#╡CAITLYN╞ The Sheriff’s In Town | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seriiousgiirl · 19 days

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𝒴𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒫𝓈𝓎𝒸𝒽𝑜

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃!𝒿𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝓍 𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒻!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. cowboy!au, enemies to lovers, tension, mutual pining, partners in crime, nsfw!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. In the dusty frontier town of Frontier Dusk, Sheriff Y/n and her partner Caitlyn face a series of escalating crimes that lead them to a desperate decision: to seek the help of Jhin, a notorious assassin known for his chilling artistry in murder. Despite their mutual disdain and complicated past, Y/n reluctantly hires Jhin, who proves to be both a formidable ally and an enigmatic presence in her life.

➜ ┊ a/n: Jhin might be a lil OOC, I’m sorry in advance!!!! But he is still his flamboyant self.♡ But I actually don't expect a lot of people to read this.

➜ ┊: oneshot ⋅ 14K words.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the dusty streets of Frontier Dusk.

Shadows lengthened, creeping over the wooden buildings and silent alleyways. The town was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of tumbleweeds tumbling lazily down the main thoroughfare and the distant, mournful call of a coyote.

You leaned against the worn wooden railing of the sheriff's office, eyes narrowed as you scanned the street for any signs of trouble. The rough-hewn boards creaked under your weight, a familiar and oddly comforting sound. Beside you, Caitlyn, your trusted partner, adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and sighed, her breath visible in the cooling evening air.

"It's too quiet," Caitlyn muttered, her sharp blue eyes mirroring the concern etched in your own. Her hand hovered near the rifle slung over her shoulder, always ready for action.

You nodded in agreement, your senses on high alert. "Something's brewing. I can feel it."

For weeks, you had been embroiled in a particularly thorny case. What started as simple cattle rustling had escalated into outright violence. Ranchers were finding their livestock slaughtered, and in some cases, their homes burned to the ground. It was clear that someone powerful and ruthless was pulling the strings from the shadows. The townsfolk were terrified, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation whenever they looked to you for answers. You knew you had to bring the culprits to justice, but every lead you had chased down had turned cold, leaving you at a frustrating standstill.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, the gesture weary and frustrated. "We might need some outside help on this one."

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, her expression sceptical. "You don't mean...?"

You looked away, unwilling to meet her piercing, judging gaze. "Yeah. Him."

Jhin.

The name alone made your skin crawl, conjuring images of shadowy alleyways and whispered rumours of his macabre exploits. He was an assassin, renowned for his deadly precision and his penchant for turning death into an art form. You have worked with Jhin a few times already. Working with him was never a pleasant experience, to say the least. But despite your mutual disdain for each other, there was an odd sort of respect that lingered beneath the surface, buried beneath layers of bickering and taunts.

From the moment you laid eyes on him, you knew that Jhin was trouble. His cold, calculating gaze behind his goggles seemed to pierce right through you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. And yet, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, a dangerous allure that drew you in despite your better judgement.

It wasn't just his chilling demeanour or the unsettling aura of danger that surrounded him. It was something deeper, something more primal that stirred within you whenever he was near. Perhaps it was the enigmatic mask that obscured his features, hiding whatever emotions lurked behind its cold, expressionless facade. Or perhaps it was the fact that you knew next to nothing about him, while he seemed to know everything about you.

It was an unsettling thought, to say the least.

Jhin had a way of making you feel like a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating events from the shadows while you stumbled blindly through the darkness. He always seemed one step ahead, his movements calculated and precise, as if he knew exactly how the pieces would fall long before they ever hit the board.

And yet, for all his mystery and intrigue, there was a part of you that couldn't help but be drawn to him. It was a dangerous attraction, one that you knew could lead to nothing but trouble. And yet, you found yourself unable to resist, unable to turn away from the allure of him.

The two of you clashed like oil and water, constantly at odds over even the smallest of details. Every decision was met with resistance, every suggestion met with scepticism.

But for all your differences, there was one thing you could agree on: getting the job done. And so, begrudgingly, you set aside your differences and worked towards a common goal, each of you pushing the other to be better, to do better, even if it meant enduring endless rounds of bickering and taunts along the way.

And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows grew long, you found yourself once again contemplating the unthinkable: reaching out to Jhin for help. It was a decision that filled you with a sense of dread, a realisation that you were willing to make a deal with the devil himself if it meant protecting your town and its people. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now…

There was no one more desperate than you.

"I don't like it, Y/n," Caitlyn said, her voice tinged with concern and a hint of reproach. "But if you think it's necessary..."

"I do," you replied, your voice firm and resolute. "We need someone who can get into places we can't, someone who can think like a killer. Jhin is our best shot, as much as I hate to admit it."

Caitlyn nodded slowly, her face set in a grimace of reluctant acceptance. "Alright. But as long as you’re keeping a close eye on him."

"Of course," you agreed, the thought of turning your back on Jhin for even a moment is unthinkable. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

With a heavy heart, you turned and made your way to the back of the office, where an old, dusty telegraph machine sat on a rickety table. The device had seen better days, its keys worn smooth from years of use. The thought of contacting Jhin made your stomach churn, but there was no other choice. You sat down, the chair creaking under you, and began typing out the message. The clacking of the keys echoed in the silence, each tap a reminder of the gravity of your decision.

‘Jhin. Need your expertise. Meet at dusk, the usual spot. -Y/n’

You sent the message and sat back, feeling a weight settle on your shoulders. The waiting began, each minute stretching into an eternity as the town slipped further into darkness.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The night was biting cold as you waited under the old oak tree, your usual meeting spot with Jhin. The wind whispered through the branches, rustling the leaves and carrying with it the scent of impending rain. You pulled your coat tighter around you, trying to fend off the chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

You glanced at the moon, hanging low in the sky, and frowned. Jhin was late. He was never late. Punctuality was one of the few things you could count on with him. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the damp earth cold beneath your boots, and wondered if he had even received your message.

Doubt began to creep in. What if something had gone wrong? What if he had decided to ignore your call for help? Despite your mutual disdain and constant bickering, Jhin had always come through before. The idea of him not showing up now, when you needed him most, filled you with a sense of unease—or… was it truly it?

If you were honest with yourself, you felt a tinge of disappointment, but you decided to ignore that part.

Finally, you saw a figure emerging from the shadows, moving with an eerie, fluid grace. As he stepped into the pale moonlight, you sucked in a breath. Jhin was covered in blood, his usual orange coat gone, revealing the lean, muscular form encased in a leather outfit. The blood wasn't his; you knew that instinctively. But seeing him like this, you couldn't suppress a wince.

"You're late," you managed to say, trying to keep the shock and irritation out of your voice.

Jhin tilted his head slightly, his mask catching the faint moonlight. "I had something to finish, darling," he said calmly, his voice smooth as ever. "It took more time than I would have wished."

Your eyes flicked to the dark stains on his clothes, your mind trying to piece together what he could have possibly been involved in. "Were you working for someone else?" you asked, concern and a sharp edge to your tone. "I thought I was the only one hiring you."

Jhin chuckled again, the sound sending a chill down your back. "Sheriff, are you... jealous?" he teased, his voice warm and playful. You scoffed, trying to dismiss the thought, but you felt a twinge of truth in his words.

"Don't flatter yourself," you snapped, though you felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. "I just don't want more trouble in my town."

Jhin's lips curled into a sly grin as he watched your face flush with embarrassment. "Oh, Y/n, I see your jealousy is beginning to show—finally, after all this time," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. He took another step closer, revelling in the discomfort it caused you.

"Now, now, don't worry your pretty little head," he reassured you, lifting a hand to brush your cheek lightly. "I'm a man of my word, as you well know. And I wouldn't have come all this way to disappoint you, would I?" There was a challenge in his tone, daring you to contradict him.

"As for working for others," he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "what do you expect from an artist? We must draw inspiration from various sources, hone our techniques, and improve our craft. It is the nature of the beast, darling." Jhin stepped closer, the scent of iron and something darker wafting off him. "Every artist needs to take on different projects to refine their skills," he said, his voice silky smooth.

You shook your head, unsure of how to respond. Jhin had always been a thorn to your side, and you couldn't help but question if you had made a mistake by calling for his help. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and he brought with him a tension that made your chest tighten and your knees weak.

"Please, Jhin," you muttered, shaking your head. "You better not be bringing more trouble to my town."

"Oh, dear Y/n, I would never bring trouble to your little town," Jhin purred, his voice dripping with false sincerity. He moved closer still, looming over you, the heat and power of his body a stark contrast to the chilly night air. "After all, I wouldn't want to give you a reason to put me in cuffs, would I?"

You could almost imagine the smirk on his lips as he said this.

His hand rose, brushing against your cheek, the feeling of his cold, blood-slick gloves sending a jolt through you. A shiver ran down your spine, and Jhin's eyes gleamed with malicious glee. "I came for you, Sheriff, for this very moment," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the howl of the wind. "Now, unless you want to turn your back on my... skills," he glanced down at his bloodied attire, "you'll let me help you."

He grasped your wrist, his touch both cold and firm, sending electric shocks through your body. "Do not fret, darling. I have come to you, to help you put an end to this trouble, and that is all. There will be no more trouble in your town, I promise you." His gaze trailed up my body, making you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet, strangely alive. "Though I must say," he purred, "I find it most… entertaining when you need my services."

You yanked your wrist away from his grasp, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of his touch on your skin. "Don't get any ideas, Jhin," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "This is strictly professional."

He tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk behind his mask. "Oh, but of course. Professional." The word dripped with sarcasm, and he stepped back, giving you a mocking bow.

You turned sharply, your boots crunching against the frost-covered ground as you began to walk back towards the town. You could feel Jhin's eyes on you, a heavy gaze that made your skin prickle.

As you briefed him on the case, his responses were measured, precise, and chillingly detached. Yet, despite the bickering and the taunts, you couldn’t help but acknowledge his efficiency. Jhin was a master of his craft, and if anyone could bring down the elusive figures behind the recent wave of violence, it was him.

"So," Jhin said after a moment of silence, his voice cutting through the night air. "Do tell me, darling, what makes this case so... special that you had to seek me out? I imagine it must be quite the conundrum to require my particular set of skills."

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, "The cattle rustling has turned into something much worse. Homes burned, animals slaughtered, families threatened. It's escalating, and we don't have the resources to handle it alone with Cait. We need someone who can think like a killer."

Jhin laughed softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "Ah, flattery, Y/n? You do know how to make a man feel appreciated." He looked ahead, his expression hidden but his tone amused. .

“Being compared to a killer isn’t a compliment, Jhin,” you said, pouting.

He glanced at you, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his mask. "Oh, but it is, my dear Y/n. To think like a killer is to understand the art of finality, the delicate balance between life and death. It's a skill, a gift, one that I possess in abundance."

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders not entirely dissipating. "Well, let's hope your 'gift' helps us find whoever's behind this. The town's on edge, and we need results fast."

As you continued through the darkened streets, Jhin broke the silence with a casual, almost offhand remark. "I heard an interesting rumour, Y/n. A group of bandits plans to blow up the train bridge tomorrow. They're after the resources arriving on the next train."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him, eyes wide with alarm. "What? How do you know this?"

Jhin shrugged, a languid, almost theatrical gesture. "I have my ways, Sheriff. Information is a valuable commodity, after all."

You felt a knot form in your stomach. The train bridge was a vital lifeline for Frontier Dusk, bringing in essential supplies and goods—especially after such accidents. If it were destroyed, the town would be plunged into chaos. "Why didn't you mention this sooner?" you demanded, frustration and fear mingling in your voice.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with that familiar, unsettling amusement beneath his glasses. "You didn't ask. Besides, I wanted to see your reaction. Quite satisfying, I must say."

"Jhin, this isn't a game!" You took a step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "People's lives are at stake!"

He grasped your wrist, his touch both cold and firm, sending that familiar jolt through your body. "Calm yourself, Y/n… I have no intention of letting these bandits succeed. But we must be strategic."

You pulled your wrist free, glaring at him. "Fine. What's your plan?"

You knew he was smiling, a chilling expression hidden behind his mask. "First, we need to gather more information—to know if it’s just rumours, or an actual plan. We'll visit the local saloons, the places where such rabble might gather. Eavesdrop, listen for any hints or whispers. Then, we strike."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility pressing down on you. "Alright. Let's start at the Broken Spoke. It's a known hangout for drifters and outlaws."

Jhin inclined his head, his movements graceful and deliberate. "Lead the way, Y/n. The night is young, and we have much to do."

As you headed towards the saloon, your mind raced with possibilities. If Jhin's information was accurate, you had less than a day to prevent a catastrophe. You couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Despite your mistrust of Jhin, you knew you had to rely on his skills and knowledge to stop the bandits.

Entering the Broken Spoke, you felt the eyes of the patrons on you, a mixture of curiosity and wariness. You made your way to the bar, motioning for Jhin to follow. The barkeep looked up as you approached. "What can I get you, Sheriff?" he asked, his voice rough but respectful.

You leaned in, keeping your voice low. "Information. Heard anything about a group planning to blow up the train bridge tomorrow?"

The barkeep's eyes widened slightly, but he kept his composure. "Can't say I have, but you might want to talk to the folks in the back. They tend to know more about... such matters."

You nodded, slipping him a coin. "Thanks."

You and Jhin moved towards the back of the saloon, where a group of rough-looking men were gathered around a table, deep in conversation. As you approached, the chatter died down, and they looked up, suspicion etched on their faces. "Evening, gentlemen," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "Mind if we join you?"

One of the men, a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek, narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Sheriff?"

You exchanged a glance with Jhin, who gave a barely perceptible nod. "We heard there's a big job going down tomorrow. Something about the train bridge. Thought you might know more."

The men exchanged wary glances, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, the scarred man spoke. "Maybe we do. Maybe we don't. What's it to you?"

"It's my job to keep the town safe," you replied evenly. "And if there's trouble coming, I need to know about it."

Jhin stepped forward, his presence somehow both reassuring and menacing. He reached for his belt and slowly pulled out his ornate, custom-crafted gun, placing it on the table with a deliberate clink. The intricate design glinted menacingly in the dim light of the saloon, drawing the attention of everyone present. The room seemed to hold its breath as the men stared at the weapon, their eyes widening with a mix of fear and fascination.

"Perhaps," Jhin said, his voice a smooth, dangerous purr, "we should ensure this conversation remains... productive, like this charming lady asked." His fingers traced the intricate patterns on the gun, emphasising its deadly beauty. "It would be a shame if things were to turn... unpleasant."

The scarred man swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the gun. "We ain't looking for trouble," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "We just don't want to get caught in the middle of anything."

"Of course," Jhin replied, his tone deceptively gentle. "And neither do we. But you see, we need information. Accurate information. Otherwise," he tapped the barrel of the gun lightly—four times exactly, "we might have to take drastic measures."

You leaned forward, trying to strike a balance between Jhin's intimidation and your need for cooperation. "Look, we just want to stop whatever's planned for the train bridge. Help us out, and you'll be doing the whole town a favour. No one has to get hurt."

The tension in the air was palpable, the other men at the table shifting uneasily under Jhin's piercing gaze. Finally, the scarred man nodded, breaking the silence. "Alright, Sheriff. We heard there's a group of bandits planning to blow up the bridge around noon tomorrow. They're after the supply train coming through. We don't know all the details, but they're serious about it."

"Names," Jhin said, his voice low and commanding. "We need names."

The scarred man hesitated, glancing at his companions before continuing. "The leader goes by Black Jack. He's got a reputation for being ruthless. His crew, they're all seasoned outlaws. They'll be heavily armed and ready for a fight."

You nodded, absorbing the information. "Where are they hiding out?"

"Last we heard, they were camped out in the old mine, just outside of town. It's a good spot for them to plan and gather their explosives."

Jhin leaned back slightly, his fingers still resting on his gun. "Thank you for your cooperation. You've been most helpful."

The men relaxed visibly, relief washing over their faces. "Just... make sure you stop them," the scarred man said. "We don't want any part of their mess."

You stood up, glancing at Jhin, who gave a slight, supportive nod for you to continue. "We'll handle it. And remember, keep this to yourselves. If word gets out, it could ruin everything."

Jhin picked up his gun with practiced elegance, tucking it back into his holster. The tension in the room lingered as you turned to leave, feeling the eyes of the patrons following your every move. As you both walked away from the table, the noise of the saloon gradually resumed, though it was noticeably quieter than before.

Once outside, the cold night air was a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere inside the saloon. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves after the tense encounter. Jhin walked beside you, his steps silent and measured.

"Well, that was enlightening," you said, breaking the silence.

Jhin glanced at you, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Indeed. It seems we have our work cut out for us." He paused, then continued, a hint of amusement in his voice, "But before we plunge into the chaos of stopping Black Jack, perhaps a drink is in order?"

You raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback. "A drink? Now?"

He smiled, the expression barely visible behind his mask. "Consider it a brief respite, a moment to gather our thoughts and prepare for the task ahead. Besides," he added, his tone light and teasing, "it might be the only opportunity we have to enjoy a quiet moment."

You sighed, the idea of a drink oddly appealing despite the circumstances. "Alright, Jhin. One drink."

He inclined his head, a gracious gesture. "Of course, darling... Just one drink."

The two of you headed to a smaller, quieter tavern on the edge of town, one less likely to draw attention. Inside, the atmosphere was subdued, a stark contrast to the bustling saloon you had just left. You found a table in the corner, away from prying eyes, and settled in.

Jhin ordered a bottle of whiskey, pouring two glasses with a flourish. He slid one across the table to you, his eyes never leaving your face. You hesitated for a moment, but you took a sip, the warmth of the whiskey spread through you, momentarily easing the tension. You studied Jhin over the rim of your glass, his enigmatic presence both unsettling and oddly comforting.

"So," you said, setting your glass down. "How did you come by that information about the train bridge?"

Jhin leaned back in his chair, his eyes glittering with amusement. "A true artist never reveals his secrets, Y/n. Let's just say I have my ways of acquiring valuable information."

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips despite yourself. "Always so mysterious."

He chuckled softly. "It adds to my charm, doesn't it?"

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising even you. “I won't say yes, just to annoy you."

Jhin leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief behind his goggles. "Ah, but your laughter betrays you, darling. Deep down, you find my enigmatic nature quite charming."

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your composure. "In your dreams, Jhin."

He tilted his head, studying you with that unsettling, piercing gaze. "Come now, Y/n. You can admit it. We're sharing a drink, after all. A moment of honesty won't hurt."

You took another sip of whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through you. "Alright, fine. Maybe a tiny part of me finds your theatrics... interesting. But don't let it go to your head."

Jhin's smile widened, clearly pleased with your reluctant admission. "Interesting? I'll take that as a victory."

"Small victories," you countered, trying to downplay the significance. "Don't forget, we're still on opposite sides once this is over."

He leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "Of course. But for now, let's enjoy this rare moment of truce. It's not often we find ourselves on the same side of the law."

You nodded, the brief respite from the looming danger a welcome relief. "Agreed. Just remember, this doesn't change anything. We have a job to do, and once it's done, we go back to being adversaries."

Jhin raised his glass in a mock salute. "Understood, Sheriff. But for now, let's toast to our temporary alliance."

You clink your glass against his, the sound ringing softly in the quiet tavern. "To the hunt," you said, meeting his gaze with a determined look.

"To the hunt," Jhin echoed, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. "And to the unexpected pleasures it brings."

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. "Always the dramatist."

He smiled, the expression hidden behind his mask but evident in his eyes. "It's part of my charm, remember?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And to think, you've never even seen my face..."

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself momentarily speechless. It was true; Jhin's face had always been concealed behind his mask. The enigma he presented was both infuriating and intriguing. "Maybe that's for the best," you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “You must be ugly."

He chuckled at that, sipping his drink before setting the glass down. "Perhaps," he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist the playful banter. "You're incorrigible."

"Isn't that what you love about me?" he teased, his gaze lingering on your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes.

Your cheeks heated at the suggestive statement. You tried to brush it off, but there was no denying the electricity that seemed to crackle between you whenever Jhin was near. "Save the flirting for when we're not trying to take down a bunch of outlaws," you warned, the tension between you somehow making it all the more enjoyable.

Jhin leaned back in his chair, his hand absently toying with the brim of his hat. "A fair warning, Sheriff," he acknowledged, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "That’s a pity we don’t see each other apart from these types of missions… I missed you, while we were apart.” He said with a casual flirtiness.

The confession caught you off guard, the tone in his voice making it clear he meant every word. The admission, combined with the proximity between you, made the air around you thick with unspoken desires. "Perhaps, next time we meet, we can set aside our differences," he suggested, as his finger traced the rim of his glass suggestively. "Away from danger, and perhaps, in a place more…comfortable."

You stared into Jhin's masked face, the intensity of the moment making it difficult to breathe. The thought of being alone with him, with no threats or missions to distract you, was both terrifying and exhilarating. You know his lips were curved into a smile, and for a split second, you imagined them against your own. "You're a dangerous man, Jhin," you managed to say, your voice barely audible over the sudden loudness in your ears.

Jhin leaned in, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. "And you, darling, are a temptation I've yet to resist," he whispered back. Your breath hitched as he finished his words, and you found yourself unable to move, paralyzed by the intensity of the moment. Jhin sat back, the glint in his eyes leaving no doubt that he felt the same heat pulsing between you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat at his words. You could feel the tension between you reaching its breaking point, the desire to give in to the moment almost overwhelming. But you knew you had to resist, had to maintain some semblance of control.

With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself away from the table, the scrape of the chair against the floor echoing in the quiet tavern. "It's late," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. "I...I think it was a bad idea for me to follow you here."

You reached into your pocket, fishing out some coins and tossing them onto the table. "This is for the drinks," you said, not giving Jhin a chance to protest. "I'll...I'll see you tomorrow."

