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balrogballs · 2 months ago

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The Clean Break

a little take on Aragorn and Elrond’s final meeting, a removed scene from Cast in Stone (no context required; it’s canon compliant) that I liked too much to toss.

Aragorn was Estel when he broke his wrist, somewhere between five and six years old. It was a perfectly ordinary break, which happened for a perfectly ordinary reason: he had been running about on a wet floor, slipped, and crashed over a threshold. Elladan and Elrohir had come running at his wails, picked him up and took him to Elrond.

He remembers how Elrond explained to him that it was a clean break, and a very small one — it would stop hurting in a few days if he kept it still. The twins, those ardent connoisseurs of broken bones, had kept up a steady stream of joking patter to distract him whilst their father slowly applied a pain-relieving poultice and began to wrap up the wound.

Estel had been sobbing and sobbing, regardless of how mild the injury truly was. He was only five years old, and was more frightened than hurt, because he had never broken a bone in his life and he did not understand what everyone was doing, did not understand why his arm was being covered in white cloth, and it did hurt quite a lot, so he wailed.

And at some point in the process, he remembers looking up and realising that his father was crying too. Elrond hadn't made a sound, but his cheeks were awash in silent, indecipherable tears. Aragorn remembers how his expression didn't change at all, blank and beautiful in the white afternoon light: wrought from stone like a weeping statue, a quiet miracle, a promise of faith.

He remembers Elladan's tense, barked-out "Ada! What is it? What is wrong? You said it’s a clean break!"

And Aragorn remembers how Elrond had sat back on his heels and smiled, the motion pulling his features back into familiar lines. He remembers sitting silently, watching the last tears fall down the marble face, as Elrond said: "hush, my boy, you will scare Estel. Nothing is wrong, it is only a clean break. He will be fine tomorrow."

"Then why are you in tears?" Elrohir had asked, equally worried.

"Oh dear, am I? Aha, I am. Truly, it is only because he is," Elrond admitted sheepishly, sniffing. He had stroked a lock of hair back from Estel's face, laughing self-consciously, and his voice shook only a little. "I hate seeing him in pain. It breaks my heart seeing him cry so ceaselessly, even for such a small cause. It is only that, Elrohir, do not worry."

At the time, the twins had laughed, teased their father for his softness as they often did, made so many jokes about it that even little Estel, who didn't really understand the fuss and at the time had just probably assumed Elrond had a broken wrist too, was laughing alongside the three of them for absolutely no reason at all. It was casual, domestic, completely ordinary and commonplace as far as his childhood went: there were funnier incidents, sadder scenes, happier conversations.

But for some reason, this one is Aragorn's first real memory. The day he broke his wrist is the scaffolding he built his life atop, the day he looked at his father and found something sacred within him.

________

"I thought for a very long time," Aragorn says, on the tallest tower in Minas Tirith, their final meeting. "About what I could give you as a parting gift."

"If it is anything extravagant," Elrond warns him, raising a finger. "You know as well as I that I will take it to mean you are offering me a bride price, and I will take deep offence."

Aragorn grins, winks: "it's actually less than worthless, financially speaking" and cackles at how Elrond actually looks somehow more offended at that option.

"And what is this less than worthless thing you are donating to the one who raised you all your life?" he raises his eyebrows, a smile playing on his lips. "What castoff hand-me-down do you deign to bestow me with?”

"I know you must be weary of rings," Aragorn gestures at Vilya, winking away on Elrond's finger. "But perhaps this one may restore your faith in them."

"I am of a race that thinks nothing: jewels, lives, wars, is eternal," he continues, hair drifting over his face. "Of an old jewelry box my mother had, many trinkets were lost to time, some earrings were without a pair. And such loss of heirlooms never grieved us. After all, they were not ours to grieve."

"The oddest thing in the box was an old, battered golden ring. When I was first given the collection, I was only twenty yet already that ring was far too small for me. I thought that it belonged to a petite woman, perhaps a sister or a mother. Yet more recently, I was thinking of it and it confused me — why would a noblewoman own a cheap, plain ring? The other stones in the box were all precious, valuable, true heirlooms. When my mother died, she told me to pass them on to my children, and I will: but with this ring, I intend to disobey her."

"It was only some weeks ago, as Arwen showed me her own rings, that I realised something," said Aragorn, fishing around in his collar. "That this trinket I carry was no woman's ring, it was made to be worn by a child. You had given me one of these too, if you recall, as per tradition — on my sixth begetting day, a flat gold ring like this with my name carved into the inside. That was when I looked closer at this one, at the inscription on the inside of its hollow."

He unfastens the clasp on the chain, slips a small ring into Elrond's palm. He watches as all the blood leaves the elf's face only to be replaced by a harsh, terrible expression.

"Nothing is eternal, Ada," repeats Aragorn. "But some things should be."

"You are — you are giving me this?" Elrond's voice is strangled, eyes wide. "It —"

"I am. It is not mine to grieve."

Elrond does not say a word, does not even look at Aragorn, instead turning away and walking towards the far side of the balcony where he stood silently, ring clutched tightly in a shaking fist. Aragorn allows him to hold on to dignity.

Dignity, and a small, burnished gold ring.

It was rather battered, some of the plating rubbed off, a groove carved into it from all the times its owner tied it to a string and used it to tease cats with. It had a small dent in the frame, warping it slightly, and if you looked closely you could make out a little tooth mark, as though someone had a habit of gnawing at it. It was less valuable heirloom, more solid proof that the ancient king Elros Tar-Minyatur of Numenor, had once been a messy, careless little boy.

A few minutes pass, in which neither of them speak.

"I had nothing of him," Elrond tells him quietly after a while. "All my life, I had nothing of him at all. It had felt wrong, you see, sailing off to Numenor and demanding his possessions from his grieving children. So for five thousand years, I had nothing of him."

"But I never told you of him," Elrond's voice is searching, harsh and confused, trying to find a justification for the gift. "I had never told you of him, and yes, you had known of him from your lessons but I had tried so hard never to speak of him to you lest you, for one second, thought that I only loved you because you were the heir of Elros. You had no reason to know how I loved him, how fiercely I missed him, how I had nothing of him at all."

Elrond sounds almost angry, wrenching the words through gritted teeth like a scolding, his back still turned to Aragorn: "who made you so kind, Estel? Who made you so selfless — that you — that you give me this without ever being told — that you thought of it — who made you, boy?"

Elrond is breathing in deep, clarifying breaths and Aragorn stands there silently. He does not answer any of the fevered questions. It was Elrond, after all, who once told him over a chalkboard: stupid questions did not deserve answers.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Ada," says Aragorn at last, when only a sliver of sun is left behind in the sky. "Not for a moment. That is why I had… I had… that is why I had hoped we could have a clean break. I just didn't want to hurt you."

"I know you didn't," Elrond says, half-smiling as he turns back, composed again yet not entirely unruffled. "But I would rather it hurt in such a way, than it not hurt at all."

"Would you?"

