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okalanissolis · 3 months ago

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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . . pt. i | | series masterlist

focus on: muni sarang (diane meunier) word count: ~4.1k warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™, mentions of violence, occasional graphic imagery, mentions of semi-main character death

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: we start this story with essentially a history lesson, to keep you up to date on all of the Complex Relational Lore between all of our characters. also, before this past is considered previous is currently the only part of the story i actually have planned. so. enjoy it, this part of the story will probably be the only part that truly makes complete coherent sense. but, in the wise words of okalani akana in her swag girl era: fucka dat, we he'e nalu.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ i kick a rhyme drinking moonshine / i pour a sip on the concrete for the deceased ⌟

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— in hoku city there were three gods that everyone prayed to and, in secret, one power that bound them. supplication for the latter was far more clandestine, whispered and sequestered — in exile, made strange. ʜᴏᴋᴜ, ɴᴇꜱᴏɪ, ʙᴀᴅᴀ. star, earth, sea. the three gods that, when destiny conspired and came crawling, created the refuge of the bay on which hoku city was erected. favoritism named the city hoku when it was nesoi who ruled over land, and bada that, with her heaving oceans, carved the bay. but hoku was a star, and the city fell right beneath it's never blinking truth. it was only inevitable that one would be remembered more than the others, and in hoku's complacency, it would only be fair that bada's volatility and nesoi's jealousy would grow.

the ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴꜱ was the intensity that kept the city from eating itself whole.

— serpens, short for the serpens syndicate, was no true god, though certainly you'd be forgiven for thinking as much.

— formed generations ago (eight? six? what did it truly matter when the bones of them no longer existed, long pulverized, buried then exhumed, desecrated, then revered on an altar?) when a woman stepped off of a boat and onto the anticipating shores of a fetal city, barely christened with the name of hoku — the recrowning of a deity once forgotten, now animated anew and worshiped again, a cycle beginning at it's center. she had a dream of creating an empire — a whole world that would bend to her whims, small enough to swallow whole, powerful enough to seat her progeny for millennia — and create it, she had. first as a true business, a coalition of handpicked merchants who would come to rule the city with the foresight of a deified star, the omniscient eye, and the volatility of the omnipresent sea that raged around them. their trade was primarily alcoholic spirits and all manner of goods that could be sourced from the omnipotent abundance of the earth.

in those days, the prohibition had yet to emerge. in some ways, it was harder, more convoluted — byzantine. to hold the stopper on someone's desires is so much simpler when you are the only voice commanding vice. to control the flow of sin is a straightforward, near effortless task when there is only one fount, and you it's supplier.

— generations ago, when the world was less complicated, and the laws held with a velvet glove rather than an iron fist, the serpens syndicate was formed. not yet a godhead, something commonplace and admired. perhaps sharper, then, as it navigated streets it did not yet own and, with lazy skill, intricately wove itself into the desires of the people there. and with time, the corrupting influence of that diety named ꜱᴀᴍɢᴏɴɢ, that which is illicit becomes so much more tantalizing to hold. first it was little things, and then the shadows came to dance closer to their vision, and serpens had no choice but to embrace them or be swallowed whole.

— eventually, the elders of the serpens died and their prestige passed to the children beneath them. markets swelled and companies rose, and other things, still, ebbed with the water and, violently, were pulled to sea. only the serpens was strong enough to survive. only the snake born of sky and sea, tending to the ground beneath, could curl itself into the heart of the city and, triumphant, keep it's watchful eye keen.

and when prohibition came knocking, an unfortunate response to the political fear of a red light district growing stronger than it's keeper... well, who were the serpens to venerate: the gods that birthed them, and by favor, swelled their size? or the lawmen that cowered in fear, clawing at what never belonged to them to start?

— it was an easy choice, the former. and an evident decision for the people of hoku to raise the serpens up and, in their devotion, both conceal and empower them.

— when the prohibition hit, the serpens was headed by the mysterious ᴇʀɴᴇꜱᴛ, eldest of the meunier family and heir to the most vast and impressive organization hoku would ever see. open and inviting by name, but hidden yet renown, envied and feared, by reputation.

it was he who expanded their previous business, opening more hidden speakeasies — nips for the well to do that just needed something to take off the edge, bars for those who only wished to partake in their established addictions, and more clandestine holes in the wall for those that were used to the darker shades and umbra the serpens had long been expected to supply: canned heat, bottled torment, and tinned apparitions of ebullient euphoria.

bootlegging, drug peddling, pleasure dealing, death. the gods could save you from misfortune and lead you from disgrace, but the serpens could command all that sin and vice and all those evils that itched the back of your screaming throat.

— so pray to them. buy a bottle of their greed and spill a drink onto the pavement. the cops would never know if it was you that offered the liquid, or them that spilled it in confiscation. but the serpens would know. they were in every window, on every street corner, just around the block. they would see you downtrodden, and they would appreciate your awe, and they would raise you, when the moment became opportune.

to the serpens, master of all three: the omniscient eye, the omnipresent sea, the omnipotent abundance of the earth.

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— ernest was a man that, however paradoxically, lived up to his name. warm. friendly. true. and yet, to those who would interfere with his business and create problems or messes (things less than ideal), he was unequivocally feared. his ire was your death; your mistake his boot on your broken neck, a miscalculation...? something bloody would be trickling into the rust-stained drain, the slow drip absinthe that was distilling into liquid gold in the serpen's hands.

most of the grotesque work — the unrefined, the unsightly brute force — was left to the delegation of ernest's right hand: ʙʏᴇᴏɴɢ-ʜᴡᴀ. a man to be equally feared, a name to invoke misfortune and curse. how the two met was a secret all-too-well kept. one day he appeared: the shadow of a crime lord, the brass knuckles of his right fist.

— even when they became fathers their resolve never weakened, their terror never lifted. ꜱᴏʏᴇᴏɴ, born in august, the daughter of a kingpin's right hand, and ᴅɪᴀɴᴇ, born two months later, the dauphin of a power much larger than the self, a weapon so deadly even ɪᴋᴜ himself — death incarnate — could only fathom the shallows of it's striking blow.

if anything, the rise of the next generation simply made them all the more careful in their planning — more visionary, more cutthroat.

— soyeon was born the eldest, and the shadow in her fathers deeds caressed the hair on her head and worshiped the light in her eyes until they were as dark as all that she would be groomed to do. diane was her opposite and not-quite-equal — someone on a pedestal already raised, above in rank and not apologetic of it... yet.

— when it came to diane — darling of hoku's underground world, devoted of that which sat above — many things would sink in slowly, overtime: eat their way through her thickened skin and gnaw at the tenderness encased within. yet was her eventuality, yet was all that she could not abide, and yet would be the knife pointed at her treasonous heart at the beginning of what lies beyond.

it was her father's fault, if we're to place blame.

after all, was it not him, that, in the giddy delight of having a daughter, suggested to his wife that his progeny should have a name no less witty and ironic than his own? ernest for a kingpin. truth for a crown of deceit. they should name her something cynical — acerbic when you faced it unblinking, bathed in truth. sarang, he said, through bubbling laughter: love, when it would be most impossible to abide.

and it had stayed that way: her second identity, her secret name. the epithet she only used with the closest of her kin, the appellation she only whispered through unsteady breath. sarang. love. oh, how it betrayed her. oh, how it shackled her to the floor of her deception and ever-growing lies.