Without another word, you turned and headed for the door, the cool night air hitting you like a wave as you stepped outside. You could feel Jhin's eyes on you as you walked away, his lingering gaze sending shivers down your spine. But you knew that giving in to the temptation would only lead to trouble

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The next morning dawned cold and clear, the first light of day casting long shadows across the dusty streets of Frontier Dusk. You were already on your horse, the powerful chestnut gelding pawing at the ground in anticipation. Your breath hung in the air, a misty reminder of the early hour. The train you needed to stop was due to arrive soon, and you couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

You adjusted your hat, glancing down the empty street, and then back towards the edge of town. The air was crisp, filled with the scents of leather, horse, and the faint remnants of last night's campfires. In the distance, the faint rumble of the approaching train sent a sense of urgency thrumming through your veins.

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats reached your ears, and you turned to see Jhin approaching on his own horse, a sleek black stallion that matched his rider's ominous presence. He rode with an almost unnerving grace and as he drew closer, you could see the hint of a smile beneath his mask, a glint of something almost playful in his eyes.

"Good morning, darling," he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly across the distance. "I hope you’re ready for some excitement."

"Jhin," you greeted, keeping your voice steady despite the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "You're late again."

He shrugged nonchalantly, reining in his horse beside yours. "Apologies. I had some... private matters to attend to." His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "It appears our little mission has leaked. Word's out, but it won’t stop them—or us."

You clenched your jaw, anger and frustration warring within you. "How did that happen? I thought we were careful."

"Careful isn’t always enough, Sheriff. But don’t worry. A bit of extra attention only makes the game more interesting."

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “Why are you always like this…?”

“Because I’m special.” He inclined his head, a mockery of a bow. “Lead the way, Sheriff. I’m right behind you."

With a sharp nod, you spurred your horse forward, the powerful animal leaping into motion. Jhin followed closely, the two of you riding hard towards the train tracks. The morning air whipped past you, the sound of pounding hooves a steady rhythm beneath the rising tension.

As the train came into view, you could see the steam billowing from the engine. There was no time to lose.

Jhin's eyes sparkled with dark amusement. "Let’s give them a performance they won’t forget."

Splitting off, you guided your horse around the side of the station, heart pounding as you prepared to intercept the train. The stakes were high, but you couldn't afford to think about that now. Focus and determination drove you forward, and with Jhin at your side, for better or worse, you were ready to face whatever came next.

The train thundered down the tracks, its powerful engine roaring as it approached the old wooden bridge that spanned a deep ravine. The wheels clattered over the rails, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound that filled the morning air. You and Jhin rode hard alongside it, your horses’ hooves pounding the earth in a desperate race to keep up.

As the bridge loomed closer, you spotted a group of figures moving inside the train cars. Bandits. They were already on board—seems like they changed their plans. You exchanged a quick glance with Jhin, and without a word, you both urged your horses closer to the speeding train.

"Ready?" you shouted over the din, eyes fixed on the open door of a boxcar ahead.

Jhin nodded, his expression hidden behind his mask but his eyes glinting with excitement. "After you, darling."

You leaned forward, your horse galloping at full speed, and then you leapt from the saddle, hands gripping the edge of the open door. With a grunt, you hauled yourself inside, drawing your revolver in one swift motion. Jhin followed with a graceful leap, landing beside you with unnerving ease.

The interior of the car was dimly lit, filled with crates and barrels. The bandits turned in surprise, their weapons drawn. There were five of them, rough-looking men with cold eyes and mean grins. You didn’t hesitate.

"Drop your weapons!" you commanded, your voice firm and steady.

One of the bandits laughed, raising his rifle. "I don’t think so, Sheriff."

The car erupted into chaos. You fired first, your shot striking the man in the shoulder and sending him sprawling. Jhin moved like a shadow, his gun blazing. Two more bandits fell before they even had a chance to react, the precise shots echoing in the confined space. “Two,” he said, his voice bordering on insanity.

A burly bandit lunged at you with a knife, but you sidestepped his attack, delivering a swift kick to his gut. He staggered back, and you followed up with a punch that sent him crashing into a stack of crates.

Jhin was a whirlwind of lethal grace, his movements fluid and deadly. He ducked under a swinging club, placing a lotus trap underneath his feet as it sliced across the attacker’s thigh. The bandit howled in pain, collapsing to the floor. As you turned to face the last of the bandits, he raised his hands, eyes wide with fear.

"Alright, alright! I give up!"

You kept your gun trained on him, breathing hard. "Smart move. Now get on your knees."

The bandit’s eyes were wide with fear as he knelt before you, trembling under the barrel of your revolver. His confession came out in a rush, desperation evident in every word.

"It was me! I’m Black Jack! I’ve been behind all the recent attacks," he blurted, his voice shaking. "Please, don’t kill me! I… I just wanted some attention, to be someone… to cause fear in the West!"

You exchanged a look with Jhin, whose eyes glittered with satisfaction behind his mask. The infamous Black Jack, finally cornered. You had waited a long time for this moment, but as Jhin stepped forward, his intent clear, you felt a strange mixture of anticipation and unease.

Jhin moved with a predator's grace, each step calculated, each motion deliberate. He knelt beside Black Jack, drawing a slender, wickedly sharp knife from his belt. The bandit whimpered, his terror palpable.

"For your crimes, Black Jack," Jhin began, his voice a low, melodic murmur, "justice must be served."

Without hesitation, Jhin's blade flashed, cutting a shallow line across Black Jack's cheek. The bandit cried out, but Jhin seemed serene, his movements an unsettling dance of beauty and violence. You should have intervened, should have stopped him, but instead, you found yourself watching, hypnotised.

There was a cold elegance in the way Jhin worked, his focus absolute. He inflicted pain with an artist's touch, each cut precise, each act of violence measured. Black Jack's screams echoed in the confined space of the train car, but they barely registered in your mind. All you could see was Jhin, his lethal grace mesmerising.

Jhin paused, his knife hovering above Black Jack's trembling form. He glanced up at you, a faint smile playing on his lips as he noticed your rapt attention.

"You know, Sheriff," Jhin said, his voice smooth and almost conversational, "I find myself quite displeased by this man's actions. Not because of his crimes, but because he caused you a great deal of worry."

You blinked, trying to focus on his words. "Jhin, what are you talking about?"

"If I had known from the beginning that it was only a pathetic man in quest of some little attention," he continued, his knife tracing another line across Black Jack's skin, his tone was outy. "I would have severed him from our story much earlier."

Black Jack whimpered again, but Jhin paid him no mind. His eyes were fixed on you, a dark intensity burning in their depths. "Nobody apart from me should get your attention, darling. I don’t like to share…"

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and an unidentified desire pulsing through your veins. You clenched your fists, trying to maintain control. In this moment, you found yourself drawn to Jhin in a way you couldn't explain, the line between respect and submission blurring.

Despite your best efforts to stay composed, your breathing grew heavier, and your body felt flushed. You couldn't deny the allure of Jhin's dominance, his words arousing you further, the power dynamics between you overwhelming your senses.

As Jhin resumed his grisly work, you found yourself unable to look away. The tension between you both was palpable, the electricity in the air now mixed with a heady scent of lust. The line between the mission and your personal turmoil grew increasingly blurred—and shamefully, you could feel your panties dampening.

"Jhin, that's enough," you said, though your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Jhin sighed, almost regretfully, and stood, wiping the blood from his blade with a practised motion before sheathing it. Black Jack lay at your feet, sobbing and broken, but alive. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and looked down at the bandit.

"You're going to tell us everything," you said firmly. "And then you're going to face justice for what you've done."

Black Jack nodded frantically, too terrified to do anything but comply. You glanced at Jhin, who was watching you with an unreadable expression. The tension between you, the strange, twisted bond formed by necessity and mutual disdain, seemed to tighten in that moment.

The train had stopped just before the bridge, the ravine left behind, but the memory of Jhin's graceful violence lingered in your mind. As you led Black Jack out of the train car, the air between you and Jhin seemed to crackle with a strange, intense— sexual energy. The usual tension that defined your uneasy alliance felt different now, charged with something almost palpable.

Jhin fell into step beside you, his presence unsettlingly close. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "You seemed quite captivated by my performance, darling," he said, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I was just making sure you didn't go too far."

His eyes, dark and unreadable behind his mask, locked onto yours. "Don't lie to yourself, Y/n. You enjoyed it. The beauty in the chaos, the artistry in the violence."

Your heart pounded in your chest, "You're delusional, Jhin." But as you said, you wondered if you were trying to convince him — or yourself.

He stepped even closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Am I? Or is it that you can't admit how much you need me? How much do you crave the thrill I bring?"

A wave of heat flooded your body, a cocktail of frustrated desire and undeniable attraction. Jhin's words, so laden with passion, wrapped around you like a tantalising embrace. "This isn't the time for your mind games, Jhin," you managed to say, your voice trembling.

Your heart raced as his hand accidentally brushed against yours, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "Who said anything about games? This is very real." His words dug into you, igniting a fire within. After a moment of intense silence, he continued, his voice thick with innuendo. "It has always been real—right? That’s why you keep calling for my help, even though you don’t truly need it.”

“You truly did believe I was this oblivious, darling?"

Your breath hitched, the truth in his words leaving you speechless. The reality of your feelings and the intensity of his gaze left you breathless, your body responding in kind. Your nipples hardened, your pussy wetting your panties as an aching need bloomed between your legs.

You tried to suppress the overwhelming sensation, but Jhin's dominance and sexual energy were intoxicating. The room seemed to shrink, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. You couldn't ignore the longing in your heart, the pull toward him, the desire he'd awakened within you since you first encounter.

Jhin's smouldering gaze never left your face, the mask covering his face doing little to hide the intensity of his desire. He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting past your ear as he inhaled your scent deeply, his breath hot against your skin, "Good girl," he praised, his tone low and laced with admiration. "You fought well."

His hand rose and the mask shifted slightly, revealing a sliver of Jhin's full, inviting, thin lips. You felt the heat emanating from his body, the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of spice and sandalwood, intoxicating your senses. You held your breath, your body trembling with anticipation as the distance between your lips shrank.

In that moment, the line between mission and passion blurred, leaving you both in a whirlwind of forbidden lust and dark, passionate cravings. You struggled to regain control, to maintain your composure, but the heat between you grew, threatening to consume you both. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment threatening to consume you. You were painfully aware of his every move and every word.

Just as your lips brushed against the fabric of his mask, in a desperate attempt to seize an opportunity, Black Jack made his move.

With a sudden, desperate lunge, he pulled a hidden pistol from his boot and fired. The shot rang out, echoing in the confined space, and pain exploded in your side. You staggered, clutching at the wound, blood seeping through your fingers.

Jhin's eyes widened behind his mask, a flash of something dangerous and furious crossing his features. "You dare?" he hissed, turning his attention to Black Jack with a lethal grace.

In one swift motion, Jhin disarmed him, the pistol clattering to the floor. Black Jack whimpered, but Jhin's focus was already shifting back to you. He was by your side in an instant, his hands surprisingly gentle as they inspected your wound.

"Stay with me, darling," he murmured, his voice a strange mix of concern and something deeper. "You're not allowed to die on me."

You tried to focus, your vision blurring at the edges. "Jhin... help me..."

He nodded, his movements swift and efficient as he applied pressure to the wound. "I'm here. You're going to be fine," he said, though there was an edge of desperation in his tone that betrayed his usual calm demeanour.

"Focus on my voice," Jhin continued, his hands working with practised precision. "You’re stronger than this. You’re the Sheriff of Frontier Dusk, remember?"

Your breaths came in shallow gasps, the pain radiating through your body. "Jhin... why do you care?"

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the mask seemed to slip, revealing a flicker of vulnerability. "Because, Y/n," he said softly, "you are the only one worthy of my attention."

Despite the pain, a weak smile tugged at your lips. "That's... a strange way to show it."

He chuckled, a dark, melodic sound. "Perhaps. But then, I’ve never been one for convention."

You felt your consciousness wavering, the edges of your vision darkening. "Jhin, I..."

"Shh," he soothed, pressing harder on the wound to staunch the bleeding. "Save your strength. We're almost there."

As the darkness began to close in, you held onto the sound of his voice, the unexpected tenderness in his touch. The last thing you saw before everything faded was Jhin's mask, his tom a mix of anger, fear, and something almost… tender. In that moment, you realised that despite the danger and the madness, there was a strange, undeniable bond between you and the enigmatic assassin— and that's why you really didn't want to die.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

You blinked, consciousness slowly returning as the world around you swam into focus. The familiar sight of your room greeted you, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting a gentle glow over everything. You tried to move, but a dull ache spread through your body, a painful reminder of what had happened.

As you shifted, a figure stirred beside you, and you turned to see Caitlyn sitting by your bedside, her expression a mix of relief and concern. "You're awake," she said, her voice soft with emotion.

You managed a weak smile, your throat dry. "Hey, partner."

Caitlyn reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, holding it out to you. "Here. Take it slow."

You gratefully accepted the glass, taking small sips to ease the dryness in your throat. "What happened?" you asked, your memory still fuzzy around the edges.

Caitlyn sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. "You were shot, Y/n. Black Jack got the drop on you. If it weren't for Jhin..." Her voice trailed off, and you glanced at her, the pieces starting to fall into place.

"Jhin," you murmured, remembering his desperate attempt to save you.

Caitlyn nodded, her eyes meeting yours. "He brought you back here, tended to your wound himself. Said he couldn't let you die."

You felt a surge of gratitude and confusion, the memory of Jhin's unexpected tenderness still fresh in your mind. "Where is he now?"

Caitlyn hesitated, her expression troubled. "Gone. He disappeared right after he brought you back. Said something about his art… his need to resist the urge, or whatever this psycho meant."

You frowned, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. Despite everything, there was a part of you that felt a strange sense of loss at his absence. "He saved my life," you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate.

Caitlyn nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. "Yeah, he did," she said, her voice soft. "But don't think for a second that makes up for everything else he's done."

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I know," you said, your voice heavy with resignation.

As she helped you settle back into bed, you couldn't shake the memory of Jhin's words, the fleeting moment of connection between you. But for now, as you drifted back into a restless sleep, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand and the familiar presence of Caitlyn by your side.

When he said he would be gone, he meant it for real this time.

In the days that followed the tumultuous events on the train, Frontier Dusk seemed to settle into an uneasy calm. Jhin's absence was like a void, a conspicuous emptiness in the fabric of the town's daily life. At first, there was a sense of relief among the townsfolk, a collective exhale at the absence of the enigmatic assassin and the chaos he often brought in his wake. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, that relief gave way to a growing unease.

For you, Jhin's disappearance weighed heavily on your mind. At first, there was a sense of quiet satisfaction, a respite from the constant tension and danger that seemed to follow in his wake. You found yourself almost grateful for the sense of peace that settled over the town in his absence, the streets no longer tinged with the undercurrent of fear that had become all too familiar.

But as time wore on, that peace began to feel hollow, a facade that masked the growing sense of emptiness in your heart. You made countless attempts to reach out to Jhin, sending telegrams to him — then to every contact you had, but each one went unanswered. Every time you ventured out to the oak tree, you were met only by your own solitude, the wind whispering through the branches a cruel reminder of his absence.

In the beginning, you tried to convince yourself that Jhin's departure was for the best, that it was better for everyone if he stayed away. But as the days stretched on, you couldn't shake the growing sense of desperation that gnawed at you. You found yourself scanning the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of his distinctive figure among the crowd, but he remained elusive, as if he had vanished into thin air.

The uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind, a constant presence that refused to fade. You couldn't help but wonder where Jhin had gone, what he was doing, if he was even still alive. Thoughts of him haunted your every waking moment, his enigmatic presence a constant presence in your mind.

At night, you would lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling of emptiness that settled over you. You had grown accustomed to the chaos and danger that came with Jhin's presence, but now that he was gone, you found yourself longing for the excitement and unpredictability he brought into your life.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The night had wrapped Frontier Dusk in a thick, velvety darkness. The town, usually so lively with the sounds of restless horses and late-night chatter, was now still. Only the occasional creak of a wooden beam or the distant howl of a coyote broke the silence. You had finally fallen into a restless sleep, your mind still circling around the thoughts of Jhin, as it had for months. The hollow ache in your chest seemed to grow heavier each night, a silent companion that never left your side.

It was deep into the night when something pulled you from your sleep. At first, you thought it was just another dream—those haunting images of masked eyes and the cold, calculated precision of his movements. But as your senses sharpened, you became aware of a presence in the room, a subtle shift in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hand instinctively moved toward the pistol on your bedside table, but before you could reach it, a voice, low and melodic, whispered through the darkness.

"Looking for this, Sheriff?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew that voice. Even after all these months, it was unmistakable—deep, suave and dangerous. You turned your head, and there he was, standing in the shadowed corner of your room. The moonlight filtering through the window cast a pale glow across his mask, highlighting the eerie beauty of his features. In his hand, he casually twirled your pistol, as if it were a mere toy.

"Jhin," you breathed, a mix of shock and relief flooding your senses.

He stepped closer, moving with that same unsettling grace, his presence commanding the room. As he approached your bed, he placed the pistol back on the nightstand, his gloved fingers brushing against yours as he did so. The touch was fleeting but electric, sending a jolt of something dangerously close to excitement through you.

"I must say," Jhin continued, his tone laced with an almost playful edge, "I've missed our little encounters."

You sat up slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. "Where the hell have you been?" you demanded, the relief quickly giving way to anger. "I thought you were dead, or—"

"Or what?" Jhin interrupted, his voice soft but carrying an edge of menace. "Or that I'd abandoned you? No, darling. I simply had... other matters to attend to."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes behind his mask. You could feel his gaze, heavy and intent, as if he were assessing every detail of your face, every shift in your expression. As if committing it to his memory forever.

"You had no right to leave without a word," you said, your voice tight with frustration. "You can’t just vanish like that."

Jhin's head tilted slightly, a mockery of sympathy in his posture. "I didn't realise you'd grown so attached, Y/n. How... sentimental."

You clenched your fists, the anger bubbling up again. "Don't twist this around, Jhin. You left without a trace, without so much as a sign that you were alive. I tried to reach you—"

"And now, here I am," he cut in smoothly, his tone softening as he moved even closer. He was now standing beside your bed, close enough that you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, the slight movement of his fingers at his side. "Alive. And in front of you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

You wanted to say something sharp, something that would push him back, but the words caught in your throat. He was right there, and the months of longing, of unanswered questions, of sleepless nights waiting for some sign of him, all came crashing down on you.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Jhin reached out, his gloved hand cupping your chin with a surprising gentleness. The contrast between the softness of his touch and the hard edge of his persona sent a shiver through you. His thumb brushed lightly against your lower lip, a gesture so intimate and yet so dangerous that it made your breath hitch.

"I didn't intend to cause you pain, Sheriff," he murmured, his voice low and almost tender. "But some things... require a certain finesse. A certain patience. Much like you, really."

His words, laced with that signature mix of menace and allure, left you momentarily speechless. The intensity of the moment, of having him so close after so long, was overwhelming. Your body betrayed you, leaning slightly into his touch, craving the connection you'd been denied for so many months.

"Jhin..." you whispered, not even sure what you were asking for. An explanation? An apology? Maybe just a confirmation that this wasn't some cruel dream.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Did you miss me, love?" His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness and urgency that you couldn't ignore.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your emotions a tumultuous mix of anger, relief, and something dangerously close to desire. "You have no idea," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

Jhin's fingers tightened slightly against your skin, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. "Good," he whispered, his voice dark and filled with a promise. "Because I've missed you too. More than you could possibly know."

In that moment, with his masked face so close to yours, his hand on your chin, you felt like the world outside your room had ceased to exist. There was only Jhin, his presence overwhelming and inescapable, pulling you into the orbit of his madness once more. And despite everything, despite all the chaos and danger he brought with him, you couldn't bring yourself to push him away.

Not now. Not when he was finally here, after all this time.

And in the silence that followed, with your breath mingling with his, you realised just how deeply his absence had affected you. How much you'd come to depend on the danger, the thrill, and the strange connection that existed between you and the man behind the mask.

Jhin's fingers lingered against your chin, his touch featherlight yet firm, keeping you in place. His eyes, though hidden behind the mask, seemed to bore into you, probing, searching. For a long, tense moment, he said nothing, just watched you in that unnervingly intense way of his. It felt like he was trying to read every thought, every emotion, every unspoken word that danced behind your eyes.

Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, almost… uncertain.

“When you were shot…” he began, his tone carefully controlled, as if weighing every word. “I felt something I hadn’t anticipated. A fear that was… unfamiliar.”

You blinked, surprised by the vulnerability threading through his words. Jhin? Admitting fear? Your breath caught, but you stayed silent, sensing he had more to say.

His hand moved from your chin to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with an unexpected tenderness. “It unsettled me, Sheriff,” he continued, his voice almost a murmur now, like he was confessing something forbidden. “To see you bleeding, in pain… because of someone else’s hand.” His thumb stilled, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin, as he leaned just a fraction closer. “It made me realise how much I’d grown… concerned for your well-being.”

Concerned. The word hung in the air like a fragile thing, barely held together by the tension between you. You swallowed, trying to maintain some composure. “So, you left because… you were worried?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Jhin’s fingers pressed just a bit harder against your skin, almost as if in frustration, but his tone remained calm, controlled. “Worried?” he echoed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No, Sheriff… not merely worried. I was terrified.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. Terrified. That wasn’t a word you ever thought would cross his lips. Not Jhin, who thrived on danger and chaos, who seemed to relish in the violence and unpredictability of life. You stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I have faced death more times than I can count,” he went on, his voice growing quieter, almost confessional. “I have stared into the abyss and found it rather… beautiful. But seeing you like that, bleeding, unconscious… it shook something loose in me. I felt…” He paused, struggling for the right word. “Vulnerable. Helpless, even. It was as if… for the first time, I had something to lose.”

