#jayce x you

[grugruel]

Can you do that for me?

Pairings: ruined!Jayce x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

Wordcount: 4.2 k

Warnings: Some canon stuff (beware spoilers), pinv sex, angst, fluff, fingering, slight handjob, choking, biting, creampie, doggy, missionary, cowgirl (a lot of positions), sub/dom/switch!Jayce, power struggle, fight for dominance, praise (f and m recieving), spanking, overstimulation, "I love you", difficult feelings, hot depraved Jayce.

AN: Not proofread, I intend to make a few changes to it later but wanted to get it out. Might be spelling mistakes. I tried to fit a bit of everything into this. ENJOY GIRLIES🎀

Having pulled the curtains aside, a vigilant man inspects the dark streets below. "He's almost here, ma'am," the man says, eyes following the subject. There's a slight stiffnes to his stance, as if he's readying himself for a fight. "What do you want us to do?"

"Let him in," she smiles at him faintly, attempting to reassure the large man before returning to her paperwork. "Dont give him trouble, there's nothing to fear."

The guard nods slowly and crosses the room to leave, he knows she's right. Yet, he stays in the doorway, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.

Warm light creeps in through the entryway, contrasting the faint light that Zauns streetlights provide for her otherwise gloomy office.

Noticing how the strong wash of light remains, she looks up at her guard to find another question lingering on his lips. "I've know you long enough to tell when something ails you." She leans back in her chair.

He catches her gaze reluctantly, facing away before he speaks. The man clears his throat, he knows he's crossing a line. "He's trouble, if you ask me. The boys and I-"

The woman pulls her glasses of and sighs, done with her work for the evening. "Im a big girl, I can handle myself."

The guard leans against the doorway and shrugs in reluctant recognition. "We're worried for you, ma'am-" but catching himself on his words, his hands gesture to remedy his meaning. "Respectfully, of course," he ads quickly, aversed to insult his employer.

The woman stands slowly, walking around her crammed desk to casually prop herself next to him. "I know," she reassures, placing a soft hand on his chest. "But I'll be fine, send him in."

The large man huffs. "We'll be outside then," he begins, but as the next words begin to form on his tongue, he decides against it, solely out of trust for his employer. If he could, he would've added 'when you need us'.

She doesnt doubt it, nor does she take offence. They're a tight knit family down here, she cares for them as much as they do her. But this would be an interaction no family member should hear. "That won't be necessary, keep to the foyer . . . Now go," she hurries him, careful to keep an understanding smile on her lips lest he changes his mind.

With a heavy breath and one last glance, the guard reluctantly closes the door and heavy footsteps recede.

She sighs, moving to brace her hands against the desktop and preparing herself for whats to come, for what she suspects.

She lights the lantern on her desk and waits. Only a moment later the same warm light creeps into the room. She twitches, unprepared for his arrival inspite of her efforts as the squeaking door slices through the eerily silent space.

In her peripheral, a fallen man stands. He's tired and dirty. Cut up and run down. There's a moment of contemplation between her and the newcomer, she does not move and neither does he. It's been a long time.

Squeak, thump, click . . . Pause. He's locked the door. A heavy thud between metal and wood sounds next, there's a faint sound of coarse skin sliding along fine metal before the familiar vibrations of hextech dies out.

All that exists between them now is heavy breathing in two parts, laboring against their own minds and bodies.

The floorboards begin to creek, irregularly, as if the weight placed upon them has not yet decided it's course of action. She grips the desktop harder, fingernails burrying into fine wood. She can only guess why he has come. "It's Viktor, isn't it?" She breathes, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

She gets no response, the only answer she recieves is the creeking of floorboards as the uncertain weight shifts back and forth. But that is all the answer she needs.

Having seamingly made up his mind, determined footsteps approach her in a sudden haste. Srong arms wrap around her body, pulling her toward a hard chest in a tight, tight embrace. His head collides with her shoulderblade as he burries his face in her scent. Muffled by her body, strained breaths blow welcome warmth onto her skin.

"What's happened?" She whispers, not entirely sure she wants the answer for she can smell him now. Metal and gunpowder. But it's not the type raw metal used for smithing or creating, it's not the metal she's used to. No, this is pungent, corporeal. It's blood. "Jayce, please . . . " She begins, 'talk to me' her lips shape, but no sound comes out. Unable to muster the strength.

"Cant- I cant . . . talk about it. Not now, not yet," he manages, voice rough as if he has fought and damp breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "I just . . . Needed you. I need you."

A strong hand slides higher, knuckles intently brushing the underside of her breast. "Can't think anymore."

And inspite of her better judgement. "Ok," she agrees, whispering, as if her consience wouldnt be able to hear. She's missed him, worried for him. So, her body betrays her.

Laying her hand on top of his, she guides him over the hill of her breast.

His breath hitches while his other hand move downward, tracing her ribs, down her waist, stopping on her thigh and squeezing tenderly. Soft flesh dimpling beneath the force of strong fingers. "I've been lost, " his voice breaks. "Missed you." His hands slide further down to slither under the slit in her dress.

"No feelings right now, Jayce . . . Please, just-"

Two fingers slip inside of her and she gasps. "No feelings," he assures, placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Good, good . . . " she moans.

While massaging her breast his thumb finds her clit and tongue her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the crook of her neck. Her body grows to weak to hold itself upright so she puts her weight on her arms. Noticing, he holds her tighter and pushes her weight against the desk. "Already?" He whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear as his fingers steadily thrusts in and out of her. "You're making it too easy for me."

A breathless chuckle leaves her, crammed between heavy groans. "You work with your hands . . . Mmmh, unfair advantage."

He bites her earlobe, tugging, teasing. "So do you, if I remember correctly." A grin twists her lips as her hand reaches between them and palms his enlarged bulge. He hisses as she begins to stroke it, heat immedietly surfacing as the friction between fabric and skin grows. "Mhhg, that's what I thought," he groans. "Good girl."

He pushes a third finger inside off her, curling them at just the right angle.

"Fuck!" Her free hand curls into a fist, joints having nothing better to do than occupy themselves in anyway they can. He puts more focus on her clit, rubbing dutyful circles into and and finally pushes her over the edge. "Mhh, shit-"

His fingers slow down as she hits her high, gently leading her through it as he supports her weight. "Just breathe, that's right . . . "

Her breathing has become a mixture of moans and wheezes, the pleasure stimulating every nerve in her body. "Did you . . . ?" She asks, suddenly remember her hand on his clothed member.

"No," he whispers and kisses her temple. "Theres time." He tries to turn her around. But fear grips her. "No-" she stops him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself in place. Seeing the changes up close would make them real, would make whatever he has come from, real. "I can't look at you . . . not yet." She reaches over her shoulder to cup his jaw, and just like that, their bubble of reminiscence bursts. They arent colleagues anymore and havent been for a long time. Nor is their third party longer there to rationalise with them. A shrap jab strikes her heart. "Give me time, and just," her other hand reaches behind her, grabbing the fabric on his hip to pull him closer, pressing his erection against the curve of her ass. "Like this for now, Jayce. Please . . ."

His head lulls against her back, pushing his forehead firmly into her spine whilst releasing a big, shaky breath. She can feel him bare his teeth, silently working through the consequences of his actions.

He doesn't answer, he only obeys.

It goes silent for a short moment, until the warmth on her hips disappear and the metal clanging of a belt buckle sounds behind her.

Quickly, one hand returns to her thigh to pull her dress over her ass.

"Dont hold back," she says.

There's a pause in his movements. "Are you certain?"

She nods and he wastes no time. Pushing himself against her, his knees spread her legs efficiently, just liked they've practiced many times before. With mo further warning, he sinks into her. One hand crossing over her waist as the other grabs her shoulder, then sets a ruthless pace.

Somehow she knows he needs to get this out of him, the pent of fury and need. But she doesnt complain, he always knew what he was doing.

The sound of slapping fills her office, while the lewd squelching from her previous orgasm further spurs them on. He bends over her, changing his grip. Fingers snaking around her throat as his knee and free hand work together to fish one of her legs onto the desk, hitting her deeper, harder. His thrusts are no longer about speed, but of that one special little spot.

He puts pressure on her throat, almost painstakingly so. But it feels heavenly and she wouldn't have it any other way.

With each rut, his members perfectly fills her. His face is next to hers and he kisses had bites around her neck and ear, making sure she knows how good he makes her fell by grunting and moaning right into her ear. It makes that pulsing in her core worse, and he seems to notice.

"Yeah, you like that?" He groans, kissing her soft skin right behind the ear.

"Mmmhmm," she hums, voice vibrating with the bumping of their bodies. Doing her best to keep silent, afraid that one of her guards suddenly decides to check up on her.

"Let me hear you, use your words," he breathes, flexing the fingers around her throat and biting her shoulder.

"Fuck-" her knuckles and nails take turns in destroying her desk, scratching and denting the expensive wood grain. "I like making you, mmh . . . feel good." She manages, words stuttering between thrusts.

He gently pulls on her ear with his teeth. "Good," he whispers, then releases her throat and places his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her against the desktop.

Slap. His hands comes down on her ass, then gripping the plump flesh hard to lessen some of the stinging. A jolt of electricity shoots through her and her insides clench arouns him.

Jayce whimpers from the sudden, godlike pleasure. "Wanna hear you, honey, don't be shy." His hand comes down again, harder this time.

She squeezes around him, nerves on fire as she feels her second climax building up inside her. She moans as tears run down her face, happy pleasurable tears only Jayce has been able to produce.

"That's it . . ." He slaps her ass a third time, and the wall inside her core crumbles. With a whimper, she comes. "You did so good, lovely, im almost there," he assures her. Tears stream down her face as his thrusts grow irregular, but continues to pleasure her body. "Fuck," she cries, squirming from the drawl iut orgasm. One hand holds her steady at the hip while the other slides up her back, rubbing her tender body until he brushes away stray hair from her profile.

"Hold on a little longer, just breathe, baby," he comforts her, such a stark contrast to the rough thrusts he's been dealing her body. Her fingers are jittery from the overstimulation, they aached to touch him, pull his hair, anything. But she cannot reach, so she presses her palms against the table to keep them occupied.

As he sees her tear streaked face, one last blow lands on her ass and he too, comes. He collapses on top of her, they attempt to regain their strength as their sweaty bodies lie flush against eachother.

After a few moments of breathing heavily together, Jayce wraps an arm around her torso and splays his hand over her rips, pulling her with him as he straightens out.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns around. Hands finding his face, guiding her lips to his.

"Please look at me, my beautiful girl. Look at me," he pleads, murmuring the words against her lips.

She opens her eyes and his breath hitches. Yellow, brown irises meet her won. They're the exact same ones she knew not too long ago. Except . . . Haunted.

His fingers brush along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. She winces at the soft touch and his brows furrow in confusion.

Capturing her chin, he tilts her head back.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she whispers, assuring him as she sees his expression. Pure shock animates them.

"I don't-" his fingers trace the red marks running around her throat and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. "Im so sorry." He falls to his knees, hands resting against her chins as he hides his face between them. "I don't know-" he chokes and kisses her legs with remorse. He pecks her delicately, trailing his lips over her knees and up her thighs, hands following behind, tracing the outside of her legs until they reach her waist and encircle her. He hugs her tightly, knees sore against the hard wood. "Im not right," he breathes, head lulling into her lap. She can feel wetness coating her skin, running between her thighs.

She exhales heavily and slides down the desk until the hard wooden floor welcomes her thighs.

They stay like this for a good long while, she's in no rush and neither is he. Over and over again, her fingers comb through his overgrown and unpreened hair while the sensation of his seed drips out of her. Sharp nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck, they trace his bonestructure and play with its halls and valleys. The back of her fingers caress the length of his nose and sharpness of his cheekbone.

All the while Jayce lays wordless, occasionally squeezing her thighs, her hips. Occasionally trailing featherlight touches along her legs, watching with wonder how goosebumps rise and fall.

She chuckles beneath her breath. It's the same expression he used to get when making progress in the lap, just like when they first cracked the hextech runes. "Jayce," she says, attempting to grab his attention.

Crouching beneath her, he looks up from her lap, chin resting on the softness of her flesh. His face glistens and eyes plead. He looks at her with fatigue, wordlessly asking for her forgiveness.

"What happened?" She asks, her voice soft but words demanding. She's not getting dersuled this time, she needs answers.

He shakes his head, reluctantly drawing his lips into a thin line as he breaks away from her gaze.

Her eyebrows twist together. "What have you done?" She asks, anger laces her tone now. But he closes his eyes, the corners of his eyes gleaming again. The fingers burried in his hair curl into a fist and she pulls his head back, forcing him look at her. "What. Have. You. Done?"

His eyes shift between hers, uncertain, unwilling. "He's gone . . . " He begins. "I had to, I had to–the hexcore, it was poisoning him, spreading like a disease." His voice is coarse. "I had to stop him, there was no other choice."

Her eyes grow. Viktor . . . Gone? She could only assume when Jayce suddenly pays her a visit, but never dared believe.

"I never ment to leave you," he says, hand reaching out to grab her waist. "You have to believe me." He rouches the fabric at the waist, white knuckling it out of desperation for an ounce of u derstanding. "Hextech isnt what we thought it was, not anymore. Viktor couldnt see it, he was infecting the undercity, it would've spread to Piltover, the rest of the world if I didn't stop him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "But he was saving them, freeing them of shimmer."

"No . . . they weren't themselves anymore. I've been away, lost. I've seen–" She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. "The hexcore mutates them, changes them. I had to stop him. It, the core."

Her eyes drift the Jayce's hammer posted by the door. "Like your hammer?" She studies the now misshapen weapon, once crafted with obsessive precision. Her eyes drift lower along the neck and over its face, blood splatter.

She looks away, closing her eyes to recollect herself. Remembering to strongly the smell of blood Jayce had arrived with.

"Yes," he says. "Like I did." His hand reaches up to loosely cup her face. She notices how the crystal from his old bracelet has fused with his skin. Her fingers run along his arm and slides along the crystal, feeling it, inspecting it. "I didn't chose this," he murmurs. "I didn't chose to leave you . . . I love you." His hand falls back to his side.

She's taken aback. Its not something they've said before, not while still partners, not before all of, this . . . But despite herself, she believes him. They were colleagues for a long time and affection had always kept them together. He wouldn't hurt Viktor without reason.

With hooded eyes and parted lips, he studies her, waiting for her judgement.

"You had to," she nods, seamingly decided.

Relief and disappointment floods his face all at once. He'd expected an 'I love you' back.

She leans in, kissing him for the first time since he disappeared. Finally reunited. "We'll get through this, ok?" her voice is uncertain, what's happened has not been fully processed.

"Ok," he agrees and straightens his back, carefully placing small kisses along her abdomen as he does so, afraid he'll scare her away. "I've missed you so damn much." He levels his head with hers, meeting her gaze head on.

"I've missed you too," she responds. "But I need you now, Jayce. Can you do that for me?" She places a soft kiss on his lips.

"Certainly," he murmurs against them.

She stands, slinding his hand into hers and leads him to the bed. With his back to the bed, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him into sitting at the edge of the bed.

One leg over the other, she straddles him, standing on her knees so he has to look up at her. His she brushes the hair away from his eyes and lowers her lips to ghost over his. Their scared and quivering, needy to be on hers.

His hands slide up her sides and curves around her back, coming to rest in the arch above her ass. Gently, he massages circles into her skin, tickling her intentionaly.

She squirms benea his touch, luring a satisfied grin from him. "You look good like this." Her fingers run through his beard, tracing his new scars. "Dangerous." Reaching down between them and into his pants, she pulls Jayce's member free and lowers herself just enough to tease his tip.

With a hiss, he locks his thumb over her hipbones and wanting to guide her onto him.

She shakes her head, a smirk playing in the corner of her lips. "My turn," she whispers and pull the straps of her dress down, letting it gather at her hips. Jayce's eyes immeidetly fall as his hands slide up her ribs with a specific destination in mind. "Dont touch," she warns. "Now look at me, Jayce." Her chest is inches from his face, but unallowed to look and unable to touch, his eyes appear like that of a wounded stag.

Her nimble fingers work on the buttons of his shirt and quickly slides it off of his shoulders. "Ive missed this," she purs, dragging a finger down his torso, her nail leaving a white scratched up mark behind it. "But this is new," she refers to the chest hair she's never seen before. "I like that, too." Her lips meet his jaw as she leaves kisses all the way down to his collarbone and shoulder. Her continues down his abdomen and below his v-line, then there's a sharp intake of breath as she stokes his member, circling the leaking pre-cum around his tip.

"Devil woman," he groans, but there's a twisted smile to his lips.

She returns it and takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely as if wanting to prove his point and oh, how she revels in the desperation on his face.

Her gaze fixes on his hands, clenching and unclencing in his lap, knuckles white from the strain. She bites her lip. "You look good like this," she repeats. "All, fallen apart . . . " She steps closer, placing herself between his legs. "Bloody and broken."

Never has he taken his eyes off of hers, and as she lowers herself onto his lap once more, she finds his member and lines him up. And finally, she sinks onto his thick inches. Still, he does not touch her. There is only a desperate whimper leaving his lips at the much needed pressure. Obedient, or respcetful? Either way, he deserves his praise. "Good boy. Now, touch me," she whispers and topple them over.

He twitches inside her at the words, but before she can react he's upon her. Fitting one breast into his mouth and the other in his hand, he licks and spits and squeezes. Sucking the entierty of her tender, plush flesh into his mouth.

"Ooh," she braces herself, strings of pleasure and heavy breaths return to them. "You liked that didn't you, pretty boy?" All she gets in response is humming between the lewd, obscene slurping.

Alright, then. Putting a hand on his chest for support, she begins to move, rocking back and forth just watching his expression of pleased torture.

Moving his hands to her hips, lips tear free from her breast for some much needed air, only to replace them upon her lips and kiss her with fervour.

She sits up, getting a better vantage and he follows not long thereafter. Unable to sit by and let her do the work. Leaning back on one hand and wrapping the other around her back, he helps her rut against him while he can't softly thrust up to meet her. "Fuck me- Jayce . . . " She gasps, hardly able to get enough air to moan.

He grins against her lips, sharing their breaths. "You liked that didn't you, pretty girl?" He mocks her.

She laughs breathlessly and digs her nails into his biceps. "Naughty," she murmurs and bites his lip, drawing blood. Again, she feels his member twitch amidst all the rocking between them. Their eyes meet and share a knowing glance. She cocks an eyebrow, he blushes. "That's what I thought," she smirks. It's her win, for now.

Unable to let it slide, Jayce takes the reigns. Flipping them over, he pins her beneath him without missing a single thrust. Amidst the confusion, he interlocks their fingers and pulls her arms above her head, stretching her out and limiting her movement.

She squirms against his restrains, testing the limits but he's rock solid. With her legs around his waist, he thrust perfectly into her and she cant help but roll her hips. She can feel the knot tightening in her core and she furrows her brows with displeasure. Missionary always did her in, he'll win. "Unfair," she moans, throwing her head back as waves of pleasure wash over her with every movement of his hips.

He moves one pair of their locked hands down so ha can stroke her throat with his thumb, placing soft kisses on the damage he caused.

