. A quiet so deep, you’d be scared if it wasn’t for Jeno’s strong arms around your waist.

He isn’t scared of your confession; his silence is not fear, it's not doubt, but he needs to do this right. He needs you to understand that he’s new to this, that he’s busy and imperfect, but he loves you. He loves your laugh, the way it’s not pretty or sexy, but loud and silly and so wholly you. He loves the little scars on your hands—marks so old you don’t know where they came from. He loves your smile, your eyes, the way you love his friends and they loved you…

When you went to the bathroom at the restaurant, the boys all smiled at him, but it was Jaemin—Jaemin who’d been quiet all evening—who grabbed his hand and said, good job, puppy , you really did it!

He really did it, he thinks, he found you…

When he speaks again, its with an assurance that's unfamiliar under a streetlight at midnight. So strong with his conviction, your body draws impossibly closer to him.

“I’m so grateful you came up to me that day, y’know. I remember the whole thing, your blue coat and your yellow umbrella… I needed you then, I knew it, I can’t believe how badly I needed you.” He keeps shaking his head, and his hand is weaving its way closer to the back of your head… fingers reaching out to clutch the point your spinal cord meets your skull. “I’m so glad the boys liked you, I don’t know what I’d do if they didn’t…”

“Why wouldn’t they like me, baby?” You ask, “I love you too much for them not too.”

His smile is electric, 80 miles per hour down a dirt road… a smile that makes you feel like flying.

Jeno’s eyes close, laughter so happy it hurts you, and then he’s kissing you. Lips in your hair, reaching down to swipe against the slope of your neck. Butterfly kisses on your jaw, kisses so tender it fills your heart with an pain so sweet, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

When his kiss reaches your mouth, hovering against you and breathing in the carbon your body’s releasing, you wish you could paint this moment—trap it in canvas and hang it above your couch.

“I love you so much, honey, so so much.”

And then his lips are on yours. It’s like he wants to bruise, his kiss taking and taking, breathing you in like it’s all he needs to survive. Every cell, every vein, every muscle and every bone in his body needs you. His heart is beating so fast, he doesn’t know if his arteries can keep up, if he has enough strength to keep standing.

Your blood sings with want, a hunger for his affection that is foreign under this pocket of light.

You love him, you think, you love him and he loves you…

How wonderful a concept, to love and be loved, to have and to hold and whatever nonsense people promise to each other.

You love him and he loves you.

He pulls away from you with a resistance you can relate to, a soft smile gracing his handsome face, as pretty as the stars blotted out around you.

He takes your hand as says,

“Let's go home, huh, wanna love you where it’s warm.”

And you can’t think of anything better.

luvtak 2024

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avelera · 4 months ago

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(Arcane Meta) "Why do you persist?" And the Character Flaw of Viktor's Tendency Towards Non-Confrontation

After writing this post I had something of a brainwave about a character flaw of Viktor's that had previously never occurred to me before. Namely, that of his habit of simply removing himself from moments of disagreement or confrontations, rather than sticking around to fight harder for his causes or negotiating to reach a compromise.

I've spoken elsewhere about how Viktor comes across as fairly flaw-free after Season 1, so one thing I found really interesting about getting his full arc in S2 is that we can begin to see his character flaws brought into focus.

And I should clarify, a literary character flaw is not the same thing as a real life character flaw. A literary character flaw is when there is something about the character that stands in the way of them achieving their goal in the story. For example, being clumsy is not a "character flaw" in a real person, it's simply a trait of neutral moral value, but it could be a character flaw in a story about a person who wants to become a ballerina, something they need to work to overcome.

So, I would and have argued that these are a few of Viktor's character flaws, personality traits of his that get in the way of him achieving his character's goals in Arcane:

Political disinterest: despite the fact that Viktor has a stated goal of helping the undercity, he never looks to other methods for improving life down there outside his personal skillset of science. Even when his close partner, Jayce, becomes a Councilor, able to enact political change with a wave of his hand, Viktor is dismissive of this avenue as a waste of time even though he is proven wrong in this assessment by the Zaun independence vote (at least, until outside forces like Jinx's rocket interfere).

Self-isolation: Viktor is plagued by loneliness that appears to be so painful to him that it eventually sets him on his villain path. However, he is also surrounded by people who care for him, especially Jayce and Sky who are literally willing to risk their lives for him. But Viktor seems either unaware of their affection in Sky's case or actively pushing it away in Jayce's case. He's not actually alone, he just thinks he's alone because of his habit of self-isolation when he is focused on his work or (very reasonably) stressed about things like his imminent mortality. This is also a flaw when it comes to his goals as a scientist, because Viktor pushes away potential collaborators. He's not aware of Sky's research towards his goal of improving lives in the undercity until after she dies. He's so skittish about Jayce potentially shutting down his research into the Hexcore and by extension saving his own life that he doesn't bring in his best scientific partner in on the work when Jayce could probably accelerate or even solve the problems Viktor is facing if he knew about them. Heck, he doesn't even tell Jayce he's dying but still shows resentment towards Jayce not spending time with him or helping him in the lab!

Single-mindedness/Intractability: It's Viktor's way or the highway. He doesn't compromise, or negotiate, in order to advance his own goals. This is in some ways a virtue, he refuses to bow in the face of pressure to turn his creation into a weapon, which is laudable. However, as stated above, he also has blinders on when it comes to other methods for achieving his stated goals, like improving lives in the undercity. Viktor sets his mind on a course of action and cannot be swayed by any argument. If he sees a confrontation he can't win, that brings us to the final flaw I wanted to address in this essay:

Non-confrontation: Viktor does not fight for his beliefs or persist in searching for a solution in partnership with others, even Jayce. This isn't to say he never engages in argument. He states his position, but like many intellectuals, he seems to believe that simply stating his position is enough and then he refuses to budge. If he doesn't get his way after a certain amount of time, he shows his displeasure by removing himself from the situation entirely rather than looking for common ground or alternate paths.

I want to reiterate, these are character flaws for a fictional character. In a real life person, I wouldn't think of this as necessarily a flaw at all. Viktor's stance could even be a virtue in a real person, an unwillingness to bend the pressures of the world, and the maturity to not get involved in ugly fights but instead simply step away from a situation he no longer wishes to be a part of.

It is a mature and intellectual response but, when it comes to the problems Viktor faces in Arcane, it is a symptom of his pacifism that actively gets in the way of him achieving his stated goals.

Viktor doesn't fight again Hextech weapons. He simply states his disapproval and then removes himself from the debate, leaving the decision entirely in Jayce's hands.

Viktor doesn't fight Heimerdinger for the removal of safeguards or defend his research into the Hexcore. Once again, he makes his argument and then seems to wilt in the face of doing anything more than that. Jayce ends up fighting that fight in his place but even worse, Viktor doesn't seem to know about or acknowledge that Jayce fights this battle on his behalf, which in turn contributes to Viktor's sense of isolation and not having anyone in his corner, even though Jayce just overthrew the government for him.

Viktor is noted to frequently disappear for long stretches of time, without letting Jayce know where he went. Which is entirely his right as a real person, but given his character's patterns of behavior, it does heavily imply that he's hiding something, perhaps his failing health, from his partner. We know he actively avoids telling Jayce about the full extent of his health issues, given his own lack of surprise at his own prognosis when he collapses and Jayce's utter shock.

Viktor also avoids the spotlight and doesn't partake in the public aspects of promoting Hextech or even seem all that eager to put his name on things he created however, he also notes with despair that no one will remember him after he is gone. This one has always puzzled me a bit, I suppose he wants his inventions to be so groundbreaking they speak for themselves, but he not only makes no effort to attach his name to their work in Hextech, he actively refuses to go on stage even as a silent partner to Jayce to present himself as the co-creator of Hextech. This to me is another symptom of his habit of avoidance: he simply wants people to find their own way to his view, in this case acknowledging his work, without making any effort to persuade or even present himself to them.

But finally, and most salient to the point I'd like to make: Viktor after emerging from the Hex-goop making his greatest avoidance of all by removing himself from his partnership with Jayce, having decided that they have passed the breaking point of their partnership and have no choice but to go their separate ways.

The thing is, from a Doylist angle, this moment is necessary for furthering the plot. I actually think it's a rather clumsy beat in retrospect for how visible the hand of the author is in making it happen, because Jayce doesn't, for example, stop a naked Viktor from departing, which would be a reasonable thing to do under the circumstances when Viktor is clearly in shock, nor does Jayce offer to go with him, which feels particularly out of character given how unhinged Jayce is and his own wedding-vow like promises of devotion only moments before, offering to give up everything he's been working on to be by Viktor's side.