His admission hung between you, the air heavy with its weight. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "Jhin..." you whispered, unsure of what to say, of how to respond to this raw honesty.

His mask tilted slightly, his eyes still locked onto yours. “So I left,” he confessed, almost too quietly, as if he didn’t want to hear the words himself. “I thought… if I distanced myself, if I severed whatever strange connection had formed between us, I could rid myself of these... weaknesses. These feelings I had no desire to understand."

Your chest tightened. "Feelings?" you repeated, almost in disbelief. “For me?”

He chuckled, a dark, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "You must know, darling, that you occupy my thoughts far more than I’d like to admit. Even when I was far away, I found myself wondering what you were doing, if you were safe… if you were thinking of me, too."

You blinked, trying to process his words. “And that scared you?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice almost trembling. “It terrified me. I have never cared for another’s safety… not like this. Not ever.”

For a moment, you were speechless, the weight of his confession settling over you. You knew Jhin was a man who thrived on control, on the careful choreography of his actions, where every step, every movement, every kill was a deliberate, artistic decision. To admit fear, to admit that he cared, to admit that his feelings for you were strong enough to drive him away… it was an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability from a man who seemed to find beauty in death itself.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “So you ran because you were afraid… of what, exactly?”

His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your face, his mask mere inches from yours. “I was afraid,” he said softly, “of what I might do to keep you safe. Of how much I’d sacrifice… just to ensure you remain unharmed.”

You felt a shiver run through you, your skin prickling at the intensity of his words, at the way he spoke them with such conviction, such quiet desperation. “And now?” you asked, searching his gaze. “Are you still afraid?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly behind the mask, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, might retreat back into that impenetrable shell he wore so well. But then he leaned in closer, so close you could feel his breath against your lips, could see the glint of his eyes through the mask.

“I’m afraid of many things, Sheriff,” he murmured, his voice low and intense, “but losing you… that, I’ve come to realise, is the one fear I cannot live with.”

You felt your breath hitch, your heart racing in your chest. He was so close now, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. "So what now, Jhin?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "What does this mean for us?"

He smiled then, a slow, almost predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “It means, Y/n,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath, “that I am here… and I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

His words hung in the air, a promise and a challenge all at once, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of dread and exhilaration coursing through your veins. He was back, and this time, he was not going to leave.

Jhin lingered close, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes—a dark, endless mystery behind the mask—seemed to study your every reaction. The room was filled with a thick, electric tension, the kind that made the hair on your arms stand up, made your heart pound so loud you were sure he could hear it. You could still feel his gloved hand against your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin as if memorising the curve of your face, the softness of your touch.

Then, he spoke, his voice a low, hushed murmur in the quiet of the night. “Tell me, Sheriff,” he began, his tone almost teasing but layered with something deeper, something raw. “Would you like to see my face?”

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. Your breath hitched, a wave of surprise and curiosity crashing over you. “What?” you whispered, barely finding your voice. “You would…?”

His smile widened ever so slightly, a hint of amusement in the curve of his lips. “After all this time, all these dances we’ve shared… perhaps it’s time to lift the veil, no?” he said, almost coy, yet there was an edge to his words, a challenge.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The idea of seeing Jhin’s face, the real face behind the mask, behind all the careful control and precision, felt… impossibly intimate. It was a glimpse behind the curtain, a moment of vulnerability that you never thought he would allow.

“Why?” you asked softly, your voice barely more than a breath. “Why now?”

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the moon filtering through the window. “Because,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich, “you’ve earned it. You’ve seen more of me than anyone else ever has. And perhaps…” He paused, leaning in a fraction closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “Perhaps, I want you to know me… truly.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and anticipation flooding your senses. This was Jhin, the man who had danced on the razor’s edge between life and death, who had made an art of violence, who had wrapped himself in mystery and shadows. And here he was, offering you a glimpse of the truth behind the mask.

You nodded, almost without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “I want to see you.”

Jhin’s hand left your cheek, his fingers trailing down slowly, tracing the line of your jaw before he reached up to the edge of his mask. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as he hooked his fingers under the mask, pausing for just a moment as if considering the gravity of this decision.

Then, with a slow, fluid motion, he began to lift it.

The room seemed to hold its breath with you, the silence so thick it was almost suffocating. The moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and shadow, and for a moment, the mask caught the light, glinting as he pulled it away from his face.

You felt your breath catch as the mask and goggles came off, revealing the face beneath. At first, it was only shadows, but as he stepped into the sliver of moonlight streaming through your window, you saw him—truly saw him—for the first time.

His skin was pale, his features sharp and angular, like they had been carved from marble. His jawline was strong, his lips curved in a faint, enigmatic smile. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, framed his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal, like a phantom who had stepped out of the darkness and into the light. But it was his eyes that struck you most—dark and intense, carrying a thousand unspoken stories, a mixture of sorrow, mischief, and something else… something softer, something that made your chest tighten.

He looked at you, letting you see him fully, without any of his usual masks or affectations. His gaze was searching, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before, and it made your heart race even faster.

“What do you see, darling?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried across the space between you with a gravity that made you shiver.

You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks flush under his scrutiny. “I see…” you began, your voice faltering as you tried to find the words. “I see you, Jhin. For the first time, I really see you.”

His smile deepened, but there was a softness in his expression that you had never seen before, a hint of something fragile and almost hesitant. “And does it please you?” he asked, his voice laced with a strange mix of vulnerability and curiosity.

You nodded, your breath shaky. “Yes… it does,” you admitted, feeling your pulse quicken at the admission. “More than I thought it would.”

His eyes flickered, something warm and relieved flashing across his face. He moved closer, his face now inches from yours, the moonlight casting a silver glow on his skin, making him look almost otherworldly. “Then,” he whispered, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile, “let me be closer still.”

Before you could react, his hand was on the back of your neck, drawing you in. His lips brushed against yours, gentle at first, testing, as if waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, his kiss deepened, a mix of hunger and restraint, passion and control, a promise of everything he had held back for so long.

As Jhin's lips met yours, you felt electric shocks travelling through your body. His tongue danced with yours, tasting, exploring, taking the sweet nectar your mouth provided. Each moan you let out, each shudder your body released into the kiss, only emboldened him to become more aggressive, his hand on your neck tightening, guiding you in a slow, slippery dance.

Jhin's breath was uneven, a low, husky sound that filled the room with a sense of raw desire. His eyes, dark and intent, never left you as he slowly pulled back, giving you a moment to catch your breath. His gaze roved over your exposed skin, his admiration almost palpable.

"Your taste," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something deeper, "is intoxicating, my dear." his tongue licking his own thin lips to savour the last remnants of your taste.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he trailed his fingers down from your collarbone, where your nightgown had fallen away, to the delicate curve of your ribs. His touch was light, teasing, each stroke making you shiver in response. The sensation of his fingertips against your skin sent electric jolts through your body, heightening every nerve.

His eyes remained locked on yours as he gripped the hem of your nightgown, his fingers gently tugging it upward. The fabric bunched in his hands, exposing more of your body with each deliberate inch. The anticipation in his gaze was almost overwhelming, his eyes dark with a mixture of admiration and lust.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your stomach, the cool air of the night contrasting sharply with the heat of his touch. His touch was both tender and possessive, each movement calculated to draw out every sensation.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, his movements slow and reverent, as if he were undressing a masterpiece. He peeled them down gradually, his eyes lingering on every exposed inch of your skin. As the shorts slipped past your hips, they revealed the black lace panties that clung to your curves, accentuating the soft lines of your body.

His hand, calloused from years of handling weapons, now moved with a careful, almost worshipful reverence. His fingertips slid beneath the lace, brushing against the heat of your core. The sensation was electrifying, and a soft moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch, craving the contact.

Jhin’s breath was warm against your ear as he leaned closer, his voice a velvety whisper. “You are exquisite,” he murmured, his fingers exploring with a mixture of skill and adoration. “Every part of you.”

His touch became more insistent, his fingertips caressing and teasing, drawing out your responses with a practised ease. Each movement was designed to please, to heighten your senses, to make you feel cherished and desired. His touch was both gentle and fervent, a contrast that left you breathless and yearning.

As his fingers continued their delicate exploration, your body responded eagerly, the pleasure building with each stroke. Jhin��s attentiveness was both overwhelming and intoxicating, his every touch a testament to the depth of his desire and the admiration he held for you.

In the dim light of the room, with Jhin’s eyes fixed on you, you felt a profound connection, a merging of desire and emotion that transcended the physical. His worshipful touch was not just about pleasure, but about reverence, about honouring every part of you with a devotion that made the experience all the more intense and unforgettable.

"You're soaked, my sweet," he murmured before lowering his head, capturing a nipple between his teeth, and giving it a gentle tug. Your body convulsed, a moan escaping your lips. The sharp contrast of pain and pleasure left you quivering, tears forming in your eyes, a mix of ecstasy and need.

Suddenly, Jhin released you, his eyes dark with lust, and he stepped back. "Spread your legs, my dear," he commanded, his voice deep and rich.

You obeyed, feeling vulnerable but ready, waiting for him to lead you into the darkest depths of desire.

He knelt before you, looking up at you with a smile as wicked as his deadly aim. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down, baring your most intimate secrets. The scent of your arousal filled the air, making him lick his lips in anticipation.

"You smell divine," he whispered, leaning forward to lick your inner thigh. His warm breath made you shiver, and you gripped the sheets, your knuckles turning white from the pressure.

His tongue traced a path to your swollen clit, flicking it teasingly, and you let out a desperate whimper. He dove in, circling and tasting, his fingers buried deep within your folds, stretching you, his thumb pressing against your entrance, begging to be allowed inside.

You cried out, the pleasure building, the intensity mounting with each flick of his tongue and each stroke of his fingers. A shiver ran through your body as you felt his thumb breach you, the initial discomfort quickly fading into a deep, visceral pleasure.

As Jhin continued to tease your clit with his tongue, his fingers still working their magic inside you, your moans grew more frantic. You clutched the bed sheets, struggling to maintain your grip on reality as the pleasure consumed you. "Oh, Jhin," you breathed, your voice thick with lust, "please, don't stop."

His lips finally left your clit, a wet, sucking noise echoing in the room before he spoke against your hot flesh, "Not until I'm ready," he growled, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate parts.

You arched into his touch as he continued his skilled assault, an avalanche of sensations threatening to bury you alive. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, and you whimpered beneath him, "Please, I can't..."

Jhin's smile was wicked, his fingers moving in a rhythm guaranteed to drive you over the edge. "Can't what, my sweet Y/n?" he taunted, his voice a symphony of lust and control, a lethal combination that left you begging for mercy.

"Don't make me beg," you panted, on the precipice of release, your body trembling.

"You'll beg for everything, my dear," he promised, his words dark yet seductive, "and you'll love it."

Jhin's skill was as precise as his aim, his touch expert, teasing and tormenting you until you could no longer contain yourself. "Jhin," you screamed, your release washing over you, your body convulsing as your orgasm shook you to your core.

He pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his lips, his eyes gleaming with desire. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice a dark, sinister promise. With trembling hands, you cupped his cheeks, hunger burning in your eyes, craving the sensation of him—inside you, completing you.

With those words, the floodgates opened. Your body convulsed, your release crashing through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath, your world reduced to nothing but the feeling of his touch as you rode the waves of ecstasy.

Jhin pushed you onto the bed, his gaze still dark and predatory, but there was a tenderness in his eyes, an unspoken concern that you might flee. He pinned you against the mattress, his body a heavy weight, demanding submission. "Do you want me, my dear?" he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "Do you want to feel the full force of my desire?"

Your eyes met his, pleading, your desire as apparent as the flush on your cheeks. "Yes," you breathed, reaching up to claw at the buttons of his leather suit.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Then beg me."

A thrill of arousal coursed through you as you gave yourself to his demand. "Please, Jhin, take me. I'm at your mercy. I need you inside me."

A wicked grin spread across his face, and he pulled away, stripping out of his clothes with a swiftness that left you panting, watching as the fabric pooled around his feet.

He revealed a body cased in sinew and muscle, he was a creature of shadow and death, but in this moment, he was yours. Jhin crawled onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, each movement deliberate, each breath heavy with lust. "Do you still want me, my sweet?"

When his manhood finally came into focus, you couldn't help but gasp. It was a sight to behold: thick, veiny, and standing proudly at attention. A small drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip, glistening in the moonlight, a testament to his arousal. The sheer size of it left you both impressed and daunted, your wetness increasing at the thought of accommodating his girth.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice little more than a ragged exhale.

Jhin's eyes followed your gaze, taking pride in the effect he had on you. He couldn't help but smirk at the look of awe on your face. The contrast of his violent demeanour and your endearment to him was a fascinating dynamic.

Positioning himself between your thighs, he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, a look of hunger and determination in his eyes. He began to apply pressure, slowly breaching your wet folds, and you couldn't help but quiver at the sensation. The forceful, yet controlled nature of his advance left no room for doubt; you were at his mercy, and at this moment, it was all you desired.

He positioned his cock at the entrance of your slick heat and began to push in, a slow, deliberate pace. The pain and pleasure melded into an exquisite symphony, driving you wild with need.

"Fuck," you moaned, your eyes rolling back, as he filled you completely.

"You're so tight," he growled, his hips rocking back and forth, his thrusts slow and deep.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting more, needing him to take you to heights you'd never imagined. "Harder," you demanded, your voice thick with arousal, “Please, Jhin…”

Jhin grinned, his eyes still dark, but a hint of mischief now flickered in their depths. He pulled back, only to slam into you with brutal force, your body shaking from the impact. He began to move faster, your moans filling the room, the bed creaking with each thrust. The combination of the tender and violent, the mix of pain and pleasure, left you dizzy, your body on the edge of release, your back arching, your nails digging into his flesh.

Jhin's grin grew wider, revealing his sharp teeth, as he pulled out of you just enough to tease the edge of your pussy again. His voice was deep and commanding, tinted with a lustful growl as he taunted, "You like that, don't you? Being taken by me so hard, your body begging for more?"

He slammed back into you with reckless abandon, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed, the springs groaning in protest. You couldn't help but let out a loud, guttural moan, your hands instinctively clenching around the sheets. Jhin seized the opportunity to grab your hair, yanking it back roughly, with enough force to make your head snap back, your neck stretching like a ragdoll's.

"Ah, what a good girl," he mocked, feeling your pussy convulse and tighten around his cock, delighting in your discomfort. "That's it, take it all. I'll push you to the brink and beyond."

Jhin's gaze was dark and intense, yet there was a hint of mischief that flickered in his eyes, a dangerous playfulness that made your heart race. The moonlight painted him in silver shadows, accentuating every sharp angle of his face. With a slow, deliberate motion, he closed the distance between you, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch was both tender and possessive, sending a shiver through you. “You wanted to see me,” he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating purr. “Now you have me—completely.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken at his words. “Jhin…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Is this… what you really want?”

He studied you with an intensity that made your breath catch. “What I want,” he said softly, “is to be with you in every possible way. To know that you see me… not just the mask I wear, but everything beneath it.”

As his lips met yours, the kiss was soft at first, exploring, as if he were savouring the moment he had so longed for. His hands roamed over your body with a mixture of reverence and hunger, tracing the curves of your form with an almost artistic precision. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more fervent, as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with a burning intensity.

Your hands moved to his hair, gripping it tightly, pulling him closer, as if you could fuse your bodies together, erase the separation that had been so painfully present for months. Jhin responded with a low growl, his hands tightening around your waist, guiding you with a force that was both demanding and exhilarating.

The room was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths, the shifting of the bed beneath you, and the low, primal sounds of pleasure that escaped both of you. Jhin’s movements were deliberate, each thrust a calculated push toward something beyond the physical, something deeply emotional and profound. His lips trailed along your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and his voice, a low, growling whisper in your ear.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and possessiveness. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now.”

You arched your back, your body moving in rhythm with his, every touch, every kiss, every caress pushing you closer to the edge. The combination of tenderness and intensity was almost overwhelming, leaving you breathless and dizzy, your mind swirling with sensations and emotions.

Jhin’s hands gripped your hips with a fierce possessiveness, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, something almost vulnerable. “Tell me,” he urged, his voice a low, throaty command. “Tell me what you want.”

“Jhin…” you gasped, your voice a mixture of longing and desperation. “I want you—just you. I want everything you’re willing to give.”

His response was a fierce, primal sound, and he moved with a renewed intensity, his body pushing into yours with a relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a promise, a declaration of the depth of his feelings, the depth of the connection that had been building between you for so long.

The room was filled with the slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh, the air ripe with the scent of sweat, sex, and lust. The painful tug on your hair, the unrelenting force of his thrusts, it all compounded, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. Your body trembled, a needy whimper escaping your lips, pleading for release.

"Don't think you can find solace there yet, my pet," Jhin warned, releasing your hair, only to grasp your hips, his fingertips digging into your tender skin. He leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear, whispering, "I decide when you cum." Your back arched, your nails digging into his chest, scratching furiously, leaving red lines in their wake. The pleasure-pain raging within you was maddening. Jhin leaned back, admiring his creation, the sight of you, writhing and desperate.

"Now, for your reward," he threatened, a wicked gleam in his eye. He increased the pace, every stroke filling you, pushing you higher, closer to the edge. "Come for me, my darling," he snarled, his voice hoarse with need. "Let me feel you around my cock as you shatter into a million pieces for me."

He began to thrust with every ounce of his strength, your moans echoing through the room, mingling with the creaks of the bed. It was only a matter of time before you succumbed to the overwhelming sensations, your pussy pulsating around him, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Your nails bit into his flesh, pulling marks of ownership, as you cried out his name, your release clutching at his cock like a vice. Jhin let out a roar, feeling your pussy spasm and milk his cock, his own climax imminent. With one final, powerful thrust, he filled you with his seed, flooding your insides with his hot, sticky release.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting heavily, your bodies still joined, the strings of your passion entwined. Jhin's grip loosened, allowing you to slip away from his hold, leaving him buried inside you, basking in the afterglow of your union.

As the final waves of pleasure subsided, you lay there, breathless and sated, your body feeling both exhausted and profoundly connected. The room was cloaked in a serene quiet, save for the soft, laboured breaths that filled the space. Jhin's touch, once feverish and insistent, softened now into a gentle caress.

He moved with a deliberate grace, his fingers brushing against your skin with a careful reverence as if he were afraid to cause you any further discomfort. His eyes, dark and intense, were filled with an emotion you had rarely seen before—an almost tender concern.

“Are you alright?” Jhin asked, his voice softer than you had ever heard it, a trace of genuine worry underlying the smooth tones. His hands, so skilled in violence, now moved with a delicate precision, easing the aching muscles of your body with gentle touches.

You winced slightly as he adjusted your position, the soreness evident in your expression. “I’m… I’m okay,” you replied, your voice a mere whisper, feeling the lingering traces of both pleasure and pain. “Just a bit sore.”

Jhin’s fingers hovered over a particularly bruised spot on your side, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry if I caused you discomfort,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unexpected sincerity. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and lingering desire. “It’s alright,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek, your fingers lingering against the warmth of his skin. “It was… intense. But I liked it.”

A faint, almost regretful smile touched Jhin’s lips as he continued to soothe your bruised body. “I should have been more careful,” he admitted, his voice tinged with self-reproach. “I was… consumed by my own desires and forgot to consider your well-being.” He leaned closer, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You are remarkable,” he murmured, his voice filled with an almost reverent admiration. “Even in pain, you are beautiful.”

He reached for a soft cloth and dampened it with cool water, then gently began to dab at the areas where your skin was reddened or bruised. The coolness of the cloth against your body felt soothing, and you sighed softly, leaning into his touch. His movements were careful and deliberate, each stroke of the cloth a gentle act of care.

“You’ve given me more than I ever expected,” Jhin continued, his voice steady and filled with emotion. “In your vulnerability, you’ve shown me a depth of connection I didn’t know I could experience.”

You looked up at him, seeing the genuine care in his eyes, a tenderness that contrasted sharply with his usually aloof demeanour. “I’m glad,” you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “I’ve felt more connected to you tonight than ever before. It’s… it’s something I didn’t think I needed, but now I can’t imagine being without it.”

Jhin’s fingers paused as he looked at you, his expression softening further. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said quietly. “I’ve come to realise that what I feel for you goes beyond mere desire. It’s something profound, something I never thought I would allow myself to feel.”

He finished with the cloth and set it aside, his eyes never leaving yours. “I will be here for you,” he promised, his voice filled with resolve. “In every way that you need, I will be here.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek tenderly. “Thank you, Jhin,” you said softly. “For everything.”

He took your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips. “No, my dear,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with emotion. “Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life. For letting me see you, truly see you.”

The room was filled with a peaceful silence as Jhin continued to care for you, his touch gentle and attentive. As you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his affection, you felt a deep sense of contentment and connection, knowing that despite the intensity and the pain, you had found something truly meaningful in each other.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting Frontier Dusk with hues of gold and crimson. The town was winding down, its usual noise giving way to the quiet hum of evening preparations. You’d hoped for a peaceful end to your day, but the radio crackled with an urgent call—a disturbance at the old warehouse on the edge of town.

Arriving at the scene, you were greeted by a disheartening sight. The warehouse, usually an abandoned relic of better times, was now the stage for Jhin’s latest performance. Blood stained the concrete floor, a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings, and at the center of the chaos stood Jhin, looking every bit the enigmatic artist he fancied himself to be. His coat was missing, replaced by a fitted leather outfit that clung to his lean, muscular frame. The sight of him in his element was simultaneously captivating and deeply unsettling.

You took a steadying breath, pushing past your emotions. “Jhin,” you called out, your voice sharp and commanding as you approached him. “You know why I’m here. Hands behind your back.”