His tenderness alone could cause her to crumble. "Put your back into it at least," she whines, realising she only had her pettiness left. Being beneath him, in his control feels way better than any win she could earn.

A breathless chuckle leaves him. "Yes, ma'am," he grunts, releases her and pulls out before he hooks her legs over his shoulders and thrusts back in. Hands finally free, she cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss concealing the cries bubbling up in her throat. For as it stands, he moves expertly and he's deeper–better than any man ever has been. "Fuck me-"

He smirks. "Tell me I'm good, again . . . " Shes uncertain if this is his ego talking or- "Please, please tell me im good," he whimpers, kissing her inbetween every word.

Without warning her third orgasm washes over her, back arching and nails digging into Jayce's cheeks. "You're so good to me," she sobs. "Such a good boy."

His thrusts falter and then he too, comes. Filling her with his seed, once again.

With shaking limbs he falls to her side, one arm draped over her chest. Both breathing heavily as they regain their senses.

"You win," ge admits and kisses her temple.

Yes she does. "I love you, too," she smiles, heart and teeth achingly sweet.

[hermaeusmorax]

What have you done?

CHARACTERS: Jayce x reader, slight Viktor x reader (more platonic!)

SUMMARY: you, Jayce and Viktor share history. You're arguing with Jayce about his actions in the Undercity. Reader is described having a metal arm!

WARNINGS: SET IN SEASON 02 EPISODE 06 SPOILERS AHEAD! this is very angsty, descriptions of death and bodies, gets steamy in the end (minors DNI!), enemies to lovers type shit (my jam!)

A/N: okay so this is my very first piece after a 4 years HIATUS (hiii haha), anyways, fucked up Hexcore!Jayce is just sooo *twirls hair*

"What have you done?" You scream as you blindly lunge towards Jayce, a random weapon tightly clutched in your hands — no doubt discarded by some, now dead, Noxian soldier. You could barely see an inch in front of you due to the surging chaos, but you were sure about Jayce, you would never mistake him, his silhouette, his scent.

It had been months since Jinx's attack on the Counsil. Months since Viktor emerged out of the Hexcore changed, taking you to Zaun with him and leaving Jayce behind. You were a chemist, Viktor's childhood best friend that stuck by him since the very beginning. You and Jayce had a brief, intense, spark. It happened before him and Mel, before it became hard to grasp his attention, being Piltover's golden star and everything. It hurt when you left him, standing at the laboratory, his pleading brown eyes boring holes into yours and Viktor's backs. But Viktor was right, your paths, your visions, had long strayed, being held together only by lasting affection.

In Zaun, at Viktor's — The Herald's — growing community, you acted as a chemist again. Helping the newly cured zaunites, researching to improve their lives as much as possible. You had been specially busy since Vander's arrival, severely mutilated by Viktor's former teacher and in desperate need of help. You were working in your makeshift lab, absent mindedly humming a familiar tune when hell broke loose.

A loud, sharp sound echoed, followed by more crashing sounds and piercing screams. Smoke rose in the air, making it almost impossible to inhale. For a split second you could hear Viktor's voice in your head whispering, "Jayce", you ran as fast as your legs permitted, desperate to locate the origin of the sound, to locate Viktor. When you finally did find them, you wished you hadn't. The starking image of his limp and dead body made your breath hitch, mind speeding so much to make sense of things it made you dizzy. Blood rushed to your ears, making a deafening ringing sound, you rubbed your eyes, squinting to adjust, then you saw another figure, a tall and dark frame.

Jayce looked, different, but your brain had no time to process that information as you grabbed the first weapon you could find thrown on the floor, lunging at him. "What did you do?" "How could you?" "I hate you!" you breathlessly shout, aiming for Jayce's head with your stray weapon, then again, you never were much of a fighter, that was Jayce's job. The last thing you heard before the world went complete black, was his voice, a cry of your name, sounding so broken and lost.

"Sorry for knocking you out like that. I hope your head's not hurting too much." you heard Jayce's soft voice, distant at first as you were regaining consciousness, then close, right at your ears. You slowly woke up, blinking the throbbing pain away you were at last able to recognize your surroundings.

Jayce had brought you to your old laboratory, right at Piltover's heart, where you had last seen him, where you had left him. You were sitting in a chair, your mechanical arm resting on the table beside you, laying alongside dirty, well-worn tools. "I fixed it. Your arm. It looked broken and I-" Jayce blurted out, stopping with a nervous chuckle when you looked at him. "My technique might not be as delicate as Viktor's but it's fixed, working. I promise!". When Viktor's name left Jayce's lips, a haunting image of his corpse flashed in your mind, compelling you to leap forward and forcefully grab Jayce's collar, gripping so tight your knuckles turned white, drained of blood. You were trembling horribly, fueled by an ugly mixture of grief and hatred, your words came out hoarse, stinging like a whip.

"You promise? Ha! You killed him Jayce! You- you just disappear and then when you finally come to us, you go and kill him? What's wrong with you? I don't know you anymore, you've become someone else entirely and I- No!" you were panting, tears angrily threatening to spill "That's too gentle for you, you're a murderer, Jayce, a monster!".

Jayce's mind was racing, spinning with the force of your words and then it finally snapped. "Shut the fuck up!" he tore your hands away from his shirt, holding your wrists and pulling you close, pressed up against his chest. "You have no idea Y/N! You can't possibly begin to understand what I was put through!" "I was in there, while you and Viktor were out here playing house!" "I kept my promise!".

Jayce's eyes were red, frantically shaking looking into your own, in desperate search of something. He was so close, you could feel his heartbeat and his breath fanning your face, his scent was attacking your nostrils mercilessly, engulfing you in his presence. Like this you could almost see the old Jayce inside there, somewhere — untainted, full of promise — the one you fell hard for. All it took was a single look from him. A single, meaningful, glance down to your mouth from his so pretty brown eyes. He was so, so close. Next thing you knew you and Jayce were in each other's arms, kissing so forcefully it almost broke skin. Kissing like your very lives depend on it, like you'll die of asphyxiation if you stop.

Jayce hoisted you up the table, sending tools and papers flying, both of you couldn't care less right now. He positioned himself in between your legs, leaning some of his body weight on you, forcing your back to meet the cold surface beneath. "Jayce!" you breathed out, talking into his mouth, gasping for air and breaking the kiss for a second too long. Your hands, firmly resting on the back of his neck, wandered to the hem of your shirt, fidgeting with it, trying to lose it. Jayce noticed and made quick work of your shirt, hurriedly sliding it over your head and tossing aside to a forgotten corner.

"Don't stop" you huffed against him again, voice dripping with want, you struggled blindly to unbuckle his belt, too busy reciprocating his fervent kisses to bother to look down. "I got you" Jayce urged, going crazy with the way your lips felt on his, even more addicting than he remembers. He reached down, tugging off your pants and underwear in one precise motion. Your senses were completely overwhelmed, all you were able to think, see, hear, smell and feel was Jayce.

You were both pouring everything into this kiss, into this very moment. Bleeding years of bottled up love and regrets into each other's systems. Even still, you harbored feelings for him, and him you. Despite the hurricane of emotions and thoughts swirling inside your head, a small, nagging voice coming from the darkest dephts of your mind, kept quietly chanting "What have you done, Y/N?"

[spatialwave]

Jayce x reader fluff or head canons?

Yesss! These headcanons are a mix of fluff and silly slice-of-life! Hope they're what you're looking for! <3

Jayce loves to be the little spoon when going to bed. It makes him feel safe and comfortable, and especially loves it if you’re smaller than he is. However, he isn’t opposed to being the big spoon, especially if you’re seeking comfort. He’ll hold you against his chest, snoring gently into your ear.

On that note, he falls asleep extremely fast. One of those guys who says goodnight, closes his eyes and drifts to sleep immediately. He’s also a heavy sleeper; if you’re not his alarm, it will take everything to wake him up in the morning. 

He’s a morning person, to a fault. He wakes up bright and early to make tea and will be so chipper when you finally wake up and be unable to keep himself from pestering you in your half-asleep state. If you’re grumpy in the mornings, he’ll tease you, but make it up to you with a fresh coffee and breakfast.

He’s a decent cook, but not the best. If you teach him, he will want to cook you everything he can. Give him proper criticism, and he’ll reward you with a meal, and a kiss.

When it comes to public displays of affection, Jayce is a sucker for it. Especially when he becomes the Man of Progress and has more eyes on him. He loves holding your hand, pressing chaste kisses to your cheek and make sure everyone around knows that you’re his partner. Most people find it annoying, but he doesn’t care. (He probably tried to bring you up with him for his big speech, but they wouldn’t let him… such a dork)

Jayce is a hopeless romantic. He’ll fall in love with you so fast, when you smile at him for the first time, that’s when it hits. It’s his goal to make sure you’re the happiest person in the world.

If he ever works late or finds himself spending lots of time working on hextech, he’ll make it up to you. Whether it’s a night in alone (likely in bed), or spoiling you with gifts like roses and sweets. It’s impossible to not feel like the most important person in the world, with him around.

He gets you, along with Sky, to who watch him and Viktor practice their pitches for Heimerdinger and the council. 

If you’re shorter than him, he loves resting his chin on the top of your head. Pressing kisses and breathing in your scent. It calms him.

Jayce is a sucker for neck kisses, loves giving them but prefers receiving. It’s the one way to really make him squirm. If you want to get him particularly riled up, breath against the back of his neck or ears, he’ll shiver and fold for you immediately. A great way to get your dominance over him.

He loves giving you massages, his calloused hands gliding along your skin. Fingers working deeply into the tissue of your muscles and working out all the kinks and knots. Likewise, he appreciates them in return, and he always makes atrociously loud noses when you work over his tight muscles.

When he can, he likes to wake you up with kisses. Peppering the skin of your bare shoulders with gentle pecks, warm breath tickling your skin. He could do it for hours, feeling the way your skin breaks out into goosebumps.

Jayce is the type of dork to get you a promise ring. He would make a grand gesture out of it, eyes big and sparkling as he slides the ring onto your finger. It wouldn’t last long, though, because the moment he sees it he’ll want to actually propose. He’s very big into commitment. 

When he’s home, Jayce is shirtless. Always.

He smells like mahogany.

Lastly, he wants to be a dad so bad, but he fears he won't be good enough. It’s where much of his insecurities rise.

[redr0sewrites]

Sub!Jayce x reader Hcs

incredibly influenced by this convo i had w ellie ( @bigfatbimbo ) urgrhgrhrhrhr hes soooo

🥀Cw: smut!!!, sub!jayce, dom!reader, humiliation, sub top, exhibitionism kink idk what its called

🥀minors dni

🥀Character(s): Jayce Talis x reader

this man is suuuuch a sub, but he wouldn't admit it, at least not until he meets you

jayce is a very confident person, and you'd assume that would carry over into the bedroom, but nooo. the first time you were both intimate he was so pathetically unsure of what to do that you just had to take control for him. he tried to act dominant and in-control, but the second he started thrusting into you he was a needy mess.

he was so confident leading up to it, but he just gets so flustered :(

jayce is so embarrassed about how submissive he is, and is probably a little shy at first. he definitely needs some coaxing to "get out of his shell" per se, and would probably muffle his moans and be a little awkward in general

this man is a WHINER i just know he's so loud in bed and he can not control it. his voice gets all hoarse and raspy from panting, and he has the neediest wanton moans, it genuinely sounds like he's in a porno because of how loud and lewd they are

his volume has probably led to you two almost being caught on multiple occasions, he genuinely has no control but gets SO embarrassed about the thought of getting caught. it turns him on a little, and the fact that it does only makes him more embarrassed

more than once he's fantasized about you fucking him in the council room, risking it all just for the thrill of possibly being discovered

jayce would be SO flustered if you teased him about it, if you began whispering in his ear about how you coincidentally forgot to lock the door to your room, and how just about anyone could just walk in? he's already whining, and he'll cum within seconds

"aw, how would the council feel if they saw you being fucked like this?imagine if they could all see you like this, all needy and pathetic for me," type of shit, he'd fold in seconds

jayce is definitely kinky too, but he takes his time discovering himself. he isn't super willing to try new things at first, however over time he becomes more and more confident in doing kinkier shit, especially with someone he trusts

guys. sounding with jayce. HEAR ME OUT. he'd be SO embarrassed, like he knows how anatomy works and all, but he never really thought of something like that, and he'd probably be cocky too, thinking that it wouldn't even feel that good. imagine using a vibrating sounding rod on him and double tapping him too, irgrhrrhrgrhrrh he'd be so needy and fucked dumb

he never tried anything with anal/pegging before you, but he can't deny that he isn't at least curious. he'd mention it offhandedly, hoping that you'd get the hint, but don't make it that easy for him. fluster him, make him say it aloud and admit that he wants you to fuck him like that, and then praise him for being so sweet about asking while fucking him absolutely senseless. whether you have a dick or a strap he doesn't care, jayce would love it regardless

this is kind of a random hc, but he probably masturbates a lot. i mean, it's natural, he's pretty stressed most of the time, and even when he's with you he has an insane libido and would probably still masturbate a lot. however, his favorite form of getting off? pillow humping. don't ask me how i know, i just do, because i'm right. imagine the mighty councilman talis, the man of progress himself, humping a pillow like a bitch in heat because he's too needy to wait. sometimes he'll imagine that it's you beneath him, and he'll moan your name as he cums, thinking you can't hear. this leads to you both discovering that this man has a major kink for dry humping, he loves either sitting in your lap or having you sit in his and just getting off fully clothed. i also think he'd enjoy lap dances too, and would ride your thigh too. i ALSO think jayce would enjoy it if you rode his thigh, i mean.... c'mon who wouldn't want to

ok but like... sub!top jayce. me thinks yes. making him top you as a punishment and forcing him to fuck you. you take care of him all the time, shouldn't he return the favor? jayce desperately wants you to take control, flip him over and fuck him senseless, but your silky words and sweet praises make him want to make you cum even more. he would definitely manage to make you cum, he knows what he's doing, but he's really whiny and needy about it and would need some reassurance

look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't like being manhandled a little. you can't because your wrong. he totally would. jayce is used to people giving him what he wants and he's absolutely the type to get off to being pushed around. he wouldn't mind being folded into deep sex positions or even being slapped a bit, as long as you praise him afterwards

PRAISE KINK!!! i do think he has a degrading kink too, but it's definitely mostly praise. he gets a bit insecure sometimes, and the only way to get out of his own head is to be fucked silly and senseless by you while you whisper the sweetest words in his ears. he wouldn't mind a healthy mix of degrading/objectifying and praise tho, if you called him your "pretty slut" he'd think it was hot but if you started genuinely degrading him he would probably cry and get really clingy afterwards

i think his biggest kinks would be PRAISE, oral fixation (absolutely will elaborate if asked. please ask.), hair pulling, DRY HUMPING, somnophilia/sleepy sex (again, ABSOLUTELY will elaborate), breeding kink (👀), and obviously exhibitionism. i also think he'd have a little bit of a hand kink/fetish but would not admit it. if he saw you wearing a lot of rings, or if you're hands just look really nice in general, he would get a little turned on but won't say why. he thinks your hands look really nice around his neck too... 😇

"fuck- hngh-" Jayce bit down hard on the back of hand, attempting to muffle his moans as you rub his cock. you were seated on his lap, your hand wrapped around his thick girth as you jerked him off. within the confines of your shared bedroom you could be as filthy as you liked, yet it seemed Jayce was still too shy to fully let out his moans yet.

"aw, poor baby," you croon, speeding up the pace ever so slightly and paying attention to the tip of his leaky cock. his dick twitches against your palm as your thrusts quicken, Jayce's hips jerking upwards in response to the stimulation.

"hic- plea- please," he gasps, his hand hovering over his mouth as he throws his head back. "well, since you asked so nicely~" you tease, slowing down to painfully slow thrusts. Jayce lets out a sob, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes with each of your ministrations. he had lost count of the times you had teased him to near-release, only to ruin his orgasm at the last second. his abs clench with each stroke of his cock, and you can tell your pretty boy's patience is wearing thin. he really was too cute!

"Jayce," you murmur, speeding up again to catch his attention. his glossy, fucked out gaze meets yours, and you begin to jerk him off faster. with a gasp, his hand flies to your wrist, whether to push you away or to hold you there you were unsure. "s'too much!" he babbles, a few tears streaming down his cheeks as the coil in his abdomen tightens.

"aw, don't you want to be good f'me? you can take it, can't you?" Jayce nods, his dick twitching eagerly witth each thrust against your palm. you can tell he's close, and you decide to reward him. "can i- can i please-"

"you can cum, Jayce." with your reassurance, Jayce throws his head back, not even bothering to smother his moans as he cums so hard he swears he sees stars. his thighs shake as he coats himself in his own cum. as he comes down from his high, you gently massage his shoulders, tethering him back to reality as he steadies his breathing.

"you still with me, Counselor Talis?" Jayce grumbles, pulling you in close. "don't call me that. to you, 'm Jayce. nothing to else." you giggle, melting into his embrace. "lets get you cleaned up, hm?" you ask, and he nods, wordlessly following you like a lost puppy towards your shared bathroom. you both know damn well that this is probably going to lead to another round of steamy shower sex, yet he follows you in with the smallest smirk on his lips. what a man.

i will always be the number one jayce defender i do not CAREEEEE he's trying his best. i know nothing about leavue of legends lore and im basing this solely off of arcane, but i genuinely sympathize w him and idk why people hate him sm

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  having a secret enemies to lovers relationship with them 𝆬 𓏸

feat.: Jayce Talis, Vi, Ambessa Medarda, Mel Medarda, Ekko

content: f!reader, nsfw content, mild violence mentions

notes: this was commissioned by the most lovely @angelltheninth !! thank you so much again!! 💜

Honestly, JAYCE refuses to admit just how much he finds himself drawn to you. You're everything he's not, working in the shadows for Silco while he's Piltover's golden boy, the Man of the Future, and yet there's some odd tension between the two of you that he can't deny. He aches to label it as natural hate, though that couldn't be further from the truth. The catalyst for your eventual growing fondness of each other is when he's got you pinned down, imposing hammer so close to obliterating you and, God, he can't do it. You're his enemy, certainly, and yet he finds himself absentmindedly brushing some dirt off your cheek, touch gentle despite those huge hands.

After that, things go all too fast. One moment you're kissing, you softly moaning into his mouth, the next you try and sneak into the Academy, trying your hardest not to appear suspicious and, well — if you end up making out on one of the tables he usually does science stuff on, who can blame you? It feels all too nice to wrap your legs around his wide waist, pulling him closer while his dick pushes into you, calloused fingers roaming over your skin as if he's desperate to feel as much of you at the same time as somehow possible. It's all too good, until the sound of approaching footsteps, accompanied by the rhythmic thumping noise of a cane, makes both of you flinch, and you're forced to hide in an empty storage room, still dripping with need.

“Fuck, talk about horrible timing—, quick, in here, in here. God. Hopefully he'll leave real quick again, I'm stil hard; don't you worry, we'll continue just where we left off in but a moment. We just can't get caught.”

