#Arcane Spice

[aspenmissing]

Hiii, are you comfortable with writing something about Reader x Arcane character getting caught while making out? Maybe both of them are really stressed and needed a little distraction at work or in a hidden corner somewhere in the city.

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪ��ᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 4493 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʜᴇ)

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The weight of the council meeting still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Jayce slumped into his chair, one hand dragging through his already-mussed hair, the other tapping mindlessly on the table. Across from him, you mirrored his exhaustion, arms folded as you stared at the mess of blueprints and reports scattered before you.

"This is impossible," Jayce groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "How do they expect us to solve everything at once?"

You sighed, shaking your head. "They don’t. They just want to watch us try until we collapse."

A humourless chuckle left him as he rolled his shoulders, rubbing at the tension there. His usually confident posture was weighed down with exhaustion, frustration evident in every movement.

The stress had been building for weeks—long meetings, sleepless nights, the pressure of expectation closing in on both of you like a vise. The worst part? You barely had time for each other. Stolen glances, brief touches in passing, but never enough to ease the ache of missing him.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Maybe we just need a break. Five minutes. Just… something to clear my head."

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in the way his fingers twitched restlessly on the table, how his broad shoulders seemed so tense, like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"I have an idea," you murmured, standing and rounding the desk.

Jayce barely had time to react before you slid onto his lap, straddling him with ease. His eyes widened slightly, but the second your hands cupped his face, his tension melted like snow in the sun.

"What are you—?" His words were cut off as your lips brushed against his.

A slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, not desperate—just enough to make him forget, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest as he kissed you back, slow at first, like he was savouring the taste of you. His fingers skimmed your sides before gripping your waist, pulling you just that much closer. The heat of his touch sent a thrill up your spine.

But when you tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly, everything shifted.

Jayce exhaled sharply against your lips, the frustration of the day bleeding into something else entirely. His grip on you tightened as he moved suddenly, one strong arm wrapping around your waist while the other gripped the desk.

The next thing you knew, you were on the table.

Papers and blueprints scattered to the floor as Jayce pushed them aside without a second thought. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough for him to step between them, his body pressing into yours.

"Jayce—" you half-gasped, half-laughed, but he swallowed whatever protest you had with another kiss.

This one was different. Deeper. Desperate.

His lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, his hands pressing into the curve of your back, pulling you against him like he needed this—needed you—more than anything else.

"You're too damn distracting," he murmured against your lips, breathless, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, skimming the bare skin at your waist.

You smirked, letting your nails drag lightly along the back of his neck. "Funny. I was just about to say the same about you."

His answering chuckle vibrated against your skin before he dipped his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. You shivered as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Jayce—" you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as his hands wandered, heat pooling in your stomach.

And then—

"Ahem."

You froze.

Jayce’s lips lingered against your skin for a second longer before he stilled, his body going rigid.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Viktor. His expression was somewhere between exasperated and amused, his golden eyes flicking from you to Jayce and then to the mess of scattered papers on the floor.

"I take it this is your solution to stress management?"

Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to push yourself upright. Jayce stepped back immediately, coughing into his fist while straightening his shirt, trying—failing—to look composed.

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "By all means, don't let me interrupt your… problem-solving session."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Jayce groaned too, dragging a hand down his face, looking anywhere but at Viktor.

Viktor turned to leave but paused just before the door. "I’ll let the council know you’re… preoccupied."

The door shut behind him. Silence stretched between you and Jayce.

Then—

"Of all people, why did it have to be Viktor?" Jayce groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh as you nudged him. "So… continue?"

Jayce groaned again, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. Maybe stress relief wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

VIKTOR

The apartment was filled with the soft glow of the city beyond its grand windows. Piltover's skyline stretched high in the distance, golden lamplight flickering against the polished glass, illuminating the intricate brass fixtures that adorned the walls. The faint hum of the Hextech trams outside blended with the quiet ticking of the many clocks and machines scattered around the room. The air smelled of ink, metal, and the faint remnants of Viktor’s tea—long forgotten and cold in its cup.

You sat on the couch, head resting against the cushions, eyes trailing Viktor as he paced. His cane tapped against the floor in a slow, rhythmic beat, his free hand raking through his messy curls as he mumbled under his breath.

“This is not working,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “If I adjust the schematics for the stabilizer, it offsets the energy balance entirely—”

“Viktor.”

He didn’t seem to hear you.

“Viktor.”

Finally, he stopped pacing, turning towards you with tired, golden-brown eyes. The soft candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, the deep crease between his brows evidence of long nights spent battling his own mind.

“You need to take a break,” you said, patting the space beside you.

“I cannot afford a break,” he countered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what if I make it worth your while?”

His lips twitched, curiosity flickering in his gaze. But before he could overanalyze it, you reached for him, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as you pulled him down. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist—if anything, he melted into you, his hands bracing on either side of you as your lips met in a slow, desperate kiss.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was the kind of kiss that unraveled knots in the soul, the kind that softened the weight of sleepless nights and overworked minds. His hand cupped your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

Viktor sighed into the kiss, his body finally relaxing as he deepened it, stealing another taste of you like a man starved. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you found yourself tugging him closer, lips parting to let him in—

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, careful not to put too much weight on him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your waist, hesitating only for a second before gripping you as if anchoring himself.

“You’re being reckless,” he murmured against your lips, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“I’m being helpful,” you corrected, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing along the curve of your back. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way his pulse quickened beneath your touch.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, leaving slow, lazy kisses against your throat. You tilted your head to give him more access, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently. The way he sighed, almost blissfully, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Much better than schematics,” he murmured against your skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed, tracing slow circles into his shoulders. “And much better than pacing yourself into exhaustion.”

He chuckled, low and warm, before reclaiming your lips in another kiss, his fingers pressing into your waist. You could feel the tension melting from his body, the weight of his thoughts momentarily forgotten—

"Oh—oh my GOD!"

You both jolted apart, breathless and wide-eyed as the unmistakable voice of Jayce Talis rang through the apartment.

Viktor turned his head just in time to see his best friend standing in the doorway, hand over his eyes like he’d walked in on something far more scandalous.

“Jayce—!” Viktor’s voice cracked slightly, his cheeks burning as he scrambled to straighten his shirt.

“I— I was coming to check on you because you haven’t answered in hours and I was worried but clearly I was wrong to do so—” Jayce rambled, still shielding his vision.

You covered your face with both hands, mortified. Viktor, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “For the love of— Jayce, knock next time.”

Jayce made a sound somewhere between an embarrassed chuckle and a strangled cough. “You never close your door! I figured you were just working!”

“Well, clearly, I was busy.”

Jayce groaned. “I hate this. I’m leaving. I’m pretending I never saw this. Have fun— or don’t, actually. Just— I’m leaving!”

With that, he fled, the door slamming behind him.

Silence stretched between you and Viktor. Then, despite everything, a small laugh bubbled from your lips. Viktor shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as well.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his nose brushed against yours, “that was unfortunate.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl from his face. “Maybe next time we should lock the door.”

He hummed in agreement before pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he whispered, fingers ghosting along your spine, “I will not be so easily interrupted.”

JAYVIK

The apartment was supposed to be a place of solace, a refuge from the chaos of Piltover’s ever-demanding scientific advancements. Instead, it had become an extension of the lab—blueprints scattered over the coffee table, half-finished devices blinking with dim light, and a lingering scent of metal and ozone in the air.

Viktor sat hunched over a set of schematics, fingers curled into his hair, while Jayce paced in front of the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Y/N, squeezed between them on their small shared couch, rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of their collective stress.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Jayce finally muttered, throwing himself onto the couch beside her with a heavy sigh. “We need a break.”

Viktor snorted but didn’t argue. He just leaned back, rolling his stiff shoulders. Y/N looked between them, their exhaustion clear in the droop of their eyes and the tension in their muscles.

“A break,” she echoed, thoughtful. A smirk tugged at her lips before she turned to Viktor first, placing a hand against his cheek to guide him to her. He inhaled sharply, but when she kissed him, his breath softened against her lips.

Jayce chuckled beside them. “Oh, I see what kind of break you mean.”

Y/N barely had time to grin before Jayce tilted her head toward him, catching her lips in a deeper kiss. His hands were warm against her waist, his touch grounding, and when he pulled away, Viktor leaned in, catching Jayce’s mouth in his own.

The stress that had suffocated them melted away between kisses, fingers threading through hair, soft sighs filling the space. Viktor’s hands found Y/N’s hips as she curled into him, and Jayce’s fingers brushed against Viktor’s wrist before cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in again. It was the kind of comfort they all needed, a reminder that despite the frustrations, they had each other. The warmth between them built steadily, deepening with each brush of lips, each squeeze of hands against familiar bodies.

And then the door opened.

“What the—”

All three of them froze.

Caitlyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide, a folder of papers tucked under her arm. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again as she took in the sight of all three of them tangled together on the couch, breathless and undeniably caught.

“Uh,” Jayce started, clearing his throat and trying to shift subtly, but Viktor was still half in his lap, Y/N’s fingers still curled in Viktor’s shirt. “We were, um, taking a break?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then smirked. “I can see that.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Jayce just let out a nervous laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re early.”

Caitlyn lifted the folder. “Heimerdinger wanted me to drop these off. But, uh, I’ll just… leave them here.” She set the papers on the counter, giving them all one last amused glance before backing toward the door. “Carry on.”

The door clicked shut, leaving silence in her wake.

Y/N exhaled, pulling away from Viktor’s shoulder to glance between her lovers. “Well. That happened.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face, groaning. “We’re never living this down, are we?”

Viktor, ever the unbothered one, simply chuckled. “I highly doubt this is the most scandalous thing Caitlyn has ever walked in on.”

Y/N smirked, brushing a thumb over Viktor’s cheek. “Guess we’ll just have to get used to locking the door.”

Jayce huffed a laugh and leaned back. “Yeah. Next time, we plan our distractions better.”

“Next time?” Viktor mused, arching a brow.

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

Jayce grinned too, leaning his head back against the couch. “You know,” he mused, eyes flicking between the two of them, “I don’t regret it.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Of course you don’t.”

Y/N nudged him. “Neither do you.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh before conceding. “No. I do not.”

Jayce let out a satisfied hum, looping an arm around both of them. “Then I say we finish our break properly… after we actually lock the door.”

Y/N and Viktor exchanged looks before laughing softly, leaning into his embrace as the tension from the day fully melted away. Even with the inevitable teasing from Caitlyn and whoever she told, they had each other—and that was enough.

VANDER

The Last Drop was busier than usual, filled with the usual rowdy crowd, the smell of stale ale, and the low hum of conversation. Vander rubbed his temple, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been a long day—dealing with drunken fools who thought they were tougher than they were, extra mouths to feed, and the constant chaos of running the bar.

Y/N was just as exhausted, having spent the day tending to the younger kids and ensuring no one got into trouble. Stress hung between them like a thick cloud, and one knowing glance was all it took before Vander took her by the wrist and led her into the small backroom of The Last Drop.

The moment the door shut behind them, she barely had time to breathe before he was on her, pressing her up against the wooden wall. His large hands gripped her thighs, lifting her with ease as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His lips were firm and demanding, the taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue as he kissed her deeply. She sighed into him, letting the tension of the day melt away, fingers threading through the silver streaks of his beard as he growled low in his throat.

He pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers, trapping her against the wall. The heat between them was undeniable, the way his hands kneaded at her thighs making her breath hitch. His kisses grew more intense, hungry, as his mouth trailed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She gasped softly as his teeth grazed her pulse, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sound.

“Vander,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. He chuckled against her skin, his hands shifting under her thighs, pressing her higher, closer.

“You always sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers before diving back in, this time deeper, more desperate. His fingers dug into her hips, grounding himself in the moment as she tugged at the strands of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You know how to drive me crazy, woman,” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm as he trailed kisses down her neck.

She grinned, tilting her head back to give him better access. “Then maybe I should do it more often.”

She could feel the rumble of his chest as he let out a pleased sigh, savouring her, indulging in her. The tension of the day faded, replaced by something heady, something undeniable—

“Vander?”

The sound sent a jolt through him, and before he could react, his grip on Y/N loosened. With a surprised yelp, she slipped from his hold and landed on the floor with a graceless thud.

Vander winced. “Shit—Y/N, love, you alright?” He knelt quickly, reaching out to help her up, but the glare she shot him had him pausing.

“Do I look alright?” she hissed, rubbing her sore backside. “You dropped me!”

The voice outside knocked again. “Vander?”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “One second, kid!” He turned back to Y/N, his expression sheepish. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, swatting his hand away and getting up on her own. “You owe me for that.”

Vander sighed, but a small smirk played at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to ya later.”

“You better.”

Straightening his clothes, he took one last look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and narrowed eyes—and sighed before heading to the door. As soon as he cracked it open, he was met with Vi’s unimpressed face.

