WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, jealousy, possessiveness, oral sex, spit, some strap-on action, light spanking, a little bit of degradation, a tiny bit of angst at the end
You enter the Last Drop like you own it. It’s one of the things that Sevika finds so incredibly sexy about you. Wherever you go, you demand the attention of everyone in the room. She pretends not to notice you, willing her eyes to remain trained on the cards in her hand.
You scrunch your nose in disgust. You should be in your date’s apartment getting yourself fucked into the next week and not in some rancid bar filled with the smell of smoke and sweat.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Selvika watches your long legs extend from the slit in your tight black dress as you scan the crowd. Your upper lips curl as you spot the target of your wrath. Then, you stalk across the room with your strappy heels clicking against the flooring.
“What is so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” you snap, agitated that her call cockblocked you.
Your red lipstick is smudged and faded, the lips beneath it soft and swollen. Your long hair is tousled and wild, no longer in the neat bun you had earlier. And surely, you are wearing your best matching underwear. Sevika’s stomach tightens at the mere thought of having someone else undress you.
She ignores you, taking another swig from her glass. You bite your tongue, not wanting to make an unnecessary scene, but your patience is wearing incredibly thin with her. It’s her turn, you can tell from the thoughtful pout on her face, and so you wait for her to pick a card. Sevika, of course, takes her time, going for a card and then deciding against it.
You clench your jaw, recognizing her familiar antics. You grab her jaw and force her to look at you. Standing gives you a height advantage, making Sevika tilt her head back to meet your eyes.
“You better start talking right now, Sevika.”
She slaps your hand away, and you hiss as the sting spreads to your wrist. Pushing her chair back, she stands, easily towering over you. Calmly, she brings her glass to her lips and takes an unhurried sip, prolonging your departure unnecessarily.
It’s clear that she has nothing to say to you and only ordered you here to fuck with you. The tension in your jaw becomes unbearable, and you inhale deep breaths. She still doesn’t say anything to you, only watches you lose your composure. Her face remains hidden by the rim of her glass, and you aren’t even sure if she’s drinking anything. Annoyed, you rip the glass from her grip and drown the remnants of her drink.
“Fuck you,” you say, placing the glass down with a thud. “Have a great evening, or don’t; I couldn’t care less.”
“Where are you heading, babe?” she yells after you, throwing her hands up.
Already halfway across the room, you don’t bother turning back around to face her. But, unfortunately, she knows how to get on your nerves and has achieved her goal of annoying you again.
You sway your hips and lift your hand showing Sevika your middle finger. “Your mother’s bed.”
The men at Sevika’s table begin to howl, slapping their thighs as they watch the sour look on her face. She won’t let you leave this quickly. There is no way that she will let you crawl in someone else’s bed tonight. You belong right here on her lap.
“Sorry, boys,” she says, discarding her cards and leaving her cigarette on the ashtray. “I got some business to take care of.”
She catches you just before you reach the door. Walking past you with quick strides, she takes your wrist and drags you to her apartment. Uncompromising as you are, you dig your heels in the ground, making it extra difficult for her.
“Sevika, I’m not in the mood for one of your games.”
She spins around and throws you over her shoulder with an angry grunt. You yell, slamming your little fists against her back. Empty threats ring in her ears while she continues her way to her apartment. You’d lie if you said her dominance didn’t turn you on.
Throwing her apartment door open, she drops you in her living room. You huff determined to walk right back out, but Sevika has a different plan. She traps you between her body and the door, using her human arm to prop herself against the doorframe.
“My mother’s bed, huh?” she asks, tracing your jawline with a metallic finger.
You move your face away from her touch. “Yeah, she’s fucking me real good.”
Her face darkens, and she squishes your cheek between her fingers. “Watch yourself.”
“I love,” you moan wantonly, pushing Sevika’s buttons without thinking about the consequences, “When she eats me out after a hard day of work.”
Her fingers twist into your hair, tugging on it forcefully. Your lips snap shut, and you close your eyes at the sensation. Sevika watches as your nipples become little pebbles and she arches a curious eyebrow. A claw hooks the front of your dress and quickly tugs the fabric under your breasts, revealing your lush buds.
“Naughty,” she grins, and you force her hand away with an exasperated sigh.
Fixing your dress, you look at her through your lashes. “What do you want from me, Sev?”
“I heard you were on a date.”
Humming, you tilt your head in confusion, wondering where this conversation is going. You study her grey eyes and the rigidness in her jaw, and then you raise your eyebrows at Silco’s second-in-command.
“Don’t tell me you were jealous.”
She steps away from you, suddenly not liking your presence as much anymore. Rubbing the tension from her neck, she walks around the small space of her living room.
“Oh,” you laugh, clapping your hands. “This is too good.”
You follow her, unwilling to let her get away this easily after ruining your night. You had been trying to gain Sevika’s attention for years. Still, she constantly refuses to even acknowledge you as anything more than a fuck buddy, and now that you are moving on, she has the audacity to be jealous? No, she doesn’t get that right.
“Pray tell, how does that big fucking ego fit into your head?” you ask with venom dripping from every word. “How dare you act as though you have any ownership over me.” Sevika stops dead in her tracks, nostrils flaring as she clenches her fists. “News flash, babe. I’m not fucking yours.”
She whirls back around, burying one hand in your hair and drawing you closer to her. With controlled movements, she brings both of your wrists behind your back. Your chest rubs deliciously against her torso, and you suppress a moan at the tingles that shoot up your spine.
“You are mine, [Y/N],” she murmurs a hair’s breadth away from your lips. “Don’t lie to yourself.”
She brings her head to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, harshly nibbling and licking your skin. You angle your head to give her more access, closing your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself.
“Yeah, am I also yours when you are knuckle-deep in one of Babette’s girls?”
She grunts, copper finger hooking underneath the thin straps of your dress and pushing them down your shoulder. Of course, she never wants to talk about any of this, about the future of your relationship. The scariest woman of Zaun adores avoiding difficult conversations.
“Sevika, I want you to be mine,” you whisper hoarsely, clinging onto your sanity as your dress pools around your feet. “I don’t want to be just one of your many girls.”
She lowers herself to her knees, pressing feathery kisses against your stomach. Her tongue darts out, tracing the spot above your black lace thong. Your hips jerk forward at the sensation, and she smirks at you through her lashes. Kissing further down, her hands fiddle with the straps of your heels.
“Do these few extra centimeters intimidate you that much?” you inquire, squinting your eyes at her with a teasing grin.
“No, sweetheart,” she laughs, kissing your thigh. “I want you to stand comfortably when I make you scream my name in a second.”
An unexpected blush rises to your cheek when Sevika winks at you, and the huskiness of her voice makes you squirm in anticipation. Her fingers work quickly in undoing your shoes, and you can’t help the adoring smile that graces your features as you watch her. Once done, she taps your calf two times to tell you to step out of your heels.
Her palms travel over the back of your thighs to your ass, where she squeezes the firm flesh. Straightening her spine, she buries her face between your legs and inhales deeply, causing the blush on the bridge of your nose to deepen. Her nose brushes against your pulsating clit, and you can’t help the shaky breath that falls from your lips. Tauntingly, she begins to move your panties down your legs. The entire time her eyes are trained on your face.
Once the last clothing item is removed, she throws your thigh over her shoulder, granting herself a better position to eat you out. Instinctively, you steady yourself on the bookshelf beside you, and your fingers find her hair, pushing her closer to your core.
Her tongue messily swipes over your entrance, dipping inside for the briefest second. She hasn’t touched you in days and your body is overwhelmed by the feeling of having her close. Her nose rubs over your clit, and you throw your head back, panting like a dog in heat.
Sevika massages the leg on her shoulder, running her nails up and down your goosebumps as she watches you lose your reason over her teasing. You hold on to the shelf tightly, feeling weak in the knees as you tilt your chin back down. Her tongue travels to your clit, and she masterly circles the little bundle of nerves. She knows exactly what to do to make you see stars.
“Fuck, Sev,” you moan, staring at grey eyes. “Yes, just like that.”
You stroke through her hair, undoing the little ponytail she wears. You watch hungrily as her dark hair frames her face, and your heart beats painfully against your ribcage at her beauty. Biting your bottom lip, you close your eyes and move your hip in sync with her tongue.
No one understands your needs and desires like Sevika. No matter how many people get on their knees for you, no one can compare to her. God knows you have tried to fall for someone else, but your heart doesn’t want to listen to your pleas.
Sevika’s tongue quickens while alternating between sucking and licking your clit. Little does she know that the thought alone of her confessing to you is enough to bring you over the edge.
Your legs shake as you come. If your mind wasn’t fogged by your orgasm, you would be embarrassed at how fast you just came for her. Sevika licks up your sweet juices devotedly before coming to her full height and letting you taste yourself on her lips.
You moan into the kiss, granting her tongue entrance. She picks you up with ease, and you wrap your legs around her waist as though it’s second nature, and maybe it is. Sevika blindly carries you to her bedroom, dropping you down once her knees hit the bed frame.
Using your calves, she flips you onto your stomach. She kneels behind you and drags your hips towards her body. You simultaneously press your bodies against each other, and both exhale sharply at the feeling of having the other so close.
“Pretty princesses like you shouldn’t swear,” she purrs, grinding her hips against your ass. “Manners are so important in today’s society.”
You roll your eyes but don’t object to her statement, knowing damn well the punishment that awaits you if you disagree. So instead, you focus on the feeling of her body rubbing against yours.
“Please,” you gasp, feeling the strap in her pants. “Please, I need you.”
What can you say? You haven’t touched yourself nor been fucked in over a week. There is only so much you can take until you crumble, especially when the person in question is Sevika.
“Insatiable and so desperate for me,” she whispers, nipping on your ear. “Go ahead then, undress me.”
You turn around swiftly and begin to open her shirt, uncovering her beautiful skin beneath the dark fabric. She’s made up of muscles upon muscles, yet, as you brush the shirt off her shoulders, her skin is the softest thing you have ever felt. Unable to help yourself, you lean forward and pepper her chest with kisses, tongue tracing over your favorite spots. Sevika sighs heavily, closing her eyes and allowing you to explore her body for the umpteenth time.
You grow restless as you continuously fail to open her leather belt. She chuckles at the cute pout on your lips and brushes a curl behind your ear. You are always impatient, and it doesn’t surprise her how rash you can be. Prying your hands off her pants, she unbuckles her belt and unbuttons her pants, sliding them down her thigh. When your favorite strap is revealed, you lick your lips with a pleased hum.
Sevika’s claws dig into your cheek as she forces your head back. “Open.”
It’s a simple command that you have heard so many times, and you immediately obey her order. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out and wait like a good girl for her to finish the familiar move. Leaning her head over yours, she puckers her lips and lets a string of spit fall on your tongue. Your eyes glimmer as she licks her lips and watches you swallow.
“Go ahead,” she rasps, eyes flickering to the toy. “Show me how badly you want this.”