Jhin turned his head slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mixture of amusement and something darker, more dangerous. A slow smile spread across his lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his gaze. “Ah, darling. Always a pleasure to see you,” he purred, his voice smooth like velvet. “Though, I must admit, this isn’t exactly the ideal setting for our meetings.”

You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, focusing on the task at hand. “This isn’t a social call. You’re under arrest.”

His smile widened, an almost playful gleam in his eye. “Under arrest?” He said, his tone teasing, as if your stern demeanour were a mere game to him. “Well, well,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. “I see you’re finally ready to make things official.”

You straightened, trying to regain your composure. “Jhin,” you said, your tone firm, “you’ve made quite a mess today. I’m here to arrest you. This time, you’re coming with me.”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Ah, but Sheriff,” he purred, “you’re looking particularly… prepared. I must say, it’s quite a sight. I didn’t realise you were so eager to see me in cuffs.”

His eyes gleamed with a playful light, and he took a step closer, his gaze raking over you with an appreciation that made your cheeks flush. “Though,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I must admit, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be so… intent on restraining me. Are you sure it’s the cuffs you’re after? Or is it something else entirely?”

You shot him a look, trying to maintain your stern demeanour despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “Jhin, this isn’t a game. I’m here to do my job.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and melodious. “Of course, of course,” he said, his tone mocking a serious note. “But you must admit, there’s a certain thrill in the chase. And now that you’re finally ready to catch me, I can’t help but wonder if the excitement is more about the arrest or about the... close proximity.”

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You’re incorrigible,” you said, your voice tinged with both frustration and a reluctant amusement. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Before you could react, he moved with a fluid grace, closing the distance between you in an instant. He cupped your face in his blood-stained hands, his touch surprisingly warm and intimate. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both unexpected and electric, leaving you momentarily breathless and disoriented.

The kiss was over almost as soon as it began. Jhin pulled back, his expression a mix of satisfaction and mischief. “I do believe,” he said, his voice low and laced with amusement, “that I’ve made my escape.”

You blinked, still trying to process the intensity of the moment. “Jhin—” you started, but he was already gliding toward the exit, his movements as fluid and controlled as ever.

“Don’t worry, love,” he called back over his shoulder, his voice echoing with a playful taunt. “I’ll see you tonight. And I assure you, it will be a rendezvous you won’t soon forget.”

You watched, both exasperated and oddly charmed, as Jhin disappeared into the shadows. Shaking your head with a mix of frustration and amusement, you muttered to yourself, “Only Jhin would manage to turn an arrest into a date.”,Shaking your head, you turned your attention to the aftermath of his latest escapade. The warehouse was a mess, and you had work to do. As you began to clean up and sort through the evidence, a wry smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

#khada jhin #jhin #jhin league of legends #jhin x reader #high noon jhin #jhin x you #league of legends

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kevin--of-desert-bluffs · 9 months

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Wtnv quick rundown - Live Show - All Hail

Check the rest of my rundowns here, or by using the names in my pinned!

Sticks and stones may break your bones. That is just one of a number of things that sticks and stones may do. Welcome to Night Vale.

Featuring the voices of Meg Bashwiner as Deb and Caitlyn, Hal Lublin as Steve Carlsberg, Joseph Fink as Josh Crayton, Symphony Sanders as Tamika Flynn, Desiree Burch as Pamela Winchell, Kates Jones as Michelle Nyugen, Emma Frankland as Sheriff Sam and Jeffery Cranor as himself/Intern Jeffery.

The radio station is being 'visited' by the Glow Cloud, which is hovering overhead. It starts to drop dead cows on the station. Cecil, assuming they must have disappointed the Glow Cloud somehow, leads everyone in receiting the Glow Cloud Oath of Fealty.

The Oath doesn't work and everyone listening to the broadcast is being gripped with Glow Cloud worshipping mass hysteria. Cecil insists they do it again. He then ponders why everyone but himself is affected, coming to the realisation that he's been affected this whole time without realising it, only believing himself to be talking normally. In fact there's a recording of him worshipping and chanting to the Glow Cloud all the way back to when Deb was there.

The Glow Cloud then directly speaks through Cecil. It states that it does not desire worship, but communication, which it can't do unless it takes over a human body. Every time it tries to communicate people start to worship and grovel which is not the desired reaction at all.

It goes on to says that instead of worrying about being good to the Glow Cloud everyone should be good to each other instead. In fact the oath is supposed to be a oath to be good to each other and it also suggests saying all hail as a casual greeting not as worship.

It also states that the dropping animals thing is a medical condition and that the animals are already dead when they drop from it, as it actually loves animals especially turtles and would never harm them.

When Cecil is released from control it appears he believes he was going through his broadcast as normal and has learnt nothing from what was said (probably not even hearing it).

Weather: “See Me” by Mal Blum

Deb is here with her sister Caitlyn, doing an ad for Hilton hotels. She also apparently has family members called Sean, Connor and Megan. Caitlyn says that her 'kid sister' Deb is actually the weird one, because she spends so much time with humans. Meanwhile, Caitlyn only spends time with humans if she wants to drain their life energy. Deb says she's always stressed out when her sister comes to town.

Steve Carlsberg is there in the station as he is banks VP of community outreach and there to talk about the bank sponsored NV Jazz Fest. Cecil is not happy about this. Cecil is also surprised that Steve is VP of a bank as he apparently has trouble remembering his own house number. Steve says he has always been good at finance and even minored in counting, being able to count absurdly high. He offers to demonstrate this but Cecil interrupts him and gets him back on track talking about the Jazz Fest. Steve says that the Jazz Fest will involve literally running out into the desert to try and find jazz which will result in them being attacked by wild animals (especially birds). Steve hugs Cecil before he leaves.

Josh Crayton(16) is there, in the form of a '30 something podcast writer' to talk about his experiences as a student under the Glow Cloud. Josh says that the Glow Cloud seems to be a pretty good admin and that he's friends with the Glow Cloud's child.

Tamika is on the show, talking passionately as always about the power of books as physical bludgeoning instruments and tools against being easily controlled by the Glow Cloud by reading them. She has plans to get rid of the Glow Cloud, but they don't seem to account for the Glow Cloud being a cloud and seem to be more about what she thinks will be cool.

Pamela is there to give an emergency press conference about the Glow Cloud. She apparently has a crush on Deb (who according to Pamela is a great dresser). She rambles in her usual way, not saying much of sense and claiming she's a hologram.

Michelle's segment is on the same subject as Steve's as her part is a bonus track. Here we learn she went to business school, is only running the shop as art and doesn't take cash any more because she doesn't believe in capitalism. She insists she doesn't hate people, just dislikes them and is frustrated that they don't what good music is. Cecil likes Ed Sheeran. Michelle leaves, saying that she and Maureen are going to spray paint some birds. Like, actual birds.

Sheriff Sam barges in and tells us about how they use lasers to mark androids as theives should they try to steal engagement rings, which they are apparently fond of doing. Cecil engagement ring apparently has a stone in the shape of a beaker and gold filigree wrapped around which says 'I'm very interested in science these days'. They apparently haven't even noticed the Glow Cloud before Cecil points it out.

Intern Jeffery has apparently invented time travel and uses it to erase his fears, including preventing the invention of the aeroplane and eventually preventing his own existence so he won't die as an intern.

(There's also apparently segments with Carlos, Dana, Earl and Melony but I don't have access to them sorry).

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv quick rundown #wtnv all hail

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sheriff-caitlyn · 2 years

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The two officers - one a fleetfooter, the other who began as a clerk - were both somewhat startled by what the sheriff had to say to them earlier in the week, but Vi’s presence had been a reassurance. This second meeting is much milder, though both Roadwarden Axyl and Officer Tale are still sitting stiffly and exchanging nervous glances.

Caitlyn speaks, slowly, measured, giving the two officers time to ask questions and take notes. Vi interjects, now and then, and Caitlyn will occasionally have to correct Vi or point out that ‘that is not true’ or ‘do not take that advice’. Nearly two decades of partnership have made even their interruptions and banter very smooth, and indeed even integral to this whole meeting.

At least, until Vi’s hexphone chimes. Caitlyn dryly lets the officers know that, while individuals in the Commissary are expected to be working during their working hours, they are still citizens, and thus --

“Cait, check your phone.”

‘Cait’. Not ‘cupcake’. Caitlyn glances at Vi, frowning, then reaches into her coat pocket. Her own hexphone is on silent, but yes, it is thrumming.

“Oh.” She says. And then, as she stands, louder and more alarmed. “Oh!”

“Can I drive?”

“Absolutely not.” Caitlyn puts her phone away, and addresses Axyl and Tale. “I am afraid we are going to have to cut things short for the moment. Resuming the same time tomorrow?”

“Or later in the week.” Vi is already grabbing her and Caitlyn’s coats and scarves. “C’mon, c’mon, we gotta go!”

“Yes, quite.” Alarm, but excitement. Caitlyn is almost smiling. “Thank you,” she tells the officers. “I will be in touch.”

“Cait! Now! Get movin’!”

Caitlyn turns to hurry after Vi, who is already bolting for the stairs because the elevator won’t be fast enough for either of them. Caitlyn makes up for her few-seconds-delay tardiness by driving a little faster through town than the snow might permit. A little skidding seems to be well within the accepted norm, even if she does slow down to make sure she parks correctly.

Aaron is waiting for them in the hospital lobby, for once in recent months with his eyes bright and a smile returned to his face. The three of them take the stairs at a rush, heading to the maternity wing.

“You think I’m gonna be an aunt, or an uncle?” Vi asks, as they make for the room marked with Kelly’s name.

#caitlyn #vi #piltover's finest #coming to a close #aaron #kelly #the future begins with us

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alien-hybreed · 4 months

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Character Profile: Daisy Sofen

Story: Overtime

Species: Human (formerly), Alien Hybrid (current)

Appearance: Human Form -

Alien Form - 8'6", teal scales, clawed hands and feet, long tentacles in place of hair, human jaw visible within a secondary outer jaw.

Personality: Dutiful and possessing a strong sense of order and responsibility, these qualities persist after her transformation. Above all else, Daisy is persistent.

Occupation: Senior Sergeant - Woodhurst Sheriff's Office

Distinctive Features: Turquoise coloured skin in Alien form. Lost her arm and regrew it. That arm is distinctly larger and sporting thickened exoskeleton after it's regeneration.

Motivation: As a human, Daisy took the safety and preservation of her town and its people as her top priority.

Upon transforming, this pivots to safeguarding and serving Laura and the Hive. Without Laura's continuous influence, Daisy finds herself looking towards her own preservation and interests.

Relationships: Laura (Hive 'Mother'), Rhiannon (Hive 'Sister'), Caitlyn (Hive 'Sister'), Natalie (Hive 'Sister'), Tiff (Hive 'Sister'), (Spoiler) Hybrid X (Hive Maiden) Sheriff Jasper Cornell (Drone), Inmate 01 (Drone)

Status: Travelling Abroad

Likes: Basketball, hiking, sailing, dogs, supporting small business owners

Dislikes: people who endanger others, corporate chains, alcohol

Favourite Snack: Fresh, hot cinnamon donuts. Yes, she's well aware of how clichè that is, don't make a big deal out of it or she'll get real mad.

About: Daisy comes from a long line of Woodshurst police officers. Like her father, grandfather and great grandfather, the safety of the town and responsibility of the badge and uniform are everything to her. Daisy works hard to validate herself in the eyes of her peers and her father. A quality that Laura is quick to hijack and redirect towards serving the alien Hive.

As one of Laura's Hive Maidens, Daisy becomes her right-hand. Her Enforcer and harbinger, furthering the Hive's interests by subverting the local police station and working to direct hostile attention towards Rhiannon and her aberrant Hive.

Daisy is given more autonomy than her sisters because Laura trusts her dutiful nature. However, the longer Daisy is away from Laura, her conditioning begins to fracture - allowing her to consider possibilities outside of Laura's design. Coupled with an emergency adaptation following a near-death experience, Daisy becomes something of a wildcard amongst the hybrids...

#My writing #My ocs #Alien #alien transformation #alien parasite #alien breeding #monster transformation #transformation

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lawfulbullets · 5 months

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Caitlyn Verses

Main Her Main verse as mentioned in her bio.

Arcane Follows the events of Arcane (season 1). She is a bit younger in this verse.

Modern Caitlyn is a criminal investigator who solves cases in Piltover. She is focused on solving mysteries rather than enforcing “justice”.

High Noon As the sheriff of the town, Caitlyn is bound to keep her people safe from the threatening horrors passing through.

Pulsefire - To be added! -

#Multi-universal law enforcement (Caitlyn verses)

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weltraum-vaquero · 2 years

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You could have it all (my empire of dirt)

1. this town ain’t big enough for the both of us (but this bed is)

[Chapter 1] ↠ [Chapter 2] ↠ [Chapter 3] ↠ [Chapter 4] ↠ [Chapter 5] (coming soon)

[AO3 link]

Western AU

18+

Jayce Talis x GN AFAB Reader

Word count: 12.5k+

Synopsis: Bounty hunter Jayce Talis should know better than to fall for his target. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

Tags/warnings: western AU, face sitting, praise, degradation, restraints, nipple play, blowjobs, coming untouched, multiple orgasms, overtsimulation, come eating, slight dacryphilia, Jayce being a desperate little cowboy, reader taking advantage of said desperation, Caitlyn being an annoying little sister (affectionate)

Notes: Happy birthday to beloved @glass-instrument . This one's for you, for hyping this fic up to no end, discussing the outline with me even when it was just the equivalent of a fucked up little tangled ball of yarn bouncing around inside my head, and for being as insane about cowboy Jayce as I am. Love you Marcel, and I hope you have a lovely, lovely birthday :3

Many many MANY thanks to Skade and Bri for reading this bad boy even in its unpolished stages and screaming to me about it. You have no idea how much you guys helped

Jayce Talis takes pride in his steely resolve.

Where lesser men would have given up, would have let outlaws continue their wretched ways, he has persisted. Has caught criminal after criminal, served justice where it had been desperately needed.

Sure, Mayoress Kiramman’s generous sponsorship has certainly played a part in Jayce’s efficacy as a bounty hunter through the years, but he likes to think himself responsible for most of his success in the profession.

His father — a talented, humble gunsmith, and the designer of the famed Talis rifle — had started it all.

The rifle had been something revolutionary for its time. Forty-nine inches in length, maximum firing range a glorious fifteen hundred yards, boasting a previously unachieved accuracy.

At just six years old, Jayce remembers his father putting it in his hands for the first time, laying out multiple empty beer bottles a short distance away, and covering Jayce’s ears, encouraging him to take his first shot. Jayce remembers falling on his ass from the recoil, all while also falling madly in love with marksmanship.

At nineteen, Jayce remembers steering his family’s carriage down the road leading out of Piltover, remembers the constant clatter of cans and jars at any harsh bump under the creaky wheels.

He remembers a gunshot. Just one, then too many to count.

He remembers three masked, armed men ambushing the two Kiramman stagecoach guards, remembers how quickly it had been over. In less than thirty seconds time, only one outlaw was left standing, and both guards had been killed — one shot clean through the forehead, the other still gurgling on his own blood. He remembers the stagecoach coming to a sudden halt, remembers the warning shot fired up into the clear afternoon sky, remembers Mayoress Kiramman stumbling out of the carriage, little Caitlyn’s hand clasped tightly in hers.

He remembers how clammy his palms were as he slid the Talis rifle off his shoulder. He remembers trembling while lining up his shot.

He doesn’t remember anything after that.

A blur of shoulder-pats and champagne toasts at parties he had never thought a cow wrangler could get invited to, more money than he’d ever seen being pressed into his hands, and getting hired by the Kirammans to protect their daughter.

From there, it had been a slippery slope from just simply guarding her (frankly, Caitlyn had grown into a young woman more than capable of handling a weapon now — no need for Jayce anymore), to being sent out on increasingly difficult manhunts after Sheriff Grayson had passed and left a gaping hole where justice had once reigned.

With Piltover’s growing prosperity in the past decade, many had set their sights on the riches of its citizens — the Kiramman family’s even more so. Outlaws that dared approaching their beloved town needed to be weeded out, and fast.

You’re just another name on that list.

(Y/n) (l/n), wanted in three different states, charged with an egregious amount of horse and cattle thieving, and, if he is to believe the rumors, you’d pulled off three train robberies in Demacia, all by yourself.

He’s no fool, though. Or at least not enough of one to buy that. Demacian lawmen are reputable for their numbers and tenacity; unlikely, truly, that you’d pulled off even one train robbery and had lived to see another day.

He’ll give you some credit, though — you’re tough as shit to track down, probably his most elusive bounty to date. Either that, or the Kirammans’ paranoia has reached new bounds, to send him after someone that’s long left Piltover.

After well over a week of camping out in the wilderness and scrupulously scouting out the entirety of Piltover’s untamed periphery, Jayce decides it’s time for a moment of reprieve. A saloon nearby seems fit for the job. He’ll have a drink, take a bath, and finally get to sleep in a real bed.

Yeah, that sounds good.

And it is. The bath is heavenly, and the beer, straight out of the cellar and delightfully cold, soothes the soul.

The saloon is comfortably half-full, too; not bustling enough to be suffocating, not empty enough to creep out whatever soul dares pushing past the wooden doors. A comfortable lull paces all conversations, mellows them down enough for them to blur into a background hum.

Until a stranger catches his eye.

In a far corner of the saloon at a small table, you swirl some whiskey in your glass, dejectedly staring at it. There’s something familiar about you, something Jayce can’t put his finger on.

Your face — the most alluring he has seen in all his years — comes into clear view as you raise your chin, meet his gaze.

And he’d consider it a challenge in normal circumstances, for someone to look him dead in the eye from across the room, would consider them someone looking for a brawl. Someone worth avoiding.

The way you look him down — slow, deliberate in your path down his sturdy frame — then back up, lingering this time, before you finally look at his face again…

He’s not avoiding you, if he can help it.

Not just because you look at him like you’re going to squeeze every last drop of pleasure out of his willing body, but because you’re drawn on the neatly folded bounty poster in his satchel.

Well, maybe not you. The drawing certainly hasn’t gotten your lips (or your nose, for that matter) quite right. Jayce has stared at it long enough for it to be burned into his memory, and you, in the flesh, do not compare to it.

No, you’re far better.

Far easier on the eyes.

Maybe they just have an unfortunate face, Jayce deludes himself, maybe it’s not even them that’s (l/n).

That would make wanting you, would make the heat stirring in his stomach, in his chest, would make the need to touch you far more bearable.

He aches to give you the benefit of the doubt a little more than he wants to find out if it’s really you.

As he goes to stare at your lips again — just to confirm that they do, in fact, not resemble the ones on the bounty poster at all — he finds them already quirked up in a smirk.

Your eyes rest on him so intensely that he wonders if his bar stool is on fire right below him.

Fuck. You’ve caught him staring.

Jayce hurries to glance down at the near empty beer bottle in his hand instead, as if that’s going to keep your chair from creaking as you get up, or your spurs from jingling with every step you take closer.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Another beer for the pretty boy.”

Coins rattle as they hit the table, Jayce jumps in his seat enough for his wide brimmed leather hat to tip backwards. Thankfully not off his head entirely, but definitely enough to reveal his face to you, fully.

You seem delighted by the sight. And he’d be lying if he claimed some voyeuristic part of him didn’t enjoy being exposed to you — he catches himself wanting to bare even more of himself, just to see in what way you’d wreck it. Wreck him.

Jayce draws in a steadying breath.

Time to end his dilemma before it grows.

“What’s your name?” The words nearly refuse to come out. Not because his mouth is so dry they stick to his tongue, or because his heart‘s beating so fast his throat won’t open. Those aren’t helping, but he’s long mastered the art of pushing past his anxiety. His reticence is the result of something entirely new.

He just really doesn’t want to know. It’s his sense of duty asking the question; if it were up to him, he’d forget both his and your names, just to have you.

Jayce hopes you’ll lie.

You laugh.

It’s not menacing by any means, but clearly amused no less.

“You really have no idea how this works,” you tell him. The bartender sets down the beer you’d ordered in front of Jayce, scoops up the coins. He wonders if you can see right through him, into his depraved thoughts, and how much they worsen when you tap your leather gloved fingers against the sticky counter. “I paid for your drink, I ask the questions.”

If you had any fucking idea how his insides coil at your commanding tone.

“Your name, first. Or will I have to call you pretty boy for the rest of the night?”

Oh?

He’s not opposed to that. But he’d rather not give you that sort of ammunition against him. Not yet.

“W-well, uh…” Feeling very much like he’s making a deal with the devil or signing his will, Jayce still takes the beer, brings it to his lips. There’s a tremor to his hands, and he hates it. You, quite the opposite. “Jayce works, too.”

As he drinks his beer, you drink him in, too.

And more than that, you look like you’re just about ready to devour him, boots and all, as you take your gloves off and fold them into your satchel.

“Jayce,” you repeat, like it tastes sweet, and like you can’t wait to sink your teeth so deep into his flesh that you’ll burn your gums on the heat within. Ravenous.

He thinks he manages to conceal the shiver that crawls down his spine — until your smile says otherwise. More daring now, you eye the generous expanse of his tanned chest revealed by his loosely buttoned shirt, the muscle on his forearms, the gun belt hanging off his hips.

“Quite the set you’ve got on you,” you lilt, eyes fixed on his chest, while your hand, tantalizing, walks two fingers up his thigh, coming to rest at the pistol on his hip. Jayce realizes you meant his guns. Of course you had.

Your touch sears — into his skin, his memory, his soul, and he craves more. Craves to know the taste of your skin until it’s stuck between his molars, craves to have the scent of you lingering in his sinuses. He wants you in every crevice of his being.

Heavens above, he’s fucked.

You ease two fingers under the leather strap securing the holster to his thigh, squeeze the meat below indulgently.