I suppose shock could explain it on both sides, or that Jayce just wanted to go back to how things were, not forge a new path, but regardless, the outcome is that Viktor once again removes himself from a situation he's decided is untenable, rather than asking for, say, some guarantees from Jayce that he is sincere, or negotiating for some concessions from Jayce, or even delivering an ultimatum for what Jayce needs to do to stay by his side.

I suppose you could argue that Hextech weapons was the line, and Viktor is so uncompromising that once it's crossed, that line cannot be uncrossed in his mind, even in the face of Jayce's regrets and desire to make it right by whatever path Viktor sets for him, perhaps reasonable given Jayce has ignored other requests by Viktor up to this point, like not destroying the Hexcore. But this all gets thrown aside when later, Viktor invites Jayce to the commune (if we even believe that's Viktor and not the Hexcore, as I've argued elsewhere, it's all a bit muddy and we can guess at many reasons Viktor left that day, one of which might have been to protect Jayce from the Hexcore and himself).

I bring up the question of how much the Hexcore is controlling Viktor being an active question, because I'm going to undermine my own point here for a moment. I'm arguing that Viktor tends to state his position and then retreat from any sort of compromise or negotiation with other parties, removing himself rather than yielding if he doesn't get his way, but he does persist in trying to make contact with Jayce during his villain arc. I'd argue that insofar as it is Viktor at all, the Hexcore's modifications have given him the confidence for the first time to fight for Jayce, and despite Jayce killing Salo, shooting Viktor, and destroying his robot self, Viktor as the Machine Herald is still pleased to see Jayce (what a simp) and does still seem to want Jayce to come to his way of viewing things. Arguably for the first time, Viktor is persistent in an argument or debate, but he still refuses to budge in what the outcome will be. He wants to persuade Jayce, but he doesn't want to change his position or consider Jayce's side of things at all, maybe because the Hexcore is in control, or maybe because Viktor has always approached academic debates in this way: by refusing to listen to the other side or change his position.

Ok, so this brings me, F I N A L L Y to the point I've been wanting to make:

"Why do you persist, after everything I've done?"

^^ Viktor's genuine confusion about Jayce's persistence.

I think his confusion is, as we've seen if you made it this far, very much in line with his character and this is what I just realized. Viktor doesn't understand why Jayce keeps trying to confront Viktor even though apparently they have opposing views. If Jayce isn't going to come around to Viktor's way of doing things, why are they still even engaging in a confrontation? Why doesn't Jayce just remove himself, the way Viktor would?

In his villain arc, Viktor is more persistent, but he's not more willing to negotiate. If anything, being a villain just gives Viktor the power to not need to avoid people who don't come around to his way of thinking, but to actively, forcefully change their minds against their will. Not by persuasion, or diplomacy, or sophistry. Not by making an argument. But simply like many engineers he thinks that his solution is best and the data will miraculously speak for itself and there's something inherently wrong with people who don't agree with his view.

Machine Herald Viktor firmly believes he's in the right, his mind cannot be changed, it's never been changed in the past (except by Jayce, by the way, when he made the argument for Hextech that seduced Viktor into being his partner in the first place. Once again, Jayce is the exception) so why does Jayce keep fighting?

And I think I'm correct in identifying Viktor's intractability, his unwillingness to accept any view but his own as correct or to hear opposing arguments, as a character flaw because it does get addressed by the end of the story and we see him recognize this and change. He sees Jayce was right, the path he was on was evil, it was going to lead to widespread destruction, not salvation. Viktor sets out to make it right. And once again, he tries to go it alone, without inviting his partner in on the process, and here too we see a flaw addressed: Viktor finally lets Jayce in. He lets Jayce help him and he doesn't run from the difference of positions, or self-isolate in the face of someone who cares for him, or try to solve the problem alone, secure in his incorrect belief that he must do everything alone.

It's a brief scene, but finally at the end, we address these deep character flaws Viktor has been carrying throughout the story of Arcane, and only then can he at least achieve his goal of destroying the Hexcore, with Jayce.

#arcane #arcane meta #viktor arcane #jayvik

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animeyanderelover · 5 months ago

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Hi! Can you do prompt 8 with Chrollo? Have a good day!

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, isolation, abduction, manipulation, hints of Nsfw, hints of dub-con

Prompt 8: “Don’t cover my love bites or else I’m going to add more.”

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59

Word Count: 2.4k

Prompt 8

Every rustle of the sheets threatened to slash the silence, your movements pausing every few seconds as your panicked gaze darted towards Chrollo. Dark, tousled hair covered his hair, hid the tattoo on his forehead. With his eyes closed and his breath escaping in soft patterns, he resembled a prince from a fairy tale far more than the harsh truth that you too had learned once upon a time. It was this very image of serenity that made you unable to decipher whether he was really asleep or if he was just pretending. Chrollo liked doing that a lot. Pretending to be something or someone all to observe your every reaction.

You didn't dare to crawl closer though to find out the truth. Whether you would risk waking him up in case he was actually asleep right now or his hands would suddenly grab you and confirm that he had been awake all along, all of it would just ruin you the chance to have a shot at starting your day how you wanted it to start. So the only thing you were left with was this agonisingly slow game, stopping your movements every few seconds only to slowly go on after another moment of motionlessness.

As soon as the first sole of your feet made contact with the wooden floor, your heartbeat accelerated. You didn't know why. It was rather stupid after all, the thought that such a simple thing had your heartbeat quickening so noticably within your ribcage. Yet unfortunately your life wasn't that simple anymore, not after everything that had happened. As the second sole of your feet joined the first one on the floor, you couldn't help but start chewing on the insides of your cheek. You just sat there, on the edge of the ned as you contemplated for a while. The steady sound of breaths behind you still hadn't changed yet you didn't dare to let it lull you into a false sense of security.

With one very quiet release of air that was stuck within your lungs due to the tension you were feeling at the moment, you slowly stood up from the ground. The bed groaned as your entire weight shortly dipped into one spot on the mattress before it was gone as you stood up, unsure whether you had done it too slow or too fast. All you knew was that you could only stand there frozen, wiping your sweaty palms over your bare skin as you waited with bated breath. Only once half a minute had passed did you feel courageous enough to take your steps.

Everything was done tentatively and cautiously. Your heels didn’t make contact with the floor, only the front part of your feet pressing against the wood. There was always that short moment where the damp skin of your foot got stuck on the floor, leaving that little noise the moment your feet unlatched from it and even that noise, in another lifetime so insignificant, added to your nervousness. Still you went on, in your own slow tempo. Honestly, you didn’t even know what you wanted to do if you were to succeed and leave the bedroom without waking Chrollo up. All you knew was that you needed to be alone right now and that wouldn’t be possible as long as he was within your vicinity. What you needed was time without Chrollo.

Seeing him, hearing him, smelling him, feeling him, sensing him. All of it would only heighten the fresh set of sore memories that he had recently made with you. There was a new part of your heart that was aching, only one of many bleeding spots within your heart. Maybe it could be mended though if you could have this moment, just one moment, to yourself.

“Where are you going?”

And just like that the hope of healing vanished, your heart silently grieving yet only able to acknowledge with nothing but defeat that another part of your essence had been stolen and corrupted by him.

Who could have known that such a gentle voice could strike so much negative emotions within you at once? It had to be done on purpose. He had to have been awake for a longer time now as the timing of it all was too well done. Just as the tips of your fingers had touched the doorknob, the spark of temporary freedom flowing through you with it.

Unable to answer that question as you yourself didn’t know where exactly you had even planned to go, the only reply you could spontaneously come up with was deafening silence. Any lie that you might come up with, Chrollo would see through immediately. So what would they serve you right now?

“I… I don’t know.”

Your lips moved before your brain had fully caught on to the instructions that your brain was sending as if you had just entered a default mode. It sounded quite pathetic and you dreaded his reaction. You could so absolutely without any of his shallow displays of pity or worse, that earnest curiosity and amusement gleaming within those gray eyes. Whatever emotions you would decipher soon on his face, one thing you already knew for certain. That Chrollo would without a doubt let you know that he had already anticipated your reaction, that he would inform you that he had been watching you. The exact origins of his obsession to always tell you that he had foreseen your reaction and your plans were unknown to you. You didn't know whether his intentions were to subtly inform you that he knew you too well for you to ever have hopes of escaping his tight hold for even one second or if he had other motives, possibly even more genuine ones.

The sound of the bed creaking and the rustle of sheets was what fully caught your wariness, the confirmation that he was not only awake but moving. You spun your body awkwardly around, unsure how to face him after that whole ridiculous sequence of trying to sneak away from him. Immediately you made eye contact with those all-observing gray voids, his gaze searching yours on purpose. It was overwhelming, you were not prepared for his intimate gaze. Not that you were ever truly prepared when Chrollo was around to begin with but especially now, early in the morning and suffering from a queasy mixture of frustration and embarrassment were you throughly unable to hold his eye contact.

