counterblows

[counterblows]

with lots of fics being deleted and writers leaving i wonder if readers will realize reblogging their fav fics to their page instead of liking will save their life

[counterblows]

Jinu meets Ken Sato 🤭

[counterblows]

[counterblows]

I assure you: somebody, somewhere, is on the exact same wavelength as you are.

[counterblows]

[counterblows]

📄 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐲: 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐜

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.1k

𝐂𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐖: Wife!Reader, Anniversary planning, Angst, Lingerie trying on scene, Body image issues, insecurities, mentions of low self-esteem, Sexual vulnerability, Cliffhanger

𝐀/𝐍: Another vent fic, yippee

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your anniversary is around the corner, and you were the one who suggested a weekend getaway at a luxury hotel. But as the date drew nearer, a quiet distance grows between you and Miguel. Now, you’re not even sure if he still sees you the way he used to.

You sliced the bagel in half and slid both pieces into the toaster before cracking two eggs into a hot pan. The morning was starting slow and gentle, the kind where light crept in quietly from the horizon, casting golden threads over the countertops.

Not too much time passed before you heard the familiar sound of your husband’s footsteps approaching the kitchen— measured and heavy, like he was still half-running on autopilot. He always moved like this in the early hours, as if his body was going through the motions while his mind was just lagging behind.

He mumbled a quiet “morning” to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek in passing. You caught the mix of soup and crisp sandalwood from his aftershave, still clinging to the skin along his jaw. It was brief, but enough to leave a trace of him lingering before he headed straight for the pantry.

You didn’t need to look to know he was reaching for the coffee jar. It was part of his rhythm of your mornings. However this time, he lingered. Too long. You glanced over your shoulder just as a familiar, digital voice echoed from the pantry.

“And that’s what happens when you have three shots of espresso every morning,” LYLA teased, her voice bright with faux concern.

Miguel muttered something unintelligible in response, irritation low in his throat.

“Is the coffee finished already?” you mused, wiping your hands on the kitchen towel. “I could’ve sworn I got a fresh bag last week.”

Miguel frowned as he peered at the nearly-empty jar, sighing when he only found a few stubborn grounds clinging to the bottom. He tilted the jar, as if sheer willpower might coax more grounds.

“I suppose I do drink a lot of coffee,” he muttered, setting it down with a sigh. “But if I remember correctly, you were the one who made me switch to decaf last week.“

LYLA’s marigold-hued hologram flickered beside his shoulder. She lounged dramatically mid-air, arms folded behind her head. “Looks like you're gonna have to cut back on your coffee intake, big guy.”

“Thanks for the reminder, LYLA.” Miguel responded dryly, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s alright,” you said, turning back to the stove. “I’ll make sure to grab extra coffee when I go grocery shopping.”

That seemed to ease his scowl, though he still looked mildly betrayed by the coffee shortage. He always liked his brew extra strong— anything less felt like a personal insult to his stamina.

“Can you get a dark roast this time?” he asked, reaching for his mug and salvaging the last remaining coffee grounds straight from the jar.

You gave him a teasing smile and agreed. But you added not to finish it too quickly again. Miguel exhaled through his nose, admitting in quiet defeat and agreed. He knew he would have to cut down anyways to avoid another shortage.

LYLA perked up again, her heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down her nose slightly as she smirked. “You're so dependent on caffeine, Miguel. It's not healthy. Have you ever thought about herbal tea?”

“Herbal tea is good!” you chirped, slicing into an avocado. But Miguel only grimaced, like you’d just offered him hot water and lies.

“I think I’ll stick to my espresso. But thanks.”

You laid a warm egg over the toasted bagel, layered on the avocado slices, and slid the plate across the counter.

“Here’s yours,” you said, nudging it closer. “And…please try to have the whole thing and not just a few bites.”

Miguel accepted the plate with a sheepish half-smile, scratching at his jaw like a man caught red-handed. Only you could reduce him to something so soft, so quietly unsure.

“Gracias, amor. Looks great.” He paused, a flicker of guilt passing through his features. “I know I don’t eat enough sometimes. I’ll work on that.”

“More like most of the time,” LYLA quipped.

“Do you have to be mouthy all the time?”

“You did program me with sarcasm subroutines, Miguel.”

After plating your own bagel and pouring a glass of juice, settling across from him at the dining table. You weren’t nearly as reliant on caffeine as you husband— then again, your schedule wasn’t nearly as chaotic.

“So, what's the day like today?” you asked, taking in the scent of the eggs before you took your first bite from the bagel.

LYLA summoned another holographic screen, showcasing the itinerary for the day. There were some entries written in all caps for urgent matters.

“Well, you've got a meeting with the finance team at 9,” she began in a practiced tone, “training session at 11, lunch with the research division at 1, and a one-on-one meeting with Gwen in the afternoon. Oh, and the new recruit.”

Miguel sighed. “It’s gonna be a long day…”

“A new recruit?” you asked, pausing mid-bite.

“Yeah, we've got a new recruit joining the team today,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still need to handle the briefing and everything with them.”

“If I had access to the recruit’s file, they’d be briefed yesterday—”

“No,” Miguel cut her off firmly, giving the hologram a pointed look, effectively shutting down any more snide remarks. “Don’t start with that again, LYLA. We’ve been through this before.”

LYLA didn’t argue, but still retreated with a pouty expression.

“We'll get to the briefing when the time is right. Besides, I'm sure the recruit can wait a few more hours.”

“Uh huh,” LYLA drawled, plopping herself comfortably on his shoulder. “Like you wait for your coffee in the morning.”

“You're incorrigible, you know that?” Miguel retaliated.

You stifled a laugh as you watched the exchange. Miguel and LYLA’s dynamic was always amusing to witness— her snarky remarks grating on his nerves just enough to get a rise out of him. Sometimes she would say things out loud, things that you would rather keep in your head to spare his feelings

But for all her sass, Miguel respected her. LYLA kept the Spider Society from collapsing under the weight of the multiverse threats— cataloging anomalies, coordinating missions, issuing alerts. Without her, the whole operation would be in chaos.

Their relationship was a strange cocktail of frustration and loyalty, with Miguel begrudgingly acknowledging that he relies on her more than he cares to admit.

“You know, uhm.” You cleared your throat as you put your bagel back on the plate. “Our anniversary is in two weeks… Is that on the schedule, too?”

Miguel glanced over at you, his eyes softening and the tension on his shoulders eased from your words. “How could I forget? Of course it's on schedule.”

LYLA’s hologram flickered into the space between you both, grinning behind her sunglasses.

“In bold caps, highlighted in red…” she drew out her words.

Miguel sighed, already too tired to deal with her antics. “LYLA, please…”

Miguel was meticulous with scheduling— he had to be, with how fast everything moved around him. Most entries were strictly business: reports, patrol, debriefing.

But after you got together, he started to make space for the both of you. Dinner dates, gifts. Even mundane things like grocery shopping. He never said much about it, but it always meant something when you saw yourself pencilled in between saving worlds.

You imagined the look on his face when he added your anniversary to the schedule with a concentrated furrow in his brow. The one he always wore when he was deep in thought. You could almost picture it, his lips pursed as he flagged the day as a priority.

“Do you have anyone to cover for you for that weekend,” you asked.

Miguel nodded, swallowing a mouthful of the bagel. “Yeah, I’ve been putting in the notice for a while. And it’s going to be a very busy weekend for us.”

There was a faint glimmer in his eyes that sparked a suggestive undertone. It made your heart flutter, and heat crept up your neck— just like it used to when you first started dating.

He took another bite, then dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. A subtle smirk tugged at his lips, almost hidden, but you caught it before it vanished again. “But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

“We still haven't got anything planned,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “Is there anything you want to do in particular, or… I could take the reins and find us something this time?”

You hadn’t exactly planned to offer, but the words slipped out on a whim with a flicker of excitement. Maybe it was the quiet confidence humming under your skin this morning, or maybe it was the way Miguel looked at you— like he trusted you with something small but significant.

The idea of planning something perfect for the both of you made your heart hammer in your chest a little harder— equal part thrill and pressure. This wasn’t just an outing. It was your anniversary, a milestone.

Miguel seemed to sense the weight of that too. His gaze softened as he leaned back slightly, choosing the latter. “I trust your taste. You always pick things I end up liking more than I expect.”

Oh, he didn’t know what that kind of trust did to you.

“Alright,” you smiled easily. “I think I’m confident enough to pick something we’ll both like.”

Before he could respond, a soft rhythmic beep interrupted the quiet. A holographic call alert blinked above LYLA’s avatar.

“Miguel, you’ve got an upcoming call from Jess,” LYLA reported.

Miguel stood up, brushing the crumbs from his shirt. “Tell her I'll call back when I leave the house.”

“Roger that. I'll let Jess know you'll call back shortly.”

He finished the last bit of bagel— finally, much to your relief— and downed the last sip of coffee before rising fully from his seat. His movement grew brisk now, more mechanical as he shifted into work mode. There was still something practical and calm in the way he adjusted his gizmo watch, smoothed his shirt.

You stood as well, brushing your hands along your thighs to clear the crumbs. He was halfway down the hallway when you caught up with him.

“Have a good day,” you said softly.

“Thanks. You too.” he echoed your affection, his voice low and fond. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.”

That made the flutter return— warm, sudden, and no less potent. You reach up to press your lips on his in a kiss, lingering for half a beat longer. His mouth moved against yours, slow and certain, before you pulled away first.

Miguel didn’t turn back just yet, almost like he wanted another kiss but didn’t want to admit it.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” he breathed against your cupid bow, tempted to chase after your lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you do to me,” you teased back, pulling yourself away completely to look at him fully.

Miguel only chuckled under his breath, but you could sense the heat brewing from him. With a mix of restraint and want, the kind that stayed even after he walked away.

Finally, he turned and tapped the interface of his watch. A swirl of colour unfurled in the hallway, casting a ripple of shimmering light across the floor.

You stood still as your husband stepped into the portal and vanished. The colours folded in on themselves, collapsing into silence and leaving you alone with the faded warmth of the kiss you just shared.

~

A few hours had passed since Miguel left, but the thought of your anniversary hadn’t left your thoughts since breakfast. Even while running errands, the idea kept looping through your thoughts— not just what you would do, but the fact that you were in charge. And that part was starting to feel real.

Back home, you dropped your keys in the dish by the door and sank into the couch with your laptop perched on your knees. The living room was quiet, warm with the late morning light, and smelled faintly of citrus from the candle you lit earlier.

With a deep sigh, you opened a browser tab and started typing without much confidence. You figured if you were going to book something for the occasion, you should start looking now. Better to have a secure idea rather than dragging it out till the last minute.

‘Anniversary ideas for married couples.’

There were a lot of results but what came up wasn’t exactly inspiring. Sunset diner cruises. Couples massages. Personalised matching mugs.

They were pretty generic, too expected. This wasn’t just another date night. This was your anniversary. Something worth remembering, even ten years from now.

You kept scrolling, clicking through half-hearted blogs and articles. A weekend getaway out of the states was tempting at first glance, but the logistics quickly killed the fantasy. Booking a trip with only two weeks notice was definitely not ideal. Not with Miguel’s schedule.

You could already imagine the grimace on his face if you sprang it on him. He’d need to prepare, clear time, figure out if LYLA could hold things down. You didn’t want to give that extra headache. You shook your head and closed the tab.

You wanted something intimate. Something thoughtful and still unforgettable.

But so far, every idea just felt like a placeholder. You changed your search.

‘Non-traditional anniversary ideas.’

‘Things to do if you hate planning but want to be romantic.’

‘Anniversary ideas that don’t involve flying or fancy dinners.’

There was nothing that sparked your interest. You tapped on the cold metal surface of your laptop, staring at your half-filled notes. You had a few decent options— couples pottery classes, a private cinema rental. But none of them really felt like you and Miguel.

You were already on the second page of your browsing session, your tabs multiplying by the minute. Another generic listicle, another Pinterest-perfect weekend getaway that didn’t feel like you. Still, there was one headline that made you pause.

‘Boutique Hotels That Cater to Grown-Up Romance’

You scoffed— corny much— but clicked on it anyway. What did you have to lose?

At first, the article felt tame. A few charming bed- and-breakfasts with clawfoot tubs. But as you scrolled through slowly, you discovered there was more than meets the eye.