“Really?” she deadpanned, arms crossed.

Vander sighed again. “Not a word, Vi.”

She grinned. “Oh, I was gonna say I needed your help with something, but after seeing that? I think I’ll just go tell Enzo instead.”

Vander groaned as she walked off, chuckling to herself, while Y/N simply shook her head behind him.

“We need a better backroom.”

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s skyline filtered through the blinds of Silco’s office, casting jagged shadows across the room. The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered, mixing with the faint metallic tang of ink and gunpowder.

You sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching him. He was tense—his fingers pressed against his temples as he reviewed documents, his ever-present cigar smoldering in the ashtray beside him. The weight of the undercity rested heavy on his shoulders, and tonight, it seemed heavier than usual.

“You need a break,” you murmured.

Silco exhaled sharply, a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “Zaun doesn’t rest, my dear. And neither do I.”

You pushed off the desk and moved toward him, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. He was stiff beneath your touch, his body coiled like a spring, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale as your fingers trailed along his collar, loosening the tension there.

“Then let me help,” you whispered, sliding into his lap.

His mismatched eyes flickered up to meet yours, a silent challenge in them. “Oh?”

You straddled him, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as if grounding himself. The shift in power between you was intoxicating, a game you both played so well.

His lips found yours, slow and deliberate at first, teasing, testing. But when you tugged at the collar of his vest, pulling him closer, the dam broke. The kiss deepened, rougher, more desperate. A growl vibrated against your lips as he shifted, his hands gripping you tighter before he stood, turning, laying you across the desk in one swift movement.

Papers fluttered to the floor, his knee nudging between your legs as he braced himself above you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his restraint slipping, his need surfacing.

Your hands roamed over his chest, tugging at the buttons of his vest, eager to feel him without the layers between you. Silco’s breath hitched slightly at your insistence, his fingers tightening on your hips in response. The fabric loosened under your touch, the top buttons slipping free as your nails scraped lightly against his exposed skin. He growled against your lips, his mouth trailing down to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You’re playing with fire, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you shot back, your fingers slipping lower, pushing the vest further open.

Silco let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your thighs, “I don’t do half-measures.”

“I know,” you whispered, tilting your head as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath your jaw. “That’s why I’m here.”

He pressed closer, his weight pinning you against the desk, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. “Always so eager,” he mused, his fingers tracing down your sides, slipping beneath your blouse, teasing the skin beneath. “And so damn tempting.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse. “Then stop talking,” you breathed, a smirk curling at your lips. “And do something about it.”

The heat between you was electric, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. Then, the door slammed open.

Silco didn’t stop—didn’t pull away. His weight remained pressed over you, his breath still warm against your throat. But his head snapped up, his sharp mismatched eyes locking onto the intruder with a deadly glare.

His hand slid to the side, fingers wrapping around the pistol resting beside his ashtray. Without shifting an inch from his place above you, he lifted the gun, aiming it directly at the unfortunate soul who had just interrupted.

“Get. The hell. Out.”

A strangled noise left the intruder’s throat—one of shock and perhaps a touch of fear. They stammered something unintelligible, clearly regretting whatever urgent reason had brought them here.

Silco cocked the gun, his grip steady. “I won’t ask again.”

As the intruder stood frozen in place, your hands continued their work, fingers slowly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. You could feel the slight tension in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as your fingers traced over the newly exposed skin.

His grip on the gun didn’t falter, but the slight twitch of his jaw revealed that he was aware—oh, so aware—of your touch. You smirked against his collarbone, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there, reveling in the contrast between his deadly stillness and the heat rolling between you both.

With a muttered apology, the intruder scrambled backward, slamming the door shut behind them.

Silco exhaled through his nose, his gaze still fixed on the door. Only when the room was silent again did he shift his attention back to you. A slow, dark smirk curled at his lips, his voice low and dangerous.

“Now… where were we?”

MEL

The grand halls of the Piltover Council shimmered under the golden glow of the chandelier lights. Stately, regal, and intimidating as always. But in that moment, they were also completely empty—except for two figures entangled at the grand council table, right at Mel Medarda’s designated seat.

Mel’s fingers traced slow, languid circles against Y/N’s waist, the warmth of her touch seeping through layers of silk and gold-trimmed fabric. Y/N, half-seated, half-pinned against the polished surface, could feel the cool marble beneath her, a stark contrast to the heat between them. She sighed softly as Mel pressed closer, trapping her in place with the gentle yet commanding presence that made it impossible to think of anything else.

“You’re distracted,” Mel murmured against her lips, voice rich like honeyed wine. “You’re always so serious, my love.”

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle. “Says the woman who orchestrates half of Piltover’s political schemes.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly. Which is why I know when it’s time to take a break.”

Before Y/N could respond, Mel leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow, unhurried—an indulgence neither of them could often afford. Y/N melted into it, her hands sliding up to cradle Mel’s face, fingers tracing along the delicate golden ornaments adorning her.

The tension that had been knotting in both their shoulders, the weight of the Council’s never-ending debates, the pressure of expectations—it all faded into the background. For a moment, there was only warmth, only the way Mel sighed into Y/N’s mouth as their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate.

The world outside their little sanctuary ceased to exist.

Until, of course, the sound of a sharply cleared throat shattered the illusion.

They jerked apart, Mel’s regal composure returning in an instant, though her lips were still slightly parted, a single golden brow arched in intrigue. Y/N, on the other hand, felt her face burn as she turned toward the source of their interruption.

Councilor Hoskel stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an expression hovering between scandalized and deeply amused.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I suppose I should be grateful that at least some of our esteemed members know how to… ‘negotiate’ effectively.”

Mel, utterly unbothered, hummed and tilted her head toward Y/N. “Would you say we reached an agreeable consensus, darling?”

Y/N, still breathless, exhaled a laugh. “I’d say the matter was well settled.”

Hoskel huffed, shaking his head as he turned on his heel. “I saw nothing,” he muttered as he strode off. “And I’ll continue seeing nothing, provided you keep it outside the Council Hall.”

Mel watched him go, then turned back to Y/N with a satisfied smirk. “That’s one way to adjourn a meeting.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face against Mel’s shoulder. “We’re never going to live this down.”

Mel only laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Perhaps. But I promise you, my love—it was well worth it.”

[thesecondhandwoman]

MORNING AFTER

Jinx x f!reader

Synopsis: After a night of a different type of fun with Jinx, you experienced a chaotic morning filled with reminders of the aftermath. Jinx made sure to make it worth the while for a day starter.

A/N: Just wanted to say that this does bring up some sexual content, but doesn’t go much further than that.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm slung across your waist. The next thing was the mop of blue hair splayed across the pillow next to you, messy and wild, and impossibly vibrant in the dim morning light filtering through the cracked blinds.

Jinx was still asleep, her face relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the manic energy she usually carried around like a storm cloud. Her lips were slightly parted, a faint snore escaping every few breaths. You let yourself take her in, from the freckles scattered across her nose to the way her lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks.

God, she was beautiful.

Last night had been a lot, but the best way. You weren’t sure whether you should be more surprised by how utterly chaotic she was or how gentle she could be when she wanted to. That duality was Jinx in a nutshell—always unpredictable, always keeping you on your toes.

Your movement must have disturbed her, because she let out a low groan, her pink eyes fluttering open. A lazy grin spread across her face when she saw you staring.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, her voice raspy with sleep. “If it isn’t my favorite little snuggle buddy. Morning, sugarbomb.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous nickname. “Morning, baby.”

She stretched like a cat, her body pressing against yours as she yawned dramatically. “So, was it everything you dreamed of?” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “And more?”

You rolled your eyes, even as your cheeks burned. “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word for someone who was screaming my name a few hours ago.”

“Jinx!”

Her laughter was loud and unabashed as she flopped onto her back, one hand resting behind her head while the other reached for yours. She laced her fingers with yours, squeezing gently. Despite her teasing, there was a softness in her gaze that made your heart ache in the best way.

“I’m serious, though,” she said after a moment, her tone quieter. “You good? I didn’t, you know, go too far or anything?”

You squeezed her hand in return, touched by her concern. “I’m more than good, Jinx. Last night was amazing.”

Her grin returned, this time a little smug. “Damn right it was.”

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no hiding your smile.

She sat up suddenly, the sheets pooling around her waist, and turned to look at you with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “You hungry? I’m starving. I could totally make us some breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Can you even cook?”

She gasped, clutching her chest like you’d mortally wounded her. “Excuse you, I’ll have you know I make a mean pancake. Probably. How hard can it be?”

“Oh no,” you groaned, but you couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up. “We’re going to burn the apartment down, aren’t we?”

“Only one way to find out!”

Before you could protest, Jinx was out of bed, stark naked and completely unbothered as she darted toward the kitchen. You buried your face in your hands, half-exasperated and half in awe of her sheer audacity.

A few minutes later, you followed her, wrapping yourself in one of the oversized shirts she’d stolen from some poor shopkeeper in the Undercity’s market. You found her rummaging through the cabinets, her hair somehow even messier than before, muttering to herself about flour and syrup.

“What’s the plan, Chef Jinx?” you asked, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

She turned to you with a proud smile, holding up a box of pancake mix like it was some kind of trophy. “We’re making breakfast! You handle the boring stuff like measuring, and I’ll do the fun part, aka flipping!”

“Uh-huh. And who’s cleaning up the mess?”

She winked at you. “That’s future Jinx’s problem.”

You couldn’t argue with that logic.

The next half hour was pure chaos, as expected. Jinx got flour everywhere, from the counters, to in her hair, and somehow even on the ceiling. She insisted on using way too much food coloring, so the pancakes ended up an alarming shade of neon pink. But they were edible, surprisingly, and the two of you ate on the floor of the kitchen, laughing and stealing bites from each other’s plates.

After breakfast, Jinx pulled you into her lap, wrapping her arms around you as she nuzzled into your neck. “You know,” she murmured, her voice soft and almost shy, “I like this whole thing, being able to wake up with you. Feels nice.”

You leaned back against her, your fingers tracing absent patterns on her arm. “I like it too.”

She was quiet for a moment, her grip on you tightening just slightly. Then, in true Jinx fashion, she broke the silence with a cheeky grin. “So, round two in the shower?”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

She wasn’t wrong. She never really could be when it comes to you loving her.

A/N: I absolutely love jinx and her chaotic energy (I just hope I captured it well in this fanfic).

[cluebella]

Artist Credit to dhqla66 on X

[thenationofzaun]

Still haunted by this interview

So enforcers killing the sisters' parents, the very first scene of the show, the introduction to the brutal class conflict and theme of oppression that was the bedrock of season 1, the inciting incident that traumatized the girls forever, that changed Vander forever, leading Silco to lose all respect for him and begin plotting his coup, literally the beginning of the end for the Vander and Silco tragedy, and by extension the Vi and Jinx tragedy, the incident that Jinx avenges in Season 1 in a brilliant full circle moment, these girls seeing the gunned down corpses of their parents dumped like trash on the ground, THAT scene...........................

......was conceived to give Caitvi some relationship drama......

[n0anix]

more shepnax to heal the soul

coping hard with the fact that I'm one episode away from the end

i am not ready for that :')

[theclownghoul]

At this point the response Amanda gave about leaving main universe timebomb to fan’s imagination has made the rounds and I’d just like to say that not only is that dumb but the AU is low key (high key but I’m trying to be nice) a waste of their dynamic.

These two are weirdos. The reason the ship even exists is because they started making eyes at each other before a duel to the death with the corpses of enforcers all around them. The undertones of the bridge are situationally very bizarre and that’s what makes it fun.

Ekko has been hurt by Jinx, she’s killed his teammates and friends and pushed away his attempts to help her but he’s still willing to pull out their old kids game and smirk at her like that like this is some kind of mating dance.

Jinx likely at some point felt that he abandoned her like everyone else or at least wanted her to change, be Powder. But fighting her is accepting her as Jinx, she’s comfortable with their tussles. Comfortable enough that her blinding rage at Cait and Vi is put on hold for a second. She seems surprised when Ekko goes in seriously and we see that she has shot underneath and beside him multiple times to avoid hurting him.

They regularly fight violently but you know they would hate to see the other get hurt and would save them without a thought.

I could definitely see Jinx flirting with Ekko just to be annoying but getting flustered when he actually gets flustered. Like they want to kiss so bad and both of them are actively mad about it.

I guess the writers did cook with “always a dance with you.” cause a dance or game is always what comes to mind with these two.

Let them be weird.