Automatically your own gaze fled from his, sliding down. From his muscular torso down to the sheets of the bed, the afterimage of his upper body staying within your mind for one moment longer than you would ever admit. Now at the very least his facial expressions wouldn't haunt you but that didn't erase that prickling feeling that overcame you as his eyes still were focused on you. This was doable though. As long as you wouldn't have to see whatever emotions his eyes would reveal whilst looking at you for whatever it would be, it would only mock you further.

"You don't know?" he hummed amused, repeating your answer after you. His tone gave it already away, that entertained fascination he always felt whilst observing you. Of course he'd react like this, as patient and in control as always. Admittedly, sometimes you wished to get something more out of him then that serene acknowledgement. On the other hand you knew better than to trigger the storm from the calm. You weren't that stupid after all.

You had no intention to confrim what you had already spoken before and Chrollo knew that. For all you knew, he'd probably just repeated your answer loud to let you hear just how silly it sounded now. If that was indeed the case, it had worked wonderfully as you could feel your cheeks growing warm with the shame of being caught.

"Well, what do you plan to do now?"

He only spoke up after giving you enough time to simmer in your own shame and embarrassment, the hot prickle on your neck by now having extended to your face. The air felt hotter, more uncomfortable and you more vulnerable and exposed. You were more conscious of everything and suddenly the fact that you were wearing no clothes had your whole face burning. It was early morning yet already you were physically and mentally bare for him.

"I..."

You didn't know.

You didn't know what you planned to do now. Heck, you hadn't even planned through what you would have done if you had managed to leave the bedroom without him noticing. However, you did not have the courage to repeat the same answer you had already given him for his previous question. Wouldn't that just make you look awfully stupid after all? Chrollo had always a plan, always knew what he was doing. You were nothing like him, you weren't as beautifully composed. No, you were reckless and messy, would never be able to achieve what Chrollo was capable of achieving.

"Would you prefer to lay in bed for a while longer or do you want to start the day?"

As he offered you two possible solutions on what options you had right now, you had to bite your tongue. Two so easy answers to his questions that you had been unable to think of. Really, what else could you have done besides sleeping for a while longer or starting your day? Now whatever you would choose, it would be something that Crollo had chosen for you.

Now, with the two choices presented to you though, you knew at least what you wanted to do. Because you couldn't start your day like this, already outsmarted by him. So with heavy footsteps you made your way back to bed, still refusing to meet his gaze. The softness of the mattress and the warm sheets were only a shallow comfort for you, especially the moment his firm body brushed against yours as he shuffled closer, just shy of pressing himself against you.

Warm fingertips started tracing the outline of your body, sliding smoothly over your curves. That little touch paralysed your entire body shortly as vivid memories of the previous night returned.

"You're very mobile despite our indulgences last night. Should I be glad or disappointed about that?"

You felt it. You always felt it when his gaze was trying to meet yours, wanting to figure out what your opinion on a specific topic was. Not because it could possibly influence his opinion but simply because he wanted to know. You couldn't suppress the little gulp that you did, the muscles within your body tensing up as his palms rested on your hips, pulling you closer to himself.

Whilst your own brain was still trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy him, your body already reacted to his unwanted touch. Your palms manoeuvred themselves within the cramped space under the blanket up to his chest, resting flatly against it. This simple yet very telling gesture had Chrollo stopping within his movements, observing your hands as they pressed against his chest before gray eyes darted to your face.

Your own vision was focused on your hands as well, silently furious that your body had made a choice whilst your mind had been too busy scrambling for a way to appease Chrollo. Yet the sad truth was that your own wishes and desires would never be his priority. Not as long as he didn't see the advantage that he would earn in the long run. For the first time that day you finally dared to look him into his eyes with as much emotional preparation as you could gather. Almost immediately you wished to wither away as those analysing gaze met yours. He was doing it again, you could tell. Whilst the true depths of his mind were places you would never be able to understand or dive into, you knew that he was calculating again. Weighting whether obeying your silent plea would promise him a bigger reward later on or if proceeding and following his current desires would provide him with a greater pleasure.

That silence was painful. It was heavy with uncertainty and the knowledge that no matter what he would decide on, you would have to comply with.

Only when his hold loosened and that calculative gleam slowly simmered down were you sure that he had decided against letting sexual desire guide him once more. In the back of your mind you knew that this meant that he would only demand more from you another time but right now, in the present, you felt more at ease with that decision.

You felt yourself almost fully relaxing, only a slight stiffness remaining within your body that had become a constant alert simply due to his presence. Still, it was the closest to peace that you were capable of feeling so you took it. Even as your body was smushed against his, even as you felt the few chaste kisses that he pressed against your forehead and face. Nevertheless, you willed yourself to relax as you closed your eyes, hoping to doze off and start this day again. The words that Chrollo murmured softly next had you slowly opening them again once more.

"The rest of the spiders is coming later today. There's something important that I have to discuss with them. Why don't you come with me?"

The idea of seeing other people made your heart race. The idea of seeing some very specific people again made your heart drop. You got along more or less with all of the spiders, only because you were Chrollo's darling. Yet you would never deny that you had clear preferences with whom you would rather spend your time with. After having been surrounded with nothing but Chrollo for so many weeks though, you would gladly endure Feitan's scary scowls, Machi's sharp glares and Shalnark's eery grins. So you nodded quietly in agreement, already brainstorming what clothes you should wear. As long as you would be able to cover everything up, you'd be good to go.

Another kiss, close to your ears. followed by a pleased hum due to your answer.

"We should make sure that you look extra pretty today then. It's been a while since they've seen you and I want to show them how far you've come since the last time. I'll help you choose your clothes for later."

All semblance of relaxation was gone when his words reached your brain as the familiar rigidness returned, the unease back as if it had never been gone in the first place.

"Wait, wha-"

This time his lips met yours, the sensation as cold and as alienating as always.

“Don’t cover my love bites or else I’m going to add more.”

#yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you #yandere smut

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astral-herald · 7 months ago

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Uncritically Enjoying Mage Viktor

sometimes when i turn off my angry (logical) brain, i achieve some very sentimental mage viktor clarity that i would like to share <3

this is a lot different from my other Thoughtful "Analysis" Posts. my plan is as follows: address my understanding, slim though it may be, of mage viktor; bullet-point all the less than critical/theory driven reasons why he makes me happy; make a somewhat melodramatic point about reading/viewing for fulfillment over critique. mage-tor enjoyers, unite!

What is Mage Viktor's Purpose?

Try as I might to turn off my thoughtfulness, I am typically critical of the media I enjoy, so I'll be among the first to admit that Mage Viktor was certainly a retcon. That seems to be the fandom consensus, so I won't reiterate too much on that point. It makes shots like this especially funny, though, because that is simply not the Viktor we know, interdimensional or otherwise:

But something I would like to push back on is a pervasive "favorable" read on Mage Viktor as we come to know him in season 2. I fully disagree with the idea that Mage Viktor sought Jayce out in every timeline because he loved Jayce, rather than as a means of saving the countless innocents Viktor in other timelines would inevitably kill thanks to Hextech, the Glorious Evolution, etc. Hear me out for a second!

Bestie @arowyn-m pointed out to me that Necrit confirmed that Hextech is THE canonical event, the linchpin, so to speak, that ignites the chain of events we see culminate in season 2. These are the same events that Mage Viktor seeks to prevent. It takes however many lifetimes and iterations of mass destruction for Mage Viktor to gather two vital facts about the universe: Hextech is the inciting, inevitable incident, and Jayce is the complementary indelible constant. Hextech is inevitable, but only Jayce can show Viktor how to stop it.

Viktor's love for Jayce is not what motivates Mage Viktor to seek him out - it is the inevitable result of their being "inextricably bound." Reducing Mage Viktor's manipulation of time/space/what have you to his desperate need to protect Jayce in every timeline morphs him into a very out-of-character Genocidal Eldritch Being when he's supposed to be the antithesis of OUR Machine Herald Viktor. By taking up Mage Viktor's quest to kill Machine Herald Viktor under these very specific circumstances - acceleration rune in hand - Jayce can end the cycle. He trumps the inciting incident. His love for Viktor reigns supreme.

The fact that this is so awkward to explain speaks to the severity of the retcon. I guess what I'm getting at is that Mage Viktor was not acting out of selfish, obsessive love (as romantic as that may seem to some); he was searching for a way to right his wrongs and found it in Jayce, his inseparable other half.

"Only you could show me this."