‘A discreet, five-star intimacy hotel design for privacy and indulgence.’

You blinked at the screen. A hotel that catered to…that?

You’d heard of sex hotels before, sure. But the images in your head had always been less than flattering— neon signs that plastered the room, crushed velvet floors, and leftover remnants of previous…guests. Not exactly your idea of romance. Or hygiene.

But the ones that you saw on the screen seemed nothing like that. The photos shown looked sleek. Shadowy. Elegant. Velvet textures, mood-lighting, and high-thread-count sheets.

It looked more like a designer spa than something so…provocative. And the reviews were nearly flawless. Every word hinted at luxury, discretion, and absolute comfort.

There was one that stood out to you.

La Madrugada:

A private luxury hotel for couples seeking indulgent intimacy. Soundproofed suites. Mood-custom lighting. Silk bedding. All with absolute privacy and five-star discretion.

The description alone made your face warm. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered or intrigued.

The idea of sharing a place like that with Miguel made your pulse quicken. You could already picture it, his voice low in the dim light, the weight of his touch, his eyes looking up at you between your legs.

Still, if you were going to suggest something like this, it had to meet his standards. Miguel wasn’t someone you could take just anywhere.

And this was exactly his kind of indulgence. Elegant. Private. Controlled. Exactly what he deserved. It checked all the relevant boxes. There was nothing to disturb you. No work, no missions, no worries of being interrupted.

It was a perfect getaway for your anniversary.

~

The house was still and quiet, with the only light illuminating swiftly from the kitchen and the hallway. It was well past midnight when Miguel finally arrived home. The door clicked open softly, and the familiar silence followed.

You could hear his footsteps as he made his way toward the bedroom, no doubt hoping to find you there. But when he found the room empty, he turned back to the hallway, calling out for you.

“In the kitchen,” you called back. A plate of crackers and hummus sat before you as you idly snacked.

He appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later, standing there for a beat. His brows were furrowed in confusion, the weariness of the day evident in the slump of his shoulders and the tired gleam in his eyes. His hair was rumpled from countless times he’d run his hand through it.

“Hey,” you cooed, your gaze softened as you took in the sight of him. He looked exhausted, but still so striking.

“Hey…I thought you’d be in bed by now.” His voice was rough, like he hadn’t had the time to catch his breath.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So I gathered.”

“Have you eaten yet?” you asked. “I want to discuss something with you.”

“Yeah, I picked up a quick bite before I came home.” He paused, his gaze narrowing a bit and hesitated before he spoke again. “Is something wrong?”

You gestured to the chair beside you. “Come, take a seat.”

He stepped forward, still looking slightly puzzled, and slid into the chair you pulled out for him. You offered him a cracker, and he took it, fingers brushing lightly against yours. There was a quiet tension in the air, a shift from the casual snacking to something more.

His eyes flickered between the plate of crackers and you, waiting for you to speak.

“So,” you began, taking a deep breath. “About our anniversary.”

Miguel leaned back against the chair, the tired lines on his face tightening as he focused. “Right, the anniversary…what about it?”

“Well, I think I found something.” You turned the laptop toward him, the soft glow of the screen casting a subtle light across the table and bounced off his eyes.

The screen displayed the homepage of the hotel’s website. A few images of the rooms and the navigation bar on the top. You watched his face closely, trying to read his thoughts. But his expression gave nothing away.

The moment you came across this place earlier, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The idea buzzed in you like static electricity. And now, with Miguel in front of you, the anticipation was too much. You couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or skeptical— or both. The silence stretched, saved by him tapping his fingers on the table.

Your pulse throbbed— part of you hoping he’d say yes, the other bracing for a no. You didn’t want to get your hopes up too soon.

“This is…definitely not what I expected to see,” he said at last, his tone still unreadable. “When you said you found something, I figured maybe a dinner reservation. I didn’t think you’d be looking at hotels. Looks fancy, though.”

Oh, another dinner? How… modest.

You bit back your disappointment, unsure where he stood. Was the hotel too far off from what he imagined? Would he even be open to the idea?

“It actually took a lot of filtering and narrowing down,” you said, a hint of pride in your tone. “I didn’t find it right away. I came across it through some random blog article.”

His mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile, a low chuckled rumbled from his throat. “Oh really? So you stumbled upon it?”

“Something like that.” You laughed. “I just didn’t want another dinner date this year.”

Miguel nodded slowly, taking another bite from his cracker— either he was delaying his response or he was using this time to think.

“I get that. But…a private hotel? It’s definitely bolder than a dinner date.” He looked back at the screen, scanning the page again. “It’s definitely a new territory for us.”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” you said softly, trying to sound enthusiastic without coaxing him too much. “Unless you want me to look for something else.”

“No, no, I’m not against it. It’s just something new.”

You still felt mixed signals from him. His words didn’t give you a firm answer, but at least he wasn’t rejecting the idea.

“Yeah…and uh it’s not a usual hotel either,” you added cautiously. Maybe saying it out loud would give you a clearer read on how he felt.

Miguel seemed intrigued. Brows lifted— one of those looks that meant he was going to dig deeper. “What do you mean by that?”

“Scroll down. The description’s specific.”

Miguel’s eyes skimmed down the page. He scanned the detailed description, reading the fine details of each room and what was offered.

He looked back at you, his voice carried a low hum of amusement— and something else. “So…you’re suggesting that we…”

“Uh huh.” You tried not to fidget under his sudden bedroom eyes. “So, what do you say?”

He paused, clearly mulling over the idea once more before he answered. “I say… I’m in. Let’s do it.”

Relief swept through you like cool water, washing the tension clean from your chest. A grin bloomed across your face, followed by a breathy laugh. You leaned in and kissed him, warmth rushing to your cheeks.

Miguel kissed back without hesitation, and you could feel the slight smile curving beneath his lips.

But after a moment, he pulled away, his expression shifting to something more serious.

“We should set some ground rules, first,” he said, tone steady. “Obviously we both want this, but I want us to be on the same wavelength. No assumptions, no pressure.”

You nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

You both leaned in, letting the conversation unfold in hushed tones. You touched on hard limits, things you wanted to try together. No judgement. No rush. You even brought up using a safe word.

Throughout it all, communication and consent remained a foundation. And there was something in Miguel’s tone, his attentiveness, that echoed leadership— measured and intentional. Like every word carried a purpose.

But the time the details were sorted, your heart felt steadier. Grounded. And a little more in love.

“So, let’s go through the hotel's information page and book it tonight,” you said, holding his gaze.

“Sounds like a plan. I want this to be something to remember.”

Miguel leaned closer, scrolling through the rest of the site while you sat shoulder to shoulder. The deeper you went, the more the hotel revealed— the sultry description and indulgent amenities designed with adult privacy in mind.

Then came the curated experiences: pre-arranged fantasy packages, role play set ups, blindfolds, rope works. You weren’t sure if it was the description or the photo, but your cheeks grew warmer just imagining it— and what it might look like with Miguel.

A little thrill zipped through your stomach, a mix of both nerves and excitement.

Once everything looked good, Miguel booked the dates. Check-in Friday evening, check-out Sunday. Two nights tucked away from the world— and maybe a few inhibitions.

You closed your laptop with a satisfied breath and you both headed to bed. Just as the bedroom lights dimmed, LYLA’s golden avatar blinked to life on Miguel’s shoulder, her glow soft but unmistakably smug.

“So… should I start syncing calendar alerts for this intimate expedition?” she chirped, already projecting a calendar menu mid-air.

Miguel groaned, teeth flashing in annoyance. The glow lit his crimson eyes in a flicker of irritation.

“Were you listening this whole time?” he grumbled.

“Miguel,” she sighed, mockingly patient. “I live in your watch. Privacy is a fantasy. Much like the weekend you two just planned.”

He stared at her flatly.

“Set the damn reminder.”

With a sparkle of data, the calendar updated. Miguel collapsed into bed beside you, muttering under his breath before you both fell asleep.

~

The night after you booked the hotel, you did everything you could to prepare for the weekend. Your bags were packed, and you even helped Miguel with his. Now a travel bag sat quietly in the corner of your room, waiting for the day you left.

You wanted to go the extra mile— researching, planning little details. You ordered a bottle of body oil, just in case there was time for back massages or something slow. Something intimate.

Then came the outfits. You already had your clothes and toiletries tucked away neatly, but this was something different. Something just for him.

You scrolled through the endless collections of lingerie, each one more daring than the last. Silks, lace, mesh. Straps and cutouts. They looked effortless on the models— women of all sizes and shapes, each flowing with confidence. Some pieces looked like they were meant to last all of five minutes before being stripped off.

You weren’t sure how something like this would look on you— you’d never worn anything like it, never thought about yourself that way. But… maybe it was time.

You ordered a handful of sets, each one in different styles and colours— something soft, something bold, something barely there. You wanted to have options and surprise him. You just hoped you’d feel good wearing them, just as the models did.

A few days later, they arrived in sleek black boxes, each set folded delicately in tissue paper. The logo was embossed in pink cursive, paired with a silhouette of a woman who almost looked too sure of herself.

You’ve opened many packages in the past, but none of them made your stomach feel so airy. Like your body couldn’t decide if it wanted to be excited or afraid.

The tissue paper crinkled as you peeled it open, the sound strangely loud in a quiet room. It was like the box itself was watching you, whispering something unspoken.

You laid the sets out across the bed one by one. Each piece— soft lace, silk ties, daring cuts— looked expensive in a way that felt unreal. They were beautiful. And they were all yours.

Still, you hesitated.

Until you finally picked one.

A deep plum babydoll— a short flowy nightie, with a sheer skirt that brushed the top of your thighs. It came with a matching thong, still modest in comparison to the other sets. You had chosen it first for a reason.

You undressed slowly, the cool air brushing your skin as you slipped on the babydoll. The silk glided down your body like water. The lace on the hem was delicate, brushing lightly with each step.

When you turned to the mirror, you stilled.

It wasn’t bad. In fact, the colour flattered you. The shape was gentle and safe. It covered your midsection and maybe that was why you couldn’t quite pinpoint how to feel.

It looked… better than you thought. Not seductive. Not glamorous. Just you, trying.

Yet, you didn’t feel the spark you thought you would either. Still, it was something. And it was a start. You still had a few more sets to try on.

You picked up the teal-coloured teddy and stepped into it slowly. Unlike the babydoll, this one was lace all the way. Sheer, delicate, and backless. Designed to trace your body’s curves with little room to hide.

The place felt beautiful in your hands, but different on your skin. It wasn’t rough exactly, but textured— enough to remind you with every shift that it was there.

You shifted your hips slightly. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but it lacked the soft comfort of the babydoll. This wasn’t meant to be worn for comfort. This was meant to be for the visuals, admired before stripping it away.

But when you looked back in the mirror again, the flicker of excitement that had lit you up earlier dimmed rapidly.

The lingerie clung where you didn’t want it to. It exposed more than you expected— skin, softness, scars you had forgotten about.

You adjusted the steps, tugging gently at the fabric near your waist, tried standing at an angle. But nothing felt right. But no matter what you did, the image in the mirror didn’t match the fantasy you’d held in your mind.

You hugged your arms across your midsection instinctively, suddenly feeling far more aware of the dim light in the room.

There were still other sets laid out neatly on the bed— lace bras, matching panties, a crimson one-piece trimmed in satin that matched Miguel’s eyes. All of them, waiting for their moment. But now, you weren’t so sure you wanted that moment at all. You couldn’t imagine slipping into another.

You peeled the teddy off and folded it neatly, as if returning it to its box might erase the sinking feeling in your gut— and it did a fraction.

You told yourself that maybe it wasn’t the right one for you. Or maybe it was your cycle— your hormones, your body shifting. That happens, right? There were a dozen reasons why you might be feeling this way.

Then a dark thought edged its way to the forefront of your mind. What if Miguel saw you like this… and felt nothing? What if it didn’t have the effect you hoped for?

You blinked quickly, fighting the sting behind your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not when your anniversary was so soon. But something inside you had dimmed, like someone had slowly turned down the light switch.

You packed away the rest of the lingerie in silence and tugged on a sweatshirt before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. Maybe the warmth of something familiar might settle your thoughts.

~

The night slowly simmered into a quiet bliss, the soft clinking of dishes echoing as you cleaned up after dinner before drying your hands on a dish towel. Your weekend anniversary was getting closer.