[rabbitmotifs]

bunch of jayviks collecting dust in my camera roll. my bugs

[hexb0nes]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

II. THE BEST LIES HAVE A BIT OF TRUTH

word count: 4.2k

pairing: sugar daddy!jayce x sugar baby!reader

contains: pretty wholesome content with a dash of LIARS

summary: jayce returns with gifts and a desire for a friendship. the two of you go to the local roller rink and spend an evening at the beach. you confront jayce as to why he's so adamant about being your friend.

author's note: SHOUTOUT TO @bb-enablefreebuild FOR BETA READING!!! this is a pretty fluffy chapter as an appetizer before the slaps you shall receive from chapter 3... ok enjoy <3

The clock in The Last Drop chimes with the change of the hour as you step inside. It’s too early for the sun to rise and you take refuge in such a blessing. If I’m touched by a single sunray, I will spontaneously combust. Perhaps, your “late to bed, early to rise” routine is damaging your circadian rhythm.

You stroll down the various parts of the café and open the shop up for the morning. Your hands flip on the switches for the lights and for the machinery; the coffee machines and ovens emit a low whine in response, warming up. You scan the floors for any mess and let out a sigh of relief. For once it seems the closing shift did their damn job.

It takes half an hour for you to open up and another hour for the first customers to pop in; you seize this opportunity to grab a table and dump out the contents of your satchel. A bulky textbook thuds against the wooden table, followed by a notebook and highlighters. You resume your studying from last night, as you flip through the chapter on pulmonary medicine and jot down notes. Soon, you reach the knowledge quiz at the end.

The first question intimidates you. It asks for you to identify the disease at risk for an 8-year-old boy with chronic pneumonia and a productive cough. It mentions specific bacteria found in sputum cultures, though that seems like a red herring. A productive cough… a productive cough means a buildup of mucus. Chronic pneumonia means recurrent infection, recurrent infection and mucus means… Bronchiectasis! 

You turn the page over to reveal the answer and grin when it confirms you were correct. Okay, okay! I got this!

The next questions are marginally easier, though your head swims as you attempt to differentiate the difference between "Streptococcus" and "Staphylococcus". Strep, strep, strep– Strep throat! You write "Strep = Throat" on notepaper, but what about Staphylococcus? 

Staph is for skin! Your professor’s voice pops in your mind. You make a note of that in your notebook and choose the answer you think is right. As you continue to answer questions, you slowly relax, seeing how you’re getting a majority of them correct. 

I’m totally gonna ace this exam!

A sudden chime from the overhead bell interrupts your studying.

“Hey, Mylo, you’re earlier for–” your words fall short. That’s not Mylo.

Instead of your coworker, the bearded man from yesterday had entered the café, dressed in workout gear. Shit, what’s his name? Start with a Ja– Jason? Jamie? Jay— 

“Jayce?”

“Hey there” he greets you with a smile, too bright for your sensitive eyes. Jayce holds a paper shopping bag in his hand, “I hope you don’t mind the early visit. I didn’t want to keep you waiting for your gift. 

You abandon your study setup and approach Jayce, circling around him like a bird of prey. What kind of guy does such a gesture? You peer down at the bag, “Oh shit, you were serious?”

“Of course! It’s your gift,” Jayce hands the bag off to you. It feels heavier than just a T-shirt and you take a look inside, “What. The. Fuck,” you pull out a variety of The Firelights merchanise from the shopping bag. Two shirts, a jacket, and a poster?! 

You’re wary of Jayce’s kindness. Yesterday, he was a stranger and now, he’s gifting you a plethora of fan merch from your favorite band, so you grunt to Jayce, “What gives?” 

A frown graces his lips and a pang of sadness hits you in the chest, “What do you mean?”

“Er– Well,” you clear your throat. Now, I feel like a dick, “It’s just...I only needed a new shirt, y’know?”

Jayce pales at your explanation and lets out a sheepish chuckle, “Oh, that, uh… that makes sense,” he rubs the nape of his neck, providing you an opportunity to foam over his muscular arms, “I tend to go a little, uhm,” Jayce sways his head side-to-side, trying to find the right word, “Overboard! I go a little overboard when it comes to gift-giving.”

“You should work on that,” you scold him with a ‘tsk’ and add on, “If you don’t, you’re gonna end up in debt.”

Jayce parts his lips to respond, but decides against it; you don’t question as to why. 

With your gifts in hand, you return to your table and pick up with your studying. Jayce follows you to the table and sits across from you, much to your confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Oh!” he flashes his shining teeth, “I was curious about what you’re studying.”

You lower your defenses at the sound of genuinity in Jayce’s tone and close the textbook, so he could see the title, “It’s one of my many brick textbooks for the semester,” you explain, “You’d think they would scale back on the books when you get to third year, but I guess not.”

“You’re in medical school,” his hazel eyes glow under the café’s fluorescent lighting, “That’s amazing.”

You narrow your eyes at Jayce and scan for any ulterior motives, but find none. He seems awkward, does he just not get out much? Or is he really just naturally friendly? “Thanks,” you reply, a small smile blooming, “Just trying to make the world a better place.”

Jayce’s eyes widen at your words. Did I strike a nerve with him? 

Before you can ask, he notices your worry. Jayce shakes off his surprise and fires off rapid reassurances, “No, no! Sorry, sorry! Nothing bad, I promise,” a fond twinkle flickers across his pupils, “I feel the same way.”

“I’m glad you do,,” you hum, as you return your study materials back into your satchel, “I should get going, though. I’m sure a customer is gonna walk through the—”

The overhead bell chimes, signaling the arrival of an elderly man. He enters the café at a snail’s pace and gives the two of you a smile, “Good morning! Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” you answer, returning the pleasantry, “I’ll be with you in one moment to take your order,” you stand up from the table and turn towards the ‘employees only’ door, “Thanks for replacing my shirt, Jayce.”

“No problem!” he grins.

“Alright, have a good life,” you step towards the breakroom when Jayce calls out to you, “Wait, before you go!” You turn around and see him holding up his phone, “Can I give you my number?”

“Don’t guys usually ask the other way around?” you question.

“Maybe, I’m just different,” Jayce retorts. 

You crack a smile, “You trying to date me or something?”

Jayce’s cheeks redden at your comment, “No! No, I mean– Not that I don’t think you’re–” Jayce zips his mouth shut and exhales a frustrated sigh, “Look, I think you’re neat and we like the same band. I want to be friends with you.”

Rarely does a guy want to be friends with a woman without the hope of bedding her in the back of his mind. You cross your arms and inquire, “You sure?” 

“Yes,” he answers.

“Positive?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Not one hundred and ten percent?”

“I’m a scientist, I don’t consider one hundred and ten percent to be feasible.”

“A scientist?” you didn’t think Jayce was a scientist; if anything, you assumed that he was a dispensary technician, “I didn’t peg you as a scientist.”

“I guess I’m challenging many of your assumptions,” Jayce chuckles.

“Can’t argue with that,” you snatch Jayce’s phone from his hands and open his contacts app. Less than ten contacts? No wonder, he’s desperate for friends. You punch in your phone number and save your contact, “There. Shoot me a text and we can talk about The Firelights.”

“Awesome, will do!” Jayce salutes. 

You stifle back a laugh at his antics. He reminds you of those “golden retriever boyfriends” you see on Tiktok. Not that you want to date this guy! You’ve known him for less than a day. 

“I gotta run now,” you toss your satchel over your shoulder, “But I’ll talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later!” Jayce waves you goodbye and you disappear through the ‘employees only’ door. He lets out a small sigh, a goofy grin plastered on his face. 

“Good luck, lad. She seems like a tough fish to catch!” the elderly man–who Jayce forgot was present–chimes in. 

Jayce’s cheeks shift to a deeper red, “Uh–” he gives the customer an awkward nod, “Okay, thanks,” Jayce makes a beeline for the door and opens it, jogging outside the café for his morning run. 

“Young love, young love,” the wrinkly gentleman smiles fondly. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your shift goes by in a blur. In customer service autopilot, you serve drink after drink during the morning rush, prepping every concoction available from lattes to espresso shots. You could go for an espresso shot yourself as you feel your eyes droop and your energy deplete throughout the shift. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Gertrude pops her head in the breakroom. 

A line of empty cups lay before you and you gulp down another, “Espresso. Need,” you gulp another espresso shot and let out a relieved sigh, “I got class and I need to stay awake.”

“Fun fact,” Gertude takes a seat beside you and frees her dreadlocks from her visor, some sweat sticking to her head, “If you consume more than 400 milligrams of caffeine, you can drop dead from it.”

“Sorta true,” you reach for another espresso shot, but Gertude smacks your hand away, “Oi!”

“No more, can’t have my work bestie die from a caffeine overdose,” she chasities you, intercepting your second attempt to get the cup and chugging it herself, “Oh, this is good shit, though.”

“I know, right?” you smile. The clock in the breakroom hits 4pm and you hop up from your chair, “Off the clock, I’ll talk to you later, Gert.”

“See yah, dork,” Gertude pats your shoulder and squeezes it, “Try not to collapse in class.”

“I’ll do my best,” you return the affection with a side hug.

You collect your belongings and place your work uniform in your locker, clocking out and exiting the breakroom. The hustle and bustle of Piltover City welcomes you with a biker nearly running you over and a little boy sneezing snot close to your pants. The City of Progress, my ass. 

You exhale and maintain your composure, as you head off to the nearby bus stop. A miscellaneous bunch waits with you for the bus, most in their own worlds with their phones. Your own phone buzzes with a notification and you pull it up to check.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hey, it’s Jayce!

Huh, he did text me back. You save his contact to your phone as ‘Jayce’ with a clown emoji, snickering at the choice you made; you then shoot Jayce a text back:

Hey. What’s up?

A minute goes by and our phone buzzes with a notification.

Nothing much! I’m at work. Just wanted to say hi and ask if you wanted to hang out with me next week.

You open your calendar app and check for any weekend events. No events. I should study instead. You look back at the text and frown, But I could use some people time to recharge. 

Sure. What will we do? 

The engine of the bus roars close and rolls to a stop before you, the doors opening with a high-pitched wheeze. You board the bus and grab a spot close to the doors. Once settled, you continue your conversation with Jayce.

Jayce 🤡: We go to the roller rink in Waverly. I’m trying to be more active. Buuut If you want something more lowkey, we could go to the waterfront park in Canton.

You: Roller rink sounds fun. What time?

Jayce 🤡: Saturday at 2pm?

You: Okay, I’ll put you down in my calendar. See you then.

Jayce 🤡: See you then! ☺️

You left your messenger app and into Spotify. With your earbuds in, you play your liked songs playlist on shuffle. Sinners by Barns Courtney echoes from your earbuds and you watch the passing greenery and pedestrians, as the bus drives you to campus.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The elevator on Hex Engery’s executive floor beeps and reveals a sharply-dressed Jayce Talis behind its doors. The CEO strides through the glass doors of the executive offices, flashing his signature smile at the shocked workers, “Hello, folks! Happy to see me?”

“Mr. Talis!” Tessa—Jayce’s executive assistant—is the first to react, her worn out loafers smacking against the quartz floors, as she approaches her boss. She hugs a dossier to her chest and smiles wide, “It’s so good to have you back, sir!”

Jayce offers an arm for a side hug and Tessa accepts, “It’s nice to be back, Tess,” he agrees. 

“There’s a lot of work that I haven’t been able to complete because it requires your signature, but rest assured, I’ve been manning the ship as COO,” Tessa explains. 

Jayce nods, “Remind me to give you a raise when I have a chance,” he leaves the waiting area and waltzes down the hallway, Tessa running behind him.

“Sir, where are you going? Don’t you want to get reacquainted with your office first?” inquires Tessa, desperate to keep up with Jayce’s long legs. 

“I have one thing I need to do before that, Tess,” Jayce stops in from one of the many oakwood doors, “In the meantime, can you make a pile of papers that need my signature, please?”

Tessa salutes the CEO, “Yes! Right away!” and runs off to Jayce’s office, red braids bouncing against her back while she runs.

Good kid. I shouldn’t have left her with this mess. I’ll make sure to give her a raise and some new loafers. Jayce stares down the door, muffled voices coming from the room. He grasps the doorknob and squeezes it. You can do this.

Jayce swings the door open and the voices die down. There’s a rectangle table in the center of the room, five people in a variety of professional attire on each side. Viktor sits closest to the door where Jayce had entered from and cracks a small smile, “Ah, Jayce. It’s nice to see you. I was just reassuring Director Salo about your capabilities as CEO.”

The snobbish platinum blonde in question turns his nose up at Viktor’s jab. Other executives exchange mixed glances, some relieved and others worried. 

“It’s lovely to have you back,” Caitlyn Kiramman, the chief compliance officer, jumps in. She gives Jayce a knowing glance and adds on, “Let’s continue our debrief, shall we?”

The executives and directors mumble in agreement. Jayce takes his seat between Viktor and Caitlyn, whispering to both, “Thanks for the save.”

“Just glad to have you back,” Caitlyn murmurs.

“You’re welcome, now get your shit together,” Viktor scolds. 

“I got it under control,” Jayce replies. 