— daughters of monsters and daughters of men. hoku crawled with them and it was the power of ʜᴏʀᴋᴏꜱ — oath — and that almighty mixture of convenience and duty that combined to draw the fates of diane and soyeon ever close, so they would tangle upon bloom.

after all. when there was an education for one, why should there not be opportunity for both? when there was such rich history between the fathers, why not a friendship and devotion for the daughters?

so knit their lives to be experiences in tandem. cut the cloth so their fraying edges could tangle rather than break. school together, extra circulars joint, assembled schedules with collective goals; if their lives were in constant collaboration and concert, their goals and dreams, too, might coalesce and unify. perhaps their bond would triumph over that of even their fathers and their leverage, in the end, would eclipse all the control and power the serpens had ever known.

— from their youngest years, diane and soyeon were together. it was only natural that companionship should rise, and no one celebrated it more than the demon of hoku and his calloused right hand.

byeong-hwa and his quiet pride (the secret, near half curve of a schadenfreude smile; the confident satisfaction of a brief exchange of half-muttered words). the mastermind of an empire didn't express much, but in his silence was a world of self gratified honor and his daughter and her closest companion were at the epicenter — all he could focus on, all he could contain. his blessings were all skills they would hone to a knifepoint, his devotion a paved road.

ernest, by contrast (a man indulged in his freedom, so high above the rest that he bound those that would not be bidden and answered to only those he so carefully chose), delighted in the two girls with ripe expression and open hands near constantly filled with the tangible, though on rare occasion and most cherished, the cerebral. diane, to whom he gave all his wisdom and wove all of his bleeding love, and soyeon, who he blessed with clairty of vision for all her ambition.

— two fathers, two daughters. and all that to say nothing of the mothers who bore them and ever after rose them up. and for a moment longer than the stasis that holds you at the fear of death, and in am embrace softer than the hands encircling your eiderdown throat, the two girls received all that virtue and knowledge surrounding them, and they were happy.

"i thought your name was diane."

"it is."

"then why does samchon ernest call you sarang?"

"it's my secret name," and the younger girl giggled, flipped upside down on the stairs she would climb like monkey bars, dreaming that this staircase was a freedom beyond one she would be granted at this age, still prepubsecent, a liberty perhaps not reached even in the whole of this life. "only the people who know me best call me that. family."

and for a long moment soyeon just stared at diane. upside down as well, moreso hanging than dangling, too stubborn to admit to the vulnerability in suspension. she looked at the girl beside her — this built in friend, this given companion that she grew to care for more dearly than any other — soft. then... "can i use it, too?"

"of course! i was waiting for you to."

— and it would be only too intimate when such familiarity would rot and envy sink in her teeth — anchored deep with her claws.

— diane was the heir to hoku, and soyeon her second fiddle. a weapon for diane to one day direct, a voice in her ear that could be disregarded or misattributed.

it began in those meetings, almost mock sessions — child's play — where diane would speak her beliefs into action, her desires into assignment, and soyeon would see the heart of the blonde leaping from its place and tumbling out of her uncertain throat. soyeon would challenge her then, the way she had their whole lives, with the counsel she was bred to provide, and her tutors would set their jaws and flicker their eyes.

when she speaks, her word is law, her ambitions reign.

never mind the softness that turned her bile into forgiveness, the compassion and love within her yielding and spreading thick, a knife turned to it's side, indulgence forgetting the edge to favor the spine.

— they were little moments, and the thoughts, though poisonous, petty. diane's tenderness would blind her one moment, and the next she would dictate a torture graphic and bloody to the fool who had dared to break byeong-hwa's good knee. the resources of her station could enable her volatility, but without the fervor of passionate emotion, it was a tendency more likely to dull from lack of use.

and so it was a simple question of fitness — a lingering hypothetical of what if that rooted itself in the dark places where twisted things like to grow, and, by degrees, spread it's uncertainty into the deeper beliefs in soyeon's mind.

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— it was a sort of self gratifying joke in the meunier household that sarang could see the truth of people and diane could see their use.

sarang, imbued with love from the moment she was a thought in the minds of her parents (a hope, a joy — something to be cradled and held — cherished, for all innocence in hoku city was fleeting and met a tragic demise) , could always see the truth of someone despite any will to hide — verity and devotion bowed before her: unblinking, unmotivated, bare.

diane was less romantically inclined. she had to be, by nature of her role — her existence, her duty, her reign. she could only see the use of people. it was her only saving grace. if she began to entangle herself in the hearts of men, bog herself down in the histories and vulnerabilities of their lives, it would be impossible to do her work. it would be foolish of her: imbecilic to see the heart of people — to focus on all their love, all their life, all their vibrancy, still bleeding and not yet cold. it wouldn't serve her in the end, and so diane had to let those ideals rest.

— it was certainly a work in progress — this distinction between the two parts of herself.

which was more true? which would win in the end? these were questions without answers, quandaries lacking resolve. who are we really? that which we project or that which we feel tearing us limb from limb, clawing inside out, feasting on our rotting flesh, and undeterred, forever starting again?

— but let us begin here with the duality of sarang and diane. the same person — two different people — the same values, different ideals. diane neatly dissected herself on the daily — crafting identities and electing character (cherry picking the best of her, discerning those weaknesses that fit the narrative, burying those foibles that could not), a vulture that picked herself clean and only consumed that which would not fester between her teeth.

— and when she would go out and into this world that would only see her by degrees, she would often keep another name in her back pocket. secrets upon secrets; lies upon lies. you could never truly know her because you only knew a half, a part, a fragment. when she was old enough to hold her own and old enough to where her educational needs differed from that of soyeon and the two of them on occasion would part only to return again, half changed, diane chose a second friend. a bodyguard, mainly. a protector in name.

— his name was ꜱᴀɴ. a year younger than her, but with a build twice her size. fearless, intense, courageous, genuine. how he found his way into the underbelly of hoku city was a predictable tragedy, a commonplace loss; but how he managed to safeguard the softest parts of himself in a place protected and secure, still half transparent to be seen by the eyes of one so clear as sarang, was his true peculiarity.

it was unsurprising, in the end, when diane chose him to be her armed weapon: her chosen conspirator, her useful friend.

— once, when san was newly appointed, and diane hoped to hide a fascination she had with the softness of humanity, she slipped away from san in the crowd. he'd caught up with her and all of his barreling force of anger burnt into ash when he realized what she stooped over was a stray puppy — still infant, terrified and matted and cold.

"you could take him to the complex. the demon of hoku would never say no."

"i know." and sarang was uncharacteristically quiet, like this was some secret, some vulnerable part of her character that untombed itself and didn't belong here — at least, it was still somehow premature. "but innocence has no place in the serpens. i don't want him to bury himself alive and resurface as something changed."

and they stood there, the guiltless whelp before them, whose only sin was not being loved to the point of sanctuary.

"don't slip away from me again. your father is on every corner of this city and if i'm seen without you and a hint of concern, it will be my head." and it was sarang, then, that nodded her apology and agreed. "you don't have to hide softness from me."

— and it was that sort of understanding, that sort of freedom, that compacted and grew, spiraled and engorged — feasted on opportunity as any serpent might — and became the monster curled in the little demon's lap.

it certainly led them to where they were, now.

— the courtyard of the police academy was simple and no nonsense, by a general rule: bare. but during special events like the one being celebrated today, blue ribbon (with shades from the deepest midnight to the softest powder blue) was wrapped around columns and set to flutter in the mild breeze. whole families sat, poised and proper, in unyielding folding chairs. they clapped politely when names of graduating students were called, and peacocked, beaming, when the name was an honor their own.

diane sat comfortably toward the back, her eyes following police academy hopefuls, then the crowd that so warmly received them, by turns.

san was alongside her, as always, but their conversation was nothing but niceties for the duration of the ceremony — nothing like the conversation they'd had before they'd resolved to arrive.