"Of course," Elrond tells him, unconsciously running a finger across the flat, golden surface of the ring he had slid onto his smallest finger. "After all, the most treasured things in the world are only so valued because of how debilitatingly painful it would be to lose them."

Aragorn cannot speak. He has dawdled and delayed, pushed this parting to a cliff-edge, given gifts and made jokes, all the while waiting for a clean break that would never come for those who love like the two of them. He walks forward in a daze, and Elrond takes him into his arms and Aragorn is five again — building a life atop the scaffolding of the heart Elrond offered to him.

"I do not know what divinity made you this way," his father's voice is rough as he repeats his earlier question, but it does not break. "I do not know which of the Valar wielded the knife that carved you out of kindness. But I am glad, Estel, so glad that I know you."

Aragorn stays pressed in that embrace, shaking. He fights a sudden, absurd urge to laugh and roll his eyes, to say don't ask stupid questions, to say who made me kind? oh, I don't know, perhaps the one who loved me so wholly that he beheld a five year old's silly, childish tears, and wept that I shed them at all.

Still, he does not move: he does not want to see Elrond's face, does not want to see his own, not at this moment. Time passes, strains like molasses through linen, slowly and with great reluctance. At last, the king draws away and takes in this final image, the one who raised him standing before his son with an inscrutable expression on his face.

When he was younger, Aragorn used to think it might make it easier for his father to bend with the marred world if he learned how to be as cruel as it was, instead of taking each slap in the face as a surprise. But he understands now that whilst he wasn't looking, the marred world had bent itself to Elrond's gentleness; that it is a strength, an honest one, to be kind when the world not only abides by cruelty but insists upon it.

Aragorn cannot bring himself to turn and leave, wanting to brand Elrond’s face into the back of his eyelids with knife-hot tears. It is anything but a clean break.

“I cannot bring myself to turn,” he admits, the moonlight limning the silver in his hair. “Because when I turn, you'll be gone, and it will be the end of everything. Is this the end of everything now, Ada? Are we done now, you and I?"

Elrond smiles, looking at Aragorn in the same way he had always looked at him, every day since the moment he was put in his arms: eyes bright with unconditional adoration, unashamed pride, and a constant, total faith in him. He shakes his head.

"You and I will never be done,” he says softly; resolute. It is the only oath he ever makes.

#lord of the rings #elrond #aragorn #lotr #tolkien #lotr fic

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aspenmissing · 1 day ago

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Hiii, so I love LOVEEEE reading your arcane x reader one-shots (I am literally obsessed) and I have a request. Would it be possible to write a Jayce x reader, where the reader is Vander's biological daughter, was raised alongside Vi, Powder, Claggor and Mylo, is four years older than Vi, so that means she is 19 when Vander dies, she also doesn't know what happened with Powder and Vi and assumes they are death (she was there when Powder's monkey bomb exploded but was under the debris and no one found her there, she is also injured), she doesn't have anybody else in Zaun and her dream has always been to see Piltover with her own eyes, so she decides to go there before she dies of her injuries and there she encounters Jayce and Heimerdinger, who help her and as years pass her and Jayce develop feelings for each other? Thank you in advance ☺️💜

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ, ᴠɪ, ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ, ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ, ᴍʏʟᴏ, ʜᴇɪᴍᴇʀᴅɪɴɢᴇʀ, ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ) || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 5242 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴇxᴘʟᴏꜱɪᴏɴꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ?, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!!! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ!! ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ꜱᴡᴀᴘꜱ ɪɴ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ)

Zaun had never been kind, but Y/N had never known anything else. She had been born in the undercity, in a world where survival meant being strong, clever, or lucky. And Vander—Vander had made sure she was all three.

She was his first, his only biological child, though he had never let that create a divide between her and the others he took in. To him, blood didn’t matter—family was chosen, built, protected. And Y/N had been raised with that belief stitched into her bones.

She had no memories of her mother. Vander never spoke of her, and Y/N had learned early on not to ask. But what she did have was Felicia, her aunt in everything but name.

Felicia, who had rocked her to sleep when she was small, who had always found a way to sneak her sweets when Vander wasn’t looking. Who, despite the hardships of Zaun, always smelled of warm bread and had hands soft enough to soothe away nightmares.

Y/N had been a child of both shadow and warmth. She played in the grimy streets of the undercity, scraped her knees climbing rusted scaffolding, learned how to fight alongside the street kids, but at the end of the day, she always had a home to return to. Arms to hold her. A family to remind her that even in Zaun, there was love.

And then, four years later, Vi was born.

Y/N remembered the first time she saw her baby sister, wrapped in too-big blankets, her tiny fists waving in the air. She was so small, so loud, already filled with fire before she could even speak.

“She’s got your stubbornness,” Felicia had teased, placing the newborn into Y/N’s arms.

Y/N had stared down at Vi, her heart swelling with something fierce and unfamiliar. She had never known she could love someone so instantly, so completely.

From that day forward, Vi had been hers as much as she had been Vander’s.

Years passed, and their family grew. First Powder—Felicia’s second daughter, born a few years after Vi. Their little home above the bar became a haven, a place of warmth in a city that tried to swallow them whole.

As the eldest, Y/N had become the one they all turned to. She soothed Powder’s fears when nightmares crept in. She was Vi’s hero, the one her little sister followed in every footstep, determined to be just as strong, just as fearless.

She had promised to always protect them.

And yet, before she could even begin to understand what loss truly meant, the world started tearing pieces of their family away.

It began with Felicia and Connol.

The rebellion on the bridge had been doomed before it even began. But they had fought anyway. And for that, they had paid the price.

Y/N had been there.

She had heard the clash of steel, the cries of the dying, the gunfire that tore through the air. She had felt the ground tremble beneath her feet as enforcers cut through Zaunite rebels like they were nothing more than pests to be exterminated.

And she had seen them—Felicia and Connol—lying lifeless on the cold stone of the bridge, their bodies broken, their blood pooling beneath them.

She had wanted to run to them, to do something, but there was no time.

Vi was screaming, trying to fight her way past Y/N’s grip, but she held firm, shielding her sisters from the sight. Powder was sobbing, burying her face against Y/N’s chest, small fingers tangled in her shirt as if letting go would mean losing everything.

“Don’t look,” Y/N had whispered, voice shaking as she forced them back, away from the carnage, away from the truth that would haunt them forever.

She didn't know how long she held them there, hidden in the shadows of a crumbling alleyway just beyond the bridge. The sounds of battle faded into silence, replaced only by the quiet gasps of her sisters and the distant echo of enforcers marching away.

When Vander found them, his face was hollow, his fists bloodied from trying to fight back. He knelt before them, eyes dark with grief, his hands trembling as he reached out.

“It’s over,” he had said, voice raw.

After that, Silco was next to go.

He and Vander had always been a unit—two sides of the same coin, bound together by shared dreams and scars. And then, one day, he simply disappeared.

Vander returned bloodied, bruised, his knuckles raw, and though he never spoke of what had happened, Y/N saw the truth in his silence.

Something had shattered between them. And Silco, once her father’s closest friend, had become nothing more than a ghost.