The three refocus their attention on the debrief. Directors and executives review various financial and progress reports, then some suggestions to increase profitability, and–

Jayce loses focus on the debrief and hops on his phone. He goes to his texting app and clicks on your contact, shooting you a text so you could save his number. You reply quickly and Jayce grins to himself. A spark of boldness flickers in his chest and he takes a leap of faith, asking you to hang out. After a small exchange, you agree to hang out at the Waverly roller rink on Saturday at 2pm.

Jayce can barely control his excitement, as the debrief finally ends and the board disperses to their offices. He exits the office without a goodbye and with a spring in his step.

Viktor and Caitylin are the last people in the boardroom. The CTO raises his eyebrows at the COO, “You saw what I saw, yes?”

“Yes,” she confirms, “He was practically vibrating.”

“I wonder why,” Viktor hums, “At least he seems happy, that’s what matters most.”

“Agreed,” Caitlyn smiles, “Very much agreed.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You arrive at the Waverly roller rink, dressed in the most roller-rink appropriate clothes you could find. Unfortunately, that boils down to a T-shirt, leggings, and thick socks; you lack athletic wear beyond a sports bra. 

Colorful lights pulsate around the roller rink and pop music reverberates off the walls. Families, couples, and friend groups alike skate around the rink to the beat of the music. A few skaters show off a cool spin or jump, wowing the others on the rink. 

“Hey there!” Jayce’s voice booms over the music. You see him waving you over from the skates rental and you weave your way through the crowd to reach him. Jayce stands with a pair of quad skates in hand, dressed in a muscle tee and jeans. 

“I don’t recommend the jeans,” you warn Jayce, strolling up to the rental spot. You give the employee behind the counter your shoe size and receive a pair of skates in return, “They’re gonna get in the way when you skate.”

“Oh, really?” Jayce’s shoulders droop.

“But I’m sure you’ll be fine!” you reassure. 

Jayce relaxes at your words and you lead him off to the closest open spot to change your shoes. With skates on, you stand up from your spot and wobble; you extend your arms out to steady yourself. Jayce picks up your shoes and his, securing them inside the rental locker.

“Ready to skate?” Jayce bellows, standing proud with his own pair.

“Yeah!” you yell back. You step forward and push yourself off the ground, trying to skate. However, the toe of your skate hits the carpeted floor hard and you trip, letting out a panicked squeak.

A strong arm catches you and pulls you back to your feet before your face can make friends with the filthy floor.

"You good?" Jayce asks, relinquishing his arm from you.

Jesus, he’s beefy. You regain your composure, "Yes, uh, thanks for catching me." You try to keep your gaze from drifting to his pecs, trapped behind fabric

Jayce scrunches his nose and grins, “Of course!,” he holds out a hand to you and nods his head towards the rink, “Let’s skate.”

You accept his hand and grip it steady for support. Jayce whizzes off towards the roller rink, your roller skates gliding onto the wooden floor with ease. The two of you join with your fellow skaters in the rink while the music shifts to a slower tempo. Jayce keeps you stable with his hand and after a few rotations around the rink, you’re comfortable enough to let go and try on your own.

You make your way around the rink, laughing jubilantly; when was the last time you did something so fun with someone? Jayce catches up to you and skates beside you, “Look at you! You’re a natural!”

“I guess I am!” you boast.

You and Jayce lap around and around the roller rink, as the number of patrons dwindle by the hour. By the time you finish up and leave the roller rink for the day, the moon shines under the streets of Waverly. 

“Can’t believe we were in the rink for that long,” Jayce laughs, his hazel eyes glistening under the moonlight. 

You hum in agreement and stretch your arms out, exhaustion weighing you down, “Me neither,” you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes and hold back a yawn, “I should get going, the next bus should come soon.”

“I can drive you home, if you want? Jayce suggests. 

You think on his offer, swaying between hesitation and acceptance. I rather not take the bus this late. You nod at Jayce and answer, “Okay, you can drive me home. Where’s your car?”

“Follow me!” Jayce guides you to the parking lot behind the roller rink. Only a few cars remain in the lot and Jayce whips out his key, unlocking his car. A beep comes from the nearest car, a sleek BMW. 

“Damn,” you let out a low whistle, “You got a fancy car.”

“Oh, uh,” Jayce bites his bottom lip, “I, uh, saved up for it,” he opens the front passenger door, “Ladies, first,”

You slide inside the car and scan over its prestigious interior, clean and shiny with the light fragrance of lavender coming from the air freshener. What a beauty. Jayce hops into the driver’s seat and you buckle up, as the car’s engine roars to life. You input your address on the dashboard’s maps app and Jayce drives out of the parking lot. 

The roads of Piltover City are strangely empty, barely any cars out and about. You two pull up to a red light and Jayce peers over at you from the rearview mirror, a mischievous smirk on his lips. You tense up at his mischief, “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah,” his smirk grows, “Wanna see something cool?”

You smile back, “Sure.”

Jayce presses a button on the steering wheel and the top of the car retracts, lowering into the back. You enjoy the night chill against your sweaty skin, “Huh! Nice!”

“Wanna do something even cooler?” Jayce adds on.

An eager glint shines in your eyes, “Absolutely.”

The traffic light turns green and Jayce hits the gas, zooming through the streets. The two of you soon emerge onto the twisty roads of the outer city, the echoes from the waves and ebbs of ocean water like music to your ears. Your hair whips wildly against the wind and you throw your hands in the air, “Woo! This is awesome!”

Jayce focuses on the road ahead of him, but he can’t stop smiling at the sound of your cheers and hollers. You see the ocean on your left and shout to Jayce, “Hey! Can we stop by the beach for a bit?”

“Of course!” he yells back.

Soon, the BMW comes to a stop by the beaches of Canton and Jayce parks it in the sands. You exit the car and walk across the sands towards the water. The waves roar against the shoreline, accompanied by cricket chirps and the skittering of nocturnal critters. 

“Gods, I love the beach,” you exhale, collapsing onto the sands. Jayce lays beside you and you two stare up at the night sky, clear enough for you to see the twinkling stars and constellations, “Are you a fan of the beach?”

“Definitely,” he responds, his gaze fixated on the stars, “Honestly, it’s one of my happy places. My mother used to take me here all the time as a kid.”

“You’re a native to the city?” you question. Most residents you've encountered were transplants, drawn in by the allure of partaking in the wonders of ‘The City of Progress’.

“Yes, born and raised,” Jayce confirms, “What about you?”

“Same,” you lie through your teeth. Well, it’s not a full lie, but the best lies have a bit of truth in them. Truth be told, you hail from St. Zaun, the impoverished subsector in the heart of the city, but you keep that information to yourself; there’s no need for people to know. 

“Piltover isn’t perfect, but I do love it here,” Jayce murmurs. He turns onto his side and stares you down, you do the same. You two share a comfortable silence, as the world around you keeps moving forward. Moonlight shines against Jayce’s face, highlighting his chiseled features and gentle eyes. A strange, pretty man, you comment to yourself.

“Why are you so interested in me?” you break the silence.

Jayce’s cheeks turn rosy and he clears his throat, “It’s kinda silly.”

“Tell me,” you shimmy closer to him, curiosity written on your facial features.

“You make me feel normal,” Jayce begins to trace miscellaneous shapes in the sand.

“You barely know me,” you counter, “And I barely know you.”

“Then let’s get to know one another!” Jayce fires back. He takes your hand into his and embraces it, “Take a chance on me,” his eyes gaze intensely into yours, “Please.”

You soften at his words, never had you met such a determined man. With a small chuckle, you state to Jayce, “You’re one weird guy, Jayce…” you furrow your brow, “What’s your last name?”

Jayce does his best to remain calm at your request and frees your hand from his. Shit, what do I say? I don’t want to lie, but if I say Talis, I’ll blow my cover. Shit, shit, shit–

“Flores, Jayce Flores,” he finally replies. He knows that the best lies have a bit of truth, Flores being his mother’s maiden name, “What about you?”

“Davenport,” you share before proclaiming, “Now, that we got that out of the way,” you grasp Jayce’s hand for the first time and shake it, “We can be friends.”

Jayce beams like sunlight at you, contrasting against the moon, “Cheers to our new friendship.”

“Cheers,” you profess, “To our new friendship.”

Jayce Talis finally has a normal friend. 

[chungomungo]

back in my day CaitVi would’ve been called Violyn and JayVik would’ve been called Vayce and the edits would’ve gone insane tumblr you’ve lost your edge

[linddzz]

honestly funny to me that while Bitch Viktor is taking off in fandom Im now writing him with LESS "pissed off wet cat" energy after season 2

[ankosblog]

VIKTOR BRINGS JAYCE AT JERICHO’S FOOD STALL 🐌🧀🌶️

Link to the full fic on AO3

“Hi Jericho! Long time no see!” Viktor greeted, his voice warm.

Jayce sat next to him, waving a silent salutation, but the cook laughed — a laugh that didn’t exactly sound welcoming — and jabbered something unintelligible in reply.

“See, I bring Piltie clientele now” Viktor joked. “You’re getting famous.”

The cook laughed again, this time more genuinely, and Jayce caught a glimpse of Viktor’s grin. He shot a look at his partner — didn’t Viktor want to remain discrete? Was it really wise to sell him out to the first person they encountered?

“I thought we were supposed not to attract attention?” he whispered.

“You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re fooling anyone who look at you more for than a few seconds. Disguise avoid to attract attention, but doesn’t hide where you’re from. Trust me, Piltover taught me the lesson.” Viktor replied with acidic irony. “Jericho, do you still serve your chili octopus? I’ve been craving it for months” he continued, unfazed.

“Aren’t we here for information?” Jayce insisted.

But Viktor simply ignored him. Worse, he turned to him with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

“And a bowl of cheesy slugs.” he added with a devilish smirk.

The cook jabbered something in approval, and began moving around.

“It’s not polite to ask for information without ordering, Jayce,” Viktor pointed out. “And I’ve missed Zaun’s food — especially Jericho’s. Take this as a chance to expand your... cultural understanding of the Undercity.”

Whatever that meant, Jayce knew it wasn’t good for him.

Waves of rich, smoky scents rose from the stove as the cook worked his magic, leaving Jayce plenty of time to mentally catalog every single violation of basic hygiene. His worst fears were confirmed when two bowls were placed before them — one filled with fried octopus tentacles smothered in a thick red sauce that looked hot enough to melt Demacian steel, and the other with what looked like blue sea slugs swimming in melted cheese.

Jayce swallowed hard when his plate landed in front of him. He turned to Viktor, silently hoping that his partner had only ordered for the sake of politeness and that they wouldn’t actually eat the dishes. Besides, there was no cutlery in sight.

He was stunned by the sight before him. His jaw dropped as he watched Viktor – his Viktor, the well mannered man he ate next to everyday at the Academy Cafeteria – dig into his plate with his bare fingers, not caring about the sauce staining his chin, leaning over his bowl with ease.

Jayce realized he was staring when his partners’ eyes met his, his face a silent “What?” as he licked sauce from his thumb.

All things considered, Jayce decided he was wrong to judge – after all, this was not Piltover. Manners were different down there, and he should probably follow a Zaunite’s example rather than sticking to his own ways. “Expanding my cultural understanding of the Undercity, uh?” he thought.

His eyes fell back to the plate in front of him – tiger-blue slugs soaking in gooey cheese, with a sort of broth peaking from underneath. The smell wasn’t bad. In fact, it was almost... inviting. But the sight of the slugs was anything but appetizing, especially considering the questionable cooking methods.

Taking a deep breath, he pinched one of the slugs between his fingers, closed his eyes, and took a bite.

To his surprise... it didn’t taste bad. It even tasted pretty good. The texture was squishy, almost squeaky against his teeth, but it didn’t feel wrong. The slugs tasted like fermented anchovies, their bitterness mixing unexpectedly well with the greasiness of the melted cheese, balanced by the strength of the broth. If he had been told what it was beforehand, he’d have probably frowned, but now it made sense. This could easily keep a man full for a whole day.

He surprised himself by going back for more, again and again, until he realized he had completely forgotten about his manners. He wasn’t the only one surprised — Viktor was watching him with his jaw dropped, eyes wide in disbelief. Jayce met his gaze, offering a silent “What?” in return. Viktor chuckled, visibly impressed – a look that Jayce couldn’t get enough of – and focused back on his plate.

“Would you like to try?” he asked, handing him a fried tentacle dipped in red sauce. “That may be a bit too spicy for you, though”.

There was no trace of challenge in his voice – only a genuine offer. But telling Jayce Talis that something might be too much for him was a mistake.

“What? You think I’m too Piltie for this?” Jayce replied with an arrogant smile.

Without missing a beat, he leaned forward and took the food directly from Viktor’s fingers, not bothering to take it into his own hands. Viktor froze for a moment, completely unprepared for the closeness. His breath hitched as Jayce’s lips brushed against his fingers.