Part of you almost wanted time to slow down— especially after the day you tried on the lingerie.

You weren’t the type to let things get to your head, especially something as fickle as body image. Still, the doubt remained, heavy and stubborn. You tried convincing yourself that it was just hormones and it would pass by the weekend.

Miguel had already moved to the living room, settling on the couch with the golden glow of his tablet reflecting faintly off the lenses of his glasses.

You, on the other hand, hovered in the kitchen for a moment. Fingered gripping the edge of the counter. The warmth of dinner faded, but now a different kind of heat rose in your chest.

Despite how you’d felt in the lingerie, you figured maybe getting closer to Miguel might help. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Tonight felt like a chance to rekindle that intimacy.

You passed over to the living room in your socks, quietly sliding beside him on the couch. Miguel barely looked up, his brows furrowed and eyes flickering over whatever was on the screen. LYLA hovered nearby in the corner of your eye.

“What are you looking at?” you purred softly, voice low and curious.

Miguel’s eyes landed on yours briefly, then quickly back on the screen. You could see the tiredness behind them, even if he chose to ignore it.

“Just catching up. Debrief came in late,” he murmured.

You knew he’d probably rather be in bed, so you tried to coax him there. Gently. Carefully.

You started off subtle, leaning closer until your shoulders pressed against his, your fingers traced along the soft fabric of his sleeves. A quiet invitation.

Miguel barely reacted, still engrossed in what he was looking at. His hand found your thigh in a vague, familiar pat— but it still didn’t feel like he was present. His mind was still elsewhere, probably in the mission files or whatever HQ spat out.

For a moment, it felt like he forgot you were even there.

“How long will it take?” you asked, quieter this time.

Finally he lowered the tablet a little, blinking as if remembering your existence. “Not too long. Maybe an hour or so… sorry, amor. I just need to finish this up and I’ll be all yours.”

You leaned in again, lips brushing the side of his neck— a spot you knew always got a reaction out of him. Your breath hovered, delicate and teasing, just above his pulse.

“Aren’t you tired?” you whispered. “Maybe you should come and rest.”

One of your hands slid to his thigh, thumb tracing low circles.

Miguel’s focus wavered— just for a second— but his eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“Not now,” he said, a little too fast. A little too sharply. “Just give me a few minutes… I need to finish this.”

His hand lifted, palm halfway between you almost like a barrier— a wordless signal. Not a shove but still halting you.

You pulled back stiffly, like you’ve been burnt. The heat in your chest returned, but not the kind you’d hope for. This heat twisted and crawled under your skin.

Miguel didn’t seem to notice your distress.

Your swallowed thickly and looked away, shifting slightly to the side of the couch to give him space— space he didn’t even ask for but you kept your distance anyways.

Maybe you’ve misread him. Maybe he was tired. Or not in the mood.

But even then, he would at least kiss your temple, or pull you to his side, even when he was distracted. Tonight was just a pat on your thigh. A gesture that said you’re here, but not I want you here

The buzz you felt earlier— hopeful, romantic, and daring— was replaced by an uncomfortable churn in your stomach. Your libido was gone, crushed under the weight of a single glance and a half-hearted touch.

Maybe it wasn’t the lingerie that didn’t look right. Maybe it was you.

You thought back to the fabric clinging where you didn’t want it to. The way your reflection didn’t match the fantasy and felt more like a joke you weren’t in on.

Maybe it was a mercy he didn’t see you in them. You didn’t think you could stomach the same indifference in his eyes. Not then.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing lightly at the fabric of your sleeves. The silence stretched— thick and uncomfortable— settling between you like a fog that wouldn’t lift.

You don’t try again. You didn’t want to beg for his attention. The warmth between you cooled by the second, until another voice cuts in, crisp and far too observant.

“You okay over there?”

You blinked “Huh?”

LYLA hovered in your peripheral vision. Her tone was casual, but her eyes— pixelated and perspective— scanned your face.

“You’re usually less… radio silent when he’s being oblivious.” She looked back at Miguel and tilted her head.

Miguel’s head snapped up, brows pulling together. “What?”

You tried to summon a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“It’s nothing…I just thought maybe we could… unwind a little together.” You hesitated, the words felt clumsy on your tongue. “…Never mind.”

Saying it out loud made it sound foolish. Like you’d misread everything.

Miguel stared at you for a second longer, sensing something, but not quite putting the pieces together. You didn’t know why you felt so small under his gaze. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t cold. But somehow, you still felt like a burden.

“We’ve got the whole weekend,” he said instead, like it was a compromise. “Let’s just get through this part.”

That stung more than it should have, like your needs were something to be scheduled around.

The weekend no longer carried the same thrill it did the night you booked the rooms together. Now the idea felt…hollow.

LYLA cuts in again, voice clipped. “Someone’s gotta read the room better.” She turned to Miguel, her digital face showing her disapproval. “You really want to go into this weekend with a vibe like this?”

Miguel’s face tightened, his patience was slowly thinning. “LYLA, now is not the time.”

“Oh really?” she shot back. “Because you seemed to be making plenty of time for work.”

“I’m gonna go shower.” You stood abruptly. The energy in the room was suddenly too much. You didn’t wait for a reply before you headed out.

You closed the bathroom door gently behind you, not trusting yourself to slam it. The mirror reflected you in a faint, silver-blue light, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look directly into it.

Your heart lodged somewhere between embarrassment and disappointment as you recalled the exchange that happened just earlier. His voice. His eyes on her tablet. The gentle push of his hand— soft, but still a rejection.

We’ve got the whole weekend.

And yet right now, you felt like you were already spending it alone.

Part two of this will be coming soon. Don’t ask when though pls…

[counterblows]

happy Father’s Day to Miguel O’Hara

[counterblows]

Me and my skrunkly dinkly <3

[counterblows]

I need to confess something because I love this blog. I love Jayce, I love him so much I swear, but I am so frightened of him.

Which sounds weird, I know, but I can't visualize him at all. Of all the characters of Arcane, Jayce's face is so weird to me. I mean, visualize as in I can't look at his face as a whole. Even reading fanfic, I don't visualize Jayce as he is, it's always someone with entirely different facial features because for some reason I can't comprehend his face.

Like in my head he's basically just Slender man with eyes, a mouth or a nose on command when the description so demands it. I've never had this issue with a character before and even when he gets that beard, I still can't really put his face together in my mind. It's not as bad but idk.

Jayce Talis triggers my faceblindness and it frightens me, thank you.

HELP that's amazing....for me it's the opposite. I can only imagine his face and nobody else's. I mean...I can imagine Vi's and Sevika's...but that's just because I'm a big fat girl kisser

[counterblows]

📄 𝐋𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲

Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | ��𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Angst, Exes to lovers, Broken relationships, Emotional baggage, Eventual smut, Semi-Public Sex, Fingering, Aftercare

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Piltover’s elite gather to celebrate Hextech’s success, with Jayce hailed as its visionary. But the night takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a former lover — you.

Jayce wiped the dew of sweat on his forehead and adjusted his collar again— for what must have been the seventh time. There wasn’t anything out of place, but that didn’t stop him from fussing.

It was a habit— Jayce had always taken pride in making a good impression. That started in how he carried himself. Even back in the Academy, he made sure his uniform was perfectly pressed, boots shined, and hair in place.

Presentation was everything. His mother had drilled that into him early: look sharp, and people will listen. He even wore his signature musk, subtle but distinct, enough to linger when he left the room.

“You’ve been checking your reflection in that panel for the last five minutes,” Viktor said, not looking up from the notes in his lap. “Nervous?”

“It’s not nerves,” Jayce replied, tugging the collar again. “Just… making sure I don’t look like a complete ass in front of half the city.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered toward him, his tone dry. “No one’s here to see how polished your collar is. They came for your progress, not your posture. Though the golden pin is convincing.”

The gala was being held in celebration of the upcoming Hexgate expansion— a monumental leap in technology and trade for Piltover. The entire city had a vested interest, which meant half its elites would be attending. And as co-founder of Hextech, Jayce would be at the centre of it all.

So yes, maybe he was nervous.

He’d rehearsed his talking points, anticipated every possible question about crystal stabilisation, practiced the confident tone expected of a councilman. But it never got easier— the weight of all those eyes, the expectation to be both brilliant and charming.

“You should come, you know,” Jayce said, though he already knew Viktor’s answer. “It wouldn’t hurt to be seen.”

Viktor didn’t look up. “I prefer to let the science speak. Besides, those galas are loud. No one listens to them. They only toast.”

“Well,” Jayce muttered, half to himself. “Sometimes you want someone there who does listen.”

They’d built Hextech together— late nights, impossible problems, breakthroughs and failures. Viktor was as much a part of it as Jayce was— maybe more. And though Jayce had always been the one in front of the cameras and councils, part of him wished Viktor would step forward too. Just once.

But Viktor never liked the spotlight. He was content staying in the wings, letting others speak for what he built. Jayce had learned to respect that, even if he didn’t always understand it.

A soft knock tapped against the door, followed by a subtle click as it opened— revealing Mel. She was already dressed— and she was, in every sense of the word, a knockout. Not just in beauty, but in a commanding way she held a room before even entering it.

Being the wealthiest woman in Piltover— and carrying the weight of her Noxain aristocracy— it reflected in every inch in her attire. Her gown shimmered like molten gold, flowing with each deliberate step as if it were alive, designed to catch the light.

Everything about her outfit screamed elegance, from the fine embroidery traced the curve to the train that swept the floor behind her. As she moved further into the room, her heels clicked with measured rhythm.

She offered Viktor a curt nod of acknowledgment before turning her full attention on Jayce. A smile tugged at her lips, equal part amused and knowing, as she took in his anxious tics.

“You clean up well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “But don’t mistake polish for power. Tonight is about presence and perception.”

Every word was delivered with purpose as she spoke.

Jayce stiffened slightly, managing a faintly amused expression. “And here I thought it was about celebrating Hextech.”

Mel stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them.

“Oh it is,” she said. “But most importantly, it’s about securing people's faith in it… and in you. So, try not to pace like a man waiting for judgment.”

Her hand reached up to smooth the line of his collar, a delicate yet pointed gesture.

“Confidence suits you better than nerves.”

Jayce could only nod, though the nerves didn’t fade. Still, her words settled something inside him. A quiet reminder that he wasn’t walking into this alone— not entirely.

He just had to keep his footing once the speeches began. After all, this was his life’s work. His passion. And tonight, it wasn’t just being celebrated. It was being seen. And Jayce had every intention of showing what Hextech, and himself, were capable of.

~

The soft sound of a string quartet music floated through the air, weaving around the crystalline glow that refracted from the suspended Hex crystal above. The Grand Hall of the Academy had been transformed for the evening event— its austere stone now draped in elegance.

Shimmering banners of deep blue and gold hung between marble columns. Gold-trimmed tables lined the space, each one adorned with champagne flutes and trays of delicate hors d’oeuvres. Everything from the presentation of the food to the cut of each guest’s attire gleamed with precision.

It was a few hours into the evening, and Jayce stood near the centre of it all, his Council pin catching the light like a badge of triumph. Around him, patrons and fellow councilmen mingled in conversation. He smiled, nodded, even laughed on cue.

The taste of champagne sat flat on his tongue. The warmth of the room— part ambient magic, part too many bodies in tight proximity— began to cling to his skin.

But Jayce couldn’t leave. Not yet. This event was, after all, in celebration of Hextech— the very achievement that bore his name.

His gaze swept the room absently behind the rim of his glass, eyes searching for escape through distraction. And then, he caught sight of a familiar figure.

He saw you. Or at least he assumed he did.

At first, he thought it was the trick of the heat or light, some familiar illusion conjured by his exhaustion. But then you turned, every so slightly, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Years could pass, and he would still know the shape of you in a crowd. But what were you doing here? And who had invited you? Piltover’s elites didn’t exactly welcome outsiders, let alone anyone from your part of the city.

His fingers tightens around his glass. A spike of something— a mix of guilt and yearning— rose in his chest, making his heart hammer harder against his ribs. Even from across the room, you still had the power to knock the air out of his lungs.

Would you look at him the same way? Or would your eyes narrow the second they meet? You had every right.

Yet, something tugged at him— an ache he’d buried long ago. The more he tried to convince himself to let it go, the harder it became to stay still.