He can’t help the way he melts, can’t help the involuntary parting of his thighs, can’t help the way his face and pit of his stomach catch fire when you hum, pleased.

Grinning with mischief, you let go, and Jayce only has half the mind to stifle a whimper. His body chases your touch, lifting his thigh to press into your hand, but you’re quick. Quicker than he’d like, pulling away, fingers hooked under the thin leather strap, before you let it snap back into place, and revel in the surprised hitch of his breath.

Damn your name, his responsibilities, damn everything.

Jayce doesn’t think he’s ever wanted and, in turn, felt this wanted, and you’ve barely dedicated your attention to him for less than a minute. He’s either getting desperate — which isn’t far-fetched, considering the last night he’d spent with someone has been years ago — or you’ve got him under a spell. A terrible one, if the way you bite back a smile on your bottom lip is anything to go by.

You lean in until your hair tickles his exposed collarbone. He prays to everything above that his body hasn’t yet reacted to you, because there would be little room to hide it under the taut, coarse material of his blue jeans.

“Never seen one of these before,” you say. Swallowing, he straightens up as you wrap your fingers around the carved wooden grip of his pistol, pulling it from its holster slowly.

“Modified,” Jayce clarifies.

It really shouldn’t feel so intimate to watch you flip it in your hands, to watch nimble fingers as they trace the muzzle, sliding down the engraved barrel, thumbing at the hammer.

His depraved mind pictures them around the girth of his cock instead, thumbing at his leaking slit, and that alone is enough to have his dick twitching with interest.

“Only a pair of talented hands could have done such a mighty fine job,” you comment, expertly spinning the weapon in your hand before you holster it back. Your touch lingers at the leather – a gathering of courage, or perhaps granting him reprieve – before it comes to grasp at his hip through his jeans, thumb brushing the crest of it.

He wonders how much longer he can keep his growing arousal from you.

“I did,” Jayce replies, shivering.

“Oh?” Your head tilts as you look at him, surprised and enticed all at once. Your touch is unrelenting, strokes at his hipbone more boldly. “Makes me wonder what else those hands of yours can do.”

Jayce is not quick to rush to conclusions, but the tone of your voice has his entire body revolting against the brush of his own clothes, against the cold bottle resting at his lips instead of your warm, soft mouth. You want him, little to no doubt about it.

And he needs you; he’s in far above his head to pretend otherwise.

“Anything you’d want,” Jayce finds himself blurting out. “Anywhere–” his voice cuts off when you squeeze at his hip, drawing him a little further off the stool as you move to stand. His hard-on presses into the meat of your thigh shamelessly, mind swirling with arousal when you flex it against him. Jayce looks away, whimpering under his breath at the blissful contact. Finishing a sentence has never been this difficult, but through sheer willpower alone, he manages. “A-anywhere you’d let me.”

You simply hum, obviously pleased with his suggestion as you draw your hand up his side, over his strong shoulder, letting it rest easily below his chin. Your fingertips are firm below his jaw, easing his face – and his gaze – upwards, to you.

“Desperate to please, ain’tcha?” you smile, press the back of your ring and pinky at his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Under all that, though, I reckon you just yearn to be taken care of.”

He nearly chokes on his own spit, simply looks up at you with a kind of flabbergasted surprise that tells you your guess was right.

“How’d you–” He stops in his tracks when you simply raise your brow at him, and he remembers he’s not the one asking the questions tonight. If he has to play by that rule just to have your hands on him by the end of the night, he’ll do it. “I mean– Jesus, yes. Please. If– if you’re willing.”

Your smile grows, you let go of his arm to lean in.

“Darlin’, I’ll soothe aches you had no idea you even had.”

You inch your fingertips up the bottom of his canvas shirt, grinning when you find what you’re looking for. You don’t venture far enough for it to be more than a flirtatious touch, an insinuation of how you’d treat him. Dichotomous, you’re gentle and salacious all at once as you run your thumb against the grains of hair on his lower stomach. It takes a great deal of effort not to curl against you and unbutton his pants right then and there. Even remembering to breathe comes as its own challenge; his lungs ache with the first fill of air after a punched out sigh that lasted far too long for his own good.

Your fingertips stop in their path when you stumble across a soft, sensitive, hairless patch of skin, trace it slowly. Jayce can almost feel the gears turning in your head, wondering if you can pinpoint the carved scar across his abdomen for what it resulted from: a shallow slash of a knife.

“What do you do for a living, Jayce?” you prod, tone suddenly shifting, curious.

“Uhm, cows,” he clarifies, quite stupidly. “I mean, n-not–! I don’t… I’m a cow wrangler.”

Technically not a lie. He was a cow wrangler, before he ended up having to hunt the likes of you for a living.

You don’t quite seem to buy it, burning touch still nudging at his scar, intimate and invasive in your exploration. Against better judgement, he leans into it. “Seems you had to deal with a quite rowdy bunch of ‘em.”

“Y-yeah,” he rushes to assure, wonders if, and (more importantly) what you’re suspecting. Wonders, for the first time in his life, how far his name has made it among outlaws. “I’m– I’m good at handling… anything rowdy.”

Seemingly put at ease by his reply, you chuckle, bracing yourself against his hips as you lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear with your words. Jayce shivers so hard he fears his spurs are going to start jingling.

“Are you, now?” Your words, half a challenge and half a taunt, have heat prickling at the back of his neck. “I’d like to see you prove that.”

Denying you – or himself – would be a crime. And he’s not the kind of person to commit one.

“Yes, I— yes. Now?”

“Now.”

You give the bottom of his chin a meaningful little tap that urges him to stand; he eagerly follows, feeling very much like a dog being taught a new trick. He can’t decide if he loves it or hates it.

“Can I…” Jayce swallows, aware he’s going against the rule you’d established, but he needs to have this, at least. Needs to know if he’s going through with the worst possible idea he’s ever had and fucking his target, or, by some miracle, having the luckiest night of his life, and taking the world’s most attractive stranger to bed. “Before I do, can I know your name? Please?”

Your grin sends a rattling shiver up his spine. “You don’t need to beg,” you say, your voice falling into a playful, decadent lilt. “Not for my name.”

“So, what do I have to do?” He hates how helpless he sounds, hates how he can feel his guts shrink with shame when you laugh, mockingly almost.

But the sourness doesn’t last long — not when you squeeze his bicep and flash him a smile.

“You can just pay for the room we’ll be sharing tonight.”

Jayce has never shoved his hand into his satchel this enthusiastically. Jittery from excitement alone, he slaps the bills onto the bar counter, barely gets out the words “room for two, please”, snatches the room key from the barkeep the moment it’s within reach.

It’s only once he’s handed you the key and watches your ass while you lead the way that he realizes he’s stopped caring if you’re really his target. He should count himself lucky, really, that out of everyone in that wretched saloon, you’ve handpicked him when you could’ve easily had anyone. What does it matter who you are, who he is, if you both want each-other? What does it matter how fucked up tomorrow’ll be, if he can have you tonight?

A full body shiver shakes him when you slot the key in and twist the lock open.

“I’m (y/n),” you say suddenly, peeking at him over your shoulder. “I can’t leave you without a name to call out for the rest of the night, can I?”

His stomach has never sunk so hard, his heart has never soared this high.

Fuck.

It’s you. No doubt about it.

As your hand finds his wrist and you tug him into the room, his gut twists with both heat and an impending sense of doom; he shouldn’t.

Every fiber in his brain protests against every fiber in his body, he really shouldn't.

Shouldn’t let you kick the door shut behind yourself and walk him to the nearest wall. Shouldn’t cling to your leather coat. Shouldn’t let you nose your way under his jaw. Shouldn’t tilt his head to accommodate you. Shouldn’t choke on a whine so high that it stings in his throat.

But he does.

He’s always been a terrible liar, and now is no different. He can’t even lie to himself, much less to you, about how he aches for you.

And maybe that’s all that matters. Maybe there’s no need to think about anything other than the bruising pinch of your teeth at his neck, or the nudge of your thigh between his legs, maybe he’s allowed to have something good for once and not give a shit about the consequences. His shoulders have been heavy with responsibility since the moment he’d first raised his rifle to protect the Kirammans. Although he suspects doing this is only going to make it so much heavier, your tongue and kisses still soothe, albeit momentarily. He lets himself have it.

Jayce’s last shred of resolve crumbles when your hands find his hips, and tug them forward to rock his erection against your thigh once more. He can’t help but sigh – it’s a relief, to be guided like this, to know he’s doing exactly what you want him to.

“You’ll tell me,” you say, “If I do something you don’t like. Won’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, although the list of things he wouldn’t refuse is embarrassingly short. Possibly non-existent.

“There’s a good boy,” you reply, and this time his knees do give out. Jayce finds himself lucky to be sandwiched between your frame and the wall. He clings to your waist with a broken whimper, can’t be bothered to focus on anything but the press of fabric against his swelling cock and your laugh brushing the shell of his ear. “I did have a burning suspicion calling you that’d make you weak in the knees, but not like this.” Although your tone is taunting, the kisses you suck to the spot behind his ear say otherwise. “Let’s get you to the bed while you can still stand, hm?”

He’d really like to have some retort of his own; normally does. But with you, for you, he can only nod dumbly, and lean against the wall in a pathetic attempt to catch his breath while you make your way to the bed. Can only watch as you toss your hat, gun belt and satchel on the floor, then let your coat slide off your shoulders with surprising grace.

Everything you’ve touched both burns and yearns for more, empty and cold and desperate, he needs to feel you again.

“Well?” The edge of the mattress creaks and dips below your seated weight, you’re smiling as you part your knees. “C’mere, pretty boy.”

He takes what’s offered. Stumbles your way, overzealous, and only stops half a step away, suddenly hit with the realization of what he’s about to do.

Not that he gets to ponder what tomorrow might bring, what sort of risks he might be taking by doing this. Not for long, not when you hook your fingers under his gun belt and use it to reel him in. He’s kissing his rationale goodbye, once and for all, when you simply start plucking his shirt open, smiling up at him with a hungry sort of reverence he’s not encountered anywhere else.

He’s been wanted before, of course he has.

But not like this. Strangers have approached him with a drink, a flirtatious touch, but never more; he’d always been expected to take control. You’ve peeked deeper into his soul than any of those strangers — more than anyone — ever has. You’ve spotted the part of him that yearns to let go and be taken care of, a part he’d never thought the world would accept, much less understand. And you didn’t even need to take more than one good, thorough look at him to figure him out.

That alone is incentive enough to lean into your warm caress, hands now spreading his shirt open, scratching at the hair on his chest and stomach, halting at his belt once more.

The sunset filters through the curtains, makes the smooth skin of his slash wound scar glisten in a warm gold. He’s never had his imperfections on vulnerable display like this not for the sake of having them marveled at. You’re watching the carved scar intently, frowning for less than a heartbeat – conflicted, in a way – before your eyes flicker up at him.

He’d worry what’s on your mind, if you weren’t holding his gaze as you leaned in and traced the scar’s smooth edge with your tongue.

“Wait, wait, what are you–”

There’s no need for an answer when your actions speak volumes. Pressing your parted lips to his tummy until your nose is buried deep in the soft curls of his happy trail, you kiss the spot with an open mouth. His first instinct is to squirm, away, into your touch, he can’t decide, only knows it’s too much, too soon, too intimate – he’d expected you to push him onto the bed and have your way with him.

Not this. Not tenderness.

“You’re gorgeous,” you rasp, lips curling into a smile above his scar. “But then again, I reckon you’ve been told so plenty of times already.”

Not nearly enough, he wants to say, but decides against it. His heart is melting at the echo of the word in his own head; he’s been called handsome before, but never gorgeous. It’s unfamiliar and genuine.

You’re calling him gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous and you mean it and it’s too much. He tilts his head to the ceiling to swallow the forming knot in his throat, focuses on counting the imperfections – not so different from what you’re doing to him, but significantly more personal.

You take your time with his body, with the array of scars that litter his front, appreciate each and every single one like it means something. For a moment, Jayce wants to set his hands on your head — not to push you, if anything, he needs to touch you to acknowledge this is even real — but when he raises them and realizes they’re shaking, he lets them hang at his sides loosely once more.

Much to his delighted surprise, you take one in yours, lace your fingers, and bring the other to his hip to steady him. As heavenly as it is to be held, be reassured like this, it doesn’t last. It never does.

All interest in his scars is lost as you perk up and peer at his hip.

“I suppose you know how to use this, cowboy?”

He glances down at you with a gulp, realizes you’ve snatched the rope hanging off his gun belt.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“U-uhm, yes,” he stutters out. Your smile is enigmatic, unreadable, as you trail the rope between your hands, then give a tug to test its sturdiness, obviously satisfied. He’s not one to cheap out on his gear. “I mean, someone’s gotta know how to catch a cow when it decides to stray.”

“Hm.” Your grin is nearly a bearing of fangs in its intensity. “Ever use it on a person before?”

At least once a week, maybe more, would be the truth.

“Well, I–” Heat rising in his face, all the way up to his ears, Jayce resorts to nervously clearing his throat. “No. Never.”

“I’ll show you, if you’ll let me.”

His cock twitches at the mere thought of being tied up, at your mercy wholly. His brain, however, is not sold on the idea.

Are you suggesting this solely because you want to tie him up and do as you please with him, or is this some sort of trick he’s too worked up to see through? Have you figured out who he is?

Sensing his reluctance, you give a reassuring smile, kiss the spit-slick skin of his scar.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. Once I’m done with you, I’ll let you tie me down, and let you use your mouth on me until I’ve had my fill of you. How’s that sound for a compromise?”

His presence of mind is nothing short of a miracle with your lips nibbling at the skin on his tummy, but, against all odds, he manages an epiphany. Maybe there is a way to get both what he wants – which is you – and stay true to his duty. And it’s obvious that you wouldn’t have suggested him tying you down in return, if you’d known who he is. You wouldn’t have suggested putting yourself in a vulnerable position, if you knew he was out to get you. And you wouldn’t have suggested it unless you cared for him.

He briefly wonders if the stories about you are even true. How could someone like you – warm hands, warm voice, warm kisses – have done even half the cold, ruthless things he’d heard?

It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. This is his job, and he’s never failed before, never disappointed before. He’s not going to start now.

Even though he dislikes the fact that he’s going to use your kindness to his advantage, dislikes the fact that as soon as the rope will be around your wrists, he’ll be hauling you to his horse, and then promptly to the Sheriff’s, he’ll do what he must outside of this shabby saloon room. Within, he’ll take what he needs.

“Yes,” he agrees. “That– yes. Good. Sounds good.”

“Take your shirt off for me.”

He follows your command with newfound certainty, now that he knows that doing this with you is nothing more than a detour he’s taking to catch you. He just needs to keep a clear head, not lose sight of the goal behind all of this. Easy.

Until your palms trail up the generous expanse of his chest, coming to a halt below the meat of his pecs, and squeeze.

“Nervous?” you lilt in a playful tone that has him bracing himself against your shoulders and pushing his chest into your hands. You chuckle, then give a gentle tug at his nipples that has him biting his lip to keep from moaning.

So much for keeping a clear head.

“N-no.”

Your touch lingers on his chest, even as you move to stand, then duck your head to lick at his puffy areolas. The tip of your tongue barely touches enough to get them wet, before you huff out a delighted laugh against the slick skin.

Jayce is reminded of that one time Mrs Kiramman had forced him into attending dance lessons, although this – letting you guide him to turn around until he’s the one whose calves are nudging the bed’s edge and you’re pressing in further, further, until he stumbles onto the bed – is somehow significantly more natural than any dance.

You crawl up to him between his parted thighs, rest one knee between them as you latch onto his neck and press him into the sheets until he’s flat on his back, open and vulnerable. Jayce can’t do much but shiver and grind his hardon into your thigh.

“So needy,” you tease, sliding one hand between your bodies to cup his hard cock and give a firm squeeze. Jayce jolts into it with a surprised squeak, uncharacteristically high. You only laugh, not mockingly, but with genuine enamorment. The squeeze softens, as does your gaze, and you massage at the outline of his cock with surprising gentleness. “‘s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

His mind blanks at your inquiry. It has been too long, but he’d been hoping it wouldn’t be so obvious.

Jayce’s voice comes out strained when he speaks, defensive, nearly hissed out through gritted teeth, as you keep rubbing his cock through his pants. “Why, do you do this often?”

Jealousy is not a part of his question. It shouldn’t be. It’s not his fault that there’s still a rancid taste of it in his tone, he should know better. He does know better.

You laugh again, pressing your palm against the outline of his erection one final time, before you sit back on your knees. “Only when I find someone I particularly like,” you reply, fiddling with the rope, and Jayce tries not to read into it too much.

But you said you like him, particularly so, and he can’t help the warmth in his chest. For a moment, Jayce truly feels special, even if he’s just another name on the list, there’s no place he’d rather be than your list. Part of him wants to pry deeper, prod for whatever confirmation he can find that he’s something more than just a one way ticket to pleasure in your eyes, but you’ve already untangled the rope and look at him with a cocked brow. “Give me your hands, wrists pressed together.”

Surrendering feels right. He brings his hands together in between the two of you, on the receiving end of the rope’s knot for the first time, and finds that the tremor in his hands is a product of excitement alone. Although he’d like to worry about the consequences of relinquishing control to you, his body has little regard for it.

He just wants to please.

You tie his wrists with surprising efficiency; not the clumsy kind of knot he’d used in his early days as a bounty hunter. No, you know your trade, winding the rope around his forearms, securing them with a firm knot that does not hurt, but immobilizes him all the way down to his elbows.

He’s never felt more exposed than when you tug his wrists above his head and tie them to the bedpost. You hum, appeased, as your palms brush down his raised arms, down his chest, settling at his sternum.

It has his hair raising — every touch, no matter how gentle, comes with a new, dangerous subtext that has him squirming.

You’re in full control.

He hadn’t expected to love it this much. The realization that he has no way to fight what you want from him, that he can only be yours, be good, and hope you’ll reward him accordingly. It’s all in someone else’s hands – autonomy, responsibility, pleasure – and he’s never felt happier about giving it up.

You watch him for a moment, enraptured by the rise and fall of his chest under your hands, or perhaps his explosive heartbeat, the unmatched reverence with which he watches you loom over him and dip your nose between his neck and bicep to nip at his jaw.

It’s overwhelming to be doing nothing more than simply letting you bend and push and arrange him whatever way you like, and earn such high rewards for it.

Your affections come easily, willingly. If Jayce didn’t know who you were, what you do outside of this room, he’d be fooled into thinking you genuinely cared for him enjoying tonight. Maybe you do, some part of him hopes, but it doesn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

You’re just a criminal. And in some weird, roundabout way, he’s just doing his job by letting you do with him as you please. That’s all there is to this — although he grasps for any hint of it being more intimate — you’re just a stranger.

In spite of what he’s just told himself, he serves himself up to you on a vulnerable silver platter, twists in whatever way he can to let you have as much of him as you want, to sink your teeth into whatever spot you deem fit.

His hips jump when you bite, unrestrained and ravenous, into the tendon of his neck.

Jayce would be content to come like this. Tied up, at your mercy, taking his pleasure in how you hum at his tender, raw kissed neck when he raises his thigh just right to let you rub against it. Hardly even needs to have anything — or anyone — touching him. His cock pulses just at the mere thought of granting you your release.

He’s good, he’s useful, he’s the reason you’re panting against his sensitive skin and tilting your hips to meet the friction he provides. It’s all him.

All his life, he has known nothing but to make himself serviceable in a desperate cry for another’s attention, and now that you stop to work at his belt, said ingrained reflex comes into play. Whatever thought he had of the things you might do to him falls flat in comparison to servicing you.

He wants to be what you want. What you need.

“Use me,” Jayce gasps out in a fit of mindlessness. “However you want to, it— it doesn’t matter. Please.”

You hesitate for a moment, but he feels your smile grow against his neck, now even more exposed as he's trying to hide his face in the groove of his bicep.

“You want that?” You punctuate your sentence with a series of delicate kisses. Jayce understands that in their slowness, they’re a moment of reprieve, a chance to change his mind. The first is at his jaw, then at the hollow of his cheek, and finally, at the corner of his lips. Answerless, you grasp his face between your thumb and palm, nudge him out of his hiding spot until he’s looking right at you. The sight of your lips has him chasing them, raising his face against your hold as you chuckle, cruel, and lean away. Jayce can only whine, and it seems to both amuse and satisfy you. “Want me to take whatever I want from you until I’ve had my fill, until you can’t take it anymore?”

He arches off the mattress at your question alone, tugs at his restraints desperately. He wishes he could hold you, squeeze you closer.

“Please, yes, please,” he grits out. Lashes flutter tentatively as he looks at you, licks his lips hungrily before he speaks. “Whatever part of me you want, it’s yours, a-all yours.”

His words hit their mark. In an instant, your hands are gone, working at your belt, all the while you’re grinding yourself against him with new fervor.

His mind buzzes, hands trembling in his restraints with nerve wracking excitement – he’s being useful.

“Your mouth,” you growl, “I want to use your filthy mouth, ride your gorgeous face, fuck myself on your tongue until I’m satisfied.”

Jayce can only muster up the clarity to nod, sob out a slurred ‘yesyesyesyes’ as your belt clinks and your thick, worn jeans rustle as you kick them off.

Your slick smears on his lower stomach once you’re finally bare. You grind yourself against the softness of him, and Jayce’s mouth floods at the prospect of getting to taste you.

He’s never needed someone more than he needs you now.

“If you need to stop,” you say, climbing up his frame, “snap your fingers.”

“I won’t,” Jayce replies. He briefly worries if he’s overestimated himself — until your bare cunt hovers above his face and your hand is in his hair and he’s getting drunk off your scent alone and he’s raising his head off the mattress in a way that hurts and it doesn’t matter, none of it does, because he gets to taste you.