If you had a tail, you would wag it right now because, in moments like these, there is nothing on your mind but to please Sevika. She could ask you to jump from a building, and you’d do it in a heartbeat. Jinx once said that you get hearty eyes whenever the arrogant woman enters the same room as you, and maybe she isn’t wrong about that.
She groans, holding your hair back as you take her strap in your mouth. “You are doing so good, pretty girl.”
You hollow your cheeks and watch as Sevika bites her bottom lip. Completely enthralled by your movements, she gently strokes over your head. Her hips have a mind of their own as she begins to move the strap deeper into your mouth with fast motions. The toy hits the back of your throat, and you choke, eyes watering.
“Look at you,” she says, tapping her cock against the outside of your cheek and tracing your lips with the tip. “So eager for me to fill you up.”
You blink at her with your long lashes and faux innocence, and Sevika is done for. She pulls you up, hand wrapping around your neck as she kisses you deeply. She wants to taste every inch of your, consume you entirely until you are a part of her, but before that, she wants her name to be the only one you can remember for the rest of the week. Twisting her hand in your hair again, she tugs on it forcefully and uses it to turn your body around.
Arching your back, you press your ass against the toy, impatiently waiting for her to fuck you senseless. You whine as both of her hands occupy themselves on your breasts instead of inserting the strap. She chuckles tauntingly at your desperation despite feeling the same way.
At a torturous pace, she glides her hands down to your hips, kneading your soft skin along the way. She pushes you on your hands and presses a cool hand on your spine, urging you to lower your torso to the mattress.
Sevika moans at the sight, stroking her cock and covering it in your spit. Her metallic palm massages your ass before slapping it harshly, making you squeal. You are so beautiful, all ready and excited for her. She never wants anyone but herself to see you like that, even if that means killing every woman in Zaun. Finally, she aligns the tip with your entrance, and you gasp in sheer excitement as you grab the sheets beneath you.
“Stop–”
Your complaint dies on your tongue and turns into a sinful moan that makes Sevika’s inside clench in pleasure. Skin colliding with skin fills the room’s emptiness, along with ragged breaths and lewd whimpers. Her human fingers dig into the meat of your hip as she corrects your rhythm and picks her speed up.
“Who do you belong to?” she asks, copper claws dragging over your spine, luring tiny mewls from your lips.
You scoff and shake your head. “No one.”
Growling, Sevika spanks you harshly. Your nails dig into her bedsheets as you screw your eyes shut. A red handprint appears on your skin instantly. She fucks you harder, clearly angry at your refusal. Wrapping her hand around your neck, she squeezes your throat warningly. Gasping, you close your eyes, bathing in all the different sensations. Your ears focus on her grunts, and you can feel your walls clench around her cock as your orgasm approaches.
“I’m asking again, sweetheart, who do you belong to.”
You remain stubborn, unwilling to give her the confession she desires. You keep your mouth firmly shut and rest your forehead on the bed, muffling your moans with soft fabric. She slows her thrusts down significantly, and her hand reaches around your body, pinching your nipples painfully.
“How many others can make you come like I do?” she hisses next to your ear, slamming into you once. “Who else makes you come so hard that you forget your own name and become their dumb little whore.”
You whine, hiding your face in her sheets, but she immediately pushes you onto your back. Her chest brushes over yours as grey eyes meet yours.
“Don’t tell me you beg someone else to fuck you like this,” she murmurs, taking your nipple between her teeth and sucking on it roughly. “No one else gets to hear you call their name into the night, am I right?”
You gasp, forcing her mouth even closer to your chest with your hand. You want her to shut up, unable to bear her taunting words. You only desire her, and that’s something both of you know. It’s not necessary to say it aloud.
Propping back up on her hands, she studies your features as she pulls all the way out of you. Whining, you pull on her upper arms, wanting to feel her inside you again.
“I want to hear it from you, [Y/N],” she says firmly, keeping her hips away from yours. “Who do you belong to?”
You huff, eyes darting from one grey eye to the next. Tears prick in your eyes as frustration settles in the pit of your stomach. Your hand falls from the back of her neck to her cheek, and your lips part unsurely.
"I’m yours, Sev,” you utter, thumb brushing over the scar on her face. “All yours.”
Your back lifts off the bed as she thrusts back into you. Sevika’s hand disappears between your bodies as her thumb draws circles over your clit. Her raven curls stick to her forehead and her eyes flicker over your face.
You whimper and writhe and whine under her touch. Her mouth suckles and bites on your collarbone and neck, leaving purple marks all over your skin. You hold onto her arms as she pounds into your relentlessly.
“Please, baby, please, I need–”
She pecks your lips, silencing your pleas. “Come for me, princess.”
As you come, your nails bite her shoulders, not breaking eye contact with Sevika. Her name rings through the room in a mighty cry. She peppers your face with kisses as your ride out your orgasm. Her hips continue to move in and out of you gently. Your legs shake around her as she slips the toy out of you.
Sevika is quick to lie down and pull you into her arms. Blindly reaching beside her, she lights herself a cigarette, and you watch the grey and white tendrils swirl to the ceiling. You nuzzle your face in her shoulder and place feathery kisses along her skin. Sevika exhales and holds the burning tobacco away from your bodies. Then, she buries her nose in your hair and draws in a deep breath.
“You know I care about you,” she murmurs against your temple. “But I don’t do relationships.”
Your heart drops, and your breathing hitches. You jerk away from her touch and stare at the woman with parted lips and furrowed brows. Sevika rests her cigarette between her lips nonchalantly as she removes the strap from her hips. Closing your eyes, you get angry at your lack of self-restraint. She flashes you one of her pretty smiles, and you become a willing puddle at her feet. Honestly, what’s wrong with you? Where is your dignity? Taking the glowing cigarette from her lips, you get up from her bed and inhale a mouthful of smoke.
“Where are you going?”
Without looking back, you walk into the living room and pick up your discarded panties and dress. You slip them on slowly, still shaking your head in disappointment. Fucking with colleagues is always stupid, but choosing Sevika out of all people is the dumbest thing you have done so far. You exhale the smoke through your nose, enjoying the bitter taste it leaves on your tongue.
“What are you doing?”
She stands in the doorway to her bedroom with her arms crossed over her torso. In all of her naked glory, she musters you as you begin to close your left heel. Her muscles flex in the Undercity’s bright lights, and you have to force your eyes away from her abs.
This constant back and forth is not suitable for you. You bite back angry tears as you tie the last straps of your right heel. Then, getting up, you turn away from Sevika without another word. You will never get away from her if you don’t start setting boundaries now.
“Call me when you want more than a quick fuck,” you say with your hand on the doorknob. “Goodbye, Sevika.”
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WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, oral sex, fingering, strap-on action, afab! reader, tenderness, sex as a means of comfort, big (legal) age gap, angst
“Ms. Medarda,” you say, timidly opening the door. “You requested my presence?"
"Kneel, my darling,” she replies, not looking up from her notes and gesturing to the spot next to her. “I want to spend my last night in Piltover with you.”
You frown, eyes focused on the ground below your shoes. Being reminded of your last day together causes your heart to ache in your chest. She’ll return to Noxus in a day, and you’ll have to stay here in Piltover. It will be expected of you to return to your regular duties as her daughter’s companion as though the last weeks never happened.
Ambessa is not the kind of woman that offers affection easily, but tonight she does not object when you wrap your arms around her calf and press your cheek against her thigh. In fact, a small part of her yearns for the affection she will no longer receive once she is gone in the morning.
It’s quiet for a while. The only sound comes from her pen scratching against paper. Her palm runs over your head, patting you gently. You are perhaps the most obedient and devoted pet she has had in years. You rarely complain about the tasks she gives you or the punishments she exerts.
The diamond choker around your neck reflects the orange hues of the fireplace. It’s her proof of ownership, and you wonder if you’ll have to take it off after her departure.
You don’t want her to forget about you. You loathe the idea of becoming just another one of her conquest. The only wish you have is to remain hers forever, but that wish is one of the ones that will never be granted. Perhaps, if you’re lucky, she might call upon you when she returns to Piltover in a few months or years, but you already know that the chances are slim. Ambessa rarely returns to the same partner twice.
Her hand stills in your hair when she feels the wetness of a tear against her skin. You press your cheek tighter against her, and your arms have an iron grip on her. Ambessa’s heart rattles sympathetically in her chest. The warlord relishes in your devotion to her. She can’t deny how attached she has grown to you herself, and she already dreads the moment she has to say her final goodbye. Putting her pen down, she pushes her chair back just enough, so you fit underneath her desk. Ambessa wants your sorrow and devotion all in one while you worship her body as you have done so many times before. You lift your head, subtly wiping your tears with your shoulder.
“Go ahead,” she coaxes, fingers threading through your hair. “Show me how much you’ll miss me.”
Eager to please, you crawl right between her legs. First, you untie her boots and discard them before you open her pants. She lifts her hips off the chair as you carefully slip pants and underwear off in the same instance. Next, you trail your hands up her thighs, analyzing as the muscles underneath her skin flex and goosebumps run along her skin. You pull them apart, licking your lips upon seeing her cunt. Despite knowing how much she hates it, you tease her, wanting to indulge a little longer in the privilege how pleasing her. As you sneak closer to your destination, you place ghostly kisses on her thighs. Surprisingly, Ambessa allows you to continue with your tortuous pace. Your tongue darts out, leaving a wet trail of your saliva as you feel her hips buckle.
She leans her head back against her chair, groaning as you lap up her arousal. The dark curls of her pubic hair tickle your nose as your press your mouth closer to her core, rubbing her entrance with your tongue. You stroke her with your tongue, nibbling and sucking on the right spots in the right moments. Ambessa’s chest lifts with ragged breaths. Her free hand clutches the corner of her desk in a death grip.
“My good girl,” she rasps, watching you through hooded eyes. “How perfect you look between my legs.”
You slip two fingers inside her smoothly, earning you another round of praise. She gasps and pants underneath your touch, grinding her hips against your face. Your tongue makes her dizzy as she grabs the back of your head, keeping you in the right spot. A shudder runs down her spine, and your name ricochets off the walls in needy rasps.
This is your favorite moment, when she loses control for just a minute, allowing you to push her over the edge. Afterward, you don’t think she even remembers how badly she pleaded for your caress. You curl your fingers and use the tip of your tongue to lick the spot that drives Ambessa crazy.
She bites her bottom lip, fingers tightening in your hair. You look at her through your lashes, blinking as though you don’t know that you are bringing a ruthless warlord to her knees just by being you. Then, wrapping her thighs around your head, she throws her head back and comes with a shuddering breath. You devour the sight before you, securely storing it in your memories for dark days.
Ambessa hooks two fingers in the tight fabric of your collar, pulling you close to her face. Her tongue is eager to taste herself on your lips. As you stand by her side, her fingers disappear underneath your dress and pull your baby pink panties down to your ankle. You step out of them, and Ambessa slips them into her back pocket, keeping them as a souvenir for when she misses you too severely.