He ran a hand through his hair. Then again. Straightened his collar for the umpteenth time. Useless fidgeting to stall the inevitable. But eventually, he caved in and crossed the floor. His pulse thudded like a man about to walk straight into war.

He still had no idea what he would say. He only hoped it wouldn’t make you walk away again.

But every step Jayce took toward you, you seemed to take two steps away.

As if you could sense him behind you— your body pulled deeper into the throng of people, into the maze of gowns and glitter. He tried to keep pace, weaving around patrons and murmuring conversations, but you were slipping through the seems like water.

Then you vanished, slipped through a set of doors without a sound.

Jayce pushed after you, struggling to keep up. Frustration was mounting in his chest as he gritted his teeth.

He called your name, voice strained with something that sounded too close to pleading— but you didn’t stop. If anything, you moved faster. Your heels clicked in rapid rhythm against the marble floor until the last echoes of string music faded behind you.

The air outside was a relief, crisp and clean, against his flushed skin. He saw you at the far end of the stairs, sliding down the rails with ease like someone who’s done it a thousand times. You didn’t look back.

How were you able to walk fast in those shoes? Jayce was slowly losing his calm demeanor. He yanked at the button of his cuffs as he chased after you down the quiet streets.

Suddenly, you disappeared between two brick buildings, wedging your body into the narrow space. Then, with no fear, you scaled up the walls.

Jayce stopped in his tracks, completely dumbstruck.

“What—” The word tumbled out of him.

You were halfway to the rooftop already, gripping crumbling bricks, using momentum and muscle memory he never knew you had. In a formal dress. Without breaking a sweat.

“You’re insane,” he muttered to himself, still stunned. Hands rested on his hips as he watched you disappear.

You were long gone— but not out of reach, yet.

He wasn’t going to give up.

Jayce scanned the alley, eyes narrowing until he spotted a fire escape ladder tucked behind a stack of crates. For a second, he hesitated, thinking of the consequences of all of this.

Councilman Jayce Talis, caught climbing unauthorised property in the dead of the night… the tabloids would have a field day for sure.

But the thought of not seeing you again— that you might vanish into Piltover’s veins and never resurface— was far worse.

He grabbed hold of the latter without a second thought. The metal groaned beneath his weight as he ascended, one hand on the cool rails while the other braced against the brick wall. Every rung felt like a gamble. But he kept moving.

Determined to find you. And this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away. The wind grew colder as he climbed higher, brushing across his skin. From this vantage point, Piltover glowed below in gold. The Hexgates stood tall in the distance, the blue light pulsing steadily in the night.

He found you perched on the ledge of the rooftop, your back to him. Legs dangling into nothing. Reckless as always. Just as he remembered.

His boots scraped against the rooftop gravel as he pulled himself up fully with a groan, chest still rising and falling sharply from the chase.

“Why are you doing this?” he called, voice rough with breathlessness. “I know you saw me back there.”

Silence. Just the wind and the beat of the pulse in his ears

“It’s not obvious ,” he said when the silence stretched. “So enlighten me. Why is it that the moment I show up, you take off like a bat out of hell? You didn’t even give me the chance to speak.”

Still facing the city, you said quietly, “You didn’t have to. You already said everything when you left me behind.”

Jayce inches closer, cautious in his steps. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes. You did,” you interrupted with restrained fury. The edge in your voice cracked “You chose to chase the glory— of Hextech. And you got it now, didn’t you?”

Jayce winced at the bitterness in your tone, but he knew it came from a place of hurt he had caused.

You had met back in the Academy— two ambitious students who swore they’d change the world together. You were the one constant in his darkest moments, especially when his dreams of harnessing magic were mocked and dismissed by the very scholars he idolised.

Everyone turned his backs on him, saying it wasn’t possible. But you stuck by him.

You’d spend countless nights in the lab, curled besides him as he scribbled down theories, his blueprints illuminated by candlelight and crystal glows. This night melted into stolen kisses and whispered promises between sleepless study sessions.

But all good things were temporary. And promises were weightless in the name of progress.

Even when he stood on the brink of banishment of Piltover, you stayed. You believed in him more fiercely than he believed himself. But when the Council took him in and the spotlight found him, he didn’t look back. Not once

All you could do was watch him rise to prominence from a distance. The same hands that caressed your face now clutched onto awards instead.

And after that speech he gave on Piltover’s Progress Day, you never heard from him again. And your name— your presence— was quietly scrubbed from the story.

You finally turned to look at him, the city lights catching the shine in your eyes.

“Do you know how frustrating it is seeing your face on every poster? Every merchant hawking your invention like they were a divine gift. You were everywhere, the Man of Progress. And I had to pretend you weren’t the first boy I ever gave a damn about.”

The raw emotions in your voice was enough to make his resolve falter. Jayce didn’t say anything for a moment, his throat tightened with guilt, a lump forming making the words impossible to speak.

He hadn’t thought about it from that perspective— how seeing his face everywhere reopened old wounds, the same face that once shattered your heart.

He had been so preoccupied by ambition, he never stopped to consider how his success might’ve tormented you.

Finally, he found his voice and had the courage to speak up again. “I thought I had time. I thought I could make something of myself and then come back to you and—”

“And what? Sweep me off my feet? Apologise while wearing that damn fancy gilded council pin like it means something?” Your eyes burned. “It doesn’t matter now… I’m just another stepping stone for your success, right? Something you left behind once it got in the way.”

“Please don’t say that, you mean more than that,” he said, the words thick with desperation.

He slowly took another step closer to you— though he longed to reach out and touch your face. But he knew he didn’t deserve that intimacy with you anymore.

“I may have the Man of Progress title, but it means nothing if I couldn’t bring the one person I care about along with it.”

You stayed quiet. The silence between you was almost suffocating, despite the open air of the rooftop. The hum of the city faded, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just you and him.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to reach out. But the fear of losing even this fragile thread between you held him still. The urge to close the distance was getting harder to ignore. Instead, he shifted his weight, tension coiled tight in his chest.

You turned away again, a gesture that felt like a rejection. Jayce knew that there was nothing he could say that could convince you to stay, and he felt his chest fill with anguish.

But then you spoke again, barely audible. He almost missed it.

“Prove it.”

Jayce blinked. “What?”

“If you really mean it—” you ran across the rooftop like a fleeting shadow before you took off and leapt, landing on the neighbouring rooftop. “—catch me!”

And you kept going.

Jayce let out a strangled noise. “Are you serious—?!”

But you were already gone, disappearing over the tiled rooftops. Your silhouette sliced through the moonlight like you belonged in the wind. Your dress flowed gracefully around your body, catching the wind as you moved.

Jayce was frozen in place, stunned by what just happened. Part of him debated the logic of chasing you across the unstable rooftops in formalwear. How widely unsafe and maybe illegal this was.

But watching the distance between you kept growing, and with it, every doubt in his mind was drowned out and replaced with a rush in his blood. The wind, the night, you. It all pulled him forward.

He stepped toward the edge, his gaze dipping to the streets below— too far down. The height twisted in his guts like nausea. But then he looked up. You were still moving.

Your last words echoed in his head, the adrenaline coursing in his bloodstream.

He took a few steps back, then launched himself forward. His body soared through the air and landed on the adjacent rooftop with a jarring thud. His eyes locked onto your figure ahead, all focus now funnelled into one purpose.

You may have had an advantage in terms of dexterity— which came apparent as Jayce pursued you across the rooftops. But he had muscles, stubbornness, and regret that was catching fire in his chest.

Even so, he struggled to keep up. Every time he gained ground, you veered at the last second, changing directions like you knew the rooftops better than your own heartbeat.

No matter how fast he ran, you always seemed to be just a few steps ahead— like a tantalising tease.

One sharp turn nearly sent him stumbling, throwing him off balance and causing him to lose his footing briefly. He cursed under his breath

And then, your laughter reverberated in the night air behind you— light and free. Like you were enjoying every second of this. Like the chase was your vengeance and your flirtation all in one.

It only pushed him harder.

His limbs burned, his formal jacket was restricting, and he’d definitely pulled something. But Jayce pressed forward, leaning into every stride, teeth clenched, muscles screaming.

Finally, he saw his moment. The gap narrowed.

His long legs propelled him forward one final time in a powerful stride, his focus solely on closing the distance and finally capturing you.

With his outstretched arms, he lunged forward and managed to wrap his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him. Your body slammed against his chest and he held on tight.

His grip was firm yet not overbearing— his breath ragged, chest heaving. The heat of your bodies pressed flushed together, your back against the ventilation shaft, his body caging yours.

Your face was close enough to feel each other's breaths— though his was hotter, laced with adrenaline and effort.

Lactic acid burned through his legs, but he barely noticed. His eyes scanned your face, trying to read something behind your maddening calm.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmured, glancing up at him. Too composed, too amused.

Jayce instinctively ran his fingers through his hair, only now realising how disheveled it was from the wild goose chase. Wind-tossed. Sweat-mattered. An utter mess.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he huffed— his voice was dry, but hoarse. “It’s not like I’ve been chasing you across half the rooftops in Piltover or anything.”

Despite the sarcasm, there was an undeniable fondness behind his words— exasperated but sincere. Your comment made him acutely aware of his hair. He tried to fix it again, then gave up with a frustrated sigh.

“Your face is flushed too,” you added, your voice remained casual. “Kinda remind me of when—”

“Shut up…” he cut in quickly, face heating further.

His voice was a low grumble, but the vulnerability underneath it gave him away. He didn’t need reminders of those intimate moments, not when you were so close and every part of him was aching to close the distance between you again.

“Don’t…don’t bring that up.”

“And why not?” You tilted your head, your tone playful but prodding.

“Because it’s irrelevant,” his voice faltered. The sarcasm cracked just enough to reveal the truth behind it. “That was a different time. A different situation. We’re not the same people we were back then.”

But even as he said it, a part of him screamed at the lie. You knew it too— he could see it in your eyes. The weight of everything unspoken still hung between you. The love that never really left.

“So why did you chase after me?” you asked, voice growing more serious.

Jayce hesitated, clearly not prepared for the question.

“Because…” his voice dropped to something more fragile. “Because I couldn’t let you go again, not when there’s so much unsaid between us.”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. Not quite touching, not yet. But close enough to feel the magnetic pull.

“I never stopped loving you. And if you ran again, I would have chased you for another thirty minutes… or thirty years.”

Your gaze didn’t waver from him. You studied him silently, unblinking, almost daring him to mean it. He could almost feel the weight of your scrutiny.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” you finally said.

Jayce let out a tired half-laugh. “I feel like I’m about to collapse.”

“So why didn’t you stop?” your tone sharpened, just slightly. “You could’ve gone back, cleaned yourself up. Pretend none of this even happened.”

Jayce flinched— not outwardly, but something in his gaze shifted. His smile faltered.

The truth of your words hung heavy before him. He could have turned back. He could’ve smoothed his collar again, walked into the gala, and let this moment vanish into the night.

Carried on like nothing ever happened.

But he didn’t. A new wave of guilt washed over him. He could see it in your expression— you still thought he might.

You still thought he’d choose to walk away. And the worst part was, he couldn’t even resent you for it.

He had walked away once.

Knowing you believed he might do it again hurt more than he expected.

“Because… It's you. I couldn’t stop if I tried,” he replied quietly, less guarded.

His arms were still wrapped around you, holding you close. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek. Half-expecting you to pull away. Bracing for it.

But you didn’t.

His pulse throbbed hard— not from exhaustion anymore, but from hope. Longing. And your close proximity.

“I missed this. I miss all of you…the way you used to look at me,” he admitted softly.

For a moment, he thought you leaned closer to him— just a fraction. It could’ve been a trick of his desperation, wishful thinking disguised as movement.

You tried to scoff at his words, but it came out thin and airy. “That was a long time ago, Jayce.”

“Don’t tell me you never thought about it, too.”

You didn’t say anything. But he could sense the words digesting in your mind— the pause in your breath, the flicker in your eyes. He knew you couldn’t lie to him. Not about this. After all, there must’ve been a reason why you even attended the gala, knowing he would be there too.

One of your hands hesitantly reached up, not quite touching him. Testing the tension. Jayce didn’t move, didn’t speak— just waited, letting you decide how close was too close.