"why are you so set on seeing the police graduates anyway?"

— establishing a civilian face in the most unlikely of locations. taking stock of who was still trusted with the youngest recruits. finding an exposed and vulnerable underbelly that soon enough, could be exploited, gutted, turned. the police were slowly understanding the profile of turncoat that the serpens was partial to adding to their payroll. it had been soyeon's idea to poach where they were least likely to expect: idealized graduates, still wet behind the ears with nothing of value, yet, but the potential and fire of youth.

there was another younger serpens member hidden somewhere in the crowd, sharp minded ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ who ernest, these days, was partial to favoring whenever he needed another mind of judgement than just diane, and soyeon was busy, aiding the few senior members to fill the gaping hole left by byeong-hwa.

(he'd died last fall, days before he swore he'd finally retire. a bad omen, some had said: vengeance and penance would always force the worst to reap what they sow. there had been a few retirements after that, some loyal enough and peripheral enough to be true resignations, some far too close to the trigger to see any reprieve other than what lay on the other side of a bullet and it's ashen powder. they were of an age, it was understood. for some of them, there was no expertise, just liability. according to the laws of the gods, a roulette with fate and a handgun was the most they deserved, and an honor they could rest easy with on another plane.)

at the end of this ceremony, diane would convene with seonghwa and together, they would find the rabbits easiest for the blow. perhaps the girl that few clapped for beyond polite acknowledgement; ever still, the boy with a smothered nervousness in his gait, like if he looked over his shoulder, he'd draw attention to his own smoking gun.

— one of the graduates had a grin that near broke into a boisterous laugh when his name was called. "ʙᴀɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴ." the row in front of diane erupted into the most fearsome of cheers, and they stood, perhaps to make up for their sitting so far back.

diane stood, too, if only to size up this boy that had made her very ground shake with raucous thunder.

when somehow they locked eyes, it was all her power to not immediately falter.

— when the speeches were through, sarang sat to linger.

she and seonghwa shouldn't leave and arrive at their mutual second location quite so noticeably. even in the hubbub of a graduation ceremony. even on a night the nips were sure to be bought dry with young people looking to celebrate, hiding their illegalities under the alibi of youth.

— she could have moved. anticipated the movements that would wrap her string of fate around her neck like a noose.

she stayed rooted to her spot.

— bang chan, the ebullient graduate from before, came proudly over to his family before long. he caught her gaze, big brown eyes flicking briefly to the muscle beside her, before turning to who must have been his sister and laughing, pulling her into an embrace.

it took less than one whole look for san to disappear from beside her, and when bang chan was done receiving congratulation from his sea of adoring family, sarang — diane — was quite alone.

"hi."

and she echoed his greeting before finding more of her voice. "congratulations on your graduation."

"ah, thank you." and he was bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. "it wasn't anything anyone else hadn't done."

"the whole courtyard burst with applause."

and he had all the humility of laughter. "that was just my family." and he waved to the group of familiars retreating out of the archway, a promise to catch up soon. his smile twisted into something still warm but searching. "i saw you standing, though. we can't have met before; i know i would have remembered you."

and for a moment, there was a sound on the tip of her tongue, sly and smooth, serpentine sooth. but a different moniker tumbled out when she thought better, a contrasting life.

a fake name. chan savored the taste of lies on his tongue.

"are you here for anyone i might know?"

"no," and a half truth was followed with falsehood, the genuinely twinkle in her eye accompanied with a smile she could not truly own. "i came to get out of the house, and this is one of the few places my father allowed — so long as i brought my cousin, of course."

chan's eyes brightened, then. relieved. he pressed slightly closer, conspiratorial, light. "your bodyguard."

"that's the desired affect." a laugh. then here, a half calculating, half hopeful hint. "but a push over. give him money for ramyeon and he'll vanish."

and when he left, it was with the parting wish that he would see her one day, again.

— when san appeared at diane's side as though he'd never left, it was mutually understood that they'd never speak of this bang chan and report only to seonghwa those names easily overtook: cho miyeon, seo changbin.

in the end, nothing would come of nothing and only dust follows dust; those things we do in the space between living and death — where nothing can live and no one can die — are always clandestine but teeter on meaningless. we can only have that which we are given to hold, and if there are no hands in this space of oblivion, and the omniscient eye cannot see, are we held in contempt for the arteries we burst and the chambers we disintegrate on our way to be free?

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. i | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - hoku city is a port city where there is currently one major gang at play, named the serpens syndicate. the serpens is an old organization that was started long ago as a legitimate business selling alcoholic beverages. as time went on, they expanded their business to things less than legal, and their control over the port makes them strong and rich.

2 - hoku city recently became a prohibition city though it is not well maintained. the serpens is older than the prohibition laws and has many ways to circumvent the system, though the police force is becoming savvy to their m.o.

3 - the current leader of the serpens is ernest meunier. he has an heir, diane meunier. ernest's right hand man was the late byeong-hwa, who has a daughter, soyeon. byeong-hwa died and soyeon, groomed to inherit his place, keeps ernest informed with the aid of older informants, who are slowly "aging out" of the life of crime.

4 - diane meets bang chan, a recent police academy graduate, when scouting for police officers the serpens will add to their payroll. she keeps their meeting and acquaintance a secret from all others, barring san, her bodyguard and friend.

now onto pt. ii . . .

#if this breaks containment..... uhh..... pls pls pls be distracted by the GREAT world building and emotional gravitas #stay for vibes ONLY if you are not part of the specific group of 4 other girlies of whom i am dedicating this to #thank you thank you if you have questions and ARE one of the chosen four pls feel free to send an ask i would ADORE it #lilo.writing #writing.otbka

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whoreforsexymen · 4 months ago

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heeeey!!!! Im back with more jayce request. I would like to see jayce x reader with the prompts “Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” and “Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.”. This is giving me like rivals or enemies to lovers where jayce and the reader have some heavy sexual tension under the surface. One day jayce just loses all patience and snaps and takes all of his stress and anger out on the reader

Sink Like A Stone | Jayce Talis

Prompt Fic (See, Prompt List)

Prompt(s) Used:

#2 "Don't act like you didn't want to end up under me like this."

#21 "Shut up and take my fuckin' cock."

Pairings: Jayce x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 8.3k (IDK what happened)

Tags: Songfic, INTENSE Smut, INTENSE Angst, VERY SLIGHT dub-con (it's not really dubcon--Jayce just get's really consumed by anger at one point--the unspoken consent is there) Hate-fucking, Lovers to Enemies then back to Lovers (??), Choking, Semi-Public Sex, Biting, Slapping, etc.

Summary: You and Jayce are ex-lovers. You hate him for plagiarizing and stealing your life's work, and he hates you for leaving him over what he considered a selfless act. After months of having not seen each other, you two get into a heated screaming match turned hate-fucking. However, Jayce may have let his emotions get the better of him.

Notes: OKOKOK, so. Be warned. This one is a DOOZY. I was in no way planning on adding 90% of the elements I added to this story. They just kind of happened.

(Special note to @milkbean69 !! I really took this and ran with it. If you want me to redo it in a much tamer way. Please let me know and I will.)

((((Side note, this is going to have to be a two-parter! Stay tuned for part two, which will be much softer.))))

‘We lie,

Cold.’

Jayce.