Jayce didn’t notice the flustered look on his partner’s face. Instead, he had to face the consequences of his action.

That wasn’t “spicy”… not even anywhere near that… that was DAMN HOT! He coughed, his face turning bright red, tears at the corners of his eyes. How could such a small bite light a fire as fierce as his family’s forge in his mouth?

“Fine” Jayce managed between laugh and cough, hastily drinking from his broth to soothe the fire in his mouth, “I may have overestimated myself on this one.”

Viktor cleared his throat, attempting to regain composure. His voice was softer now, and there was a slight tremor in his words. “It’s not for the faint of heart. But you survived. Impressive.”

Jayce grinned, barely noticing the subtle shift in Viktor’s tone.

“This in amazing Jericho! Thanks!” Viktor praised the cook with a smile. “By the way... I checked on Benzo this morning... I noticed his shop was robbed. What happened down there?”.

The cook jabbered again, his voice taking on a darker, more somber tone as he turned back to his stove. Jayce was starting to wonder how his partner planned on getting any useful information from someone speaking such an unintelligible language, but his train of thought was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“Well well… Look who’s back in the Lanes.”

Viktor froze, his blood running cold and his muscles tensing…

Read more on AO3 😊

[aspenmissing]

Arcane men x reader with a voice kink 😳

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 5869 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏᴋᴀʏ, ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ). ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

The first time you realized it, it was completely accidental.

You weren’t even doing anything special—just sitting in the council chambers, watching Jayce give one of his impassioned speeches about Hextech advancements. But the way his voice carried, the way it dipped low and rumbled like a summer storm, made something tighten deep inside you.

He was always charismatic, but when he got lost in his own convictions, speaking with such firm belief and certainty, it was like he wove a spell around the entire room. His voice wasn’t just sound—it was presence, warmth, command.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat, a rush of heat crawling up your neck as you forced yourself to focus on the actual content of his speech. But the damage was already done.

That voice did something to you.

And once you noticed it, you couldn't unnotice it.

It was when he murmured to himself in the lab, lips barely moving as he worked through equations, deep in thought. It was when he spoke in that authoritative, commanding tone, making decisions for the future of Piltover with absolute confidence. And it was most definitely when he let his voice soften just for you—leaning in close, murmuring your name like a secret only he was allowed to know.

You were doomed.

=

Tonight was no different.

The two of you had been working late in his private workshop, going over blueprints and schematics. Well—he was. You were mostly trying not to let your thoughts drift to dangerous places.

The room was warm, illuminated by the soft golden glow of hexlights. The smell of parchment and metal filled the air, mixing with something unmistakably Jayce—cologne and the faintest trace of sweat from a long day. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone.

He was a distraction. A beautiful, terrible distraction.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jayce noted, glancing up from his work. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” He smirked, leaning back against the workbench, arms crossing over his chest. His voice had that casual, teasing lilt—the kind that always made your stomach flutter.

Your voice, you thought. I want to hear you say my name again. Want to hear what you sound like when you—

Nope. Nope. Not going there.

Jayce tilted his head, watching you with curiosity, and you cursed his stupidly perceptive nature.

“You sure?” His voice dipped lower now, smoother, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You bit your lip. “It’s… it’s stupid.”

His grin widened. “Now I have to know.”

You inhaled sharply, debating whether or not you could actually say it. But Jayce was nothing if not patient, and damn it, you trusted him.

“I just…” You hesitated, then finally admitted, “I really like your voice.”

Jayce blinked. “My… voice?”

Oh god. Abort. Abort.

“Forget it,” you rushed, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really—”

But then he chuckled.

A deep, rich, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“You like my voice,” he mused, like he was testing the weight of the words. Then, in a tone so sinfully low it practically vibrated through you, he murmured, “You like when I talk to you, sweetheart?”

Oh. Oh, hell.

Your breath hitched. Your entire body felt like it was made of molten want, tingling from your fingertips to the base of your spine.

You clenched your hands into fists, trying not to visibly tremble. “Jayce—”

“Say my name again,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was pure velvet now, smooth and teasing, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Your lips parted, but you hesitated. That only made his smirk deepen.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice dipping even lower, almost hypnotic. “If you like my voice so much… let me use it for you.”

You exhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears.

He was enjoying this. The realization sent another sharp thrill through you—Jayce was smart, he was confident, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. And right now? That weapon was you, unraveling in front of him.

“Jayce,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And god, the way he reacted.

His pupils darkened, his fingers flexed at his sides, and that smirk turned into something dangerous.

“There it is,” he murmured. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the faint scent of cologne mixed with something deeper.

Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and his eyes flickered downward for the barest second—enough to see. Enough to know.

His voice dropped to a devastating whisper.

“You really do like it, don’t you?”

You bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

He reached out, tracing his fingers along your wrist, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. His lips tilted into something more intimate, more possessive.

“What if I keep talking?” he mused.

You nearly whimpered.

“I could say anything.” His thumb brushed your pulse point, feeling how fast it raced. “Talk about Hextech. About politics. About you, sitting here, looking at me like you want to hear something very specific.”

Your breathing was shallow now, your skin burning under his touch.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, his voice dropping to something wickedly deep, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “If I just… kept talking to you. Told you exactly what I want to do to you.”

Oh. Oh.

You were completely ruined. Jayce grinned, watching the way you melted, the way your body responded to nothing but his voice. Then, with the cruellest, most devastating smirk you’d ever seen, he murmured—

“Say my name again.”

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been an enigma to you, a man of sharp intellect and sharper wit, with a voice that could command a room or whisper secrets into the dim glow of the Hexcore. You had spent countless evenings watching him work, enthralled by the way his lips formed words, by the careful cadence of his speech.

But tonight… tonight was different.

You were seated on the edge of his cluttered worktable, swinging your legs lightly as he moved around the lab, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. The sound was familiar, grounding, just like everything else about him.

But then—his voice.

“Pass me the spanner, would you?” His accent curled around the words, the softness of his tone almost affectionate despite the request being so mundane.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the tool tightly before handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you through tousled auburn hair. The way his voice dropped ever so slightly on the last syllable made heat curl in your stomach.

Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did.

Viktor cocked his head, observant as ever, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the way you shifted against the table. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he set the spanner down, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.

“Something wrong, milý?” The pet name rolled off his tongue like silk. (Dear)

Your breath hitched.

He caught it—of course he did.

Viktor was nothing if not brilliant, and as soon as realization dawned on him, his expression shifted. Amusement. Interest. And something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine.

“My voice,” he mused, tilting his head. “You like it, don’t you?”

You averted your gaze, but that only made him chuckle.

“Fascinating,” he purred, dragging out the word, letting the syllables sink into your skin. “And here I thought you only indulged me for my mind.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but the way your thighs pressed together betrayed you.

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, moving impossibly closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Ah, but if I am insufferable, then why are you trembling?”

Your breath hitched again, and he smirked, slow and knowing.

His cane thudded against the floor as he lifted his hand, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping into something velvet and sinful, “what is it that you love so much? The way I speak your name? The way my voice—” he dragged out the last word, savouring it, “—sounds when I’m thinking? Or is it… something else?”

You shivered, nails digging into the edge of the table. “Viktor—” He hummed. A simple sound, but it sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Mm. I see.” He traced his thumb along your lower lip, his own lips curling into a grin. “You truly are something else.” His voice alone had you unravelling, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.

And, judging by the glint in his eyes, he was far from finished.

=

The air in the lab had changed.

It was charged, humming with something electric, something that made the fine hairs on your skin prickle in anticipation. Or maybe that was just him. Viktor, standing so close, his cane pressing lightly against your knee as he studied you, as if unraveling some great scientific discovery.

Except this wasn’t an experiment.

This was you. And the way his voice made your pulse stutter.

"Ah," he mused, voice low and knowing, "so this is what makes you tremble."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but words failed you. How could they not, when he was watching you like that, with sharp, burning curiosity?

His fingers, dexterous from years of precise work, trailed from your jaw down the side of your neck, pausing just over your pulse. It was racing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh.

"I wonder," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound, "how far this goes?"

The rasp of his accent, the deliberate way he spoke—it sent another shiver coursing through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He noticed, of course. Viktor noticed everything.

His smirk deepened.

"Would you like a demonstration, Y/N?"

Your breath caught. He was teasing you, testing you. And yet, beneath the amusement, there was something else. A hunger.

"Viktor," you started, voice unsteady.

"Yes?" He drew out the syllable, savouring it. His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your head up further. "Do you like the way I say your name, milý?"

You bit your lip.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, before leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Perhaps," he purred, "I should keep speaking, then?"

His voice dipped into something even more intoxicating, a deliberate whisper of sin against your skin. He wasn’t just speaking anymore—he was using his voice. A weapon, a lure, pulling you in, unravelling you piece by piece.

"Would you like that?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. "For me to talk you through all the ways I could ruin you?"

You let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.

He laughed. Soft and knowing.

His cane shifted as he moved between your legs, his free hand finding your waist. His grip was firm, grounding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"I could tell you, step by step," he murmured, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip. "How I would take my time, how I would make you fall apart with just my words."

He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw—so close, so deliberate. "Would you like that, můj drahý?" (My Dear)

Your fingers dug into his shirt, desperate, needing something to hold onto as his words set you alight.

"I—"

His lips ghosted over your pulse, and you gasped.

"You do like it," he mused, wicked amusement dripping from every syllable.

He tilted his head, dragging the bridge of his nose along the line of your throat, inhaling as if memorizing the way you smelled, the way you reacted. His fingers tightened on your waist, his cane shifting as he steadied himself.

"Then," he whispered, voice dark, velvet-soft, "perhaps I should see just how much you can take?"

And with the way your body responded to just his voice, to just the promise of his words—

You knew you were completely, utterly doomed.

JAYVIK

Piltover at night was something of a wonder. The city of progress never truly slept, its golden lights reflecting against the rivers and illuminating the towering spires of Hextech advancement. But inside a candle-lit penthouse, away from the hum of the bustling streets, you were being tormented in a very particular way.

By them.

Viktor and Jayce had long since figured out your little… proclivity. You weren’t sure exactly when or how—perhaps it was the way your thighs had pressed together the first time Viktor murmured something low and slow while working on an invention, or the way your breath hitched whenever Jayce let his voice drop into that rich baritone during council meetings.

Whatever the case, they knew. And they were merciless.

Wrapped up in one of their oversized hoodies—Jayce’s, judging by the scent of metal, parchment, and the faint hint of cologne—you were curled up on the couch, trying desperately to appear unaffected. But it was a losing battle.

Jayce had been reading out loud from one of his research papers, voice slow, deliberate. Each word was carefully spoken, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest as he sat back in the chair across from you. You knew damn well he was exaggerating it, just to make you squirm.

“…The integration of Hextech stabilizers has resulted in a remarkable increase in mana conductivity,” Jayce mused, flipping a page, his voice dropping an octave as he let the sentence roll off his tongue. “Perhaps we should conduct… further tests.”

Viktor, lounging beside you, tapped his cane idly against the floor—a slow, methodical rhythm, as if measuring the seconds between your breathing. He wasn’t reading, nor was he pretending to be occupied. No, Viktor was simply watching you. Observing, calculating, taking in every little twitch of your fingers against the hoodie’s sleeves.

“Oh, I agree, Jayce. Further testing is always important,” Viktor mused, his accent curling around the words like silk, wrapping them into something intoxicating. His golden eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”

Your fingers twitched, gripping at the hoodie’s fabric as your throat went dry. “I—I mean, research is important, obviously.”

Jayce chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. He stretched with a dramatic sigh, letting his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned stomach. You hated that they were both so effortlessly attractive.

“You’re cute when you try to pretend,” Jayce murmured, voice heavy with amusement. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, resting his chin on one broad hand. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart… you’ve been real quiet ever since I started reading. Why is that?”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting with a familiar warmth.

Viktor shifted beside you, his cane sliding along the floor before resting against the couch. His voice dipped lower, softer—lethal.

“She’s always so reactive to sound, Jayce,” he mused, drawing out each syllable in that dangerous slow cadence. “It’s quite… fascinating.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct.

Jayce caught it immediately. His grin widened. “Oh, what’s this?” His hand, warm and too confident, found your knee, squeezing lightly—just enough to send heat flooding through your body. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you both.”

Jayce laughed, shaking his head as he ran his thumb in slow, idle circles over your knee. “Oh, do you?” His voice was all velvet and amusement, all taunting warmth.

Viktor hummed, leaning in. His voice was barely above a whisper, golden eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you. “It’s endearing, really,” he murmured, his words slow, drawn-out, teasing. Torturous. “How just a few words can make you so—hmm, what is the word?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light. You knew he already had the answer. He just wanted to hear you squirm.

Then he smirked.