He wasn’t prepared for the way you surged forward suddenly, tugging him down by his collar and pressing your mouth into his. It was soft, almost shy at first— but his heart still nearly gave out at the sheer rush of it

His eyes widened, shocked by your sudden boldness— but the moment your lips moved against his like it used to, muscle memory kicked in. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

The nostalgia of the intimacy soared through him. Your bodies slotted together like memory, muscle, heat and breath. You sighed into his mouth, and he parted his lips instinctively, letting your tongue brush against his.

He kissed deeper, needier, hungry like he was afraid you might vanish. He didn’t want to miss a single moment that you were giving him. Your hands threaded through his hair, and he melted beneath them.

When you finally broke apart, your nose still brushed— close enough that he could feel your shaky exhales against his skin. His hands had already started to roam down your sides, fingers trembling with need.

“Let me make it up to you,” he rasped with raw want. “please.”

You could only nod— one slow, steady tilt of your head.

He tugged at your dress higher, the fabric bunching around your waist. Until the soft swell of your thighs and the edge of your panties came into view. He saw your shiver, not just from the cold but from anticipation too.

If this were a different scenario, one where you were still together, Jayce wouldn’t be so open. He would never touch you like this out in public. Not where someone could see— not like this.

But you always made him forget his caution. And tonight, the rooftops were empty. The streets below were almost remote. Piltover was at the gala, completely oblivious to the reunion that was happening above them.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth as his fingers brushed your inner thigh, then slipped higher, gliding along the dampened fabric of your underwear from your arousal.

“God…you’re dripping,” he murmured in awe, thumbs stroking lightly over the wet patch darkening your panties.

He pulled the fabric aside, watching as the strands of your wetness stretched and thinned between your core and the cloth, until you were completely bare to him.

His fingers moved in, brushing deliberately over the bundle of nerves he knew would elicit a reaction out of you. Slow, deliberate strokes— drawing the sensation out like a secret.

Your body tensed beneath him, a gasp lodged at your throat. Just a few touches, and already you were so responsive. It only made him want more.

His fingers slid through your folds, gathering your wetness on the pad of his fingers. He started with one digit, easing inside of you, and his breath hitched at the feeling. Warm. Familiar. He watched your face, devoured your reaction like a starved man.

He slowly dragged his fingers out, then sank back in, building a steady rhythm. Your walls fluttered, already clenching, aching. But he didn’t want to rush things yet.

It was the first time in years he got to touch you like this. Feel your body against his. It had been too long and he was planning to savour it.

He added a second finger, groaning under his breath as your body welcomed the stretch. His mouth trailed down your neck, pressing a kiss there, like he was reacquainting himself with every inch of you.

“Tell me you missed me…as much as I missed you,” he voice was low against your skin.

“I shouldn’t—” you breathed between moans, voice trembling as you felt his thumb circling your clit “But I did.”

That did something to him.

He curled his fingers inside of you, angling it until he found the spot that always made your body jolt— and when your hips jerked forward and your fingers clawed at his biceps, he knew he found the jackpot.

His fingers didn’t leave your core for a moment, working you open with the care of someone who knew exactly how you liked to be touched. And the hunger of someone who never thought he’d get again.

Eventually, he withdrew his fingers, with your essence still clinging on. He looked down at them, not quite ready to clean them off yet.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling heavily, but your gaze never left him. Slowly, you reached out, fingers finding the button of his shirt— undoing them one by one with a shaky blend of nostalgia and impatience.

You didn’t take his shirt off completely, just enough to part it, revealing the heat of his bare chest. Your hand pressed against him, palms sliding over muscles that taut beneath your touch.

Jayce shuddered.

Your touch was soft, so soft. It was torture. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into it, absorbing every second of contact. He had dreamed about this— you, this close, touching him again— and now that it was real, it nearly undid him.

The heat coiled in his lower stomach, arousal flooding through him like an inferno. You reached lower, fingered brushing over the hard shape straining against his pants.

He whined lowly as you palmed him through the fabric. Your movements were needy when searching. His hips twitched up into your hands.

With trembling urgency, he fumbled to undo his own pants, and the moment the last clasp came free, his dick sprang out— already leaking at the tip. The sudden release of pressure left him lightheaded.

The cool night air kissed his overheated skin, but the heat radiating from his core only grew stronger. When your hand delicately brushed over his length, skin-to-skin this time, his hips jerked instinctively— an unrestrained twitch that betrayed just how wound-up he was.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him with slow deliberation, your thumb swiping over the slick bead of precum that had gathered at the tip. The sensation was enough to break his composure. But he didn’t want to come— not yet— but the way you touched him made him feel dangerously close.

His hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm. But his retrains were slowly thinning like thread unraveling from a seam. It was hard to stay grounded with your touch clouding his every thought.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep touching me like that…” came out an airy whisper from him, his voice sounding like a wreck.

The corner of your lips twitched up in a faint, knowing smile. But you stopped.

He didn’t waste another second to hook one arm beneath your thighs, bunching your dress up again guiding your legs around his waist. His other hand braced you against the cold metal of the ventilation shaft.

He hadn’t meant for his movements to come out rushed and frantic, but the desperation was clawing at his control.

His cock, hard and aching, pressed against your entrance. He could feel your wetness painting his tip. You were soaked just for him and only for him— just as it should be.

And that was when he paused.

Not from doubt. But from the sheer weight of the moment.

The gala that was still going on. The rooftop chase. The defiance in your eyes. It was all catching up to him. And now he was going to take you, in the open air where only the stars bore witness to you, suspended above the city that didn’t know how the world was tilting back into place.

His mind was at war with itself. One part still clinging to caution— not only about the location, but about whether this would really heal what had broken between the two of you.

But the rest of him burned with a different truth. Maybe it wasn’t about the place. Maybe the recklessness proved it was real. That he would go to the ends of earth— or the edge of the rooftop— just to be close to you again.

His gaze dropped to yours, searching. Your eyes were already silently pleading for more, but he still needed to hear it from your lips. Even if his hips ached to move.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, barely holding it together now. “And I will.”

There wasn’t a shadow of doubt from you. “Don’t you dare.”

Your words rang in his ear as he slowly pushed the tip inside of you, feeling the tight resistance of your walls give way around him.

He started slow— partly to keep himself from finishing too quickly, the pent-up tension nearly tipping him over. And partly because of the precariousness of the rooftop, forcing him to stay balanced. He couldn’t risk slipping, or worse, you slipping from his grasp.

But once he adjusted to the angle and your weight in his arms, confidence returned to his movements. He gripped you tighter and pressed deeper, hips rolling in rhythm that grew more reassured with each stroke.

The rooftop rocked beneath you. Wind swept across his sweat-slicked chest, cooling his burning skin. And beneath it all was the heady relentless sound of skin on skin. Carnel and raw.

Your bodies moved together in sync— like they hadn’t passed at all. Like every year apart had simply been a pause. Now, everything came flooding back. The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock with your wetness. Your bated breath fanning his lips. The way you clawed at his back.

It only encouraged him to thrust in deeper, until he felt drunk on the feeling of you — his balls pressed against you.

“You’re so perfect— fuck, look at you,” he panted, forehead pressing to yours. “Look at what you do to me.”

You couldn't even form a response, too far gone, too blissed out. Every moan that trembled from your lips only drove him further into you.

“Jayce—” you finally gasped out. “I… I can’t think straight when ah—”

Your words cracked around the sharp thrust that followed, breaking off into a cry. His name trembled from your lips again, unfiltered and messy— like it was the only word you still remembered.

And God, the way you said it.

You were a mess beneath him, breathless and clinging, just as wrecked as he was. All because of him.

How was he supposed to walk away from this and pretend he didn’t still belong to you? Pretend he hadn’t spent years missing this exact feeling?

The painful memory of him neglecting you twisted in his mind, feuling his every thrust now as if he could make it up to you in the way your body responded.

But he was losing rhythm, his body was too close to the edge. Especially when your legs locked tighter around his waist. The high of it hit him like a wave.

All the accolades, the praises, the reputation he’d built. None of it compared to the sound of your voice falling apart on his name.

The sound of wet slaps filled his ears. Then, he saw white and felt blood quickly rush into his ears.

His vision blanked out for a second as his release tore through him. He managed only a few more stuttering thrusts before he spilled inside you, his breath catching as the tension finally broke.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Just let himself stay buried inside you, letting the haze simmer through his body.

But then reality returned, and panic punched through his chest. You hadn’t come. Your face was flushed and you still pulsed around him.

He leaned back to look at you.

“S-shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” his words got tangled. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly, are you okay?”

“Shh, it’s okay ... .really,” you ushered, soft and reassuring. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs gently brushing over his cheeks. “I wanted this, don’t apologise.”

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The gravity of what just happened sank into his bones. You hadn’t pushed him away. Your hands were still on him— still reaching.

Slowly, he eased out of you, his softened length settling between his legs as the high faded and clarity started to slip in. You let out a hiss at the loss, but didn’t pull away.

He helped you adjust your dress, smoothing down the fabric gently. The way he touched you now was reverent— like he was in awe that you let him have you again. Then he fixed his pants, buttoned his shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair with a distracted glance toward the skyline.

Before the distance could creep back in, he wrapped his arms around your waist again, drawing you in. You rested your hands on his chest, his heartbeat still racing under your palms. Even now, your touch made his sense flicker like sparks off embers.

The air between you wasn’t awkward anymore. Just quiet. Peaceful.

Fragile, but still healing.

“Come home with me,” he uttered, barely louder than the wind.

You didn’t respond with words, just leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure. He let himself smile into it before he could stop.

~

It was his internal clock that woke Jayce naturally. As sleep ebbed away and the familiar outline of his room came to focus, so did the memory of last night— lingering like a dream he was scared to believe.

And then, his ears picked up the soft sound of breathing beside him.

He turned over and saw you curled on your side, still asleep in his bed, facing him. He couldn’t believe you were still here on his bed.

Despite knowing you weren’t the kind of person to leave without a word, a part of him had expected to wake up alone. It would’ve been fair, even deserved.

He quickly shook the thought away— there was no point getting pessimistic. It wasn’t like him.

His hand hovered over your waist for a moment before settling there gently. The morning light spilled through the window and lit your features more clearly than the streetlight glow from the night before.

He took in every detail— the slow, even rise and fall of your chest, the way his dress shirt hung loosely over your frame, paired with the shorts he’d given you.

Something about seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him all over again, a pang of yearning or a glimmer of hope.

You started to stir, and your breathing shifted before you opened your eyes and looked back up at him. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence felt fragile, like one wrong word could shatter the thread between you.

Eventually, he broke it. “You stayed.”

“Only for the night.” Your voice was curt, guarded. It landed in his chest like a stone.

Jayce could feel his heart sink a little at that. “I see…”

You hesitated, picking out your next words before you spoke. “This… doesn’t erase what happened. You hurt me, Jayce. You left me behind.”

You weren’t looking at him with the same tenderness from last night. Like the kiss you initiated hadn’t even happened. There was warmth that lingered but it dulled beneath the layer of pain. It hurt him harder than anything else had.

Perhaps you had a change of heart. That the adrenaline and desire from last night had been replaced by something colder. Logic. Caution.

“I know… I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the remorse was apparent in his tone. “I was so focused on trying to be everything for everyone else… I didn’t see what I was losing.”

“You did see it. You just didn’t stop it.”

Jayce only sighed, low and heavy. He knew he couldn’t argue with that— not without lying to himself. Had he really been so blind? Or had he just refused to face his own failings, hiding behind duties as an excuse?

You deserved better than that.

Even if you chose to walk away, at least you’d know he regretted what he’d done. But God, how he ached for more than just closure.

“I was foolish. I should’ve fought for us. But instead I let you go and now…”

He was met by your silence and the next words came out shaky— like the truth itself might snap the connection between you both.

“Will you ever find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“It’s just…” you paused. Jayce waited patiently, hanging onto every word. “I’m not ready to fall into it again without thinking.”

He had a feeling you were going to say that, he expected nothing less and he respected it. One night of passion wasn’t going to fix everything. Still, the door wasn’t shut, and that was something.

“I get it…” he murmured. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn it back again.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you want to get out of this?”

“I want to show you that I’ve changed, that I’ve learnt from my mistakes.”

“So, a second chance?”

Jayce nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. It might’ve been too much to ask, but he’d rather you know his heart than wonder.