There is no word for what VI feels for you other than 'hate'. How could she not? As an Enforcer, you're her complete opposite, you're used to the riches and comfortable life of Piltover and, well, she would've never thought she could ever grow fond of you, but it turns out you look awfully pretty underneath her, pinned to the ground of Zaun. There's mud caked to the side of your face and a stray trail of blood runs down your forehead and, oh — for some reason, you don't do anything but moan softly when she leans down to meet your lips in a bruising kiss, her thick thigh spreading your own apart.

It's adorable how your cheeks flush when she calls you a teasing nickname; it's downright sweet when you whimper and press your body against her own. Your very reactions make you so very human, so very much like her. You're not that different from her at all, it appears, and that realisation itself makes things complicated. Vi swears she despises you, hates you with all her heart, but when she sneaks away to your usual meeting place, the sixth time this week, rough touches having turned into loving embraces along the way, she can't say she's being entirely truthful.

“Hey, sugar! You made it. Fuck, I'm always so happy to see ya, it's ridiculous. My heart's beatin' all fast. Oh—, hey, you're eager today, hm? Wanna continue that badly where we were interrupted last time? Fine by me. You gotta spread those cute legs of yours then, darl.”

It comes as no surprise that a powerful woman such as AMBESSA has quite a lot of enemies. There's all too many people who wish her death or worse for the countries she's conquered or the people she's slayed — and yet you're the only one who has ever caught her eye. It's all too easy to have you brought to her luxurious chambers, and even when you're glaring at her, eyes narrowed with nothing short of hatred, she doesn't care, really. Her fingers come up to grab your chin, keeping your head in place as her gaze rakes over your face, taking every feature of your face in.

You're not sure whether to be enraged or relieved that, apparently, she's satisfied with what she sees, though it's a lot preferable when, minutes later, she seats you on one thick thigh of hers rather than having you beheaded. Really, you couldn't stifle your mewls and moans even if you tried when she grinds said leg up against your already dripping folds. Over time, you grow fond of her — something you hadn't thought possible —; your relationship stays a secret, but your smile at her praise is honest, your laughter joining her boisterous one is not an act at all. She's surprisingly sweet for such a bold woman and, well; the fact that she leaves you unable to walk for a day or two whenever she's between your legs is a pretty convincing factor to stay with her, too.

“Aren't you just the sweetest little one? C'mon, now, no need to be shy. You've been grinding against my thigh like a bitch in heat before, haven't you? Surely you can do it again. Though, if my leg isn't good enough for you, maybe you're just not as desperate to cum as I thought.”

There's always been tension between you and MEL; how could there not be when you were anything she didn't stand for, being her political enemy and everything? Really, the amount of bickering you two did was close to ridiculous, and yet neither of you seemed to mind it all too much. Even though you don't make a pretty picture up on a stage or behind the council roundtable, you look all too ethereal on her bed, legs spread wide and arching your back while slender fingers alternate between gently rubbing and meanly pinching your throbbing clit.

Really, you'd worry about it being all too obvious how often you search up her quarters, though she's quick to distract you with soft kisses and the occasional cruel graze of teeth against your neck. There's no need to worry about anything, truly; when Mel wants your relationship to stay between the two of us, it will remain a secret at all costs.

“My, my. You're quite adorable today, hm? So very needy for my touch, and yet I remember quite clearly how you've challenged me in front of the rest of the Council. Love, it almost looks like you were aching to be punished by me. Is that not the case? I might go easier on you if you at least admit it.”

EKKO despises you. There's no way around it. Ekko despises you and, if needed, fights you with all his might, and yet his expression, Firelight mask long knocked off his face, softens oh so visibly when he, one day, meets you at random, your injuries awfully bad. He's not sure what he's thinking when he takes you in and cares for your wounds, nursing you back to health; you're his enemy, damn it, and he should act like it, but the only explanation he has for how he's acting is that empathy is an all too human trait he can't seem to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. He can't just leave you in the Undercity to rot.

By the time you're back to full health, you can't deny that, even though you're supposed to be enemies, you've bonded quite a bit. He's funny and loving, protective of you, even; and even though your relationship has to stay secret at all costs, given how he'd otherwise lose credibility with the Firelights and you'd be called a traitor, you both can't help but sneak away at night to see each other, you embracing him in a loving hug and his lips pressing against yours all too eagerly. With Ekko, it takes a while until it gets to making out and getting even more intimate, but that's quite alright. There's no need to rush it; you're both more than happy to lose track of time while cuddling and kissing.

“Would've never thought that, one day, I'd be kissin' someone like you like this. Hey—, in a positive way. Don't get me wrong on purpose. Y'know I love everything about you. Yeah? Good. It's almost sunrise, though. 'm afraid you'll have to go back soon.”

tags: @vislovelywife @Mamanaga @vaemadz @cicada-teeth @jinxsslut @silcosnumber1 @coochie-intervention @inertiacreams @shinwifexx @rhaeena @bumbookitten @greeniegreengreen @my-awakened-ghost @afidiofobia @helloyellowsheeps @yuuotosaka3 @sccarymonster @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @artsyxabbyx @ cyan-skulls @arboranimus @marina-and-the-memes @holysmokesblog @twilightdollie @kaaylvst @definitely-not-v @innerstrawberrypolice @misty-q @perylinsus @pleasemakeitgayer @imaginesbymk @meimayooo @doxmino @smolbeandrabbles @darknessbyme @darthkenobii @mars738 @cupcakkesinflatedwetbussy @illicittete @lemzhargreeves @festivalthrash

@savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @user4837 @Nervousartisanheart @mikariell95 @mechmoucha

@silcobrainrot @Medeaa5 @nocturnal-onlooker @modernamilf @catsaiem @t0r @beyondblissxoxo @zillahvathek @brainrottingrn @klaudia7 @okura-s

@666abby6666 @ironnieincarn8 @watercolourdreams @scturne19 @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @cowboykiri @soullessbody @thottywizard @celebrity-crushes27 @ygrworld @sevikasslvtt @chaoticevilbakugo @trashbod @MiloMalaise @berywritesstuff @alice0blog @gooseberries88 @s1t1n0ny0url4p @black-rose-29

[vityaposting]

jayvik x transman bf reader :3? maybe like dysphoria comfort ((maybe with a little smut if you feel like it..,,.)) anyways BLUSHES i love viktor hes the loml ^_^ (i couldnt tell if you write male reader,, sweat drop)

hi i am SO sorry this took so long!! its been a hell of a week lol but i didnt forget about i promise!! and yes ofc i write male reader, esp transmasc reader, we’re so underrepresented in the jayvik fandom frfr. i wasn’t really feeling like nsfw for this one im sorry but i have some softness and happiness instead :3

jayvik x transmasc!reader — dysphoria days (sfw) (1400)

It’s nearly midnight when you hear the apartment door creak open, and you perk up just a bit, the day’s sorrows temporarily forgotten. The sound of Jayce’s laughter hits you first. “V, you’re a menace, I’m telling you. One of these days you’ll burn the whole Academy to the ground.”

He seems surprisingly energetic considering how late it is—his gaze lights up when he sees you waiting on the couch. Viktor follows him, shoulders drooping with exhaustion, but he gives you the smallest of smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Viktor’s chuckle is scathing, but it makes your heart flutter anyway. “And you enable my behavior, so if they throw me into Stillwater you’re coming right along with me.”

Jayce clearly sees it pointless to argue, so he turns his attention to you. “Hey there, sweetheart.” You nearly fly into the air as he flops onto the cushion next to you, but a strong arm around your shoulders keeps you still. When he places an eager kiss against your temple, you feel your face burn. “How was work?”

“We missed you,” Viktor says quietly, settling down much more gently on your other side, leaning his crutch against the coffee table. “We made wonderful progress. Do you remember that equation I was telling you about—the one Jayce couldn’t solve for the life of him?”

Jayce shoots a halfhearted glare across the couch. “You fell asleep at the workbench during three separate experiments today. You’re one to talk about my work habits.”

“And I told you I’ll rest. There are two of you and only one of me, and I know how you both get when you think I��ve been up for too long, hmm?” His head lands on your shoulder, and his hand finds yours, long, thin fingers trailing across the back. You know what he’s about to say before he says it, but you find yourself burning anyway: “Solnyshko, you are so quiet. Something’s bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question: he’s always been perceptive. And he certainly doesn’t like being lied to.

You can’t find yourself in it to try. “It’s been a rough day, I guess,” you provide by way of an excuse.

That’s all it takes for both of your boyfriends to zero their attention on you. Viktor’s quiet determination sharpens, and his grip on your hand becomes infinitesimally stronger. Jayce seems surprised to learn there’s anything wrong at all, but he’s threading his hand through your hair before you can blink, his golden eyes wide with concern.

“Sweetheart,” Jayce breathes. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just—nothing out of the ordinary.” You feel a bit silly now, bringing up something that has always been a thorn in your side (or a hundred or so gigantic thorns in your heart, if you want to be accurate) but it’s a bit too late to back down. “I’d… been out to get the groceries. I was so excited at first, since I knew you’d both be home tonight and we could finally spend a night in and just be together, but when I went to check out, I made the grave mistake of speaking.” You laugh humorlessly. Viktor’s brows knit with sympathy; Jayce places a reassuring kiss against the shell of your ear. “And you know what happens when I speak.”

The cashier’s cheery tone rings in your ears again: have a wonderful rest of your day, ma’am! It’s the saccharine sweetness with which the word is always said it really gets to you, because it’s never malicious. It would hurt less if it was… but all it is is a reminder that in their eyes, you are something else entirely. The world sees a lie.

One word is usually all it takes for a steady wave of agony to follow. Your voice gave you away—but was that it? It was hard to avoid self consciously tugging at your shirt, changing your gait, squaring your shoulders. All these little things you did wrong. All these little things that made the rest of the world see something that didn’t even exist. Sometimes, you feel more like an illusion than a person, floating from person to person and watching them take in your fractured reflection.

Until you get home.

You don’t realize your breath has quickened until Jayce’s strong hand cups your jaw and forces you to look right at him. “Hey,” he says. “I get it, sweet boy. I really do. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”

“And you are more of a man than anyone who cannot see you for who you truly are,” Viktor butts in bluntly. “You are the handsomest and most beautiful person I’ve ever had the privilege to love—don’t start, Jayce, you know what I mean.” Jayce grins, biting off his joking retort. “And loving you is such a privilege,” Viktor continues. “My wonderful boyfriends… you are my greatest joys. I don’t know who else would drag me out of that godforsaken lab in the middle of the night.”

Jayce peppers kisses from the line of your jaw up to the corner of your eye, drawing giggles out of you all the while. “I could go on and on about what makes you so wonderful. Those people don’t see you the way we do. Would they ever stop to notice how your eyes change when the light hits them? Or how your whole face goes soft when you get complimented?”

“Pretty boy,” Viktor adds, just to test this hypothesis.

“You fluster so easily,” whispers Jayce. He runs his hand through your hair, twirling a few strands around his fingers, while Viktor trails a feather-light touch up your arm. Viktor stops at your shoulder before leaning forward to press a kiss against the hollow of your throat. You can’t help but draw in a shuddering breath as your skin lights up with electricity. You’re sure you must be glowing as brightly as the hextech contraptions in their lab.

“See?” he whispers. “Beautiful. Look at you.”

You want to protest, but with all the attention being leveled at you, you find you don’t have the strength. You can only relax further as Viktor takes your hand and presses five chaste kisses against your knuckles, and as Jayce leans closer to whisper in your ear. “You know, we could spend hours showing you everything we love about you, but I think we have dinner to make, don’t we?”

You manage a short laugh. “I’m not feeling well and you two just take the opportunity to tease me?”

“Teasing you is just a bonus,” Viktor huffs. “We actually just want to make sure you eat. I know you’d get on me about not having dinner.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Vitenka. You did have lunch, right?”

He makes a little ehh noise that forces a snort out of you. Predictable as ever.

“Yeah, I even brought something up from the cafeteria,” Jayce says. “It didn’t work. How about this. I’ll do the cooking tonight, and my poor malnourished darlings can stay here and relax, hm?”

“I’d like to argue, but I don’t think tonight’s the night,” Viktor says. Tucking his head into the crook of your neck, he draws patterns against the back of your hand, humming to himself. “I am terribly in love with you,” he mutters. “It’s honestly a little surprising. The both of you hit me like an airship hits a bird in the sky.”

“That sounds gruesome,” Jayce says. He kisses your forehead once, then Viktor’s and heaves himself off the couch. “Alright. Dinnertime. V, I’ll add extra spices just for you, and…” His gaze softens as it lands on you. “I love you so much, okay? No matter what.”

His perfect golden-boy smile makes your heart melt. “I love you too.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen. For a moment, the living room is silent, but soon Viktor clears his throat. “The world is wrong about you. I know who you are. You are so precious to us, no matter what anyone else sees when they look at you. Everything you are,” he murmurs, “and everything you will ever be, I love you, crasafchek.”

You press your cheek to his hair, grinning like a lovestruck fool, a little grateful he can’t see. The sound of clattering pots and pans echoes from the kitchen—the domesticity of it all wraps you in a quiet peace, and you may or may not drift off with Viktor in your arms before dinner is even done.

[thehistoriangirl]

Jayce Talis Masterlist

I'm making individual masterlists, and today it's the turn of Piltover's Golden Boy :3

✨ = Fluff

💔 = Angst

💞 = Smut aka Fluff with Horny sprinkled

💀  = Violence/Blood/ Major Character Death(s)

💔 I’ll See You in My Dreams; [Jayce x fem!Reader]

-> Soulmate AU, Strangers to Lovers, Miscommunication.

✨ You’ll See Me in Your Arms [Jayce x fem!Reader]

-> Continuation, Eventual Happy Ending.

A fragment of a conversation between Jayce and Viktor that didn’t make it to the final part

✨ Taciturn Artifice [Jayce x femCouncilor!Reader]

-> A request, Reserved! Reader, Slow Burn, Crushes.

✨ Treasured Miscalculation PT. 1 [Jayce x Fem!Reader]

-> Blind Date, Strangers to Lovers.

✨ Treasured Miscalculation PT. 2

💔 ✨ Testing One’s Love Luck to Win You Over [Jayce x Fem!Reader/ Valentine’s Day Special 2023]

->Arranged Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Love Confession, Eloping.

✨ Natural Inclination [Jayce x gn!Reader]

-> Domestic Fluff, Dad!Jayce, Established Relationship

💔 This Ache, Mistimed PT. 1 [Jayce x gn!Reader]

-> A request, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Second Chance, Angst & Comfort.

✨ This Ache, Mistimed PT 2

Us, Who Couldn’t Fade Away [Jayce x Fem!Reader]

-> Gothic AU, Halloween 2022; Haunted House, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending.

> M A S T E R L I S T

All the Things We Cannot Fake [Jayce x Fem!Reader]

-> Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, St. Valentine Special 2024

>M A S T E R L I S T

[cinewhore]

Envy

Pairing: Mel Medarda x fem!reader x Jayce

Rating: Explicit 

warnings: heavy smut. penetration, fingering, female receiving oral, male receiving oral, cumshot, 

Summary: you enjoy a morning in bed with your lover and her paramour. 

A/N: a repost. forgot how much I loved this one. credit to the gif makers. 

The sounds of Piltover hum at low frequency as you slumber. The city of progress, they call it. It was the bane of your existence and the source of all of your headaches. The only thing that kept you here was laying right beside you, providing you with enough warmth and comfort you were afraid that you would burst.

Except it wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

Mel.

You were reluctant to accept the position of an advisor to a member of the council but as soon as Mel stepped into view, you accepted the job and whatever else came with it. As time drew on, you learned that being an advisor was not as important to Mel, she needed a friend. You became her confidant, shoulder to cry on, her shadow. And you loved it.

The spot where she lay was ruffled, small indents of her footprints still molded into the sheets. Jayce was still sleeping on the far edge of the bed, body radiating heat like an inferno. You weren’t particularly fond of the man but he grew on you. Mel still likes to tease you about it.

“You taste like him again.” you sigh, straightening Mel’s dress after you popped your head out from underneath.

“Jealousy doesn't suit you.” Mel smirks, closing her eyes briefly as you peck her lips.

“Really? I think the color green looks rather dashing on me.”

Mel rolls her eyes, the role of the politician coming into play. “He’s a great asset and… I really like him.”

You shrug, not wanting to be bothered with the feelings Mel had with someone who nearly leveled an entire street. “Are you sure this is the type of project you want to be focusing on? He could be dangerous.”

“He’s not dangerous, he’s passionate.”

And passionate he was.

You creep out of the bed and tiptoe towards Mel’s studio, finding her observing the large canvas in front of her. It was slowly starting to take shape, remnants of her home life seeping out.

“Mel?”

She doesn’t turn as you call out her name and instead tilts her head at an angle to further inspect her work.

“You should come back to bed darling.” you mutter, rubbing at your eyes. The day was filled with meetings and appointments. She couldn’t afford to miss them and you didn't have enough energy to cover for her at the moment.

Enveloping your arms around her waist, tensions roll off of your shoulders as Mel relaxes in your hold. You lean your head in the junction of her neck, taking the time to breath her in. She always smelled of lavender and citrus, a scent that would grace your senses and create a home there. Her own hands find yours, intertwining them.

“You’re not like her, you know.” you whisper, gazing back up at the canvas.

You knew these moments all too well, the late hours in the night where Mel refused to sleep. She was thinking of home, the anxious feeling of not belonging creating a turmoil inside of her. Mel knows war and she knows what people will sacrifice to make sure they are on the righteous side. She just didn’t know she would be the one being sacrificed.

You had never met Mel’s mother but if she was anything like how Mel describes her, you knew you’d have her heart in your hands the second she stepped foot in Piltover. While she galvanted around the world and proclaimed glories of being a warrior, you were left to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t fair.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure.” Mel responds, a slight waver in her voice. You turn her so that she is facing you, eyes cast downward. Tipping her chin with your fingers, you brush your nose against hers.

“You are the wisest and most caring person I have ever met. You are the heart of the council. Without you, I can’t imagine what this city would look like. Wherever you forget that, I am always here to remind you.”

You pull back to leave little kisses along her jaw, eyelids, nose. “Do you need help going back to sleep, hm?”

Mel chases after your lips, a miniscule frown clouding her features when you deny her. “Please.”

Nodding, you lead Mel back to the bed, making sure she is comfortable before you climb in behind her. All of your motions are purposeful, drawn out and calculated to provide maximum pleasure. Mel did her job during the day, making sure the citizens of Piltover were taken care of and now it was your job to make sure she had adequate care.

“You’re already wet.” you purr, licking tiny stripes along her clit. Mel whimpers, doing her best to follow your tongue. You rub a hand up and down her inner thigh to settle her. “Don’t worry, I will take care of you.” She was never the kind to be patient.

You resume your teasing, sucking gently on her pearl before taking your tongue and entering her warm cunt. Mel throws her head back and gasps loudly, hands clutching whatever was in reach. Her moans and pants vibrated through you, causing you to slip a finger inside of your own pussy to fulfill your desires.

Jayce first believes that the sounds he was currently hearing was coming from his own mind and was rather astonished to find you devouring Mel. The three of you having sex together wasn’t something that occurred frequently but when it does, Jayce has to remind himself constantly that he wasn’t dreaming.

