#history of zaun

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

The stewards of the old world are always keen to give you a glimpse of their might... According to legend, the ancients built specialized chambers to seal away false prophets.

The Arcane is waking up.

[mollysunder]

I wonder if the mural of Vander already existed and someone else painted Jinx into it after she became so well regarded?

I just feel like the portraits aren't that well integrated in theme. You have Vander's profile bordered in yellow flowers to represent friendship and joy. Then you have the more detailed painting of Jinx looming over Piltover exploding it with smoke bombs. Jinx is framed around doves while stylized into her latest attacks.

It feels like the artist(s) wanted to associate Jinx with Vander rather than the other way around because the actual subject of the Jinx's portion of the mural is Jinx violently provoking Piltover, but the nature of Jinx's portion is practically whitewashed to make it work with Vander's theme to the point Jinx is surrounded by DOVES. It might be an attempt to harmonize Jinx's persona with the ideals Vander left behind, which are the complete opposite of what Jinx is actually doing.

I think this is on purpose because Jinx is the most politically relevant member of her family now. Jinx is the one being valorized and venerated, and EVERYONE knows none of this would have been possible without Silco. Silco was the one who dedicated his resources to train Jinx and was openly anti-Piltovan to Jinx and the rest of Zaun.

I've seen some claims that Vander and Jinx are together because Vander was more beloved than Silco. But Silco never made it illegal to mourn or even celebrate Vander's memory. Silco allowed and a giant statue of Vander to be built in the middle if Zaun and he'd TALK to it.

But now Silco's dead and there are people running around in the background wearing Jinx's X and Silco's color scheme on their clothes. It feels like there's an ideological custody battle on behalf Silco and Vander through their supporters on who was Jinx's "true" father and gets the lions share of historical parental acclaim.

Tldr: The mural seems more like an effort to save face for Vander rather than bolster Jinx because Vander's actual values inexplicably lead his KNOWN favorite to becoming an enforcer. Meanwhile, everyone knows, especially Silco's supporters, that Silco's responsible for how Jinx turned out, and she's currently Zaun's favorite.

[xo-teric]

Jinx is so tragic for the most obvious reason that, she’s lived this life heavy with strife and grief and sorrow, to the point it’s everything she knows. To fight and hurt and die doing it.

But she also has these soft memories, of her mother and sister, playing with her friends, finding comfort in a little girl who she’ll care for in the way she’d wanted. There’s so much sweetness within her and it creates a beautiful, distressing conflict of these incongruous twins, Powder and Jinx, whose war is infamous and brutal.

Only for her to die, silent like she’s never been before, taking with her the good and bad memories, her heartache, the genius, the madness.

Who will remember it? Her? The history?

[arcanecitizens]

We first see this woman sitting on a crate during S1 Ep1. She only moves to go to the Last Drop when some of the Zaunites oppose Vander but can still be seen there after the time skip. She was displaced during the fighting between the enforcers and chembarons but makes it to the Firelight base. The red head "last drop regular" finds refuge there.

[arcane-machine]

I’m going to go feral thinking about the fact the Piltover would Not view Viktor as Jayce’s partner and equal but as an assistant at most. Regardless of the fact that without Viktor helping Jayce, Hextech would’ve Never been realized nor invented in the first place. Viktor wanted to leave a long lasting legacy and (at first, thought he’d do that with Jayce and making Hextech a reality) but his identity as a Zaunite would Always come first to how people viewed him. Jayce wanted Viktor up on stage with him and to show everyone that they were partners, bringing magic to everyone, but Viktor knew that Piltovians would only see him as “poor, cripple, from the Undercity” dragging their Golden Boy down. “No, not in front of… all of them” Viktor knew, that as a Zaunite his words meant nothing and that he would be talked over and silenced. Jayce always stood up for him but sometimes that wasn’t enough or Jayce’s own words and view got warped by Piltovers politics and society *cough bridge argument cough*. The juxtaposition of wanting to leave a long lasting legacy with Hextech and knowing that the society he lived in would never allow it. 😭😭😭

[fishymedic]

The idea of putting his friendship with Maddie as an 'this applies in basically all verses the context just shifts' (It's characterization load bearing just a bit)

[summonthebats]

I have yet to find anything done by Piltovers Council that Victorian England didn't also do and this raises some questions tbh

[depvotee]

Man, this fic isn't just how to justify Silco and Vander getting back together this is I love anthropology and I need it shoved up my ass-

[theknightlywolfe]

Given the number of grand spaces and tall structures in the undercity that have simply fallen apart due to lack of maintenance and seeming lack of multiple generations of buildings in Piltover I wonder what happened. (I have no doubt that there is LoL game history but I am not looking it up to have the mental exercise of analyizing the info the show gives.)

Did the undercity used to be the city of the area and as certain families got richer and more powerful they moved across the water to virgin land to build their ideal city where things were still clean and undeveloped, pretending as though that city was the original?

Was the undercity invaded by Piltover and the invaders built spaces the could feel comfortable while they pillaged and ruled until they withdrew because things got too toxic and the tech developed where they could still rule from across the water? (A la Europe's invasions in Africa, the Caribbean, and Vietnam) And Piltover merely remade itself completely with the wealth derived.

Was the undercity a thriving independent state and then the founders of Piltover showed up and basically enslaved them and built Piltover on the ruins they created? A bit like Ambessa seems to have done with Noxus.

The talk of gaining independence rather than throwing out an invader and reclaiming sovereignty would seem to eliminate the last two options, especially as it has only been 200yrs of Piltover and at least some of the species there are indicated to have longer lives than 200yrs. Although the seemingly quick agreement to and widespread use of the name Zaun would indicate that it existed for longer than a couple decades or was based in something everyone agreed with. And Heimerdinger seems to have come from other places that had seen destruction between 200 and 300 years prior when he founded Piltover and for all the ecological problems Zaun has due to resource gathering and production, none of it seems to be Arcane related, just greed related. Also the fact that undercity leans more Art Nouveau and Piltover more Art Deco gives a stark visual seperation that hints at a society of art and flair vs one of math and technology, the latter being the things Piltover is dedicated to. Usually, historically, tech is what wins wars and causes one group to rise over another.

It kinda feels like the first option may be the one that happened. An existing city that thrived and developed had oligarchs, mob bosses, etc that gained wealth and power and wanted to separate themselves from the dirt and smell of the mining and manufacturing that produced their wealth and (maybe with Heimerdinger's arrival and cheerful "ooo look over there, what about expanding there?" or simply his scientific expertise) went across the water and built their luxurious city for "their kind". And when it was established the middle classes and merchant classes that could afford it moved over also. It would explain the major and minor houses system. The major houses being the richest and the minor houses being the upper middle class who followed first and built the daily life support systems and businesses to service the rich families. It also explains why there is such disdain for the undercity and apathy towards their lives other than their ability to keep working, Piltover being a move to literally get away from the poor. Anyone sympathetic enough to stay or try and help would quickly deplete their resources or have their health damaged by the same things as the people left there, removing their ability to stay in/join Piltover.

Honestly it is a bit hard to tell without a wider view of the area and relative sizes of Piltover and undercity/the Lanes/Zaun especially relative to the land mass and surrounding waters. Piltover seems to refer to it in whole as the undercity but in a snobbish way, as in inferior city. But, its residents also call it the undercity and while some is above ground, where it connects to the bridges particularly, a lot seems to be literally under ground/water, whether by design or disaster or both. Although a "bathysphere" (it's an inclinator!) transport system existing and treated like just a train variant would imply by design at some point or at least that there was value in a people only transport system being built to the physically lower levels. The reference to fissures hints at the possibility for disaster since fissures usually occur where earthquakes do and Piltover is only 200yrs old. So maybe a disaster happened and Piltover was built by the survivors with money enough to build from scratch and everyone else left where the disaster hit. That would feed into the superiority complex of Piltover towards undercity but not the house system. Unless the house system predated Piltover's founding and the reason there are no traces of houses in the undercity, just mobs, is because the formal houses all moved to Piltover. Which follows with how everyone in Piltover has a family name and no one in the undercity seems to.

[mollysunder]

I wish we got to see Vi's reaction to Isha's imprisonment. Isha was clearly younger, weaker, and less able to protect herself than Vi was when she thrown into Stillwater (which still wasn't a lot). Where's Vi's horror to be on the outside looking in at another child thrown into an adult sized prison cell? How does it feel to know someone you grew close to (Caitlyn) signed off on the same abuse you were personally subject to during your formative years? Does it feed into Vi's self-loathing to know she was apart of this? Would Isha recognize this is the same girl who protected Jinx and would have been shot by Caitlyn? There's so much to explore for Vi in that one plot point alone.

[fulcrums501st]

Why did I write all of this in the tags smh

It's a cliche 'cos it's true: forgiveness and the cycle of violence in Arcane

I do think a lot of Zaun-aligned Arcane fans find the themes of forgiveness quite hard, particularly forgiveness when great wrong has been done. But.... it's not really forgiveness if no wrong has been done, is it? And by season 2, there's some major forgiveness needed. Piltover's Council has done Zaun wrong, and Zaunites have committed terrorist attacks against Piltover citizens who weren't responsible for the actions of their government. The whole situation there is so messed up that any attempt to allocate justice will most likely create new aggressors out of innocent people on both sides, as Jayce's attack led to Renni's attack, and Renni's (and Jinx's) attacks led to Caitlyn's attacks, and Caitlyn's use of the Gray led to Jinx rerouting it back to Piltover's citizens...

The Jinx - Vi storyline is not really relevant to that. It's nice that the sisters reached first a sort of peace (Jinx watching Vi at the pit fights, betting on her but not coming to talk) and then finally resumed a sort of relationship. But then Jinx just died / left, so all that really happened from the forgiveness was that they both got some closure. That's a great resolution for individual people who can simply get over one another, but it doesn't work for cities that are geographically next to each other. They share a water supply! They could have different governments, but those governments would still have to work together.

The storyline relevant to that is Zaundads. I still think it's weirdly out of character to give Silco (even blissed-out and somewhat inebriated AU Silco) the line "the greatest thing we can do in life is to forgive", but it works thematically. Because what Vander did to Silco was unforgiveable (seriously, rewatch the drowning scene), and no sane person would advise Silco to resume that relationship. But we also know that main timeline Silco was miserably hung up on Vander until his dying day, while AU Silco apparently gets Vander making him cocktails every evening and doing unspeakably pleasant things with him every night. Forgiveness might not be deserved by Vander, but it certainly was the best thing for Silco to do for himself.

... and that's the way with the two populations at war, isn't it? I'm sure the Silco-Vander reconciliation was nowhere near as simple as 'Silco reads the letter, forgives' (for one thing I don't think Silco would have, or should have, simply abandoned his Shimmer plans). And the new combined Piltover-Zaun Council has huge arguments ahead of it, and will probably never reach gazing-into-one-anothers'-eyes-lovingly levels of amity. I bloody well hope their first agenda items are a huge Zaun infrastructure bill, an agreement on more equitable policing, and a joint task force to legalise medical Shimmer. It's unlikely. But I still think that like Silco and Vander, they can build a happier future by working together than apart. They don't really have any good alternatives.