“Yes, a second chance. I know I messed up, but I want another chance to show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

“Are you just saying that so I would stick around in your life, or… do you want more?”

“No, I want more. I want us to have what we had before. The intimacy, the connection, before I ruined everything.”

“But why? Why do you still want me after everything?”

Jayce smiled sadly at that, as if the question itself pained him. If he had truly shown you what you meant to him, maybe you wouldn’t need to ask. But clearly, somewhere along the way, he failed to make you feel seen. And now, all he could do was try harder.

In your eyes, he probably had it all. Hextech was thriving. Piltover finally applauded his brilliance. From the outside, it looked like he could move on— anyone in his position might. That thought struck a nerve.

Had you moved on? Or were you still holding on by a thread?

How many times had you given him the chance to fight for you— and he just… didn’t?

Jayce reached for your face, cradling with a touch so gentle it nearly trembled. His thumb traced your cheeks as he looked into your eyes, grounding himself in the person he’d been too blind to protect.

“Because I’ve never had anybody have faith in me in the way you had, even when I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t realise how much that meant until you were gone. Everything else just… kept moving. But without you, it all felt hollow.”

His voice caught at the edge of honesty as he continued.

“But…after seeing you last night, it reminded me of what I was missing. And I would do anything to bridge that gap and be better for you.”

Jayce shuffled closer until there was hardly any space between you. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, then paused. He took in every part of you— your breath, your softness, your eyes.

Your eyes.

They’ve always been his favourite feature of yours. It expressed more emotions than words ever would. They never lied. Not even when the rest of you tried to.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured in awe. “Even now, when I’ve done so much to hurt you, you’re still the most stunning person I’ve ever seen.”

You gave him a look, not of distaste but something softer. “You’re not so bad yourself, I guess the councillor circle rubbed on you a little.”

Jayce grinned, a little too pleased at the subtle compliment “You think so?”

“Don't let it get to your head,” you said dryly— though that didn’t stop the ghost of a smile on your lips.

“Too late,” he quipped, his feigned arrogance peaking through. “I already feel my ego growing exponentially.”

He found himself chuckling for the first time in a long while. It came out naturally, light. A silver of joy breaking through the ache. The weight in his chest began to lift, just a little. The tension between you easing like the morning sun slipping through the curtains.

“I thought you were going to make it up to me. Not gloat,” you huffed, though your smile was unmistakable. “Is this how you treat all your guests? Laying around in bed all morning?”

“Are you implying that I’m a lazy host?”

“I’m starting to believe it.”

“Well.” He rose from the bed, the sheets slipping around his hips. “If I start off with making breakfast… will that help with my redemption?”

Your expression softened— visible this time. The guardedness you wore like armour was loosening.

“That’s a start…”

[counterblows]

📄 𝐋𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲

Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Angst, Exes to lovers, Broken relationships, Emotional baggage, Eventual smut, Semi-Public Sex, Fingering, Aftercare

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Piltover’s elite gather to celebrate Hextech’s success, with Jayce hailed as its visionary. But the night takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a former lover — you.

Jayce wiped the dew of sweat on his forehead and adjusted his collar again— for what must have been the seventh time. There wasn’t anything out of place, but that didn’t stop him from fussing.

It was a habit— Jayce had always taken pride in making a good impression. That started in how he carried himself. Even back in the Academy, he made sure his uniform was perfectly pressed, boots shined, and hair in place.

Presentation was everything. His mother had drilled that into him early: look sharp, and people will listen. He even wore his signature musk, subtle but distinct, enough to linger when he left the room.

“You’ve been checking your reflection in that panel for the last five minutes,” Viktor said, not looking up from the notes in his lap. “Nervous?”

“It’s not nerves,” Jayce replied, tugging the collar again. “Just… making sure I don’t look like a complete ass in front of half the city.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered toward him, his tone dry. “No one’s here to see how polished your collar is. They came for your progress, not your posture. Though the golden pin is convincing.”

The gala was being held in celebration of the upcoming Hexgate expansion— a monumental leap in technology and trade for Piltover. The entire city had a vested interest, which meant half its elites would be attending. And as co-founder of Hextech, Jayce would be at the centre of it all.

So yes, maybe he was nervous.

He’d rehearsed his talking points, anticipated every possible question about crystal stabilisation, practiced the confident tone expected of a councilman. But it never got easier— the weight of all those eyes, the expectation to be both brilliant and charming.

“You should come, you know,” Jayce said, though he already knew Viktor’s answer. “It wouldn’t hurt to be seen.”

Viktor didn’t look up. “I prefer to let the science speak. Besides, those galas are loud. No one listens to them. They only toast.”

“Well,” Jayce muttered, half to himself. “Sometimes you want someone there who does listen.”

They’d built Hextech together— late nights, impossible problems, breakthroughs and failures. Viktor was as much a part of it as Jayce was— maybe more. And though Jayce had always been the one in front of the cameras and councils, part of him wished Viktor would step forward too. Just once.

But Viktor never liked the spotlight. He was content staying in the wings, letting others speak for what he built. Jayce had learned to respect that, even if he didn’t always understand it.

A soft knock tapped against the door, followed by a subtle click as it opened— revealing Mel. She was already dressed— and she was, in every sense of the word, a knockout. Not just in beauty, but in a commanding way she held a room before even entering it.

Being the wealthiest woman in Piltover— and carrying the weight of her Noxain aristocracy— it reflected in every inch in her attire. Her gown shimmered like molten gold, flowing with each deliberate step as if it were alive, designed to catch the light.

Everything about her outfit screamed elegance, from the fine embroidery traced the curve to the train that swept the floor behind her. As she moved further into the room, her heels clicked with measured rhythm.

She offered Viktor a curt nod of acknowledgment before turning her full attention on Jayce. A smile tugged at her lips, equal part amused and knowing, as she took in his anxious tics.

“You clean up well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “But don’t mistake polish for power. Tonight is about presence and perception.”

Every word was delivered with purpose as she spoke.

Jayce stiffened slightly, managing a faintly amused expression. “And here I thought it was about celebrating Hextech.”

Mel stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them.

“Oh it is,” she said. “But most importantly, it’s about securing people's faith in it… and in you. So, try not to pace like a man waiting for judgment.”

Her hand reached up to smooth the line of his collar, a delicate yet pointed gesture.

“Confidence suits you better than nerves.”

Jayce could only nod, though the nerves didn’t fade. Still, her words settled something inside him. A quiet reminder that he wasn’t walking into this alone— not entirely.

He just had to keep his footing once the speeches began. After all, this was his life’s work. His passion. And tonight, it wasn’t just being celebrated. It was being seen. And Jayce had every intention of showing what Hextech, and himself, were capable of.

~

The soft sound of a string quartet music floated through the air, weaving around the crystalline glow that refracted from the suspended Hex crystal above. The Grand Hall of the Academy had been transformed for the evening event— its austere stone now draped in elegance.

Shimmering banners of deep blue and gold hung between marble columns. Gold-trimmed tables lined the space, each one adorned with champagne flutes and trays of delicate hors d’oeuvres. Everything from the presentation of the food to the cut of each guest’s attire gleamed with precision.

It was a few hours into the evening, and Jayce stood near the centre of it all, his Council pin catching the light like a badge of triumph. Around him, patrons and fellow councilmen mingled in conversation. He smiled, nodded, even laughed on cue.

The taste of champagne sat flat on his tongue. The warmth of the room— part ambient magic, part too many bodies in tight proximity— began to cling to his skin.

But Jayce couldn’t leave. Not yet. This event was, after all, in celebration of Hextech— the very achievement that bore his name.

His gaze swept the room absently behind the rim of his glass, eyes searching for escape through distraction. And then, he caught sight of a familiar figure.

He saw you. Or at least he assumed he did.

At first, he thought it was the trick of the heat or light, some familiar illusion conjured by his exhaustion. But then you turned, every so slightly, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Years could pass, and he would still know the shape of you in a crowd. But what were you doing here? And who had invited you? Piltover’s elites didn’t exactly welcome outsiders, let alone anyone from your part of the city.

His fingers tightens around his glass. A spike of something— a mix of guilt and yearning— rose in his chest, making his heart hammer harder against his ribs. Even from across the room, you still had the power to knock the air out of his lungs.

Would you look at him the same way? Or would your eyes narrow the second they meet? You had every right.

Yet, something tugged at him— an ache he’d buried long ago. The more he tried to convince himself to let it go, the harder it became to stay still.

He ran a hand through his hair. Then again. Straightened his collar for the umpteenth time. Useless fidgeting to stall the inevitable. But eventually, he caved in and crossed the floor. His pulse thudded like a man about to walk straight into war.

He still had no idea what he would say. He only hoped it wouldn’t make you walk away again.

But every step Jayce took toward you, you seemed to take two steps away.

As if you could sense him behind you— your body pulled deeper into the throng of people, into the maze of gowns and glitter. He tried to keep pace, weaving around patrons and murmuring conversations, but you were slipping through the seems like water.

Then you vanished, slipped through a set of doors without a sound.

Jayce pushed after you, struggling to keep up. Frustration was mounting in his chest as he gritted his teeth.

He called your name, voice strained with something that sounded too close to pleading— but you didn’t stop. If anything, you moved faster. Your heels clicked in rapid rhythm against the marble floor until the last echoes of string music faded behind you.

The air outside was a relief, crisp and clean, against his flushed skin. He saw you at the far end of the stairs, sliding down the rails with ease like someone who’s done it a thousand times. You didn’t look back.

How were you able to walk fast in those shoes? Jayce was slowly losing his calm demeanor. He yanked at the button of his cuffs as he chased after you down the quiet streets.

Suddenly, you disappeared between two brick buildings, wedging your body into the narrow space. Then, with no fear, you scaled up the walls.

Jayce stopped in his tracks, completely dumbstruck.

“What—” The word tumbled out of him.

You were halfway to the rooftop already, gripping crumbling bricks, using momentum and muscle memory he never knew you had. In a formal dress. Without breaking a sweat.

“You’re insane,” he muttered to himself, still stunned. Hands rested on his hips as he watched you disappear.

You were long gone— but not out of reach, yet.

He wasn’t going to give up.

Jayce scanned the alley, eyes narrowing until he spotted a fire escape ladder tucked behind a stack of crates. For a second, he hesitated, thinking of the consequences of all of this.

Councilman Jayce Talis, caught climbing unauthorised property in the dead of the night… the tabloids would have a field day for sure.

But the thought of not seeing you again— that you might vanish into Piltover’s veins and never resurface— was far worse.

He grabbed hold of the latter without a second thought. The metal groaned beneath his weight as he ascended, one hand on the cool rails while the other braced against the brick wall. Every rung felt like a gamble. But he kept moving.

Determined to find you. And this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away. The wind grew colder as he climbed higher, brushing across his skin. From this vantage point, Piltover glowed below in gold. The Hexgates stood tall in the distance, the blue light pulsing steadily in the night.

He found you perched on the ledge of the rooftop, your back to him. Legs dangling into nothing. Reckless as always. Just as he remembered.

His boots scraped against the rooftop gravel as he pulled himself up fully with a groan, chest still rising and falling sharply from the chase.

“Why are you doing this?” he called, voice rough with breathlessness. “I know you saw me back there.”

Silence. Just the wind and the beat of the pulse in his ears

“It’s not obvious ,” he said when the silence stretched. “So enlighten me. Why is it that the moment I show up, you take off like a bat out of hell? You didn’t even give me the chance to speak.”

Still facing the city, you said quietly, “You didn’t have to. You already said everything when you left me behind.”

Jayce inches closer, cautious in his steps. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes. You did,” you interrupted with restrained fury. The edge in your voice cracked “You chose to chase the glory— of Hextech. And you got it now, didn’t you?”

Jayce winced at the bitterness in your tone, but he knew it came from a place of hurt he had caused.

You had met back in the Academy— two ambitious students who swore they’d change the world together. You were the one constant in his darkest moments, especially when his dreams of harnessing magic were mocked and dismissed by the very scholars he idolised.

Everyone turned his backs on him, saying it wasn’t possible. But you stuck by him.

You’d spend countless nights in the lab, curled besides him as he scribbled down theories, his blueprints illuminated by candlelight and crystal glows. This night melted into stolen kisses and whispered promises between sleepless study sessions.

But all good things were temporary. And promises were weightless in the name of progress.