You’re soft, warm and gushingly wet, unfamiliar but alluring tang of you heavy and dizzying in his senses. His lips click with how wet they are when he opens them, mouth watering from the scent of you, tongue dripping before he’s even laid the first lick against your slit.

Delicate is the first thing that comes to mind when he finally does; the give of your flesh against his lips, into the fleeting kiss he presses to your folds before he dips his tongue into the gushing space between is reminiscent of ripened fruit. Jayce closes his eyes to indulge in the sensation, circles the tip of his tongue at your dripping hole, then drags forward, until he’s nosing at your pubic mound.

“You taste… s-so good.” A sigh slips from him as his lips cushion your swollen clit into a soft kiss. “More,” he gasps against it, “more, please.” You have to brace yourself against the headboard to avoid tipping over from the sensation, and his heart is full with joy from that alone.

“Good boy,” you coo, fingers scratching adoringly at his sideburns. “You’ll get more.” He cracks his heavy eyes open to peer at you: watching him with utter delight as your gentle touch spurs him on, tugs him a little closer.

That’s not going to be enough, Jayce realizes. With a sloppy, wet sound, he unlatches his lips from your cunt, licks them clean and tries to catch his breath and tell you what he needs.

“Sit,” he pants against your dripping sex. “Sit on my face. Please.”

You’re still hovering above him, hesitant for a heartbeat, before you do, and it’s heaven. Jayce realizes he cares very little for air when he has you invading his senses, when he can bury his tongue into your pink, soft cunt until you’re fucking yourself on it and keening for more, more, more.

“Yes,” he chokes out under the featherlight weight of your cunt against his tumescent lips. “Mmh— fuck, yes.”

He could easily spend the rest of his life right here, between your thighs, brain buzzing with a painful lack of oxygen, bridge of his nose pressing into your clit, lapping and sucking at your heat like it’s his sole purpose.

“You’re so— so good,” you groan, rocking yourself against his waiting tongue with abandon. “So desperate for me.” He flattens it out eagerly when you grind your clit against it, plunges it into you with a full-body moan when your hole is within reach, suckles on your bundle of nerves when your thighs quiver so hard that they nearly give out below you. He chases the roughness of your pull at his roots, the height of your moans like it’s a reward. “With a mouth like that, you— a-ah, you belong in the whorehouse just down the road, don’t you?”

His mind blanks at the double edged praise. Jayce can only sob, eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the confirmation that he’s doing well, so well; wishes he could untie his arms just to force your thighs apart and sink himself into you until there’s not a thought left in his head.

When he opens his eyes, you move to hover above his face, shivering at his frigid, racing breath hitting your drenched pussy. A stretchy string of spit-slick stretches between his swollen lips and your entrance, breaks and lands on his chin when he gasps for breath. It has Jayce’s cock jerking out another droplet of precum below his navel.

He’s lucky you pull away when you do. Judging by the ringing of his ears, the tears clinging to his lashes and clouding his vision, or how his lungs hurt, he’d needed it.

“Look at you,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and thumbing at his parted, slick lips. Still driven by mindlessness alone, he envelops it in his mouth, breathlessly hums when you chuckle and press in, press down on his tongue, press until you’re nearly inside his throat. He swallows around it with a punched out little mewl, sucks it although the webbing of your thumb is already stretched taut against his lower lip. “Desperate for anything you can get, ain’t you?”

Arguing with that would be futile — it’s true. He is desperate, for pleasure, for contact, for tenderness, for you, and it’s wrongly right to have it acknowledged and accepted and indulged.

Jayce can’t tell if the hot tear pearling down his cheek and into his sideburns is a result of choking on your thumb or relief, but it’s not even relevant. You’re wiping at its trail and smiling down at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

He’s ached for it; to be the center of someone’s attention and affections, yet now, he finds himself overwhelmed with it; wishes he hadn’t agreed to you tying him down. He could’ve pulled you back onto his mouth instead of whining around your thumb and closing his eyes to ignore his own whines and choked-up, slick sounds as he laves his tongue against your heavy thumbprint. You pull it from his mouth with a pop, smiling down at him.

“Such a good mouth, such a pretty face,” you whisper, tone tender in spite of your following words. “It’s like you were made for this. Made for being used until you break.”

“Please.” The weight of your thumb rubs his lip raw. “Please, I— nh-need to feel you cum on my tongue.”

“Go on, earn it,” you encourage, and Jayce moans — truly, actually moans — when the mattress shifts and he can feel his nose and lips brush your cunt.

You’re clenching and he can tell without even having nudged your hole, just from how your clit pulses against the flat of his tongue. Your hand, once gentle, now grabs at his hair and yanks — and he’s moaning in encouragement again just for that. Muffles his voice into a very agreeing mmmh against your clit before he’s wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

You take the hint, hold him against yourself and part your cunt open with your other hand to thrust yourself against the suction of his lips, well and truly using him now. His cock jerks in response, uncharacteristically hard for how little it’s been touched. His hips follow the movement, shooting off the bed in search for something, anything, pathetically settling back down when he’s greeted with nothing.

You notice, of course you do. But you don’t let up in your grinding, only give a tug at his hair while you peek over your shoulder and laugh.

“You look like you could come just from this,” you say, before you glance down at him. His eyes shamefully fall shut, before he finally, finally gives a reluctant nod. He’s not even sure himself — but growing surer of it by the minute still.

You huff out a laugh again, but this time it’s less sadistic and more surprised, before you’re angling yourself to let his tongue sink into your hole. The rest comes naturally to him. Hinge his jaw open, stiffen his tongue, thrust it deep, thorough, prod until he finds the spot at the front of your cunt that makes you see stars.

The fact that your hips twitch and you start to furiously rub at your clit is confirmation enough that he’s doing well.

Jayce whines, loud and unabashed, lower half thrashing against the sheets desperately. He’s close, so close, can feel his cock ache and twitch with near-release pressure. And he hasn’t even been touched.

“You poor thing, you are gonna cum like this.” A moan interrupts your observation, and Jayce is thankful for it. If you’d pointed out how he’s pathetically rutting up against thin air, he might’ve come then and there. He dares opening his eyes to look up at you through his damp lashes, whimpers against your slick, pulsing clit, a plea to take what you need. It earns an amused scoff from you, before you’re tilting your head back and fucking his mouth. “God,” you gasp, “s-so fucking depraved, aren’t you?”

Jayce has always considered himself more responsive to praise, but there is something vastly different about your insult. It hardly feels like one, and he finds reassurance in it – a vulnerable, unfamiliar kind – you know what he is at his core, and you’re saying it to his face, but none of it hurts, because you still want him. Not in spite of his desperation, but for it.

Right now, he can be his depraved, pathetic self without a care in the world. Can kick his feet at the sheets, can pull and writhe against his restraints, can lap up your juices like they sustain him, can moan out his pitiful pleasure into your core.

You lean back, brace yourself against his chest, thighs quivering and flexing at his sides.

“Open up… good, that’s exactly it.” Jayce complies, choking on a sob while his dick aches at your praise. If only his hands were untied, if he could touch himself before his cock feels like it’s gonna explode, if he could wrap his arms around your hips and press you onto his face until– “Oh, f-fuck, yes. Tongue out, pretty boy. I’m gonna cum in your whore mouth.”

He’s not sure what exactly makes his eyes roll into the back of his skull, his back arch, what makes his cock convulse in pleasure so potent it hurts. He can only squirm below you and wail a vibrating groan into your drenched, throbbing cunt while his hips cant up against nothing and nothing is touching his dick and there’s nothing, his orgasm is nothing – vehement and overwhelming and not fucking enough and he’s coming all over himself, over your back. You’re still chasing your pleasure on his lips, his tongue, and you’re there, but not where he needs you, not how he needs you.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

He whimpers again when the ringing in his ears lets up barely enough to register your voice. You’ve lifted your cunt off his mouth, puffy clit still twitching with the aftermath of a powerful orgasm from where it peeks out from between your slick, swollen folds. His back and (judging by the way the wood creaks) the headboard strain under how he pulls at his restraints, raising his chin to suck a delicate kiss to the bundle of nerves. It makes your hips twitch, rolling against his mouth one last, complacent time before you settle on his collarbone.

Once the throb of his unsatisfying orgasm subsides, Jayce looks up at your wrecked, heaving form through damp lashes (when had he even started crying?). You meet his gaze, looking significantly more placid now – more sated – and reach to brush the hair from his forehead.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, huffing when his eyes drift shut and he leans into your palm. “Letting me make such good use of your filthy little mouth.”

Jayce isn’t sure what to reply, but realizes it’s unneeded when you descend, easily settling your knees on either side of his hips. He might’ve stopped to think about the allure of your sopping hole hovering above his cock, but that’s long forgotten when you brace yourself on his ribs and lean in to lick the trickle of your own juices off his chin.

“God,” you whisper against his skin, voice so low and smug it sends a steady trickle of hot arousal down his spine, “you’ve made me cum with all the skill of a slut.”

Your tongue pushes in-between his friction-raw lips for a heartbreakingly brief moment, before you move on, kissing down his chest. There, you find the first spurt of his cum, splattered neatly across his sternum, and lap it up with a pleased hum. “And you got off on it too, look at you.”

His body rebels against his previous orgasm, obeys you instead, cock pulsing with another wave of arousal where it’s tucked snugly between your bodies. You feel it, of course you do – Jayce is not subtle in any way, shape or form – and it earns him a wicked little smirk from you.

“You need more already?” you taunt, nuzzling at his sternum. “You’re insatiable.”

He can’t tell if you’re chastising or genuinely enticed with his overzealousness; out of habit alone, an apology already scratches at the back of his teeth. Your mouth, dripping with a mixture of his cum and your spit, seals around his nipple to suck, while your hand comes up to cradle his other pec, and that alone is enough to shut him up before he can get out past the o in “sorry”.

“I know,” you soothe. “I’ll take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

He can’t do much but arch into your touch and moan for more, which you happily provide, circling his nipple with your tongue, gently thumbing and squeezing at the other one. Teeth scrape and fingers pull at the sensitive little pebbles, pleasure-pain buzzing at his ruddy nipples, shooting straight down his spine to his neglected cock. It throbs in time with his heartbeat, already heavier. Harder.

“You’ve made such a mess of yourself,” you comment breathlessly, cruelly abandoning his sore tits in your pursuit of his spend, further down his abdomen. Your lips linger there, greedily lapping up the final few drops of his own cum before you part his legs with your knees, settling in-between them.

Gingerly, your palm wraps around his cock, giving a few gentle but terribly dry, overstimulating pumps. The sensitivity burns, has Jayce keening and pulling at the rope.

Too much.

“Please, I’m—mmh!” Biting his lip so hard he draws blood is the only thing that can keep his desperate moan at bay. Your grip around him tightens enough to hurt, until you lean over his cock and spit on its red, sensitized tip. “A-ah, nnh, fuck—!”

His hips shoot up into your grip with the first contact between your cold saliva and his scorching skin, then fall into a faltering, broken back and forth when you rub your palm against the slick tip.

It’s still mind-numbingly overwhelming, but in spite of it, his cock is jerking into fullness slowly.

“Shh, there you go,” you coo, the slick sounds of you stroking him echoing your words. Jayce’s entire body floods with goosebumps from your words alone. His first impulse is to lean into you, curl against you, desperate for contact that soothes rather than overwhelms. There’s none to be found. From where you’re kneeling between his thighs and watching him thrash under your touch, he can’t do much but choke out an incoherent sob and let you do with him as you please. “Already hard again, and you came just a minute ago. You needed this so bad, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, yes, I just– wait, ‘s too much–”

In an instant, your hand is gone, both your palms settling against his inner thighs instead. As much as the contact had set his nerves alight, with its sudden lack, Jayce finds himself aching for it, and regretting his words.

“Spread,” you say, nudging his knees apart, delving forward the instant he complies. His inquiries about what exactly you’re planning on doing are long, long gone the moment you flatten your tongue against his balls, careful as you ease one into your mouth just enough to suckle on gently.

Jayce hears something in the bed’s structure break with how he shoots up. Still, whatever pins his hands above his head remains intact, keeps him unmoving, vulnerable.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, gritting his teeth when you settle your hands under his knees, pushing up. “That’s– What are you–”

“Relax,” you reply, tone so saccharine he can’t help but let himself be pliant, let you push his knees up to his chest. If he thought he’d been exposed before, now it’s gotten significantly worse, with his cock drooling against his stomach and his asshole twitching, every part of him on full display. All for you to scrutinize.

Through a teary blur, his gaze still finds yours, and you give a smile that’s both mischievous and gentle. “I just wanna make you feel good, Jayce. So if I do anything that doesn’t, you just give me the word, ‘n I’ll stop, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” he all but squeaks when you take his answer and run with it. The moment his approval is given, you lean back in, nosing at his balls, while your lips brush at his perineum, latching onto it firmly before you suck.

Nerves zing with delight and pressure, the sensation somehow tingling all the way inside his stomach.

“O-oh, that’s— ah, s-so good…”

He hadn’t even thought about touching himself there – much less considered someone else would. It’s good, more than good, has his body singing with a novel, unfamiliar pleasure, hips canting up to meet your lips. His heart races at the thought of what else you might tease out of him, and as your tongue laves at his taint and your hand comes up to grasp his hardening cock, he realizes he’ll take everything you’re willing to give him.

When he glances your way, he finds you already watching his face, your smirk evident in just how your eyes smile from your cheeks. Slowly, you work your way upwards, kissing and licking at the curve of his balls before you close your eyes and moan as if you’re indulging yourself, rather than him.

The vibrations of your voice permeate his flesh, heat prickling at his spine, a rush of pleasure that has his stomach flipping.

He’s not going to last like this.

“Keep your legs up for me,” you say, to which he lets them fall flush against his heaving chest. You kiss the base of his cock with an open mouth, tell him exactly what he’s aching to hear, lips brushing a bulging vein with every syllable. “Such a good little slut, open and needy for me.”

His entire being quivers from just your praise, and his next moan is shaky, strangled, stuck somewhere in a knot in his throat. His dick leaks out a fat bead of precum that pearls down his underside, and finally, into the willing kisses you press at the root of him. Picking up on the salty taste, your lashes flutter as you look up at him, salacious.

“Close already?” You lilt, but rather than taunting, your tone sounds pleased. Jayce nods, desperate and quick. In an instant, your lips are around his tip, while your free hand comes up to cup his balls and fondle them, eager to earn his release.

Your touch is an overwhelming, coordinated assault on his sensitive nerves, has his hips thrashing between the tight, moist heat of your mouth at his pulsing tip, and the careful, circling press of your thumb between his balls. Under your touch, they draw up tight against his perineum, all the while his dick gives a needy jerk against your tongue. He knows you feel it, too, because you hum and your lips tighten around him in a smile before you pull away.

The gossamer string of spit and cum stretching between your lower lip and his cockhead is mesmerizing, even more so when your tongue laps at it to break it. “Good,” you rasp, wrapping your other hand around the base of his cock to angle it up, ducking to lick and suck at the spot below his red, swollen tip that makes him mewl. “Let me taste you.”

The moment you suck him into your mouth again, lips barely past the ridge of his glans, Jayce is done for. If your tongue writhing against the fullness of his cockhead hadn’t been enough, your encouragement is. He arches off the bed with pleasure so intense and wrecking it seems unending, ruining; screams out his rapture to the shabby saloon room walls and pumps his heavy, thick load into your waiting mouth.

You ease him through it, surprisingly gentle compared to how eager you’d been to overstimulate him seconds ago. Your tongue twirls at the underside of his dick, thirsty for the taste of his release that wrecks him from overheating core to numb limbs. You drink it up, with quick, shallow little swallows of his come, and one final, thick one the moment he finally settles into the mattress; spent, dry and heaving.

Once the last wave of pleasure barely tugs at the ridges of his being and Jayce remembers how to breathe, you’re climbing up his frame, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

He supposes that’s sort of what you are, anyway.

Jayce doesn’t manage more than a punched out wheeze, and a surprised hum when you earnestly kiss him for the first time. The contact between his lips and yours nearly hurts in its force, your tongue pushes into his mouth greedily, laves against his own.

He tastes his own salty bitterness on you, even as you pull back and smile ever so sweetly.

And just like that, he’d be content to let you go, free of charge for any and all crimes you may have committed, just for this alone.

Panting, grinning, Jayce watches you climb off him, more at ease than he has been in years. Sleep is going to come blissfully easy tonight, with how you’ve wrecked him already. His eyes drift shut and he listens to the calming thud of your bare feet against the wooden floor. For the first time tonight, he registers the ache in his arms, his shoulders, even the set ribs that sit right below his arms.

To believe he’d even considered turning you in. Absurd.

“Can you, uh—“ he swallows, realizes his throat is also parched. “Shit. Can you untie me? My arms hurt.”

“I’m afraid not,” you reply plainly, and your reply doesn’t particularly alarm him — not until he hears the clink of a belt.

Already half-dressed, you’re padding around the room, collecting your clothes, and putting them on worryingly fast.

What?

“What are you—“

His voice dies in his throat when you fasten your belt, shirt already buttoned up, then snatch his satchel off the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey, that’s mine!”

“I’m aware,” you reply plainly, easily tugging it open, scoffing at what you find inside. Laughing now, well and truly laughing, you pull the sheet of paper out, unfold it— oh. Oh, fuck. “Ha, I knew it.”

Your bounty poster.

“A friendly tip for next time,” you lilt, dropping it before you push your hand into his satchel and retrieve a thick wad of dollar bills Mrs Kiramman had given him for new rifle parts, “maybe don’t bring posters with you on your hunts. And get better at lying. No cattle rancher needs that many finely crafted firearms. Or has that many knife wound scars.”

Wordless, Jayce watches in utter horror as you pocket it, and then take whatever other valuables you find in his satchel. Mr Kirraman’s broken golden watch, which he was going to take to the jeweller tomorrow, and fuck, he can’t believe this is happening.

“Untie me,” he tries, in his meanest big boy voice. You laugh again, and it makes his stomach flip the exact opposite way from how you’d made it turn a minute ago.

“Or what, Talis?”

Hearing his last name has never stung this hard. He’s never particularly liked being addressed with it, had felt it too daunting because it reminds him of the legacy he’s to carry on his shoulders, but now it’s a bitter testament of his naïveté. You know who he is.

And you had used him. For his body, for his willingness, but ultimately, for his profession. He wonders, briefly, if you ever even wanted him, or if you just handpicked him because you knew he was out to get you.

He pushes that thought down, mainly because sulking about it won’t solve the predicament he’s in right now, but his hurt bubbles up in a sad rendition of anger.

“I will get out of these ropes once someone finds me,” He threatens. The sheer thought of someone seeing him like this makes him physically recoil, but he pushes onward regardless. The fact that you’ve fucked him because he’s a bounty hunter stings, but it’s also his only leverage against you right now. “And trust me, you’re not getting away with this, or anything else you’ve committed, once I do.”

“Right.” You half scoff, half laugh. “I would very much like to see you try.”

So much for what little leverage he had. He knew it was a long shot to intimidate you with his profession, sure, but hadn’t expected it to fall quite so flat. Then again, you did fuck the soul out of him with such little regard for who he is that he should’ve known better than to even try.

Disinterested, you let his satchel drop now that you’ve squeezed it for all its worth, and turn to the door.

It’s difficult to decide what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you not only saw through his plan, or that you used it against him and he’d walked right into it.

And now that his grave is dug and he’s fallen right into it, you’re walking away without a care in the world, whistling to yourself.

At a loss for any other arguments, Jayce does what he does best. Plead.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

To his surprise, you do, in fact, wait, turning to look at him, hand hovering above the doorknob.

He didn’t think he’d get this far. But if threatening you didn’t work, perhaps earning your sympathy will.

“Please… “ he starts, mouth cottony as he tries to come up with something, anything to say, “don’t do this. You can’t— you can’t leave me like this! I’m naked!”

“Oh, I do envy the lucky bastard that’ll be getting an eyeful of you tomorrow morning,” you lilt, mischievous gaze softening ever so subtly as it lingers on its way down his ruined body. Based on how your eyes twinkle, you get an idea — a terrible one. “But I s’pose I could let you keep one shred of the dignity you’ve so willingly given up for me, can’t I?” Humming, you simply snatch his hat off his head, grinning as you place it just enough to cover his softening cock.

Jayce hates that it makes him whine.

“There you go. And—“ you retrieve the money you’d taken, tucking a laughable amount under the hat’s rim, right above the hipbone you’d stroked so reverently minutes ago, “here. For your troubles. That oughtta be enough to convince the staff not to tell everyone in town about what they’ll find in this room tomorrow morning, hm?”

With that, you leave, still chuckling to yourself.

Jayce can’t believe this is happening.

—

“I can’t believe this happened,” Cassandra repeats herself for the fourth time tonight, staring into her tea, swirling it in her cup, before she glances back to Jayce. “Horrid! For someone to be able to rob you blind in your sleep like that — with all your experience — they must be incredibly skilled.”

“They, ah, got lucky, too,” Jayce adds, swallowing thickly. He hates the accidental double entendre, and hates that it’s right. “I hadn’t managed to sleep well the night before — with, uh, y’know, coyotes howling out in the prairie, and I, uh, I… I slept heavier than usual.”

Caitlyn scoffs from beside the fireplace, botched embroidery her mother had forced her into practicing discarded on her lap. A desperate attempt at forcing her into something more befitting of her station after she’d brazenly told them about her plans to work under Sheriff Marcus as an enforcer once she turns eighteen.

Mrs Kirraman is not coming to terms with it, but considering Caitlyn’s stubbornness (and impressive marksmanship and smarts), Cassandra is playing a losing game. Not that Jayce minds. He’s taken Caitlyn with him an abundance of times, especially on low risk jobs, and has promised her tutorage, shall she ever need it.