“Flustered.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated how much they noticed it.

You yanked the hoodie’s collar up over your face, your entire body curling inward. “You two are insufferable.”

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “And yet…” His lips lingered for a moment, warm against your skin before he finally pulled away. “…you’re still here.”

Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, reaching out with his fingers—light, barely-there, ghosting along your wrist, teasing. The kind of touch that made heat coil in your stomach. His golden gaze softened just enough, but the teasing edge in his tone remained.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you secretly enjoy being teased, hmm?”

The shudder that wracked your body was humiliating.

You clenched your thighs together, burying your face deeper into the hoodie’s collar, desperate to escape their knowing gazes.

Damn them both.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. The usual rowdy patrons had filtered out, leaving only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. You leaned against the bar, fingers lazily tracing the rim of your glass as Vander wiped down the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the strength in his scarred muscles as he worked.

“Long night?” he rumbled, voice thick with the gravel of exhaustion.

You hummed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Could say the same to you.”

A chuckle rolled through his chest, deep and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way it made heat coil in your stomach, but you weren’t very good at hiding things from Vander.

He gave you a knowing smirk, resting his weight against the counter. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the liquid in your glass before deciding that, screw it, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just Vander looking too damn good under the low lantern light, but you felt bold.

“I like your voice.” The words came out softer than you intended, a confession tucked between the hum of the empty bar.

Vander raised a brow, but the smirk never left his face. “That so?”

Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, something challenging in your eyes. “Mhm. Deep, rich… kinda feels like it wraps around you.” You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the way his expression darkened ever so slightly made your breath hitch.

He leaned in, just close enough that his scent—whiskey, leather, and the faintest trace of smoke—clouded your senses. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you,” he murmured, voice dipping into something even deeper, raspier, like he was testing you.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “You do.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Vander smirked, slow and lazy, before brushing his knuckles along your jaw, tilting your chin just enough so you had no choice but to look up at him.

“Hmm… what is it, then?” His voice was nothing short of sinful, dragging out the words, teasing you. “The way I talk to you? Or the way I say your name?”

You exhaled, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Both.”

Vander chuckled again, but this time, it was deliberate—low, intimate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to tell me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and he felt it, the way your body reacted to just his voice alone. He pulled back just enough to watch you, eyes dark with amusement and something else—something possessive.

“Gonna be real hard not to take advantage of that,” he mused, tracing a slow line down your arm, his rough fingertips setting your nerves alight.

You bit your lip, breath uneven. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

Vander let out a quiet groan, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth hovered just over yours, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. “Then you best be ready, love,” he whispered, voice thick and dripping with promise.

Before you knew what was happening, he was gripping your wrist and pulling you toward the back room, his steps purposeful. He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word—just led you through the dimly lit hallway with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your core.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, the hum of the bar fading into the background. Vander turned to face you, arms folding across his broad chest as he leaned against the wooden desk, watching you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with something hungry.

“So,” he drawled, his voice dipping even lower. “You like the way I sound, huh?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah.”

His tongue flicked across his bottom lip, a quiet tsk leaving him. “Gonna need more than that, sweetheart.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I love your voice,” you admitted, your own voice softer now, almost breathless. “It’s deep, rough—makes my whole body feel like it’s burning up.”

That earned you a dark chuckle, low and rumbling. “That so?” His head tilted slightly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem real shy about it now.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “I—”

“Shh.” He brought a finger up, barely grazing your chin. “I think I like this little confession of yours, love. And I think I wanna see just how much you really like it.”

His voice alone had your thighs pressing together, your breath uneven as he traced slow circles over your hip. He leaned in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“Bet I could have you falling apart just from my voice,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate. “Bet I could make you squirm just whisperin’ in your ear.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in shallow pants. “Vander—”

“There it is,” he praised, voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Knew you’d sound real pretty sayin’ my name like that.”

A quiet whimper left you, and Vander groaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You really are dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Damn near impossible to say no to.”

His lips barely ghosted over yours before he pulled back, his expression shifting into something dark, something unreadable.

“But you ain’t getting everything you want just yet.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, your mind fogged with desire. “What—”

Vander smirked, reaching down to give your backside a firm, playful tap—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of heat up your spine. “Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together at the sheer authority in his tone.

“Gonna finish closing up,” he continued, stepping back and eyeing you like he was already imagining what he was gonna do once he followed. “By the time I get up there, you better be waitin’ for me.”

His fingers traced one last slow path down your arm before he turned toward the door, leaving you standing there, still trying to catch your breath.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, love,” he called over his shoulder.

And just like that, Vander strode back out into the bar, his voice carrying through the walls as he barked at the last stragglers to clear out.

You barely had the strength to move, your body humming with anticipation. But you knew one thing for certain—

You weren’t about to disobey that voice.

SILCO

Zaun’s underbelly was no place for soft things, no place for delicate affections or whispered promises. But somehow, you had carved out a place for yourself in his world—woven into the very fabric of his life like the slow burn of a cigar, curling around him, lingering.

No one would ever know.

Silco was a man who kept his power close and his weaknesses closer. He didn't parade you through The Last Drop or allow idle hands to pry into what was his. You were a secret. A well-guarded one.

And yet, even in the quiet, he ruined you.

=

Tonight, you were in his office—again.

The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the mahogany desk he had pinned you against. His body was close—too close—yet still, he hadn’t truly touched you.

That was always the game.

His patience was infuriating. He knew exactly how to play you, how to leave you wanting, how to drive you to madness without so much as lifting a finger.

"Tell me," his voice came low, a purr of dark amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Do you enjoy being kept in the dark like this, my darling?"

Your breath hitched. Gods, you hated him. Not because of what he was saying—but because of what it did to you.

His voice slithered under your skin like silk, threading into every nerve ending, sending heat coiling deep in your stomach. It was the way he spoke—so precise, so controlled, every syllable laced with dark promise.

"Silco—" You tried to turn your head, to get even the slightest bit of control, but his gloved fingers caught your chin, forcing you to face forward.

Not yet.

He let his lips hover just beside your pulse, never quite touching, just letting his breath tease the sensitive skin.

"Shhh." The whisper was soft, almost intimate—but the effect was devastating. You shivered, the warmth of his breath sending a sharp pulse of heat between your thighs. "We wouldn’t want someone overhearing us, would we?"

Your fingers curled into the edge of his desk, knuckles white. He was such an ass—deliberate, cruel in his attentions. Always testing your restraint.

"You’re the one whispering in my ear like you want me to lose my mind," you bit out. A chuckle—dark, rich, sinful—slipped from his lips, and you felt it in your bones.

"Am I?" His voice dropped, becoming rougher, raspier—worse.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he let his lips graze the delicate skin beneath your jaw, his breath leaving a searing trail.

"I think you’re the one who likes being talked to like this."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His fingers skated down your waist, slow, teasing. Too slow. The way he dragged out every single movement was torture.

"You always respond so beautifully," he murmured, words rolling off his tongue like velvet, deep and indulgent. "A little breathless. A little desperate."

Your thighs clenched together before you could stop yourself, and he felt it. Of course, he did.

Silco was far too perceptive, and even in the dim candlelight, you knew he was watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze—taking you apart, piece by piece, with nothing but his voice.

His gloved hand slid lower, curling possessively around your hip as his other pressed into the desk beside you, trapping you against him.

And still—still—he hadn’t touched you properly.

"Tell me," he drawled, his lips brushing your ear, "how much do you want me right now?"

The heat between your legs had turned to an ache—one that his voice alone had created.

Your fingers dug into the wood. "You already know."

"Mmm." His hum of approval sent a shiver down your spine. "But I do love hearing you say it."

He shifted, pressing his knee between your thighs, adding just the faintest pressure. Not enough. Never enough.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, arching closer without thinking. Silco hummed in satisfaction. He had you.

"You drive me insane," you admitted, voice hushed, breathless.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his mismatched gaze—blue and ember, sharp as a knife.

"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, "you keep coming back for more."

His kiss was slow, deliberate—a calculated torment. Lips firm but patient, moving against yours with a control that had you shaking. His voice had already undone you, but this? This was the final blow.

And he knew it.

His whispers continued between kisses, words melting into your skin like poison and honey all at once.

"You’re mine." His lips drifted down, pressing against your jaw, your throat. "And I do so love making you weak."

His voice alone was ruining you. And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

CLAGGOR

The flickering candlelight cast long, shifting shadows along the stone walls of your shared hideout. The others had long since retired for the night, leaving only you and Claggor lingering in the quiet, the remnants of your latest heist strewn across the worn wooden table between you. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and adrenaline from a long day’s work.

You let out a slow breath, fingers idly toying with a small trinket from the pile, but your focus was elsewhere—entirely on the man across from you.

“Alright,” Claggor murmured, leaning forward, his large hands sifting through the items. His voice was rich and low, the kind of sound that settled in your chest and refused to leave. “Looks like we got some decent supplies this time. Food, parts, and—oh, check this out.”

He lifted a small, well-worn book, its spine cracked from age and use. He flipped it open, his thick fingers carefully turning the delicate pages, his eyes scanning over the text with quiet curiosity. But you barely registered what he was saying.

Gods, his voice.

It wasn’t just deep—it was steady. Assured. The kind of voice that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was anything but. And the way he spoke? Each word deliberate, unhurried, carrying a weight that made even the simplest statements feel important.

You swallowed hard, warmth curling low in your stomach, creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not here. Not with him so close.

Claggor’s voice softened slightly. “Y/N?”

You blinked, caught off guard, realizing too late that you had been staring.

“Hmm?” you managed, shifting in your seat.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression amused but not unkind. “You listening?”

“Uh—yeah. Totally.” You forced yourself to focus, nodding toward the book. “Food, parts, and… a book?”

Claggor chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Yeah,” he said, thumbing over the edge of the pages. “Figured Powder might like it. Or maybe you. You still like bedtime stories?”

There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the joke barely registered over the sheer effect of hearing him speak. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as subtly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your breath had hitched.

Depends, you wanted to say. Depends on who’s reading.

Instead, you tilted your head, smirking to cover your nerves. “Depends. Who’s reading?”

Claggor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What, you want me to read to you?”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Yes.

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears. “Maybe. I just like the sound of your voice.”

The words left your lips before you could think better of them.

For a moment, Claggor said nothing, his dark eyes studying you with quiet curiosity. Then, he set the book down on the table with slow deliberation, his movements easy, unhurried.

“You like my voice?” His words came slower this time, more thoughtful. Testing.

Your breath caught.

He was too perceptive. He always had been. Claggor wasn’t just brawn—he noticed things, even when you tried to be subtle. And right now? You were not being subtle.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight. Claggor wasn’t usually one for teasing, but there was something different in his expression now—something amused. Interested.

“That so?” he murmured, leaning back slightly. He let the silence stretch between you, as if weighing his next words. Then, deliberately, he let his voice drop even lower, his tone thick with quiet amusement. “What if I talked to you like this all the time?”

A shiver ran through you, sharp and electric.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Claggor exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it now—a quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable weight.

Then, as if testing you further, he reached for the book, flipping it open once more.

“Alright,” he mused, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s see… ‘Once upon a time…’”

The words were meaningless. What mattered was how he said them. Each syllable rolled from his lips like honey, smooth and unhurried, carrying a warmth that settled deep in your chest. His voice wrapped around the words, made them something more than just ink on paper.

You barely noticed the story. You barely noticed anything except him.

Claggor glanced up, watching you. His voice remained steady, unshaken, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing.

You didn’t even realize you’d been leaning in until he paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice slightly uneven.

His smirk widened, his expression both amused and intrigued. He turned the page slowly, dragging out the moment, letting the silence settle before speaking again.

“…Should I keep going?”

You hated how easily he was getting to you, but you also loved it.

“Depends,” you said, your voice lower this time. “You gonna make a habit of this?”

Claggor chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh, I definitely am now.”

He closed the book with a quiet thump, resting his palm on the cover as he regarded you. His expression was unreadable for a long moment—then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop to a near whisper.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for voices,” he murmured. “But I think I just found my new favourite way to get a reaction out of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Claggor wasn’t usually one to tease, but the way he was looking at you now? Like he’d just uncovered a secret he fully intended to use against you?

Yeah. You were so in trouble.

And you loved it.