[sevsgiirl]

— do the girls back home touch you like i do?

sevika x insecure!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: having feelings for the most feared woman in zaun had more cons than it did pros - her being popular amongst women and a regular at the brothel just to name a few. it hurt because you knew with her history there’s no way she’d return your feelings… right?

word count: 5.5k words.

tags: insecure!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, public sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, porn with feelings, top!sevika, bottom!reader.

it was silly, honestly.

you knew it was a shot in the dark for sevika to reciprocate your feelings. much or less consider you an option on her roster.

sevika gets around. there was no denying that, and you’ve come to terms with it the second you caught these stupid little feelings that just wouldn’t go away. no matter how hard you tried.

you assumed it would. back when silco hired you to be his informant, you saw the opportunity as nothing more but an upgrade from your previous jobs. it’s safe to say, you’ve gone through a lot just to get to where you are now. whether it was scrubbing the floors of a dingy, run-down diner that made jericho’s look like a michelin star restaurant, to going as far as thinking about working at babette’s.

but then silco saw some potential in you that not a lot of people have seen before, and you were grateful for it. a lot of your co-workers were tolerable, just as long as you looked past the carnage of their jobs, it was pretty easy to get by when working for silco because he never really asked you to get your hands dirty.

no, he asked sevika to do that.

you knew she was different from the others the second you laid eyes on her. she remained unyielding in the eyes of catastrophe, she gets the job done no matter how tedious the assignments were, and she navigates through life like an enigma.

you were intimidated by her at first. when she walked into a room, her presence demanded to be felt, crowds of people would always make space for her to walk through and she could silence someone with just the heat of her glare. it was then you understood why she was silco’s number two.

but despite her brooding personality, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. maybe it was the allure of wanting something you can’t have, but every time you were sent on a mission with her, this desire to know her better always tempted you. even though you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to strike up a conversation with the older woman, you couldn’t deny that what you felt was beyond just physical attraction. you were intrigued by everything about her.

it tethered the line of obsession but hadn’t quite got there yet, the better way to describe it was infatuation.

she’d occupy your thoughts but not so much to the point that she was all you thought about, but when you did, you had to force yourself to snap out of it before it became borderline creepy, and you wanted to justify your feelings thinking she wouldn’t feel the same in a million years.

not only that, but her reputation precedes her.

you knew your hesitation to make a move stemmed more from just being shy or thinking you wouldn’t get along with the older woman, and it was because her sexual proclivities scared the hell out of you.

again, she gets around, far more than most people. before you worked for silco, rumors regarding his second in command traveled through the streets of zaun in whispers, whether it was good or bad, it didn’t really matter.

one detail that caught the attention of many, specifically those of women, were her frequent nights spent at the gardens. you couldn’t deny that aside from being incredibly scary, so much of sevika’s appeal came from her appearance as well - her tall stature, impressive built, corded muscles, the rigged lines and hard angles of her face. she was just as beautiful as she was domineering.

that’s why it didn’t surprise you that women tend to set aside her notoriety in hopes of sleeping with her, but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cause your insides to flare up with jealousy.

as mentioned, you thought about working for babette at one point. when your low paying jobs in the past couldn’t suffice to get you through the week, the idea came to mind on some occasions. but you knew it wasn’t easy work, not to mention your looks paled in comparison to the girls you’d seen working there. all slim waists, toned arms, long legs, big tits and even bigger asses.

you didn’t possess any of the traits that made the girls there appealing.

you just set aside the idea because your ego wasn’t big enough to make you think you were up for the job, and knowing that’s where sevika prefers to spend most of her nights made your insecurities worse.

especially when she’d stroll through the last drop late at night littered with hickeys and bite marks around her neck that she’d let the world see without shame, and how you’d just ogle at them with the ugliest emotions churning in the pits of your stomach.

it didn’t help when silco’s men would poke fun at her for it “damn, was the night that rough? you gotta take it easy on those girls.” they’d joke as a sly grin would make its way on her face.

“they love it,” would be her response, which would earn a roar of laughter from the group meanwhile you’d walk away after eavesdropping, with a heaviness in your chest that wasn’t there minutes ago as you tried to erase the image of sevika indulging herself with countless women.

you understood the intention behind it. you knew it was her way of escaping the stress of silco’s workload, and having sex with multiple women was just as much of a coping mechanism as gambling and drinking was.

that doesn’t mean it wasn’t any less painful to think about, even though you knew you couldn’t have stood a chance.

because how could you? who even were you in the bustling, chaotic world that is sevika’s life? if simply nothing more than just her co-worker?

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

you didn’t think she’d ever acknowledge you outside of work.

you’ve had your fair share of interactions but it was all professional so those don’t count. you were delusional but you weren’t delusional enough to think that your quick conversations about paychecks and shipment were considered bonding.

it wasn’t until an incident transpired in one of her missions where silco asked you to come along, and it so happened that the firelights decided it was a good day to ambush you, sevika and the rest of the team.

you cowered away from the commotion because it’s not like you possessed any of sevika’s combative skills. you were an informant, for crying out loud.

but you weren’t quick on your feet, and when the leader of the firelights threw one of their bombs in your direction you were crystallized in place near the cargos, unable to move.

you knew the crystals would dissolve after five minutes, you were aware of how their weapons worked, but the fear of being unable to move still stressed you out, and as you kept squirming you caught sevika’s eye who was immobilized herself.

one thing led to another, silco’s daughter came up from underneath the airship and began firing at the firelights, grazing you with one of her bullets as you let out an agonizing scream in response.

suffice to say, the mission went horribly and everyone who go out was reprimanded by silco, because of course he’d never put the blame on jinx. while you on the other hand, were hunched over the bar later that night, nursing your sides that were still bleeding due to jinx’s mishap.

thieram was more than happy to help, aiding you with your injury but your pain tolerance wasn’t necessarily high, so every time he dabbed you with the wash cloth dunked in alcohol, you couldn’t help it as you let out a wince, clutching thieram’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing at your pitiful state “I don’t know how-“

“move it.”

your eyes widened as the shadow of sevika’s tall silhouette casted over you, pushing past thieram while she took the bottle of alcohol and cloth from him. she nodded at you for you to raise your shirt up.

“let me see the wound,”

blushing, you were debating whether or not you should let sevika see you in such a compromising position, but she probably only wanted to help and couldn’t care less about seeing you exposed.

so you did as you were told and let her press her large palm onto your rib where a lot of the bleeding came from.

you hissed, gripping the sides of the bar and sevika cursed “fucking jinx,”

you shook your head “it’s okay, it’s not that big of a de-“

“but it is,” she grumbled “if only she did her fucking job and didn’t lose her shit, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

gulping, you tried not to overthink her choice of words and how she only focused on your injury and not the rest, considering you weren’t the only one who got the brunt of it.

“it’s fine, I’m just worried if the others are tending to their injuries.”

“don’t worry about them,” she muttered “they’re built for these kinds of things, you aren’t.”

you snickered, pretending to take offense “excuse me? are you calling me weak?”

sevika couldn’t hide her amusement, wiping away at the little blood smeared on your lower stomach.

“not weak,” she replied “I just don’t think a pretty little thing like you is meant for this kind of work. you’re not equipped for it.”

“I can look out for myself, you know.”

she hummed, her grey eyes staring up at you “maybe, but still. it’d be better if you didn’t need to.”

you tried not to let her words get to you, and calling you a pretty little thing didn’t help with your growing infatuation. perhaps she was just playing coy with you, you thought.

but then silco continued to let you join in on her missions, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she’d ask you to ‘keep close behind’ or how she’d shield you with her massive frame every time danger was imminent.

if she couldn’t trust you to look out for yourself, then she did it for you.

you wanted to excuse it thinking since she’s already lost so much men she didn’t want your name to be crossed off on the list as well. but that doesn’t mean you stopped dwelling on it.

especially when on most nights where she’d catch you in the last drop, she’d ask you to have a drink with her. going as far as to teach you how to play cards when you’d watch her gamble with the rest of silco’s men and how she’d win every time.

“you’re so good at this,” you said in awe during one of her games which earned a chuckle from her.

you were seated right next to sevika, not too close but not too far apart either, that sometimes you’d feel her elbow brushing against yours.

“want me to teach you then?”

“hey, that’s not fair, how come she gets to have you as her teacher while we’re stuck here getting our asses beat?” one of the men she was playing with chided in.

she only ignored him, flipping her cards over to reveal she’s won yet again, making them groan “then play better.” she quipped, turning over to you with a smirk on her face.

you swore butterflies almost erupted out of your belly. she was so smug, but radiant in her victory that you couldn’t even bring yourself too feel bad for the others, if you’d get to see her this way all the time, you hoped she’d win all of her games.

the guy huffed, taking a swig from his beer as he looked up at her, grinning “I dropped by the gardens today, by the way. lily said she missed you.”

you froze as those words left his mouth, but sevika remained ambivalent by the information as she shuffled her cards “I’ve just had a lot on my plate,” and perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you caught her eyeing you for a brief moment.

“well, better not to keep those girls waiting. you know you’re their favorite,” the table laughed and sevika couldn’t help herself from joining along.

“ain’t that right,” she said, chuckling.

you gulped, feeling a lump in your throat as you forced yourself not to spew something bitter because really, who were you to act jealous over who sevika chooses to spend her time with?

she may act flirtatious with you from time to time but it’s not like it meant anything. you wanted to set it aside, and tell yourself it was just never going to happen. spend less time with her if you need to.

but as if it fate wanted to play a joke on you both, that was thrown out the window when one night, sevika came stumbling into the last drop all battered and bruised. her prosthetic dangling from her arm in ruined wires while she tried her best to steady herself as she walked in.

instinctively, you rushed to her side and examined her state “sevika, oh my god.”

she groaned “it’s not a big de-“

“like hell it is,” you reprimanded as you told thieram to fetch the first aid kit and inform silco of sevika’s condition.

she was against it but you simply silenced her, pulling up a chair as you pushed her down “you need to be more careful.” you said.

“stop fussing over me, I’m built for these kinds of things. it’s my job.”

“just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you have to be so reckless! you’re more than just silco’s killing machine. you can’t keep putting your life on the line like this.”

sevika remained silent before soft laughter bubbled out of her, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess this makes us even.”

“what?”

“from when you got hit by jinx’s bullets,” she said as realization dawned on you “I guess we’re even now.“

you rolled your eyes at that “I’m not doing this because I owe it to you. you’re more than just my co-worker.”

she eyed you, curious “what am I then?”

there was a moment of silence as you knelt down in front of her, staring at the uneven lines of the wooden floorboards, refusing to meet her eye.

“a friend, if you’d let me,” you muttered.

she hummed, leaning against her seat “I don’t do much of those,”

you snickered “you don’t do much of anything really,”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you realized your mistake but decided to keep it going anyways.

“you’re too guarded. you keep your circle too tight, and I haven’t really seen you out with anyone. romantically, I mean.”

you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you couldn’t help it.

she was silent for a minute “I didn’t know you kept tabs on whether or not I date.”

you scoffed, although it sounded unconvincing “I do not.”

then there was that god awful smirk on her face again, eating away at you as she cocked her head to the side.

���sure you don’t, princess.“

your mind immediately went haywire because oh god, did she know?

on one hand, you weren’t exactly subtle. even thieram would tease you about it. noticing the way you’d sneak glances at sevika whenever she strolled through the bar and you’d hear him let out a snort from behind the counter.