Even when he stood on the brink of banishment of Piltover, you stayed. You believed in him more fiercely than he believed himself. But when the Council took him in and the spotlight found him, he didn’t look back. Not once

All you could do was watch him rise to prominence from a distance. The same hands that caressed your face now clutched onto awards instead.

And after that speech he gave on Piltover’s Progress Day, you never heard from him again. And your name— your presence— was quietly scrubbed from the story.

You finally turned to look at him, the city lights catching the shine in your eyes.

“Do you know how frustrating it is seeing your face on every poster? Every merchant hawking your invention like they were a divine gift. You were everywhere, the Man of Progress. And I had to pretend you weren’t the first boy I ever gave a damn about.”

The raw emotions in your voice was enough to make his resolve falter. Jayce didn’t say anything for a moment, his throat tightened with guilt, a lump forming making the words impossible to speak.

He hadn’t thought about it from that perspective— how seeing his face everywhere reopened old wounds, the same face that once shattered your heart.

He had been so preoccupied by ambition, he never stopped to consider how his success might’ve tormented you.

Finally, he found his voice and had the courage to speak up again. “I thought I had time. I thought I could make something of myself and then come back to you and—”

“And what? Sweep me off my feet? Apologise while wearing that damn fancy gilded council pin like it means something?” Your eyes burned. “It doesn’t matter now… I’m just another stepping stone for your success, right? Something you left behind once it got in the way.”

“Please don’t say that, you mean more than that,” he said, the words thick with desperation.

He slowly took another step closer to you— though he longed to reach out and touch your face. But he knew he didn’t deserve that intimacy with you anymore.

“I may have the Man of Progress title, but it means nothing if I couldn’t bring the one person I care about along with it.”

You stayed quiet. The silence between you was almost suffocating, despite the open air of the rooftop. The hum of the city faded, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just you and him.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to reach out. But the fear of losing even this fragile thread between you held him still. The urge to close the distance was getting harder to ignore. Instead, he shifted his weight, tension coiled tight in his chest.

You turned away again, a gesture that felt like a rejection. Jayce knew that there was nothing he could say that could convince you to stay, and he felt his chest fill with anguish.

But then you spoke again, barely audible. He almost missed it.

“Prove it.”

Jayce blinked. “What?”

“If you really mean it—” you ran across the rooftop like a fleeting shadow before you took off and leapt, landing on the neighbouring rooftop. “—catch me!”

And you kept going.

Jayce let out a strangled noise. “Are you serious—?!”

But you were already gone, disappearing over the tiled rooftops. Your silhouette sliced through the moonlight like you belonged in the wind. Your dress flowed gracefully around your body, catching the wind as you moved.

Jayce was frozen in place, stunned by what just happened. Part of him debated the logic of chasing you across the unstable rooftops in formalwear. How widely unsafe and maybe illegal this was.

But watching the distance between you kept growing, and with it, every doubt in his mind was drowned out and replaced with a rush in his blood. The wind, the night, you. It all pulled him forward.

He stepped toward the edge, his gaze dipping to the streets below— too far down. The height twisted in his guts like nausea. But then he looked up. You were still moving.

Your last words echoed in his head, the adrenaline coursing in his bloodstream.

He took a few steps back, then launched himself forward. His body soared through the air and landed on the adjacent rooftop with a jarring thud. His eyes locked onto your figure ahead, all focus now funnelled into one purpose.

You may have had an advantage in terms of dexterity— which came apparent as Jayce pursued you across the rooftops. But he had muscles, stubbornness, and regret that was catching fire in his chest.

Even so, he struggled to keep up. Every time he gained ground, you veered at the last second, changing directions like you knew the rooftops better than your own heartbeat.

No matter how fast he ran, you always seemed to be just a few steps ahead— like a tantalising tease.

One sharp turn nearly sent him stumbling, throwing him off balance and causing him to lose his footing briefly. He cursed under his breath

And then, your laughter reverberated in the night air behind you— light and free. Like you were enjoying every second of this. Like the chase was your vengeance and your flirtation all in one.

It only pushed him harder.

His limbs burned, his formal jacket was restricting, and he’d definitely pulled something. But Jayce pressed forward, leaning into every stride, teeth clenched, muscles screaming.

Finally, he saw his moment. The gap narrowed.

His long legs propelled him forward one final time in a powerful stride, his focus solely on closing the distance and finally capturing you.

With his outstretched arms, he lunged forward and managed to wrap his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him. Your body slammed against his chest and he held on tight.

His grip was firm yet not overbearing— his breath ragged, chest heaving. The heat of your bodies pressed flushed together, your back against the ventilation shaft, his body caging yours.

Your face was close enough to feel each other's breaths— though his was hotter, laced with adrenaline and effort.

Lactic acid burned through his legs, but he barely noticed. His eyes scanned your face, trying to read something behind your maddening calm.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmured, glancing up at him. Too composed, too amused.

Jayce instinctively ran his fingers through his hair, only now realising how disheveled it was from the wild goose chase. Wind-tossed. Sweat-mattered. An utter mess.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he huffed— his voice was dry, but hoarse. “It’s not like I’ve been chasing you across half the rooftops in Piltover or anything.”

Despite the sarcasm, there was an undeniable fondness behind his words— exasperated but sincere. Your comment made him acutely aware of his hair. He tried to fix it again, then gave up with a frustrated sigh.

“Your face is flushed too,” you added, your voice remained casual. “Kinda remind me of when—”

“Shut up…” he cut in quickly, face heating further.

His voice was a low grumble, but the vulnerability underneath it gave him away. He didn’t need reminders of those intimate moments, not when you were so close and every part of him was aching to close the distance between you again.

“Don’t…don’t bring that up.”

“And why not?” You tilted your head, your tone playful but prodding.

“Because it’s irrelevant,” his voice faltered. The sarcasm cracked just enough to reveal the truth behind it. “That was a different time. A different situation. We’re not the same people we were back then.”

But even as he said it, a part of him screamed at the lie. You knew it too— he could see it in your eyes. The weight of everything unspoken still hung between you. The love that never really left.

“So why did you chase after me?” you asked, voice growing more serious.

Jayce hesitated, clearly not prepared for the question.

“Because…” his voice dropped to something more fragile. “Because I couldn’t let you go again, not when there’s so much unsaid between us.”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. Not quite touching, not yet. But close enough to feel the magnetic pull.

“I never stopped loving you. And if you ran again, I would have chased you for another thirty minutes… or thirty years.”

Your gaze didn’t waver from him. You studied him silently, unblinking, almost daring him to mean it. He could almost feel the weight of your scrutiny.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” you finally said.

Jayce let out a tired half-laugh. “I feel like I’m about to collapse.”

“So why didn’t you stop?” your tone sharpened, just slightly. “You could’ve gone back, cleaned yourself up. Pretend none of this even happened.”

Jayce flinched— not outwardly, but something in his gaze shifted. His smile faltered.

The truth of your words hung heavy before him. He could have turned back. He could’ve smoothed his collar again, walked into the gala, and let this moment vanish into the night.

Carried on like nothing ever happened.

But he didn’t. A new wave of guilt washed over him. He could see it in your expression— you still thought he might.

You still thought he’d choose to walk away. And the worst part was, he couldn’t even resent you for it.

He had walked away once.

Knowing you believed he might do it again hurt more than he expected.

“Because… It's you. I couldn’t stop if I tried,” he replied quietly, less guarded.

His arms were still wrapped around you, holding you close. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek. Half-expecting you to pull away. Bracing for it.

But you didn’t.

His pulse throbbed hard— not from exhaustion anymore, but from hope. Longing. And your close proximity.

“I missed this. I miss all of you…the way you used to look at me,” he admitted softly.

For a moment, he thought you leaned closer to him— just a fraction. It could’ve been a trick of his desperation, wishful thinking disguised as movement.

You tried to scoff at his words, but it came out thin and airy. “That was a long time ago, Jayce.”

“Don’t tell me you never thought about it, too.”

You didn’t say anything. But he could sense the words digesting in your mind— the pause in your breath, the flicker in your eyes. He knew you couldn’t lie to him. Not about this. After all, there must’ve been a reason why you even attended the gala, knowing he would be there too.

One of your hands hesitantly reached up, not quite touching him. Testing the tension. Jayce didn’t move, didn’t speak— just waited, letting you decide how close was too close.

He wasn’t prepared for the way you surged forward suddenly, tugging him down by his collar and pressing your mouth into his. It was soft, almost shy at first— but his heart still nearly gave out at the sheer rush of it

His eyes widened, shocked by your sudden boldness— but the moment your lips moved against his like it used to, muscle memory kicked in. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

The nostalgia of the intimacy soared through him. Your bodies slotted together like memory, muscle, heat and breath. You sighed into his mouth, and he parted his lips instinctively, letting your tongue brush against his.

He kissed deeper, needier, hungry like he was afraid you might vanish. He didn’t want to miss a single moment that you were giving him. Your hands threaded through his hair, and he melted beneath them.

When you finally broke apart, your nose still brushed— close enough that he could feel your shaky exhales against his skin. His hands had already started to roam down your sides, fingers trembling with need.

“Let me make it up to you,” he rasped with raw want. “please.”

You could only nod— one slow, steady tilt of your head.

He tugged at your dress higher, the fabric bunching around your waist. Until the soft swell of your thighs and the edge of your panties came into view. He saw your shiver, not just from the cold but from anticipation too.

If this were a different scenario, one where you were still together, Jayce wouldn’t be so open. He would never touch you like this out in public. Not where someone could see— not like this.

But you always made him forget his caution. And tonight, the rooftops were empty. The streets below were almost remote. Piltover was at the gala, completely oblivious to the reunion that was happening above them.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth as his fingers brushed your inner thigh, then slipped higher, gliding along the dampened fabric of your underwear from your arousal.

“God…you’re dripping,” he murmured in awe, thumbs stroking lightly over the wet patch darkening your panties.

He pulled the fabric aside, watching as the strands of your wetness stretched and thinned between your core and the cloth, until you were completely bare to him.

His fingers moved in, brushing deliberately over the bundle of nerves he knew would elicit a reaction out of you. Slow, deliberate strokes— drawing the sensation out like a secret.

Your body tensed beneath him, a gasp lodged at your throat. Just a few touches, and already you were so responsive. It only made him want more.

His fingers slid through your folds, gathering your wetness on the pad of his fingers. He started with one digit, easing inside of you, and his breath hitched at the feeling. Warm. Familiar. He watched your face, devoured your reaction like a starved man.

He slowly dragged his fingers out, then sank back in, building a steady rhythm. Your walls fluttered, already clenching, aching. But he didn’t want to rush things yet.

It was the first time in years he got to touch you like this. Feel your body against his. It had been too long and he was planning to savour it.

He added a second finger, groaning under his breath as your body welcomed the stretch. His mouth trailed down your neck, pressing a kiss there, like he was reacquainting himself with every inch of you.

“Tell me you missed me…as much as I missed you,” he voice was low against your skin.

“I shouldn’t—” you breathed between moans, voice trembling as you felt his thumb circling your clit “But I did.”

That did something to him.

He curled his fingers inside of you, angling it until he found the spot that always made your body jolt— and when your hips jerked forward and your fingers clawed at his biceps, he knew he found the jackpot.

His fingers didn’t leave your core for a moment, working you open with the care of someone who knew exactly how you liked to be touched. And the hunger of someone who never thought he’d get again.

Eventually, he withdrew his fingers, with your essence still clinging on. He looked down at them, not quite ready to clean them off yet.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling heavily, but your gaze never left him. Slowly, you reached out, fingers finding the button of his shirt— undoing them one by one with a shaky blend of nostalgia and impatience.

You didn’t take his shirt off completely, just enough to part it, revealing the heat of his bare chest. Your hand pressed against him, palms sliding over muscles that taut beneath your touch.

Jayce shuddered.

Your touch was soft, so soft. It was torture. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into it, absorbing every second of contact. He had dreamed about this— you, this close, touching him again— and now that it was real, it nearly undid him.

The heat coiled in his lower stomach, arousal flooding through him like an inferno. You reached lower, fingered brushing over the hard shape straining against his pants.

He whined lowly as you palmed him through the fabric. Your movements were needy when searching. His hips twitched up into your hands.