[blankerthought]

you ever wake up and make a stupid au because i do. anyway who wants to hear about my arcane the hangover inspired au. idc if you don't anyway i need y'all to know about this idea where meljayvik get absolutely smashed, go out, and wake up the next morning to full chaos. also there's cowboy hats

[hexb0nes]

Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice

I. COFFEE BEANS & UNSATSIFED DREAMS

word count: 5k

pairing: sugar daddy!jayce x sugar baby!reader

contains: the brutality of working in the food/beverage industry, karenism, alludes to depression, social and physical isolation

summary: life as a barista is fine when the customers are, but a terrible exchange between you and a demanding customer leaves you upset and angry. billionaire jayce talis emerge from his solitude to get his life back on track. your hard days lead to an unlikely meetup.

author's note: chapter one is here!!! many thanks to my beta reader @bb-enablefreebuild for her help <3 i hope y'all enjoy this, i know a few folks in @madschiavelique's discord server were craving some sugar daddy jayce ;D

The aroma of coffee beans and freshly warmed pastries wafts through The Last Drop, a local café in the heart of Piltover City. Chattering customers of all sorts fill up the shop, some awaiting for their drinks while others partake in their sweet treats. It’s a busy day, the third busy day in a row for the week. Busy days mean more tips, but–

You run through the backside of the café, sweat sticking to your forehead from the heat emitting from the various equipment. The morning shift is down by two workers, leaving you and your remaining coworkers Gertude and Mylo to man the ship, a rapidly sinking ship.

“We need a medium flat white! Oat milk and medium roast!” Gertude yells to you from behind the cash register. The amount of customers waiting to order barely fits inside the queue belts, some grumbling about the long wait. Remember, busy days mean more time.

“I’m on it!” you shout back in confirmation and make a mad dash into the back of the shop. 

With the grace of a bull in a china shop, you throw yourself at the espresso machine and dump some coffee beans inside the chute, turning the machine on and adjusting the setting until you pull out an adequate espresso shot. You hastily steam the oak milk and with the ingredients ready, you pour a flat white as best as your trembling hands could.

“Flat white with oat milk and medium roast!” you pop out to the front with the coffee in hand. An older woman with a quilted jacket appears before you, “Thank you, dear,” she takes the coffee from your hands. She pulls out a five dollar bill from her pocket and hands it to you, “Good luck to you and your friends!”

“Thank you so so so much,” you thank the customer profusely. She tips her head and walks off; you turn around to get back to the coffee machines when an annoyed voice calls out to you, “Excuse, ma’am.”

You spin back around to the front and come face-to-face with a middle-aged man in business attire. His face is so red, you fear that he’s having a stroke. Unfortunately, Mr. Not-Having-A-Stroke thrusts his to-go coffee cup towards your face, “This coffee is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted! I want a refund!”

You attempt to placate the businessman with a well-trained smile, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have a no refund policy because all of our items are perishable.”

“What?!” he screams. The businessman snatches the cup from your hands, “That’s ridiculous! I demand to speak to your manager!” 

Fucking Karen. You let out a small sigh from under your breath and slip into your default customer service voice, “Yes, sir. One moment, please.” 

Mr. Karen gives a grunt of approval, “Good, I don’t have all day.”

You piece of shit. “If you’d just give me a moment,” you shout for your boss from the back of the shop before turning towards the customer, “He should be here momentarily.”

Less than a minute goes by when Mr. Tomato-Face starts tapping his foot.

Two minutes pass, still no sign of your boss. The businessman glares daggers into your soul, “Shout for him again.”

“Sir, he’ll be here in a few. Please be patient,” you grit your teeth.

Another minute goes by.

“Shout for him. Again,” Mr. Karen demands.

“Sir, like I said, he’s—”

Splash!

You fail to shield yourself from the splash of coffee chucked at you from the angry customer. Lukewarm coffee hits your chest and your face, drenching your apron and shirt in muddy brown. A hush falls upon the café patrons, most witnessing the volatile exchange.

“Sir.”

The deep but calm voice of the café owner—Vander Gallagher—breaks the silence of the room. He towers over Mr. Tomato, his muscular biceps on display with his fitted shirt. The businessman cowers pathetically under the massive figure of your boss, “Oh— I—”

“I’m asking you to leave the premises,” your boss states. He shoots you a glance and asks, “Would you like to press charges for assault?”

“No need,” you wipe off some coffee droplets from your face, “I’m not gonna waste my time on a lowlife like him.”

“Very well,” Vander looks down at the businessman and places a large hand on his shoulder, “How about you pay my kind barista over here so she can replace her uniform, alright? A fifty dollar bill should do, then you can be on your way.”

“O– O– Okay,” the businessman stammers, opening his leather wallet and pulls out the requested bill. Vander smiles at the coward’s cooperation and pockets the money, “Say smile!”

In a flash, Vander snaps a photo of your assaulter with his phone. The businessman winces at the sudden flash and retreats from the café once released from Vander’s hold. A few café patrons trade concerned frowns while others mumble among themselves. 

“Apologies, folks!” Vander puts on a cheery smile, “Please continue with your meals and drinks! All is well.”

Chitchat resumes in the café, whispers about the earlier scene reaching your ears. Vander enters the back with you and pulls you into a side hug. Defeated, you accept his touch and crumble.

“Take the rest of the day off,” he informs you. Shaking your head, you reply back, “I can’t, we’re already low as is– Don’t worry about it,” Vander cuts in, “I’ll take over for you and don’t worry about the pay, I’m still paying you for your whole shift.”

Tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you sniffle, “You sure?”

“I’m positive,” your boss confirms. He passes you the fifty dollar bill, “Here’s your compensation for that asshole. I’ll give you a new apron.”

“Thanks,” you offer Vander a weak smile and shove the bill in your pocket.

“Of course,” he chuckles, “

You strip yourself of your ruined apron and pass it off to Vander. He waves you goodbye and you leave for the small break room in the far back of the café. Wiping away any escaped tears, you approach your locker and crack the combination lock to open it. You toss your visor and name tag inside before removing your satchel and jacket from the locker, slamming it shut with an annoyed huff. 

Fucking asshole, you steam your anger out in your thoughts, as you exit the café, This was one of my favorite shirts, the stained shirt is of your favorite cover album of your favorite band, The Firelights. You plop down outside the café and hug your knees to your chest, I hate it here. I hate working here. I hate, I hate, I—

“Hi.”

A husky voice greets you. Peering up from your ball of sadness, you see the owner of the voice. It’s a bearded man dressed in a baseball hat and dark sunglasses, paired with a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. His bomber jacket appears weathered from use; you narrow your eyes to get a closer look and notice a familiar symbol on the breast pocket, a tilted hourglass. 

“Can I sit here?” the man inquires, his broad stature blocking the blinding light of the sun.

“Sure, be my guest,” you mumble indifferently. 

The man takes a seat beside you and rests his head against the concrete wall, “Bad day?”

“Very bad day,” you reaffirm, pulling out of your sadness ball and stretching out your legs. 

The man beside you raises his eyebrows and points at your shirt, “You’re a fan of the Firelights?”

“Oh,” you nod and cast another look at his bomber jacket, “Yeah, I am. You are, too, yeah?” you gesture at the Firelights’ symbol on his jacket, “Judging from the jacket.”

“For sure,” he smiles at you, a pearly white and toothy grin. Despite his Goliath form, the strange man radiates oddly comforting energy, “What happened to your shirt, though?”

Your expression darkens at his question, “Some asshole threw coffee at me ‘cuz I wouldn’t give him a refund,” your words are sour like a lemon, “I doubt I’m gonna be able to get this stain out...”

“Want a new one?” the man asks.

“Want?” you furrow your brow, “Of course, I want a new one, but I don’t have room in my—” you cut yourself short. Why am I telling this man my life story?

“Let me get you one,” his voice is firm, “No ifs or buts.”

You run your hands through your hair, already exhausted enough from the day’s events, and relent to the stranger, “Fine. Deliver it to me the next time you come to The Last Drop.”

“Will do,” the strange man extends a large hand to you, “By the way, it’s nice to meet you, even though it was under not so great circumstances.”

You take his hand and it engulfs your own, as you two shake hands, “Nice to meet you, too, stranger,” you answer back.

The man before you removes his sunglasses and reveals his bright, hazel eyes. His eyes stare into yours and for a moment, all is silent. Pretty, you think to yourself.

“Jayce, actually.”

“Mm?”

“My name’s Jayce. What’s yours?”

You tell your name to Jayce and he grins.

“What a beautiful name.”

Your face warms up at his compliment, a contrast to the autumn chill. 

Noticing your flustered expression, Jayce simply smiles back.

“I’ll see you soon.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Man of Progress. Golden Boy. The One Who Revolutionized the World.

Jayce Talis has many names in reference to his extraordinary work with Hextech and other inventions powered by  new, once unknown sources of energy. He’d been dreaming of changing the world ever since he was a child.. In his heart, Jayce knew he could and that the Universe would guide him to achieving it. 

In elementary school, Jayce discovered such a strange crystal, abandoned in the fields outside his house. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, with its unnaturally vibrant blue color and rigid texture. That crystal would become the key to Jayce’s quest of bettering the world.

Years went by, as Jayce grew up from a chubby cheeked boy to a handsome, grown man. He sped through high school, college, and graduate school with the help of a lacrosse scholarship, but Jayce felt no fulfillment with his fancy degrees. His free time was dedicated to toying with the crystal. Hours were consumed by his non-stop research in his university’s lab, but no answers would come about.

Then Viktor Novak entered the picture, the second key to revolutionizing the world. 

A scrawny, vampirically pale man, Jayce would encounter him infrequently during his time at graduate school. As assistant to the Dean, Viktor had to be everywhere and juggle everything. The two would have the occasional conversation, but nothing bloomed beyond that; not until a chance meeting in the engineering lab that exposed Viktor to the allure of solving the mysterious crystal. 

Viktor shared the same dream as Jayce, to make the world a better place. With his cane in tow, Viktor climbed from the pits of the small subsector of St. Zaun to the skyscrapers of Piltover City; a brilliant man who wanted more in life than to be an assistant and to give power to his community. A dream that would come to fruition with the help of that little blue crystal. 

The night that changed the world involved the pair running through more equations and analyses than a stockbroker with cocaine. They were running on fumes and an empty coffee pot. In the midst of their sleepless delirium, Viktor suggested the impossible, “What if it’s from space?”

Jayce laughed his head off at the mere idea, his head throbbing from caffeine withdrawal and the desperate need to sleep. Yet, the steely glint of seriousness in Viktor’s eyes made the scientist quiet down. He never considered the possibility of the crystal’s origin being from space…the crystal’s structure was more similar to quartz than anything else. 

While Jayce pondered the possibilities, Viktor set down a streak test plate and filed the crystal against it. It sparked. At the same time, the lights in the lab flickered for a brief moment. 

Curious, Viktor rubbed the crystal against the plate again, inciting the same reaction from the lab lights. No material on Earth has ever done that. 

A crazy idea exploded inside Jayce’s head. 

He grabbed the crystal off the streak plate and secured it inside the lone centrifuge in the corner of the lab, much to Viktor’s horror. He scolded Jayce for such a reckless act, but Jayce fired back with the notion that if the crystal was an unknown material from space, they couldn’t operate under Earth rules. 

Unable to argue with his logic, Viktor handed his fellow scientist some eye protection and stepped far away from the centrifuge. Jayce strapped goggles firmly around his eyes and steadied himself with a deep breath. He d turned  on the centrifuge and history unfolded before their very eyes. 

The crystal spun like a gymnast on steroids. It spun and vibrated and spun some more until– 

The centrifuge exploded in a flash of blue light, energy rippling through the lab. Lights in the lab intensified for a moment before blinking out, engulfing the room in darkness. Jayce and Viktor ran to the windows and stared outside in a mix of awe and concern. The power grid for the entire campus was fried, shrouding the university in pitch black. Viktor hobbled back to the damaged centrifuge and brushed off some debris, picking something up. In his hand, the crystal laid unharmed.  

Jayce Talis and Viktor Novak, a pair of terribly exhausted and somewhat deranged scientists, discovered renewable energy unlike anything the world had ever seen.

They secured the funding of sponsors like Medara Industries, the potential of getting their grubby hands on potent energy was too powerful to resist. Jayce and Viktor developed a wide variety of inventions powered by the energy of the crystal, which they dubbed as the Hex Crystal. From engines for cars to prosthetics, the two’s inventions soared them into the stratosphere of fame and glory. While Viktor preferred to be in the shadows and tinker away in the lab, Jayce was made for the spotlight; he enchanted the nation with his charm and smarts, cementing his place as America’s Sweetheart and The Man of Progress.

Jayce Talis achieved his dream of changing the world… but the cost of such victory would catch up with him eventually. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Seven years had passed since the discovery of Hextech and the founding of Hex Energy Incorporated. A board of directors and investors was established and managed a bulk of the corporation, such as marketing and finances. Viktor Novak, one of the two founders, became the CTO—chief technology officer—but still dedicated his time to hiding in his personal lab and creating schematics for new inventions. As for Jayce Talis, the other founder, he maintained the position as chief executive officer, the CEO and smiling face of Hex Energy.

Jayce had everything, billions to his name. When the money from Hex Energy started rolling in, his first “purchase” was spent on his mother, Ximena. He ensured that her retirement would last for decades; she deserved it, after all, as she spent a good decade or so raising Jayce by her lonesome after his father’s passing. 