MORE TO THIS POINT: even Mage Viktor, for all his implied wisdom, having seen countless lifetimes wherein they failed to stop Hextech, still does not anticipate the depth of Jayce's love for him. He (presumably, because don't see this exchange, because Riot made egregious cuts) tells Jayce that the Viktor of this world must die. Jayce "can't fail." As far as I can tell, he never tells Jayce that he has to die along with him. Jayce rejected Viktor's bid to be partners again, after all...

Mage Viktor, like the true Viktor that lurks within the Machine Herald, still believes that Hextech is fully his fault. He still believes in his own weakness and his shortcomings and is so reliant, obsessed with independence that he refuses to share this responsibility. When Mage Viktor reveals himself to Machine Herald Viktor, and he's confronted with the depths of his own feelings, he shoves Jayce away in a last-ditch attempt to preserve his isolation.

Jayce does not allow this.

The love that keeps Viktor "inextricably bound" to Jayce is not one-sided. Viktor, in all iterations and timelines, does not bear the responsibility for Hextech alone. In his dying moments, when he finally understands that LOVE is what has kept he and Jayce together all this time, his humanity returns to him. They save the world - literally. Love literally conquered all. No Viktor, not even Mage Viktor, anticipated this. All Jayce really had to do was kill this Viktor, but he couldn't bear to part ways.

TLDR: Mage Viktor found a way to save the world, but Jayce found a way to reignite Viktor's humanity. Neither of things could coexist without the other.

Smaller, Less Important Reasons Why I Like Mage Viktor

I'll never forget the breathless whiplash I felt upon Mage Viktor's reveal. I feel pretty alone in that experience - oh well! I'll be the pariah! - but here are the reasons why he's made such an impression on me.

Seeing an aged Viktor hit me like a bus. I know he's still stricken with the arcane, but there's so much wisdom and kindness and life experience in his expression. I never thought we'd see that. I doubt he did, either.

BEARD VIKTOR TRUTHER.

It gives Viktor some agency back. I wrote in an earlier post that Mage Viktor being the one to liberate Viktor from his own tragic narrative is pretty awesome, and I stand by that.

Mage Viktor's vulnerability. I feel like Mage Viktor, finally realizing that this Jayce is the right one, that this moment is the pivotal one, says a lot of what Viktor in all timelines longs to say to Jayce.

The question of lifetimes - how many times did Viktor search for Jayce? How many times did he watch a timeline go by without him? How much loneliness did he endure (for the greater good?). What was it like seeing that in-universe Viktor had killed Jayce?

Reading Uncritically (I Swear This is Relevant)

Rita Felski, a very cool literary critic who we all should read, said the following about reading critically (the way that lots of us engage with Arcane on tumblr): "It is a mode of interpretation that adopts a distrustful attitude toward texts...that remain inaccessible to their authors as well as to ordinary readers" ("Suspicious Minds" 216). Even though she's writing about academia/literary criticism, I think her point still stands. We engage with media with the intent to expose, unearth, and problematize. We eagerly search for moments where the text fails us at the expense of the "superficial" that would otherwise uplift us. We are practicing the "hermeneutic of suspicion," which can be exceptionally draining.

It's pretty melodramatic of me to apply this kind of theoretical work to Arcane, of all things, but this story means a great deal to me. It is deeply flawed - the Mage Viktor retcon is kind of appalling if you stare down the barrel of suspicion. But, in looking through a reparative lens (Eve Sedgwick's word, not mine), I see Mage Viktor as a agency-ridden Viktor, an aged Viktor, a vision of the future Jayce and Viktor together make possible. I'm enriched by that.

Felski asks us: "How else might we venture to read, if we were not ordained to read suspiciously?" (232). What can we derive from Arcane by putting the pieces together with the goal of harmony and fulfillment? In the smallest sense, we may feel a bit better about the ways in which season 2 seriously let us down. In a larger, more hopeful sense, moments like Viktor confessing an ultimate love and attachment to Jayce, and Jayce returning it in kind, may fill us with an even deeper appreciation for unconditional love as the culmination of human connection, a world-ending and world-renewing thing that stares down the BBEG of Arcane and wins.

You could probably read all of this as my apology for enjoying what so much of the fandom has condemned. That's alright. There are so many pieces of Mage Viktor that fragment under the critical microscope, but I can't shake the emotional impact of his reveal, so I'll live in that space for the time being. Had Arcane allotted for any explanatory conversations, flashbacks, and/or given up their soft world build to account for Mage Viktor, we'd be in a better place plot-wise. Alas, here we are instead. Everyone can point and laugh at me if they did all this just to bring back God/Made/Eldritch Being/Whatever The Fuck Viktor in future projects. That'll be my penance!

And, finally, if you really didn't like Mage Viktor, I fully respect that, but this is my self-indulgent post and I'm not overly interested in debating...there's little anyone could say that I wouldn't agree with. I'm just avoiding the suspicion of it all :)

#this is my truth bomb lol #i feel like there's a lot more to say so i may revisit this in the future #but truly if i stare down the retcon and deus ex machina barrels too long i get a heavy feeling in my chest #so let's avoid it because this is an enjoyable tv show first and foremost #and i find viktor compelling sympathetic and relatable to the very end #also sorry bestie for tagging you in this behemoth but you were instrumental in helping me focus these thoughts lol #uhh the end i think?#everyone should read rita felski she is Rejuvenating #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #arcane viktor #jayce talis #jayvik #mage viktor #is that a tag?#prepared for this to flop. I WILL GO OUT SWINGING FOR OLD MAN JENKINS VIKTOR.#viktor propaganda

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faramirsonofgondor · 5 months ago

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I’m still thinking about Hartley Rathaway and how he dedicated years of his life and career to building that particle accelerator. I’m thinking about how the only “good” relationship he had with anyone as an adult was with EoWells, because his parents had disowned him and he was kind of dick but EoWells encouraged that and isolated him from the rest of his coworkers (calling him “his guy”, spending too much time together, playing chess, etc. - not to mention the fact that Hartley clearly knew where he lived and whatnot when Cisco, Caitlin and Barry had never even gone in there). Thinking about how EoWells groomed him to the point where Hartley had placed his trust in him solely, and so when that trust was broken, nobody believed Hartley. Because the only person Hartley had was EoWells. Thinking about how when Hartley tried to the right thing anyway - it didn’t work. The accelerator “malfunctioned” and his life, his DNA, and his body were all changed because of it. And so were hundreds of other people’s. Not to mention the fact that other people died because of it. No good deed goes unpunished. Thinking about how he was right about EoWells all along, and he never found out everything. Thinking about how he must’ve felt hearing the man he once he cared for so deeply, the man who hurt him, the man who had already betrayed him, had confessed to a murder that happened years before he ever knew him. Thinking about what kind of life he must’ve had in the S1 timeline. He’s such a fascinating character, I really wish we got more of him in the earlier seasons.

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sweet-pea-channie · 2 months ago

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Shadows of the Exile - Part 8

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N perfects a healing salve, determined to prove its effectiveness. After self-testing, she hopes to heal even deep scars. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with her absence, missing her presence at the Town House. When she finally returns, an unspoken connection deepens between them.

Warnings: self-experimentation & medical procedures, mentions of scars & past injuries, emotional distress & isolation,

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: It's a short part, but an important one. Hope you like it!

series masterlist

Y/N took a deep breath as she carefully applied the cool salve with her fingertips. The gentle scent of the rare flower from the Spring Court, mixed with the earthy notes of the remaining ingredients, filled the room. She had spent the last month perfecting the formula—this time, she would not fail.

The transformation of the brew into a working salve had been a process that required precision. First, she had brewed the original mixture once more, meticulously ensuring that she removed it from the fire precisely on the sixth full moon. Then, she had thickened the liquid substance in a slow, careful process using a blend of beeswax and dragonroot essence. The temperature had to remain constant—one degree too hot or too cold, and the consistency would have been ruined. Finally, she had infused the mixture with a pinch of crushed moon herbs—a final, crucial step to stabilize its effects.

Now, after several days, she was testing the salve on herself. And that was the reason she hadn’t been at the Town House for so long. She couldn’t afford a mistake—not after spending a year developing this healing formula.

She ran her fingers over the spot on her forearm where she had applied the salve. Where there had once been a deep, deliberately made cut, only a thin, pale line remained. The healing process had been accelerated, almost in a way that resembled magic—but it wasn’t. This was science, combined with healing arts, a fusion of nature and alchemical precision.

A tremor ran through her fingers as she traced the healed skin. It worked. Her heart pounded faster as she turned the glass jar containing the remaining salve in her hands. She hoped this was finally the solution—that with this formula, she could heal more than just small wounds. Maybe... maybe one day, she could create something that even made scars disappear, something that could heal deeper injuries—ones even magic couldn’t completely erase.