“take a picture, it’d last longer.” he’d joke while you flipped him off.

but judging by the way she teased you about the idea, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that felt a bit hopeful that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

because if there was, it wouldn’t hurt to try and seize the opportunity.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

when silco suggested the group had a day off and to use the bar to their liking for one night as compensation for a successful mission, you were elated. for a number of reasons.

because this is it. this is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, to finally make a move and to squash your fantasies once and for all.

you’re aware about wanting to keep your feelings at bay and to never let sevika know about them, but as the days flew by it was getting harder and harder to stay silent.

especially since the night you tended to her injuries and how she reacted at the idea of you taking an interest in her, and how she didn’t seemed fazed by it, if anything, she seemed intrigued.

it was worth a shot, because it’s better to say you tried than not at all.

so on the night of the party, you went out of your way to doll yourself up for once. your days were normally mundane and your job was tedious enough as it, so you never saw a reason to dress up. living in the under city, going out partying and sleeping with people was scarcely something you ever thought about.

but that doesn’t mean you never anticipated it, and so you went digging under your closet for the handful of dresses you’ve stolen from a couple of boutiques in topside. something you kept for special occasions and this was one of them.

you settled for a black halter dress that stopped below your thighs and also accentuated your cleavage, along with a pair of sheer dark tights that allowed you space to move around freely.

you rummaged through your drawers and pulled out a couple of broken makeup pallets, likely expired, but you didn’t really care as you meticulously dabbed silver eyeshadow on yourself and applied some red lipstick.

you inspected yourself on your mirror and let out an approving hum. you looked nice. you didn’t really consider yourself drop dead gorgeous but when you made some effort to make yourself presentable, the pay-off was worth it.

your chest swelled with hope thinking maybe this will be the day sevika sees you, really sees you. not just as a co-worker, friend, but someone worthy to replace the girls at the gardens with…

with that, you slipped on your combat boots and strode out of your apartment building, walking through the streets of zaun and not minding the lewd comments thrown your way by the men passing by you.

you showed up at the last drop and one of the bouncers, after taking a good look at you, opened the door for you while shooting you a sly grin.

perhaps you’ve outdone yourself, or maybe the people around you just weren’t used to seeing you all dressed up but either way, their reactions stroked your ego. all that’s left now was to just find sevika.

you made your way up to the bar where thieram was busy serving drinks, and he didn’t recognize you at first until you called out to him.

he blinked as he said your name “damn, is it really you?” he chuckled “you look great.”

“thanks,” you said, smiling “I never had the chance to wear something like this before but since silco is in a good mood…”

“and it suits you. everyone’s eyeing you like a piece of meat, I don’t know if you can tell.”

“yeah, well. they don’t matter,” you looked around “where’s sevika, by the way?”

because she was the only one that mattered.

she was the reason why you even showed up looking like this, why you got out of your comfort zone even though these types of settings weren’t your thing, but you tried, because you wanted to prove yourself to her.

thieram turned to the side and pointed to his left “she arrived about an hour ago.”

you stood up and were about make your way towards her when the sight that greeted you quickly stopped you dead in your tracks, all previous excitement dying as you sunk to the nearest stool.

because there, in her usual booth, sat sevika with not one, but two girls cozied up against her sides while one of them was practically sitting on her lap, and the other was kissing along her neck while a cigarillo was dangling from her mouth. making more room for them to grind against her as she whispered in one of their ears, causing the girl to giggle as she grabbed sevika’s jaw and connected their lips.

you took a step back as your chest begun to feel heavy, while the room suddenly felt ten times more crowded as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you because of course, this just had to happen.

how dare you think you had a chance when she went out of her way to bring two of babette’s girls to this blasted party when she already visits them on a regular basis? how dare you think you ever stood a chance against these girls, with their pristine clothing, nicely styled hair and perfect bodies?

you wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“hey, you okay?” thieram asked as your breathing became shallow.

you nodded, harshly swiping the tears that threatened to spill at the corners of your eyes as you walked back to the exit.

“y-yeah, I’m just-“

in your stupor, you didn’t even realize a man was behind you not until you bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink and cuss you out as you started apologizing, creating a commotion.

“I’m so sorry!” you said, your cheeks heating up as you looked around the room before your eyes landed on her again.

but this time, sevika was staring straight at you.

swallowing nervously, you pushed past the sea of people and made your way out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to thieram as you busted through the doors of the back exit, breathing heavily as you slid against the wall of the bar, with your hands on your knees and your tears ruining your makeup.

you should’ve known this was a mistake. you mentally scolded yourself over and over because who were you fooling when you thought sevika would spare a glance your way? even if you dolled yourself up, in the end sevika had countless of women to choose from, and you were never going to be an option. no matter how hard you tried.

stewing in self-pity, you wiped away at your cheeks and stood back up, planning to just head back home and forget the night even happened when the doors of the bar suddenly burst open, making you jump as you whipped around, and your breath hitched when you were met with sevika’s steely grey eyes.

she assessed your frenzied state, staring just a bit longer at your attire, scanning your legs up to your thighs until it stopped at your chest, which was heaving erratically, drawing attention to your cleavage.

“leaving so soon?” she quipped, not hiding the shameful way she was ogling at you “especially when you look this pretty?”

biting your tongue, you tried so hard not to let her words get to you. no. this is what she does, she butters you up and makes you think you have a chance then she turns around and makes you feel like utter shit. this is what she does and you’re not going to sit around making an idiot out of yourself.

“I’m just not feeling good is all.” you said as you attempted to walk past her.

but you were immediately stopped when she grabbed your arm, though her touch was gentle “let me walk you home. it’s not safe especially when you’re out here dressed like that.”

you couldn’t stop yourself, you were filled with so much unnecessary bitterness that as soon as those words left her mouth, you could only scoff before ripping away your arm, causing her to look at you with her eyebrow raised.

“I can handle myself, just go back to those girls that were all over you. it seemed like you were having a great time with them anyways.” you spat, attempting to bristle past her.

however, you gasped when she not only blocked your path but abruptly pushed your body against the wall of the building. not too harsh but with enough force to make you look up at her in compliance.

she towered over your smaller form and took your chin using her prosthetic hand, her metal fingers making you shiver as her breath mingled with your own.

“what’s with the attitude?”

“just let me go-“

“the fuck I will,” she cut you off, her tone harsh “now, I’ll ask again, what’s with the attitude? you’re never like this.”

you clenched your jaw “never like what? you don’t even know me enough to make assumptions of how I normally act.”

“like a bitch is what I’m saying,” she said through her teeth “seriously, what crawled up your ass? you show up looking like this and you can’t even be bothered to stick around let alone have a drink,”

“why should I?” you shook your head “you looked too busy anyways. just forget it and go back to those-“

“what’s with you and the girls I brough-“

“because why waste your time on me?” the dam finally broke, and all your thoughts came flooding out as sevika blinked at you, dumbfounded “you never give me the time of the day even though we’ve been working for so long, and it had to take me getting injured for you to even strike up a conversation with me. you’re always at the gardens and I know it’s none of my business what you do with your time but just…”

you looked to your feet, regret washing in “just forget it. it’s so stupid.”

however, her grip on you only tightened “no, you’re right. it is none of your business, that’s why I want to know why you’re acting this way. I’m not a mind reader, princess. you can’t expect me to know what you want and you haven’t really made it easy either. you think I wanted to wait that long to approach you? talking goes both ways. and you avoiding me so much in the past hasn’t really given me the chance to get to know you. fuck, I even thought…”

you waited for her to finish as she faced away from you “thought what?” you said, your voice merely a whisper.

she sighed as she pressed her body closer to you “I thought you didn’t like me. you never a spoke a word to me but I’ve always noticed you. you’re so good at your job but you only kept to yourself. I just thought you found me and the others too vulgar. I get it. we’re different. but then you had a drink with me and you seemed genuinely interested…”

you inhaled sharply “I was, and still am.”

“then what’s the matter? why are you acting like you’re disgusted with me all of a sudden?”

“it’s not you! it’s just…” you let out a shaky breath “it’s just hard to be around you because I’ve always noticed you too. I was just intimidated but I’ve admired your work ethic, just everything about you really, so much that I even… god, it’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she pulled you closer “tell me,”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking away “it’s silly.”

she lifted her flesh hand and pushed away the strands of hair that fell over your face. leaning closer that you felt her lips brush against your cheek.

“you got a little crush on me is what you’re saying?” her mouth quirked into a teasing grin as you groaned, trying to push her away.

“you’re such an ass…” you muttered as her hands slowly maneuvered down to your thighs, and suddenly, she was lifting you by her arms and against the wall as you squealed.

her nose nudged your jaw, leaving a soft kiss underneath and your hands found purchase on her strong shoulders.

“you should’ve told me sooner…” she purred, her voice deep and enticing “it would’ve saved me a hell lot of money from visiting the gardens when I could’ve had you all this time.”

you weren’t given the chance to speak when she suddenly captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making you gasp as she lets out a growl hearing your needy whines.

eventually, you surrendered to it, moving in sync with the frenzied way she was kissing you. almost as if she was just as desperate for this as you were.

you rolled your hips against her torso and sevika lets out a chuckle at your urgency, taking your legs as she wrapped them around her waist.

she took the ends of your dress and pulled them up, tearing your tights down and you let out a whine “s-sev… we’re outside-“

“then let them hear,” her breathing was staggered from all the movement “I’ve waited for this for so long.“

you bit your lip “yeah?”

she nodded, slipping your tights off your legs and discarding them to the side “if you think whatever feelings you’ve had for me was one-sided, you thought wrong.” she kissed your lips with bruising force and you could only moan against her mouth “ever since I laid eyes on silco’s pretty little informant, you’ve always been on my mind.”

her fingers felt down your covered cunt, and you writhed against her palm as she pushed past the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them off, teasing you as your slick met her calloused fingers, making her head spin “you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, princess?” she asked softly.

you nodded as you begun soaking her palm with your juices, riding her fingers and she parted your folds, thumbing at your clit before she slid one finger in, feeling at your gummy walls before adding a second finger and soon, she was scissoring them in you as your forehead dropped to her shoulder.

jostling in her hold as your body shook, she curled her fingers and started a slow pace that got you moaning her name, and she nodded at your desperate sounds “yeah, that’s it, baby. let everybody know how much you needed this.”

she bent her head down and nipped at your jaw while you humped her scarred hand in earnest “you should’ve fucking told me sooner. do you know how much torture it was to see you walk around the office, all pretty and shy, and not wanting to make a move because I thought you didn’t like me? when all this time your tight little pussy has been weeping for me to fill it.”

you cried out, getting closer to that awaited peak especially when she starts to piston her thick fingers inside you at a maddening speed “I needed this so much, sev. fuck.” you admitted, completely lack of shame.

“I know, baby. now that I know how much you’ve needed this I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” she said and you opened your tear stained eyes to look at her.

“do I feel better than the girls you’ve had before?” you whispered and she nodded, an urgency to it as if she wanted to drill it inside your head that she means every word.

“fuck yeah, baby. I can’t wait to have you in every way that I like. on my tongue, around my fingers…” you let out the most obscene moan at her words “and my cock.”

your orgasm tore through you like a punch to the gut, your mouth falling open into a guttural cry as you creamed against her fingers while she kept curling them inside you, already feeling overstimulated while she talked you through it.

“that’s it…” she said in awe “you feel so good, baby.”

she slowly pulled her fingers out of you and you whined at the loss. but your eyes widened when suddenly sevika planted your wobbly legs down onto the ground and knelt down in front of you and started lapping away at your soaked pussy, her pupils blown wide as she began cleaning you up.

once she was done, she stood up and helped you into your underwear, breathing heavily before connecting her lips with yours. you melted as you tasted yourself on her tongue and the kiss was warmer, gentler this time.

she pulled away, leaning her forehead against yours “let me take you out?”

it took a while for your mind to process her words, still fuzzy from the aftermath of your orgasm but once it sunk in, you could only chuckle as you smiled up at her.

“usually you’d ask that first then try to have sex with me in an alley…”

there was a playful glint in her eyes “what can I say, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

you hummed, cupping her face as you drew her in for another kiss.

“yeah, me neither.”