Being an only child, Jayce had a slight difficulty with sharing what was his. He knew, though, the first time he met you and Mel that she would never be completely his. Mel belonged to no one and you had solidified your spot in her life.

“I was here before you came and I’ll be here after you’re long gone.”

That was the first thing you had ever said to Jayce and the one thing that stayed with him all these years later. He didn’t mind sharing Mel with you though, there was enough love and flesh to go around.

“You weren’t going to wake me?” Jayce grumbles, adjusting himself in his briefs.

“You snooze, you lose.” your muffled voice sounds out.

“Is that so? I like to think of it as the early bird getting the worm.”

Jayce crouches over Mel’s squirming figure, digesting her cries as you work your fingers into her attentively. He slides a hand over your ass, pinching at the tender skin. Jayce doesn’t warn you as he stuffs his face into your cheeks, fawning over you and your puckered hole. You break away from Mel for a second, too distracted to continue.

Jayce shifts your legs so that you are on display for him, tugging down his briefs to spring himself free. He grabs his cock tightly, working his shift up and down as he spits onto your pussy. You hated how much you craved his touch, arching back against the tip of his cock and whining when he inserted himself momentarily before withdrawing.

“If you want it, you know what to do.” he coos, guiding your hand to cup his low hanging members. You steer his cock back inside of you, sighing contently at the feeling of Jayce’s thickness stretching you out. You spur yourself until he’s fully entrenched, the wisps of his pubic hair gracing your ass. Jayce’s thrusts are steady, he had all morning to drive into you if he so pleases. This time he just wanted to be in the moment, never in a rush to leave the warmness of your center.

“Fuckin’ sweetest pussy in Piltover.” he hum croons, settling both hands on your hips.

He continues to fuck into you sweetly, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until your legs quivered beneath him. Mel opens her mouth wide, tongue sticking out as Jayce slips his cock around it, gagging her a few times.

You lay on your side, stroking Mel’s hair and toy with her breasts as Jayce comes on both of your faces, leaving a trail down Mel’s stomach. She swipes a finger along a path and tastes it, gathering up more to feed to you.

“You taste like her.” she observes. You smile, enclosing a hand around her throat so that you could bite at her lips.

“Envious, much?”

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hi! Thank you for opening a request :D

May I request a Jayce x reader (romantic, preferbly male, but if not that's okay!) where the reader is his security/bodyguard of some sort? And some angst would be interesting, but please do what you feel the most comfortable with!

Thank you so much again and have a great day :]

(Hey, I can do that! But not the angst, you didn't say anything for the angst, just "some angst" and I can't work with just that. Sorry, anyways, Enjoy!)

Jayce x Bodygaurd Male Reader

At first, he didn’t think he needed a bodyguard after Caitlyn suggested it

She bickered at him about it, councilors were higher ups and usually had targets on their backs

A lot of people didn’t like them, she knew from experience with her mom as a councilor

There were the people who liked you

And the people who didn’t

He told her not to worry, that it was all good

But he noticed how she kept worrying after she saw reports of councilors being targeted by some group of goons

So, he finally decided to interview some bodyguards with her, her mom and her father

That’s where you came in

Jayce liked you

It was also a bonus you were a familiar face

You were smart, you knew how to deal with high stress situations, you thought quick on your feet and you knew how to handle yourself

You had quite a few letters of recommendation

You had done quite a few high jobs

One of the letters of recommendation was from Caitlyn’s mom

You at one point, had also been a bodyguard for Caitlyn when she was younger

And let me tell you, you had done a good ass job

Jayce and you back then were sort of friends, not really talking much unless Caitlyn was there for you to watch over her

Until you left to another job of some sorts

So he hired you and some of your friends who were on your team with you as the main one

Nothing ever really happened, you followed him around and made sure he was safe

He got sorta close to you

He liked talking to you since you guys spent so much time together

And one day, first time he actually saw you in action, was when you tackled a guy

The man was coming after Jayce, after he was a new councilor

The man had come to attack him, he had some sort of vendetta against Jayce and the council

Yeah, he’s stuck to you like glue after that

He’s not gonna be hiding behind you though when out somewhere

What he WILL do is be right by your side

Trusts you so freakin’ much

Especially after you guys get together

Thinks its kinda hot how you order people around when he has to attend an event

Feels special because its all for him

He will 100% try and distract you on the job

At an event?

He’s right by you flirting with you as he watches you try not to kill him for his horrible timing

And the boy just WALKS AWAY 

This smug mf

After a while Caitlyn gets assigned to his team randomly

He begged her parents

Caitlyn loves you 

Please don’t get distracted to much on the job though by him

He may be an idiot but he would like to keep his head

And he would love to see you tackle someone for him again

[weltraum-vaquero]

You could have it all (my empire of dirt)

2. it ain't the letting go (it's the things that you take with)

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

[AO3 link]

Western AU

18+

Jayce Talis x GN AFAB Reader

Word count: 12.6k+

Synopsis: Jayce is out to settle the score with you. You make it very difficult, in every way imaginable.

Tags/warnings: western AU, mastrubation (Jayce), yearny Jayce, brief mentions of drugs (1800s cocaine products), Jayce epically failing at being a bounty hunter, reader being emotionally constipated, then emotionally diarrheic, then emotionally constipated again, Handjob (Jayce receiving), brief allusions to non-con (nothing bad actually happens), Jayce being a weepy confused mess, Dirty talk.

Jayce should hate you.

Correction — he does hate you. 

Hates your eyes, their hunger, their heat, their knowing. Hates your smile, hates the shape of it, the confidence tucked somewhere neatly behind your canines. Hates your cutting wit, just waiting to be unloaded in one line that would make him weak in the knees. And he hates the shape of your lips.

Hates how wrong the shape of them looks on the bounty poster.

They’re flat and different and wrong, wrong, wrong. He knows, because they’ve been in places he hadn’t even dared putting his own hands, knows because they’ve sealed and sucked at his throat, his chest, and that wretched, lifeless stroke of ink could never hope to do the pleasure they’ve brought him justice. Could never do you justice, because you’re—

This is absurd. He should stop. Should put the damn paper away and have another go at finally falling asleep, maybe the third time’s a charm.

It’s not like he wants you to touch him. It’s not like his mind has been circling back to it the way a dog chases its tail, unending, unrelenting, stupid, pointless. 

It’s just — the prairie’s desolate, the night’s quiet, the fire’s out, and he’s alone. Laying on his back in his generously large tent — generous enough for two if you squeezed together tight enough  — and finding it achingly empty. Finding his hand achingly empty, so he fiddles with the button of his jeans, looks at your poster.

It’s not like he’s actually going to do anything. His hand just happened to — to drift there, really, and, well, you can’t exactly blame him for staring at your poster. In fact, you should count yourself lucky that he hasn’t hung it up somewhere and fired an entire round into your face. You’d deserve it.

It’s also not his fault that his thumb just so happens to slip, and, well, so does the button of his jeans, it just— it just slips out of its eyelet, and the zipper isn’t too far behind either. It just happens. He’s getting comfortable for the night. It’s not like he’s going to put his hand down his pants.

It’s not like the sight of you and your annoying, mean, stupid, no-good face makes the heat in his belly stir. 

Is he—? No, no, he’s not. He’s not jacking off to the thought of you, he just… needs some kind of release to put him to sleep. He needs the rest. Especially after following your trail into Zaun and spending a good two days tracking you down, he’s going to get his hands on you soon, if he gets a good night’s rest. He’s sure. Sort of.

He’s got a vague idea about what you’ve been up to.

Marcus had come by for dinner last week, and complained about a break-in at the Ferros pharmacy his lawmen had found no leads on. The store had not only been robbed blind, but someone had knocked out the clerk and the two guards that night and had disappeared with all of the cocaine products on the shelves. Not a small or an easy job by any means.

The issue, Marcus had pointed out, weren’t just the missing wares and money – but the increase of violent crime in Zaun as a byproduct, since it appeared the stolen, potent cocaine products had found their buyers there, where cocaine had specifically been outlawed for that very reason.

Jayce’s professional opinion? This entire thing practically reeked of you.

You’d gotten the money you’d needed, and caused a distraction all in one fell swoop. With everyone’s eyes already off of you, you just needed to wait things out. Until your next strike. 

Smart, simple, deceitful. It had to be you. 

And he could’ve told Marcus that, could’ve given him the semblance of a lead he seemed to be so desperate for, but this was personal. Jayce had a score to settle, and this time, he would not fall for your tricks. 

Wouldn’t fall for  your voice, your hands, your tongue, your cunt (fuck, why is his mouth watering?), wouldn't let anything throw him off his game. 

That’s why he inches his hand past the waistband of his underwear and takes his own, half-hard cock in his hand.

It’s a tactical choice.

He’d rather be distracted now, when he’s alone, when he can allow himself to be, than when he’s with you, and supposed to be doing his job. He won’t let you win again. Won’t lose sight of his purpose again.

This — getting off — is just a part of ensuring that.

Right. 

That’s all there is to how his dick twitches when he looks at your poster. It’s a conditioned response, it has to be — the pleasure you’d wrecked him with had been so entirely new and potent that it can only be normal for his body to want to chase it. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Yeah, that has to be it. He just needs to… distance you from it. Needs to recreate the experience on his own, so that his brain might stop gravitating towards you and stop acting like a cat in heat. Problem solved, it had been so simple, really, hadn’t it? 

That’s it.

That’s right. That’s good. Good boy, that’s exactly what you need—

Oh, come on.

Jayce groans at the thought of your voice, encouraging him to do this with a ravenous but oh-so-pleased there you go, that’s an obedient boy as he drags his hand from root to tip. He knows you’d talk him through it, would praise him through it. 

Dry. Utterly unlike your mouth, his hand is dry and callused and too warm and not yours. He persists regardless, gives his cock another near-chafing tug before he’s propping himself up on one elbow and spitting onto his tip, and oh, that’s better. 

With the pad of his thumb, he rubs his spit into the petal-pink, soft skin. In an immediate response, his hips twitch up into his grip.

That’s much better.

A tingling spark of warm pleasure ignites in his lower belly, stroked to a small flame by the glide of his right hand and another glance at the poster he’s clutching in the left.

Maybe your lips aren’t true to life in that damn sketch, but your smile certainly is – a gnashy little smirk that promises trouble and delivers it through and through. You’d looked exactly like that when you’d told him you were going to take care of him; looked the same way when you’d lowered your mouth between his legs and sucked at his balls–

“Fuck.” He can feel his cock swelling in his hand with another jerk, now at full mast and red. The cold puff of his breath soothes the scorching heat of his flesh, hits his slick cockhead in a frigid wave of air that makes him shiver. 

All because he’d looked at your dumb poster.

Jayce shouldn’t do this. It’s not— he’s doing the exact opposite of what he set out to do. He can only pretend it’s for the sake of relief for as long as he likes, because he knows, he knows he’s only going to ache once it settles in that the best fuck of his life was a one-time-thing.

But why think about that right now, if he can think about your tongue, your lips at his taint, sealing and sucking to turn his brain into mush and make his back arch at just the thought of it.

He needs it again. But his fingers aren’t as good as your lips, his fingers aren’t even as good as your fingers, but he still pops them into his mouth the way you had slipped your thumb in, parts his lips wide, lets his index and middle finger sink in all the way to his knuckles. 

To think he hadn’t realized at the time how good it felt to be full. It’s blissful, how his fingertips lodge into the back of his throat and seem to pause his racing thoughts with just that. 

Then again, there had been better things to think about when you’d fucked his mouth with your fingers, like the texture of your thumb, or the taste of your juices lingering at the tip of his tongue. It’s satisfying, to have his throat stuffed and utterly relaxed, before he pulls both fingers out and feels something akin to relief with the first breath that floods his lungs.

He wonders how his fingers would feel filling him up elsewhere, but lacks the gall to find out. Recreating the night spent with you sounds significantly more appealing.

In an instant, his hand shoots back down, cupping at his balls with the rest of his dry fingers, while the slick index and middle finger prod at his taint. It’s a hopeless, clumsy attempt at recreating your technique, but it’s enough. The careful circles of wet finger pads at his perineum urging the thick, languid warmth in his stomach into hot pressure, the squeeze of the rest of his hand at his sensitive balls, his cock pulsing, it’s enough.

Enough to have his dick jerk so hard it hits his wrist, enough to have him throwing his head back in delight and peering down at your poster, imagining his touch is all yours.

That you’re occupying the empty space next to him, that you’re gently cradling his head with one hand and using the other to take care of him. You’d be kind, in spite of who you are — because you were kind, even then. Had told him multiple times to let you know if it ever was too much (as if it ever could be too much), had kissed him raw after he came a second time, had made him come a second time not because he’d asked but because you’d wanted to. Because just maybe, some part of you had cared that he enjoyed himself too. 

Maybe you still do.

Maybe right now, you’d be teasing him for how his body reacts to your voice, you’d be smiling at his contorted face, then at his leaking cock, before you’d wrap your hand around its base and lower your lips to kiss away the thick drop on its swollen tip.

You’d lap at it, at the sensitive ridge of the underside of his cockhead — closing his eyes and circling his frenulum with his slick index is nearly enough to be convincing — and maybe… maybe you’d let him taste you after he comes for you. 

Yeah. He’d fucking love that.

Maybe you’d let him feel you grind against his tongue, let him feel the warm gush of your orgasm in his mouth, let him bury his face into your waiting heat until there’s nothing but you in every crevice of his senses. Maybe you’d let him wrap his arms around your hips and kiss and lick your cunt until his lips and tongue buzz with raw, numb pain, until he knows nothing but the taste of you, your sounds, your slick, your warmth, all of you. 

Fuck.

His other hand, lets go of the poster, reaches for his waiting cock. Three dry, overstimulating strokes do him in, have him coming so hard he’s rolling onto his side to avoid soiling his own clothes and his sleeping bag, have him curling in on himself, whining out his pleasure to the lone prairie. He can feel his orgasm pulsing all the way up his fucking spine, exploding at his brainstem, loud enough to drown his thoughts out in a pleasant, hot buzz and makes his ears ring.

“Hnn—!”

Jayce grips his cock through his peak, gives a few more strokes that stop just below his sensitive, swollen tip, before he finally lets go.

His body sags with relief, head still pounding with his racing pulse, breath still coming out in sharp, quick bursts, limbs tingling with a fuzzy, syrupy high.

Yeah, this is definitely going to put him to sleep.

He cracks his eyes open just enough to look down at his own shirt and pants — both unsoiled, thank goodness, because they’re his last clean clothes after a not so pleasant incident involving a pile of manure out in Zaun yesterday.

Not so unscathed, however, is your bounty poster, with three fat, stringy drops of cum splattered across it, from your shoulder, across your face, to the rim of your hat. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

His first instinct is to use his sleeve, but that’s hardly a viable alternative, so he rushes, instead, to smudge it away with his palm — somewhat successful, but the splatters are still very, very obvious, curling the paper where they’ve soaked it.

Normally, it would hardly be a big deal. He’d just head over to the Sheriff’s, get himself a new one. It’s just a piece of paper.

But right now? A ride from Zaun to that part of Piltover and back would take a day, at best. And who knows that the hell you’re capable of pulling off in one entire day? He’s hot on your trail, he can’t lose it because he— well, because he came on your poster. That’d be absurd. He likely won’t even need to use it, anyway. 

It’s probably nothing worth getting worked up about. Caitlyn has told him multiple times that he’s prone to stressing out over things that end up bearing incredibly little importance, and this is probably one of them. 

He should take advantage of the grogginess and get some much needed sleep instead of winding himself up about a cum stain. 

—

He was right. There had been no use for your bounty poster, not when he’d spotted tracks of a lone horse and followed them, down into the forest quite a distance away from Zaun. 

You’d made his job easy, stuck to the main trail leading through it, left heavy hoof imprints in the mud, like a treasure trail begging to be followed.

And you’d confirmed, very much so, that it was you he’d followed because you’d left your horse (a seemingly reliable, but skittish appaloosa), loaded up on a set of guns so varied that it could only belong to an outlaw, tucked away safely between the trees. 

And you had left imprints in the mud, leading out of the forest. Jayce had dismounted off his horse not too far from yours and followed.

Followed them, all the way down to the Pilt offshoot passing through the valley, where he’d found your boots, neatly discarded beside the riverbank, and your clothes, folded and settled atop your boots to avoid the mud and oh—

Of course you’d be naked in a river.

Water splashes from ahead, where a willow tree hunches above the calm, trickling little waves and kisses its surface with droopy branches. And between them, a sliver of your skin peeks out.

His heart jumps up into his throat, comes tumbling back down heavily into his stomach at first, then, much to his dismay, dips further to pulse with heat in his groin.

All of last night’s hard work, gone to waste.

But you’ve not seen him yet, and that gives him the clear advantage he needs, and, not to mention, you’re naked — the tables have turned. His odds are good, for once. Karma is on his side, and revenge, although something he deems to be beneath him most of the time, will be so very sweet.

So Jayce advances, pushes the willow branches aside with the tip of his unshouldered rifle, sneaks up the precipice that should, by his estimation, overlook your naked form.

It does.

And gods, your back’s glorious in the filtered sunlight. Muscles flexing and bunching with vigorous movements of lathering soap across your front, skin sounding positively slick where you rub at it and for fuck’s sake he’s thinking about how you’d tasted and felt, soft and warm and ripe. 

He shouldn’t, but he does take a moment to simply watch, and let his mouth pool and heart ache and lungs tighten before he raises the rifle once more, almost regretfully.

“Hands above your head.” Tone heavy and low, Jayce means business, makes a clear point of it by audibly cocking his weapon.

And you don’t even flinch. You don’t even turn around for that matter, either.

“Already back for more?” You tease — thank goodness it’s you (it’s not like hearing your voice is making his stomach clench). As your hands raise, water dripping down your arms, bar of soap clutched in one hand, Jayce swallows.

This is going to be much harder than he anticipated. In every sense of the word.

“Get out,” he replies, although his voice falls terribly, awfully flat when you do, water sloshing with as you turn around, turn towards him. “Slowly.”

And then you do turn to look at him, and there is nothing but coyness and a complacent grin on your face. You look at him not like prey caught, but like your bear trap has just snapped shut around his ankle.

And in spite of the fact that your unbotheredness should sound off alarms in his head, should make him worry, there is little for his shortwired brain to think about when you look as good in the afternoon daylight as you’d had in the low candlelight. Perhaps even better, now, with sun rays and shadows bouncing off your still soap slick skin.

“Slowly?” You repeat, grinning. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were hoping for a show, Mister Talis.”

He’s not. And even if he was, he wouldn’t— he wouldn’t give in to it. His demand is just a precaution.

“The only thing I’m hoping for is putting you where you damn well belong.”

When you chortle, amused, and take half a step closer, arms still raised, suds of soap dripping down your flexed forearm, fist clenched around the bar of soap, Jayce realizes last night’s release counts for nothing.

Focus. Focus.

“In your bed?”

Oh, fuck you. He should’ve known; should’ve expected it — why your flirty little question still makes his breath catch is beyond him.

“A prison cell,” he replies, although the mere thought of you rotting away behind steel bars makes his heart clench. What the hell is wrong with him? “Now get out, or I’ll shoot.”