It comes to bite him in the ass in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

“The first time you took me with you to Shurima you slept through the cicadas and the coyotes,” she comments. “I could tell because you were snoring the whole time.”

Jayce wishes the look he gives her could be classed as murderous, but in truth, it’s anxious. And it has Caitlyn grinning as she picks up on the fact that Jayce is obviously hiding something.

He hates when she does this.

“Prairie coyotes and desert coyotes have distinctively different howls,” Jayce replies, fully aware of his lie. Cassandra won’t pick up on it, Tobias even less so, but Cait–

“Sure.” She snorts into her tea, then straightens up with an apathetic roll of her shoulders under her mother’s scolding gaze.

“Regardless,” Cassandra interrupts, “I will talk to Marcus about this. His men are still far more incompetent than you, but perhaps it would aid you to have more people in on this, Jayce.”

He hates how his stomach flips at the thought of enforcers’ hands on you – not because he cares about you, he tells himself, but because it’s not fair. You’ve taken him for a fool, and made him one, too. He’s spent his entire night waiting, writhing, and pulling at his restraints, has spent his morning trying not to die of embarrassment when one of the cleaning maids had found him stark naked and tied to the bed, had spent his entire day riding back to the Kiramman estate. He wants a night to lick his wounds, and then, he wants his justice. Needs it — needs to put you where he should’ve put you the moment he laid eyes on you: in prison.

“No,” he says, “I, uh– I’ve got this. I do. I just… I need to think about how I’m gonna go about this. Come up– come up with a plan.” As he settles in his chair and stares down at his cold tea, mere porcelain seemingly heavy in his leaden hands, he realizes that he isn’t just ashamed, but utterly spent after today’s events. And after what he did with you, too.

He tries to stifle a yawn, but miserably fails.

Tobias claps an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “Go ahead and get some rest.”

“He’s slept through someone robbing him,” Caitlyn argues. “How is he even—“

“Be a dear and take the teacups to the kitchen, Caitlyn,” her mother cuts her off. Jayce’s shoulders sink with relief from being saved, albeit momentarily, from Cait’s stubborn curiosity. He suspects this won’t be the end of it, and has it confirmed the moment he hands over his teacup and finds her gaze lingering on his wrists, peeking out from below the cuffs of his sleeves.

She raises a brow, but Jayce knows better than to stick around for follow-up questions. Especially in front of her parents.

Standing up so fast the chair scrapes against the freshly polished floor with a squeak, he fights against the drag of his feet and makes his way out of the room in the least awkward way possible, climbing up the stairs to his room two at a time.

In all his years working for the Kirammans, he’d practically become a part of their family – and after his mother had passed from tuberculosis four years ago, the change had been cemented. He’d been allocated a permanent room at the estate. The door leading to it, equipped with its very own lock, becomes a light at the end of the tunnel, with the tunnel being Caitlyn and her curiosity.

He does not reach said light. Luck has never been on his side, and that isn’t changing now.

After a good few years of living with them, he knows how each of them – and even some of the staff – climb the stairs. The quick, light steps ringing out right now foretell bad news.

Before he’s made it to his room, Cait has already caught up, sprinting behind him and, much to his surprise, grabbing a hold of his wrist.

“Hey–!”

“Did the coyotes do this, too?” She jokes, although her tone is mercifully low, almost a whisper. With a victorious smirk, she’s rubbing at the tender skin of his wrists. Growling under his breath, Jayce rips them from her grip, brings his hands closer to his chest.

“No, this is, uh–” Jayce’s brain blanks in his attempt to come up with an excuse. Realistically, there’s nothing that could’ve caused the rope marks on his wrists except for another human, and that’s the last thing he wants to talk about right now. “This is none of your business, actually,” is the best he can come up with.

She pauses for a bit.

“They tied you up.” She concludes, crosses her arms in front of her chest. The cogs in her head turn visibly, and, judging by the horror that grips her, she jumped to a very wrong conclusion. “Oh, god, did— did they torture you?”

“No,” he replies. Quite the opposite, actually. But Caitlyn doesn’t need to know that. “No, they didn’t. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“Well, since everything is fine,” Caitlyn mocks, “why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

She’s told him about a few innocent crushes here and there, and fine, maybe he’s confessed to a few as well, but this is off the table. He’d rather sink into the ground before he admits he knowingly fucked his target and was moronic enough to let them tie him up without much more than a single second thought.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business if they hurt you.”

Her voice, serious and very much protective in a way that’s clearly emulated from whenever it was him that had to step in as her protector has his defenses crumbling.

“Fine.” Jayce relents. “They, uh, tied me up.”

“I gathered as much. How’d they manage that?”

Right. He’s not going to say anything about that.

“In, in my sleep.”

“In your sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” she says, and much to Jayce’s surprise, accepts his terrible lie and changes the subject. Her eyes drift lower, focus on his neck. “Your bandana looks dirty, I can take it to the washing room, if you’d like. As an apology for pestering you.”

He’s not about to turn down a truce.

“Uh…” Jayce tries, to his credit, to figure out where her change of heart came from. But the tone of her voice holds nothing but genuine care, so he finds himself going to untie the knot at the back of his neck. “Sure. Thanks,” he mumbles, handing it over, watching her eyes widen for a moment, lingering at his collar. “What?”

“Oh. Oh my god.” Caitlyn draws in a surprised breath, can’t stop staring at his neck. What— oh. Oh, no, the marks you’d left on his neck, neither small in number nor subtle. Fuck. “Don’t tell me you fu—“

Out of instinct alone, Jayce stumbles forward, claps a hand over Caitlyn’s mouth, and drags her into his room, kicking the door shut behind himself.

“Shut up,” he grits out, watches how her gaze goes from surprised to devious at an alarming rate. “Please. If you tell your parents about this—“

Annoyed, she bites into the meat of his palm, which is incentive enough to pull back with a hiss. Caitlyn scoffs, wipes her mouth while Jayce wipes his hand on his jeans, and ignores the pulsing where her canines had sunk into his skin.

“The fact that you even think I’d tell them is insulting.”

His shoulders slump with relief at her words, and with that, his fatigue hits him all over again. Subconsciously, heavy feet drag against his carpet, barely making it to his bed, plopping down on its edge within seconds. Caitlyn still stands right where he left her, back against the door, arms crossed, staring at the floor.

Her silence is thoughtful, heavy.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks.

Jayce sighs, buries his face in his hands. “I dunno. Catch them, turn them in, I guess?”

This is the first time Jayce has ever heard her laugh with pity — and he hates it.

“Right. Sounds like a breeze, especially after you slept with them.”

“That was an accident.”

“An accident?” She scoffs. “What, you tripped, and your pants just happened to fall—“

“It’s not that simple, Cait!”

She sighs, shakes her head. “Listen, Jayce. I’m not here to judge you—“

He shoots her a look. “And yet…”

“Right, well,” Cait rolls her eyes, turns to rest her hand on the doorknob, “I’m just saying; if you do want to catch them, you might want to be quick about it. Mother already sent out word to Marcus to provide reinforcements.”

How this day just keeps getting worse is beyond him.

“Thanks for the tip,” Jayce says, ignoring the worry churning in his gut, “but I’ve got this. Trust me.”

“Okay.” Caitlyn gives an encouraging smile. “Just— try not to be stupid about this.”

“Yeah,” Jayce replies, knowing full well he already has been irreparably, inexcusably stupid about this.

And that he’s about to do much, much worse when he sets out to find you again in the dead of night, not more than seven hours after Caitlyn’s advice.

#jayce talis #jayce arcane #jayce talis x reader #arcane jayce #arcane jayce x reader #jayce arcane x reader #arcane x reader #western AU #ily marcel im kissing u rlly rlly hard #my writing #you could have it all (my empire of dirt)

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vi-stands-for-vicious · 2 years

Note

The man, catcalling Vi, was probably drunk. Not that Jinx could tell that up from the roof or cared for it either way. Ever since her sister had chosen a stupid topsider over her, Jinx was feeling a fierce possessiveness over Vi, born out of the trauma of having been abandoned thrice. It didn't matter that Vi and Caitlyn's relationship wasn't sisterly. Jinx wasn't one to share.

Thus upon keeping her purple eyes on the man, who increasingly tried to back Vi into a corner, she saw everything red. Jinx pulled out one of her grenades. Pulling out the pin with her teeth, she sent the ticking item flying. The gnashing teeth found their way into the back of the man's shirt, who froze as soon as the weird ticking sound filled the air.

"No, no, no... Not that mad dog!"

That was about as much as they got to say before a small, but controlled explosion tore him apart from the lower abdomen and the blast wave sent Vi knocking on the floor. Jinx's purple eyes grew wide. Sprinting across the roof, she leapt down, ran over a small wall and with a gentle hop, landed right beside Vi.

Jinx placed a pair of fingers against Vi and let out a sigh of relief at her sister, still having a pulse. She smiled down at her when she came to - a skewed kind of smile with eyes pulsing purple.

"Hyah, Vi."

(warmongersofzaun)

@warmongersofzaun

All she wanted when she decided to spend a night on the town was to destress and blow off some steam. Ever since her sister’s rocket and the explosion heard around Piltover, Vi felt stuck. Caitlyn was always busy either trying to help her father with his new role as intermediate Councilmember or figuring out her new role as Piltover’s Sheriff. Vi almost felt more alone than she ever felt during her time in Stillwater, which started making her anger and emotions become difficult to deal with.

Which is how she now found herself attempting to ignore catcalls and annoying advances in the Undercity. No matter how much she ignored the man’s increasingly annoying catcalls all night, Vi couldn’t seem to get the drunken asshole to leave her alone. Normally, Vi would have beat the shit out of the man until he got the message not to fuck with her anymore. She promised Caitlyn not to resort to violence before trying more amicable solutions, however. A promise she’d slowly began to regret as she was backed into a corner.

But this time, she wouldn’t even need to resort to violence as a familiar ticking sound filled the air around them. Vi barely had enough time to bring her arms up to shield her face before the shockwave from the small explosion threw her back. Her head hitting the ground mixed with the blast had been enough to knock Vi out momentarily. Slowly opening her eyes, Vi felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of the purple eyes burned into the back of her mind and the sound of her sister’s child-like voice.

“Powder? What... What the hell did you just do?”

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xunxjustxjusticex · 5 years

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#╡CAITLYN╞ The Sheriff’s In Town #╡JINX╞ My Loose Cannon #╡CAITLYN VISAGE╞ Sorry Boys I Keep The Fuzzy Cuffs At Home #FOUND DIS NOW AHHAHAHAHAHA #DESE TWO STOP

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orangechickenpillow · 3 years

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Losing my mind thinking about an Arcane Western AU. I mean think of how fun that could be?!

Silco

The scariest mother fucker in the West.

Seriously, top-tier bad guy -- smolder, cool jacket and all.

And he's got memorable scars on his face, so he'd probably have a badass nickname given to him by The Law™️

No one crosses him, and if they do they lose a hand (or their head) and it gets mailed back to their wife/sons/whatever.

Has a band of goons that are stupid as shit but follow him around anyway.

Exploits literally everyone.

Jinx

Second scariest mother fucker in the West. Unhinged to the utmost degree.

Silco's second in command (according to her) and don't be fooled -- she waves that shit around like a flag. Gets her whatever she wants, because, threats.

Can shoot like nobody's business. Loves the theatrics of a duel, and always wins.

People tell their children ghost stories about Jinx to keep them in line.

Is a horse girl, and names all her ponies (which are just as crazy as she is - no one can ride them because they are Feral)

For sure blows up a train at some point.

Sevika

Silco's actual right hand man

Sevika in a Pancho take me the fuck out

Does the Torturing™️ and runs the "Errands" (more torturing)

Definitely robs a bank at least once a week

Bar fights. All the time. Sevika enters a bar, there will be Violence

The brothel ladies love her (and she also beats the shit out of the aggressive assholes who threaten them)

Has a long-running beef with the Mayor (of what town, you ask? All of them)

The Disgruntled Cowboy whose come back from war or something

Has complex PTSD and attitude issues, but once you get to know her she’s just a big softie

Isn’t the best shot, but will still Fuck You Up

Punches her way through everything

Bar fights. Almost as notorious as Sevika, and just as destructive

Remember those brothel ladies? Yup, they love her too (Sevika and Vi out her doing god’s work for the sapphics, am I right)

Will break like five different bones and still save some poor little town from being overrun by outlaws the next day

Wears a Lucky Hat that she’s had since the beginning of time. Will not let any other hat touch her head. Will go back for said hat even if it means risking her life.

Thigh holster

Caitlyn

The damn best shot in the West

Heart of gold, law-abiding citizen

Probably the sheriff of somewhere

Wears a slouch hat (!!!) and looks damn good in it

Would not hesitate to shoot a man in the foot. Dude is a misogynistic asshole? Oops, her finger slipped. And no one will ever know because she’s the sheriff. It’s a good system

Likes locking bad guys in the clink (definitely refers to it as “the clink”)

Has a moral dilemma when a certain Disgruntled Cowboy rides into town looking for the nearest saloon

Has a gay awakening because of beforementioned Disgruntled Cowboy and says fuck the law before riding off into the sunset

Thigh holster

Jayce

The mayor that Sevika has beef with

Is that one character in all westerns and western-themed media that provides a little bit of exposition, but is otherwise unhelpful in every way possible

Insists on wearing a shiny badge even though he is not the sheriff (which Caitlyn has told him many times and he still won’t listen)

Probably takes in like five different orphans because look at them he can’t just leave them all alone

Thinks that anyone who breaks the law is a threat to his fine little town and the fine little people that live there

Probably has a mustache, idk

Definitely wears spurs even though he doesn’t have a clue how to ride a horse

Everyone teases him about this

Viktor

Local chemist by day, unhinged mad scientist by night

Wishes everyone would stop coming to him with their injuries because “I am not technically a doctor and you are bleeding all over my lab equipment get outttttttt”

Anyone who manages to notice him thinks he’s a sweet little guy

Knows how to kill and dismember a man before anyone notices a thing (...don’t ask)

Isn’t great with a gun -- but knives, on the other hand.... (again, don’t ask)

Isn’t above beating the shit out of people with his cane. Which also has a secret knife built into the handle

Has a running tab at the local saloon, which no one but himself and the owner knows about. Secretly never plans on paying it off.

Can’t ride very comfortably because of his leg, but has a horse, whom he loves very much and always gives treats and scratches to

Thinks the mayor is hot but won’t do anything about it

Has a Sexy Pocket Watch

#arcane #arcane series #arcane au #western #jayce talis #arcane jayce #silco arcane #jinx arcane #caitlyn kiramman #arcane caitlyn #arcane vi #arcane viktor #viktor the machine herald #arcane sevika

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 2 years

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Hell's Coming With Me

by TheHomelyBadger

A corrupt reverend. A hardware store owner and her pink-haired, tough sibling. An embattled saloon owner trying to look out for his people. A doctor trying to do his best, and the assistant who loves him.

Caught in the middle of them, a war veteran Sheriff with a warning from her predecessor - a warning of a promise that was made from blood-stained lips, a promise of revenge on the town and the people it held.

Tensions in the town are high, fingers are twitchy, and nobody can be trusted at their word.

Welcome to Zaun.

(An Arcane Wild West AU)

Words: 7370, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, Other

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Ekko (League of Legends), Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard, Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Marcus (Arcane: League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Non-Binary Vi, Sheriff Caitlyn (League of Legends), Wild West AU, graphic depictions of war-time, pre-transitioned Vi, Adultery, (mostly Vi sleeping with rancher's wives), gunfights, the author doesn't have a lot of respect for religion, specifically corrupt religious officers, pistols at dawn (but make it sexy)

from AO3 works tagged 'Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)'

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

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gillywulf · 2 years

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Something to Rely On

a short, late entry to caitvi week day 5, domesticity. unbetaed, unedited, based on that keane song, you know the one.

The Kiramman Manor was a stately home. Tall, proud, and intricately designed, it had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations. Each family tended to it lovingly and with great care for the remainder of their lives until it was all the way down to Caitlyn and her wife Vi.

Caitlyn worked more days than not and, for thirty years, upheld the manor as a part time side job that took almost as much energy. In recent months, she’d felt the toll more than she ever had. Her eyes weren’t quite what they used to be and the repeated shooting without ear protection meant her hearing was starting to go too. Between work as the sheriff, the aging house, her aging body, and trying to keep up with Vi, she was exhausted.

Something had to change.

When she got home after work, the smear of blood on the wall was evidence enough Vi had beaten her home. Caitlyn followed the smears, only a little nervous, and found her wife leaning over the kitchen sink, running her hand under a stream of water. She received a sheepish look for her trouble.

“What did you do?” she asked with a sigh, already reaching for the first aid kit they kept stashed in the front cabinet.

“I wasn’t as fast as usual. Bastard ducked out of the way and I punched a wall.”

Caitlyn vividly remembered their first meeting at Stillwater where Vi took special pride in breaking down bricks with her bare hands. She took her wife by the wrist and directed her to sit at their kitchen table as she took the spot across from her.

“Did you get him?”

She dabbed disinfectant over the weeping wounds. Vi snorted a laugh and only jerked a little at the sting.

“Of course. Easy peasy with the way we’ve trained the kids,” she answered, settling into the chair.

It was true, they’d invested an unheard of amount of time and effort into training the Wardens to be better than their predecessors. Vi’s childhood and the history of Zaun was colored so deeply with the violence of the Enforcers that it had been one of Caitlyn’s first decrees as sheriff to clean up the whole system. Not perfect. But better.

“Glad to hear. Wish I wasn’t patching you up,” Caitlyn teased. The antibiotic was next. Vi barked a laugh and shook her head.

“Think you’ll always be doing that, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn frowned at the hands in her own. In recent years, Vi’s hands took on a tremor. Nerve damage the doctors had said. Her hands had dealt out so much abuse that they couldn’t fight their own comeuppance. Vi had difficulty holding things with any sort of hope for stillness. Soup ended up more on her face than in her mouth, papers crinkled when she tried to read them with her glasses, her signature ended up a slashing stab when she was required to give it.

Caitlyn wrapped Vi’s hands and thought of how her own shooting had been more left of center than she wanted, her eyes fighting her as they stared down the barrel. She taped down the bandages and thought of how her hearing wasn’t what it used to be and how she was so much more tired than when they first started.

Caitlyn pressed a kiss to wobbling knuckles and thought of a little house on the outskirts of town.

“My love, do you think we may be getting old for this?” she asked into warm skin. Vi laughed, but when her wife didn’t join in, she abruptly stopped.

“You’re serious,” she realized, raising her palm to press it to Caitlyn’s cheek.

“We can’t keep doing this. I shot outside of the bullseye last week.” She smiled at Vi’s awkward laugh. “We are older, Vi. Everyone we know is gone or able to take care of themselves. We can barely keep up with our own officers most days.”

Vi thinned her lips together and frowned.

“Yeah,” she mumbled absently. There was no animosity or guarded posture. Instead, Vi’s soft agreement was laced with a reluctant acceptance. Caitlyn bit her lip. If there was ever a chance, it was here.

“I saw a house the other day. Small, a yard, large windows, and planters under each. I was wondering, how would you feel about moving? Leaving here?”

The Kiramman Manor had been their home since almost the day they met. Even when they were near strangers, they curled up together in Caitlyn’s bed and napped the hours away until they were to speak to the council. It was never anything but theirs. There had never been a conversation about living anywhere besides the Manor, but Caitlyn had seen that little house and suddenly the too-big house seemed like an easy sacrifice for such a bright future.

“Cait,” Vi’s nose scrunched in that familiar way she loved, broadcasting her concern, “I want to live wherever you are, I don’t care what it looks like as long as you’re on the other side of the bed. But, do you want to leave here? This is your family’s.”

Caitlyn let her thumbs stroke over the back on Vi’s available hand and smiled. It’d been difficult at first to reconcile, but she had been struck with an idea within a week of seeing the small house.

“I want to donate the Manor. I want to make it a home for children who feel like they have no where else to go. I want to give children another option that is not a back alley.”

Vi’s pale blue eyes, lightened with time, stared wide at her. Then, slowly, like a dandelion drying in the sun of its morning dew, she grinned.

“You’re something else,” she said with a shake of her head. “Yeah, I’m in. I think I’m getting tired anyway,” she laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth.

“It’s somewhere to begin.”

#arcane #fanfiction #piltovers finest #caitvi #violyn #mine

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nofraildoll · 2 years

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Arcane Season 2 predictions 1/2

• Renata will take over Silco's business (a girlboss as we like) and I secretly wish her and Sevika will become lovers

• Camille will be her main enemy

• Caitlyn will become the new sheriff

• Vi will be her second

• Jayce will build a new council and manage it

• Ambessa Medarda will take her revenge on the murderer of Mel (Jinx) and that of her son (perhaps a citizen of Ionia who wanted revenge ?she said he was stronger than Noxus and I wish Ahri would appear)

• Viktor will continue his glorious evolution (and build Sky's project : Blitzcrank) in the Undercity because Jayce won’t understand his choice.

• Singed will work independently for Noxus (if he works for Renata, then Renata will do business with Noxus)

• In case Renata sells chemicals to Noxus, she will protect Jinx from Medarda

• Jinx will stay alone and tease Caitlyn and Vi with (dangerous) tricks and pranks

• Or Jinx will continue to be a hitwoman but work for Renata

• Heimerdinger will help Ekko develop the independent town

• Zeri will appear to help Ekko to fight Jinx (I prefer Zekko to Jinkko)

• Vander will come back as Warwick, a Singed’s experience

• Silco will haunt Jinx

• || I will post a second part ||

I guess Ezreal (my fucking crush omg he’s so hot) will appear in the season 3, fall in love with Lux, and I don’t how it’ll come but I want Lux and Jinx become friends.