After setting up his mother for a life of comfort and security, Jayce’s later financial decisions were much more impulsive. He indulged himself in a playboy lifestyle with yachts, international trips, and mansions galore, brimming with the smooth and the sexy. Jayce lived it up like Bruce Wayne without a care, drowning himself in the thrills of fame and fortune. 

The appeal of such a life wore off eventually by the time Jayce entered his late twenties. There weren't enough fancy suits or round trips to Rome in the world that could compensate for his desire to do better for humanity. 

So, Jayce lit his playboy persona on fire and sold off his frivolous purchases for charity, turning a new leaf as a philanthropist. Like his co-founder and partner Viktor, who vowed not to be a millionaire, Jayce channeled his money into a variety of charities to lighten the load of his bank account, even creating a few of his own to invest funds in. With his new image, Jayce became America’s Favorite, a man who could do no wrong. In the eyes of the public, he was a hero.  

Truth to be told, Jayce Talis was a loser.

Or at least that was how he felt. Viktor was his only friend and his last—as well as  only—romantic relationship fizzled out after a year of courting. Of course, so many people wanted to be friends with the Jayce Talis, but no one wanted to be friends with Jayce Talis. Vultures, these fake friends Jayce had the misfortune of making during his stupidity in his mid twenties. Those stabs from those he trusted most took its toll on Jayce and little by little, he withdrew. In the blink of an eye, he vanished, hidden away in the comfort and safety of his penthouse. 

With Jayce out of the public eye, rumors sparked about his health and wellbeing. Gossip magazines ran article after article on the reclusive billionaire while paparazzi were on the hunt for a photograph of him in the hopes of a lucky break, to get the golden ticket from capturing the Jayce Talis. 

By the third month of “living up” as a hermit, Jayce received a wake-up call from none other than Viktor Novak. 

“Jayce,” his friend’s accented voice crackled from the speakerphone. Jayce’s phone rested on the glass coffee table, its owner preoccupied with scrolling through cable TV, “Jayce, you need to go outside.”

“I’m fine here.” Tombstone? No. Jumanji? No. God, there’s nothing but shit on cable.

“No, you’re not,” Jayce could hear his partner pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “You haven’t left your penthouse in months. It’s unhealthy,” Viktor sighs, “and that’s especially bad when the man with the terminal lung disease says so.”

“No matches yet?” Jayce powered off the TV and picked up the phone, taking it off speaker and holding it against his ear. 

“No, not yet, but I’m still top on the list,” answers Viktor, “But this isn’t about me, Jayce. I’m calling you as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes, a warning. The board has been talking. There have been… discussions of your absence and your role with the company.”

Jayce’s grip on the phone tightened, “What have they been saying?”

“That they want you to resign.”

Within Jayce’s hand, the phone screen threatened to crack from the pressure.

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning. Bye, V.”

“Wait, Ja–” the CEO hung up the call with a huff. Jayce collapsed back down against the plush sofa and stared at the ceiling fan. His eyes followed the spinning, Resign? Are they insane?! They wouldn’t have jobs if it wasn’t for me and Viktor! 

Jayce pushed himself off the sofa and dragged himself to the bathroom, What assholes. When I get back tomorrow– Jayce’s train of thought vanished, as he took sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. No longer did a clean cut and shaved Golden Boy appear in the mirror, but rather a dishevelled beast of a man. His hair reached just above his shoulders, paired with an unkept beard. Depression beard, huh?

Jayce made a quick call to his stylist Margot, who was surprised to hear from him—I thought you died! was how she put it—and scheduled an appointment for later that day to address his beauty emergency. With the appointment confirmed, Jayce entered his Spotify app and turned on whatever ‘motivational’ playlist he could find.

Pumped up music played throughout the bathroom, as Jayce showered for the first time in weeks. Lathering him with bourbon-scented wash products, Jayce relished in the relief that the hot water provided him. He exited the shower back into the steamy bathroom and dried his body and hair, finally clean after weeks of bed rotting. Jayce hated to admit it, but showering did help his mood. 

Once dried, he left the bathroom and threw on a makeshift disguise. Jayce knew that the public wouldn’t recognize him with such long hair and a beard, but he couldn’t take the risk. He dressed as generic as possible and topped it off with his bomber jacket from his college days, the tilted hourglass symbol from his favorite band The Firelights stitched on the breast pocket.

Sunlight greeted him when he vacated his penthouse and outside the apartment complex. He winced at the brightness and covered his eyes with a pair of sunglasses. Jayce wedged his way into the foot traffic, making his way to Margot’s studio. 

A sudden pang of hunger hit Jayce’s stomach, accompanied by a loud growl. Guess I could go for a bagel and some coffee. He continued walking until he caught sight of a café, one surprisingly close to Margot’s. Exiting the bustling sidewalk, Jayce made a beeline for the café, with the words The Last Drop written on its sign.

He reached out for the door, ready to go inside–

Jayce hears a sniffle. 

Close to the entrance of the café, he sees a young woman hugging her knees to her chest. Jayce takes a step closer and the pleasant scent of coffee hits his nose, unsure if it’s from the café or the woman. He hears more sniffling and frowns. Poor thing.

“Hi,” the greeting stumbles from Jayce’s lips without thinking.

At the sound of his voice, the woman lifts her head from her knees and looks around the area, her eyes landing on Jayce. His chest constricts like a boa had wrapped itself around it. The hunger in his stomach is replaced by the sensation of nervous butterflies. The woman before him couldn’t have been more than 25 or 26, but the dark circles under her eyes age her. Poor thing, she looks overworked.

“Can I sit here?” Jayce asks in a gentle manner, not wanting to frighten or come off as creepy. 

“Sure, be my guest,” the woman mumbles. 

Jayce plops down beside the woman and rests his head against the concrete wall. Eyes hidden behind polarized sunglasses, Jayce casts a sympathetic look and smiles at the poor lady, “Bad day?” he inquires.

“Very bad day,” she answers, exhaustion and sadness evident in her tone. The young woman stretches out her legs and lets out a defeated sigh. Jayce opens his mouth to offer reassurance when he notices her shirt, it features the album cover of Misfit Toys, one of the earlier albums from The Firelights. Near the neckline of the shirt, there’s a prominent brown stain splattered on it. 

“You’re a fan of the Firelights?” Jayce points to your shirt. It’s a rare sight to see someone wearing such early The Firelights merchandise unless they had been a fan since the beginning. 

They complimented their merchandise and the familiar feeling of awkward silence begins to sneak its way in. Jayce, desperate to keep it going, blurts out a question about the prominent coffee stain on her shirt. And there goes your opportunity to be a normal guy, ‘Golden Boy’.

The woman’s expression soured at his question and Jayce bit the inside of his cheek. Shit, did I piss– “Some asshole threw coffee at me ‘cuz I wouldn’t give him a refund,” she spits out to Jayce, “I doubt I’m gonna be able to get this stain out,” her eyes glisten with tears. 

Jayce’s instinct is to embrace the woman and comfort her, but he restrains himself from being overly affectionate with the stranger. Don’t come off as a creep, don’t come off as a–

“Want a new one?” Don’t be a creep, Jayce! Damn it!

“Want?” the woman perks up at his offer and furrows her brow, “Of course, I want a new one, but I don’t have room in my–” she shuts herself up and lowers her gaze. Don’t have room in your what? Jayce ponders, In your budget? What has the world come to that someone can’t buy a shirt without worrying about their finances?

“Let me get you one,” Jayce reasserts, unrelenting, “No ifs or buts.” You deserve it after the horrible day you had.

The woman runs her hands frustratedly through her messy hair and concedes, “Fine. Deliver it to me the next time you come to The Last Drop, I work the rest of this week until Friday,” Jayce does an internal fist bump of victory.

“Will do,” he takes a mental note of the T-shirt design. To Jayce’s surprise, he extends his hand out to the woman, a gesture of good faith, “It’s nice to meet you,” he smiles, “Even though it wasn’t under not so great circumstances.”

The woman takes his hand and intertwines it with hers, so small and dainty in comparison. She shakes his hand and returns the good regards, “Nice to meet you, too, stranger.”

Jayce relinquishes his hand from the handshake and takes off his sunglasses, no longer bothered by the sunlight. He locks eyes with the woman, the world around them suddenly silent. Why do I feel so nervous? Jayce questions himself, God, guess I really have been a hermit that I’m getting all flustered just from looking at a woman. The woman bats her eyelashes and slightly parts her lips, likely a subconscious response. Nonetheless, it sends arrows straight into Jayce’s heart, his pupils engulfing his hazel irises. 

“Jayce, actually,” he breaks the silence.

“Mm?” the woman tilts her head at Jayce.

“My name’s Jayce. What’s yours?”

And she, you evidently, answer his question. Jayce grins. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, “What a beautiful name.”

Your eyes widen a bit and you avert your gaze to conceal your flustered face. Jayce can’t help but smile. Adorable. His phone buzzes with an alarm notification, alerting him that his appointment with Margot is in five minutes. Jayce springs up from the ground and bids his farewell, “I’ll see you soon.”

He walks away from the café, purposefully slow. Jayce takes a few sneak peeks from behind to see if you’re still outside the café. There’s no sight of you, you probably left to take care of your soiled shirt. 

The bell above the door jingles, announcing Jayce’s arrival to Madame M’s, Margot’s studio. It’s uncomfortably empty, no sounds of blow dryers or chitchat between stylists and customers. Why is it so empty?

High heels clicking against hardwood floor signals the arrival of a blonde woman with green makeup, “Jayce, baby!” the blonde–Margot–embraces Jayce and gives him a smooch on each cheek, “I’ve missed you so much!” she leads him to a salon chair and drapes a cover over his front, “Where have you been, darling? You vanished off the face of the Earth!”

“It’s a long story,” the CEO awkwardly chuckles.

“Wanna get into it?” the stylist hums, as she rummages through her styling tools. 

“I rather not,” he answers. 

Margot sets down a range of hair clippers and scissors on the table under the mirror, “No worries, just curious. Are we doing your usual today?”

“No, just a clean-up,” Jayce interjects. 

“Very well!” Margot claps her hands together, “This shouldn’t take too long then,” a small smile graces her lips, “Something’s different about you, Jayce.”

“Besides the long hair and beard?” Jayce snorts. 

“Besides that,” Margot grabs some hair clips and scissors, “You look like you went through Hell and I take it that this is your first day in public since your…” she sections off parts of Jayce with the hair clips, “...Your disappearance from the public eye a few months ago. You sort of look like a sad lump of shit..”

“Geez, thanks,” the CEO huffs. 

Margot runs a section of black hair through her comb and snips off the dead ends, “You ran into something,” snip snip snip, “Or someone.”

Jayce’s blood turns cold at her deduction and masks his shock with a cough, “Ah! Well, uhm… I did encounter someone, yes. You’re not wrong about that.”

A boisterous laugh rings in Jayce’s ears, as Margot continues to cut his hair, “Oh, darling! It’s written all over your face. That someone left a mark on you.”

“I was heading to get some coffee when I saw her outside the coffee shop, crying. She was having a bad day and I was trying to cheer her up, that’s all.”

“Mhm… I doubt that. She lit a spark in you. I can tell, of course. I’m French, after all.”

Jayce goes quiet and the earlier events play back in his mind; a toothy grin forms on his face when he remembers your honeyed voice and your beautiful eyes, “She was– is pretty, but that doesn’t constitute ‘lighting a spark’ in me.”

“Think about it deeper, baby. After months of your absence from the public eye, what did the one person you encounter today do?”

It clicks.

“She… didn’t recognize me?”

“Bingo!” Margot cheers, snipping off the last necessary strands from Jayce’s hair, “And isn’t that such a relief? To be unknown?”

Jayce mulls over Margot’s words while she touches up his beard. It is a relief to be unknown, Jayce had not been so since his college days. Talking to you had been the first normal conversation he had with someone in months—no, years—beyond Viktor, his mother, or his de facto sister Caitlyn Kiarmann. I have a chance to be normal. Glee and excitement bubble up in his stomach. 

“Look at your face, darling,” Margot whispers, “You look happy.”

Jayce focuses his gaze onto the salon mirror. He’s now cleanly groomed with a stylish haircut and beard, no longer a Sasquatch. The expression on his face is one of simple content, not too strong and not too weak. 

For the first time in months, billionaire CEO Jayce Talis looks happy.

All because of you, a disgruntled barista whose ruined day led to your paths crossing. 

[fatiguedfrog]

Currently working on chapter 5 of Orbiting Patterns, chapter 2 of On Faith Alone, and coming up with concepts of another short smut fic. Meanwhile my fucking legs are killing me, so no matter how I sit or lay or stand, I can't be still for more than a few minutes. So. Writing is going poorly. NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

*falls down stairs and lands in family guy death pose*