A name so simple, so unassuming, it would slip unnoticeably through anyone else’s mind. But to you, it holds weight. Each syllable, each breath that forms it, feels impossibly significant—a name that stirs something deep within you, a quiet echo of poignancy known only by you.

Your feelings towards the Jayce Talis you once knew were complex and hard to define. On one hand, you despised the way he insinuated himself into the council of Piltover’s most prestigious Academy, taking a seat you believed was rightfully yours—one you had fought tooth and nail to earn.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

His so-called “vision” for Piltover’s future, with that abominable Hextech nonsense, had directly sabotaged the plans you’d spent years perfecting. You may not have had the luxury of Arcane magic to ease trade, but you had crafted a much more practical blueprint to connect Piltover to the rest of Runeterra’s trading world.

Yet the moment Jayce and his fragile “partner” wielded their so-called “magic,” your ideas were dismissed, overlooked, and ultimately erased.

‘We don’t wanna,

Know.’

On the other hand, you had always considered him a friend—seemingly more at times—until the day he practically ripped the rug of your life’s work out from under your feet.

Not to mention he had the gall to call it his idea. “His” idea? Please. It was your idea, just re-wrapped in a fancy mystical package. You had worked on it together, after all. Jayce had spent countless hours rambling about the mysticism and potential of those tiny blue stones of his, insisting they could revolutionize everything you had ever strived to achieve. Never once did you imagine that, once he unlocked their power, he’d turn against you, abandoning the partnership and the vision you had once shared.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.'

What kind of name was Hextech, anyhow? It felt devoid of sophistication, lacking both subtlety and the gravitas one might expect from something so profound. It didn’t quite capture the essence of what it was—an intricate fusion of magic and technology—nor did it convey any sense of elegance or purpose.

Although, you couldn’t deny that you often reminisced in memories of your life before his grandiose “discovery”—robbery, really— of Hextech—your idea.

‘We take our time

Ignoring all the signs

Living in fear of our lies

Never bad enough to break it

Or, good enough to feel right.’

You had spent the better portion of your youth with him, much of it tangled amidst bedsheets, consumed by a shared, desperate need to relinquish each other’s physical tensions.

‘Been in overtime,

Half our lives.’

Sometimes, you could still feel the softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips grazing your skin—and other, much more tender, places. You could easily recall how your body had ached for him at times, but even more painfully, how your heart had longed for him, too. A truth you never dared to utter aloud.

The absence of anything beyond those intense moments of passion never really crossed your mind during the thick of it all. You never questioned it, and in hindsight, you’re almost thankful you didn’t—especially after what he had done after all that time. All of the time spent together, collectively fantasizing over your dreams and aspirations of a better life for all citizens, and a better future for the next generations to come.

‘Under indecision,

We become so dependent.

On the rush,

Of the moment.’

The bitterness that had consumed your heart was unbearable now, and the thought of ever confessing your feelings to him seemed almost unfathomable—impossible to imagine how much worse it could have been for you now if you had.

By this point, you were acutely aware of how deeply you loathed him. Your physical desires had long since faded, especially since you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in months. You had even gone so far as to move to a place he couldn’t find, cutting off every trace of connection, and the bond you once had.

Your skin ached with longing for him, your body and soul craving his touch once more. Yet, no matter how intense the desire, you would never allow him a single opportunity to return to your life.

It was a painful contradiction to bear—hating him, yet craving him all the same. You felt trapped, consumed by hopelessness, unable to escape the turmoil inside.

‘Sanitize

My head.’

You hadn’t moved far—just to the other side of Piltover, away from The Academy, the council, and—most importantly—-Jayce, himself.. The distance was a great relief. In your day-to-day life, there was no real risk of encountering him, and that small sense of safety gave you some peace of mind.

However…

You often found yourself testing that peace, pushing the boundaries of the distance you’d created. You weren’t entirely sure why—maybe it was the deep, unresolved desperation for him, or perhaps a semi-conscious, self-destructive choice of yours.

‘Death murders

Everything in sight.’

Each night, you found yourself walking almost the entire length of Piltover, from your new home to the Hexgate monolith on the far end—the very place you had fought so hard to escape.

Seeing the towering structure always left you with a deep, melancholic thrum in your chest. It represented everything you had once hoped for, everything you had worked and slaved over, now reduced to rubble by its mere presence.

‘Beneath the rip in the wind

The pillar push you aside.’

That tower stood as an unyielding symbol of betrayal, a constant reminder of the anger and anguish that had shattered your world at the mercy of Jayce’s hands.

‘If I make way

I can taste your sigh.

Just like the cannibal amp

It knows sound is size.’

On your nightly walks, you would make your way down the stone pier that lead to the water, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. When you reached the end, you’d grasp the railing that kept people from tumbling over the cliff’s edge, gluing yourself to the present moment.

‘Push me to

The brink, I said

Well that bitch

Is a creep

It tried to know what I think.’

There, you’d gaze up at the tower, lost in thought—re-evaluating and wondering how differently your life might have unfolded if Jayce hadn’t betrayed you—-if he hadn’t stolen your idea and torn everything apart.

‘To breathe out passion

Or suck in fate

You think the world was made

To wield your weight

And bleed out?’

Tonight was no different. Here you were, hood drawn—- hands shoved deep in your pockets—-your bodice pulled tight as you hunched in quiet disdain, eyes locked on nothing but the ground that passed underfoot.

Your expression was sour as you traced every wrong turn your life had taken to bring you here. Your chest felt heavy, as if the weight of it all pressed itself down upon you out of sheer spite.

Your mind buzzed, a relentless whirl of painful memories spinning in a dizzying menagerie inside your skull.

When your eyes met the stark, hauntingly familiar edifice, a sharper pang stabbed deep beneath your chest, more intense than you were accustomed to by now.

You weren’t sure why, of all nights, tonight seemed to bring out the most intense surge of feelings—especially since you found yourself unusually consumed by your thoughts this time around.

Especially since, long before Jayce had perfected the Hexgate, the two of you would often come here to find solace in the sound of the waves and the crisp air of the sea. You’d toss stones into the water, or compete to see who could throw them the furthest. The bittersweet memory of how often Jayce would taunt you for your lack of coordination only deepened the pain and anger digging at you.

You couldn’t control the mindless, almost reflexive way your body reacted to such intense feelings, in combination with the familiarity of the location. Without a second thought, your hand reached for a nearby rock, and before you even registered what you were doing, you hurled it as hard as you could toward the tower.

The tower, distant and perched far out in the water, seemed almost unreachable, and your rock barely made it halfway before splashing down into the water with a sound that felt like it mocked you in the same way Jayce had. You almost felt compelled to throw another rock, driven by some irrational need to make the first one atone for mocking you—despite the fact that it, like all other rocks, had no sentience to answer for its actions.

You gave in to the irrational impulse, bending down to pick up another rock, your mind still fixated on the need to make the previous one pay. But as your fingers closed around the stone, something in the corner of your vision made you pause. A pair of shoes—familiar, yet unknown—caught your eye. Shoes that were attached to feet. Feet that led up to legs. Legs that belonged to the hips and torso of an individual you couldn’t see beyond your hood.

The rock slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your attention shifted entirely to the figure standing behind you. You hadn’t heard a single indicating noise that you had been followed, or approached from behind.

The presence was sudden, unnerving, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. If you were anywhere else, anywhere but Piltover, you’d be terrified. But here, in this ”city of wonders”, you couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, you were still safe.

If anything, it was probably an enforcer, here to reprimand you for throwing rocks in the first place. You straightened up, brushing the thought aside, and turned to face whoever had been silently looming behind you.