For a while, it was just them—the four of them in a world that didn’t want them to survive. But then Mylo and Claggor came into their lives, two boys with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

Vander had opened his doors to them without hesitation. And soon enough, Y/N did too.

Their family had grown, and though the wounds of the past lingered, they had each other.

And then, in a single night, she lost them all.

Pain was the first thing she knew. A deep, throbbing agony that pulsed through every fiber of her being as she forced herself to move.

Her fingers, raw and bloodied, clawed at the debris above her, her nails splintering as she dragged herself forward, inch by agonizing inch. Every movement sent fire lancing through her body, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she choked on the dust clogging her throat.

The air was thick with smoke and the sharp, acrid scent of burning metal. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint, eerie crackling of flames licking at the ruins of what had once been her home.

The explosion had shattered everything.

Her ears still rang with the force of it—the deafening roar, the crack of collapsing metal, the screams that had been cut too short.

She had fought. She had fought with everything she had, alongside Vi, tearing through Silco’s men to get to Vander, their father, the only man who had ever made them feel safe in a world that had never been kind. She had been so close. They all had.

They had gotten him out of his restraints.

For a single, fleeting moment, she had thought they had won.

And then Powder’s bomb went off.

The explosion had torn through the factory like a monster unleashed.

She barely had time to react before Claggor was sent flying into a wall, his skull cracking with a sickening sound. He was gone before he even hit the ground. Mylo was thrown beside him, a metal pole spearing through his shoulder before the collapsing structure buried them both.

Vi had screamed their names, tried to reach them, but then the debris came crashing down, trapping her beneath it.

Y/N had been sent sprawling, her body slamming into the cold, hard floor. The world had turned into dust and fire, rubble pressing down on her, pinning her in place.

She didn't know how long she lay there, half-buried in the ruins of everything she had ever known. Time blurred—seconds, minutes, hours.

No one came for her.

Mylo and Claggor were gone. Vander was gone.

Vi and Powder… there was no sign of them. No voices calling out in the darkness. No hands reaching for her own.

Only silence.

She had screamed for them, had called their names until her throat was raw. But the only response was the crackle of distant flames, the groan of broken metal settling into place.

Tears streaked down her dirt-stained cheeks as she clenched her fists, her broken nails digging into her palms.

She couldn't stay here.

If she stayed, she would die.

With sheer, agonizing effort, Y/N began to crawl. Her arms shook with the strain, her legs barely responding as she dragged herself over shattered glass and twisted metal. Every breath was fire in her lungs, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

It felt like an eternity before she finally reached the edge of the ruined building. Her trembling fingers gripped onto the ledge as she pulled herself up, the fresh air burning her lungs as she inhaled deeply.

And then she saw it.

Piltover.

The City of Progress stood above her, golden and gleaming, untouched by the destruction that had just consumed her world. Its towers stretched toward the sky, their lights flickering like distant stars against the night.

A choked, bitter laugh escaped her lips, but it quickly dissolved into a sob.

She had always dreamed of seeing it.

They were sitting on the rooftop of The Last Drop, their legs dangling over the edge as the city lights flickered below. The air was thick with the scent of oil and smoke, but up here, it almost felt like they were above it all. "You ever think about leaving Zaun?" Y/N had asked, her gaze fixed on the towering silhouette of Piltover in the distance. Vi, only eleven at the time, scrunched up her nose. "Nah. Zaun's home." Powder, curled up against Y/N’s side, peeked up at her with wide, curious eyes. "Do you?" Y/N hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Not forever. Just… I want to see it. Piltover. With my own eyes. I want to know what it’s like to walk on clean streets, to breathe air that isn’t filled with smog." Vi snorted. "Bet it's boring. Too clean. Too fancy." "Maybe," Y/N admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. "But I still want to see it." Powder tugged at her sleeve, her voice soft. "Maybe one day, we can all go together." Y/N had wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah. One day."

A hollow ache settled in her chest as she stared up at the golden city that had once been nothing more than a distant dream.

Piltover.

It loomed above her like something out of a fairy tale—untouched, pristine, shimmering in the night. The towers stood tall, bathed in golden light, their reflections dancing in the sky as if the stars themselves had fallen to the earth. Even from here, from the filth and ruin of Zaun, she could see its streets, its sprawling bridges, its untainted perfection.

It was everything she had imagined.

And yet, in this moment, it felt impossibly far away.

She wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Her body trembled as she clutched her side, fingers coming away slick with blood. The pain was unbearable, a searing, pulsing agony radiating from her ribs, her legs, her back. Every breath burned. Every step felt like her last.

But she had nowhere else to go.

She was alone.

Her entire world—her family, her home, everything she had fought to protect—was gone.

Her mind raced with memories, a whirlwind of faces and laughter, of nights spent huddled together in the dim glow of candlelight, of whispered promises and childish dreams. She could almost hear their voices. Vi, teasing her about taking things too seriously. Mylo, always talking too much, always trying too hard. Claggor, quiet and steady, the foundation of their little gang. Powder, with her wide, hopeful eyes, always clinging to Y/N’s side, always looking up to her.

And Vander. Her father. The man who had carried the weight of the Lanes on his back, who had sacrificed everything to give them a chance.

They were all gone.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging as they streaked down her dirt-streaked face. She wiped at them furiously. She couldn’t afford to cry. Not now. Not when she still had something left to do.

If she was going to die, she would die chasing that dream.

With a sharp inhale, she forced her legs to move. The first step nearly sent her crumpling to the ground, her knees buckling beneath her. She caught herself against the remnants of a rusted pipe, her breath hitching at the jolt of pain that shot through her ribs.

But she didn’t stop.

She dug her fingers into the crumbling stone, gripping onto whatever she could as she began to climb. Every pull of her muscles felt like agony, every movement a battle against her own failing body. Blood dripped from her wounds, leaving a faint, crimson trail behind her.

But she climbed.

Hand over hand, foot over foot, she pulled herself up, her vision swimming, her body screaming in protest. The higher she went, the thinner the air seemed to get, the smog of Zaun fading as the cold, crisp wind of Piltover brushed against her sweat-slicked skin.

She had never been this close before.

The bridges connecting the two cities stretched out before her, shining metal and stone that had never known the touch of rust or ruin.

She gritted her teeth, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

Almost there.

Just a little further.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the bridge, her arms shaking violently as she heaved herself up. The moment she reached solid ground, her body gave out, and she collapsed onto the smooth stone, her vision darkening at the edges.

She had made it.

The thought barely had time to register before her world tilted, the pain finally swallowing her whole.

And then—

Darkness.

Warmth.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not the cold, damp air of Zaun. Not the sharp bite of metal or the suffocating grip of smoke in her lungs. Just warmth. Soft, clean, unfamiliar warmth.

Her fingers twitched against the fabric beneath her, smooth and crisp—too smooth to be the rough blankets of the Lanes. She shifted slightly, and a dull, aching pain flared through her body, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Bright. Too bright.

She blinked against the soft glow of daylight filtering through sheer curtains, her vision swimming as she tried to take in her surroundings. The room around her was… pristine. The walls were a soft ivory, the furniture polished wood, the air carrying the faint scent of something floral and clean.