#arcane #theories #season 2 #lol #league of legends #forecast #prediction

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sheriff-caitlyn · 3 years

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Just Business

“Don’t go, Cait.”

Caitlyn looks at Vi, who is equal parts grim, grave, unhappy and nervous.

“Don’t go,” Vi says, softer.

Caitlyn closes the valve on the gasmask. The new filter fits perfectly, and will keep her breathing in Zaun for a day at best, a few hours at worse. She is heading to a better part of town, so ‘best’ seems more likely. Still, she’ll keep a few spare filters in her coat pocket, just in case the weather turns bad or someone decides to play hero.

“Or at least take a gun.”

“The Treaty of Black Pools was very definitive, Vi. I cannot enter Zaunite territory carrying a weapon or a badge of office. You know that.”

“Yeah. I was there.” Vi glances to the other item on the desk. “But you’re takin’ the hat?”

“I need them to see me,” she says, “I need them to know who I am.”

“You could take me.”

“I could. But then I’d be considered very armed. Unnecessarily over-armed, one might say.”

“... hell yeah, you would be.” Vi flexes. But then she drops the pose, and pulls Caitlyn in for a tight and sudden hug. “You better come back. If you don’t come back, I’m startin’ a war.”

“I’m counting on it, partner.” It’s a joke. Truly. Piltover doesn’t need one of those. She reaches up to stroke Vi’s hair, then pats Vi’s shoulder twice to indicate it is time for her partner to let go. “But I am sure I will be fine.”

Kovachev meets her at the border, at Grimdark. It’s all official, as per the Treaty, with signed documents and witnesses on both sides acknowledging that, yes, the Sheriff of Piltover is crossing into Zaun, and yes, Merchant-Prince Mikhail Kovachev is the one who invited her and is welcoming Caitlyn as his guest. These papers and these witnesses confirm that this was agreed-upon by both parties and it was entirely willing and it will be entirely sensible and conflict-free for the time the sheriff is visiting. Legally, at least.

Caitlyn adjusts her mask like she is not used to wearing it, like it doesn’t fit properly. She waits for the political rigmarole to be over and done with. And then she passes through the border fence and follows Kovachev to his limousine.

“Drink?” He asks, pulling down his mask as the sleek vehicle pulls through Zaun’s upper-level streets.

She squints at him. Shakes her head. Looks through the tinted glass to the world outside. She watches buildings and streets and outpourings of smog, and notes the route. “We’re not going to your office.”

Kovachev pours himself something clear from a crystal decanter. “We’re going to one of my offices. But not the main one.” He downs the glass, and refills it. “I didn’t want any risk to my decor.”

Caitlyn glances at him. “I’ve only ever thrown a chair once in my entire life, Mikhail. Your decor will be perfectly safe.”

“How reassuring.” He downs that shot, too, before shoving glass and bottle both back into the console. “But there’s a second time for everything, isn’t there?”

She considered the careful choice of words. He’s continued to use Middletongue, too, which doesn’t feel entirely right. She watches his hands, and the way his eyes deliberately stay fixed ahead of them. No looking around, no casual glances. No smile, not even a smirk. Aside from the vodka, he’s all business. “Just who are we meeting, Mikhail?”

He looks at her, amethyst to hextech-blue, and his mouth presses odd shapes before he shakes his head.

“Ominous,” she notes, dryly, as she looks away. It is a touch concerning that he doesn’t joke in response, or even respond to that at all.

In the reflection of the limosine windows, she sees him watching her, keen and rarely blinking. Maybe she should have had that drink after all.

Her hat draws attention, either because it is so out-of-place or because people know what those colours and lenses mean. The walk from the limosine to the lobby is a short one, however, and the watching eyes can’t follow them into the elevator.

Mikhail still hasn’t spoken. Caitlyn has been in awkward elevator trips before, but none like this. She removes her goggles and pulls down her mask, and clears her throat against the air’s natural tang. Kovachev doesn’t say a word.

The door opens to a hallway. Mikhail leads the way to an office. He opens the door for her, and avoids her gaze as she passes him.

Caitlyn takes in the view quickly. It’s a nice office. Round conference table, comfortable chairs, rich curtains half-drawn against lights that mimic a window with a view, a man in a tailored suit sitting with his elbows on the table, tapping his thumbs with impatience. But what draws Caitlyn’s eye the most - and with a sudden burst of adrenaline - is the neon pink lines of paint that mark a familiar pattern across the table, and the curtains, and the wall. From where she’s standing, she sees that painted face.

She’s never felt so naked. No rifle, no sidearm, no hunting knife. Nowhere to run. Nothing to do but relive the pain of a broken arm, the ringing in her ears from a grenade, the smell of blood and black powder and snow. She cannot take her eyes off the neon art. The world is bisected with white lines and she hears a ticking clock. Or maybe it’s a bomb.

Or maybe it’s the heartbeat of the grinning terrorist perching on the chandelier.

The Merchant-Prince shuts the door. “Sheriff Huxley...”

“Mikhail Kovachev, you motherfucker.”

He presses on, “This is Councilman Rynard.” There is a click as he locks the door. “Councilman Rynard, Sheriff Huxley of Piltover.”

The man at the table is standing, his movements smooth and controlled. Between the cut of his bespoke suit, the careful arrangement of his white-touched hair, the vivid nature of his scars, and his cool expression, he brings to mind a fox. Cunning and savage and utterly civilised.

Or at least, that thought does come to mind, but Caitlyn feels paralysed. She can see dangling legs and long blue braids in her periphery, but she doesn’t dare look up. If she does, she might lose herself. She’s already losing herself, to the point where she doesn’t even dig in her heels as Kovachev steers her forward, his hand at her lower back but barely any pressure needed to guide her to the table.

The chandelier creaks. Crystals tinkle. The paint is still wet, and its smell is sharp.

“A pleasure to finally meet,” Rynard says. He has a voice like dark silk wrapped around a razorblade. He offers his hand to shake. “I’m a great admirer of your work, Sheriff Huxley. Thank you for agreeing to meet.”

Caitlyn extends her hand stiffly, automatically. She is aware that he has a firm, respectful handshake. She is aware of Kovachev pushing a seat behind her. She is aware of Kovachev sitting not too far from her, and the way that she is now eye-to-eye with Councilman Rynard. Rynard has another name. Caitlyn knows that name. She knows that there is also very few people who she can be eye-to-eye with, given her height. But she cannot think about anything other than the presence directly over her, the sounds of the crystals chiming and the metal creaking as the terrorist readjusts position, like some Damoclean blade.

The man called Councilman Rynard sits again, but this time his posture is much more relaxed, much less impatient. “I regret that we have not had the opportunity to speak previously, Sheriff.”

She is sitting, too, somehow. She must have mimicked him when he sat, because she would not have chosen to do so if she was in her right mind. This is not just a quiet office, it is a place for her to relive every moment of Piltover’s devastation.

Rynard’s eyes - mismatched, one misty-morning and one molten-rock - search her face for a moment, before he smiles a little more, and raises his gaze to the chandelier. “I think you’re unsettling her. Best come down, now, I think.”

Boots hit the table. Grimy, dusty, stained. Striped leggings, patched and the colour almost worn to nothing. Caitlyn barely has time to take in the new view before the terrorist squats down in front of her. Face to face. She fills Caitlyn’s vision entirely. Elbows rest on her knees, pale arms - cuffs, gloves, tattoos - dangling before her, and her gaze flicks in restless amusement between Caitlyn’s face and the hat.

Caitlyn’s hands clench into fists on the table. She can feel her nails breaking the skin.

“Hi,” Jinx says. “Been a while.”

A screeching, cackling blur had become a whip-thin woman about to enter her 30s. She still smells of combustible chemicals. She still has those fierce eyes and that manic grin. Her braids are long as lifelines, and she tilts her head like a restless bird of prey to see past, and then hide behind, and then look around the messy fringe that covers the right side of her face.

The terrorist is armed. There’s a pistol at her hip, and Caitlyn knows she could get it. She knows she could.

Jinx grins, one hand sliding to protectively - demonstratively? - rest on the pistol. “You wanna kill me, Hat Lady?”

“Gods, yes.” It’s an exhalation of pure passion. It is a whispered snarl of the fury barely contained behind her blank face and her rigid posture. The hatred rolls off of her in waves, but all it does is make the terrorist smile: she is getting what she wanted. Caitlyn’s hands shake, the fists so tight that she almost forgets she has weapons too, that she could start swinging, that the chair she’s in would be just enough...

Rynard’s voice insinuates itself into the moment. “We are here to speak of business.”

“So you put me in a room with her?” Caitlyn’s eyes don’t leave the terrorist’s face.

“She goes where I go.”

Jinx leans backwards, and carelessly rolls off the table, her legs spiking upright at the last second to swing herself around to standing, to casually leaning on the back of Rynard’s chair. One leg hooks casually over the arm of the chair, and her chin rests on the back. Smug and self-assured. Rynard seems entirely unbothered with how little personal space there is between himself and the terrorist.

Facts filter through, one by one, through the bottleneck in Caitlyn’s mind. Points of light that show in the dimly-lit room and that hum over the pulsing sound of her high blood pressure.

“We have quite a lot to discuss, Sheriff, but I understand your time is precious.”

“Mm.” She doesn’t trust herself with words. She can look at his face and still see the terrorist, can still see that pistol across the table. Just within reach, if she’s fast enough.

Rynard cocks his head slightly, the fingers of one hand fanning out in a casual gesture. “I am quite grateful that you seem to have so much time for Zaun. Kovachev tells me you’ve started encouraging a bit of a black market in his territory.”

She has some impetus to move, then. She turns her head stiffly and slowly to look at Kovachev, where he sits at her left.

The Merchant-Prince looks back at her. There is nothing warm in those amethyst eyes, nothing personable. It’s all just business now. She’s at a table with a shark, a fox, and a murderous bint, and the only thing protecting her was her signature on the papers at the border.

Caitlyn leans back in her chair, and puts her aching fists out of sight under the table. If this is politics, then she will play. Like the good civil servant she is. “You might have to take that up with my partner. It was her initiative, not mine.”

There. A small reward. A flicker of discontent and anger on the terrorist’s face, the sound of scraping nails as one hand moves from the top of the chair-back to the side. Hugging the chair for support and glowering.

The man in that chair hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll bear that in mind. However, you were much easier to get in touch with, seeing as you still stay in contact with your university friends.”

Is that a threat? Kovachev has already shared more than he should have. How much more does this scarred man know? How much danger is she in? “Friends,” she echoes, noting the plural as she glances at Kovachev again. “Well. I suppose so.”

This time, the Merchant-Prince looks away. He’s getting himself a cigarette.

Caitlyn turns back to face the man before her. “I also recently spoke to the steam-construct, Blitzcrank. Am I in trouble for that, too?”

Rynard smiled thinly, the merriment of the expression only reaching the right side of his face. “You think you’re in trouble, Sheriff?”

She gives a bare shrug. “It certainly feels like it.” She lets her eyes move to the terrorist, and the pistol, before she looks back at his scars.

Rynard waves his upraised hand, dismissively. “Fret not. You’re of more value to us alive. You understand that Zaun belongs to the Zaunites. Your meddling on this side of the bay is minimal. Tolerable, even.” His tone is smooth and respectful in a way that can not be feigned, but it is still dangerous in all its grace. “As I said, I am an admirer of your work. You turned a whole city upside down, and made it better for it. You are a woman who understands the art of the compromise without compromising herself. For the most part,” he adds, smilingly.

“Ah. So I have been invited here to compromise.” She flexes her hands in her lap, uncurling her fingers and rubbing at the blood-filled half-moons made on her palm.

“Actually, I am here to offer you something you need, and without any strings attached.”

Caitlyn looks at him dubiously. She breathes in the smoke from Kovachev’s Bilgewater tobacco. Her eyes flick to the terrorist, whose face is sullen but whose eyes are flicking around the dimly-lit room, and whose leg is starting to bounce restlessly.

Councilman Rynard rests a calming hand on that leg - a gesture which makes Caitlyn’s chest seize - before he reaches into his vest pocket. He produces a small velvet box, the kind that might contain a bracelet or a pair of earrings, and sets it on the table. His fingertips hold it in place.

“I remember your speech at the Bastion,” Rynard said. “Full of fire and determination. Piltover could not have sent a better representative. Power suits you, Miss Huxley.”

“I am a civil servant,” she answers, crisply, with a thin smile as a chaser.

He chuckles. “Of course, of course.” He taps the box. “This might be of great interest to you.” And then he looks at Kovachev.

Caitlyn looks at Kovachev, too. Though not quite enough to lose the terrorist in her peripheral vision.

The Merchant-Prince exhales a plume of smoke from his nose. “Stolen artifacts and nexus fragments,” he said, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the table. “That was what you declared. But what you had your Chimera looking for, and what my Chimaera helped you find, was something else entirely.” His eyes bore into Caitlyn’s. “How many soul crystals have you located?”

She studies him. She tries to decipher the reason behind his intense stare. She thinks she knows, but she cannot be sure. She cannot be sure of anything, because this room has been spray-painted with a laughing monkey and the terrorist is cuddled up to a councilman. “Until your intervention? None.”

“It’s been six years.” Rynard notes. “Progress has been... slow.”

Piltover. The City of Progress. She hears the barb. She feels the tension in her jaw.

“Not to mention your inability to follow through with what happened with the Thornmail.”

She turns her full attention back to Rynard. “And now you know why I did not declare we were looking for soul crystals. Just in case that kind of incident repeated itself.”

He nods in understanding. The terrorist’s eyes are glazed with boredom.

Kovachev tales a pull on his cigarette, then gestures with its glowing tip. “Piltover’s too soft for what needs to be done. You’re not pushing hard enough.”

Oh, the things she could say now. She could talk about the burning of Piltover, the libraries and universities and the orphanage that met an ignoble end and the hundreds who died. She could talk about peace. She could hint at Piltover’s preparations. She could mention some of the dirt she had on her old friend, just to level the playing field. She could try and steal the pistol and be done with this whole fucking farce.

“I know,” she says, instead, quietly. “If I was in the field, I would push harder.” She looks over and stares Kovachev down. “But my responsibilities are greater than this. I have a nation to keep safe. I have promises to keep. And besides, when it comes to these kind of artifacts, it can be difficult to identify…” She looks back at Councilman Rynard, at the box, and then at his face once more, “Private collectors. They tend not to advertise that they have such things in their possession.”

Rynard smiles. Even laughs, a little. Then he flicks the box to her. Caitlyn finds she almost expects the box to streak a line in the pink paint as it crosses to her, but alas, the paint had dried by this point.

“We are very appreciative of the items you have returned to Zaun,” he says, as Caitlyn considers the box in front of her. “Perhaps this will assist you in recovering more.”

“Perhaps?”

The man smiles. Caitlyn’s gaze is drawn to the dark well of his left eye. “Perhaps,” he echos.

She knows what’s in this box. She can feel it, the strange magnetic pull, the tingling unease. She knows what she’ll see if she opens the box. She doesn’t want to, but she has to. Just for the sake of diplomacy, for the game they’re playing.

She knows what it is. But it is still a dull terrifying thrill to see a piece of her soul in this little box. To feel the way it calls to her. To see how it shines. She had almost forgotten how bright she used to shine.

Caitlyn closes the box. “Do I need to get you in touch with my partner?”

The terrorist narrows her eyes.

But Rynard shakes his head. “No, Sheriff, there’s no call for that. I haven’t got her crystal in my possession, if that’s what you’re asking. I was fortunate enough to come across this one.” His smile is mocking. “But I didn’t see the point in keeping it, if I couldn’t have a matched set.”

Caitlyn holds the box, thinking it through. Trying to calm her mind and her heart rate and her desire to just leap across the table and strangle the terrorist with her own fucking braids. This was a power play. Two of the councilmen of Zaun reminding her of her place, of her inadequacy, of the games that Piltover and Zaun have played and will continue to play, of the fact that The Institute of War is still a threat to all of them, even after all these years of being dissolved and gone. This is power and plea at the same time.

Caitlyn looks at the terrorist, and she wonders.

Rynard raises his only eyebrow, then smiles faintly. “Oh, no, we recovered hers already. Don’t you worry about that, Sheriff.”

Caitlyn doesn’t ask if that’s how they’re keeping her in check. She knows it isn’t. She taps her thumbs on the small box.

“There’s nothing stopping me now,” she says, quietly. They put the crystal back into her hands, so now she cannot be controlled by external forces, cannot be puppetted the way she was when a Summoner might have held it. She could reach for the gun…

But Rynard smiles. “It’s a long way to the door.”

Caitlyn smiles back, politely, understanding the threat, the reason for the pistol at the terrorist’s side, for the terrorist at Rynard’s side. She looks at the box again. This was a gift with no strings attached, apparently, but it feels to her like accepting it would be the first link in some kind of binding chain. She can’t see it from here, because she has been rattled. She’s blinded by Zaun Grey, as it were.

The terrorist straightens up, both boots on the floor, shifting around behind Councilman Rynard’s chair. “Guess we’re done here! Awesome! Best scoot back on over to your side of the bay, Hat Lady. Unless you want another partin’ gift.” She chattered her teeth, mimicking the chattering of the grenade that almost killed Piltover’s Finest.

“Vi still has scars from that,” Caitlyn says, barely looking up. She doesn’t need a rifle to fire shots. “Just so you know.”

The terrorist’s grin freezes, and then turns into fury and grief and the baring of teeth, before she looks away, sullenly, leaning into Rynard’s right side and resting her chin on the top of his head.

The fall of her braid obstructs his right eye. His left holds unblinkingly on Caitlyn’s face.

She stares back. The box is lightly encircled by both of her hands. She reads as much as she can into this situation as she can, so she can analyse the details at her leisure. Maybe she’ll figure out what she has missed with some distance, time, and fresh air.

“Perhaps,” Rynard looks up at the terrorist, his voice softening, becoming fond, “We should go first. It might make the Sheriff more comfortable.”

The terrorist sneers, then grins, then hops back out of the way as the councilman gets to his feet.

“Appreciated,” Caitlyn says, dryly. “And so, our clandestine meeting comes to an end.”

He pauses, and looks down at her with amusement. “‘Clandestine’? My good sheriff, do you honestly believe that Chairman Dunderson is unaware of all this?”

She looks at him, and says nothing. She doesn’t know what the Chairman of Zaun does or does not know. She also knows that such a statement doesn’t confirm or deny anything, either.

“I’m sending you a fucking cleaning bill,” Kovachev gestures with his cigarette to the spray paint graffiti. The terrorist giggles, but Rynard inclines his head.

He shrugs on his coat, and then he and his weapon of mass destruction head for the door (he walking, she skipping). The lock clicks, the door opens, and the door closes.

Caitlyn exhales quietly. Then she looks back at the Merchant-Prince. “You motherfucker.”

He stands, and stubs his cigarette out on the ashtray by the drinks cabinet. “Can I get you that drink now?”

“Fuck you.” She slouches in her chair, one hand on the velvet box and the other rubbing at her face. She is exhausted. “… make it a double.”

He picks out a bottle from a higher shelf, and returns to the conference table with two glasses. She watches him pour, and watches him drink, before she accepts the glass. She doesn’t waste time nursing it, etiquette of drinking from the top shelf be damned.

“You see why I couldn’t—”

“Shut the fuck up.” She holds her glass out for a refill.

He snorts a laugh, but her glass is refilled.

“How long has that fucker had my soul crystal, Kovachev? And don’t tell me ‘before Harrowing’.”

“It’s true, though.” He sits back down, stretching his legs out under the table. There’s metallic clunk as his prothesis hits the table leg. “Before the Harrowing, 25CLE.”

Caitlyn drains the glass. “<Mother fucking fuck of a fuck shit fucking whore fucker, fuck!>” Every single word was different. Interzaun was incredible for cursing. It felt right.

Kovachev refills her glass without prompting.

“Since the Bastion?”

“Just after the Bastion.”

She puts the glass down and massages the tension out of her jaw. “I hate you. After this, I don’t want to see you, talk to you, or even think about you, for at least three months.”

“I made this happen. For you! You’re fucking welcome.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” He drinks, slowly. Then he frowns, and looks at her in concern. “Are you going to stay?”

“What?”

He shrugs, casually. “You’re already in Zaun.”

She considers it, for a moment. For the first time, she’s legally in Zaun on a Friday.

“Best not,” she says, eventually. “I have people waiting for me to come back.”

“What will I tell him?”

“Nothing. I’ll be back on my own terms, in my own time.” She gives him a narrow-eyed look as she picks up her glass. “And you are not going to fuck it up for me. Don’t tell him anything. In fact, don’t tell anyone!”

“I haven’t. I won’t.”

She exhaled an exasperated groan. Drinking helped. But her eyes draw back down to the box. It’s quiet in the room. They both nurse their drinks. They both say nothing.

But then Caitlyn puts down her glass and opens the box, looking at the gleaming gem. That’s a part of her, there. It’s as familiar to her as her own thoughts.

Kovachev refills his glass. “What are you going to do with it?”

So many options. So little time. “I might as well use it,” she murmurs. She picks the gem out of the box, and holds it to her forehead. Her eyes close.

She hears a voice. It sounds familiar. It’s her own voice, but from somewhere else, from some other time. She feels a tug at her limbs, a pull she resists. She pulls back. The gem is cold against her skin. Though her closed eyelids, the brightness is fading.

When she opens her eyes, she’s holding a simple carved quartz. No light, no gleaming, nothing contained within. Just a rock, now.

Kovachev is looking at her, curiously. “Do you feel any different?”

“That’s not how souls work,” she says. She pushes herself to her feet, adjusts her hat, pockets the box, then pulls on her goggles and mask. “Bring the limosine around, will you? I need to see Vi.”

#si vis pacem para bellum #item recovery #caitlyn #vi #freshprinceofzaun #piltover #zaun #politics #souls #jinx #silco rynard

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