“You mean the way you did for me that night? Twice?”

Fuck you.

“I’m serious,” he growls. “Out. Now.”

Your face drops subtly, but you regain your mental footing with dizzying speed. 

“You wouldn’t.”

He hates how convinced of it you sound.

He hates how right you are.

“The poster said dead or alive,” Jayce insists, making a show of moving his index to rest atop the trigger. You don’t seem to take the bait. “Don’t make me choose.”

“I think you already have.”

With that, you still comply, approaching him ever so slowly, as he’s asked.  It’s tantalizing, has him focusing at least half his mental capacity on not getting hard as you approach the riverside, and the water level slowly reveals more of you with every forward step.

Water clings to your collarbone, to your chest, to the part of your tummy he’d been aching to nuzzle against. Pearls down the flesh of you, drips off the grooves of your muscles like paint off a fresh masterpiece. And you’re smirking. Fuck you, you’re smirking.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you coo, tone so saccharine it’s clearly fake. It takes Jayce a quick downward glance at himself to understand you can’t be referring to his bodily reaction. Not yet, at least. “I’m guilty of that just as much as you are. Why do you think I left you tied to that bed, instead of putting a knife up to your throat?” 

Water sinks below your hips, below — below, fuck, below the middle of your thighs, lingers at your knees, and then you’re there, right there, close enough for the nozzle of his rifle to nudge your hairline. And — and the rifle’s shaking, he’s shaking, goddammit, too taken with the mouthwatering sight of you to even think.

You’re looking up at him from where he’s standing, still on that precipice, and he can’t  understand how he’s standing above you, and yet feels so terribly below you.

“We both have a weakness for each other, Mister Talis.” Your head tilts with the statement, expecting a confirmation that does not come; not verbally.

It’s in the hitch of his breath, the way his index slips away from the trigger, the way his grip around the rifle tightens. You’re winning this confrontation; you are naked, unarmed, and still winning. How and when did he sink this low?

“My only weakness was trusting you that night,” he spits. 

Your nose scrunches, and you give an unimpressed hum. 

“One of your many weaknesses is not being able to stop thinking about that night,” you reply.

He tries for an unimpressed laugh. It comes out high, airy, nervous.

“And how do you know that?”

Everything about you — from the leaf-filtered sunlight catching in your damp lashes, to the way your smirk smoothes into a smile — is soft, genuine. “Because I haven’t, either.” 

It’s disarming, in the most literal sense possible.

You haven’t. Either. It reverberates in his skull, and it’s only on the third mental echo of it that his heart begins to burst. 

He’s been on your mind, maybe not as hauntingly and as obsessively as you’ve been on his, but you’ve thought of him, yearned for him, the way he’s yearned for you. It both soothes and strokes the flames inside him to new heights, you want him, you want him, you want him. You want him, too.

Not that he gets to give you a peace offering — and he shouldn’t, either — because you’re perking up at the distant sound of hooves. Bending just enough to peek through the willow tree branches, Jayce spots three armed silhouettes in the distance, mounted atop well-fed horses, the kind you don’t see much in Zaun. Definitely Marcus’ men.

Fuck. Now what? If they come any closer, it’s a matter of when, not if they spot you, the both of you, him standing high and mighty on the riverside, and you, stark naked and—

Fast, far too fast for him to process, you toss your bar of soap into the grass, place one foot against the slippery root of the precipice he’s standing on, just enough to boost yourself up to firmly grasp his belt with both hands, and, with your weight and momentum, yank him into the water with you.

Jayce drops his rifle and falls ungracefully, face-first, with a sound that sounds embarrassingly similar to a squeak, into the hip-deep water. Heaves as he’s dragging himself up and blinking the water out of his eyes for a few long, awful seconds, mind spinning with what the hell kind of maneuver you’re trying to pull right now, before your weight crashes against him once more, pushing him back. And his boots are slipping on the stony riverbed, ankle giving below his weight and your impact, bending until it hurts.

Jayce doesn’t get to groan about it, not as his back is shoved against the very precipice he’d been standing on seconds ago, and your hand comes up to cover his mouth, and you — you’re pressing him against the earthy wall behind him with what feels like your entire weight.

It shouldn’t feel this good to be manhandled. Fear, pain and confusion aside, he’d be a shameless liar if he claimed his stomach didn’t flip at being shoved into the dirt, or at how you press one thigh between his, forearm braced against his collarbone.

“Shh,” you whisper softly against his ear, hand at his chest descending, stopping at waist, rubbing a soothing circle into the skin below his ribs. His spine tingles, from the press of your naked chest against his soaked shirt — his nipples are hard, he hopes you can’t feel that — to the puff of your breath at his neck.

He could break free, if he wanted to. He could even call for help, if he wanted to.

He just doesn’t.

Jayce nods in compliance, but your palm still presses hard against his lips. You’re not taking any chances. It’s dreadful to think that if you had not chosen to make sure he’d stay quiet and hide, he would’ve vouched for you to Marcus’ men with little hesitation. 

Not because he likes you, or because he cares, of course. This is just a matter of pride. You’re his to catch, not Marcus’. The fact that you might return his feelings shouldn’t throw him off his game – because by now, he knows you’re a fantastic liar. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been thinking of him, not after you embarrassed the soul out of him that night, and soaked him to the core now. Capturing and turning you in is long overdue. 

Besides, retaliation aside, it’s also his responsibility.

The moment those incompetent bastards are gone, he’s getting the job done. For now, though, he’s going to savor the press of your thigh against his half-hard cock, and hope you don’t notice how he rocks into it once, just barely. Just to taste.

If you do, you don’t point it out. But you meet it with a nudge of your thigh, barely a forward twitch of it that has him wondering if it was a conscious choice on your part or not. It doesn’t matter, though, not when the press of his own jeans is flush against his cock, and leaves him brainless and desperate. He doesn’t dare grind again, simply settles for the mind-numbing pressure where he needs it, lets himself throb into the contact. You huff when he does, but your expression is unreadable.

The pounding of hooves grows louder ever-so-softly, then fades into the late afternoon buzz.

No wonder they’re useless at their job. How they didn’t think to check out the anything-but-subtle splashing sound he’d caused with his fall is beyond him, but, well, Marcus’ men have never been thorough.

He’s never been so thankful for that.

But now it’s time to do his job. And he’s anything but thankful for that.

“They’re gone,” you say, hand falling from his mouth, the other still pinning him to the wall along with the thigh placed between his legs. He could break free. He should break free, he needs to–

Your thigh moves, a slow drag forward, until your torso settles against the cradle of his hips, providing a maddening, slow friction against his cock. Unbidden, his hips twitch forward, chasing the heat. It earns a delicate, but no less devious smile from you, and the hand at his hip slides forward, to the front of his soaked shirt, then inches downward. “Look at you – already hard again. I’d expected more resistance after having a gun pointed at me, Talis, but you’re just terribly weak, aren’t you?”

He may be weak – especially for you – but he won’t fall for your tricks again.

If you reach your destination, he’s a goner. And he can’t have that.

“Don’t. Touch me.” His fingers are around your wrist in an instant, wrenching your hand away although he wants nothing more than to feel it trail into his pants, stroke him off better than he ever could, have him come undone until it hurts; he’s still got a semblance of mental clarity, and he’s hanging onto it for dear life. He can’t let you do that again. Not if he wants to do his job, not if he wants this (albeit pleasurable) torment to come to its end.

It’s only while you open your mouth to answer that he realizes he’s still got your wrist in his hand, and that he could twist it behind your back with ease.

And it’s only once he does so, then steps forward to gain the necessary momentum to incapacitate you, that his already painful ankle gives below him, and he takes a second nosedive into the river water.

For fuck’s fucking sake.

Jayce barely manages to brace his fall against the riverbed with both hands, coming up a spluttering, dripping, defeated mess. 

Strangely enough, your hands find his shoulders, and he takes the help you offer without so much as a second thought. Your grip slides under his elbow on one side, the other his waist, steadying him on his way up, soaked all over again, awkwardly hovering his hurt foot off the ground like a terribly ungraceful version of a flamingo.

Embarrassing.

You’re letting an amused chuckle slip, but are kind enough to not make any other observations. 

“Easy there, Talis. You alright? Twisted your ankle?”

No, absolutely nothing is alright. Ankle aside, you’ve taken his already shattered pride and pretty much turned it into fine powder. 

“Yeah.”

Jayce Talis. Piltover’s defender. Soaked fucking wet. Can’t stand on two legs anymore. Holding onto a criminal for dear life.

He’s not turning anyone in like this, much less you. Not when his entire calf and foot pulse at the slightest pressure, and anything more than a half-step makes him want to tear his lungs out in a scream.

“Nice try though,” you console, patting at his soaked shoulder. Asshole. “Let’s get you to shore, hm?”

“I can do that by myself just fine,” he grits out.

“You sure?”

What do you care? You’ve just caused all of this!

“Yes,” he hisses, not so much because he’s sure, but because he can’t stand the idea of taking any more of the help you’re offering.

So you let go, turn around, and drag yourself back up the precipice with little effort. Not that he would’ve minded if you took a little longer. You’re not… you’re not a bad sight at all. Even less so with your muscles at work, with your ass on display. He wants to trace the curves of your frame, wants to… god, he wants to lick the droplets pearling down your shoulder blades. Wants to follow their trail, lower, wants to tuck his chin between your legs and beg you to let him have a taste again, please, just once, or at least just smell you.

Fuck.

Atop the ground, you turn to look at him, expecting. So he limps his way to the precipice, steeling himself mentally.

It seems bigger now that he only has one leg to rely on — daunting. 

Goddammit.

If there’s anything smaller than fine powder, he’s just discovered it.

“Actually,” Jayce forces out, voice meek and going meeker still as you turn around and smile, “I could use a hand.”

It’s within his reach before he can get to lament the fact that he’s asking a criminal for help.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you snort, planting your feet into the soil. Your nickname sounds far from being a compliment, and more like a taunt. “Let’s get you outta there.”

—

“As much as I appreciate the lovely sight, you oughta put some clothes on, sweetheart. Gets real cold around these parts after sunset.”

Scoffing, Jayce looks away, then scoots a little closer to the fire you’d so kindly lit while he’d taken off his clothes and hung them up to dry. It’s still beyond him why you did that, when you could’ve easily just hopped onto your stallion and galloped off into the sunset, with another successful getaway under your belt. Sticking around, helping him – surely, you realize it’s a risk. Or has he lost his edge that much?

It’s beyond him how you’d wielded your nakedness much like a weapon, and why now that the roles have switched and he’s wearing his birthday suit while you’ve slipped on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, he feels at a disadvantage. It’s frustrating. 

You always come out on top, regardless of your odds.

“I’m not naked for you, sweetheart,” he hisses, sulks in on himself. Just to conserve some heat, mind you, not because you make him feel small with just a sideways glance and a smirk. “If it weren’t for my ankle, you’d be tied up and on the back of my horse already.”

“Right,” you grin.

When you cock a brow, skeptical, he sighs, then gives in. “If you have to know, I’m all out of clean clothes.”

You shrug. “Put them on anyway. Trust me, I won’t be put off by the chocolate stain on your other white shirt.”

“Trust me, this isn’t about putting you off.”

The words come out sharp and mean, and he fully expects you to say something fitting in return. Maybe even pack up and leave. It’s not like he could stop you. He’s not even sure if he can make the ride to Piltover tomorrow, not unless the swelling in his ankle goes down a miraculous amount. 

It’s fine. He’s still got enough supplies in his saddlebags. He can wait out the healing of both his ankle and his pride in solitude, then return to Piltover and, for the first time in his life, admit to having failed.

God. He’s failed. 

He’s failed, he’s cold, he’s hungry, he’s all out of clothes, he can’t even set up his tent for tonight in this state, and— and you’re still right here. You could’ve left, could’ve spared what little there’s left of his finely crushed pride, but no, you’ve decided to get both his and your horse, and set up camp here for tonight. 

To torment him, he’s sure. 

He just wants to be alone right now. Is that too much to ask?!

“Here. ‘S my only one.”

Fleece drapes atop his left shoulder, then his right, scratchy but thick nonetheless. You pull it around his shoulders tight, until both sides meet in front of his chest.

A blanket.

Surprisingly, you don’t take the opportunity to touch his exposed skin. Not more than necessary, your intentions aren’t predatory in the slightest as your hands run up and down his now fleece covered arms in an attempt to generate warmth.

A thank you scratches behind his teeth, but he decides against it. After all you’ve done to him, a scratchy fleece blanket won’t cut it. 

“‘S not a chocolate stain. It, uh— manure,” he blurts instead. He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this.  “My only other clothes are covered in manure.”

He appreciates that you try your very best not to laugh. It takes you a few seconds of hesitation, enough to get up and walk to your horse in the meantime, before you finally dare ask.

“Dare I even ask why?”

“No.”

He’s not about to say he hadn’t been looking and tripped into one while chasing down a Zaunite with a packet of Ferros cocaine gum in their hands. 

“Street brawl gone awry,” he replies, because he feels like he owes you this, at least. He owes it to himself, however, to spare what little he has of his dignity, so he adds: “I won though.”

“Mm,” your hum sounds complacent, satisfied. “I hear Zaun’s been unusually rowdy lately. Wonder why.”

Like you aren’t the very cause of it.

Asshole.

“I know it was you,” Jayce shoots back. “You robbed a Ferros pharmacy. And stole all the cocaine products to cause a distraction down here.”

You watch him for a moment, entranced, before your eyes widen and light up brighter than the sparks of the crackling campfire. The grin you crack is delighted.

“You figure all that out by yourself?”

He nods, scoffs, and pulls the blanket back up around his shoulders. It’s nowhere near big enough to cover the entire expanse of his back, but it’s certainly better than being naked. “The Sheriff’s lawmen haven’t even considered it might be you.”

Your head tilts. “And how did you?”

Jayce shrugs. He’s not about to tell you he spent an embarrassing amount of time mulling it over, thinking that it all seemed exactly like your brand of trouble. It’s much easier to write it off as a lucky hunch. “‘Twas a… guess.”

“I think,” you say, “that you should give yourself more credit for your smarts.”

It’s absurd that the compliment gets to him. 

He’s been called strong, useful, he knows he’s a threatening array of qualities made for catching people like you.

But it’s rare to hear a kind word about anything that lies below his strength.

Still not enough to warrant a thank you, though.

“If you’re hungry,” you change the subject, turning to search for something in your horse’s saddlebags, “you might have to wait a little while longer. This spot don’t seem like a good one for fishing, but I’ll have a go.”

Oh, for god’s sake. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this.

“There’s uh…” Jayce clears his throat, pulls the blanket tighter around himself to keep another wave of goosebumps from forming. “There’s two cans of soup on Topacio. Left saddlebag.”

“Topacio?” You ask.

“My horse.”

Your laugh rings out clear and pretty over the crickets. “Oh, no, I figured. I just…” you pause for a moment to coo something soothing to his horse, before you clasp the leather straps open. “I never heard that name before.”

It’s embarrassing to think that he’s so eager to explain the meaning behind his horse’s name, when he knows damn well you wouldn’t care. Nobody does, he knows, because he’s had people ask about things he cares about deeply just to make conversation, and found himself ranting for ten minutes straight. He knows, because he has a talent of picking up on the disinterested glances only when it’s far too late.

So he says nothing. Because he’s probably said too much already — and even if he hadn’t, he will.

You return with the two cans, place them both in front of him, then plop down next to him with an exhausted sigh.

“One’s for you,” Jayce says, rolling it your way. “For… the uh, blanket.”

You take it without fanfare, but with a thankful smile no less, and crack it open easily.

It’s surprisingly refreshing to eat around someone who has no notion of etiquette whatsoever. Sure, him and Caitlyn don’t abide by it when they go on their little camping trips, and he sure as hell doesn’t abide by etiquette when he’s eating by himself, but something about seeing you chug the soup with a complete lack of inhibition, unlike any Piltovan ever could is… entertaining. In a refreshing way.

He slurps away at his soup in silence, watches as the flames start to die and you make quick work of feeding more dry branches into it, wordless.

The quiet is far from threatening. 

With how high and hot passion had run between the two of you that night, he hadn’t expected to find lull anywhere near you. Even less so at your side.

It’s… nice. 

No, he shouldn’t— it’s not— he’s not enjoying the company of an outlaw. It’s just an observation.

“Y’know, Jayce,” you speak up from across the campfire, a smug little grin flashing white, “the light in the saloon never did your eyes justice.”

His heart shoots up into his throat, and Jayce actually has to suppress a breathy, subtle little gasp.

You don’t miss it.

He knows you don’t, because you chuckle, victorious and ravenous all at once, and his skin glows hot, from the tips of his ears to his chest.

That’s one way to combat the evening chill. He’d rather not think about any others right now, lest he gets hard under the blanket you’ve lent him.

“Save your cheap compliments for an idiot that’ll actually believe them.”

“I meant it,” you counter, meeting his gaze with lidded, but no less focused eyes that soften the exact same way they had when you were dripping, standing behind the barrel of his gun. “I remember when you first looked at me, all wide-eyed and eager, thinkin’ they looked much like a doe’s.”

His heart soars, to the point where he can hear blood rushing somewhere behind his eardrums.

Like a doe’s.

You’d have no way of knowing the significance that word carries. It’s not just about the characteristic fawn-tremble softness that permeates him and bleeds into everything he does, says, thinks. It’s that his mother used to cup his face and kiss his forehead and endearingly call him cervatillo when she wiped the tears from his eyes. Back when he was still allowed to be weak, when he still was weak, all bruised up and gangly legs and thin arms and ruffled hair and awkward, toothless smiles.

Back when the achy tenderness of his nature was considered a feeble thing time would solve, not something he had to remind himself to bury. It’s both terrifying and soothing that you spot it with such ease. Terrifying because he knows you will use it however you deem fit to suit you, soothing because you understand it, and you handle it — handle him — in ways he's long given up on hoping for.

No-one’s ever said anything about his eyes since his mother. And absolutely no one's compared them to an animal’s so delicate. No room for tenderness when there needed to be strength, duty, ruthlessness.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been aching to hear something like this. Your compliment brings with it an aftertaste so bittersweet he can’t help but savor it, in spite of how his throat goes uncomfortably tight.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Jayce blinks, swallows the knot in his throat he hadn’t even realized formed. “What?”

“You’re tearing up.” You’re not mocking him, you’re not even stating a fact, you just say it like you care. Like it matters to you that something hurts, like you want to make it better, like he’s important. “What’s the matter?”

Why do you have to make this so difficult?

“Nothing. ‘S the smoke,” he lies, “I’m just… sitting too close to the fire. And I’m tired. I should— I should set up my tent. And sleep.” 

Relying on just one leg to get up is no easy feat. He manages, he always does, but by the time he’s standing, swaying ever so subtly from putting most of his weight on one foot, he starts reconsidering sleeping under the stars.

“With that ankle, you ain’t setting up anything,” you joke, ever-observant. “Want me to help?”

“No.”

“Wanna share my tent? I could keep you nice ‘n warm.”

God, that’s tempting.

“Absolutely not.”

You shrug, the soft hurt behind your nonchalance hits his chest with an annoying, painful twang. Why does he care?

Why does he care?