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 30: Sex Pollen

Summary: Singed had told you stories, faint rumors of a purple flower that created the feeling of being alive, every fiber on edge. An addictive substance, no doubt, one that could add to the potentcy of Shimmer. As you began to prepare the equipment, you carefully cut a petal to extract its essence. Without warning, the flower emitted a cloud of bright purple pollen, catching both you and Silco off guard. Who knows what effects it could have. Warnings: Sex pollen, fingering, P in V sex, reader has a vagina, pinning, slight sub/dom dynamics, consent is established and there is a history, etc. MNDI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. ONLY ONE MORE DAY?! WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?

Shadows danced under flickering lights and the air buzzed with the hum of innovation. You toiled away in your lab, a calculated mess of microscopes, beakers, and strange bubbling liquids. Singed’s apprentience, at your finest. Your reputation for pushing the boundaries of science had caught the attention of Silco and he valued your intellect and creativity; providing you with resources to explore your ambitious projects that would ultimately benefit him.

One evening, after a long day of experimenting with shimmer, you ventured into the depths of the Undercity to clear your mind. The streets were a chaotic blend of laughter and tension, but you had a singular focus. You were searching for rare flora rumored to possess extraordinary properties—flowers that could potentially change the course of Zaun's future. Singed had told you stories, faint rumors of a purple flower that created the feeling of being alive, every fiber on edge. An addictive substance, no doubt, one that could add to the potentcy of Shimmer. As you wandered through an abandoned alley, a soft glow caught your eye. Nestled among the rubble was a flower unlike any you had seen: its petals shimmered like liquid, and a faint, sweet fragrance wafted toward you. It seemed so out of place in the dim and dreary. Such a beauty in contrast to the violence that surronded it.  Entranced, you carefully plucked the flower, tucking it safely in your satchel. 

Returning to the lab, you placed the flower under a microscope, curiosity piqued. You noted its unique structure and vibrant coloration, all living up to the rumors you had been told. Surely, this must be a flower. The lab was alive with the hum of machinery, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and the promise of discovery. Just as you were about to document your findings in your notebook, Silco entered, his presence commanding yet oddly reassuring. 

“What have you found?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the glowing flower.

“It’s incredible,” you replied, excitement bubbling in your voice. “I think it could have potential applications in shimmer enhancement, perhaps even a way to stabilize the addicting effects. It would take time however, of course. All things do—”

Silco stepped closer, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. His eyes peered down at the plant, expression calm but clearly intrigued. “ You should investigate it further. Can you extract its properties?”

You nodded, eager to share the discovery. You had always reveled in impressing the Eye of Zaun, seeing his bicolored eyes light up with interest as you spoke of your latest projects. How close he would hover your body, heat radiating between you, something deep and unspoken. It was intoxicating and dangerous, just as you liked it. A forbidden fruit you desired, drawing you deeper into your sin with every bite. 

As you began to prepare the equipment, you carefully cut a petal to extract its essence. Without warning, the flower emitted a cloud of bright purple pollen, catching both you and Silco off guard. Silco instinctively raised his hand to shield himself, but it was too late. The pollen enveloped you both, and you were left coughing, spluttering, and blinking against the brightness.

Once the cloud dissipated, you exchanged bewildered glances. Silco’s expression was a mix of concern and curiosity, while you felt a strange energy coursing through you. 

“What was that?”you asked, brushing pollen from your hair.

“I don’t know,” Silco replied, his voice low, “but we should be careful.”

As the minutes passed, you noticed something strange. Heat polled in your lower belly, a creeping feeling that seemed to envelop every part of your body. Slow and ragged breaths passed your lips, small beads of sweat forming on your lower brow. The world seemed hot. Too hot. Removing your lab coat, draping it on the chair, you were left in a small tank top and a pair of pants. Simple attire, but it felt so constricting. Nothing you were doing seemed to cool you down and the ache within your core grew at an alarming rate. Painful, but in the best way. 

Silco was feeling the same, albiet slower. Having not gotten hit with as much pollen, he took to observing your strange reaction in tandem with his own. Coming to investiagte, he places his hand on your forehead, as if to check your temperature. he almost whimpers at the touch of your hand against his, the sound of your gasp sending a shiver down his spine. The sight of you squirming beneath him, when his thumb brushes over the nape of your neck as he drags his hand down from your head, sends sparks through his body. Losing all train of thought, the warmth of your body against his drives him crazy, and he has to use all his willpower to break away from this moment, knowing he shouldn't indulge too much. 

His hand is cool against your skin, healing some of the burn that lights up your body. With a small whimper, you lean your head closer to his touch, begging for more. 

“Please…Silco…what’s going on?”

“I…I think that flower has illicited this reaction. What exactly did you say it was again?”

“Singed said it was rumored to cause people to feel more alive, addicted I suppose.”

Silco certainly felt alive, every fiber of his being was alight with arousal, the strain in his trousers steady growing. Bringing his mouth to speak into the shell of your ear, his voice was husky in a way that drove you insane. Your breath hitches at his touch, the feeling of his fingers across your cheek sends tingles through your chest. You swallow, trying to ignore the desire building within. 

“I think it does more than that, darling. Would you allow me to demonstrate?”

Gods did you ever. With quick and rapid nods, he had his answer as you writhed below him. He could smell you, how soaked you were. That damp spot on your pants did little to hide salaciousness of your thoughts and needs. Bringing a finger to rub your clothes core, you body choked back a breath at the flash of stimulation that shot through you. With every stroke, the ache between your thighs never seemed to disappiate but grow stronger. More painful and pleasureable than the last, a lewd mewl passes your lips as Silco massaged your drenched pussy.

Wasting no time on formal foreplay, your body clearly ready and willing, he removed his fingers for just a moment to pull down your pants; letting them pool at your ankles. Sinking two fingers into your pussy and starting to scissor you wide, his large and deft fingers thrusted in and out of you. Your body became lost in the erotic rapture of your senses, words of praise leaving your lips in hoarse whispers of pleasure. You could feel his touch everywhere, your body seemed one with his. 

One hand digging into your hips, his mouth leaving sloppy kisses on the valley of your neck, and the other hand knuckle deep inside you in such a way you felt you mind explode. The feeling of fullness was almost an impossible feeling to describe, like you were meant to be this way. Every thought within you screaming ‘MORE’ as he continued to work you towards your release. 

“So sweet for me, such a precious little thing. You wanted this all along didn’t you, wanted me to fill you up just like this. Didn’t need a plant to ask my dear, I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

Removing his fingers with a swift motion, leaving you no reprieve, he unbuckled his pants with a clip. Without warning, he sunk his hot and heavy cock into you with one deft motion. Both of you moaning both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved. Your cunt is like Heaven for him, warm and inviting. Taking him so well, it feels like the first fire in his loins he every experienced as your body welcomes him. Sinful in all the best ways. He had always admired you from afar, filthy thoughts settling in his mind with every interaction and you had not the slightess clue. But he could trail your gaze every day, follow your wanting mind to see it settle on him. A perveted old man such as him had no business in corrupting your body in this way. But you had given him permission, commanded his desires to unfurl, and so he relished. 

Slowly thrusting, taking his time to draw out every noise, he relished in the sight below him. Had you had planned all of this just for him? No, you would never. But it was of no consequence, he had you right where he wanted you. You were truly such a loyal little sinner, so obedient and ready for him.The thoughts alone nearly had Silco cumming inside you, mumbling incoherently as he picked up the pace, driving deeper, the walls of your cunt squeezing onto him for dear life. The added weight and pace was becoming nearly too much.  Every plunge of his member caused jolts of arousal to shake your body through the core, illiciting a pornographic moan to annouce your impending release. 

“That’s it darling, cum for me. Show me just how badly you wanted this.”

You couldn’t help but nod, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your own orgasm rapidly approached. Silco’s thrusts started to become sloppy and heated, eyes closing and hair disheveled from the intensity. Soft grunts left his lips and with one final stroke, he spilled hot ropes of cum into you; spurring you into your own orgasm at the feeling of his hot seed within you. Calming down from your high, you brought you hand to caress his cheek gently. Admiring the way his chest heaved with each breath, how dialted his eyes were. While the ache had dulled, it still remained. Softly buzzing in the air, surronding the blissful high that had overcome you.

“I am not quite satiated, my dear. May I indulge in you once more?”

[thenationofzaun]

The fact that Piltover and Zaun are sister-cities that were both once united under Zaun, until a catastrophic accident involving explosives separated it into two. And then Zaun sank into darkness and chaos and became infused with Shimmer while Piltover rose out of the muck with the help of rich merchant clans. And Piltover hurt Zaun badly but now Zaun hurt it back and they are going to go to war. The damage is done, and they will probably never reconcile. But they will always be sister-cities. Nothing can erase their entwined history. Nothing can change that they were both once Zaun. They hate each other but they will always be sisters.

[cl-0v3r]

Mel is alive, but at what cost

Mel was nearly killed TWICE, her mother began being a struggle, she'd been thrown aside and trying her best to stop her, her boyfriend is not doing well, neither is anyone else (can't blame them) and the fact that she hadn't cried or spoke much about this situation to anyone a single time?? She IS upset about every single thing, yet she stays strong and enduring every bit of torture. The most she did was tell Jayce that Ambessa put her palm on the table, and let him know that she is going to push for hextech. That's it, nothing remotely related to her feelings.

The fact that she was constantly looking at Caitlyn, being able to understand her grief and knew she was in pain?? Mel knows this feeling. She'd went through it.

And in the end SHE has to pay the price of her mothers incompetence.

The intro is very much foreshadowing, we know the hands represent black rose/LeBlanc.

This is what happens in act one, she gets kidnapped by them. The lyrics do correspond to the characters as well (not just Mel, everyone.)

"Tell you you're the greatest" plays as a petal of the black rose floats down the screen, I think it adds significance to the power this organization holds, possibly the Medardas greatest foe.

"But once you turn, they hate us" both Ambessa and Mel were present in this line, I think its foreshadowing for when Ambessa switches up for whatever reason and goes against both Piltover AND Zaun. And Mel WILL go through change as well, a change that could hurt her relationship with others, and receive interest from others too.

"They hate us" could be read individually too, I feel like its a sort of "realization" ?? Perhaps Ambessa WASN'T the one that switched up, maybe Piltover switched up on them, and maybe Mel JUST got out of wherever she's taken to, and saw the mess Ambessa had done to her city??

I think this represents ACT TWO.

The hands pull away and it sort of looks like Mel is fighting back, a "get away from me" type of scream. you know what this reminds me of??

Don't mind me just pushing my Jinx/powder-Mel parallel agenda

Here is when i think Mel truly learns about LeBlanc/BR, she curiously and slowly goes to grab the rose, she learns about the history between her Mother and them, Kinos death, and most of all, learns about HERSELF. The lyrics speak otherwise.

"Pray away, I swear

I'll never be a saint, no way"

This feels like a parallel to caitlyn of sorts if that makes sense. Caitlyn had done everything to try and stop the council from attacking the Undercity, she kept her mouth shut when Jayce asked about Jinxs grenade, she was willing to protect Vi and the undercity, but how many times has she been tossed around? She'd been burned, exploded, kidnapped (god knows what happened during that time) and hit in the face by the same person, her MOTHER died because of the same person. She has every right to go insane. And she is hunting ONE person, which is Jinx. Although she is harming the people around her along the way.

What if Mel goes through a similar situation? Her mother pushed for war in her city, she dragged the enemy along with her even if she didn't mean to, she manipulated everyone around her INCLUDING Jayce, she LITERALLY got Mel hurt from the chembarons attack and killed so many people during a MEMORIAL to get her hextech weapons, Elora is most likely DEAD, not to mention whatever happened in the past between them. And the thing is, this will NEVER end throughout the entire season.

And what if she learns what she is? That she's 'blessed' by Kindred? The fact that the wolf is quite literally in her blood?