Nothing like home.

A thick blanket was draped over her, far too fine to belong to someone from the Undercity. Slowly, she pulled it aside, eyes widening as she took in the sight of herself.

Bandages wrapped tightly around her arms and torso, fresh and neat. A cast encased her right leg, holding it in place, a stark contrast to the grime and blood she had been covered in before.

This wasn’t Zaun.

Panic swelled in her chest as she struggled to sit up, her body protesting with every movement. Where was she? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was reaching the bridge, collapsing on the cold stone—

The door creaked open.

Y/N's head snapped toward it, muscles tensing on instinct despite her injuries.

A woman stepped inside, pausing mid-step when their eyes met.

The nurse was young, her uniform crisp, her expression flickering from professional composure to shock as she realized Y/N was awake.

“Oh! You’re awake?” she gasped, eyes widening. “I—let me—oh, they’ll want to know you’re up!”

Y/N didn’t answer, her throat too dry, her mind too disoriented to form words.

The nurse quickly composed herself, stepping closer with a careful, reassuring smile. “You’re safe,” she said gently, as if speaking too loudly might startle her. “You were brought here a few days ago. The Dean of the Academy, Professor Heimerdinger, and Mr. Talis found you at the bridge and had you taken in for treatment.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, confusion swirling in her tired mind.

The nurse stepped back as the door to the room opened once more, and in walked two figures who made the air feel slightly different, a change from the sterile quiet of the room.

The first was a small man, frail in appearance, with an impressive white beard and long, wispy hair that framed his face like an ancient sage. His eyes twinkled behind thick glasses, giving off an air of wisdom and curiosity. His small frame didn’t detract from the aura of quiet authority he held, and there was a warmth to his gaze that seemed to instantly put Y/N at ease. The second figure was taller, his broad shoulders commanding a quiet power. A man with clean, sharp features, short-cropped dark hair, and eyes that held a sharp focus—clearly the opposite of the gentle Yordle beside him.

Y/N’s body stiffened instinctively, but she held her ground, wary yet curious. These were the people who had saved her. Who had brought her here.

The small man, the Yordle with the striking white beard, smiled warmly at her as he approached. "Ah, it’s good to see you awake, young one. I am Professor Heimerdinger, and this is Mr. Jayce Talis."

Y/N blinked, her voice a dry rasp when she finally managed to speak. “Where… Where am I?”

Heimerdinger’s smile softened, and Jayce nodded slightly, exchanging a glance with the older man before addressing her. “You’re in Piltover. The University. You were brought here after we found you. You’ve been… unconscious for some time.”

Y/N frowned, disoriented. "Found me? How long—"

Jayce took a step forward, his tone gentle but edged with concern. "About two weeks ago. We found you barely clinging to life near the Piltover bridge. You were badly injured—broken bones, internal bleeding, severe exhaustion. We couldn’t leave you in that state."

Heimerdinger’s voice softened as he joined in. “Yes, indeed. You were in quite a poor condition. You've been in a coma for quite some time, but we’ve been keeping a close eye on you. You've made considerable progress, but... recovery will take more time. You were fortunate to survive, truly.”

Y/N felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach, the harsh reality of her situation sinking in. Two weeks. Two weeks lost in unconsciousness, unaware of everything—what had happened, who had survived.

"But..." The question escaped her almost before she could stop it. "What happened to Zaun? The explosion... my family... Did anyone survive?"

The room seemed to freeze as the words left her lips. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspeakable sorrow. Jayce exchanged a long, somber glance with Heimerdinger, before the Yordle spoke in a tone laced with regret.

"We don’t know," Heimerdinger replied, his voice low but steady. "What we do know is that the explosion destroyed everything. We’ve heard no word of survivors."

Y/N’s chest tightened as their words settled into her mind. She had hoped, even just a little, that someone—anyone—had made it out. But no. Vi. Powder. Mylo. Claggor. Vander. All gone.

The world felt like it had shattered all over again, the grief rising up and drowning her in its cold embrace.

Jayce seemed to sense her growing distress and knelt beside her bed, his expression softer than she had expected. “I know this is hard. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His words weren’t empty. There was something sincere, something real in them, and Y/N found herself staring at him for a moment, struggling to process what he was saying through the fog of grief. But the weight on her chest refused to lift.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce continued, his voice low and gentle. “We did everything we could. We searched for days, but there was nothing left to salvage. The debris... it was too much. We wish we could’ve done more.”

Y/N felt like the room was tilting again, her vision swimming with unshed tears and unspeakable loss. She had always been the strong one—the protector. But now? She was nothing.

She was alone.

A flicker of warmth in Jayce’s eyes caught her attention, grounding her back in the present. "I know this is a lot," he said gently, "but you don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’re here to help."

Y/N swallowed thickly, her throat dry. She nodded slightly, though her head still felt like it was spinning from the shock. “What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as though the question itself would pull her further into the unknown.

Heimerdinger placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his ancient, wise eyes filled with compassion. "Now, you heal. We will help you, as best as we can. There is a place for you here, if you choose it. Piltover is vast, and you are not without options."

Y/N looked between Heimerdinger and Jayce, the weight of their offer settling around her like a heavy, yet oddly comforting, blanket. She wanted to ask a hundred more questions, wanted to know where she fit into this strange new world, what she could do now. But the future felt impossibly distant, like a fog she couldn’t yet navigate.

For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to be still. To breathe, though raggedly.

She wasn’t sure what the future held, but it was the only thing left for her to move toward. And maybe, just maybe, Piltover could be where she rebuilt herself.

Or at least, she would try.

The golden city that had once seemed like an impossible dream had slowly become her reality.

Piltover had been overwhelming at first—the clean streets, the endless inventions, the people who walked past her with their noses high, dressed in finery she had never even imagined. It was a world so far removed from Zaun that, for a long time, she had felt like an intruder, an imposter pretending to belong.

But as the years passed, Y/N had begun to carve a place for herself.

It hadn’t been easy. There were nights she had spent awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she had made the right choice. Days when the weight of her past threatened to crush her. The ache of loss never truly left, lingering in the quiet moments between conversations, in the silence of an empty room. But she had learned to live with it.

Jayce had been there through it all.

At first, it was small things—checking in on her, making sure she ate, dragging her out of the apartment when he thought she’d been inside too long. He had offered her a place to stay, a spare room in his new apartment after the previous one had been reduced to rubble in an explosion. She had hesitated, unsure if she could accept such kindness, but in the end, she had nowhere else to go.

Living with Jayce had been… an adjustment.

He was meticulous about his workspace but careless with everything else. He would leave blueprints scattered on the dining table, trinkets from his projects half-assembled in the oddest places. More than once, she had nearly tripped over some Hextech device he had forgotten to put away.

But he was also warm, patient. He never pushed her for details about her past, never pried when she grew quiet and withdrawn. He simply let her be, offering companionship without expectation. And, over time, something shifted between them.