And why does he want to say yes so desperately?

“Alright,” you say. The way you lean back on your elbow and stretch out your legs is a practiced emulation of detachment. “Offer still stands, though.”

In your dreams.

–

“Oh, come on.”

The first few raindrops hitting the back of his neck feel much like the punchline of a very bad joke.

A very bad and awfully cruel joke.

As he’s kneeling beside the scattered components of what should’ve been his tent in less than ten minutes' time, Jayce realizes that today’s torment is far from coming to an end.

There’s no way he’ll be able to set this damn thing up while limping, naked save for the blanket loosely wrapped around his shoulders, shivering so hard he can feel his own teeth clattering, and while it’s raining. 

Great. Now what?

“Talis.” The flap to your tent opens audibly, and you poke your head out with a sigh. “Swallow what’s left of your pride and get in here.”

Finely crushed pride should be easy to swallow. Turns out it isn’t. It sticks to the roof of his mouth like a handful of flour.

“I-I’ve got this,” he replies, “just a few more minutes and I’ll–”

“I wasn’t askin’.” For a criminal, your threatening voice sounds much more like scolding, rather than intimidating. “Now c’mon.”

He’d like to turn you down. You’ve already had the upper hand in far too many instances today, and he’d hate to grant you another, but what choice does he have?

So he awkwardly shuffles away from what should’ve been his tent, makes his way over to yours, where you await with a victorious little smile. You even generously offer your hand for support, which he ends up taking as he maneuvers through the tight space, and finally settles on the ground.

“Jesus, you’re cold,” you mutter, staring at where his hand rests in yours, huffing out a frustrated breath.

What do you care? Why do you care? What does his comfort matter, when you’ve left him tied to a bed for hours a little over ten days ago?

“‘S fine,” Jayce grits out, yanks his hand from your hold. Hastily, he tugs the blanket off his shoulders, and drapes it across his torso instead. “I’m fine. Let’s not pretend this is more than an unfortunate circumstance, yeah? Because what happened the last time we shared a bed isn’t happening again. Not after what you did to me.”

Part of him regrets flopping down on his side, facing away from you. He can’t make sense of your sigh, can’t tell if it’s angry or disappointed. 

“What I’ve done to you? You were going to turn me in,” you reply. “I was lookin’ out for myself. A lifetime in captivity is, by far, worse than spendin’ one night tied to a bed, sweetheart. Get over yourself.”

Jayce turns to look at you over his shoulder. Get over himself?! After how you’ve abused of his trust, after you robbed him blind, after, after–!

“You humiliated me.”

Your grin is venomous. “You seemed to quite enjoy it at the time.”

Asshole.

Bastard.

The— the goddamn audacity! 

“That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Jayce is sitting up before he’s realized it, dead set on not spending another second in your proximity. He doesn’t care what he has to do; put on manure covered clothes, limp through rain, hell, he’ll even crawl if he must, he doesn’t care, he’s not–

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m sorry.” Your hand wraps tight around the wrist he’s propped against the ground, and your thumb rubs a soothing circle into his pulse point. 

An apology? That’s… new.

A step forward, or just a new trick you’ll be using to win the upper hand once more?

Your gaze darts from his hand to his face in a frenzy, settles into a worried frown once he finally sits back down.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you repeat it like the first time you said it didn’t hit him like a wall of bricks, “‘Twas just a joke, I didn’t mean– Just… stay.”

Stay? That’s a ridiculously high demand after you robbed him and left, with his heart, money and dignity. He hates that it should be outrageous, that he should be outraged, but that he rather finds himself growing warm and soft and pliant instead.

“Why?”

God, he’s weak.

Your smile is devoid of all its familiar coyness, shines with something new and tender and unsettlingly genuine. “I wanna make it up to you. Y’know, for your sprained ankle n’ all.”

Oh.

Of course it’s about you feeling less bad about the damage you’d done. It’s never about him, is it?

His shattered pride is by far a more pressing issue than his ankle, but, fine. Fine. He’ll let you have this. Just because he’s so terribly generous. Not… because his chest warms at the fact that you might be worried about making it up to him. This isn’t about him. He needs to get that through his head.

His frame slackens, and so does your grip around his wrist, lingering up his arm as he settles back down. Still facing away. He’s not going to give you the satisfaction of seeing his pout when you let go of his arm, and move away to a respectful distance. As much as the tent allows.

It stays at that. Laying next to each-other a distance far enough to not allow more than the occasional graze, but close enough to hear your breath, close enough to hear how it slows.

Nature isn’t usually this quiet. Certainly not quiet enough to hear even his own breath, much less someone else’s. There’s nothing to distract him from the truth, from how his stomach turns and lungs swell with an urgent, subtle warmth and yearning and want. Almost everything he’d wanted to have the night you’d left him in that saloon is right behind him, yet terribly out of reach. 

Your warmth, your breath, your skin, waiting and giving and warm and your sheltering arms, wrapped around him tight, tight enough to make him forget about what awaits and what’s expected of him outside of them. What he wouldn’t give for that.

What he wouldn’t give up for that.

At just the thought of arms wrapped around him, of a chest pressed up against his back, of– of you, breathing at his neck, instead of at the other side of the tent, his body gives an involuntary shiver, potent enough that it’s audible in his exhale.

“Still cold?” 

Dammit.

“No, just, uh,” unable to come up with an eloquent lie, Jayce sighs, shakes his head. “‘S nothing. Sleep.”

“I could hold you, you know.” You clear your throat after you say it, suddenly uneasy with the prospect of it. Or perhaps shy? You’ve never really been that, and you’ve done much worse than just hug. He doubts this is enough to work you up into anxiety.  “To share some body heat.”

It’s a punch to the gut.

You say it like it’s easy, like one night spent together isn’t the root cause of all your problems, like holding him isn’t going to lead to more of them.

He should know better. He does know better.

He doesn’t need to get his hopes up just to have them broken all over again – one time was enough, thank you very much.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he snarks. 

It’s unintentionally cutting.

“That’s alright sweetheart, no pressure.”

You don’t deserve to be talked to like that. Well— you do, because you’ve left him and humiliated him that night, but… it’s still not fair. You’ve given him your blanket, let him share your tent, and stayed for his sake. You’ve tried to make up for how you’d left him that night, and even though it still hurts to think about it, he can understand why. Behind all that buttery smoothness and salacious want, you had to be cautious.

And, besides, some warmth doesn’t sound half bad.

It doesn’t have to lead to sex. Right? It— it can just be exactly what you’d suggested, a sharing of body heat, and maybe a taste of the tenderness he’d craved so desperately after you’d left.

He wants that.

And there’s nothing wrong with just that, is there? It’s functional, it’s in his best interest to snatch up some warmth.

“Alright. Fine,” Jayce blurts. The pause he’s faced with after he’s spit out the words makes the heat in his stomach turn to anxious lead, weighing down in his gut as he awaits your response.

You snort out a laugh, confused. “What?”

“I meant that it’s fine for you to uh… share some body heat. You can— you can hold me.”

You hum, and when he turns to steal a glance at you over his shoulder, you’re fixating him with a wicked smile. 

“I know I can, sweetheart, but do you want me to?”

Of course. Of course you would pull this, why did he think you’d make this easy? He’d deluded himself into thinking you actually wanted to help, when you so clearly just wanted to find a new way to torment him. 

Why does he always do this? Always takes the bait, always—

The purpose of warming him up seems terribly distant when he damn near freezes at your arm snaking between the groove of his waist and the ground, while the other reaches to take his hand in yours, and oh, your chest seams to his back, warm and soft and your heartbeat is right there, a soft little thudding between his shoulder blades, nowhere near wild enough to match his raging one.

“Relax, I was jokin’.” He can feel your chest rumble with a little laugh. “How’s this, hm?”

The proximity between your lips and his ear makes him shiver in earnest now, entire body flooding with goosebumps that have very little to do with the cold.

It is working, if the heat zinging down his spine and gathering in his stomach and chest is anything to go by. And the slowly building pressure in his cock, scorching and gradually swelling into pleasant, pulsing hardness.

He doesn’t know what this makes him. A hypocrite, probably, for promising himself he would not want anything more while his body and subconscious are begging for it. Or an idiot, for thinking he'd be able to turn down whatever you offered, when he’s hanging onto every word, every inhale-exhale, every back and forth brush of your fingers.

Most of all, though, he’s scared. Scared to want more, scared that he does want more, and scared of what’ll happen if he ends up finding exactly that.

“Yeah,” Jayce croaks out. He has to squeeze his eyes shut to muster up enough brainpower for a second, marginally more eloquent response. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

Jayce doesn’t answer.

He can’t answer, because he knows for a fact he won’t get out anything more than a shaky rendition of an affirmative word, or, worst case scenario, will wheeze out a soft, hushed whimper.

The hand that holds his starts rubbing at his palm, before it urges it into a lax fist, which you lift up to his shoulder, just enough to tuck your chin atop his collarbone and blow out a warm gust of air against it. The hand you’d wrapped around his waist is used as leverage to press the cradle of your hips up against his ass, steady but certain in how you smother him with your heat in spite of the fact that his frame is considerably bigger and wider than yours. 

The texture of your jeans is rough against his bare ass, your breath tickles that one blissful spot right behind his ear, your hand, splayed atop his tummy, scratches gently at the first few hairs of his happy trail, and he doesn’t know what this is, doesn’t know what you want it to be, doesn’t even know how he should–

“Breathe, you’re stiff as a board.”

You don’t mean— no, of course you don’t, there’s no way you could know, because you’re not… You’re still touching his stomach. Right. And he’s clenching it.

“Sorry.”

With a fortifying breath in, and an exhale so thorough it makes his lungs ache, he finally goes as lax as he can in your hold. It’s a fabricated, forced kind of relaxation, but it seems to satisfy you regardless. Your smile is palpable at the back of his neck.

Your fingertips twirl the thick curls between his hips, and your lips — still split into a smile — press a fleeting kiss to his nape. 

“There you go.”

That… is not helping.

At your saccharine praise, his hips give a twitch forward, the tip of his half-hard cock nudging the scratchy fleece just enough to have a soft moan catching in his throat. It’s hardly even contact, but it’s more than enough when he’s been throbbing, untouched, for torturous minutes. You notice. Of course you do.

“Oh?” you purr at the back of his neck, more of a delighted remark rather than a question. “What’s that, Talis?”

He doesn’t know why, out of all the things already rubbed up against him, particularly hearing his last name rubs him the wrong way – but it does. Has his stomach flipping with a new, heavy kind of heat, borne of both frustration and desperate need. He hangs onto the anger to navigate his foggy, pleasure-wired thoughts and come up with something to deflect from the obvious.

Not that it works.

“Stop calling me that.”

You steady him with the hand at his tummy, reel him back in, back against you, before your palm, callused, flattens and presses its heel into the skin below his navel.

“What would you prefer?” You ask, sweet enough that even Jayce — usually terrible at picking up on social cues — can tell it’s fake. You inch closer, pressed up so tight your heat permeates him down to his spine, before you whisper, taunting, “Pretty boy? Sweetheart?”

Jayce’s hand finds yours in an instant, wraps loosely around your wrist, realizing, to his utter terror, that the tension making his chest feel unbearably tight is not between him and you, but within himself.

You’re going to give him everything he’s been aching for, and he’s not sure he wants it.

That won’t matter, though, because he clearly doesn’t have much of a say in this, does he?  He can tell by how greedily your hand still inches further and further down, can feel it in how you grip his chest in the other, can feel it in how indulgently you squeeze, until your nails indent his pectoral and your fingertips brush the curls at the base of his heavy cock.

You’re going to take what you want. It all comes down to whether he’ll let you or not. 

Because you’re out to sate your hunger. This isn’t about him, never was about him. All of it — your choosing to stay, to talk to him, to look out for him — is faux kindness; hadn’t been anything more. He’d just deluded himself into believing otherwise, believing you, because he aches for it. Aches to be held not so that his body can be of use, aches to be held because he matters, because you care — but you don’t.

You take his cock in your hand and hum with delight at how he throbs, desperate and rhythmic like his heartbeat. His stomach drops, leaden with the realization that he’s nothing more than meat between your molars, but his body accepts it regardless, because it will suffice, it has to. Unwilling, unbidden, he thrusts into your fist, whimpers at the chafing grip of your hand on his buzzing nerves.

“You seemed to quite like being called a whore the other night as well, didn’t you, Talis?” Your voice muffles at the back of his neck, sinks into his brain like warm lightning, paralyzes thoughts, enables muscles. His spine bows for you, willing, as you stroke his foreskin back with the meat of your palm and press your thumb to his weeping slit. Your index rubs at the underside of him, nearly abrades in its certainty to hit the exact spot where his nerves burn at the slightest touch. 

The bow of his spine is undone promptly, in favor of curling in on himself from the pleasure-pain, sensitive spot rubbed raw with the white slick testament of his own body’s disobedience, his desperation. “Oh, darlin’, look at you, you’re leaking. All for me.”

“Please—“

He’s not even sure what he’s begging for. Less? More? 

“Shh, I know,” you soothe, although you don’t have the slightest fucking idea. 

How could you? If you knew how he burns for tenderness, if you had any idea that the noxious, synthetic affection you pour into every touch is toxic, you’d stop. But you don’t know, or you don’t care, you’re only rubbing him raw into an orgasm that feels taken, rather than given.

You’re using him. 

Jayce has half the mind to startle when you nudge his jaw, your sweaty cheek against his, your hand unrelenting in its pace and rhythm, wringing his nerves dry of all pleasure. Your tongue licks at the corner of his mouth, surprisingly tender, a taste of what he longs for. You’re husky when you say it, almost like you ache for it, too, slick at the edge of his lips. This is about as close as he’s ever seen you get to begging.

“Kiss me, sweetheart.”

So he does. Always rushing to please, to do as demanded not because he stops to consider the implications of it, but out of sheer habit. 

He pays the price for acting on muscle memory.

The first brush of your lips paralyzes. Has him going lax in your arms, feeling much like a rabbit in a spearhead’s deadly embrace – pliant and soft. Having no choice but to soak the sugary-bitter poison you so greedily feed into his mouth with the push of your tongue, even if it’s making him ache.

It’s laughable that he can’t even understand why something so warm and devouring makes him hurt, until there’s a zing of phantom pain in his wrists and a less phantomatic one in his chest – and he realizes that you’d kissed him like this before you’d left. Kissed him raw and genuine and then left him, tied to that bed, hurting and confused and alone and used.

And you’re going to do it again. Because that’s all you do, isn’t it? Take, and take and take.

He can’t let you keep getting away with it.

“S-stop,” he stutters out, fist going tight around your wrist, although you halt before he can force you into it regardless.

The lack of contact feels just as wrong as its presence had. 

“You alright?”

No. Nothing’s alright. From the painful, needy throb of his cock, to how his stomach and chest and throat go concave and tight and heavy and you don’t care; because if you did, you wouldn’t be doing this, you wouldn’t—

“Hey, Jayce—“ The hand at his lower stomach brushes up, presses to the space between his chest and stomach, right between his ribs, almost like you know that’s where it hurts the most. But you don’t, you couldn’t.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses, for a second time tonight, although this time he sounds considerably less angry and more like he’s rupturing at the seams. Feeling like a startled animal, he scrambles to face you, and puts some much needed distance between you. 

You’re confused. That’s the first thing he notices — head tilted, brows furrowed, eyes wide — you’re staring at him like he’s a problem you can’t quite figure out, but you’re not— you don’t seem angry. You look him up and down, eyes lingering on his fists, clutched tight to the point of bony whiteness. If they weren’t, they’d be shaking. 

You reach out to settle one hand atop his knuckles, but you don’t force more contact than just the near-hovering brush.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

What’s wrong?! You’re acting like you care, touching him like you don’t, and he wants— he doesn’t fucking know what he wants, doesn’t know he should want because he doesn’t know what you want, he just knows he doesn’t want this.

Putting all of this into words is a distant dream. Jayce settles for silence, the heavy and alarming kind that has you shifting closer, reaching out.

Instinctively, he flinches away, hand shooting away from yours, down to… his hip? His gun. Where his gun would be. Should be.

At his reaction, you stop, retrace the distance you’d tried to close moments ago. 

That helps. Somewhat. It shifts the stifling weight from his stomach to his chest, anxiety to guilt.

“Jayce?”

Your tone pitches up high at the end of his name, and if he didn’t know you to be such a ruthless criminal, he might’ve classed your tone as guilty. But someone like you isn’t capable of that sort of thing. It’s something you’ve long had to discard to make it where you are right now. 

It’s not fair that you still pretend you feel even a semblance of it. It’s not fair of you to use him, leave him, belittle him, try to use him again, kiss him like nothing happened, and then say his name like you’re genuinely worried.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be thrown around and picked back up whenever you so desire to have your fun with him, he doesn’t deserve to be talked to like he matters just to be coaxed into submission and give you what you want.

“Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

Everything’s wrong. You’re pushing every right button to weasel yourself back under his skin, because that’s what you do, don’t you? You have him figured out, you’ve had him figured out since the moment he shivered at the first word you addressed to him, and now you are going to abuse of that knowledge, because that’s all you know how to do.

Because you’re a criminal.

Because you don’t bother with the intricacies of emotions or even just the simplicity of giving a fucking shit.

“You don’t get to do that,” he says, can’t bring himself to meet your gaze even though he’s fuming. “You don’t get to treat me like this and then, and then just—!”

“What?” You ask, head tilting. “Treat you how?”

There is no malice behind your inquiry, at least not as far as his gut tells him. He’s not inclined to believe it – his instinct has failed him one too many times when it comes to you. Regardless, it just doesn’t make sense. He’s just had the most embarrassing outburst since the day he’s passed puberty, and you’re trying to understand, rather than kick him out of your tent?

Why won’t you just make him leave? It’d be a panacea to all of this, it’d make everything so much less complicated, much easier, but you won’t. Why?

“Jayce,” you say again, not any less gentle than the first time. Why? “Talk to me.”

Maybe talking to you and helping you realize he’s got all your cheap, predatory tactics figured out is enough to finally put a pitiful end to this. You want him to talk? He’ll talk.

He now understands how cats feel when they hack up a ball of fur. The sadness and loathing build in his throat, threaten to form a know that’ll go straight to his already watery eyes and do him in. But the words can be hacked up, and his tongue can be unstuck from the roof of his mouth, and then the truth comes easily. 

“You used me,” he finally spits out. Jayce’s voice goes strangled and quiet on the second word, and he realizes it’s — above all else — shame that weighs it down. “And you left. And— and now you’re pretending none of it happened, pretending you care, and I— I was stupid enough to buy it once, but trust me, I’m not—“

“You didn’t want this?”

You swallow thickly, the hand you’d touched him with shooting up to your chest, prodding at your own collarbone, almost curling in on yourself. Almost.

He doubts that someone like you is even capable of genuine displays of guilt, after all you’ve done, guilt does not seem like something you could afford, but this — watching him like the thought of having touched him against his wishes makes you hurt — this comes quite close.

And it’s absurd, overwhelming and flattering in a way that leaves his mouth feeling sticky and dry that out of all the heinous things you’ve committed, it’s him you’ve deemed worthy of your contrition. 

Jayce is going to throw up.