I feel like the "ill never be a saint, no way" also sort of indicates Mel will realize she'll never be able to push for peace and mercy like she always hoped for no matter what, and she comes to accept that as much as it hurts. But not like how ambessa accepted the wolf, but she sort of realizes she needs to push a little violence, towards nobody but the one and only, Ambessa "fine, if you want me to be like you, I guess I'll be like you towards YOU." Type of acceptance.

I think its also related to Mels new outfit too, she's dressed like her mother, in red and all of that. I will still stand by the idea that she has plans to decieve, but she will do something she doesn't want to do.

Mel was left with no choice, that lyric sounds like realization, acceptance, but also like a plea at the same time, an "I'll never be who I wanted to be" because in the end, she's still a Medarda, she's still her mothers daughter, she still has violence in her veins, she will never not suffer from the weight her name holds, and she will never escape it either, its like a shadow.

The Characters won't be themselves at their core this season. And those vital parts of their characters that represent them are no longer there in the intro, they all have given up what makes them, THEM design wise. (e.g.) Vi without her tattoo, Viktor hiding his identity with the mask. And the thing is, they did that to themselves because they do self-harm, they're changing themselves because THEY want to, they're forcing themselves to do that, they think they're undeserving and they're erasing their past selves.

But Mel? Mel doesn't have her gold accessories, Jewelry, or her Armor, she'd been stripped bare and hidden away because of the brutality of her name. She pays the price her mother brought to HER city. She's forced to change herself against her will, because nobody is giving her a chance to push for her ideals.

This entire theory never ends, and with all of this? I kinda do see Mel actually committing Matricide, it lifts the "Ambessa will die" theory further.

[venomvalley]

PILLOW PRINCESS

sevika x fem!reader // 9.7k words

SUMMARY: A woman from one of Piltover's most prestigious houses bites off more than she can chew when she steps into a bar in Zaun looking for a bit of excitement. Unfortunately for her, she entered the wrong kind of establishment.

TAGS: 18+ only! corruption kink, brat taming, biting, oral (r!receiving), shimmer strap, size kink, choking, reader is a closeted lesbian and in her mid-20s, dom!sevika. poorly discussed societal issues (for obvious reasons)

NOTES: my first foray into the arcane fandom and its a fucking novel length shimmer strap fanfic. anyway i wrote this entirely for me but yall can read it too

-> READ IT ON AO3 | PILLOW PRINCESS MASTERLIST

There are two universal truths to the city of Piltover: its citizens are rich, and the social game is deathly boring. After endless years of networking and grandiose dinners and ballroom dancing, you've dealt with the weight of propriety for long enough.

The Undercity seems the only remedy to free you from your gilded cage.

The idea comes to you one morning in the library of your family home, perched atop a velveteen chair with a thick, dusty tome opened before you on the desk. Some boring old thing about the history of pottery and dishware to prepare you for yet another meeting with a potential suitor and his family.

You still aren’t sure how to tell your sickly, neurotic mother that you prefer the company of other women, and that it's been this way for a long time. She insists on grandchildren to perpetuate the family legacy, and you’ve resigned yourself to your duty as an affluent family's eldest daughter.

But you've put off the inevitable for as long as you can. Sabotaged all potential marriage up to this point by way of faking illness and poor attitude and un-ladylike habits that your mother should have beat you for doing.

And yet—

“Did ya hear about that orgy the Enforcers crashed?”

Guardsmen making their usual rounds, passing through the library. Unaware of your presence behind a particularly imposing bookshelf (though you curl in on yourself anyway) as you watch them between a crack in the books.

The taller man laughs. “Yeah, my buddy was there. Had thirty people crammed inside the backroom of a tea shop.”

“You couldn't pay me to live in the Undercity.”

“Well, it's good for one thing, at least.”

“The whores?”

“The whores.”

You turn back to your tome as the men pass by your field of view, joking amongst themselves.

Your mother forbade you from engaging in certain… activities until you married, solely in fear of a scandal tarnishing the family name. You shared your first kiss at the age of eighteen with the daughter of a merchant family inside the pitch-black closet of her bedroom, so nervous that you soaked through the back of your nightgown with sweat. A few months later, you began stealing from your mother's collection of erotica hidden in the library, and thought about the merchant's daughter while you touched yourself shamefully in the privacy of your bedroom.

And thus ends the extent of your sexual experience. A facet of your lifestyle that you’re neither proud of nor satisfied with.

But whores. You know what whores do. By their very nature, people talk, and Piltover is no exception. Perhaps the people of the Undercity are more welcoming than your family leads you to believe, and you could find a pretty woman with kind eyes who finds joy in the inexperienced.

Or perhaps they laugh you out of the building.

A bar, then. A more natural, relaxed setting, if the stories from your peers hold any ounce of truth to them. Grab a bitter-tasting drink, sit in some dark corner of the room, and watch for the woman of your wildest dreams to walk through the door.

But you need a plan. Venturing across that blasted bridge (an added layer of your gilded cage) will be daunting due to your mother’s incessant hovering, but you have a scapegoat in mind: your aunt, currently stationed at a research outpost across the bridge. The perfect excuse.

You have a cloak somewhere in your closet to wear over your clothes, a safety measure to hide your status. Gods know that gold-hemmed dresses and silk shirts and velvet pants would not fit well with the simple outfits of the Undercity (of which you have nothing in your closet to mimic).

For the first time in a very long time, with a plan set in stone, you're excited.

You lay low for the rest of the week in preparation for The Question. You appease your mother with her odd requests, help your father in his workshop, and even smile at the man from the artisan house that your family invites over for dinner.

You play your role perfectly, and when the time comes, stood at your mother’s bedroom door as she reads a book beneath the covers, you pray the gods smile upon you.

“Mother?” you ask, stepping into the grand room. The four-poster bed is a symbol of excess, as is the lush carpet and the hand-stitched curtains and the jewels she wears to bed.

She hums, glancing up from the page she's skimming.

“I was wondering if I could take a trip to see Aunt Elise?”

With a heavy sigh, she sets her spectacles aside and fixes you with a disapproving look. “Must you go now, child? Tristan is a highly suitable candidate for your hand.”

“It'll only be for the weekend. Please?”

“In this family, a weekend is a lifetime for the unwed.”

For a moment, you consider bashing your skull against the wall. You still might, given the trajectory of your life. Tristan is sweet, skilled in his profession, but he’s painfully boring. Enjoys his pottery and discussing the weather and making tea, and not much else of substance.

No excitement for you, which is perfect for your family. They can't have their little bird growing wings.

You plaster on your sweetest smile and take a seat beside your mother, the silken sheets smooth and cool against the back of your thighs. “But Mother, does absence not make the heart grow fonder?”

She gives you a poisonous glare then scoffs, waving you away with a glittering hand. “Leave me be. I'll tell your father to inform the guards of your trip.”

You gush your thanks then leave in a rush, only celebrating once the door to your room has been shut and securely locked, dancing a circle about your room and screaming into your pillows.

Over a quarter of a century on this planet, and you've never freely roamed past the bridge, always flanked by undercover guards or the overreaching eye of your father. But the underground is fair game. Nobody would expect you to venture so far away from your house’s influence and protection, and your mother trusts you to go straight to Aunt Elise's, so she won’t assign a group to accompany you.

An entire weekend of freedom.

You aren’t sure what to do with yourself the rest of the night, too filled with energy to sleep, so you pack a bag with your least gaudy clothes, a healthy amount of gold, and toiletries for your journey.

Then there's the matter of what clothing to wear. Given the manner of your visit, you want to dress a bit… sexy, but not opulent. Flaunt your assets, but don’t expose them. A corset and tight-fitting trousers it is. Boots to match. Pretty makeup to entice the pretty girls.

The following morning, your mother frets over you as soon as you step downstairs. Don't go out after dark. Walk straight to Aunt Elise's. Under no circumstances should you make a single detour. Advice you’ve heard again and again in a thousand different ways.

A guard escorts you to the bridge, exchanging words with the patrolmen. He gives them the note stamped with your house's symbol, bids you well, and sends you off.

Your first step off the bridge thumps your heart against the wall of your ribcage. A small, defining act of rebellion that signals the tone of this entire weekend. It feels wrong, like your mother might croak in direct consequence of your disobedience, but you take another step. And then another. And another. And the guilt gets easier to cope with.

Do you not deserve this? The right to move freely like all others in the cities?

You lift your hood and tighten the lapels of your cloak as you pass through the busy streets. A group of small children kick a ball back and forth in the square. Two men stand outside a shop, covered head-to-toe in soot, smoking cigarettes. A woman kisses her lover, bidding him a good day at work.

The lives of the people across the bridge have always fascinated you. So simplistic and happy, if a lot less fortunate. You know little about them—their schedules, their hobbies, their culture. All wrapped up in a neat little bow of dangerous.

The further down you go, the more the sunlight blots out and the air thickens, settling in your lungs like bitter-tasting smoke. Neon signs top the buildings, bathing the streets in bright, beautiful lights. But there's a wrongness to the place that you can't put your finger on. Something lurks in the shadows. Eyes pierce your back.

Despite your hesitation, you keep walking, mind set on completing your mission. You think to ask for directions to the nearest bar until a man you pass says you look like you suck a mean cock, and you abandon that plan in its early stages of development.

The streets continue to wind in a dizzying maze of lights, but the flurry of laughter and noise grows closer with each step you take. You need a bar. A nice drink, a pretty girl to talk to, and a place to recline for the mercy of your aching feet.

After rounding one final corner, the crowd thickens, and you know you've reached the lifeblood of the city. Nobody pays your blob of a form much attention, too busy arguing and smoking and dragging their peers along to their next destination.

You're enraptured. The street is so much livelier than Piltover, the people more outgoing and rowdy. Loud and animated, smiling and laughing, cursing freely.

But you haven't missed the dark corners where people weep, and cry out for food, and beg for money. You see the emaciation and the sickness and the violence on the outskirts of the crowd. Two dichotomies of the same city, wrapped up in a neon package.

You never could have expected this. So different from the stories that were fed to you by your elders, and you aren't sure how to process it. What to do about it.

Your mother would kill you if she knew you were here. Would lock you in your room and throw away the key until the time comes for the inevitable wedding, and then she would order your husband to do the same.

But for now, in this moment, you have none of that to worry about. None of the people you pass recognize the infiltrator in their midst.

A sign overhead catches your attention as a group of men stumble out the front door, hollering in celebration. You wait for them to pass before glancing inside, and spot a bar with alcohol lining the shelves of the wall.

Good enough for you after all this travel.

You step inside and stare at the room for a too-long moment, a scowling-faced woman shouldering you out of the way. The interior implies grandness. Velvet couches and tiled flooring, ceilings much too tall for the assumed outside. A golden light halos the room, smoke from the customers thickening the air. You aim a dry cough into your sleeve when the smell hits your lungs.

Women of all shapes, shades, and sizes, in various states of nudity pepper the furniture. You’ve never been granted the pleasure of openly ogling the feminine form, but in this place, they welcome it. Those seated on the couches spread their legs as you pass by, curling a finger to beckon you closer; one woman leans forward to display her sizable cleavage, brushing slender fingers down your arm; against the wall, a couple kiss like only they belong to the world, a thick, pale leg thrown over the man’s hip.

Your breathing quickens in your chest, heat boiling just beneath the skin of your face as you flee to an empty corner of the room.

This is not a bar.

On the back of your neck, a sweat breaks out, and you consider your options. For a too-long moment, you curse yourself for being so foolish as to think that the Undercity didn’t hold such open debauchery, and even more that you, sheltered as you are, could navigate it successfully. But if you could pull this off, what a way to prove yourself wrong. The unbelievable story you could tell your friends. A little rabbit wandering into the wolves’ den and making it out alive.