She pulls you on her lap, pressing you flush against her body, and you can’t help but roll your hips a little. Ambessa smirks into the kiss, biting your bottom lip and soothing the sting with her tongue. Your mouth falls open willingly, granting her access. Then, leaning back the slightest bit, she buries her fingers in the hem of your dress and pulls it over your head quickly.
You unbutton her shirt, slipping your hands underneath the fabric and fondling her large breasts. It is often that Ambessa lets you hear her moan, but as you lower your mouth to suckle on her nipple, a guttural moan escapes her, making you even wetter than you were before.
“Get me the strap from the drawer,” she purrs, spanking your butt playfully. “I think you deserve a little treat.”
You let go of her nipple with a lewd plop, smiling all innocently at her. Pecking her lips, you make her chuckle as you eagerly slip off her lap and skip towards her dresser.
Ambessa stands up from her chair, stretching and removing her shirt. You admire her muscles in the dim light of the bedroom. You shove the toy in her arms, too aroused for your own good. You almost bounce on your heels as you wait for her to clasp it around her hips, somewhat impatiently.
“Might I need to remind you of your manners on our last night together,” she teases, and you pout at her.
“I thought you would be pleased seeing how eager I am,” you retort, watching her fasten the last halter.
“Cute,” she says a little threateningly, beckoning you closer with a curl of her finger.
You hesitate, scared that your remark earned you a punishment. Ambessa narrows her eyes as you squirm away from her. Then, extending her hand, she waits for you to follow her demand.
“Be a good girl, and come here.”
You bite your lip as you creep closer to her. Falterlingly, you place your hand in hers and squeal as Ambessa pulls you in. You stumble against her chest, shirt long gone, and blush furiously as though you didn’t just eat her out. Her hand lets go of you and rest under your chin, urging your head back.
“You’re lucky that you have such a pretty face,” she says, and then her lips are on yours, leaving a kiss so bruising that your lips feel swollen afterward.
Her hands seize the back of your thighs, and you jump knowingly as she hoists you up. She holds you up with one arm as her hand slides between your bodies. Slowly backing you against a wall. Smirking, she swipes two fingers between your folds, coating them in your juices. She brings them to her lips immediately after and wraps her beautiful lips around them, sucking on them with hollowed cheeks. Your focus on her fingers intensely, jealous of their privilege of having her tongue wrapped around them.
“All of this just for me?” she winks, humming at the taste of you. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”
She rubs the tip of the silicon toy over your entrance, and you rest the back of your head against the wall. Finally, you beg her to stop teasing you, your voice coming out as a pathetic little pant.
Ambessa clucks her tongue in mock sympathy. “Maybe I should teach you some patience; have you warm my cock all night without giving you the pleasure you so urgently desire.”
Your eyes snap open, and you stare at her with a displeased scrunch of your nose. You have been so good all day, not once complaining about the tedious task of visiting the council one last time before her departure.
With a quick nudge of Ambessa’s hips, the toy disappears inside you, filling you completely. The first syllable of a demuring turns into a sudden gasp. Your forehead drops against her shoulder as you groan at the intensity of the feeling.
Broken little moans ring through the room as Ambessa fucks you against the wall. You cling to her shoulders, legs wrapped around her waist as her cock slides in and out of you. She buries her face in your neck, sucking on your skin and leaving as many marks as possible. She ensures you won’t forget about her, at least not for a week or two. Your hips meet her movements desperately.
Suddenly, her movements become slower and deeper. She savors the feeling of having you in her arms and the sound of your voice as you beg her to take you. She presses her forehead against yours, pressing a tender kiss against your lips. You shudder at the softness of her touches and return her kiss with the same amount of devotion.
Ambessa backs away from the wall, bringing you down on her bed without slipping the toy out of you. Your lips don’t leave hers until she drags them to your cheek and down your neck. Then, she crawls on the bed with you, caging you between her powerful arms and stroking your head lovingly. You whimper at the sight of the strongest woman you know treating you like you are an expansive glass figurine that might break upon her touch.
She nibbles on your chest, sucking your nipple between her lips. You brush over her arms and angle your head to press tender to her skin.
“You are so beautiful,” she says, caressing your chest. “My perfect little pet.”
She admires the collar around your throat, and you arch your back as her hips pick their pace up again. She loves doting on you, showering you with gifts that prove you belong to her. Nothing is more attractive to her than a woman who succumbs to Ambessa and willingly shows herself as hers.
She grunts as your nails glide down her back, thrusting in you ceaselessly. The toy hits all the right spots inside you, brushing over the rough patch of skin deliciously fast. Your arms wrap tightly around her neck as you become undone at her hands. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and her name drips from your lips like honey. It’s a whisper, hardly audibly for Ambessa over the sound of skin slapping against skin. Returning her attention to your lips, she swallows all the sounds slipping from them.
She slips her cock out of you, drawing her hips back carefully and eliciting a gasp from you. She kisses your forehead, a very unfamiliar gesture, but you blame it on the after-sex-high Ambessa is experiencing. You’re still on your back, breathing heavily as you watch her stand.
“You need to drink something,” she reminds you, unclasping the strap around her hips.
Obediently, you get out of bed, filling two glasses with water from a carafe. Ambessa cares about your well-being, but the only reason she’s making you get a drink is so that she can see you limp away. You drown the glass in two gulps, and a droplet of water escapes from the corner of your mouth and paves its way to the valley of your breasts. Abandoning the glass on the table, you trudge to the bed with shaking legs and Ambessa’s drink in your hand.
“Thank you.”
She strokes a hand over your head and lingers on your jaw, moving her finger back and forth over your skin. Then, nudging her chin towards her bed, she silently tells you to crawl back in. You follow her command and make yourself comfortable between her silky sheets. Ambessa joins you a moment later, wrapping her arms around you. You rest your head resting on her chest. Her heartbeat tries lulls you to sleep, but you keep fighting the tiredness that takes over you.
“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper, hiding your face in her neck and inhaling a deep breath.
You want to savor her scent as long as you can. A mixture of sex and her expensive bath ointments clouds your senses. Over the last months, it has become a calming remedy for you, and you don’t know how you’ll survive without it.
“Precious,” she murmurs, hand running through your long hair and over your back. “I hope you didn’t fall for me.”
You freeze, no longer drawing silly little patterns on her hip. There are rules to being with Ambessa; more importantly, there are rules to seeing her again. She made it very clear at the beginning of your relationship that she would cut all ties when you developed feelings for her and demanded that you’d be honest with her when it happened. She might be a cruel warlord, but she wouldn’t put you through disappointment and heartbreak every time you saw each other.
When you don’t answer her, she draws back from you, tilting your chin up so she can look at you. Her stomach tightens painfully at the teary-eyed girl that stares back at her. Your cheeks remain flushed from your orgasm, and your her is all over the place from Ambessa’s hands pulling on it. Finally, her eyes fall to your puffy lips as you utter two words that completely change the outcome of your evening.
“I’m sorry.”
You breathe shakily, face scrunched in a pained expression. The warlord pushes you off her, wanting to see if you are telling the truth. You kneel, naked and with a deep frown on your face. It’s the first time she really notices how adoring you stare at her, and suddenly, she remembers all the times she tried to pretend like you didn’t act like a lovestruck teenager around her. She rubs over her face and shakes her head, disappointed in herself.
“You need to leave, [Y/N],” she says firmly, getting to her feet and pulling her pants on.
She let this go on for far too long, but she was blinded by your beauty and charm. Ambessa is always in control; somehow, she completely lost it the day she met you.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ambessa,” you choke, reaching for her arm, which she immediately retreats. “It doesn’t change anything.”
How could she let this happen? She huffs and puffs angrily, turning towards her bedroom door and opening it for you. You follow her, still naked as on the day you were born. Every fiber of your being begs you to run out of the room and hide under your bed, but you don’t, you remain steadfast. You push the door back close, not done with this conversation yet. Ambessa has to stop herself from looking directly at you. She will surely lose her composure when you stare at her with big eyes.
“I have rules, and this,” she points from you to her quickly, “Is not an exemption.”
You hate that she won’t look at you. It makes you feel lesser, like you are not worthy of her. The action forces tears to spill, and you bite the inside of your cheek in a pitiful attempt to hide your weakness.
“If I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t have known,” you yell, tears running down your cheeks.
You turn around and march towards your discarded dress. Standing in front of Ambessa naked feels too vulnerable right now, a form of vulnerability she doesn’t deserve.
“Of course, I knew!” she snaps, taking a step towards you. “But I was hoping my mind was playing tricks on me.”
She watches as you pull your dress over your head, ignoring that your panties are in her pants. Her eyes fall to your body as you shimmy into your clothing. She hates herself for thinking about fucking some sense into you, but this is, after all, what your relationship was supposed to be about: mindless sex. Then, turning away from you, she pours herself a drink with shaking hands before she can follow up on her desires.
“Don’t act like you don’t favor me over others.” You tug your hair out of your dress and glare daggers at Ambessa’s back. “I see the way you look at me.”
She throws her drink back, allowing the burning taste to ground her. The way she looks at you? You must be more delusional than she thought because she looks at you with no more love than she gazes at any other whore on the street. You mean nothing to her; you are nothing. Ambessa slams the tumbler on the table, and the unexpected sound makes you jump.
“What do you know about love?” she says darkly, intending to hurt you with her words. “You are a child!”
She leans on her table, both arms propped up on the wooden surface, and you stop yourself from running towards her and wrapping your arms around her back. Instead, your eyes trace the pale scars along her skin as you try to ignore the new wave of tears that streams down your face. You need to be strong because she won’t listen to you if you cry; Ambessa doesn’t like weak people.
“Oh,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “So now I’m a child.”
She never cared about your age difference, not when you were on her lap while she played with your soaking core or when you fucked her in her marble bathtub. Addressing it now is very offensive to you, like your age has suddenly become the reason for her inability to admit her feelings.
“Yes, you are a child when you catch feelings for someone you hardly know.”
You draw your head back, genuinely hurt by her words. You spend hours, days, and months learning what she likes and dislikes. You fulfilled her wishes and needs and accompanied her to all the events she had to attend. You know Ambessa, perhaps better than she knows herself.
“I’ve been with you every day for half a year,” you say, arms dropping to your sides. “Don’t tell me I don’t know you.”
Ambessa rolls her shoulder and sighs. This is not how she imagined her last night with you to go. She doesn’t want to think about the feelings of a little girl - you are here because she wants to have fun, and this isn’t fun. She spins on her heels and walks towards you, chest on full display.
“If you think you know me so well, how come you didn’t know that I was still sleeping with other people?” she inquires, leaning down to your face. “You are not as special as you thought, precious.”