The once awkward silences turned into comfortable conversations over late-night tea. The careful distance they had kept at first disappeared, replaced by easy touches—a hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing as they passed in the kitchen, a lingering warmth when he stood just a little too close.

Y/N had never expected to find anything resembling home again. But somehow, in the heart of Piltover, with Jayce beside her, she had begun to feel something close to it.

And she wasn’t sure what terrified her more—losing it or wanting it to last.

Y/N had never imagined herself working in a place like the Academy.

She had never been given the luxury of a formal education, never sat in a grand hall filled with brilliant minds discussing theories and discoveries. Back in Zaun, survival had been her priority—learning to fight, to scavenge, to take care of her siblings. But here, in Piltover, she had been given the chance to do something more.

It had started with Jayce.

After Hextech’s success, his workload had grown tenfold. Between meetings with the Council, developing new projects, and keeping up with research, he barely had a moment to breathe. One day, after catching her idly flipping through a book on Hex Crystals, he had casually suggested she help out at the Academy.

At first, she had been hesitant. What did she know about working in a place like this? But Jayce had insisted, and Heimerdinger—ever the enthusiastic professor—had agreed that it would be beneficial for her to learn.

That was how she had met Viktor.

Jayce had introduced them one evening, and for the first time since coming to Piltover, Y/N felt a sense of familiarity in someone.

Viktor, with his sharp mind and dry humor, was unlike anyone else she had met in the golden city. He carried the same resilience she did—the quiet strength of someone who had climbed their way out of Zaun, who had fought for every opportunity, every bit of recognition. And despite their different paths, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

He never looked at her like she was an outsider. Never made her feel like she didn’t belong.

Over time, she found herself working alongside him and Jayce, assisting with research, organizing notes, and even offering insights where she could. She wasn’t an inventor, but she had a knack for problem-solving, a way of looking at things from a different angle. Viktor appreciated it. Jayce encouraged it.

For the first time in years, she felt like she was building something. Like she had a purpose beyond just surviving.

And when she looked at Jayce—his easy smiles, his unwavering faith in her—she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was meant to be here after all.

It happened gradually, in the small moments between work and home.

At first, it was subtle. The way Jayce’s eyes lingered on her a little longer than before, the way his hand would brush against hers when they passed papers between them in the lab. The way he always made sure she had a cup of tea waiting when she worked late, how he would nudge her plate closer at dinner when she barely touched her food, or how he seemed to brighten whenever she entered the room, as if her presence alone was enough to make his day better.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. That it was just Jayce being Jayce—kind, warm, and a little too good at making people feel like they mattered.

But then, there were moments she couldn’t ignore.

Like when she caught him staring at her across the workshop, lost in thought, his expression softer than she had ever seen it. When she raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him, he had quickly looked away, clearing his throat and pretending he had been focused on something else.

Or when they would return home late from the Academy, exhaustion weighing on their shoulders, and he would linger at her door. Sometimes, it seemed like he wanted to say something—his fingers flexing at his sides, his lips parting slightly—only to shake his head and offer a quiet, “Goodnight, Y/N,” before retreating to his own room.

She felt it, too.

The warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever he laughed, the way her heart stuttered whenever he leaned in too close, his shoulder brushing against hers as they worked side by side. The quiet comfort of just existing beside him, knowing that no matter how much time passed, he was there.

She had spent years surviving—fighting, scraping by, never allowing herself to dwell on anything more than what needed to be done. But Jayce made her pause. Made her think about things she had long since buried.

Viktor noticed before either of them did.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the lab, he had given her a knowing look as Jayce walked ahead, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"You know, he is quite terrible at hiding it," Viktor remarked, amusement lacing his tone.

Y/N frowned, confused. "Hiding what?"

Viktor only chuckled, shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing. You will figure it out eventually."

She thought about that conversation for weeks afterward.

And then one night, everything changed.

It had been another late evening at the Academy, just the two of them left in the lab. The only sound was the quiet hum of the machinery, the occasional scratch of Jayce’s pen against paper, and the steady ticking of the clock. The air was thick with the faint scent of metal and ink, of old books and oil, and despite the exhaustion tugging at her bones, Y/N found a strange sense of peace in the stillness.

She was staring at blueprints, tracing lines with the tip of her finger, lost in thought when she felt his gaze on her.

She looked up.

Jayce was watching her, something soft and uncertain in his expression. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together as if he was working through something in his head.

"Y/N," he started, hesitating.

She raised a brow, setting her pen down. "What?"

Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair, his usual confidence replaced with something more vulnerable, something uncertain. He shifted on his feet, glancing at the floor before finally meeting her gaze.

"I just—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if frustrated with himself. But then he stepped closer, his voice quieter, steadier this time. "I care about you. A lot more than I probably should."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like she was something precious, something worth holding onto.

And in that moment, she realized—she had spent so long convincing herself she was alone that she hadn’t seen what had been in front of her all this time.

Jayce had been there, always.

And maybe… maybe she wanted him to be.

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak despite the rapid beating of her heart. "You're an idiot," she murmured, her lips curving slightly, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

Jayce let out a breathless laugh, relief flickering across his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, softer this time. Then, after a pause, after letting herself breathe, after letting herself believe this was real, "But I care about you too."

Jayce’s smile was wide, genuine, and impossibly warm.

For the first time in years, the weight in her chest didn’t feel so suffocating.

He reached for her hand, hesitant at first, his fingers brushing against hers as if waiting for permission. But when she didn’t pull away, he threaded them together, his grip firm, steady—grounding.

She had spent so long believing she had no one left, that she had to carry the weight of her grief and survival on her own. But Jayce had been there, always. Patient. Steady. Waiting for her to see what had been right in front of her all along.

She looked at their intertwined hands, then back at him, and something inside her settled. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, she never had to be again.

#Arcane #Arcane Fandom #reader insert #jayce x y/n #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce x you #arcane fluff #Arcane angst

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catherinetcjd · 4 months ago

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mtandtgroup-blog · 3 months ago

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foreverisntenough · 1 year ago

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- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This story will contain fluff; maybe smut and angst- not sure yet!

Note: I was planning on keeping this just for myself so please be nice. I hope you like it! There will definitely be more than this part (don’t know many just yet though)

Chapter 1 - ‘You’re Mine’

It was a warm morning in July. You pulled at your Nike crew socks to fix them after you’d tied the laces of your white sneakers. Popping your AirPods in before heading out the door. You turned the key to lock your apartment and navigated on your phone to Spotify. The volume was too loud, it always was but you wanted to check out for a little. Focus.

You began your run; across a few avenues before hitting 5th Ave. It was your favorite part of the run. The sidewalks were wide, the juxtaposed calm of the busy upper east side raced with your heart. The sun splashing in between scaffolding. You made your way from the 60s into the 70s. At 78th Street you needed to cross to round out the loop.