No running. You have to stay, to finish what you started.

The room falls quiet just as you ground yourself, and you glance about the room to spot the disturbance.

You find it—her—at the entrance. A presence larger than life, such gravitational pull in the sharpness of her eyes that you dare a step forward. Thick thighs, a trimmed waist, one muscled arm freed from her cloak. Dark skin and darker hair. Mouth-wateringly tall.

A squirrely man cowers as she passes, boots heavy on the floor, before the room fills with conversation and laughter yet again.

Dangerous. The antithesis of your family’s future for you, and you find yourself enraptured. A perfect revolt against the box you’ve been locked within.

She walks up to a richly-dressed woman standing at the bar, and they talk animatedly amongst themselves for a few long minutes. Long enough that your staring crosses into the territory of unsettling (you feel the strike of your mother’s palm on the back of your skull, and hear her remark of staring is rude, child).

Before you can look away, the richly-dressed woman waves a hand in your direction, and you tug the hood of your cloak further down your face in hopes that your presence continues ignored.

Fate does not smile on you tonight.

The woman that first mesmerized you strolls—no, not strolls, saunters up to you with a gait that screams ‘top of the food chain’. Anxiety flutters in your chest when she brazenly lifts your hood just enough for the light to hit your eyes.

Worse yet, she bends at the waist to lock gazes with you, as if flaunting the intimidation her height brings.

“I think you’re lost, princess,” she says, voice low and even, and a familiar heat licks up the back of your neck.

Humiliation.

Anger rears its ugly head, a response to her flippant tone. If she knew who you truly were, she wouldn’t dare address you in such a way.

You plant your hands on your hips, mouth curling into a disapproving frown. “I most certainly am not lost. I'm free to come and go as I please, same as you.”

Just like that, the tall woman grins, gaze sharpening as she takes you by the chin with large, warm fingers.

“You have any idea where you are?” The tips of those fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing a purse to your lips. “This isn't a place for girls like you.”

You freeze beneath her touch, a familiar warmth stoking in your belly, draining the anger from your bones. A sensation once relegated to explicit books and the caress of your own hand, a shameful thing that stamps you down to smallness.

“Girls like me?” The question comes out timid, garbled from the position of your mouth.

She drags her gaze up and down the length of your body, tilts her head at the salacious sight of your cleavage beneath the knot of your cloak. “Girls who have no idea what mess they're getting themselves into.”

Beneath the shroud of moonlight, you've touched yourself in bed to the exact type of woman that stands in front of you: rough around the edges, built like she could snap you in half (with a scowl to match), an aura that reeks of experience. Gods, her hands—large and warm with long, thick fingers that would feel much better in places designed for… stretching. Places that aren't the tender fat of your cheeks.

And then she releases you, rising to her full height. Looks down her strong nose at the surprise on your face. “Go home. Before you get yourself in trouble.”

You should heed her warning. She clearly knows more than you about many things, but therein lies the problem—your want to stay. A great reminder of why the risks you’ve taken must reap reward lest you trudge across that cursed bridge with your virginity still intact.

You'll most likely be engaged before the end of the month, and then you'll be tied forever to a man that your heart could never want. You need to know the touch of a woman before your fate is forever sealed.

Once upon a time, your mother said that your stubbornness would be your downfall.

“No. I came here for a reason, and I'm not leaving until I get what I want.”

“And what could a spoiled brat like you want with a whorehouse?”

“I don't think that's any of your business.”

“I'm making it my business.”

She takes three large steps forward, and you scramble back until the cold, hard wall halts you, the contents of your bag digging into your spine. Close enough to the woman to lean forward and kiss the swell of her chest (and what a lovely, large swell it is, tantalizing beneath the fabric of her cloak).

You understand now why the man cowered in her proximity. She commands the room, sucks the oxygen from your lungs with a simple glare.

Dangerous. Enchanting.

“No, I—I didn’t know this was a brothel.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could unspeak them, and by the smug look on her face, you’ve just proven her hypothesis correct.

“Oh, you’re a treat. My lucky day.”

“I don’t—“

She turns on her heel, heading toward the bar. “I’ll get you a drink.”

“I don't drink.”

A pause in her step to call out, “You do now.”

To be fair, you do drink, but you highly doubt that this place stocks anything more than swill, especially given the refined preference of your palette.

The woman from before steps up beside her as she waves the bartender over, and you watch, enraptured, as they lean in close and talk amongst themselves. Every few moments, they turn back to glance at you, and you shift your weight from foot to foot. You're no stranger to attention, but this is a strange place. The implication sends a chill down your spine. If anybody found out the true nature of your identity, you couldn't imagine what they might do.

The woman of your dreams holds out a glass to you, half-filled with amber liquid, and you glance around the room before creeping toward the bar. She bows upon your approach in a mockery of your status, and you yank the drink from her hand with a dismissing scoff. A bit of alcohol sloshes to the floor.

You can't stand her.

She traps you between herself and the well-dressed woman, long fingers curling around her own glass to lift it to her full lips. She tosses it back, the long line of her neck on display as—

You want her so badly your knees threaten to buckle.

Your drink goes down much less smoothly. Swill, just as you predicted. It burns your mouth, coats your tongue with the taste of antiseptic. A war of expression wages within you as your teeth grit on instinct to keep a grimace at bay.

“It’s so nice of you to join us, dear. Quite rare, but we’ve had a few Pilties work here in the past.” The well-dressed woman presses a hand to her chest. “You may call me Mistress Mave, and this here is Sevika.”

Your eyes squint as you stare at her, the bitter alcohol churning fierce in your belly. When you look over your shoulder, Sevika raises her empty glass in greeting.

And then you register Mave's previous comment.

Your head snaps around to regard her. “Wait, no! No. I didn’t come here to… work.” You wince at your choice of words, once again wishing you could take them back. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I would do a very bad job.”

Mistress Mave’s gaze quickly cuts to Sevika before settling back on you. “So you’re a patron of this fine establishment?”

Beside you, Sevika takes a large gulp of her refilled drink, and you wince at the phantom burn in your own throat. “Girl didn’t even know this was a brothel.”

“Well, there must be some reason you’re still here.”

To ogle at a room full of under-dressed women. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

Mave shrugs. “As good a reason as any. Can’t be much excitement in that ivory tower of yours.”

“I liken it more to a gilded cage.”

She giggles, resting a warm hand on your shoulder, and you think for a moment that your insides might burn to a crisp. A wildfire of want rages within you, and the freedom of choice for the first time in your life dizzies you beyond belief.

You could buy a night with anyone in this room.

Unfortunately for you, the only person you truly crave cannot be bought, and she stares a hole through the bottom of her empty glass, lips twisted up in thought.

As if your gaze holds a tangible weight, she looks up at you. Leers at the expanse of your body like she can see through your clothes.

“So. You want some excitement.”

You swallow thick when she leans in close. Smells of leather and bourbon and something sickly-sweet that itches at the back of your throat. You wonder about her taste. The warmth of the space between her legs. What her expressive mouth might feel like on the more delicate parts of your body.

Now is the time. “Yes.”

A glint of metal slides across the bar top from Mave’s direction, only for Sevika to stop it with a palm (without taking her eyes off you, and that shouldn't be as arousing as it is). She picks it up with thumb and forefinger and presents it to you: a simple metal ring with a dangling key attached.

“Offer's open, princess, but I'll only ask once.”

You know what the key means. A private room. Alone with the most attractive woman you've ever seen. There's only one way this can end, and you're almost at the finish line.

So why do you hesitate?

Sevika pins you with a stare, commanding the attention of your gaze, and she must see the war that wages within you. She clenches the key in her fist and turns to walk away.

Your chest pangs from the sharp spike of your heart rate, and you clamp both hands around her thick wrist to halt her. “Wait, wait. I want to, I just… I've never done this.”

Yes. It's fear that leaves you wary. Fear of under-performing, of disappointing your family, of never coming back from this.

But the fear of never having Sevika triumphs all others.

Her lips stretch into a smile, eyes darkening to something predatory and heated. “That's all you had to say, princess.”

When she holds out the key again, you don't hesitate to take it.

Mistress Mave wishes you well as Sevika leads you toward a stretch of low-lit hallway at the back of the room. She walks you past door after door, muffled sounds of pleasure breaching the privacy of each room, and glances back to gauge your reaction. Raises her brows at the sight of your wide-eyed expression, but says nothing. You've already cemented your place in the realm of naivety. No need to rub salt in the bleeding wound.

She stops at the last door on the right. Unassuming, same as the others, and you aren't sure what you expected. You shift your weight as she takes the key from you and slots it into the lock, wary of what manner of debauchery might lay on the other side.

People enjoy all manner of odd things. Whips and braided rope and dripping candle wax. Orgies and audiences. Biting and bruises and blood.

Gods, you hope there isn't an audience.

She opens the door and ushers you in.

“Here’s your mansion for the night,” she says with a sweep of her arm.

You choose to ignore her comment, instead glancing around the quaint room bathed in golden lamplight. A full-sized bed sits in the center with two worn end tables on each side. A chair in the opposite corner, covered in dingy fabric. A suspicious red stain on the wall above it catches your attention, and nausea broils in your belly when you think too hard about how it got there.

You resist the urge to curl your lip.

Sevika steps up beside you with a wry smile, and your eyes lock on to the adorable gap between her front teeth. The only thing adorable about her. “What, not good enough for you?”

“It’s… fine.” At her amused exhale, you take a step back. “Isn't there a… a time limit on how long we can stay?”

“This room is mine. Nobody will bother us.”

Your eyes widen. “You have your own room here?”

“So you are judging.”

“I'm not. I just don't understand why anybody would want sex so often. I've heard it's more of a chore than anything.”

And yet, look where you are.

“What kinda shit do they teach you up there?”

You drop your bag by the door then step over to the bed and remove your cloak, spreading it out over the dirty sheets so you can sit comfortably. Who knows what manner of bodily fluids have befriended the fabric.

“No sex before marriage, sexual urges are a distraction, make babies until you either die or get too old.” You roll your eyes, reclining back on your hands as she steps over to you with a scowl. “My family is more… conservative than most other houses.”

“I can't believe I actually feel sorry for you.”

“How sweet.”

With a flourish, she removes her own cloak, tossing it behind her to land perfectly in the chair.

Truly, you try not to stare, but the woman is a masterpiece. Strong arms and legs, a trim waist, deliciously broad shoulders. For reasons unbeknownst to you, your interest most lies in the expanse of bare skin between her tight shirt and pants. The shadow of her hipbones, the dip of her bellybutton, muscles carved from stone.

Then there’s her arm. Metallic in make with a design so intricate you wouldn't dare try to map all the parts out, faintly whirring from the fan on the shoulder. A pretty gold that contrasts well with the shade of her skin. A glow of muted pink liquid settles in vein-like structures. You want to reach out and trace each little design with your fingertips.

Fever overtakes you, sends heat down your chest and spine to settle in the pit of your belly. You've never felt unadulterated want like this before.

She takes a seat beside you to remove her boots, spreading her legs to fit a warm one against yours. It's wholly unnecessary, and yet you squirm regardless, leaning into and away from the touch. The tilt of her mouth from your view of her profile—gods, what a lovely nose—proves that your reaction was her intention all along. You eat right from her palm again and again, and you love it (though you would rather die than admit such a thing).

In a rush, you're tugged to your feet and planted between her spread thighs, and she fusses with the hidden toggles on the back of your corset. She faces your body away from her, fingers hot and teasing against your spine.

You listen to her struggle for a long few moments, biting your lips to hide your laugh.

Who knew that a simple clothing item could best such a woman?