With trembling urgency, he fumbled to undo his own pants, and the moment the last clasp came free, his dick sprang out— already leaking at the tip. The sudden release of pressure left him lightheaded.

The cool night air kissed his overheated skin, but the heat radiating from his core only grew stronger. When your hand delicately brushed over his length, skin-to-skin this time, his hips jerked instinctively— an unrestrained twitch that betrayed just how wound-up he was.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him with slow deliberation, your thumb swiping over the slick bead of precum that had gathered at the tip. The sensation was enough to break his composure. But he didn’t want to come— not yet— but the way you touched him made him feel dangerously close.

His hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm. But his retrains were slowly thinning like thread unraveling from a seam. It was hard to stay grounded with your touch clouding his every thought.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep touching me like that…” came out an airy whisper from him, his voice sounding like a wreck.

The corner of your lips twitched up in a faint, knowing smile. But you stopped.

He didn’t waste another second to hook one arm beneath your thighs, bunching your dress up again guiding your legs around his waist. His other hand braced you against the cold metal of the ventilation shaft.

He hadn’t meant for his movements to come out rushed and frantic, but the desperation was clawing at his control.

His cock, hard and aching, pressed against your entrance. He could feel your wetness painting his tip. You were soaked just for him and only for him— just as it should be.

And that was when he paused.

Not from doubt. But from the sheer weight of the moment.

The gala that was still going on. The rooftop chase. The defiance in your eyes. It was all catching up to him. And now he was going to take you, in the open air where only the stars bore witness to you, suspended above the city that didn’t know how the world was tilting back into place.

His mind was at war with itself. One part still clinging to caution— not only about the location, but about whether this would really heal what had broken between the two of you.

But the rest of him burned with a different truth. Maybe it wasn’t about the place. Maybe the recklessness proved it was real. That he would go to the ends of earth— or the edge of the rooftop— just to be close to you again.

His gaze dropped to yours, searching. Your eyes were already silently pleading for more, but he still needed to hear it from your lips. Even if his hips ached to move.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, barely holding it together now. “And I will.”

There wasn’t a shadow of doubt from you. “Don’t you dare.”

Your words rang in his ear as he slowly pushed the tip inside of you, feeling the tight resistance of your walls give way around him.

He started slow— partly to keep himself from finishing too quickly, the pent-up tension nearly tipping him over. And partly because of the precariousness of the rooftop, forcing him to stay balanced. He couldn’t risk slipping, or worse, you slipping from his grasp.

But once he adjusted to the angle and your weight in his arms, confidence returned to his movements. He gripped you tighter and pressed deeper, hips rolling in rhythm that grew more reassured with each stroke.

The rooftop rocked beneath you. Wind swept across his sweat-slicked chest, cooling his burning skin. And beneath it all was the heady relentless sound of skin on skin. Carnel and raw.

Your bodies moved together in sync— like they hadn’t passed at all. Like every year apart had simply been a pause. Now, everything came flooding back. The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock with your wetness. Your bated breath fanning his lips. The way you clawed at his back.

It only encouraged him to thrust in deeper, until he felt drunk on the feeling of you — his balls pressed against you.

“You’re so perfect— fuck, look at you,” he panted, forehead pressing to yours. “Look at what you do to me.”

You couldn't even form a response, too far gone, too blissed out. Every moan that trembled from your lips only drove him further into you.

“Jayce—” you finally gasped out. “I… I can’t think straight when ah—”

Your words cracked around the sharp thrust that followed, breaking off into a cry. His name trembled from your lips again, unfiltered and messy— like it was the only word you still remembered.

And God, the way you said it.

You were a mess beneath him, breathless and clinging, just as wrecked as he was. All because of him.

How was he supposed to walk away from this and pretend he didn’t still belong to you? Pretend he hadn’t spent years missing this exact feeling?

The painful memory of him neglecting you twisted in his mind, feuling his every thrust now as if he could make it up to you in the way your body responded.

But he was losing rhythm, his body was too close to the edge. Especially when your legs locked tighter around his waist. The high of it hit him like a wave.

All the accolades, the praises, the reputation he’d built. None of it compared to the sound of your voice falling apart on his name.

The sound of wet slaps filled his ears. Then, he saw white and felt blood quickly rush into his ears.

His vision blanked out for a second as his release tore through him. He managed only a few more stuttering thrusts before he spilled inside you, his breath catching as the tension finally broke.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Just let himself stay buried inside you, letting the haze simmer through his body.

But then reality returned, and panic punched through his chest. You hadn’t come. Your face was flushed and you still pulsed around him.

He leaned back to look at you.

“S-shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” his words got tangled. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly, are you okay?”

“Shh, it’s okay ... .really,” you ushered, soft and reassuring. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs gently brushing over his cheeks. “I wanted this, don’t apologise.”

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The gravity of what just happened sank into his bones. You hadn’t pushed him away. Your hands were still on him— still reaching.

Slowly, he eased out of you, his softened length settling between his legs as the high faded and clarity started to slip in. You let out a hiss at the loss, but didn’t pull away.

He helped you adjust your dress, smoothing down the fabric gently. The way he touched you now was reverent— like he was in awe that you let him have you again. Then he fixed his pants, buttoned his shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair with a distracted glance toward the skyline.

Before the distance could creep back in, he wrapped his arms around your waist again, drawing you in. You rested your hands on his chest, his heartbeat still racing under your palms. Even now, your touch made his sense flicker like sparks off embers.

The air between you wasn’t awkward anymore. Just quiet. Peaceful.

Fragile, but still healing.

“Come home with me,” he uttered, barely louder than the wind.

You didn’t respond with words, just leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure. He let himself smile into it before he could stop.

~

It was his internal clock that woke Jayce naturally. As sleep ebbed away and the familiar outline of his room came to focus, so did the memory of last night— lingering like a dream he was scared to believe.

And then, his ears picked up the soft sound of breathing beside him.

He turned over and saw you curled on your side, still asleep in his bed, facing him. He couldn’t believe you were still here on his bed.

Despite knowing you weren’t the kind of person to leave without a word, a part of him had expected to wake up alone. It would’ve been fair, even deserved.

He quickly shook the thought away— there was no point getting pessimistic. It wasn’t like him.

His hand hovered over your waist for a moment before settling there gently. The morning light spilled through the window and lit your features more clearly than the streetlight glow from the night before.

He took in every detail— the slow, even rise and fall of your chest, the way his dress shirt hung loosely over your frame, paired with the shorts he’d given you.

Something about seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him all over again, a pang of yearning or a glimmer of hope.

You started to stir, and your breathing shifted before you opened your eyes and looked back up at him. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence felt fragile, like one wrong word could shatter the thread between you.

Eventually, he broke it. “You stayed.”

“Only for the night.” Your voice was curt, guarded. It landed in his chest like a stone.

Jayce could feel his heart sink a little at that. “I see…”

You hesitated, picking out your next words before you spoke. “This… doesn’t erase what happened. You hurt me, Jayce. You left me behind.”

You weren’t looking at him with the same tenderness from last night. Like the kiss you initiated hadn’t even happened. There was warmth that lingered but it dulled beneath the layer of pain. It hurt him harder than anything else had.

Perhaps you had a change of heart. That the adrenaline and desire from last night had been replaced by something colder. Logic. Caution.

“I know… I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the remorse was apparent in his tone. “I was so focused on trying to be everything for everyone else… I didn’t see what I was losing.”

“You did see it. You just didn’t stop it.”

Jayce only sighed, low and heavy. He knew he couldn’t argue with that— not without lying to himself. Had he really been so blind? Or had he just refused to face his own failings, hiding behind duties as an excuse?

You deserved better than that.

Even if you chose to walk away, at least you’d know he regretted what he’d done. But God, how he ached for more than just closure.

“I was foolish. I should’ve fought for us. But instead I let you go and now…”

He was met by your silence and the next words came out shaky— like the truth itself might snap the connection between you both.

“Will you ever find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“It’s just…” you paused. Jayce waited patiently, hanging onto every word. “I’m not ready to fall into it again without thinking.”

He had a feeling you were going to say that, he expected nothing less and he respected it. One night of passion wasn’t going to fix everything. Still, the door wasn’t shut, and that was something.

“I get it…” he murmured. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn it back again.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you want to get out of this?”

“I want to show you that I’ve changed, that I’ve learnt from my mistakes.”

“So, a second chance?”

Jayce nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. It might’ve been too much to ask, but he’d rather you know his heart than wonder.

“Yes, a second chance. I know I messed up, but I want another chance to show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

“Are you just saying that so I would stick around in your life, or… do you want more?”

“No, I want more. I want us to have what we had before. The intimacy, the connection, before I ruined everything.”

“But why? Why do you still want me after everything?”

Jayce smiled sadly at that, as if the question itself pained him. If he had truly shown you what you meant to him, maybe you wouldn’t need to ask. But clearly, somewhere along the way, he failed to make you feel seen. And now, all he could do was try harder.

In your eyes, he probably had it all. Hextech was thriving. Piltover finally applauded his brilliance. From the outside, it looked like he could move on— anyone in his position might. That thought struck a nerve.

Had you moved on? Or were you still holding on by a thread?

How many times had you given him the chance to fight for you— and he just… didn’t?

Jayce reached for your face, cradling with a touch so gentle it nearly trembled. His thumb traced your cheeks as he looked into your eyes, grounding himself in the person he’d been too blind to protect.

“Because I’ve never had anybody have faith in me in the way you had, even when I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t realise how much that meant until you were gone. Everything else just… kept moving. But without you, it all felt hollow.”

His voice caught at the edge of honesty as he continued.

“But…after seeing you last night, it reminded me of what I was missing. And I would do anything to bridge that gap and be better for you.”

Jayce shuffled closer until there was hardly any space between you. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, then paused. He took in every part of you— your breath, your softness, your eyes.

Your eyes.

They’ve always been his favourite feature of yours. It expressed more emotions than words ever would. They never lied. Not even when the rest of you tried to.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured in awe. “Even now, when I’ve done so much to hurt you, you’re still the most stunning person I’ve ever seen.”

You gave him a look, not of distaste but something softer. “You’re not so bad yourself, I guess the councillor circle rubbed on you a little.”

Jayce grinned, a little too pleased at the subtle compliment “You think so?”

“Don't let it get to your head,” you said dryly— though that didn’t stop the ghost of a smile on your lips.

“Too late,” he quipped, his feigned arrogance peaking through. “I already feel my ego growing exponentially.”

He found himself chuckling for the first time in a long while. It came out naturally, light. A silver of joy breaking through the ache. The weight in his chest began to lift, just a little. The tension between you easing like the morning sun slipping through the curtains.

“I thought you were going to make it up to me. Not gloat,” you huffed, though your smile was unmistakable. “Is this how you treat all your guests? Laying around in bed all morning?”

“Are you implying that I’m a lazy host?”

“I’m starting to believe it.”

“Well.” He rose from the bed, the sheets slipping around his hips. “If I start off with making breakfast… will that help with my redemption?”

Your expression softened— visible this time. The guardedness you wore like armour was loosening.

“That’s a start…”

[counterblows]

Jayce Talis appreciation post

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Viktor: I'll meet you in the lab closet in a minute, Jayce. Jayce:

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png from this post

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Taps mic. Jayce’s penis sounding like a ketchup bottle when cum comes out. Leaves stage.

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Bruh no bc i have the feeling everybody's just getting WAYYYY too comfy disrespecting religion. Like even if you're not religious you can act like a decent human being and be respectful!? Why is it so difficult for ppl to NOT be jerks and to leave religions ALONE!! And i understand the entire thing with "okay but religious people also need to leave non religious people alone!!" but neither parties are right with wtv they're doing, and that comes from a RELIGIOUS person. Like no Emily dressing up as a slvtty nun is NOT necessary, no Kimberleigh dressing up as a hijabi for "worst fear"in a game is NOT funny/cute!!? And if this was with ANY other community people would be cancelling them in no time but since it's about religious people all of a sudden disrespect doesn't matter? Its all abt "respect every1!!" until it's about religion smh.. (btw not ALL Non religious ppl do this, im talking abt the 1's who do, and not ALL religious ppl force their beliefs, i dont! but i am talking abt those who do) anyways, just leave religions out of stuf.

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Your theme is sooo pretty and creative it would shame any suggestions

Awhh thank you anon ( ˘ ³˘)