You stood on the left side, waiting to cross right. You felt as if someone was watching you for some reason, as if you had eyes on you. Your long sleeve Lululemon shirt stuck to your body in sweat. You pulled it up and wiped your forehead with the hem. The pull showed your toned stomach reflecting in the sun. You sponged up a bead of sweat that raced down your long tan legs with your Nike running shorts that slit high on the sides. You tried to breathe as slow as you could and turned the music down as you stepped into the crosswalk. Your Isabel Marant hat covered your eyes slightly blocking your vision as you gazed at the ground but found yourself staring at an odd amount of designer sneakers standing at the opposite corner. In what felt like hours of inspection, actually fleeting seconds, you got closer to them. You deduced it was a group of men, given the size, styles… You’d be lying if you didn’t judge men by their choice of shoes often. Style mattered to you. Not necessarily brands or the price of something but the care someone put into how they presented themselves was important. You glanced up quickly clocking a group of 6 or so men around your age. Your heart faltered at the image so you kept your head down. Like a child, you told yourself if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you. As you stepped up onto the sidewalk, the group now unbelievably close, you snaked through the other people waiting to cross the street to go further uptown. You lowered your headphones volume again…almost to a pause. You overheard the group talking; they were loud. Not obnoxious, they just were goofing around with friends. You clocked the distinct accent almost immediately. It was so specific, it was also so random. What are the odds you hear a Liverpool accent behind you. Sure not 0% considering you were on fifth avenue in New York City but your interest definitely peaked. You had a soft spot for the English city. You loved the people in Liverpool. You went to Liverpool every year, maybe even more often than that with your dad. It was special to you.

The first time you went to Liverpool was just to go to a football game with your Dad. Was it a little frivolous to travel to another country for a game, absolutely, but it was a lot of fun too. You always had an amazing time visiting your Dad’s native country and over time, like he was, became slightly attached emotionally to Liverpool Football Club. You followed from the US waking up early on weekend mornings to watch. It didn’t hurt that the team was cute. Not bad people to follow on Instagram. You found it easy to develop a crush on people you didn’t know. You could build them up, make them apologize for things they never did, deliver on every whim of yours all from the comfort of your head, sitting on your bed. You’d listen to the team’s interviews and memorize the annunciation or stress placed on certain syllables in their varied accents. You’d be quick to zoom in on Instagram holiday photos trying to deduce if they were with women or where they might be. It was addicting. It was also harmless, they didn’t know you, you didn’t know them but god, would you want to. Although you wanted to know one particular player. Get to know his face in real life. You wanted to get lost in those dark brown eyes, wanted them to flirt with you. He was beautiful. Like genuinely and objectively beautiful. There were a lot of physical traits about him that made your head spin, your heart race, you just wanted to lick and yet… you’d never exist in that world, holding his gaze, his world.

The accents rang in your ears as you pulled one headphone out to eavesdrop a little, smiling at the familiarity and intricacy of words. You turned your head slightly back to the left looking to find the crosswalk counting down to see when you could start your run again. Before your eyes could land on the descending numbers flashing, your view was obstructed and found yourself looking directly into someone’s eyes. There was a glimmer in the strangers eyes, a warm honey hue. You snapped your gaze, looking back down at your sneakers immediately in shock. ‘What the fucks’ flew around in your head. You could feel he was still staring at you and you weren’t exactly sure what to do. Caged on the sidewalk; unable to cross as the cars proceeded to pass and unable to back away with the people waiting behind you. You laughed in your head at how ridiculous you were being about simple eye contact. ‘This is a complete stranger… relax’ you told yourself. When you mustered up the courage to pick your eyes up and your heart off the floor you got lost. Those eyes. You squint your eyes under your hat questioning what the hell was happening. There he was… in the flesh.. looking at you. He looked angel like. His skin soft, placing his hand on his forehead over his eyes to block the sun to take a closer look back at you. His amber smell wafted towards you. He was all consuming. You felt crazy. What honestly was happening. His plump lips pulled at the corner revealing the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. It sank in your stomach that this stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. An internet obsession genuinely was stood in front of you. You couldn’t help but smile back. A panicked confidence came over you. It was innate, instinctual, you had to; you reached out your arm and lightly grabbed at his. He looked at you slightly surprised but also smug. He knew he had a gravitational pull on people and he was not particularly upset that it worked on people that looked like you too. You felt the words slipping out from your lips but a static fuzz filled your brain.

“Sorry, are you Trent Alexander Arnold?” You already knew the answer.

His smile got bigger, he seemed flattered. He looked at you with sincerity. And then he spoke…

“Yeah, and you are?” His voice laced with his accent was smooth, heavy, beautiful.

You started to question your decision. Why did you say anything to begin with, you had nothing to say to him. You realized quickly your hand was still on him as he stared down at it. You rolled your eyes a little embarrassed and slowly pulled it down his arm. He was intrigued. Despite the internal chaos ensuing inside of you, you presented incredibly calm, smooth, and as your hand brushed over his, pulling back to your side, sexy. He stared at your collar bones and the dip in your throat, a drop of sweat ran down your tan skin. He studied its path. Watching it trace over the bone and then over a little scar, he observed it absorb into your top. He was embarrassed in his own mind that he wanted to watch the sweat keep rolling down your body, sans shirt.

“Y/N” you spoke quietly.

“This is kind of mad to run into you here, you know?” You babbled and he looked amused at the speed of your words as you continued. “I have been in Liverpool a lot, I guess just England in general a lot and never could imagine running into someone like you and definitely didn’t think I’d ever be here.”

“Yeah? Someone like me?” He asked.

It was flirty. Suggestive. Was he flirting with you? Maybe he was just being nice but you couldn’t stop your thoughts from running wild staring at the veins on his hands.

“What you doing over in Liverpool” he questioned you with a raised brow.

“Oh, erm” you weren’t sure how to phrase this. You were a fan, nothing wrong with that but you also didn’t want to freak him out.

“My dad’s from England so we go a lot and I follow the prem, I guess…We usually go to a game or two up north every year..” you explained. He seemed calmed by your honesty.

“See anything of interest up north?” your breath hitched at his words and his eyes boring back at you. You laughed a little, he was more charismatic than you maybe ever gave him credit for. Definitely reserved and quiet but he was entertaining the conversation pushing it in a direction you thought that you must’ve been dreaming.

“Had my eyes on something at Anfield, sure” you smirked. He watched your pink lips curl. It was enticing, he licked over his top lip then his bottom in response and hummed.

“Where are you staying?” you stopped his thoughts. “Sorry, you don’t have to ans…” you awkwardly tried to not pry.

“The Plaza” he cut you off. You returned his smile at the fact that he had been staying in such close proximity; right under your nose, blissfully unaware.

“Best area.” You spoke again. “Upper East Side will always be it for me but I’m biased because I live here.” You held your hands up in innocence.

“You live near here?” he asked, taking a small step towards you. His body so close to yours.

“A few blocks down and over on Park Ave” you pointed ambiguously, telling him. His eyes traced your body intently. It very quickly washed over you how sweaty you were. This isn’t the way you’d ideally want to look meeting someone you fancied, let alone him.

“I swear I don’t always look like this” you paused, shaking your head “it’s hot” you laughed defending your appearance.