She growls, passing fruitlessly over each clip yet again. “How do you even—get this fucking thing—”

At the sound of a popping stitch, your smile sharply fades, and you twist away from her with a scowl. “Don’t rip it, you brute. This corset is worth more than your life.” A gift from your aunt for your twenty-third birthday. Your mother would surely kill you.

Her brow furrows, a shadow hiding away the pretty grey of her eyes.

Then the world flips on its side. One moment you're standing before her, and the next, you lay on your back, cushioned by a lumpy mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

The bed dips between your spread legs, and you lift your head to find her crawling over you. The sight is dizzying, a scene straight from one of your mother's novels—the heroine at the mercy of a dangerous warrior, much like a rabbit caught between the metal teeth of a trap. What always follows is a ravishing (you pray to any being listening that the pattern continues).

You swallow down the lump in your throat when she sits back on her haunches, your thighs framing the taper of her waist. Her touch sears you, alights your nerves with such sensation that your hips roll against hers on instinct.

In three quick tugs of her metal hand, the toggles on your corset snap from end to end, seams popping in the process. The clothing item falls away, revealing your breasts to her low-lidded gaze.

She tilts her head, eyes flickering over your midsection. “Cute,” she says, splaying a large hand over the expanse of your belly, callouses rasping against your skin. The tip of her middle finger brushes the underside of your breast, and something fierce and chaotic hammers away within your ribs.

You can't even be angry. Too aroused to conjure a complete thought. Already, the place between your legs thumps rhythmically, begging for her touch. For her mouth. For those long fingers you've admired since she took you by the face.

She quirks a brow. “Nothing to say?”

You shake your head in response, breath stuttering on each inhale. The position is overwhelming, your center trapped against her pelvis, and you wish so badly that you could feel her without all the clothing between you.

“You’ve really never done this before.” More statement than question, as if the realization suddenly befalls her. And once it settles in her mind, she leans forward, sucking a rough, toe-curling kiss into the pulse of your neck. “Innocent little Piltie. Never thought I'd see the day.”

Inhaling a breath through your teeth, you reach up to comb a hand through her loose hair. If you were a bit more brave, you would take hold of that blasted hair tie and rip it out, but you resign yourself to the soft, thick strands that frame her neck.

Her treatment of you is rough, but never unpleasant. Relieving, in fact, given your perceived fragility by those around you. She sharpens her teeth on your most vulnerable spots: the curve of your neck, the line of your collarbone, the swell of your chest. Suckles at your skin like you’re her own personal canvas. Pulls you close with a muscled forearm beneath the curve of your back.

And although you wriggle beneath her, unsure of how to cope with so much sensation, you refuse to let her have all the fun. You shove at her shoulders with a low whine, and she separates from you with a sharp exhale.

“What?”

You tug at the hem of her shirt with shaking fingers, thighs tightening around her waist. “Take this off.”

She rolls her eyes, grumbles spoiled brat under her breath, but obeys anyway. Under no circumstances do you stare at the flex of her arms as she stretches them out then tosses her shirt aside.

At the sight of her wrapped chest, your excitement wilts, mouth twisting into a pout. Your fingers fit beneath the material. “This, too.”

Once the tie is undone, the wrap falls over your thighs, and suddenly, she sits before you bare from the waist up.

Your first pair of breasts, here to touch and kiss and lick, to indulge in, and though you've lived a life of excess, you know that no food or extravagant purchase or amount of gold will ever fulfill you like the sight of her. The curve of them bottom-heavy, nipples a few shades darker than the color of her skin. A puckered scar slices between her lower ribs, the perfect size for a knife, and you want to kiss it.

You want to—you—

Gods, you can't even think.

She exhales a laugh, removing the wrap from around her waist. “You've never seen tits before?”

She seeks to rankle you, but your brain locks onto the shape of her areolas. The perfect shape for your mouth.

“None but mine.” You extend your arms, desperate for the taste of her skin, its warmth. The weight of her against you. Your mouth waters. “Come here.”

“Mind your manners. Say ‘please’.”

You don't hesitate, hindbrain need driving your actions. “Please?”

Humming, she leans over you on her forearms, chest hovering directly above your face, each breath ghosting her soft skin against your bottom lip.

By the end of the night, you're sure to die of a self-induced heart attack.

In a surprising stroke of tenderness, she cradles your head in hand as you suck a nipple into your mouth. You attempt to recall the scenes from your favorite books, how the women in them enjoy their pleasure, and draw upon your lonely nights in bed for inspiration.

“Harder, princess. You won't break me.”

At her request, you suck her breast deeper into your mouth, fitting your tongue against her pebbled nipple. She exhales a sigh against the crown of your head, canting her hips against yours, and you moan around her flesh, meeting her arousal with your own.

She pulls away with a wet pop from your lips, hands darting to the buttons on your pants. Makes quick work, tugging both them and your underwear down your legs before meeting the leather of your boots. You sit up to help her, unclipping the straps down the sides.

Your need is palpable, same as hers. The anticipation makes you clumsy and off-balance, a flutter of giddiness sending you into a fit of giggles.

She rips your boots off by the soles, stepping back to let you finish as she works to remove the rest of her own clothes.

Everything happens fast. Your trousers land in a heap on the floor at the bottom of the bed, and two different hands, one organic and one metal, grab you by the legs to seat you at the edge of the mattress. You blink and her mouth is on you, teeth latching onto the seam of your inner thigh. So close to where you need it, and you reach down to guide her with a hand in her hair. In a striking display of speed, she catches you by the wrist with her metal hand and pins it down to the bed.

As punishment, she moves her lips further up your thigh, marking her trail with sharp nips of her teeth. Pain melds into a pleasure that leaves your jaw slackening, your hips twitching toward the wet heat of her mouth, begging of their own accord.

You never thought you would enjoy being pinned down and marked up and thrown about like you weigh nothing, but Sevika has opened up a deeply-buried box of desires that can never be closed again. You want more this, of her, of whatever she chooses to give you.

You can dissect the why later.

“Please, Sevika. Please.”

The sight of her between your legs, furrow-browed and glaring, mean in the best possible way, sends another wave of heat to the pit of your belly. “Why should I?”

She rests her thumb on the root of your clit, trailing along its hood. Waiting for you to respond, to give her an adequate reason behind your selfish indulgence.

You don't have one.

“Because I need it.”

She clicks her tongue, moving her thumb to tease over your labia, dipping just enough into your entrance to coat her skin with your slick.

“Brat like you gets everything she wants. About time you had to wait for something.”

When your hips begin a desperate grind to chase the sensation, she pins you to the bed with her metal arm, your wrist still gripped in hand.

Only when you stop your struggle, when you submit beneath her does she give you what you've been begging for. You clench around nothing, muscles of your thighs tensing as she finally, finally presses her tongue against you. Long, languid strokes of soft wet heat that steal your breath each time she reaches your clit. She kisses your—your pussy like she might kiss your mouth (gods, how vulgar), rolling her tongue over your clit, sucking your labia into her mouth, licking into you so deep that your back arches off the bed.

The silly books hidden beneath your mattress could never do this justice. The pathetic feeling of your own hand could never compare. How foolish of you to believe otherwise.

You feel flayed alive when she pulls away with a wet squelch, a large finger pressing into you. “Cute down here, too,” she says quietly, as if musing to herself. Your thighs shake when she begins a steady rhythm, the schlick of your insides loud in the small room. “Sensitive.”

You've never been this wet before. She's carved out your innards and replaced the empty cavern with need and heat and instinct. You thrash against her hold, desperate for stimulation, and she presses her arm harder across your hips to keep you still.

This is what you've been looking for, craving for so long. To be trapped and vulnerable and at the mercy of a pretty, intimidating woman.

You can't do much to guide her besides whimper and moan and beg and plead, the only free part of your body—your hand—fisted in the sheets beside your head. She feasts on you like it's an act of worship, messy and wet, mechanical fingers curling around your own.

Once she latches her mouth around your clit and slides another finger into you, it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to reach your peak. Your subdued hand tightens into a fist, metallic edges digging into your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when every muscle in your body tightens in preparation for an atom-rending orgasm.

Time suspends just before the coil in your belly snaps, and your chest burns from the rib-stretching breath you hold, and your knees curl toward your chest to fully expose yourself to her mouth.

She suckles hard enough that the pleasure sharpens into a knife, thick fingers still stretching you open, forcing through the first milking clench of your insides, and you break.

For a moment, you believe your soul separates from your body as every nerve alights with sensation. Fractals appear in the blackhole darkness of clenched-shut eyes. You curl in on yourself, muscles aching from how tightly they wind. Her muffled groan vibrates against you, and some shoved away part of your brain purrs at the thought of her getting off to this—to pleasuring you.

As quickly as your peak came, it leaves, and you sag against the sheets, extremities gooey and useless, gasping for breath. Utterly spent, wrung out, at her mercy.

She no doubt prefers you like this. Perhaps that's why she approached you in the first place: one of Piltover's finest standing in the corner of some seedy brothel, doe-eyed and scared, ripe for the picking. Perfectly corruptible.

Fortunately for you, this is what you came for.

A wet hand pats your cheek, hard enough to jostle your head. “Hey. You alive?”

Untrusting of your vocal chords, you release a throaty whine, blinking open tired eyes.

“Good. Now scoot.” She smacks at your flank as the bed slowly dips beside you, and your body jolts into action. “Top of the bed.”

If you had an ounce of thought to your brain or the energy to move your mouth, you would snap at her for being so demanding, for ordering you around like a dog. But your face burns when your pussy clenches around nothing, drooling onto the sheets.

You actually like this.

What is wrong with you? Your fantasies never ventured into pain-filled territory, and now you silently wish for her to spank you again like a misbehaving child. You should feel shame, but you don't, and you can’t help but wonder how that could be.

She is a witch, and you’ve fallen under her spell. The only theory that makes sense inside your orgasm-addled brain.

“Can I… return the favor?”

She stands before the end table, rifling through the contents of the drawer. Long, sinewy legs on display, the curve of her bottom perfect for grabbing. “No.”

“What? Why?”

“Because. I don't teach.”

“I’m a very fast learner.”

She turns toward you with a glare, hand holding two objects you can’t yet identify. “No.”

You pout, eyebrows canting upward in your best pleading expression, and you want to taste her so badly that you consider throwing a tantrum, but decide against it once she rejoins you on the bed. As if she would budge anyway.

Your eyes are drawn to the movements of her hands and the leather straps that she buckles around her hips and thighs. High quality and sturdy with a piece of thick fabric beneath a metal ring covering her pelvis.

“What is that?”

“You’ll see.”

She picks up a phallus-shaped object from between her thighs, and your eyes widen at the sight of her slotting it into the metal ring.

A fake… cock (gods, what's gotten into you?), of thick girth and average length. An inset of flowing pink veins. It's daunting, a bit scary to look at.

She expects you to take that?

You fiddle with your fingers as she coats the thing in lubrication, and although you don’t have second thoughts, per se, you need to know that she’ll take things slow.

“It looks like it’ll hurt.”

She smooths a rough palm over the skin of your thigh, squeezing the fat beneath her fingers. “Won't hurt you unless you want me to.”

You believe this utter stranger for some odd reason, and that eases the ache in your chest.

“Can we go slow?”

She scoots in close, to the same position as before—on her haunches, your thighs around her waist. Thumbs at the fat on your hips, looking down at you with a wrinkled brow.

“I’m not a monster.”

Your face softens at her hushed tone, shoulders relaxing from around your ears. “I know you aren't.” You brush a stray hair from her brow, palm cradling the blue-hued scars on her face for half a second before she pins your wrist to the sheets beside your head.

“I'm going to fuck you now.”