Her breath fans over your face, and you search her eyes for the lie behind her words. You take a step back as though Ambessa has physically struck you. You never disclosed the status of your relationship; you simply assumed that she wouldn’t seek pleasure elsewhere. Your eyes fall to the ground, and your throat constricts impossibly tight. You are so stupid for allowing yourself to hope, to let your heart fall for someone like Ambessa Medarda. It’s your own fault. Maybe she is right, and you’re only a stupid little girl that doesn’t know anything because someone who loves you wouldn’t do this. You panic as you struggle to fill your lungs with air. Ambessa’s face softens, and she tries to reach out to you, but you step away from her.
You bolt towards the door, putting as much distance between you two. Fingernails dig into the sides of your neck as you try to compose yourself. Fingers brushing over cold gemstones, you slip them behind the collar’s fabric and rip it off your neck. Something clatters to the ground, and you assume that some diamonds came loose at the rough treatment. Without thinking, you throw it at Ambessa’s feet, not caring whether it breaks further or not. You don’t want it anymore; you don’t want to be reminded of her when she’s gone. Inhaling deeply, you watch Ambessa’s reaction through angry eyes. You hate her; you truly, entirely, and wholeheartedly hate her.
“I hope you have pleasant travel back to Noxus, Ms. Medarda,” you say, curtsying theatrically.
Her heart sinks when you use her surname like it’s a curse word. She shouldn’t care about your feelings. She has done this so many times, broken so many hearts in her wake; deep down, she knows she has fucked up. Subconsciously, she rushes after you, but the door slams shut before she has the chance to stop you. She doesn’t open her door, willing herself to stay put and not make an unnecessary scene in front of the entire staff. Ambessa sits down at her desk, running a hand through her hair.
Why does her heart feel like it’s being pierced by a sword? She doesn’t love you; she doesn’t, but Ambessa still wants you in her bed; she wants the chance to say goodbye to you correctly. Then, furious at the outcome of the evening, she empties the surface of her desk with one swift movement, sending pens and papers flying across the room.
You don’t matter, you don’t matter, you don’t matter. Tomorrow Ambessa will return to her life in Noxus and find herself another pretty face to entertain her. She will have all forgotten about you by the time she boards the airship. You don’t matter, you don’t matter, you don’t matter. Her chest lifts erratically as she screws her eyes shut.
She knows it was the right thing to end things this way, but why does it feel so goddamn wrong?
Summary: You have sacrificed a lot to be loved, but it has all been in vain. Now, all you have left are recurring nightmares and half a soul. When Agatha shows up with the offer of an ancient con on the tip of her tongue, you're willing to finally claw your way out of hell. But you didn't expect the Witches' Road to lead you right into the arms of the one you've loved for centuries.
Words: 4k
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, angst, unrequited love, obsessive love, toxic love, mention and depiction of suicide attempts, emotional trauma, dark magic, loss, power struggles, mentions of canon character death
You had that dream again.
The one about Rio.
The one where you jump.
The waves are crashing against the shoreline. They are violent and relentless. No sane sailor would ever dare to sail his boat in this storm, let alone swim in it. The water is black like tar, frothing at the edges with rage, and above it, the sky seethes. Thunder cracks, lighting strikes.
Your hair whips across your face. The old nightgown is soaked through with sweat, rain, and something colder than either. It clings to you like a second skin, nearly translucent now. Your toes curl into the wild grass at the cliff's edge.
You step forward, just enough to see the jagged boulders that barely peek through the water's surface. The drop is higher than you remember it. Your heart is hammering, not with fear though. You're not afraid. You haven't been afraid in a long time. But there is doubt.
What if it doesn't work?
What if it doesn't work again?
You exhale, close your eyes and let your weight tip forward.
The water doesn't catch you. It breaks you. It knocks the air from your lungs, steals everything from your chest in a rush of cold pain. There is no resistance, no mercy, only darkness.
You go under. Unconscious. Weightless.
You wake choking.
Your lungs seize, convulsing, spewing salt water into the sand. Your throat is raw and you ribs ache. Your skin burns from the freezing temperatures and the impact. You're lying on the shore, curled on your side.
She's there.
Death.
Standing at the tide's edge. The bone mask conceals her face, but you know those shoulder, that stance. You know what's beneath those robes.
As always, the mask begins to melt until the blank white skull gives way to Rio's face.
Not the Rio you would see now, the one hardened by time and guilt and impossible choices. No. This is the version you first loved. Soft-mouthed and sharp-eyed, the storm and the lull after.
You whisper, hoarse, "will you take me this time?"
She steps closer, her hand cups your cheek, angling your face toward her. You lean into her because even when she's Death, she is the only thing keeping you from floating away.
She watches you. Her eyes never leave yours. And then she says it, the same words every time, even though she never moves her lips.
"It's not your time yet."
A lie. You've known it since the first time she said it. You can feel the push and pull of her words. The snap of something sacred breaking beneath the surface, the rules she's defying just to keep you here. You don't know why she's doing it.
"You need to stop trying to make choices that aren't yours to make."
You wake with a gasp, heart hammering like it's trying to break free from your ribs. The sheets are damp, your throat stings and there is salt still on your tongue.
And for a moment, you're not sure if it was a dream at all.
The morning after a dream like that is always the worst.
The shop is still half-dark when you unlock the door. The bell overhead gives a tired little chime, like it resents being disturbed this early. You don't blame it.
You move on autopilot. Lights on, windows cracked, incense smouldering low to burn off the residual magic that clings to the corners. The air smells like rosemary, salt and something older. Something that hasn't forgiven you.
A fat orange tabby trails at your heels, brushing against your legs like a shadow that purrs. His name is Marrow. He came to you in the snow, silent and watchful, and stayed. You tell yourself Rio left him behind on purpose. That he meant something. Some days, you believe it.
You set a hand on the counter, steadying yourself when you hear it.
A hum, faint and echoing, barely audible unless you know how to listen.
Your eyes dart down to the reinforced glass jar beneath the counter. The necklace inside it stirs slightly, as if reacting to you presence. A dark twist of blackened gold and red stone, coiled like something alive.
You reinforced the wards last week, but you still don't like how it moves. How it whispers, sometimes. Especially after dreams like this.
This morning, the voice is clearer.
"The boy is what he wants," it whispers. "Take his soul. You'll feel better. Just one tiny little soul and you'll be free."
You grit your teeth. You don't touch the jar. You haven't since you put the necklace in it.
It used to belong to Mephisto, then it was yours... is yours. You took it off once you realised what it was doing to you, once you realised what it wasn’t giving you. You tried to get rid of it, but it doesn’t react to anything. No magic, no fire, no acid. You even tried to toss it into the ocean, but the next day, it reappeared on your nightstand because like most cursed things it clings. It wants. It takes.
You mutter a banishment charm underneath your breath to muffle the noise. It gives you enough quiet to let you hear your own thoughts.
You’re turning on the espresso machine when the door creaks open behind you. You frown. It’s too early for customers. You look up.
And there she is.
Agatha fucking Harkness.
Not dead. Not a nightmare. Not trapped in Westview like the last time you checked up on her. No, she’s right here. In your store. Smirking like she can’t quite believe who she’s seeing. Like she didn’t leave a crater in your world the last time she touched it.
Beside her, a boy.
Teenager. Curly-haired. Something strange clings to him, a sort of tension. He’s bracing himself for something he can’t name. There’s a shimmer around his aura, subtle, slippery. Old magic. Definitely not his.
Of course she brought someone. Of course she’s dragging another soul behind her like bait on a hook. Agatha never arrives without a weapon, or without a sacrifice.
You feel the necklace hum behind the counter. His name is a low din. “Billy Maximoff.”
Your shoulders straighten. That’s impossible. There is no way Billy Maximoff is alive. Or real, for that matter. The voices are lying. Wouldn’t be the first time.
"Who's that?" you ask, chin jerking towards the boy with soft features.
Agatha waves her hand dismissively, leaning towards the teenager to catch your line of sight. "Unimportant."
The milk jug clatters from your fingers as you round the counter slowly. “With you, Agatha, nothing is ever unimportant.”
She doesn't take the bait “We want to walk the road.”
You gesture past her, toward the open street. “Well, the main road is right behind you, so if you’d excuse me…”
“The Witches’ Road,” The boy says, voice too steady for someone his age.
You stop, head snapping towards Agatha with furrowed brows and a tilt of your head. You're trying to see if she's serious or playing another one of her sick games.
“The Witches’ Road is a sham and a death wish.”
Agatha smiles. It's the same smile she wore the day she betrayed your last good friend. The day you buried magic that didn't belong to her in snow-covered dirt.
“Well," she says, voice all rotten honey, "isn’t a death wish exactly what you need?”
You swallow the bitter taste of bile that’s rising in the back of your throat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?”
“Get out of my shop.” Your voice shakes. You hate yourself for it.
Agatha raises a brow, feigning boredom. “You know, she came to pay me a little visit this morning.”
You don't want to ask who. You already know. There is no way she broke Wanda Maximoff's enchantment without a little help. She doesn't wait to see if you gathered who she's referring to.
“After all those years, she’d still rather take me than you.”
Your hand twitches toward the counter, not for a weapon. You just need something to hold onto. Anything to ground you.
“I should’ve killed you in those godforsaken Alps when I had the chance.”
She leans in, not missing a beat. “What makes you so sure that she would’ve let you?”
You blink.
Something shifts. It's ancient and raw at the base of your spine and you don't know if it's pain or memory. It's the kind of thing you only dig up when you're trying to feel something sharp.
You don't answer, but you snatch the crumbled note from the boy's hand, nearly tearing it in two.
“You’re like a fucking tumour,” you mutter, voice low. “Every time I think I’ve finally gotten rid of you, you come back.”
Agatha beams. "Wonderful. Be there at five and don’t be late.
“You invited her?” Jen hisses, turning away from you with a sneer. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Good to see you too.”
She doesn’t even bother to glance back at you.
“I’m out. I’m not getting tangled up in some demonic bullshit.”
“Don’t worry,” you mock with a taunting smile. “No demon would touch you even if you were the last person on earth. They prefer people with a little backbone.”
Jen stiffens. Alice shifts uncomfortably beside her, arms crossed, teeth clenched, but she doesn’t say anything. Jennifer opens her mouth again and you prepare yourself for a mediocre comeback.
“Honestly, how much more power could you possibly be craving?” she asks, voice dripping with disdain.
You roll your neck, spine cracking. “Spoken like a true loser. Kudos to you, Jennifer.”
The silence stretches. It’s loaded with tension but neither of you make a move to break it with an apology. Until the teen steps into it, his voice cautious.
“Okay, seriously, what’s the deal? Why is everyone acting like she’s… I don’t know. Possessed.”
Jen laughs under her breath. “Possessed would be merciful.”
“She’s made a deal,” Alice adds. “With him. For more power. Everyone knows it.”
He looks at you again, eyes wide. “Wait, is that true?”
You don’t blink. You let him look, let him study the rings on your fingers and the boots on your feet. You let the room grow heavy with the unanswered question.