A sigh escaped her as she leaned against the wooden table. She had hoped that neither Azriel nor Cassian would be away on a mission during this final, critical phase. If either of them had stormed into her clinic injured, she would have had to drop everything—just like last time. But this time, she had done it. No one had interrupted her, no one had come in badly wounded, demanding her full attention.

Azriel leaned against the doorframe of the Town House’s kitchen, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. His gaze rested on the table—more precisely, on Y/N’s untouched place. The chair remained empty, the plate untouched, as if it was an unspoken certainty that she wouldn’t show up tonight either.

Cassian had already given up asking about her. He knew Azriel had noticed—that she no longer came to meals regularly, that she barely spent time at the Town House anymore. But no one spoke of it. It was obvious she was busy with something, something important to her.

Azriel knew it mattered, that she had buried herself in something that demanded all her focus. But that didn’t mean it didn’t bother him. That there wasn’t this quiet pull in his chest, a dull ache every time he looked at her empty seat and wondered if she would return today.

Today was one of those nights.

He pushed himself off the wall, picked up his plate, and carried it back to the kitchen. Without another word, he disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him and letting the silence of the space settle around him.

The shadows in the corners of his room moved sluggishly, as if even his magic reflected his unrest. He sank into his chair, pulling one of the reports Rhysand had sent him closer. Routine work. Normally, he would have read through the lines with effortless concentration, but today… today, he read without truly absorbing the meaning of the words.

His gaze drifted to the candle on his desk. The flickering light cast long shadows on the wall, distorting the room’s contours. He rubbed his temple with two fingers and leaned back.

She will come when she is ready.

He knew he had to give her space. Y/N was someone who withdrew when she was working on something. Someone who only emerged when she was ready to share what she had been so obsessively perfecting. And he respected that.

But that didn’t mean it was easy.

He stood, stepping to the window. The night over Velaris was clear, the full moon casting a silver glow over the quiet streets. The city’s soft shimmer seemed colder tonight, less alive.

His jaw tightened.

Come home, Y/N.

He knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t push her, couldn’t go looking for her. All he could do was wait. And hope she returned soon.

Y/N sat on one of the low wooden stools in her small, makeshift workshop within the clinic. The cool night air drifted through the half-open window, while the candles on the table cast a gentle, flickering light over the five small salve tins.

Five attempts. Five possibilities.

She had already tested the first tin—the mixture with moon herbs. It had worked. The wound on her arm had nearly vanished, as if it had never existed. But now, the real test lay ahead.

Her fingers traced over one of the other tins. This one contained an additional ingredient—a rare essence known for its regenerative properties. She had blended it with one of the base components of the original salve, melted it down, stirred it until the mixture took on a silky, almost pearlescent consistency. This salve was different. Stronger. Maybe even dangerous.

A deep breath.

Y/N stood, the small jar in hand, and moved slowly toward the mirror in the corner of the room. The reflection staring back at her was one she had avoided for years. Her hands didn’t tremble—at least not outwardly. But inside, uncertainty pulsed, a heavy weight in her chest she could not shake.

She untied the laces of her top, let the fabric slip from her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Cold air brushed over her skin, raising goosebumps—but it wasn’t the chill that made her breath heavy.

It was the sight.

Slowly, she turned so that her back was visible in the candlelight.

Where her wings had once been, two large scars remained. They weren’t just pale, fine lines—no, the skin was uneven, thicker in some places, almost sunken in others. Where the flesh had healed, it was hardened, rough, reminiscent of old burn wounds. Scars that marked not just her body, but her soul.

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to look. She wanted to forget.

But she couldn’t.

She took a deep breath, then opened the small tin in her hand.

The familiar scent of herbs, wax, and something light, fresh, rose to her nose. It carried memories—of long nights experimenting, of hopes and setbacks, of all the moments she had wondered if it was worth it. Her thumb brushed over the surface of the salve before she scooped up a small amount with two fingers.

Then, she touched the scars.

A faint tremor ran through her body as she carefully applied the cool salve to the scarred skin. Her fingers moved slowly, massaging the mixture in, feeling the unfamiliar sensation on a part of her body she so rarely touched. A place she avoided, a place she didn’t want to feel.

She held her breath.

And waited.

Seconds passed. Then a minute.

At first, there was nothing. No warmth, no tingling, no noticeable change. But then—a faint, barely perceptible pull beneath her skin.

Y/N’s heartbeat quickened.

It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t exactly comfort either. It felt as though something was waking, as though nerves long silent were responding to a whisper. An echo from the past, reminding her body in a way she had thought impossible.

She looked into the mirror, searching for a change.

Nothing yet.

But she would wait.

She had to know if it worked.

If all the years of research, of experimenting, of hoping—if it had been worth it.

Slowly, she closed her eyes. Her fingers still rested on the scars.

And she waited.

Azriel sat at his desk, surrounded by reports and parchment scrolls, yet the words before him blurred, lost their meaning, became mere symbols on yellowed paper. The candles in his room burned down slowly, their wax dripping silently onto the tabletop, while his shadows stirred restlessly in the dark corners of the room. Normally, he would fully immerse himself in his work, spending hours poring over reports on enemy troop movements, espionage missions, or diplomatic negotiations without losing focus.

But not today.

Six days.

Six days since he had last seen Y/N.

His shadows had told him that she had spent almost all her time at the House of Wind, dividing her days between research and self-experimentation, barely taking a break. She ate, she rested, the house took care of her—but was that enough? Azriel knew how she was, how she lost herself in her work when something mattered to her. He knew she wouldn’t spare herself, not when she was finally on the verge of the breakthrough she had worked toward for so long.

He wanted to give her space. He respected her independence, her dedication. But that didn’t mean it was easy for him.

Sighing, he leaned back, rubbing his temples with two fingers. The dull headache that had been threatening for hours intensified, yet he knew it had nothing to do with his work.

Then—footsteps in the hallway.

Soft, deliberate. And then that familiar knock.

His door was open, but Y/N always knocked.

Azriel looked up. There she stood in the dim light of the hallway, and just the sight of her made something in his chest ease. She was here. Back.

He stood, pushing the reports aside, and stepped toward her.

"Do you have a minute?" Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

He studied her. She looked exhausted, but satisfied. Her entire posture spoke of the weight of the past days, but also of a success she had yet to put into words.

"For you, always."

They sat down on the edge of the bed, the wood creaking softly beneath them. For a moment, there was only silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that existed only between people who knew each other, who understood each other without the need for many words.

Then Y/N turned slightly toward him, looking directly at him.

"You know the flower we took from the Spring Court was efficient for something special I was working on, right?"

Azriel nodded slowly.

Without another word, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a small glass container. When she opened it, a brown, creamy substance came into view. A faint scent of fresh herbs and something sweet lingered in the air. Azriel observed it but said nothing.

"May I?" She reached out to him, and he let her.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should pull away, as he always did. No one touched his scars. No one traced their fingers over the rough skin covering his hands, a testament to all he had endured.

But Y/N wasn’t "no one."

She had never looked at him with pity. Never with disgust. Never with the question of what exactly had happened.

And now, she touched him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he weren’t broken.

Azriel felt it instantly.

The coolness of the salve, the gentle glide of her fingertips over his skin. It was a touch he wasn’t used to. No hesitation, no fear. Only warmth. Only care.

His mind screamed at him to pull away, to put on a mask of indifference. But his body did the opposite. He relaxed.

His shoulders lowered, the pressure on his chest eased slightly, and the faint trembling that ran through him wasn’t out of fear. Not out of resistance.

It was something else. Something he couldn’t name.

Y/N kept speaking, her voice soft as she massaged the cream into his skin.

"I tested this on myself the last few days, and I can confidently say that it’s successful. I can still refine the formula, but I think it’s good enough as it is."

He couldn’t help but look at her. Her eyes, her expression, the quiet determination in her voice. She was proud of what she had created, and yet there was that tiny flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. As if she were waiting for a reaction, for some sign that her work hadn’t been in vain.

Azriel felt the warmth spread beneath her touch. No burning. No pain. Just a subtle, pulsing warmth spreading beneath the scarred skin, as if something old, something long-rigid, was slowly loosening.

He didn’t know if it was the cream.

Or her.

A part of him wanted to say something. Wanted to find words for what was happening inside him, for the quiet pull in his chest that grew stronger the longer she touched him.

But instead, he just sat there. Felt. Allowed it. And maybe, maybe that was enough.

"I actually wanted to give this to you for Solstice."

Solstice.

She had made this for him. Not for a patient. Not for a mission. Not out of pure scientific interest.

For him.