“You asked me to hold you, sweetheart, I assumed you—“ your sentence falters to a halt once the word is out, and there is regret and understanding and revelation all across your face and maybe — just maybe — you do care. Do you? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Jayce has to look up to the tent’s ceiling, swallow back a sticky-suffocating mixture of vomit and tears. 

He can stomach skinning animals, can stomach the feel of teeth cracking under the pound of his fist, can stomach the guts pouring out of a gash he slashes across a criminal’s abdomen but this is where his body draws the line? At a goddamn apology?

“You should’ve told me, sweetheart, I would’ve stopped–”

“So stop now.”

“What?”

“Stop acting like you care about what I want, because we both know that’s a lie, stop pretending whatever’s between us isn’t wrong and stop— Just stop.”

You briefly watch him in silence, caught off-guard by the outburst. He can’t exactly blame you for that — he’s just as surprised.

He’s not— he’s not like this. He’s level-headed, he’s smart, he’s resourceful, can (usually) hold his own. But you bring out the worst in him, in all ways. Make him terrified and brainless and lusty and unfocused and pliant and needy.

“Alright,” you say, and it sounds less like a verdict, and more like an agreement. “What do I… would you prefer if I left you alone in here?”

He’s never wanted to answer yes and no to a question so much. Much to both his dismay and relief, there is no choice to be made. There never is — not when it comes to him.

This isn’t a matter of preference. Of course it isn’t— nothing in his life ever was. It’s all circumstance; sometimes he has to wonder if he even has a hand in anything at all, when his entire life feels like an unrelenting river current he fell into. Becoming a bounty hunter, a protector, leaving home, abandoning his wants to become who he needed to be, there had been no choice in that. He’d done it all because circumstance demanded it, and now… well, now is pretty much the same thing, all over again. 

Jayce scoffs. “Where would you go? It’s raining. And this is your tent.”

You don’t have an answer, and neither does he. 

“Stay,” he decides, not because he wants you to, but because alternatives are scarce. “Just don’t—“

His voice sticks to the back of his throat, right behind his tongue.

Don’t what?

Don’t touch me even though I so desperately want you to? Don’t talk to me even though I cling onto your every word, no matter how sharp or soft? Don’t act against my wishes, even though I have no idea what they are? 

“No funny business,” you interrupt. “You have my word.”

Jayce has no idea how much an outlaw’s promise is worth. He’s about to find out.

And he does. You keep it with uncharacteristic determination, you don’t say another word, don’t touch him, don’t even move. If it weren’t for the muted sound of your breath, you might as well be gone. 

And it hits Jayce that he doesn’t want that.

Doesn’t want you gone even though he should, because it’s the right thing, the logical thing to want. Your leaving, regardless if it implied locking you up or you getting away, would solve half of his problems, if not more of them.

Except for his longing.

And, as it turns out, that takes priority.

Because Jayce is weak, he peeks at your form over his shoulder, and his five o’clock shadow scratches the fleece blanket as his head turns. Your eyes slide open at the sound, catching him red-handed.

And you smile again.

That’s the last thing he sees before he turns away again, and you stick to your goddamn promise, because you don’t speak or touch or laugh or do any of the things he really wishes you would do right now.

He’s hopeless.

You make a sound, a little cut-off consonant that dies before it even leaves your mouth properly, and Jayce turns to look at you again.

“What?”

“Was gonna say somethin’,” you tell him. “But I remembered I promised you otherwise.”

“I doubt that after all the robbing and crime, a promise is where you draw the line.”

You smile. “I gave you my word, T— Jayce.”

“Give me… the rest of them, too.” He sighs. Weak. “What were you going to say?”

“Well, I was gonna say, that… for what it’s worth,” you pause for a moment, still hesitant, “if I hadn’t figured out you were the Jayce Talis then, that night wouldn’t have ended the way it did.”

It’s a question he shouldn’t ask, and one he wouldn’t need to ask if he had half of Cait’s capacity to read people, but he needs to know.

“How… would it have ended, then?”

“I don’t tend to stick around until dawn.” You swallow audibly. “But I would have liked to, for you.”

And Jayce knows that’s a lie, the same way those nomadic merchants passing through Piltover set up shabby shop at the market and ask his name, then tell him it’s a good name, a strong name, fit for someone like him, that they like him and they’ll make him a special offer. It’s cheap, transparent manipulation, and still it works, because it makes his heart leap a fraction. But it’s a lie.

“Sure,” Jayce snarks, because he can’t really come up with anything better. “Stick around for what? Another quick fuck before you left for good?”

You hum like you’d been expecting his answer. “Not without asking you when you’d like to see me again.”

And that shuts him up for good. Weighs and sticks heavy and bitter and pungent on his tongue like tar because he doesn't want to believe it, but tastes sweet after he swallows, because he does believe it. You say it like it’s a simple, single truth, and he can’t help the way his entire being tingles with delight. 

You would have wanted more of him.

“You’ve got all night to come up with an answer,” you add, smug, before you shift to turn away from him, too. “Take your time.”

You’re not wrong.

He does.

— 

He doesn’t. He does have the whole night at his disposal, and your question has him warm and awake and alive even though he tries so desperately not to be. 

And now he doesn’t have all night at his disposal anymore because he wakes from what little sleep he’d fallen into, and judging by how his bones ache like they’re going to crumble, the rest had neither been of quality or quantity.

So much for sleeping on a decision.

Jayce tenses what feels like every single muscle in his body, then, without giving his size too much though, flops onto his back.

And it hits him only after he does so that he should’ve been very much crushing you under his weight, had you been there.

But you’re not.

The spot next to him is empty.

You’re gone.

Sticking around until dusk his fucking ass. What’d he even expect? A kiss on the forehead and breakfast in bed? How typical of him to get his hopes up so very high that they shatter, how naïve of him, how deluded—

He wouldn’t be surprised if you’d taken everything and just left him with your shabby excuse for a tent and his naked horse. What’d he even expect from a criminal?

You’ve fooled him again and he’s let you. And you’ve used him, of course you have, because you don’t know anything else aside from that, do you? 

And in spite of it all, Jayce, in all his wishful thinking, still wants to believe you’re there, sitting beside the dead campfire and waiting for him as he crawls out of your tent.

But you’re not.

Topacio — his horse — is still very much there, and so is his gear, and his still damp clothes, and his satchel. Once he slips into his sticky jeans and slightly less sticky shirt, Jayce reaches for the satchel, prepared for the worst.

But it’s still as full as it had been yesterday.

No, that’s wrong. It’s fuller.

Your bounty poster is folded, around— around something. As he unfolds it, a wad of cash slides out, and Jayce manages to catch it before it spills from the paper and hits the mud.

It’s the exact amount you’d stolen after the first night you’d spent with him, all there. All tucked into a folded piece of paper, which you’ve hastily scribbled onto: 

I don’t want to make your job any more difficult than it has to be, Jayce. As of the moment I am writing this, I promise you — and you have seen how much my word is worth last night — that I will not cause you any more trouble. Not in Piltover, at least. 

I will, however, be visiting next month. I do want my tent back. What we do in it after you return it will be up to you.

Jayce swallows thickly when he notices that there is, unfortunately, something written on the backside of this paper: big, bold letters and numbers are visible through the paper, and so is what seems to be a dried stain — oh. Oh, fuck. Of course you’ve found it.

This piece of paper is the bounty poster of you with the obvious smear of his semen across your face. Before Jayce gets to agonize about not ripping the poster into shreds or using it to fuel his campfire, another scribble catches his eye.

Right below where the paper curls with his dried cum, you’ve written in pencil:

I will be missing you just as fondly.

[grugruel]

Where is all the off-the-handle Jayce fics? Guys???

Point me in the right direction here . . . 😔

I NEED this man to ruin me like hextech ruined him.

Edit: I've finally finished the fic, you can find it here🙂‍↕️

[hermaeusmorax]

In Their Shadow

CHARACTERS: Viktor x reader x Jayce

SUMMARY: Viktor entertains a one-sided love with his two best friends, Jayce and you.

WARNINGS: angst with NO happy ending and NO comfort, I wanted to try something different!

A/N: fortunatelly the Arcane brainrot brought me back from my cave, be nice 'cause I'm rusty af in writing atm (as expected after 4 years!). I am also taking more Arcane requests yay! (rules for requests)

Viktor, Jayce and Y/N. The Three Musketeers. If you saw one of them around, no doubt the other two were somewhere nearby, inseparable as they are. What others looking from outside didn't see though, was Viktor's growing resentment towards his two best friends.

It didn't start like this, Viktor used to love them. Love, love them. He still does, but it's twisted now, love and anger so mixed together it's impossible to distinguish which is which. His affection began souring through disappointment at first, Viktor felt disappointed in Jayce for being distracted, their - yours - project suddenly wasn't Jayce's main concern anymore, you were.

When you weren't around Jayce would pester Viktor with daydreams and questions about you "Can you help me find out what's Y/N's type, man? You're way closer to Y/N than I am, please?". Jayce's eyes would shine and his cheeks flush, so enthralled in his own feelings he failed to notice Viktor's growing irritation.

Along the many years the three of you spent together working on Hextech, Viktor couldn't help but be in awe of his two companions. He fell in love with Jayce's passion and with your bright mind. Viktor wanted nothing more than to spend eternity alongside you, picking your brains. But as the two of you grew closer, specially after Jayce's reciprocated advances towards you, you both naturally drifted apart from him.

Viktor was forced to watch on the sidelines, drowning in the darkness of the long shadow your bright relationship cast over him. Left only to daydream about what it could've been like, had he had the courage to tell you or Jayce of his true feelings. Left only to reminisce about the early days of your shared research, when he indeed had the both of you to himself. As an attempt to anesthetize his festering wound, he threw himself at his work on the Hexcore.

Yet another day comes to an end, with Jayce leaving the laboratory with you glued to his arm, both dressed in fancy clothes for a dinner party you were supposed to attend, together, of course. You wave a gloved hand at Viktor, bidding him a gentle goodbye. It irritated him how oblivious you both could be to his true feelings, scientists of the damn year! As the door closed behind you, Viktor was left alone in the dark of the laboratory, so focused on his own misery that he missed when Sky knocked at the door. "Viktor? You still here?" she shyly called from the other side, smile faltering at the deafening silence that followed.

Sky knew he was still there, as it was an habit of his. The tinkering sounds and occasional curses that echoed through the door were just extra proof of his presence. Viktor was so preocuppied with the shadow your and Jayce's love had cast over him, he didn't notice he had cast one of his own. Such is life.

A/N: it physically hurt me to do him so dirty I'M SORRY! Promise to do lots of indulgent and Viktor-focused pieces too, I'm getting my writing groove back on ;).

[thedreamlessnights]

OMG #2 for the smut prompts with Jayce pretty please? 🥺❤️

SARAH!! THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT AAAA - possessive Jayce makes my brain melt. Sorry for any mistakes or weird formatting - I’m away from home and therefore my laptop 😭

“I’m not sharing you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and I’m going to make you remember that.”

Only Yours || Jayce x GN!Reader || NSFW ||

Warnings: Possessive Jayce. Fingering and unprotected, rough sex. Bruising, biting, and leaving marks. Jayce pinning your wrists to the wall with his hand. A good amount of praise, along with some mentions of drunkenness and brief sexual harassment, jealousy, and Jayce shoving someone.

Word Count: 2.1k

Jayce’s hand feels like fire on your back.

The flame doesn’t pain you, but it burns. Sears through the fabric of your outfit, radiates heat into you to contrast the bitter chill of the air. And all night long, he keeps it there, his gaze hardening just the slightest at the edges. The barest indication of what sits beneath, what’s fueling the scorching emotion that he’s trying his best to hide.

Jealousy.

People have been staring at you all night. Jayce knows this, because Jayce has eyes, and subtlety is lost on Piltover. Especially during the parties, when the aroma of a hundred people - drunk out of their minds - floods through the room like a hazardous gas. It makes it hard to breathe. Jayce does, too.

Because when the first stranger comes stumbling up to you to tell you how nice you look (though, in much less polite phrasing), there goes Jayce’s hand. Reaching around you, placing itself on the small of your back. Giving a polite smile and excusing the two of you, but he’s fuming.

Not at you, of course. But fuming, nonetheless.

He needn’t worry. Not when it’s him. Not when you love him the way you do. But Jayce is a world-class master of anxiety, and you can see it in the rigid smile that fades more and more. He’s worried that you might take one of them up on their offer; that you might be tempted by the forbidden fruit.

“Jayce,” you want to say, “can’t you see that they’re all rotten?”

Jayce, for as smart as he is, can’t ever seem to see what you see. He pictures a shiny skin for them, the enticing, sweet smell of the Piltovian apple. He pictures you taking a bite, and never returning.

You know that a single bite will show the truth - a crumbling, decaying thing, insides writhing with worms. This is how they all are, save few.

But Jayce is so much more. There is no force, rotten or ambrosial, that could ever tempt you away from him. One day, you’re determined to make him know that. For now, you rest your hand atop his, rubbing reassuring movements into his fingers.

I’m yours, you think. Always.

He can’t read your mind, but he softens a little at your touch. His shoulders go slack, tension bleeds from his jaw, and he manages to relax enough to give you a little smile.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks, okay?” he says.

His words are met with a short nod before he leaves. Watching him weave through the crowd gives you just the opportunity to admire his frame; the broadness of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the five o’clock shadow that’s already appeared - even though you know for a fact he’d shaved this morning.

All would be well, if not for the tall blond stumbling toward you. Reaching out to grip your shoulder, he pulls you near him with an almost-painful grip.

His breath, hot and rancid, smells of cigars and Noxian wine. Even when you recoil and fight the urge to gag, he’s too drunk to notice.

“Wannna… get out of herre?” he slurs, tugging at your hair.

You step away, but the stranger just slinks to the side and grabs you again.

“Come on babyy,” he snorts. “I know you want itt. Prac - prac’ly begging. For it. Want it so bad.”

Jayce knows what’s happening the moment he returns - carrying both of your drinks in one hand, eyes flicking between you and the stranger.

All too easily - as if he’s picking up a puppy by the scruff of its neck - he grips the man by his collar and yanks him back, shoving him to the side. The drinks only spill a drop, nearly invisible if you hadn’t been staring directly at his hands.

“Get the hell out of here before I have you put in Stillwater,” Jayce says.

The moment bleeds as if cut straight through. The air becomes thick. Seconds weep away as the man stands, nostrils flared, debating. His hands ball into fists and his cheeks ruddy with anger and too much drink.

Jayce’s grip tightens on the wine glasses, and his jaw clenches. You can’t decide if you want to see where this goes or not. There really wouldn’t even be a question of who would win. Bruised knuckles, a scrape for you to bandage up and kiss; was it worth it?

Before you can answer yourself, the stranger makes his decision and slinks away. Into the crowd he disappears, his hair blending with the crowd.

You watch him leave with a sort of smugness; you really shouldn’t be so excited at the thought of violence. Jayce will be the death of you.

He slackens when the man is out of sight, handing you your drink with slightly-shaking hands as if nothing had happened.

Despite the tight smile he gives you, he’s clearly still fuming under the surface - a boiler in disguise, waiting to blow. You down your glass in one swallow, then tug at his sleeve.

“Let’s get out of here.”

As you speak, another drunk stumbles up to you, cupping your face in his hands. Jayce, with much less composure than before, shoves him back.

The man only blinks at him.

“Whassa matterr?” he slurs. “We can sssharre.”

For a moment, you think Jayce might punch him, but he doesn’t. Calmly - too calm - he takes your empty glass from you, finishes his drink, and sets your glasses down.

“Let’s go,” he says.

His hand on your back is relentless now, practically steering you home. He’s never been this angry, not visibly so. It’s a combination of things - a bad day, not much sleep, raging jealousy.

You can’t wait to get home.

You should leave him alone. He’ll probably go for a run, try to sweat the anger out of him. Take a steaming hot shower and come out like everything’s fine.

But you don’t want him to. It never fully gets all of it out - the anger, the frustration. It only sends it simmering. You want him to boil until he overflows, for him to fuck it all out until nothing but satiation remains.

Jayce is not, by nature, angry. He’s gentle, patient, intelligent. Devastatingly kind. This, of course, doesn’t mean that he’s immune to anger. It only means he doesn’t know how to handle it. Everyone has a breaking point. Jayce is dangerously close to his.

Which is why, when you’re on the doorstep, you make a comment. Innocent-sounding, but it’s anything but.

“Didn’t want to share, huh?”

Shock hits his face first - freezes him as you step in front of him.

The moment you’re through the door, Jayce has you pinned against the wall. His breath is hot on your ear, and his body feels scalding pressed against you - warm arms, broad shoulders, and rough, callused hands that hold your waist.

“I’m not sharing you with anybody,” he breathes. “You’re mine, and mine only, and I’m going to make you remember that.”

“Show me,” you murmur. “I’m yours.”

He hesitates a moment - probably processing the fact that you like this, want this, even - before his hands go to your wrists.

Warm, rough hands that envelop yours completely. You’ve studied them so many times, imagining - well, this. They wrap around your carpals, firmly move your hands over your head, and keep them pinned there. One hand is all it takes - one of Jayce’s hands to pin both of yours to the wall.

He undresses you with the other.

Any patience of his is out the window - your clothes get ripped off of you and shoved to the floor, leaving you shivering in the cold air. Then he presses against you again, and warmth returns.

He’s hard already - aching, throbbing. From the labored way he’s breathing, he must be fighting off the urge to grind into you, too. You wish he’d give in, wish he wouldn’t deny himself.

But when he bites the back of your ear, you immediately change your mind. It’s a soft, hesitant nip that becomes emboldened and sharp when you whimper and lean back into him rather than away. It stings, but his mouth is soft and warm, and he presses a kiss to it before moving down to your neck.

Soon, your skin is jeweled with a chain of bruises that crown you from jaw to nape to the meat of your shoulder.

“Say you’re mine,” he says, grip tightening on your wrists, digging your hand into the wall as he rolls his hips into you. When he speaks again, his voice sounds strained. “That nobody else gets to touch you.”

“I’m yours,” you echo. “Only yours.”

For a moment, there is nothing but his breath - warm against the back of your neck, making you shiver. The vulnerability of the situation is crystal clear in everything from his hands on your wrists, to your bare body, while his clothes remain on.

And, to your surprise, he releases your wrists.

“Stay here,” he says.

You don’t move an inch. You become marble, pasted against the wall. His footsteps become your world - behind you, then into your bedroom. Nothing, for a minute or so. Then they return.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up in anticipation.

“That’s it,” he says, running a hand up your ribs. “Ready for me?”

You shiver under his touch, waiting, giving a nod. He sets something down on the table next to you - something light, because it barely clinks against the glass.

Then, he returns to his original position. Hand around your wrists, the other on your waist.

Your forehead tilts into the wall, your legs automatically spreading as Jayce knees them apart. Then you realize what he’d left for. It’s ice-cold, even on the warmth of his fingers - slowly working you open and ready for him. A soft noise escapes your throat, whimpering as his pace becomes relentless.

“Fuck,” he whispers, fingers pressing deeper into you. “So - so eager for me.”