At last, Agatha claps her hands with subtle urgency. “Well the gang’s all here. Let’s hit the road!”
You didn't expect it to work. It wasn't supposed to.
Agatha has been running the same scam for centuries: sell the Witches' Road like its some mythic wishing well, push desperate witches into chaos, and siphon whatever power falls through the cracks. You knew it was a con. Hell, you were half-tempted to use the chaos yourself, draw a little blood, gather a few lingering souls, maybe take a cut of the fallout.
You barely even sung the song correctly. The words stumbled out of your mouth like a joke without intention behind them. You didn't believe a word you said.
But then it appeared.
A real door, not an illusion or a glamor.
The Witches' Road cracked open beneath you like it had been waiting all this time, waiting for someone to really mean it. When you glanced at Agatha, her mouth was slightly agape, just as stunned as you were.
You didn't get a second longer to process. Teen came crashing down the stairs, wide-eyed and frantic. The Salem Seven appeared before the air even stopped shimmering. They weren't just after Agatha anymore. Anyone who associated with Agatha was fair game. The coven. You. Even the kid.
And then, Sharon Davis died.
Sweet, nosy Mrs. Hart. She'd survived Wanda's madness, the Hex's collapse, Westview's slow forgetting. But she wouldn't survive this, not Agatha's carelessness. When she refused to summon a proper green witch, she reached for the nearest available warm body that could fool you into thinking she might be somehow of magical blood. Sharon was never meant to walk the Road. She was just another piece in the game. One of Agatha's many collateral damages.
You buried her in a patch of cold dirt beneath twisted trees and a sky that was shinning bright with a full moon. And that's when you knew: this wasn't a con anymore.
This was very much real.
Now, you stand beside Billy, he's watching Agatha work next to you. You don't look directly at him, but you feel it. The power. He's not just Wanda's son. He's a shard of whatever made her the Scarlet Witch in the first place.
The new summoning begins.
This time, the request is simple: a true green witch. Not a placeholder. Not a stand-in. A witch tethered to the earth and all things that wilt and grow.
The ground over Sharon's grave trembles.
You brace yourself.
A hand bursts through the soil.
The coven stumbles back, someone screams. Bones crack, skin knits itself together, too fast to be natural. The magic is wrong. Beautiful, but too powerful to be from a mere witch.
And then she rises. you know her before the others do. Before Agatha's mind can catch up.
Rio.
"Heard you guys were having a party."
Hearing her voice sends a shiver down your spine. You haven’t physically spoken to her in years. Her eyes are still the same shade of chocolate brown, but her hair has grown a little wilder.
"How did you–" Agatha begins
Your eyes trail lower, only to dart back up when you spot the parts of exposed pale skin. You’ve touched them, kissed them even, but seeing her like this still makes you nervous.
"I was in the neighbourhood," she gasps, teasing her way closer to Agatha. She doesn't look at you, her attention is solely focused on the brunette in front of you.
You watch a flower uncurl in Rio’s palm, green and soft and alive, and your heart stutters. You sense copper in your mouth and salt behind your eyes.
"Surprise, my lady," she says, presenting the blossom to Agatha with a charming smile.
You turn on your heel.
You don't wait for her to see you. You can't. You start walking, head down the open path before the Road changes its mind.
Footsteps follow. Familiar ones. Agatha.
"Did you think about her when doing the spell?"
You exhale through your teeth. “Well, technically, she is the green witch, so…”
Agatha grinds her teeth down, suspicion blooming like mould. “You planed this, didn’t you?“
You roll your eyes with crossed arms. “I’d rather be impaled by a thousand swords than hand Rio over to you.”
"You've always had a hard time staying away from her, even back then."
You stare ahead, voice quiet now.
"I don't know what you want me to say Agatha," you say. "Why would I torture myself and summon her here? To watch her choose you again? To see how little I have always mattered in her world?"
You gesture towards the road. "Let's just get this thing over with so we can all go home."
There's a beat of silence. Agatha's posture relaxes and she seems to calm herself before she mutters something under her breath, mostly to herself.
"We should've known that attempting to call on a green witch with a dead body barely cold, would backfire on us."
After the second trial, nobody spoke. Everyone was too strung up because Teen fainted. Agatha was with him until he regained consciousness. You wandered around the Road, too much of a coward to step anywhere near Rio. In fact, you avoided her like she carried some deadly disease.
And then, someone lit a fire because tradition demanded it, or maybe because everyone was just too tired to fight anymore. You didn’t ask. You took your seat on the edge of the ring of stones, close enough to feel the heat, far enough to see all their faces.
Billy stirs beside you, finally awake but quiet. His eyes flit between you, Agatha and Rio. Smart kid. He's already starting to put the pieces together. It's not like Rio was trying to hide her and Agatha's relationship before.
Alice leans against Jen, her head on her shoulder. Exhausted, hollow-eyed, but whole. Free from a curse that had tormented her family for centuries.
Agatha pokes the flames with a stick that is, undoubtedly, enchanted. She hasn't said a word to you since following you down the path after Rio appeared. But you can feel her waiting.
Watching.
Plotting.
Rio, of course, sits directly across from you, her chin tilted down, shadows hiding half her face. But not the corner of her mouth. That little twitch. That knowing smile.
The Witches' Road stretches on in either direction, waiting for its next toll.
The other are laughing, talking about battle wounds and sharing old stories that seemed half made up and overly exaggerated. You sit and listen, dragging your heels through a pile of fallen, yellowed leaves. It feels good to be surrounded by other witches, to feel like you belong somewhere after years of solitude. Yet, you still can't help feeling out of place, even when Agatha shows of one of her scars and mentions a story that makes you smile.
But then, Rio chimes in, telling the coven the story of her scar, and you smile breaks. It's a story that's awfully familiar to you, a story that reminds you a lot of what happened between her and Agatha. You close your eyes, screwing them shut so tightly that you start seeing stars.
"She is my scar," Rio says, which is followed by an uncomfortable silence.
The others are drawing their conclusion to the past, but you freeze, limbs locking at your sides, fingers curling in the fabric of your pants. Something bitter gnaws at your insides. It poisons your blood and whispers in your ear.
Agatha slaps her thighs. "I will go stretch my legs."
Your voice cuts through the crackling fire suddenly, like a warm knife slicing through butter.
“That's funny," you laugh, biting and bitter. "I was someone's scar once too."
She stops in her tracks, watching you over her shoulder. And for the first time since she crawled out of that grave, Rio is looking at you too.
"She came to me whenever the world felt too much. When it all got too loud, too cruel, too mortal. I was her quiet place, the one she could bleed all her pain into. But she never stayed at the end of the night. I thought if I let her leave enough of herself behind, maybe one day, she'd stay and pick up the pieces. She never did."
"I was desperate and it made me foolish. I started learning magic people whisper about, the kind that gets you exiled from Kamar-Taj and erased from your coven's memory. Magic that clings to the dead instead of letting them go."
"That's how Mephisto found me. I practically labelled the door with a fucking neon sign. He didn't promise me power. He knew I never wanted that. He offered me love. Said I'd be adored. Worshipped. Seen." Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Rio straightening her spine, like this is the first time she heard about this.
"And I was. Loudly. Excessively. By everyone except the one person I wanted." Your eyes flicker to Rio "Because he said I'd be loved by mortals. She's never quite been that."
"I've tried to die. More than once. I thought if I finally slipped away, she'd come for me. Take me. Say something. But she always stayed quietest in my most desperate hours."
"So no. I'm not here for more power. I'm not here to ascend. I'm here to claw my soul out of a bad deal." Your voice cracks, just once, just loud enough to be heard. "And maybe forget her goddamn face."
"She's not my scar, not really. But because of her, I have them all over. And somehow, she's the reason I keep collecting more."
The silence that follows burns. Its burns in your cheeks and in your clenched fingers, in the corners of your heart and behind your eyes. You don't know why you said any of that. You shouldn't have revealed so much about yourself to complete strangers. Strangers you plan to betray at the end of the Road.
"Well, damn," Alice whistles. "That got dark real fast."
You swallow, your throat moving slowly. The reality of your life settles in the pit of your stomach like a stone. The only way out of this is to bring Mephisto the soul of the boy. You cradle your hands in your lap and stare at your intertwined fingers.
Agatha is the first to part ways. She turns back around and heads somewhere down the path. The expression on her face is unreadable, but you can tell that your words hit a nerve. She knew of your feelings of course. However, she didn't know how tightly you're wrapped around Rio.
With a sigh, Rio follows her, and you, you nosy little witch, you follow right after her because maybe you want to apologise or maybe you're too scared to leave them alone for too long.
You hide just out of their sight. You watch Rio's hand linger on Agatha's back, the sigh that ripples through her. How she turns and closes the gap between their bodies. You watch how naturally it is for them to fall back into old patterns. How easy it is to be the third wheel again, the forgotten friend, the one that couldn't keep up.
You step out of the shadows. You meant it when you said you wouldn't allow Rio to just drift right back into Agatha's arms. You can't. You've spend too much of yourself to fix Rio's pieces.
"The unholy trinity reunited," you squeal with a broad smile, false enthusiasm heavy in your tone. "Isn't that exciting?"
Agatha and Rio break apart just as their lips were about to meet.
"Oh, come on, Aggie, stay a little longer."
Rio grabs you by the elbow and yanks you behind an old, gnarled tree. It's just far enough that no one will be able to hear you talk.
"You made a deal with Mephisto?"
"I didn't have much to lose."
"There is no way he will let you out this easily. So what the hell are you doing here?”
You shrug. “I was bored. Agatha showed up. Here I am.”
"This isn't a game,” she snaps, fingers biting into your arm now. "It's dangerous."
“Can’t really die if you won’t let me, can I?”
This one hits exactly the right spot. She stiffens and you watch her unravel carefully.
“You know the Witches' Road doesn't exist, so I'll ask again: what are you doing here?”
"I'm assuming I'm here for the same reason as you."
She drops your arm like you've burned her. "He didn't."
"A soul for a soul, Rio. You know how it works."
She stares into your eyes, watching the apathy, the hollowness creeping in. "What did he do to you?"
Your expression shifts, darker now. Your venom isn't loud. It's quiet and for the worse of it. "He didn't do anything to me. This is all on you, babe."
Your voice cracks, but doesn't falter. "I lost everything."
"My best friend became my enemy because I fell in love with you. Because loving you meant that I refused to bring her son back. I didn't even try, Rio. I just said no. Like I didn't have the power, like I didn't care. Because I was too consumed by you."
"I traded myself for the chance to be seen by you, for only a minute. And I've tried every possible way to die since then, just to see if that would finally be enough to make you come for me. To make you end it. To see if you'd finally, finally relieve me."
"But nothing's been good enough. Nothing."
"Even after I let you in night after night while Agatha hated you. While she hid behind the Darkhold, I let you tear me open because I thought it might meant something."