As you spun around, you realized—this wasn’t an enforcer.

No, far from it.

The person standing there was more terrifying than any enforcer could ever be, and certainly more annoying, infuriating, and enraging to look upon, for lack of better words to describe the instant rush of wrath that overwhelmed you.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t look past

Your future self?’

“Your aim is still pretty shit, sunshine.” He says plainly, the nickname he had always pegged you with burning in your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your eyes locked onto the disgustingly smug expression on his face. Every hair on your body stood on end, a shiver crawling up your spine as you stood face to face with the man you now regarded with nothing but utter disdain.

You freeze, unable to muster a response, your mind clouded with a storm of rage and contemptment.

Jayce’s gaze lingers on you, almost—dare you think it—in a way that seemed concerned, longing, and worst of all—-caring.

What a hypocrite. How dare he look at you like he actually cares?

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

“Don’t give me that look,” you snap, your fingers twitching, aching to throw a rock at his face just to make him eat his words. For a split second, you actually consider it—and you’re sure Jayce can feel exactly what’s running through your mind as he observes the way your eyes flicker between his face, and the stone you had left behind.

“What look?” he asks, concern surging through his expression again.

Did this guy have a death wish, or was he really just that oblivious? Either way, you could crack instantaneously.

“That look. The fake concern,” you snap, your eyes dropping, fists tightening, teeth grinding.

“Fake…?” He pauses, clearly lost in thought as he crosses his arms over his chest, the hint of offense hanging off his words.

You fight the urge to lash out, to make him feel something stronger than pain.

‘I know the feeling

‘Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

“Yes, fake, Jayce. As in insincere. Artificial,” you spit, taking a sharp breath.

“Ersatz,” you add, the word a bitter aftertaste.

Your words cut through the air with a venomous cadence, each syllable sharp and biting, a distasteful attempt to tear through him.

Jayce looked completely dumbfounded, as if his mind had been wiped clean. The stark look of gears no longer grinding in his brain was almost comical. He was daft, no doubt. You felt a twinge of pride prod your ego upon this realization.

You couldn’t bear to stay here, not this close to him, not after everything. The thought that he was only here to twist the knife deeper into your wounds was almost more than you could handle. Your emotions, raw and overwhelming, had already drained you, and you were done. You didn’t want to give him another moment—no chance for him to make things worse, or worse still, to somehow try and redeem himself. As if he ever could.

Steeling yourself, you gather what little dignity you have left and turn away, keeping your face carefully composed. As you pass him, you deliberately knock your shoulder against his, ricocheting his shoulders in the process, a silent and singular act of defiance as you walk away.

As if to intentionally make matters worse, Jayce turns after you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He makes contact, swiftly pulling you back towards him.

“___, wait—” He begins, but his words are cut short as your hand slams into his cheek. You hadn’t necessarily meant to hit him, but the motion was as instinctive as throwing the rocks—your hand connecting with the flesh of his cheek before you even had a chance to stop it—not that you necessarily would have wanted to.

The way you had wound up the slap was only amplified by the sudden pull of his hand grabbing you mid-stride, forcing you back toward him. The momentum aided the force with which you struck him.

The weight of what you’d just done hit you all at once—grief, anger, relief, all crashing together. A small part of you, the part that still cared for him, was flooded with guilt. But the darker parts of you—those that hated him, that had longed to hurt him—felt a twisted satisfaction. Besides, it was his own fault that he had grabbed you.

You’d wanted to feel his skin beneath your hands, after all, and in an oddly perfect way, this had been the way to satiate that desire.

Jayce instantly released his grip on your wrist, his hand moving to cup the spot where your slap had left its mark.

“Ah…” he groaned, wincing as he cupped the stinging flesh. His eyes snapped shut, the pain unmistakably written all over his face.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as he stood there, his hand pressed against the raw, reddened skin of his cheek, the mark of your slap still vivid and angry. The sight of it made your chest tighten, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was you were feeling. What should you feel in a moment like this? That was the question you could neither answer or shake.

You had already acknowledged, in a quiet corner of your mind, that there was a strange satisfaction in lashing out, even if it was tangled with the thorny weight of your own hurt. There was a cruel sort of release in it, one that both thrilled and disturbed you in equal measure. Your stomach churned as you fought to suppress the abhorrent feeling of shame that crept up on you.

You could feel your instincts urging you to escape—to run, to put distance between yourself and this raw, uncomfortable moment. But you chose not to listen. The urge to flee warred with something else, something deeper, a curiosity that had begun to take root. You wanted to see how this would unfold, to witness how this tension would resolve, if it would resolve at all. The satisfaction you had felt from that sharp, ringing slap was undeniable. Maybe it had been a way to expel some of the pain that had been building inside you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth confronting whatever came next, just to relieve yourself of that heaviness, even if only for a moment.

‘Make up your mind,

We’re running out of time.’

Your heart sunk as you saw the essence of betrayal soon sweep across his face. Yet, simultaneously, that added to the anger you felt. He, of all people, felt betrayal? After the way he betrayed you? That look of his repulsed you.

He looked at you, disbelief written all over his face, his expression a mixture of shock and hurt. His hand lingered on his cheek, still tender from the sting of your slap, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the moment. The look he gave you was one of genuine confusion, as if he couldn’t fathom why you were so consumed by anger.

“___…” His voice cracked slightly, heavy with emotion, but still full of that familiar, passionate lilt, the kind that used to make your heart race. When he whispered your name—softly, almost reverently—it was as if the sound of it pained him.

‘Doubt is failure

By design.’

His eyes searched yours, full of questions that hung in the air, unanswered. Why had you struck him? Why this sudden violence? The pain in his gaze only seemed to stoke the fire inside you, making the anger flare even hotter, more reckless.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know exactly what that was for,” you spat, each word sharp, each syllable dripping with a tang that tasted like metal on your tongue. But as the words left you, the anger morphed into something far more fragile, far more devastating. Your heart seemed to crack with the weight of it, the betrayal, the hopelessness. The tears welled up, blurring your vision as your chest tightened with sorrow.

“Why… why are you so blind to everything you’ve done?” you choked out.

“To everything we had… everything you destroyed… just so you could chase your fucking dreams?”

Your fists balled at your sides, the muscles in your arms trembling from the effort of keeping control, even though your voice shook with the strain of holding back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to break free.

‘I’m burning up

Can only take

So much.’

“What about my dreams, Jayce? What about our dreams?” you cried, your voice rising, your words feeling like they could burn everything in their path. Every inch of you ached—your body, your heart, your soul—all of it pulled taut like a string ready to snap. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in.

“What made sealing your own future—your destiny—more important than what we built together?” you demanded, the question sitting in the air between you like a dagger.

“Why was your ambition more sacred than our bond? More sacred than us?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The tears spilled over, leaving hot trails down your face, but you stood your ground, unwilling to back down. This—this pain, this heartbreak—was something you needed to admit, needed him to hear.

“How dare you steal my idea. How dare you take the credit, and disparage it with your stupid, fucking, magic.” You were shouting now, your voice ringing through the night air, raw and unfiltered, the weight of your anger shattering the silence that had settled over everything. The contrast between your fury and the stillness of the evening was jarring—your words felt like they were tearing through the quiet, reverberating off the walls of the world around you.

“Your idea?!” he exclaimed in response, his voice rising sharply, cutting through your tirade. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few purposeful strides, his figure towering over you, his height and presence suddenly far more imposing than you remembered. His broad shoulders blocked the space between you, his stance firm, as if challenging you to face him head-on.