Azriel swallowed, but his throat suddenly felt too dry to utter a single sound.

"But then everything with the incident and Rhys got in the way, and the cream wasn’t finished in time. And now I didn’t want to wait any longer and decided to give it to you now."

He couldn’t stop staring at her. Her voice was calm, a little hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how he would react. "I always see how you rub your knuckles. And I know what it feels like when scar tissue rubs against certain spots."

His heart clenched. She had noticed.

The small, almost unconscious movements he made when the scarred skin on his fingers felt tight. How he often ran his thumb over it, sometimes without even realizing it.

"The cream won’t heal the scars, but it will ease the pain."

He heard her words, understood them—but all he could do was continue to stare at her.

Y/N hesitated. Her eyes searched his, concern flickering in them.

"Are you okay, Azriel? Does it hurt? I can take it off immediately, I—"

She moved, reaching for a cloth, but his hand shot forward, gripping hers.

"No, no, no, no."

His voice was rough, urgent. He held her hand tighter than he intended—as if he had to stop her from taking away this touch, this feeling, this moment.

"It doesn't hurt at all," he said quickly. "It feels quite nice, actually."

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Then something in Y/N’s face softened, and a small, gentle smile flickered across her lips.

And Azriel … Azriel was suddenly no longer sure if it was really just the cream that felt so damn good.

Azriel slowly felt it—the tension in his hands easing.

He was used to his scars hurting, to the skin tightening when he curled his fingers into fists or gripped his blades for too long. He had never complained, had never really thought about the possibility that it could be different. It was just the way things were.

But now … Now, it felt as if something was loosening, as if the constant strain he had long stopped noticing was finally dissipating.

His grip on Y/N’s hand relaxed slightly, but he didn’t let go.

She didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she didn’t show it. Instead, she took a bit more of the cream onto her fingertips and began to treat his other hand with the same care.

As she massaged the salve in, she continued speaking, and her voice held that light, cheerful undertone he heard far too rarely.

"The mixture was enough for five small jars."

Azriel watched her, listening as her fingers glided gently over his skin.

"One jar was designed to make cuts heal much faster. Faster than even my magic could. It’s phenomenal! You can take it with you to your mission to heal smaller cuts yourself."

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, and Azriel knew—this was her passion. Her research, her knowledge, the way she created things to help others.

"Then I used the second jar for my own testing, and this one is now the third." She lifted a finger at him with a mock-stern look. "You have to use it sparingly. I only have one more jar left."

Azriel huffed softly—not in mockery, but in amusement. “You’re giving me something that works this well and then telling me to ration it?”

Y/N chuckled quietly as she worked the last remnants of the cream into his skin.

“The last jar, I refined it again with moon herbs, so it heals cuts. That way, I get more use out of it too.”

Azriel felt the warmth of her touch slowly fade as she pulled back, and his body almost protested the loss of it.

“And maybe,” she continued, “I can go back to Spring Court next year and look for the flower again. Then I can make even more.”

She sounded so determined, so certain that her work was far from over.

And Azriel…

Azriel had never wished so much for someone to just stay.

For someone to keep looking at him like that, to keep touching him like that—like he was worth caring for.

He moved his fingers cautiously, curling and uncurling his fist.

No pain.

Just warmth.

Just Y/N.

Since Azriel was still a little stunned and not saying anything, Y/N tilted her head playfully. “You’re really quiet. Is that a good sign? Or is the Shadowsinger having an existential crisis because someone actually made something for him?”

He let out an amused huff and just shook his head. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised that it works? Or surprised that I care about you?” She grinned mischievously, but her eyes studied him carefully.

He couldn’t hold her gaze for long, looking away instead, his fingers still flexing slightly. “Both.”

Y/N gently nudged his shoulder. “Idiot.”

He couldn’t help but laugh softly.

When Y/N finally closed the jar and stretched slightly—maybe a bit too abruptly after the long days at the House of Wind—her face twitched unconsciously.

Azriel, of course, noticed immediately.

“You’re exhausted.”

Y/N waved him off. “Just a little sore. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But Azriel didn’t think—he just acted.

Gently, almost hesitantly, he lifted a hand and placed it on her shoulder. His touch was careful, as if he was afraid she might pull away.

But she didn’t.

She only exhaled softly, like she was finally allowing herself to relax for the first time in days.

And Azriel realized he liked that feeling.

He didn’t pull his hand away immediately.

Y/N smiled at him—tired, but full of warmth.

“You should get some rest, Y/N.”

“I will. Just… let me sit here for a bit.”

And Azriel only nodded, like he understood without her needing to explain. He simply stayed with her. Maybe for a minute. Maybe longer. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt just right.

Y/N rubbed her tired eyes and rolled her shoulders slightly. The long hours spent sitting, the intense focus on the smallest details of her salve—it had all settled into her muscles.

Azriel watched her in silence for a moment before he decided to speak. “You should lie down for a bit.”

She blinked at him. “I’m fine, Az. Really.”

He simply raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Humor me. Just for a while.”

She sighed quietly, but before she could protest, he added, “I’ll get you something to eat. You haven’t eaten properly in days, have you?”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again. Of course, he had noticed.

“You like the cinnamon-almond pastries from that café near the Sidra, right?” He looked at her calmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world that he knew this. “I can get you some.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a tired smile. “Az, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

Something warm spread through her chest, but before she could say anything, he added with a light, almost mischievous glint in his eyes, “And if you lie down right now, close your eyes, and actually do what I say for once, I’ll even bring you that other pastry you always get.”

Y/N frowned slightly. “What other pastry?”

Azriel’s mouth twitched. “The one you think no one notices you buying, but I do.”

She blinked. Then shook her head in disbelief. “Of course you do. Spymaster and all.”

He shrugged, as if it was obvious.

She laughed softly. “Okay, fine. But only because you bribed me.”

“Good.”

Y/N stood up, intending to return to her own room, but Azriel stopped her with a gentle shake of his head. “Stay here. Just rest. I’ll be back soon.”

Something in his quiet voice, in the unspoken promise within it, made her pause.

Y/N slowly removed her boots and placed them neatly at the foot of the bed before sinking backward. Her limbs felt heavy as she pulled the blanket over herself, curling into the soft, familiar fabric.

The bed smelled like Azriel, like the space he so often occupied—cool, mysterious, but somehow comforting.

She let out a quiet, content sigh as she nestled in, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The day had been long, her eyes burned with exhaustion, and she felt utterly drained. But it was a good exhaustion—the kind that only asked for a moment of rest before diving back into the storm.

With one last glance at Azriel, who was still standing in the doorway, she grinned. “You better wake me only if the pastries are still warm. Otherwise, let me sleep. And don’t wake me unless it’s something really important.”

Azriel stared at her for a moment, his lips twitching into that mischievous smile she knew so well. He shook his head slightly, as if to say she could never hide anything from him. But then he simply nodded. “I won’t wake you. You rest. But if you sleep too long, I’ll eat all of them myself.”

Y/N laughed softly, already half-buried in the pillow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Azriel only grinned and stepped back, closing the door quietly behind him. But as he took one last glance into the room, he couldn’t help but watch her—how she curled up so peacefully under his blanket, how her features softened as if she was finally allowing herself to let go.

It was a moment of stillness, one just as unfamiliar to him as it was to her.

But before he could let himself dwell on it, he turned silently and left—to bring her what she wanted.

Taglist: @princesssunderworld @tele86 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @rose-girls-world @iluvyewman-blog @gluecksbaerchieee @lreadsstuff

Want to be added? Let me know! :)

#acotar #acotar series #azriel #azriel acomaf #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar series #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #acotar fanfic #cassian #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #feyre #feyre acotar

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nemisuki · 4 months ago

Text

You Finally Noticed

Synopsis || A girl and the events leading up to her falling for her grumpy classmate. Only this time, she gains the courage to confess the secret she’s kept all these years.. on Valentine's day!?

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, fluff, no smut or angst, physical touch & words of affirmation, mini flashbacks, crush au, confessions, first kisses, mutual feelings, starts as first years + ends as seniors, mainly reader pov but bkgs at the end, long fluffy oneshot, GREEN FLAG BKG, happy ending, he’s just a lil guy, 3.7k word count

The idea of falling in love was something she had always hoped for.

As depicted in the movies, the beauty of finding your forever partner – one who will unconditionally care for you till the end of time – is simply one of the greatest gifts you can achieve while walking on this earth.

She just didn't expect to find him so soon.

You would assume the girl would fall for the other candidates in her class. All of them showing qualities to be perfect for whoever they choose to spend their future with.

Though she loved them all, it wasn't the type that made y/n have butterflies in her stomach – one that made her rethink every interaction they've ever had – it wasn't how she felt like with him.