“It is hot” he echoed cheekily, not talking about the weather anymore taking in every inch of your body in front of him.

“I would’ve really preferred having you see me in something else.” Your words were unintentionally suggestive. You slowly shut your eyes hoping he didn’t take your comment the wrong way. His mouth gaped open a little as he laughed

“Oh yeah?” He mocked you. His tease was endearing though.

“How long are you here for?” You needed to change the topic before you passed out from his intense gaze on you.

“Few more days...” he spoke, turning his head up to look at the street. The crosswalk sign had changed to’ walk.’ You felt your heart sink as your little interaction with Trent was going to end. One of the boys from his group walked by you two pinching in between Trent’s shoulder and neck. He winced at the feeling and the boy gave him a knowing look meeting back with the rest of the group. The boys crossed the street, you were stuck watching them so you failed to realize that Trent hadn’t budged. He returned his eyes to you and smiled softly. It made your heart flutter that he maybe still wanted to talk to you. In a panic to keep the conversation alive you blurted out an unsolicited offer without thinking…

“While you’re here, if you need someone to go out with, or just even need recommendations you should hit me up” Your face pulled into a childish grin. His eyes widened at your forwardness. You honestly were surprised at yourself too.

“I don’t really know you though, do I?” He questioned back at you.

You felt a little sick, a little stupid for maybe misreading the situation and conversation. You shyly laughed and rolled your eyes again embarrassed. This whole thing was ridiculous.

“Yeah, well… I don’t really know you either do I?” You mocked his question.

“You do though.” He leaned in a little closer to you.

“No” you paused at his face's closeness. “I don’t know you, I know your name and your face. That’s not really knowing someone is it?” He smirked at your rational. “And honestly, with that, it's only to your benefit. You’re going into this with the upper hand. You already know I think you’re attractive.” You should’ve thought your sentence through a little more but you were caught in the moment.

“Really? I didn’t know I knew that” he quipped.

He was funny, you’ll give him that. Your faux confidence was already dwindling preparing for him to turn you down. Letting a stranger down, rejecting a pass must be awkward and hard for him to do. Although he probably had a lot of practice doing it, his response wasn’t what you’d expected. It just about stopped your heart.

“And what if you knew I thought you were attractive” he almost whispered. It was sexy. Your brow furrowed genuinely because you had believed he was about to reject you.

“Are you sure?” you asked so quickly looking up at him in confusion. He thought your ignorance was cute.

“Yeah, I’ve got eyes haven’t I? I can see what’s in front of me. You caught my eye across the street before you even snuck your way next to me” You blushed at the idea he was already looking at you before you even had clocked him. You felt like someone might’ve been watching earlier but you couldn’t have dreamed it would be him.

It felt like it happened in slow motion as you watched his hand come closer to you. The back of his knuckle traced your highlighted cheekbone. Goosebumps arose all over your skin. Before he could remove his hand he heard a loud familiar whistle and was thrust back into reality that he was standing on the corner of the street. He gestured to the group he was with to hold on a second.

“Let me take you out tonight” he ask calmly

“You don’t really know me though, do you?” You quickly hit back making a smug face he wasn’t impressed with.

“Let me get to know you then” he cooed. You looked around you as if people might overhear you, like your response was just meant for him.

“Yeah. I’d like that” you said hush.

“Gimme your number” he said as he forced his phone at you. Your eyes stuck watching the group across the street monitoring the situation. Were they staring because of you, because he does this a lot? Or rather never does this? The questions poured into your head but the harsh sun reflecting off his phone into your face brought you back down to earth. You typed your number into his phone, saving your name with a little ‘🗽’ emoji as a contextual reminder and gave him his phone back.

The gears in your mind were still turning. What honestly just happened that you were holding a Liverpool football player's phone. Trent smiled seeing your name and the little emoji.

“Y/N L/N” he repeated.

“That’s me” grinning back.

He placed his phone in his pocket and lifted his arm again and reached to stoke your arm. You shivered at the touch.

You blew some air out your mouth in disbelief at the events unfolding. You weren’t sure what to do with the lull in the conversation now but Trent seemed comfortable in the silence.

“If you’re still heading up fifth, my favorite view of the city skyline is up at the reservoir. You ever been?” You softly suggested. He dragged his hand back up your arm.

“Nah, should I?” he asked. Focused more on the feeling of your skin than your words.

“It’s nice if you have the time. Good for the gram.” You laughed.

“Important” he replied as you stared at his hand continue to stroke your arm

“Very” you confirmed. He rocked backwards a little

“So I’m gonna see you tonight, yeah?” He said looking at your face once more as he dropped his hand from you.

“Yeah, yeah” you responded not totally sure that would actually happen but you were happy with this little conversation to hold in your mind forever. His smell, his gaze on you, saying you were attractive. Even if he was lying, you’d still take it from him. You bite your cheek before speaking again.

“If I don’t see you ” you paused and he looked at you confused. “It was nice to meet you” you said sweetly. He started laughing and shaking his head.

“I’m going to see you, trust me” he winked at you. It felt like you could fall over. Your legs felt like jello.

“Go on then, finish your run” he said tilting his head, gesturing down the avenue you were at.

“Absolutely not. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you watch me run down the block now” you were embarrassed by the idea of trying to exercise in front of someone who did it for a living.

“I like what I’ve seen so far, don’t deprive me of a nice view” his tone dripping with ideas.

You were shocked at the tone. You liked it. It was sweet and full of suggestion. You wanted to just listen to him talk for hours.

“I’m going to walk this way” you spoke up pointing down the street emphasizing the word ‘walk’ a little teasingly.

“See you, yeah?” He winked.

“Yeah, I trust you” you said, walking a bit away from him.

It felt like leaving a friend but also nothing like that. You craved so much more knowing he wasn’t one. You needed more of him. He was intoxicating, he felt like you took a shot of liquor. You felt light headed, the world blurred around you, giggling to yourself at the feeling in your chest. What the hell was wrong with you. You put your headphones back in and made your way down the street. You started to text your sister about the flirty encounter with the footballer but you didn’t want to jinx anything. Maybe you actually would see him later. That going to happen fell on Trent though; he was the one with your number, he was on his holiday. It didn’t seem likely to happen but he seemed so nice at the very least you’d hope he’d have the courtesy to tell you he couldn’t meet. You looked back towards where he was wanting to relive those minutes over and over again. Your eyes met again. He had his on you still. He squinted trying to follow your path and he smiled.

Trent crossed the street towards the group of boys nonchalantly, he was playing off how smitten he had just become with a complete stranger.

“What the fuck was that?” one of the boys looked at him as Trent embarrassingly bit onto his lip still watching you.

“Yeah, she was fit but like did you need to get the whole life story or…” another boy said.

“Did you know her?” The comments and questions came flooding in from the group confused at the interaction. To answer what you had wondered earlier. No, Trent didn’t do this a lot, igniting more of an inquiry. He kept to himself a lot of the time. Of course he’d get with girls back at home and on holidays and such but right now he was sober, it was in the middle of the day, on the street, and he seemingly was drooling over someone he’d never spoken to before. This was out of character.