"But even then you couldn't make yourself love me."
"Mephisto just did what he always does. Takes the wounded and desperate and gives them what they think they want."
Your voice is lower now, colder, resigned. "So now I'll do what I do best."
"I'll take the boy's soul."
"And I will finally be free. Of him. Of you." You hesitate for a second. "Of myself."
She winces like the words gut her. Deep down, you hope that the words will fester and rot inside her, remind her for the rest of eternity of the pain she's caused.
"I can't let you to do that," Rio rasps. "Mephisto will not let Billy pass on. It will disrupt the sacred–"
"Fuck the sacred balance," you snap. "It's not the first time you've betrayed it to cover your own cowardice."
"That was different. Billy–"
"Don't. Don't defend it," you cut her off, voice sharpening. "Tell me the truth. Did you ever, for even a second, see me as anything more than a trash can for your grief? A vessel to pour your pain into when Agatha turned away?"
Her silence is louder than any response she could've given. You wait for her to say something, anything, but nothing comes, not even a lie.
The last remnants of hope betray you, pulling cold tears from your eyes. They race down your cheeks before you can stop them. You turn away fast, wiping them on your shoulder like they never meant anything at all. She has seen you cry before, but this time it feels more shameful, more vulnerable. Like surrender.
Behind you, she says your name. A whisper so soft, so full of everything she never gave you when it would've mattered. "You've always meant the world to me, even if I didn't show it the way you needed me to. I've thought about realities where it was you instead of her, but love doesn't work like that. You know that. Still, there were nights where I really, really wished it would."
You nod, breath hitching. It wrecks through you, shaking you to the core like an earthquake beneath the skin. You can feel something collapse in your chest, and perhaps this is exactly the pain Mephisto is after.
"I've always loved Agatha. Despite everything that happened." You inhale shakily, your lungs feeling too tight now. "But right now? Right now, I really, really wish she were dead."
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, slow-burn, teasing, vulgar language, sexual implications, sexual tension, Sevika has a good heart, secrets, possible betrayal and angst, no sexual activity... yet
You don’t know how you ended up tied to a chair in the Undercity, but here you are with your white dress tattered and torn all over the place. One would think you purposely threw yourself into the dirt and ran through a myriad of rose bushes. Certainly, your family would be appalled by your current state, not to mention the place you found yourself in.
“What business does a pretty Piltover bird like you have here in Zaun?”
Stoically, you stare straight ahead, determined to ignore every word that falls from her lips. Her very full and soft-looking lips.
The woman who is currently keeping you imprisoned is a sight for sore eyes, you'd be a fool to state otherwise, but of course, you'd never admit aloud that you find someone from Zaun attractive. No, it would go against everything you have been taught. It doesn't matter that your captor is tall with brooding eyes and a curious scar on the side of her face... Well, you suppose, most importantly, a face like hers screams trouble.
“One would think mommy and daddy taught you some manners considering the jewels you were clad in,” she huffs.
Illuminated by the colorful signs from outside, your face is clearly visible to her and she takes all of your features in. Siren-like eyes and a sharp jawline break the softness that your lips and nose offer. You're beautiful, despite the dirt that's coating your cheeks. She reaches out, more on instinct than actual awareness, and swipes her thumb over your smooth skin, removing remnants of what looks to be grease. Whatever were you up to before she caught you?
“Let me guess, you were oh-so curious if the rumors about the dirty Underground were true that you simply had to come look for yourself.”
You're stubborn, biting the inside of your cheeks to keep yourself from talking to her, but you're not the first person to be at her mercy. She will break you, she always does.
Her eyes fall to the slit on your dress that ripped even further when you were fighting against the restraints earlier. A predatory smile stretches across her lips, revealing rows of sharp teeth. She made sure to wrap the rope extra tightly around you, your arms bound stiffly to your sides. No matter how much you struggle, there is no way you're escaping her any time soon.
“Or are you one of Babette’s new whores?”
Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. Never in your life has anyone used such a filthy word in your presence, especially not in the same sentence as your fine name.
Noticing the reaction such a meaningless word caused, she decides to push you a little further. Her hand slowly slides up the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her palm is warm and rough, a strong contrast to your skin. Even in your current state, she can tell the importance of your family by merely touching your skin; skin that is void of scars and blemishes, proof of a life lived in sheltered comfort, like a bird in a gilded cage.
You squirm in your spot, attempting to shut your legs, but her arm is a whole lot stronger than your legs. The brunette watches your every move, grey eyes solely focused on your face. Your cheeks and neck turn a deeper shade of pink the further her fingers climb up and the rope digs into your arms so harshly that she is almost concerned about restricted blood flow.
Your eyes snap to her as her hand almost reaches a place far too private for someone like her. Her eyes are squinted, silently testing you to make a move, to tell her to stop, and who are you to refuse a challenge as such? Puckering your lips, you spit. It was an instinct, really, and it certainly achieved what it was supposed to.
The woman lets go of your leg, stunned by your little attack. Breathing heavily, you watch your saliva drip from her cheek, at least the bit that didn't end up in splatters across her face. She glowers at you over the bridge of her nose as she straightens her posture.
“Oh, princess,” she laughs, wiping over her face with the corner of her cape. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
At once, a dull echo rings through the room, bouncing off concrete and wooden walls loudly. Squealing, you feel yourself falling backward once she pushes your chair back with a strong kick. She catches it again mere centimeters from the ground, her fingers biting into the back of the chair, keeping it tilted. The movement causes her red poncho to reveal her copper prosthetic and your eyes are immediately drawn to it. Smirking, she flexes the mechanical fingers, displaying her claws to you.
Tilting your head back, you roll your eyes at her. “Is that supposed to be scary?”
Once again on this beautiful evening, the woman is taken aback. The resonance of your voice rings through the empty room, sending a shiver down her spine and enticing the little hairs on the back of her neck to straighten. Your voice is thick, like honey slowly dripping off a spoon, and there is a posh accent to every syllable that you utter. Greed flows through her system, urging her to lure more sounds from your red lips. Curiously, she bends down to your height and finds herself awfully close to your lips.
“So the little birdie does know how to sing,” she murmurs, eyes glistening in delight.
Her breath fans over your face, and you swallow audibly. Everybody knows how threatening a beautiful woman can be to one's cause, you mustn't get distracted by her and her incredibly long lashes. So instead of wondering what her flexing muscles would feel like underneath your fingers, you should force yourself to think about an escape plan. Eyes flickering to her mouth, you smile.
“The little birdie can do a lot more than singing,” you whisper, leaning as much forward as you can. “She can tell you to piss off.”
She blinks at you and suddenly, her body begins to shake with laughter and she has to turn her head away to stop herself from unraveling entirely. Howling, she screws her eyes shut tightly, replaying your last words and the defiant little gleam in your eyes over and over again. It’s cute how you think that she would find these words intimidating, or insulting for that matter. She's probably been saying phrases ten times worse than that since she could speak. You clench your jaw at her reaction, heat rising to your cheeks once again, and she decides to let go of your chair just for shits and giggles.
Your back collides harshly with the hard floor below you, and you swear under your breath as you wheeze for air. You groan, a throbbing pain pulsating from the back of your head.
Taking a step forward, she stands over you with a smug smile. The skirt of your dress rode up, revealing your legs all the way up to your mid-thigh. She studies the dried blood that's coating one of your knees. The first physical scar of your life, perhaps. She almost feels sympathy for you when she notices a singular tear gliding out of the corner of your eye, but it is gone as quickly as it came, so maybe she merely imagined it.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” she winks, licking her lips.
Opening your eyes, you furrow your brows, confused by her words. What does she mean in a few hours? You’re not planning on prolonging this whole thing longer than necessary. She is supposed to let you go now. After all, she had her fun with you now. Slowly, it dawns on you what she’s trying to say. You open your mouth to object, but she beats you to it.
“Carefully what you wish for, princess.”
You've been lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling and counting how many nails were used to keep the beams upright for what feels like hours. There is no clock and there is no sun, and if you had to guess, that's exactly why she decided to keep you in here. It's mental warfare, Noxus does it too with war prisoners. They keep them locked in dark rooms and wait until they beg to be let out, but you won't break, not from something as trivial as time and boredom.
Just as you start taking a particular interest in the cobwebs that are lining the ceiling, the door behind you creaks open. It's a slow and eerie sound, like nails over a chalkboard. Twisting your head, you stare at the shadow that falls in a long line on the ground, the artificial light from the outside almost blinding you.
The woman's boots are heavy on the ground as she struts across the room, head held high with either arrogance or actual power. You still don't know what role she's playing down here, but by the way she's carrying herself, she must have some sort of say.
"Hope you had a good time down here?" she asks, bottom lip jutted forward mockingly.
If your hands were untied, you'd show her your middle finger, a crude and childish gesture, yes, but what else is there for you to do? Exactly, not much. Instead, you opt to keep your mouth shut. If this woman really has any rank in Zaun, it might do you some good to get on her good side.
"I see cat got our tongue again, huh?" Her voice is deep, more so than before. It sounds like she's tired, so maybe it's later than you originally assumed?
She halts just in front of you, forcing you to crane your neck to meet her gaze. She's carrying a bundle of cloth in her hand, and for a brief second, you worry that she's going to put some sort of sack over your head.
"I brought you some clothes," she mutters, pressing the tip of her boot on the very corner of your chair's leg, causing it to angle slightly upwards with the change of weight.
She grabs onto the back and pulls you up the rest of the way, and you pretend that the proximity to her doesn't bother you. With one forceful tug on the front of the knot, she unties you from the chair, allowing the rope to pool at the bottom of your feet.
Your eyes dart to the door. If you're quick enough, you can reach it within seven or eight big steps, but she can’t be that stupid, right? From your experience this morning, she is pretty quick and strong too, so maybe she's aware that you cannot possibly outrun her, and even if you were to reach the door before her, where would you go? You don't know where she took you after tossing you over her shoulder like a sack of rice.
“Don’t even think about it. There are two of my men waiting just outside this door, waiting for you to try something stupid.“
You exhale sharply, shoulders slumping before you turn your attention back to the woman in front of you. Great, even if you were in all the gods' good graces, there is no way you could take down her and her bootlickers. Disappointment nestles heavily on your shoulder, but you quickly shake the feeling before it festers into self-pity. You need a clear mind to focus and wallowing will only cloud your judgment.
You extend your palm face up, lips pressed into a thin line. Might as well get out of this dress while you can. It is surprisingly nice of her to think about a change of clothes for you. On your brief excursion through the streets of the Undercity, you noticed how people were burning holes in the back of your head. Some gazes were definitely less pleasant than others and the last thing you want to do down here is draw more attention to yourself than necessary. Perhaps that is something you should've considered before coming down here, but there wasn't much time for planning.
The woman's hand doesn't touch yours as she drops the clothes in your hand, and you swallow the curiosity that rises within you. Yes, she is a handsome woman, but there is no need for you to get overly friendly with her. You have more important matters to deal with than your dissatisfied libido.