‘I know you

Can feel it

It’s catching up

It’s getting too heavy

For both of us.’

“Since when was it your idea?” His words were fast, biting with frustration, and he was unrelenting as he moved closer, his eyebrows knit together in upset.

“‘Cause the way I remember it—we both wanted change. We both wanted to make Piltover a better, more advanced city.” His voice was now an angry force, his face craning down to meet yours, his eyes sharp, trying to drill the point home. He wasn’t asking anymore—he was demanding you understand.

But what hit you most in that moment wasn’t just his words. It was the way his anger had suddenly shifted everything. For the first time in your life, you felt small compared to him. You had never seen him like this—not even annoyed, not in all the time you had spent together. Jayce had always been the steady one, the calm, the voice of reason. But now, his fury felt like a storm—intense, unpredictable, and completely foreign. The force of it left you unsettled, and taken aback, to say the least.

You didn’t know how to react to this. His anger was like a tidal wave, knocking the ground out from under you, and for the first time, you realized just how much power he had over you—how much he could command just by his sheer presence. The towering figure in front of you, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with emotion, made your chest tighten. You didn’t know what to do with this. His anger was new, and in some way, it was almost more frightening than anything you had ever faced.

‘We lie

Cold.’

You were baffled, not just by the words he was saying, but by the way he was saying them—like a person you didn’t recognize.

You parted your lips, ready to continue the tirade that had built up in your chest, but before you could get another word out, Jayce’s voice cut you off, raw and jagged. He didn’t give you a chance to speak, his frustration spilling over, each word more desperate than the last.

“You left me. Here. Alone.” His voice cracked, trembling under the weight of everything he, too, left unsaid, considering how you fled before he ever got a chance to explain himself. It wasn’t just anger in his tone anymore; it was pain. The kind that came from a place so deep you couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard you tried.

“I did what I thought was best for us.” He stepped closer, his voice rising in volume, matching the intensity of your own.

“I proved what I was trying to prove. For us. For our collective aspirations.” The words came faster now, fueled by the overwhelming rush of emotion that was beginning to boil over in him.

“I worked my ass off to make sure that, with the help of my Hextech, your trade routes could flourish,” he spat, his anger now matching yours, raw and unrelenting. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot as he glared down at you.

“I won’t stand here and let you blame me, let you hate me, for acting out of what I thought was selflessness at the time. I’ve gone to bat for you, countless times, to make sure you got the credit you deserved.”

His own fists clenched at his sides, the strain of his words almost too much to bear.

“But you ran. You left, assuming my only goal was to use you, when in reality, all I ever tried to do was support you.”

His words slammed into you like a physical blow, and for a second, you were paralyzed by the force of them. But then the anger surged again, hot and insistent. Support you? The bitterness twisted in your gut, and before you even thought about it, the words exploded from your mouth.

“Support me?!” You shouted, the sound ringing through the night like a bell, sharp and accusing.

“That’s what you call abandoning me to take a seat in the highest of towers?” You could feel the heat of your own fury rising to meet his, and without thinking, you shoved both hands into his chest, pushing him back with all the force you could muster.

Jayce stumbled backward, caught off guard by the sheer force of your anger, and you weren’t done. You shoved him again, harder this time, your hands pressing against his chest until he hit the railing behind him with a loud clang. The sound echoed in the air, but you didn’t care.

“In the council, no less?! Leaving me here to fend for myself in your fucking shadow?!” Your voice was hoarse now, each scream louder and more desperate than the last. You pushed him once more, as if trying to push the weight of everything you felt, everything you couldn’t hold onto anymore, into him.

The tears you’d held back were streaming freely down your face, but there was no stopping them now. The hurt, the betrayal—it all came pouring out in that single moment. The fury and heartbreak swirled together, a force you couldn’t control, and all you could do was scream at him until your voice gave out, until he understood just how much you had suffered because of his choices.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

Jayce had finally reached his limit. The shouting, the anger, the constant back and forth—it was all too much. He could see now that no matter what he said, nothing would make you stop. The argument had spiraled into something beyond reason, and every word he spoke only seemed to fuel your fire. You weren’t listening anymore; you were just lashing out, consumed by rage.

Enough was enough.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.’

When you shoved him again, anger blinding you, Jayce reacted quickly. His patience had worn thin, and he wasn’t about to let this go any further.

The next time your hands came at him, he caught your wrists with a swift, forceful motion, crossing them tightly over each other. Before you could react, he shoved your arms into your chest, locking you in place. Then, without warning, he spun you around, pulling you harshly against him so that your back was pressed to his chest. His grip tightened, his arms like iron bands, preventing you from thrashing away.

‘Mirin myself

All by myself.’

“Stop.” His voice was low, sharp, and commanding, vibrating against your ear as his chest caged you in. You could feel the heat of his body, the raw tension in every inch of him as he held you close, his strength completely overpowering your attempts to break free.

“___, for fucks sake! Stop!” He demands, one of his enormous hands moving to take hold of both of your wrists while the other clamped down around your jaw, bringing your face towards your shoulder, where his own chin rested in this position.

Jayce had no choice. He knew how stubborn you were, how deeply you clung to your anger when you were hurt, and how you’d never stop until you’d worn yourself out—if you ever did. But right now, he couldn’t wait for that to happen. He couldn’t let you run away from him anymore.

With one sharp, decisive movement, his lips crashed into yours. It was hard, hungry, demanding—a complete storm of sensation that left no room for resistance. Your eyes went wide in shock, your breath hitching as you tried to pull back, but he followed, his mouth pressing harder against yours, refusing to let you break free.

‘Feel the caress, so sweet

Done by my hand.’

You gasped, the sound caught between your lips, and before you could protest, his kiss deepened, his tongue slipping past your lips, twisting with yours in a way that both startled and confused you. You cried out into his mouth, the noise muffled, as his hold on you tightened, his body pressing closer to yours, grounding you in place.

Every part of you wanted to push him away, to shout, to keep fighting, but Jayce’s kiss was relentless—an anchor pulling you deeper into silence. He wasn’t pulling back, not until you stopped fighting, until you let go of that anger long enough to breathe.

And though you still burned with fury, something about the way he held you, the way his presence swallowed you whole, made it harder and harder to keep struggling.

No matter how much you had longed for his touch, how desperately you had yearned for him to kiss you like this again, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it in a moment like this. Not when everything inside you was still burning with anger and hurt.

‘Polishing this frame of mind,

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You fought against him, your body stiff and tense, desperately trying to pull away from his overwhelming presence. Each movement was a silent refusal, a stubborn resistance to the way his kiss was pulling at your very core.

‘Duck n’ dodge,

Stay unaligned.'

But it was futile. You were already drained, your energy spent from the crying, the shouting, the endless cycle of rage that had led you here. As his lips pressed more insistently against yours, the fight in you began to falter. The need to escape, the impulse to run, slowly began to dissolve with every second his lips lingered on yours, and his tongue explored the depths of your mouth. What remained was the sharp sting of your rage, but even that felt like it was starting to ebb.

Gradually, your body softened, the tension in your muscles melting away. The fight left you, piece by piece, until you sighed against his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable. With a subtle shift, your head tilted just enough to give him more room, more access, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to stop fighting. The kiss deepened, and in that quiet surrender, Jayce released a long, relieved breath, sensing your body finally easing into his touch.

‘My recognition face

Some get withered

Some get fried.’