You flatten your lips into a line and nod, the grim expression on her face clearly wishing for you to shut your mouth.

You can do that, as long as she makes good on her promise.

The first brush of the fake cock over your clit is warm. Warm and giving and soft as a human body, which strikes you as peculiar. Because it isn't, and it shouldn't feel like an extension of her, but it does.

You tense up in anticipation, thigh muscles flexing, tugging her closer, and she squeezes at the flesh beneath her fingers. Says, “Don't. Relax.” She thumbs over your wet clit, a sudden rush of sensation that coils around the knots of your spine, and you bloom for her, sinking into the sheets. “There you go.”

She doesn't stop until your breathing deepens and the pit of your belly starts boiling with heat, and you shudder at the press of her cock against your entrance.

“Please. Please, just—”

“I know.” Her voice softens into an almost-coo, the closest thing to tenderness you'll most likely get from her, but it's enough.

Something sweet and warm swells in your chest as she presses into you, achingly slow—an inch forward, an inch back, again and again until her pelvis meets yours, your insides stretched deliciously, full up to your ribs.

And just like that, your mission is complete. Not only have you lost your virginity, but the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on is the one impaling you. And as she promised, it doesn't hurt. She sees to your pleasure like she’s paid for it, still circling your clit, metal fingers carefully plucking a nipple. Plays your body expertly, makes you melt beneath her, morphs you into something pliant and needy—sexual being first, human second.

When she begins moving, she doesn’t stop, hips rocking in a long, languid rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. The best thing you’ve ever felt, perfection, more you need more you need—

“Harder.”

A simple request, a two syllable word that defies the impossible weight of your tongue. It comes out garbled and strained, embarrassingly weak, yet the concentrated wrinkle of her brow throws you off.

No more teasing. This is serious.

“There’s a word you’re supposed to say,” she says, voice even-toned and normal, a sharp contrast to the way she’s ripped you apart, to how you gasp and whimper.

“Please?”

Begging comes easy as the rational faculties of your brain shut down one right after the other, and she leans forward, prosthetic fingers encircling your throat.

“Again.”

A light squeeze against the thump of your pulse leaves you moaning, the chill of the metal a perfect contrast to the flushing heat of your skin.

“Please?”

This time she grins, lips stretching wide, eyelids lowering to cast her gaze in muted shadow.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as her thrusts pick up speed, her hips slapping against the back of your thighs, each bottom-out slick and noisy. With your free arm, you cling to her, the bend of your elbow fitting over the nape of her neck. She lets you pull her close, the muscled expanse of her stomach flattening against yours (impossibly warm, the skin soft, fuzzy below her navel), her teeth biting hard at the curve of your shoulder.

You clench around her as the sharp pleasure-pain darts down your spine, tilting your head back to expose more of your neck to the roughness of her touch—the fingers still heavy against your pulse, the mouth hell-bent on marking you for her own satisfaction (and, to a lesser extent, yours).

A burning sun builds at the base of your spine, the sensation deeper set than your previous climax, heavy between your hips, unraveling you down to your bone marrow. You relax into it, spreading your thighs in invitation. A silent begging.

Her lips latch onto the underside of your jaw, and you finally steel your resolve and rip the tie from her hair. Fist a hand in the thick strands, tug hard enough that she pulls away with a groan, thrusts pausing, almost nose-to-nose with you.

And she smiles, an excited, almost vulgar curl to her lips. “Bunny’s got teeth, huh?”

You want to kiss her. She even teases the idea, taking your lower lip between her teeth, and all the heat in your body rushes to your face. Your breathing quickens, every nerve in your body bending to her will.

Her mouth brushes against your ear, breath fanning over your skin. “Roll over.”

You open your mouth to complain, and she slides two slick fingers over your tongue, deep enough to gag you before pulling back.

She tilts her head, nose brushing against the heat of your cheek. “Are simple instructions too hard for you now?”

You hum your dissent around the intrusion in your mouth, tasting yourself on her skin.

She pulls out, leaning back far enough to loop her metal arm beneath your hips and flips you over. A rough smack to your bottom (”Up,” she grouses) has you rising to your knees, face buried in the sheets. The mattress dips on either side of your legs, and she wastes no time sliding back into you, the slick sound of your pussy bringing heat to your cheeks.

In this position, her cock feels impossibly deep, heavier and thicker inside you. The hands that grip your waist keep you still as she rocks her hips, building up to the rough pace she set before as you mewl and cry and drool into the corner of the pillow between your teeth.

Your brain whites out as climax overtakes you, fizzling all the tension from your bones, her hands the only thing keeping you upright as pleasure unfurls from the deep pit within your very soul. More full-bodied and languid than any others that came before, as if she's unlocked some pleasure center you never knew you possessed.

You'll think about this night for the rest of your life.

Her thrusts slow to a crawl to give you a chance to recover, palm soothing the sweaty skin over your spine. The perfect touch to center you back inside your body.

You're exhausted. Wrung out. Satiated and purring.

You reach a hand back to press against her lower belly, a silent signal that you're done for the moment. She pulls out of you with a chuffing laugh, massaging the fat of your thigh one final time before rolling off the bed and unbuckling the straps of her harness.

“Still alive?”

At the sound of her smugness, you open a bleary eye to glare at her, though you might get a bit distracted at the tufts of dark hair between her thighs and the sheen of sweat on her skin in the glow of lamplight. You consider biting her just as she's done to you, carving your signature into the thin flesh of her wrist, though your reasoning lies more in the realm of dog that's had their tail yanked one too many times.

She joins you in bed. Sinks into the sheets with a heavy sigh through her nose, beads of sweat drying on the bridge. Picks up a metal case from the bedside table and opens it to reveal a row of thin cigars, like the ones your father smokes.

When she lights it, the smell reminds you of home, and you swallow down the guilt that rises like bile in your throat.

Then silence.

You drift for a while, basking in the afterglow, before an emptiness opens up between your ribs. A strange loneliness that can only be filled by skinship. You edge toward her, bridging the gap between your bodies, and upon your first touch against her arm, her head snaps to look at you, eyes wary, brow pinched.

“I don't cuddle.”

You blink. “Oh.”

That stings. It shouldn’t, given the nature of everything that came before, her averseness to non-sexual touch, but you need… something. A hug, perhaps.

You scoot away from her and wince at the soreness of your muscles, curling up on your side.

Definitely a long, hot bath, with the floral smelling soaps and oil infused salts you keep stocked in the cabinet beneath your bathroom sink.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t leave. She stays next to you in bed, still puffing away on her strangely small cigar, and the bitter smell settles a comforting warmth in your lungs. Like a mug of tea on a cold night, or dinner by the fire, or the smell of clean sheets.

Briefly, you wonder what memories bring her peace. If she even possesses such things.

“You really should go home,” she says, smoke curling from her nostrils. “There’s nothing else for you here.”

You pick at a cigarette burn in the comforter, unable to meet her eyes. “You’re probably right.”

“I am right. You’ll be chewed up and spit out before sunrise.” She leans in close, eyes lidded, the smell of tobacco soaking into her skin. “You’re lucky I found you first.”

You want to kiss her, to smudge your lipstick against the curve of her mouth, but you can’t find the bravery to follow through. No doubt, she would grab you by the face and say, ‘I don’t kiss.’

Instead, you smile. “I agree.”

She huffs out a breath through her teeth, settling back against the headboard.

And then she rests a large, warm hand on your head, thumb smoothing over the curve of your cheek. Tender and intimate—much too sweet for the tone she's set thus far.

“This is all I can give you.”

You lean into her touch like a dog begging for a scratch, uncaring of how pathetic it makes you seem. “I understand.”

You lay like that for a while. Soak up her warmth and attention as the air thickens with the smoke from her strange cigar.

A piece of you mourns for the future, for the inevitable truth that you'll never see this woman again. You'll leave to Aunt Elise's in the morning to heed Sevika's words, and you'll go home to your mother's cage and Tristan's proposal, and you'll accept your fate with a smile.

“My family doesn't know I prefer the company of women,” you whisper, and you aren't sure why you chose her, but you have to get your secret out before the noose tightens around your neck. “I know you don't care, and I'm not asking you to. I just needed to say it out loud for the first time.”

She sighs. Quietly says, “Well, you did.”

Her comment is not angry, or snarky, or bitter, but pitying. Sympathetic.

You don't really deserve it.

“Thank you. For everything.”

She scrunches her nose in discomfort, but says nothing. Pulls away from you to stamp out the fire of her strange cigar.

You wonder what she’s thinking. What she’s been thinking this entire time. More of a mystery than you could have ever predicted.

Why did she choose you? Was it because of your perceived status, or in spite of it? Did she enjoy what happened? Was it like scratching an itch, or will she think about you from time to time?

Perhaps you’re the one thinking too much, but your mother once told you that your first time would be remembered for the rest of your life. (Another reason why your husband should take your “purity”.) You’re an hour out from the experience, but you already know she’s right.

As the night continues, you have each other again and again and again, trying all manner of things. She lets you suck on her—“they’re called tits around here, princess”—as she stretches you with two fingers. Lets you ride her thigh for twenty minutes while she leaves kisses on the column of your throat (a particularly erogenous area for you, you discovered). Even lets you take a hit of her small cigar in between rounds, and you cough so hard you almost throw up.

During each downtime, you talk. About Piltover, and your trip through the Undercity, and your hobbies back home, and your family, and your suitor. She says little each time, simply dozing on her side of the bed as you babble away, and you aren't sure why she lets you talk her ear off. She's a puzzle you lack all the pieces to.

By morning, you’re covered in hickeys and bite marks and deliciously sore between the legs. Sevika snores next to you in bed, on her stomach, head half-buried by her pillow. Hair blanketing her face.

You take stock of yourself as you stretch out your legs. Achey but relaxed, foggy-brained by the throes of sleep. You don't regret last night. There's no guilt or shame rustling around inside your head. You accomplished your mission with outstanding success, and your heart feels lighter as a result.

But something nags at you: the prospect of going home to your gilded cage.

And after seeing the streets of the Undercity, the circumstances of the people who live here, your dread does inspire guilt. Your parents never told you about it, forbade you from ever seeing the heart of the destruction, and you feasted on the lies because you didn't know any better.

Well. Now you do.

And still, you aren't sure how to help. If you would even make a difference.

You never expected this outcome from what was supposed to be an exciting journey to sleep with a pretty woman.

For now, you'll go to your aunt's then you'll return home and play your role well and forget that this night ever happened for the sake of your sanity.

Tradition never changes. Suffering is an unfortunate facet of life. Destiny is set in stone. What's the point of trying?

All you can do is make this moment last.

You roll onto your side and roam your eyes over her face, the features you still see beneath her curtain of hair. She grumbles in her sleep, nose scrunching as she dreams.

Maybe it would be better if you left now. To rip the bandage off. There’s nothing more to say, nowhere to go from here in regards to your severely short relationship with Sevika.

You creep out of bed and collect your clothes from the floor. Choose a new outfit from your bag and quietly slip it on. Behind you, the bed creaks, and you freeze in place, turning your head to look at her.

Still asleep, stretched out on her back.

You wish you had some paper to write a note with, to share some last minute words. But you don’t, and your chest aches at the thought of leaving her without saying goodbye.

It’s better this way.

On your way out of town, you drop your entire bag of gold next to a sickly woman and her child. The same duo you saw last night, cuddled beneath a shared blanket.

She smiles at you, grabs you by the hand and squeezes as tight as she can manage.

A drop in the water to solving the issues that plague these people, but it’s a start. Not like you need the money anyway.

When you finally venture into the research outpost after a while of travel, Aunt Elise greets you with a twinkle in her eye and a crinkled nose and says, “You need a bath, girl.”