Unfolding the clothes, you take the pants first and hold them to your waist. They might be a little short, but they should fit you just fine around the hips. However, when you unfold the shirt, your jaw hits the floor. This might as well not be even called a shirt, it's a whisper of nothing.
“Whose closet did you raid? A ten-year-old’s?” you grumble, pressing the short black top against your chest and trying to figure out if you can stretch more fabric out of it.
She rolls her eyes. “Only girl’s closet whose size might match yours. What do they feed you up there anyway? Sunlight and dewdrops?”
You tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling for a second, exhaling in and out, in and out. Okay, there is no way you will present your stomach for everyone to see, so what other option do you have? Keeping your dress on?
The ridge between your eyebrows speaks volumes. “Well, give me your shirt then.”
She smiles roguishly, crossing her arms over her rips. “Princess, if you want to see my tits that badly, you just have to ask for it.”
You blush, eyes darting to her chest. The faint outlines of her nipples are showcased by the tightly fitted fabric of her top, which you hadn't noticed before because of her red cape. Your eyes dip a little lower, studying the outline of the exposed skin of her stomach. Would it really be so bad to make her undress in front of you? Dislodging the bolder in the back of your throat, your eyes dart back up to her face.
“Never mind, I will make this work just fine, thank you.”
She hums, eyes still gleaming playfully while she shifts her weight to her other leg. "Hurry up, then. I still have other business to take care of."
You stare at her expectantly, but when she doesn't turn to give you any privacy, you wave your free hand around. “Do you mind?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You glare at her, a sight that could make hell freeze over, and for a second the woman wonders if you would punch for her comment. She would like to see you try, but decides to not test your patience, not now anyway.
Lifting her hands defensively, she spins around on her heels and stares outside the window. “Fine, whatever.”
You mumble something under your breath, but it's too quiet to reach her properly. Surely, it is some sort of insult that would make her laugh again.
The movement of your reflection catches her attention. She watches as you slide the zipper down your side at a teasingly slow pace. You are beautiful, not just your face, all of you look like you were blessed by the gods personally. She simply can't convince herself to look away, even though she knows better. After all, she does inhabit manners, despite many believing otherwise.
Her heart begins to race when the fabric glides all the way to the floor, revealing light pink panties and no bra. Sadly, the reflection is too blurry to tell whether or not your underwear is made from lace or silk, not that she's interested in knowing that little detail.
Although she teased you earlier, she would never lay hands on a Piltie. She prefers not to mingle with people of your likes, even if they look as appetising as you do. But that doesn't mean that she can't be attracted to you, which she very clearly is. Lucky for her, there are a bunch of beautiful girls down at Babette's who would love to take care of her troubles.
“There was a gold bracelet on my wrist before you manhandled and kidnapped me – where is it?”
Taking your question as a sign that you're fully dressed, she peers over her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Your features darken and you step closer to her, but she easily towers over you, making her much more intimidating than you.
“You said I had jewels on me a few hours ago,” you snap. “Where are they?”
At first, she groans, the annoyance clear as day on her face, but then, she wipes all emotions off. Her face becomes a clean slate and she merely shrugs, like the topic is more boring than anything to her. “Sold them.”
Wincing, you stumble over your next words. "You did what?”
She doesn’t miss the change in your voice and the subtle crack at the end of the sentence. Something akin to sympathy nags on her heart and for a fleeting moment, she feels bad for what she did, but the truth is that if it hadn't been her, someone else would've robbed you of your riches. Money like this can feed a family for a whole month down here.
"Come on, let's go," she says, walking past you and deliberately ignoring the wounded puppy look on your face.
You shake your head slowly and your heart clenches painfully with her revelation. You tense your jaw, the muscles stiff with the effort to hold back the tears that threaten to rise. You suck in a sharp breath, forcing your eyes to stay dry. It's just a bracelet. It didn't even have gemstones or anything like that, so there is really no reason to shed a tear over it. She probably didn't even get as much money for it as she wanted. You try to push past the biting sensation in your throat, but it tightens painfully with each breath, nearly impossible to ignore. You didn't realise how much sentimental value could hurt. Getting rid of it is better, you know it. It would've only reminded you of a life you can no longer return to.
You shake your hands and rock on the balls of your feet. Your hands shake involuntarily, an uncomfortable tension building in your chest. You can’t stay rooted like this. If you don’t start moving, she’ll see, and you can’t let her see. Mourning is better done behind closed doors, which is the preferred way for most emotions, according to your mother. A simple sentiment that has been drilled into you since birth. Other people need to see you as strong, a force to be reckoned with, not as a scared girl that ran away from home when things got too difficult.
You inhale deeply and slowly release the breath. If you want to become invisible, get lost in a crowd, you must liberate yourself from everything that ties you to Piltover. You repeat these words of affirmation over and over until you spin around and march across the room to follow your captor.
She holds the door open for you, and as you step past the threshold, it hits you: there are no men. Not a single one. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you freeze mid-step. You screw your eyes shut in embarrassment, cursing yourself for not thinking of this sooner. You're an idiot.
“Rookie mistake, princess,” she teases over your shoulder, her breath hot against the shell of your ear. “But you’ll learn.”
You shove your shoulder back trying to get her to give you some space, but she doesn't budge. Your little stunned leaves her entirely unaffected. Unlike you, who can't even seem to regulate the rush of heat flooding her chest. Rookie mistake, indeed. Her presence is lingering, suffocating you with a strange mix of frustration and something far more confusing.
She wraps her hand around your upper arm, dragging you along and onto the streets of Zaun. The city is nothing like you imagined. Of course, you had heard stories but seeing it with your own eyes is something entirely different. You didn't have much time to look around before you were captured, so you find yourself slowing your steps, eyes darting from one strange building to the next. The twisted metal and jagged edges are unlike anything you have seen in Piltover. Piltover is clean and golden, full of warm lights and live. Although your location should worry you with its stark contrast, you find something oddly mesmerising about it.
Thick, choking smog lingers, staining the skyline with a dull, perpetual haze that doesn't seem to lift. The air smells sharp and acidy, a biting scent that remains stuck in your nose. Yet, there is also a strange sweetness to it that coats the back of your throat.
Narrow passageways twist through tightly packed buildings, turning the streets into a large labyrinth. It turned out to be a major issue when you first arrived in the city without a plan, leading you straight into the arms of the woman who's currently squeezing your flesh and tugging at your arm, signalling for you to keep walking.
She pushes you into a small alleyway, and you whine when you step into a puddle that appears to be a mixture of oil and water, splashing a good amount of it onto your shoes and the hem of your new pants. It's not the first time the streets of Zaun leave their mark on you, but you would've preferred to stay dry. She only chuckles, amused by the pout on your pretty lips.
"I can walk by myself," you say, twisting your arm in her vice like grip and surprising yourself when you actually free yourself. A small yet nonetheless satisfying triumph. "I won't try anything stupid."
The distant hum of machinery, blending with the clatter of metal and the occasional hiss of pressurised steam are the only noise accompanying you on your walk to god knows where. All of your questions remain unanswered, no matter how often you ask them. She is quiet, not making a sound, even when people walk past the two of you and greeting her in acknowledgment. At least now you know that she is of some sort of importance.
After what feels like hours of climbing up and down staircases, always ending up in places that look too much like the last, you finally reach a large main street. The closer you get to the heart of the Undercity, the louder it becomes. The constant buzz of metal and machines fades, swallowed by the rise of voices. Around every corner there is something new to discover: from tattoo parlours with darkened interiors to sketchy street food stands sending wafts of grease and sizzling spices into the air. Your head is starting to spin from all the different sights and contrasting smells.
While you're completely lost, stumbling and staggering to keep up, the woman in front of you walks through the whirlwind of people like they don't even exist to her. She is determined and certain with each of her steps and you can't help admire drive.
"Hello, beautiful girl," a sweet voice calls, stirring your attention from the woman's back to her. "Would you like to know your future?"
A girl with cat ears and seductive eyes sits in a small parlour just a few steps away from you. A colourful canopy with fairy lights covers her little sitting area made from pillows and blankets. She tilts her head and the jewellery on her ears move along. A champagne flute with glimmering pink liquid illuminates the cattish traits of her face, and you feel naturally drawn to her. An invisible string pulling you closer to her.
"How curious", you mumble, all of the sudden forgetting why you were here in the first place.
Your captor notices your hesitation and spins around, searching for you in the crowd. When she can't spot you immediately, she retraces her steps, eyes narrowing as she scans every alley and corner for where you’ve slipped away. Finally, she finds you, already poised to sit down on one of the comfy pillows.
"Uh-uh, absolutely not," she snaps, grabbing you by the elbow before you can fall victim to the girl's scam.
"Hey," you yell, yanking against her grip like a fish out of water. "I was trying to have a conversation."
"Yeah?" she asks, her tone laced with sarcasm, only loosening her grip on your arm when you're back on the main street. "And with what money were you planning to fund her little scam?"
You roll your eyes and shrug off her jab, still glancing over your shoulder at the psychic’s stand. "Did you see her drink? What was that?"
She shakes her head, eyes following your gaze, though she can already imagine what you’re talking about. A shadow crosses her face, darkening her expression. "Stay away from shops like that. And from people like her."
You huff and cross your arms, feeling like a petulant child, but reluctantly follow her without saying another word.
She leads you to a building where a long line of people wait outside, their faces brightened by the blinding neon lights flashing above the entrance. You squint as you try to focus on the sign, but it’s no use. The lights are too intense. Unlike the others, she walks past the line, heading straight to two men stationed on either side of the door. One is tall with broad shoulders and the other willowy with calculating eyes.
As soon as they spot her, both straighten, their conversation abruptly dying. It's like a switch flipped, the air shifts entirely with her presence. You glance at the woman from the corner of your eye, studying her as she strides toward the door without a pause. If she notices the shift in behaviour, she either doesn’t care or isn’t surprised. Who is she?
"What did you catch for Silco this time?" One of them asks, leering down at you through yellow eyes.
Before he can get a closer look at you, she steps in front of you, a smooth and deliberate motion. Your heart stutters as her fingers brush over your wrist. You become hyper aware of your racing pulse. She can feel it too, you're sure of it.
"None of your damn business." Her shoulder brushes against his as she forces her way past them.
It's a bar. Or maybe a club. It's hard to tell with the flashing lights hurting your eyes. The loud music courses through your body and it feels like your bones are vibrating along the fast-paced bass. You cover your ears instinctively. Your gaze darts from one corner of the room to the next. People are dancing, screaming, drinking and inhaling different kinds of potions. Everyone is completely lost in their hedonistic desires.
The woman doesn't give you time to take it all in. She turns to you, now a little more aware of not leaving you to your own devices, and pulls you along through the sea of people. Her grip is firm, guiding you through the crowd with ease. Dancing people brush against you, causing you to stumble here and there. She leads you up a dark hidden staircase. She pushes you through a door at the top, using so much force that you almost lose your balance, barely managing to catch yourself.