You kissed him back after great hesitation, your lips and tongue moving urgently against his, as if you were trying to make up for every lost moment in a single, heated breath. There was no holding back now. The memories, the longing, everything that had been buried deep inside you erupted all at once, and your mouth moved hungrily against his, each movement a desperate attempt to relive the intimacy you’d once shared.

‘I know we talked about

The shit we did

Each time.’

His grip on your wrists faltered, weakening as you started to turn toward him fully. The distance between you closed rapidly, and soon, your chest was pressed flush against his, your body responding to his presence with an intensity you couldn’t control. As your hands were freed, they instinctively traveled up to his face, your thumb brushing over the spot where you’d struck him only minutes before, feeling the remnants of your anger there, now mingling with something else.

‘Polishing this frame of mind

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You cupped his face, fingers digging into his jaw, pulling him even closer as if trying to erase the distance between you, to melt into him and make up for the time and pain that had come before. The urgency in your movements was raw and frantic, a wordless plea to feel everything at once—to collapse the anger, the longing, and the need that had built up inside you into this single, desperate connection.

‘Duck n’ dodge

Stay unaligned

My recognition face.’

His hands roamed over your body, searching for any way to pull you closer, his touch growing more insistent as he settled them on your hips, pulling you into him. The physical closeness only heightened the tension, the desire, but also something darker—something that still lingered between you—lust.

Though you no longer felt the need to escape, your rage simmered just below the surface, burning deep in your chest. It wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. It still gnawed at you, demanding to be felt, demanding some kind of reckoning. Part of you wanted to make him feel it, make him understand the depth of your pain. You wanted him to know what you had been through all this time.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t

Look past your future self?’

Your tongue retracted for a moment, and you pressed your teeth against his bottom lip, the bite sharp enough to sting. It was a flash of anger, mixed with the heat of desire, and it caught Jayce off guard. You had shared passionate moments before, but nothing quite like this—nothing that carried this much intensity. He flinched at the sudden sharpness, but in that moment, something in him sparked, that familiar fire of tension growing even stronger.

If that’s what it would take to break the tension, then he’d oblige.

Jayce’s hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, his grip tightening. The sensation of your hair in his hand, the pressure, sent a breathless sound escaping from you—something between a gasp and a soft exhale. It was involuntary, the sound mixing with the heat building between you. Jayce had always longed to hear that from you, to feel that connection, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t stop.

For far too long, Jayce had denied himself any form of physical connection. Since you left, he’d been forced to bury his desire for you deep inside, locking it away with a painful awareness that nothing—no touch, no embrace—could compare to what he had shared with you. Each passing day, he became more acutely aware of the emptiness that lingered, knowing that any contact with anyone else would only serve as a stark reminder of the craving that burned for you.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

He tightened his grip, drawing another soft sound from you, the mix of pleasure and tension in the air thickening. His focus was solely on you now, on the way your body responded, on the sounds you made, and how this moment—this raw, unguarded moment—was pulling both of you closer to the unspoken lust that couldn’t be denied a moment longer.

You can’t help but let out a filthy little moan, whimpering along with it.

A shameless, guttural moan, that sent Jayce’s head into a spiral. He had been beyond desperate to coax those kinds of noises out of you for what felt like too long of an eternity. He was in no position to deny himself the opportunity to keep drawing them out of you.

His hands curled into a fist as he yanked on your hair, whimpers flying out of you like a flock of birds.

If you wanted to fight dirty, Jayce was game.

“Fuck..” He breathes out—eager, like a starved man who stumbled upon a banquet— as he pulls away from your lips, immediately pressing them against the skin of your neck he had exposed from his grip on your locks. He let his teeth drag along the skin, biting and harshly sucking on it in several places. Your reaction was deathly arousing. The slightly pained cries that flowed beside ones of pleasure sent Jayce’s burning temptation into orbit.

He knew you needed him in the way he had once gotten used to providing for you. His cock throbbed beneath his slacks, desperate to break free from the confines of the cloth that kept it contained.

It was arguably harder than it had ever been, his anger and inability to have you for so long adding fuel to the fire of his pure incessant need to bury himself deep inside you.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

Oh, how you both longed to be connected like that again. In the way all lovers know well—their unspoken second nature.

He ruts his hips against yours, your own body responding instinctively by meeting them in their attempt to seek friction.

You both emit low grunts at the new sensation, satiating the tension for now.

You felt as though you were being scorched from within, the intense heat of your desire and simmering rage intertwining, each stoking the other in a relentless blaze. Every nerve burned with an insatiable hunger, a craving that went beyond pleasure, pulling you deeper into a whirlwind of both ecstasy and agony.

You needed more—not just the thrill of sensation, but the raw, cathartic pain that seemed to heighten the fire within you. Your soul ached for an outlet, something that would satisfy the chaotic tension, where your lust and frustration could collide, erupting into something that might finally ease the raging storm inside.

You snaked your arms around his neck, giving a small jump into him as you anchored onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He hums darkly in reaction to the sudden motion, his hands releasing their clasp on your hair to instead latch onto the bottom of your ass—-supporting you as you clung to him.

Jayce’s head shot up from it’s spot between your head and chest, moving to a new vantage point in order to scan the area. He was a man with a mission.

A mission to uncover the perfect place, somewhere secluded and unremarkable—a refuge hidden from the world where he could channel the fury between you with ruthless intensity. It had to be a spot where nothing could interrupt the raw, unfiltered release of tension—a place where every movement, every act, could be as drastic and unforgiving as the anger that surged through both of you.

Needless to say—and in an extremely simple turn of phrase—-He needed to fuck the rage out of you— and he would stop at nothing to do so.

After a few tense moments, Jayce focused, his eyes landing on the perfect hidden corner in all of Piltover. His grip tightened on you as he began to lead you toward it. The alleyway was small and shadowed, tucked between two shops that had long since closed for the night. The buildings on either side pressed in tightly, their walls forming a dark, narrow passage that swallowed any light. The darkness obscured it from street lamps and passersby, though Jayce hardly seemed at all concerned about the possibility of wandering eyes, anyway.

The alley itself was already tucked away from the main streets, but the particular spot his intentions were set on was even more concealed—through the alley and to the right, behind the buildings entirely, not just in between.

Overhanging eaves, garbage bins and scattered crates cloaked the area, creating a thick, impenetrable shadow. It was a secluded pocket, completely hidden from view, untouched by the faintest glimmer from the street beyond.

A perfect haven of obscurity, though the lack of any inviting scenery was hardly worth a second thought. The cracked cobblestones, the faint smell of damp earth, rotting trash, and the forgotten clutter of the alley seemed irrelevant. In a place like this, where shadows held sway, scenery had no claim. Nothing mattered but the raw, pressing heat of the moment.

You sank your teeth into his neck, your hands exploring his shoulders with a quiet, persistent need. He groaned beneath your bite, his un-abating lust taking the lead furthermore, as he harshly slammed your back against the abrasive stone walls of the building. His mouth was quick to covet yours once more, lips voraciously seeking stimulation from them.

Your sensual tango of lips pressing against each other, hips grating and rutting into each other’s carried out, Jayce beginning to make quick work of exposing you to the elements, his cock still hard as ever as it brushed against your clit beneath the layers of clothing. You can’t help but whimper out in response.

With the new advantage of pinning you to the stone wall—-combined with the leverage of your legs still around his waist—-his hands grew eager, rushing to tear your blouse apart. His fingers slid between the buttons of the opening, pushing through the seam before he gripped tight and wrenched it apart. Several buttons flew free, briefly distracting from the sharp bite of the cold air against the newly exposed skin.