“I honestly feel like I know her,” Trent spoke, trying to clear his throat. “Gonna see her tonight,” he informed them. The boys bustled with noise and confusion

“What about our dinner tonight?” Someone questioned

“You’ll figure it out. I’ll meet you after to go to that event.” Trent calmed the group still watching you as you looked back once more at him before turning the corner out of his view. He didn't like that he couldn’t see you anymore. He felt like he needed to study you more. The image of sweat dripping down your body had him down bad. It shouldn’t have affected him like that. He questioned why he was aching for you. He didn’t even know you. He exhaled confused. He could hear your voice replaying in his head. Soft and sweet, was it suggestive? Was he making it up?

“She didn’t even ask for a picture with me, ya know” he spoke quietly towards his brother in the group. Trent didn’t want to look like a melt to his friends so opted to confide in him. With his brothers he couldn’t really embarrass himself; they were so close.

“Maybe she doesn’t care about that,” Trent’s brother Tyler responded. Trent grunted slightly annoyed that you weren’t fawning and falling over him like he’d want. What he didn’t know was that you had actually been nauseous at the sheer idea of speaking with him. Tyler watched his face change.

“That bother you?” He asked. Trent looked back at him unsure.

“Don’t know… just not sure why I feel like this. Like I thought she was into me but the more I think about it” he paused reflecting “maybe I was just pushing a narrative in my head. She didn’t exactly seek me out, it was by chance, she was minding her business” his heart hurt a little at the thought.

“You just don’t stand that close to someone you don’t know and aren’t interested in” Tyler quipped back.

“Yeah?” Trent questioned his sincerity.

“She was grossly close to you. Made me a little sick not gonna lie '' a voice from behind them piped up. Their younger brother Marcel wanted in on the conversation, the gossip about the mystery girl was too good to miss.

“She from here?” His brother questioned

“Mmhmm, I felt like I was almost being played because she gave me everything up front. She told me her name, where she lived, about her dad, she follows footie, told me about visiting Anfield and that. Like I couldn’t build a more ideal woman, she’s a dream and she just stood there like she was somehow at a disadvantage.” Trent ranted.

“Oh” the brothers simultaneously echoed. Marcel looked at Tyler a little concerned about Trent’s vulnerability. Trent was independent and smart but it was often on everyone around him minds if people were trying to take advantage of or attempting to use Trent for something.

“She’s been to a game… of yours?” Tyler asked

“I assumed I was there playing. She didn’t really specify”

“The odds of meeting your dream girl like this on the street is mad but then again it’s you Trentski. If you really want to go find out more.. I guess shoot your shot.” Marcel tried to be honest but still support him…

“You think it’s bad to text now?” Trent cautiously asked. His brothers just laughed at him.

“Why are you being like this bro? You’re down so bad already and you don’t even know her. What did she do to you!” They exclaimed, clinging to each other continuing to give Trent shit for his lack of confidence.

“What am I doing?” Trent felt ridiculous; where did his conviction go? He needed to not let you get this in his head. Yet the only thing playing in his mind were images of you.

“What the fuuuucckk” he groaned.

“Relax bro, just go and maybe you’ll get to release a little” his brother joked about Trent’s obvious growing crush. The innuendo made Trent’s heads spin. His brothers kept talking but all he could think about was you peeling the sweaty clothes off your body at home. He wanted to be there for that. He needed the girl he didn’t know he would even meet an hour ago.

“This is embarrassing” he said despite hitting send on a text he was terrified of.

You sat on your bed after showering. If there was any luck in life for you he would text you. Your shower was long. The idea of you potentially seeing Trent tonight required you to look your best. The bathroom steamed, you washed your hair twice, exfoliating, shaving absolutely everything. You moisturized like you never had before. Your post shower routine was extensive and so was your skin and hair care. The idea of him even near your body had you giddy. You had to wonder if he was that clever and smooth with everyone. You felt the character you had built up in your mind from behind an on screen image had been torn to shreds by his unwavering confidence, his eyes glimmering, his composure. He wasn’t anything you imagined. He was much much better.

Your phone pinged, the screen illuminating with a new text. You tried to tell yourself to relax. It was probably going to be your mom to be realistic but there lied the unknown uk number on your phone. You squeezed your eyes shut, your leg now bouncing up and down a little. ‘What the fuck it’s just a text. You’re embarrassing’ you spoke to yourself. Your stomach dropped as you swiped to read the new message.

“The reservoir?”

It was so simple but you felt your heart racing. You wanted to be quick in response not knowing how he was with his phone and you didn’t want to miss your opportunity. You were trying not to think too much as you hit send.

“The reservoir.” You confirmed.

“Going to make me way there and let you know what I think” his response was quick in return.

“Please do 😉” you typed and deleted the wink emoji 1000 times but just said fuck it. Every moment exchanged with Trent felt like it could be your last so you decided you were going to try not to hold back.

A genuine full smile swept across Trent’s face.

“She responded I’m assuming” Tyler watched his brother’s expression change. Trent didn’t want to get into how excited he was feeling about something as small as an emoji.

“mmhmm” he hummed, not picking up his gaze from the wink you sent.

“Dinner with me tonight?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed”

“Got one condition though..”

You weren’t sure what the condition could be. As much as you two had joked, you really didn’t know him at all. You couldn’t predict anything he was going to do or say. It put you on edge but you loved the thrill of standing there.

“You have to pick the place because you’re the local” Trent’s message read. You smiled, it was sweet and more wholesome than you anticipated. You couldn’t stop trying to read into everything he has said though. Was this a date for him?

“Fine, I’ll be sure to pick something good then. 8:00 pm is okay, yeah?”

“All good. Also 8:00 pm… try 20:00?”

“No no no. None of that. You’re in my city now”

“Yeah? Going to show me a good time in your city”

He sent it and started to regret it. He still questioned if you were as into him as he was into you. He didn’t want to imply he was looking just a quick fuck. He definitely wanted to have sex with you, like embarrassingly so but might actually be a little disappointed in that alone because you peaked his interest. He wanted to listen to you. He wanted to watch your eyes flicker over him. He wanted to hear your accent accentuate words.

Contrary to his beliefs, you felt like you were going to scream. Like you were a 12 year old girl with a boy band obsession. Did he want you like that? What if you read his text with the wrong inflection? You threw caution to the wind at this point and you dove into sending him a response.

“Promise xx. Will see how you are on the date”

“Date, yeah?”

“Oh.. Is it not?” you immediately responded to him. You felt so nervous. Blood rushing to your face embarrassed you had misread everything.

“Nah, it definitely is. Can’t wait to see more of you later 🤤”

His response, especially the emoji, made your mind race with dirty thoughts. You understand he probably just meant ‘seeing’ you as meeting up again but you wanted him to literally see more. You wanted to have him drooling. You wanted his lips on yours. You wanted to have him thinking about you. You just had to get through this date successfully for that to even be an option.

•

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.

Moving slow but we’re just getting started xx

Next part is up - Chapter 2

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold

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