She wasn't aware of when this all began.

At first it was the adrenaline, the thrill of being acknowledged by the notorious blonde, her overpowered classmate who spouted harsh words to anyone in the beginning of their first year.

Many months have passed and yet she could never forget their first normal interaction.... well as normal as it can get.

During the UA sports festival – more specifically the team choosing for the cavalry battle – she approached him just like everyone else.

Internally hoping she could be on his team, secretly admiring his strive for victory, though still intimidated by his frightening exterior.

"Wait, remind me what your quirks are again... and your names!"

Everyone stares dumbfounded but nonetheless go one by one to reintroduce themselves.

When it's her turn, she hesitantly meets his gaze – his eyes so intense and calculating that it alarms her – but she holds it, not wanting to look weak in front of him.

"um im y/n l/n and my quirk is... [ur choice!]"

She goes to further explain the abilities in her arsenal and why it'll benefit him in battle, though there's a small part of her that wants to look elsewhere, his red orbs are just so... expressive.

He stays silent for a moment, analyzing the different options he could choose from, then finally makes his decision.

"Alright.... you, you and you."

The blonde states, pointing towards his three picks, and the shock on her face is evident as she miraculously gets selected.

He ignores the others' whines and begins walking to an isolated corner without another word, her legs quickly moving to follow him a second later.

The boy seems to take notice and turns around, shouting at the other two, who are standing there obviously relishing in the glory, "Follow me like her, you idiots!"

The duo quickly rushes to catch up as you both keep walking.

Bakugo simply rolls his eyes at the comical scene, sneaking a peek in her direction, making y/n tense up at the realization of their temporary time alone.

Her heart rapidly accelerates at the possibility of being the target of his anger.

"And don't be too excited nerd, I almost didn't pick you."

The swirling thoughts in her mind only multiply at his blunt tone, her curiosity getting the better of her as she hesitantly replies, unsure if she'd even want to hear his answer.

"May I ask why?"

"You're not confident I can tell."

She takes notice of his blank expression, contradicting the harsh tone of his words, her eyes slightly widening as he continues on.

How did he-

"You're never gonna make it to be a pro if you're not confident in your own abilities."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

As she's unable to come up with a response, he simply sighs with annoyance, watching the other two steadily approach, "Just don't hold me back, got it? Your quirk is useful to me so use it."

"uh- got it!"

Regardless of the stern warning and glare, the awe in her eyes returns with full force. Although this is their first time communicating one on one, he already read her like a book.

Bakugo truly is a force to be reckoned with.

Instead of taking it in a malicious light, a small smile appears on her face at his words : 'Your quirk is useful'

It's the first time anyone has ever said that to her, and she'd be lying if she said it didn't make her feel good.

That means he's relying on her right?

A determined look slowly emerges as she nods along, listening intently as the blonde goes over their battle strategy, they can win this!

Looking back at that moment, it was probably then when her eyes slowly started drifting to him unconsciously, the days going on as her interest in him slowly rose.

Their first year went by in a flash – the chaotic events making time speed up for a second – making their moments as second years all the more precious.

The two weren't super close at first by any means, but after everything... his anger seemed to mellow out, though he was still the same prickly blonde everyone knew and loved.

It was when life unexpectedly kept bringing them together that they slowly found reasons to make small conversations.

The vibration of footsteps beneath her shoes causes her to look over her shoulder, her gaze zeroing in on the blonde – who seems to be on the verge of an explosion – as he walks down the aisle of the crowded bus.

Which was provided by UA for their annual school trip.

"Cmon bakubro! Where are you going?!"

"Fuck off shitty hair!"

"We aren't being THAT loud-"

"Shut it! I'm changing my damn seat!"

He grumbles curses under his breath as he heads to the front of the bus, looking around for an empty seat, the only available one being next to herself but currently occupied by her book bag.

Their gazes meet for a moment, and she seems to understand, quickly reaching over to pull her bag off and plopping it on the floor underneath her.

He slowly approaches and sits down beside her, mumbling an explanation to the girl as he takes out his earbuds.

"Too damn noisy in the back."

A small smile appears on her face as she nods along, understanding his troubles. I mean she was sitting at the front for the same reason as well.

"They're just excited for the overnight trip at the cabins."

"Tch, acting like damn idiots more like it."

He proceeds to take out his phone, scrolling down his Spotify to click on a certain album to listen to.

She didn't mean to look, she really didn't, but her eyes caught the recognizable design of the cover.

Her eyes doing a double take to make sure she wasn't going insane, small sparks of excitement making her attempt a conversation with her new seat partner.

"You listen to them as well Bakugo?!"

His body tenses just barely as he turns his head to her, opening his mouth to speak, but she quickly shakes her hands dismissively.

"I wasn't peeking at your phone I promise! I just saw the cover from the corner of my eye and it looked familiar so..."

A wave of embarrassment shines over her and she shuts herself up, internally cringing at her attempts for small talk, looking away from him with warm cheeks.

It was only after a moment of silence, when he quietly mumbles, "It's a good album but nothing beats the first one."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

She slowly looks back at him, meeting his eyes once more – feeling as if he's analyzing every minor movement of hers – though he looks oddly calm now.

"Ah that's my favorite one too, I really like the drum solo in the first song!"

"That so..."

"Mhm!"

Noticing his half lidded eyes, she cuts it short to leave him alone for now, letting the blonde rest for the remaining amount of time.

Though an hour later, life seems to throw another curve ball at the poor girl.

At a small speed bump, she suddenly feels a weight on her shoulder, her heart dangerously halting at the foreign feeling.

She looks to her side – taking in the odd sight of his head resting against her – the usual frown now replaced with a peaceful expression.

The scent of his cologne slowly invades her nostrils, making her more bashful at the turn of events, her heartbeat now a bit irregular as she sits completely still to not wake him up.

Her eyes move on their own as she takes a peek at his face, noticing the delicate features that make up his perfect facial structure, her hand itching to caress the smooth ivory skin.

What's with her?

Her mind goes on auto pilot to come up with an explanation for her intrusive thoughts yet the conclusion is always the same.

So for the rest of the bus drive there, the only thing taking up her mind is the inevitable realization, she likes him.... y/n likes bakugo.

The remaining months of the year went by in a flash – with the girl keeping this secret to herself – unable to fathom the hold her classmate has over her heart.

The worst part is he didn't even know it.

He didn't know how pretty he was when focusing on an assignment.

He was unaware at how flattering the uniform made him stand out – despite it being what everyone else wears – he simply wore it better.

His attractiveness when working out during training sessions needed to be studied, because who else could make a push up look that appealing?

Even worse if he did it with one hand, she can only hope he didn't catch her tripping over her own two feet, just because his exercises got her all distracted.

But most of all, the worst part was how oblivious he is – to how much she disliked the newfound attention on him.

It was the last Valentine's Day they'll celebrate at UA. Their senior year to be more specific.

The months quickly pass by as if it urges them to head off to the real world of hero agencies and internships awaiting them.

Yet the only thing that was on her mind, was the impending time limit she put on herself.

Her last chance to confess her feelings.

Only problem is his popularity, frankly speaking... she expected this, his status seemed to only increase after their first year.

Last time his locker was filled with a stash of love letters and written confessions.

And this year... seems like it only got worse.

"You've gotta be kidding me..."

The blonde groans with pure annoyance as he opens his locker, piles of envelopes falling down on the floor as he runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

"Damn bakubro, lucky you! Seems like the ladies like you~"

Kirishima playfully whistles at him, earning a glare from his grumpy friend.

"Tch, I don't know any of these extras in the damn first place! Help me pick this shit up!"

"Pfft okay okay! One sec!"

She watches from afar as he opens a trash bag – clearly more prepared than last year – putting all the letters inside one by one with an irritated sigh.

Her heart clenches at the sight, seems his admirers have only increased as they've grown up, causing her thoughts to scramble with hesitation.

The aching sensation in her chest being more noticeable to y/n as some girls approach the blonde, chocolates in their hand as they blush when he turns to face them.

She didn't have the guts to watch any longer, spinning on her heels to walk back to the dorms, clutching the red gift bag in her hand – reminding herself to not freak out – the days not over yet.

Her eyes stare at the ticking clock above her dresser.

The palm of her hand grows a bit clammy as she reapplies her chapstick, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

She has to do this.

Before she can chicken out, her legs quickly rush out of her dorm, wandering up a floor to reach the end of the hall.

And standing before her is none other than his room – it's almost midnight – she doesn't even know if he's awake at this point but she's stalled long enough.

With a shaky hand, she gently knocks on the door, frankly a bit nervous one of their classmates will spot her red handed.