Your body jerks, breath coming heavier as he finds the spot that drives you to slow insanity. His other hand tightens on your wrists, as if he wants to reach around and touch you - it’ll bruise, if he keeps it like that.

You want it to. You want to be covered by him. Every inch.

Like lightning, the current of him builds. His fingers are faster, harder in you, his words a soft mantra in your ear, his teeth a sharp pain on your neck.

“No one but you,” you manage. “Jayce, please-”

Your voice chokes off as you cum, shuddering. Your vision goes along with your hearing, and the world fuzzes into a dulled, shaking pleasure. Then it comes back.

He barely gives you a moment to recover before you hear his belt being undone. Then he hesitates again, leaning into your ear.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

“It’s not. Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand tightens against your wrists, bracing both of you against the wall as he fucks into you, his free hand squeezing into your hip.

“F-fuck,” he stutters out, letting out a soft, searching groan as he pushes in deeper. “Feel so - so fucking good for me.”

“Yours,” you manage to choke out, feeling like you might break in two. He fills and fills and fills you, the delicious friction of his thrusts sending you on edge again. It doesn’t take much with him - it never does. Not when it’s Jayce.

“Harder, Jayce,” you say. “Take - take me like I’m yours.”

Your words seem to break the final string in him. His hips snap into yours - shoving you into the wall, fucking you into it, his grip on your wrists and hands bruises, and all the while - he just praises you.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So fucking good for me.”

The most you can do is take it, let him fuck everything out of him. It’s not long before you’re cumming again - shuddering around his cock. His thrusts stutter at that before he continues, his breathing strained, pace quickening, his moans getting louder until he cums, too - letting out a gravelly, drawn-out noise from the back of his throat.

He thrusts one, two, three more times before finally groaning and melting into you. His hands let go of your wrists and hip to wrap around you, burying his face in the groove between your neck and shoulder where he lets out a muffled hmph against your skin.

“That good?” you tease, breathless.

He places a kiss on your neck, nuzzling against the skin before he answers.

“You know it was,” he says. “Fuck. I - uh, left a lot of marks. Sorry. Let me clean you up?”

You just lean into his touch. It’s answer enough - he gently leads you into the bathroom, and when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, there’s only one thing you can think:

No one will have any doubt about who you belong to anymore.

[smol-lydia]

So one of my lovely friends in the Viktor server who doesn’t have a tumblr *does* have a birthday today and I wanted to make a little post with some more Jewish!Viktor headcanons for them cause hey enjoy those as well as some 1920s AU Jayce ones as they love Jayce and we’ve talked a lot about this AU.

Happy birthday Ghoul 🎂💜

—-

⭐️Jewish Vik HC (the sequel)⭐️

— His whole family calls him Vitya. If they’re calling him Viktor, that’s how he knows he’s in Trouble with a capital T.

— the rabbi in the part of Zaun where Viktor’s people have settled is a yordle who, like most yordle a, is older than everyone else. He’s been there longer than anyone else can remember. The running joke is the he’s been around as long as the prophet Elijah. He’s simply known as the Rav.

— Viktor’s favorite savory food from back home is noodle kugel. His favorite sweet food is chocolate babka (with a glass of sweet milk)

— Viktor’s secret talent is that he can play folk songs that are popular in his part of Zaun on the fiddle. He learned this from a cousin when he was young and almost no one in Piltover knows this about him but if you get the man drunk enough and give him a fiddle you would be very surprised by what happens.

—Viktor’s parents have passed from the same lung disease (Lung Blight) he has, but he has many cousins. He claims not to have favorites but secretly his favorite cousin is Sonja, she is sixteen and looks up to him, wanting to be a scientist too. He hopes he can use some HexTech money to send her to the Academy so she can have a chance rather than how he got in.

—Viktor’s intense sense of justice and deep desire to help people is very much instilled by the values and culture of his people.

——

💋 1920s Jayce headcanons💋

— Jayce is a radio personality. With his voice and charisma, how could he not be? On the weekends, however, you’re likely to catch him playing with a jazz band at the local speakeasy

— Jayce makes a mean old-fashioned. Prohibition is something more like…a suggestion to him, as with most people who have bottles of liquor tucked away. He doesn’t deal in the shadier sides of bootlegging but he knows how to appreciate the finer things in life and wants you to, as well

— Ultimate gentleman. He will open doors for you, light your cigarette for you, carry your high heels for you at the end of the night. Has occasionally been known to carry you home if you’ve drunk too much.

— Though he himself is not the best at holding his liquor. He gets drunk quickly and easily so he’s learned to watch himself.

— He’s so generous with his lover. Golden retriever boyfriend. He wants to take you to the theatre, the movie palace, the ice cream parlor, every hidden gem the city has to offer. Only the best for you.

— He’s a bad driver. He has a beautiful car but uh, he’s not the best at driving it. He tries so hard though. 🥺

[crazycometspecular]

No cabe duda que es verdad que la costumbre

Es más fuerte que el amor

[thehistoriangirl]

Testing One’s Love Luck to Win You Over

I... uh, this was supposed to be shorter 😅, but I didn’t know how much I missed to write for the one and only Golden Boy sooo yeah [I promise to write more about you, Jayce, *mwah* <333]

Jayce x fem!Reader-----3.1K-------SFW

Synopsis: With adulthood came different responsibilities. For Jayce, it was enrolling at the Academy and becoming a revolutionary inventor; for you, it was securing your family’s position inside the high-end of Piltover’s more influential and powerful clans. However, Jayce isn’t willing to lose you without playing all his cards.

Tags: Childhood Sweethearts| Arranged Marriage (derogatory)| Light Angst (at the beginning), mostly Fluff (the rest)| Love Confession| Eloping| Happy Ending|

Jayce had always lived two houses away from you ever since you had a memory, so when he moved to the Academic District to one of the Kiramman's ateliers, you felt a strange hole being carved in your chest as you stood on your porch, watching the carriage marked with the keys from the Kiramman family crest riding up the hill.

He promised to visit, and he did. Jayce even invited you to his new atelier, showing you his current projects, and the magnificent view he had of the whole city from his balcony.

You tried to enter the Academy—following the example of the most intelligent person you'd ever met—but of course, you couldn't get in. Your whole life had been drafted for you before you could have a rebuttal in the matter.

Just like your older sister, you've been raised to conquer the spotlight in the soirées held by clans more powerful than your own, charming any potential suitor that could raise your family influence after a marriage deal.

While Jayce spent hours researching engineering and physics in the Academy’s library, you learned different techniques of dance, how to play the piano and to walk while keeping your chin up, without looking at the ground.

Even if you thought you were drifting apart, every time Jayce knocked at your door to invite you to a walk around the fanciest district in Piltover, conversation flew naturally, as if the time had retreated, and you were still the kids that played with marbles on the soft grass in the front yard of his home. You still laughed at Jayce's silly jokes, and he still found your laugh contagious enough to end up both cackling until your bellies hurt.

In those moments, you tried to deny it, but the reality was that no matter how hard you wished, your heart wouldn't stop beating as if it wanted to escape your ribcage.

Good thing that Jayce would only see you once in a while because otherwise, he would pick your lie about how your forehead always felt like it was on fire when he patted your head because you were sick.

You felt guilty when he showed up with ointment his mom recommended to you when having a cold.

But soon enough time run thin, and he graduated and started to spend more time enclosed in the atelier. Jayce wouldn't let you come in when you showed up unannounced, preferring to eat the food you had prepared outside.

Some weeks after it, your parent broke the long-expectedly, but no less frightening, of your engagement.

By that time, you had already identified the pressing sensation residing on your chest—the same you felt when you said goodbye to Jayce every time, but not quite as overwhelming as this time. The pressure, the hollow, was just as when he left for the Academy years ago.

You nodded at your mother, smiling softly as you asked when you were about to meet your future husband. Even if the most visceral part of you wanted to scream until your jaw hurt from opening your mouth too widely, to run away up the hill and slam your fists in Jayce’s atelier.

But what he could do? Not even you were allowed to command the ways your life should develop. Jayce couldn’t help you. Nobody could.

It was funny how time seemed to pass by quicker when your family gave you a date for the wedding; contrary to when Jayce could only come back for the holidays. You were looking at his house, lonely and sad now that his mother spent her time with friends, without her son around.

Each night occurred, and the wedding got closer and closer. Insomnia lets you wander through all your thoughts—even those that you shouldn't suppose to have. If only you were born into another family, would you be happier? Would you don't mind being surrounded by luxuries in exchange for freedom? For love?

You smiled, a sour expression that curled your top lip in disgust. There was pointless to wish for things you couldn’t have.

And yet, Jayce’s image conjured in your mind as you tried to push it away, tucked in the pressure-based door at the back of your mind.

You wished you at least could have him.

*~*~*~*

The smell of the variety of flowers filling the bride's room made you want to throw up. Sunlight flooded the white room, and you felt as if you were blurring with it, becoming a piece of decoration for your almost new husband.

If you weren't on the third floor, you'd probably jump out the window.

Someone knocked at the door, and when you said, tired: “Come in.” You saw another gigantic bouquet, this one decorated with both white jasmines and red carnations. Upon seeing them, you frowned, gesturing with one hand toward the back of the room. “Let them when you can.”

The person closed the door behind him.

“Were you going to tell me you’re getting married?” His voice made you jump, and you saw his serious face from your mirror, accompanied by your widened eyes, mouth agape.

Turning so quickly you almost fell off the stool, you said, in a voice full of so many feelings you got surprised by how all of them bleed out with just one word. "Jayce?” From longing to terror, shame, and confusion. But above all, a sadness so deep your eyes started to itch with trapped tears. “What are you doing here?”

That made him pace angrily around the little space of the room that wasn’t covered with your puffy dress, gifts still unopen, and flower bouquets. His right hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I… I don’t know.” He sighed, collapsing over one corner of the bed. “I don’t know what to do.” He hid his face between his palms as you pinched your eyebrows with both confusion and worry.

“Jayce?” You stood up, your hand hovering over his slumped shoulders, afraid that if you touched him, you would crumble. So you only curled your fingers away, nails scrapping the palm of your hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You had wished for him to look at you all dressed in a wedding gown for him, so he could get all happy and excited while seeing you walking inside the courtroom.

He shook his head. “It’s my fault. I left and in the end, I couldn’t—" he sighed, and he sounded just as tired as your feet. "I wasn't quick enough… I couldn’t become…” Jayce looked at you, between his messy dark hair and deeply saddened eyes. For all those times you thought you’d be capable of drowning in them was just an exaggeration, today he proved you wrong. “Please don’t get married.”

You blinked, a quick sequence of blurring images of Jayce’s gaze locked in yours as your eyes got blurry with tears. “Jayce—”

His hands held your arms at each side of your body, and you saw his Academy uniform wrinkled and covered with oil stains. Even his fingers were covered in a fine black powder that stained the white arm gloves that covered his skin. As you leaned in closer, you took in the smell of paper, coffee, and burned coal. The same essence lingered inside his atelier.

“Please,” he said, voice cracking. You felt your lip quiver.

You hugged him, feeling a tug in your chest as you passed one of your hands through his hair. He leaned into your gentle touch, eyelids fluttering when he closed his eyes. The words got stuck in your throat, and so they got out in an almost inaudible whisper. "I need to get married, Jayce."

He opened his eyes, and his gaze burned into your chest, where your heart was beating madly, so loud it must be the reason why you didn’t pick up his words correctly.

“Then marry me.”

The gasp that got out of your lips felt as if someone had punched you in the chest. "What?”

His cheeks were deep red, and they felt hot when you cradled his cheek so Jayce could see you as he tried to divert his eyes away.

"You heard me," Jayce muttered, looking toward the window. Sky was already filled with orange hues that made the bedroom look as if it were almost caught on fire. "You can marry me if you want."

You blinked, but no matter how much you tried to clear your view, confusion still impregnated it. “Do you want to marry me?”

He pulled you away, so he could take in the puffy, lavishing dress you were supposed to use in the ceremony. Your hair was pulled away from your face, making your head pulse in a settled, hurtful rhythm.

“I thought once I created Hextech, I would’ve been able to ask your family if I could court you without them family denying it, but…”

Your heart throbbed painfully. Of course, they'd said no. Jayce being behind Hextech's creation was marvelous, a dream come true to any aspiring inventor. But not so for aristocratic families, for them, he was still the heir of a lower house. "Oh, Jayce…"

“I mean—I was planning on telling you; to ask if you, uh… if you reciprocate my feelings. But then your family said no and I… I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.” He was fidgeting his fingers over his lap, too afraid of looking at you that now he was scanning every corner of the room. “Do you… do you feel the same?”

Your mind ran toward the myriad of memories you two had shared over the years, the permanent feeling of wanting. "Do you remember when we were kids? When we played house and I told you that I was your wife? I still abide by those words."

The littlest of smiles appear in the corners of Jayce's lips. "I think we should kiss now.”

You chuckled, leaning toward him, you were pulling your skirts off the way so you could fit between his legs- Your hands trembled as you cupped his cheeks, eyes fluttering closer when you brushed your lips against his. You heard him sigh, finally relieved. However, it was only a peck. “Not yet. I’m afraid we need to leave before people start to suspect why the door’s closed,” you said while biting your bottom lip.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jayce looked at the room. It was all white, adorned with silk and lace around the bed filled with boxes of clothes and shoes. "Do you think you can get out of the window?"

“It’s three stores high, Jayce.” You looked at the bed he was sitting at. “But maybe we can improvise a rope.” Your finger pointed at the mattress.

Jayce jumped out of it and started to throw the gifts on the ground, taking the bedsheets off the mattress. "Just as when we were younger, huh?"

You smiled, dexterous hands already making knots with the fabric to use as holders. You used to escape to Jayce’s house when your parents grounded you. You had to escape from your room, which was easier once you memorize the patrols and the paths of the service toward the rooms. Then, you had to run across the street and climb up the Talis’ house front gate, to where Jayce already expected you with a rope made with his bedsheets and curtains.

Now instead of climbing, you were descending.

He knotted the rope in one of the bed’s legs. “Now, take off your dress and come down.”

You looked at him, cheeks hot, eyebrows raised in perplexion. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Jayce’s hazel eyes widened, with one of his hands covering his mouth. “Not like that! I meant—it’s for… it’s so you can move comfortably!”

Despite the stress building like a tight knot in your belly, you found yourself laughing, trying to conceal the noise between your hands. “I know, I know. Sorry.”

“You don’t sorry in the slightest.”

“You know too well. Turn around and close your eyes, I’ll change into something comfy.”

Jayce snickered. “Afraid I’ll peek?" You hit him in the shoulder and quickly knelt to find the clothes your maid pushed down the mattress while helping you dress up. "Let me know if you need any help.”

You stopped him from turning, your body came too close to him so the back of your knees brushed his pants as you turned around, showing him the back of your dress, a succession of little buttons lost between a sea of lace and silk. “Jayce, unbutton the back of my dress, please.”

You thought he’d said no, but you were running thin on time. When night fall your ceremony would arrive, and the sky was already getting dimmer.

He brushed his fingers through your spine, pulling you closer so he could see the little buttons better, causing you to feel his breath sending warm huffs in the back of your neck and around your shoulders as the fabric of the dress opened more with each turn of his wrist.

When he was done, you kept the dress in place with a firm hand pressed against your chest. You felt his hand hovering in the small of your back, irradiating warmth as you held your breath.

“I should’ve said you look beautiful before you take off the dress,” he said, and your breath got caught in a shaky huff as you let it out. “I love you, so, so much. Ever since I left for the Academy—no, even long before it.”

You chortled, only to hide how flustered you really felt. “I feel like an overly saturated chandelier.” You turned, and his smile made your heart melt. “Thank you, Jayce.”

You quickly changed into your pajamas, still white, but at least they were decorated with baby blue knitting motifs. Jayce held part of the rope as you threw the rest down the window, scanning the lateral courtyard to thankfully find it empty from both guests and the workers.

“Come down and wait for me at the entrance, in the tree near the ugly fountain. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

You looked at Jayce. “The one that looks like an egg with a hole in the middle?” He nodded as you squatted on the window sill, feet pressed under the protuberance in the rock. “Are you going to stay behind?”

“I’ll untie the rope so people can’t know how you escaped, okay?”

Your heartbeat rushed through your ears, drowning any logical thought, any fear you could start to feel as gravity pulled you down and the only thing keeping you safe was a thin silk rope.

Jayce was peeking through the window, a reassuring smile on his face all the time. You focused on it, in the feeling of his soft lips against yours and the way he leaned to your touch. In the future ahead, one when you became a Talis, leaving behind your own—or better say, the one your parents choose you to have after the wedding.

The grass felt soft, cold, and humid against your naked feet. You shivered, eyes darting toward each corner as you dashed toward the fountain, kneeling to tuck your body under it in case someone walked in this lonely path to arrive at the back courtyard, where the ceremony would take place.

From your crouched position, you couldn't see his silhouette moving in the window. The shadows became sharper, the air colder as the sun hide.

Your heart was so loud you were afraid people would hear it. You couldn’t bring yourself to think what your parents—and your ex-fiancé—would do to you, or much worse, to Jayce, if you two got caught.

Time extended too long, and dread made me feel dizzy. You were imagining all the ways Jayce was found; someone saw him get out of your room, your mother caught him descending the stairs…

“I'm here…" Jayce's voice startled you, and you hit your head on the edge of the fountain. He knelt and held you in his arms, one of his hands quickly massaging your scalp. "Are you alright, my sunshine? I'm sorry I startled you."

You tried to ignore the way his nickname made your stomach flutter. “Let’s go! The ceremony should start at any minute.”

It had always been hard to keep up with Jayce's long strides. Today was no different, you felt your legs cramped, but you ran as if you were chased after—and you had to admit, it was half-true. As you were crossing the entrance gate, you heard commotion growing from inside the house. They must have noticed you weren't there already.

Jayce squeezed your hand, fingers interlaced as you ran down the wide avenues, around the boulevards, until the streets narrowed, descending in hills. You thought he was guiding you toward the Talis family house, but no. This part of Piltover was new to you.

“Where… where are… we going?” you said between pants. Your feet hurt from running so much.

“To my new apartment. We’ll spend the night there, and tomorrow—” You had stopped, walking much calmer now that you were a couple of kilometers away from where your wedding was supposed to be held.  “Tomorrow… If you want, tomorrow we’ll get married.”

You smiled, looking at his insecure pose, with shoulders dropped and hands tucked against his belly. He was gigantic, even if he tried to shrink. You stepped over his boots, on your tiptoes to tangle your arms around his wide shoulders.

“Do you promise?” you whispered, the movement making your lips brush against his. He embraced you by the waist.

“I promise, my little sunshine,” he replied, nodding and dipping his head toward you so he could capture your lips fully, wanting to melt in your touch as much as you wanted to get lost in it.

“I love you, Jayce. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

He quickly shifted his hold, with one hand on the small of your back, and the other embracing your thighs as he carried you, bride style, toward his apartment. Your feet wiggled in the air, your voice wavering with laughter. "What are you doing?!"

"Practicing," Jayce simply stated, walking steadily up the street. He looked at you, brushing your noses together as he paused to accommodate you, with your hands still embracing his shoulders. “Because I feel like I’m going to this quite a lot from this day onwards.”