You couldn’t help but whine into the cavern of his mouth, the rough display of lust redirecting all of your aching and longing straight to your clit. It throbbed with intent, a desperate reminder that you needed more friction. You greedily rolled your hips into his, yielding another low, filthy grunt from Jayce.

“Fuck.” He pants against your mouth, hands kneading at your breasts, cock twitching beneath his trousers.

Oh, how he longed to revisit the memories of your past encounters, to re-enact the acts of pleasure he had learned to bring you. But in such a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to slow down. As much as he yearned to please you in the ways he’d spent so much time discovering, there was no time, now. The urgency of the present situation demanded everything from him. If he didn’t bury his cock deep within you, right now, and fuck you senseless, he’d probably keel over.

This was his last chance. His only chance to rewrite your history.

‘Am I the reason,

That you can’t look past,

Your future self?’

Without a second’s hesitation, Jayce tore your legs from his waist, practically dropping you to the ground. In one swift motion, he flipped you around, pressing your cheek forcefully into the cold stone wall with one hand. You groan out, the harsh force of his motions prodding your deep-seated anger once more. His chin reclaims its resting point on your shoulder, teeth claiming your earlobe between them as he pressed his mouth to your ear. You groan out of sudden distaste for the new position.

”Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” He growls into it, the words viscerally stabbing at your clit, earning a thirsty cry from you.

He spread your legs with his feet, his free hand clambering to release his throbbing cock from it’s fabric prison. He yanked your pants down, the sound of his belt clinking sending shivers up your spine as your cunt pulsated in anticipation.

You were beyond wet—the word a dull description of the way your cunt was absolutely sopping, dripping, and practically gushing for him.

Despite your evident arousal, you weren’t used to things happening so fast. You began to protest as your back arched against his brawny, bold, and burly chest.

“Jayce— wait!” You started to say, before his teeth clamped down onto your earlobe with increased vigor, your words fading into torrid moans as a result.

He pulls your underwear to the side, fist pumping his deprived cock before he lined himself up with your soaking cunt.

“Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.” He barked.

Before you even had a chance to breathe, he plowed into you, curling his hips up to press flush against your ass. You had no choice but to brace yourself. Your hands flew to the cold stone wall, gripping tightly to keep from collapsing under the force of it all.

The sound that tore from deep within your chest was raw, loud enough to make anyone within a hundred feet of the building take concerned notice. Anyone outside of you and Jayce would have assumed you were being murdered.

It was a deliciously vile sound, thick with want, neediness, desperation, and all the emotions you had yet resolved.

“Fuck!” You scream, tears stinging in your eyes as Jayce began slamming up into you with at an absolutely merciless pace. He wasted no time by giving you a single moment to adjust, knowing full well the rough nature was exactly what the situation called for. If he didn’t give this his all, everything was at stake. Or so he thought.

His thrusts were, at their core, crude—filthy, vulgar.

Lascivious.

They had an animalistic quality, one that attested to his own desires, and the hurtful longing he had harbored for you.

Jayce grunted, huffing out as he ruthlessly snapped his hips against the flesh of your ass. He plunged his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, the hand that held your face against the stone withdrew from you. Jayce pulled it beneath your arm, wrapping around your chest to imperviously grip at your breast, using his hold on it to further aid in the force with which he was bucking into you.

His other hand moved to your neck, fingers tightening around it with a possessive grip. The pressure forced the air from your lungs, and you gasp, the sound barely escaping as your breath becomes shallow. You squirm, struggling to breathe, but his hold doesn’t loosen. Instead, it pulls you in deeper, mixing fury with hunger. Each ragged breath, each flicker of resistance only seems to make it worse, the heat between you both building in the space where anger and desire collide.

“Fuck you.” He spat out in sync with his thrusts.

“Fuck.” —thrust.

“You.” —thrust.

“For.” —thrust.

“Leaving.” Thrust, thrust, thrust.

The words he spat out were coated in intent, each one seething with the same anger that simmered inside of him. The way he moved, pounding into you, was frantic, his hips driven by a fire that seemed to consume him.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been

Stuck and glued

In frequent doubt.’

You could feel it, the heat coursing through his veins with every thrust—his body shaking with the intensity of it. There was nothing controlled about the way he gripped you, no tenderness. Just a reckless, furious need, each movement angry, as if he were fighting to push the rage out of his body and into you.

His soul had been set ablaze, and all you could do was feel the burn.

“Agh—“ You pant, air still desperate to escape your lungs as he clenched your throat.

“F-fuck you for—-Pretending like—-you care.” You choke out.

Jayce’s blood boils, his grip on your throat tightening beyond the point of care.

“Pretending like I care?” He pants as well, exhausting himself from the force with which he was railing his cock up into you.

“I care. More than—anyone—sunshine.” He very well shouts, words still in sync with his thrusts, on exhaling with each. He was absolutely plowing you now, the familiar nickname cutting through the air that surrounded you.

You were groaning out in pleasure and pain, the contrasting feelings mixing into one as he continued his relentless assault on your cervix.

“T-Then why—-why couldn’t you just—-“ Your lungs begged for air.

“Love me—-like I love—- you?” You gasp, your voice barely audible above the hunger for air.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t

Keep my mind

Open now.’

Jayce’s movements stopped abruptly, his hands yanking away from you as if struck by a sudden realization. You gasped, breath catching painfully in your throat, stumbling back into the wall, your body desperate for air that was slow to come. The intensity that had fueled him moments before seemed to drain in an instant, leaving you gasping in the silence.

Jayce felt an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him, sharp and suffocating, like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured straight over his head. It hit him all at once, a gut-punch of realization that mirrored the guilt he had seen on your face earlier when you slapped him—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to escape. His chest tightened, a heaviness settling in his stomach as he stood there, frozen, unable to look at you.

His hips stilled, his body rigid as the anger that had driven him to this point shifted, replaced by something softer—-sadder. His heart felt heavy in his chest, sinking like a stone in water.

All that was left in the alley was the erratic—-uneven sound of your breathing, each inhale a struggle, sweat slicking your skin, catching the light of the moon in fragile glimmers. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what had just transpired hanging between you like a shroud, heavy and unresolved.

His mind was a blur, thoughts scattered and jumbled, short-circuiting in a way that left him dizzy. He couldn’t make sense of the guilt spiraling through him, the crushing weight of having crossed a line he hadn’t even seen until it was too late. Until you said what you had said.

That you loved him.

He removes his chest from your back, pulling himself out of you in the process.

Jayce reached for you, his hands trembling as he gently grasped your shoulders, his touch softer than it had been all night. His fingers barely brushed your skin, as if afraid to make contact after everything that had just happened. With a careful, almost reverent motion, he spun you around to face him. The moment your eyes met, his chest seemed to cave in on itself, a sickening weight settling there.

His heart felt like it had physically dropped, plummeting to the pit of his stomach with a sickening thud. The sight of you, tears streaking down your face, the raw anguish in your expression—it shattered him. Every ounce of anger, every moment of fury that had driven him earlier seemed like a distant memory in the face of the heartbreak he had caused.

How could he have been so reckless? The thought screamed in his mind, impossible to silence. The guilt that gripped him now was suffocating, crushing. He’d seen your pain in the heat of the moment, but now it hit him full force—really hit him. The tears in your eyes weren’t just a reminder of what he’d done; they were a reflection of how far he had pushed you, how little he had cared in the frenzy of his own anger.

And now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t undo it. All he could do was stare at the damage he had inflicted, helpless, terrified of what he’d become.

“___…” He whispers.

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