Though much to her shock, it doesn't even take him more than 15 seconds to open the door – his face surprisingly wide awake – calmly staring down at her.

But she could've sworn the previous tension in his shoulders relaxed as soon as their gazes met.

Or maybe that was hope clouding her judgement.

"y/n..."

The conversation hasn't even started yet and she can already feel the intense warmth on her cheeks. Her eyes darted away for a moment to recollect herself.

"sorry i know it's late but it's important-"

"come inside."

"huh-"

She didn't have the time to process his words, not when his hand reached out to her waist, gently maneuvering her inside the room to shut the door behind her.

The close proximity only gives her the ability to hear the fastening heart rate within her. So loud in fact, that she begins to wonder if he can hear it too.

His hand doesn't move away from her hip, as if leaving a mark on her that she'll no doubt remember many years from now.

And she doesn't pull away either – wondering how she's lived up to this moment without feeling his intimate touch – but also questioning the purpose of his actions.

If it was to make her flustered... he sure as hell achieved it.

His eyes glance down at the red gift bag in her hands – white tissue paper concealing its contents – then looks back to her face.

"this is..."

Her grip on the bag slightly tightens, attempting to hide the anxious bundle of nerves as she stares back at him.

The blonde tilts his head, suddenly using his other hand to grab the gift, almost expectantly as he quietly mumbles, "for me yeah?"

The eye contact was beyond excruciating.

"um yes but... open it later please."

He slowly nods and places it on a nearby table, but her mind is fixated on the fact that he hasn't let go yet.

His touch was gentle yet so so warm.

"You didn't write a card."

Huh?

"-i looked through the pile of junk... and not one of those letters we're from you."

Her eyes slightly widened with disbelief at his words, the image of him checking every single one of those envelopes, made everything clear to her.

She tries her best – but the hidden meaning behind his words was too much – the realization making her break down, previous anxiety being replaced with pure relief and joy.

A glossy coat of tears begins to form at the silent confirmation she so desperately needed to hear.

His empty hand lifting up to cradle her cheek, a little hesitant, as if scared his touch will be too rough.

She immediately denies such thoughts, leaning more into his palm for comfort.

Those red irises soften at her vulnerable state, his thumb wiping away any stray droplets that trickle down her face as he softly whispers.

"Don't you remember what I said before, idiot? Be confident."

The moonlight peeking through the glass panels of the window only adds to the cozy atmosphere – illuminating everything in its path – including them, giving him a glow that was definitely not needed.

It was as if she was in a dream.

"I like you."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Time seemed to slow down as the confession exited her mouth, finally letting out the secret she's been keeping to herself all these years.

Y/N could've sworn she already felt the weight being lifted off her shoulders.

At his silence, she takes it as a green light to continue, the only reaction from him being a twitch of a smug smile.

"I-I liked you before anyone else did, before you got popular! And I think I understand you pretty well! Like um... I know you're an excellent cook who specializes in spicy food, you hate winter because it makes your quirk act up, secretly enjoy petting kittens-"

"Oi, alright alright I get it! You're starting to sound like the damn nerd."

Although his words were rough, the pink hue on his cheeks was unmistakably there, barely visible but definitely present.

He slowly leans down, his lips hovering over her own as he whispers, "you sure took your time."

Her breath hitches and it takes everything in her to not lean in closer – she felt like a moth being lured into the flame – that is him, "you already knew?"

The blonde scoffs with fake annoyance, almost like he's offended at her clueless nature, "doesn't take a genius when you're always staring."

"oh..."

It felt as if she was on fire, the warmth in her heart now spreading to every inch of her body, heating up places she didn't know was possible.

His gaze bores into hers before slowly traveling down to her lips, his thumb moving to trace the outline of her mouth as he speaks.

"Can I kiss you now? Or you're gonna make me wait another 3 years, nerd?"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

A small laugh escapes her at his grumpy attitude, smiling brightly as she nods, not quite believing this is real and needing some sort of confirmation, "Only if you'll be my valentine-"

She's unable to finish her question before his lips are on hers, with a sense of longing and affection, a perfect mix that makes her eyes flutter close at the feeling.

Time seemed to pause as they lost themselves in the loving exchange, not wanting to let the other go as their hearts finally conjoined to one.

You would expect someone with his personality to match his actions, but anyone would be wrong.

Bakugo is unbelievably gentle.

He slowly pulls away, giving her bottom lip a teasing nip as he mumbles, "I prefer boyfriend, dumbass."

In a spur of a moment with minimal effort, he lifts her up from where she stood, proceeding to carry her over to his bed and gently setting her down.

Not once does the smile leave her face – relishing in the change of their newfound relationship – she hasn't been this happy in weeks.

".....thanks or whatever."

"hm? for what?"

"for loving me."

Her eyes soften as he lays down beside her, draping the covers over the two as she hums, "don't thank me.... you're easy to fall in love with."

She shimmies over to wrap her arms around him, influencing him to do the same – caging her in as he hides the cheesy expression – burying his face in the crook of the neck.

Their bodies cling to each other like magnets, refusing to break apart.

"I love you too."

"awww i didn't know you were a sap-"

"shuddup."

It was a peaceful silence – one where no more words needed to be exchanged – though she still had one lingering question in her mind, one that needed answers.

"hey bakugo-"

"katsuki."

A small giggle escapes her as his correction, she nods and scoots closer, if even possible.

"Katsuki, I still have a question."

His first name on her tongue makes it more official to her, reminding herself that this is in fact... not a dream.

"yeah?"

"when did you find out... that I liked you?"

She can see the way he lifts his head up, staring to the side as he ponders, his mind going back in time for the answer.

When he remembers, a smug grin goes on his face as he reaches an arm to the bedside table, grabbing his phone and opening it up to look through his gallery.

"On a school trip during our second year, shitty hair showed me this photo when we were unpacking at the cabins."

"huh- what photo?"

He turns his phone in her direction and there in all its glory... is a photo of her and bakugo.

The old memory of him falling asleep on y/n's shoulder, and her admiring gaze on him – with a soft smile she didn't even realize she was doing – as the sunlight hits both of them perfectly.

Kirishima must've somehow snagged a photo before she could notice!

"you've known for that long?" y/n whines, completely embarrassed as she recounts all the times she admired him from afar, thinking he wasn't aware but now clearly being proven wrong.

A genuine laugh erupted from his mouth, as he clicks some buttons and to her horror, makes it his lock screen.

"oh god, please no!"

She tries reaching for it but his fast reflexes catch on, casually throwing his phone far from her reach and squeezing the daylights out of her.

"shush it and go to bed now, nerd."

A small pout forms on her face but slowly fades away as he pecks her forehead, mumbling snarky teases at how 'down bad' she is for him.

But what he doesn't tell her is how much he's noticed her too, without her knowledge.

The blonde stays silent on the fact that during the sports festival, he chose her NOT because of her quirk but because he couldn't ignore the look of awe in her eyes.

It was the first time any girl saw him in such a way.

He doesn't tell her how he learned that drum solo she mentioned on that exact bus ride – once he'll muster up the courage to play for her tomorrow – hoping his nerves won't cause a mistake or two.

A secret bouquet of flowers and a gift bag was hidden behind the door, placed there by accident when he saw her through the peephole earlier.

If she didn't show in the next 30 seconds, she would've been met with the sight of him outside her dorm. Suppose he'll give them to her in the morning, not wanting to leave the comfort of her arms just yet.

And Bakugo hopes she'll forget about his earlier slip up of mentioning how he looked at every single valentine card he got.. in hopes to find hers. Remembering how he scolded Kirishima to look through the pile another time just in case he missed it.

Alas, he can finally drift off to sleep... knowing he'll never have to stay up past his bedtime for another valentines day again, waiting for a specific someone to show.

Because she'll be beside him, just like right now.

A random thought crosses his mind and he chuckles, causing her to look up at him with a curious expression, broken out of her little daydream before bed.

"What's so funny?"

Saving her the embarrassment, he simply shakes his head and pushes her head back down to his chest, "nothing just sleep would ya? It's late."

"...okay, night katsuki."

"yeah night."

His hand caresses the back of her head, feeling the soft sensation of her hair beneath his fingers, and smiling to himself at his previous thought.

She put on cherry chapstick huh... knowing it's his favorite fruit.

Who's the dork now?

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a/n ||| happy valentines day everyone! spread the love all around whether it be family, friends or your lover – and if you don't have anyone then just LOVE YOURSELF today! buy a coffee, go out on a solo date, do whatever ur heart desires bc u deserve it for just waking up! to all my followers, anyone who comments, those who like and repost my work... i love u all from the bottom of my heart! remember that u matter, u are loved, u are seen ❤️ *mwah* tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑ ̫๑` ꒱ྀིა

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