Glaring at her over your shoulder, you grumble a string of impolite phrases. She lounges in a nearby armchair in a cloud of indifference, eyes focused on a small liquor cabinet. To her, you're little more than an annoying distraction.
You clench your jaw, frustration hot on your skin, but you hold back from demanding her attention. You take a moment to rub the sore spot on your upper arm, finally able to soothe the bruise left by her touch.
"So you are the headache that she's been complaining about?" A deep, raspy voice calls from behind you, and you quickly turn around, eyes widening in surprise. "Doesn't seem like much of a threat to me."
There's a man sitting in a chair just below a large circular window. His posture is casual, yet he radiates an underlying sense of authority. He wears a jacket with deep maroon lapels and golden edges, the fabric rich and expensive. His face is sharp and marred by scars, but there is no denying that he was handsome in another life.
But it's his eye that commands your attention. The glowing red eye that is so unlike his other one, catches the dim light and looks back at you with an unnerving intensity. You swear you have seen his face before. At least, some version of it, in a picture or somewhere in passing.
“She battered two of my men pretty badly.” The woman's voice is casual as she pours herself a generous glass of translucent brown liquid.
For the first time, you notice the rigidness in your right hand. You glance down, flexing your fingers. A sharp pain shoots up your arm, but oddly enough, you enjoy it. You don't remember punching anyone, but there was so much chaos and adrenaline that you can hardly remember anything at all.
“I would’ve beaten you up pretty badly too if you hadn’t had your unfair advantage," you retort, lifting your chin in defiance to mask the unease you're feeling
"Sure, princess," she scoffs, knocking back her drink in one swift motion. The faintest hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, as if your bravado amuses her.
Long blue braids suddenly obstruct your line of sight, and you tilt your head back, meeting the striking eyes of a young woman. She has delicate features, wide eyes and sharp eyebrows. There's something childlike in her expression, something unsettlingly innocent.
“Oh, I know you,” she squeals, hanging upside down from the ceiling. “You are that little singer that everyone talks about on the Topside!”
Your face loses all of its color, the blood draining from your cheeks. “No.”
“Yes, you are,” she exclaims, effortlessly dropping onto the man's desk with a thud. “Your face is plastered all over the place!”
“A musician, huh?” your captor grins. “I’m sure we could get a fine reward for you.”
Panic creeps up your neck, and your eyes widen. “I'm nothing, she has no idea what she's talking about, clearly!”
Her curiosity only sharpens as she studies you, her gaze flickering between the woman to you with speculations. But before she can open her mouth again, the man behind the desk rises from his chair, silencing the room.
“If she is determined to stay here, she shall do so,” he declares. “We do not turn away from those who seek refuge.”
The coil of nerves in the pit of your stomach begins to unravel and for a split second you almost let out a sigh of relief. He has given his approval, whatever that's worth, and now you can move on. Hooray!
“What if she’s a spy, Silco?” the woman insists, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to shove a rag into her mouth to stop her from arguing further.
“Well, I’d be a terrible spy if I let myself get caught by you, no?” You grit through your teeth, glaring at her with clenched fists.
“Perhaps this was exactly your plan," she challenged, stepping close enough that you could smell the whiskey on her breath.
“Yeah, sure, you got me there." You snort, contorting your face in mockery. "Am I free to leave now?"
Silco waves you off, already focusing on something different, and you don't need to be told twice to leave. You practically bolt for the door, ignoring the brooding woman and the endless pestering about your past from the other. Yanking the door open, you are ready to deal with whatever chaos awaits you on the other side.
But just as the door falls into the lock, the weight of your situation dawns on you. One would think that you had used your time chained up wisely, but apparently, that wasn't the case. Instead of finding your way around Zaun, pawning stuff off and trying to find a place to stay with the money you got from it, you're stuck here with nothing but the clothes on your back.
Glaring at the wooden panels beneath your shoes, you try to come up with a new plan, but a familiar voice halts your train of thought.
"I warned you, so don't call me when the streets are flooded by enforcers looking for their pretty little songbird."
The words hang in the air like the blade of a guillotine, looming over you, and you remain stuck at the reminder of how vulnerable you are. This isn't just about surviving anymore. It's about making sure you don’t get caught, and that’s a lot harder than it sounds when you’ve already become the target of more eyes than you’d care to count.
The sound of footsteps draws closer, but you don’t dare turn around. The door behind you opens, and you can feel a pair of grey eyes burning through the soft skin of your neck. You try to hide yourself further in the shadows, but there isn’t much space to do that. The dim light from the room behind you barely reaches the corner where you stand, and you press yourself against the cool walls as if their darkness can shield you.
The woman stands still, watching you with a strange mixture of annoyance and intrigue. She assumed you'd be over the hills by now. Finding you here, barely a few meters away, gives her an unexpected surge of satisfaction. She licks her bottom lip and bites down on it, stopping herself from laughing loudly. Despite her inner voice telling her to move on and ignore you, she finds her legs having a mind of their own.
"You have no idea where to go, do you?" she asks, casting a shadow over you.
You bite back a retort, clenching your fists to avoid giving her the reaction she craves. Instead, you stay silent, your heart racing as you wait for her next move. You don't want her to see how truly desperate you are. You can't bear the thought of allowing her to see you crumble.
You aren't the first person to stumble through Zaun's messes, desperately seeking something better or merely hoping to survive another day. But you are one of the few people from Piltover that try to take their chances down here without having fallen prey to Shimmer or their gambling addiction. You still have far too much fight left in you, as proven by the stubborn tilt of your chin.
She isn't sure what to make of you. You aren't part of the city. You don't have its rough edges and sharp corners. Everything about you screams pampered and soft. You don't belong here, and yet, here you are: stuck in a place that could chew you and spit you out without much of a second thought.
She's been watching you ever since you stepped off the elevator, all wide-eyed foolishness and Topside arrogance. At first, she dismissed your presence. You were just another soft little princess that had ended up in the wrong place because of her curiosity. But she quickly realised that that wasn't the case. There is something in the way you hold yourself, the edge of pride even in your vulnerability. You didn't end up here because of idiocy, you ended up here because you want to be here. You know about the dangers of Zaun and you are testing them, seeing if they can make you break.
It irritates her, the way you seem to pull her in. That instinct that stirred deep within and kept her up at night to make sure you didn't get lost in the cracks of the city. You are too pretty to end up drugged up on Shimmer like so many others down here.
"Dammit," she mutters under her breath and pinching the bridge of her nose. She isn't the saviour type and she certainly doesn't want to get involved with Topsider, but letting you go is out of the question too.
Sighing, she whistles and beckons you to follow with a crook of her finger. She convinces herself that it's easier to keep tabs on you if you're within her reach, but the truth is something entirely different, something she's not even willing to admit.
“Do I look like a dog to you?” you growl, despite falling in step behind her.
Smirking, she eyes you up and down. “I don’t know, princess, why don’t you get on your knees for me, and we’ll check?”
"In your dreams."
Shaking her head, she laughs, already turning to continue to her next destination. You don't even care where she's taking you. You just don't want to be alone on the streets of Zaun. Without a clue about where to go or what to do next, it's easier to just follow her, especially because being with her right now, despite everything, feels like regaining some sort of control over your life.
Afraid of staying left behind, you push your legs harder, matching her pace with double the effort. The truth you're avoiding presses down on you with finality. You can't return to Piltover, not after everything. That place, those people, they will never let you breathe again. Zaun is your only option right now, and at least, you don't have to pretend here anymore.
She leads you into a backroom downstairs, where the music is still throbbing loudly through the thin walls, but at least it's muffled in here. The air reeks of smoke, booze and something foul. A handful of people are gathered around a smaller bar, their conversation a low hum in the background. Others are seated around scattered tables, some playing cards or other games, others immersed in their own conversations.
The woman slides into a chair in the far corner of the room, where a few men are hunched over a table, dealing with cards with grand gestures.
"Want to join in on the next round?" one of them asks, flashing a sly smirk, his eyes glinting with confidence. "Still gotta get my money back from the last game."
She pushes air through her teeth, her gaze unwavering as she leans back in her chair. "I'd like to see you try."
It's a challenge. You can see the faintest smile on her lips as she seizes the men up. Her posture is lazy, like she's done this million times before.
You stand nearby, one hand nervously clasped around your elbow. You sift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do with yourself. Your eyes scan the bar, watching people drink and smoke way too much. None of this feels like a place you belong.
"Princess," she calls, her tone sharp and direct. Without thinking, you glance up. "Take this and get me something to drink."
Your jaw tightens. You consider protesting, but the words never come. You take the pouch of coins from her outstretched hand, your fingers brushing against hers, and feel the weight of it in your palm.
"I'm not a server," you mutter, but even as you say it, you're already turning toward the bar.
She raises an eyebrow at your quiet quip while her hands shuffle the cards with practiced ease. "Get yourself something too."
You hum, tossing the bag from one hand to the other, listening to the soft clinking of the coins inside. You could take this money and make a run for it. By the sheer size of the bag, there should be enough to keep you afloat for a little while. Zaun is a fucking maze. Even someone like her might not find you again if you act cleverly.
But the thought only lasts a moment. You know it wouldn't be that simple. She wouldn't just let you go. She'd make her personal cat and mouse game out of hunting you. You can feel her watching you even as she focuses on her game, and the instinct to flee fades quickly, replaced by the realisation that you're more trapped than free.
Defeated, you reach the bar and wait for the bartender to notice you. The noise of the bar is only a distant buzzing in the back of your mind. You're far too occupied with your own thoughts to focus on anything around you.
You feel like you should get something stronger for you too. The problem is, you have no idea what they're mixing here and you're not sure you want to find out. A small voice in the back of your head, one that you usually try to ignore, wonders what would happen if you let your guard down, just for one moment. What happens if you just let go?
A shiver runs down your spine. The thought of getting drunk here is terrifying. You're not used to anything stronger than a flute of sparkling wine. The streets would eat you right up, even if you doubt that the woman behind you would let anything happen to you. But better safe than sorry, right? So, instead of testing your personal limits, you settle for a glance behind the bar and tap your fingers against the counter impatiently.
Leaning against the counter, a man starts playing with your hair, twirling loose strands around his grimy fingers. His eyes sweep over your profile, lingering a little too long on your chest. His breath is thick with cheap liquor, and the way he looks at you makes your skin crawl.
“Sevika must have paid a pretty dime for you, huh?” he asks, his voice much higher than you expected, squeaking like a piglet.
Sevika. That's her name. She's been refusing to tell you all day, but now you have it. You must admit that it suits her quite well. You try to remember it, but the man's touch makes it hard to focus.
“Excuse me?” You try to keep your voice steady, although you know that giving him attention will only make things worse.
He doesn’t take the hint, leaning closer. “You don’t talk much, do you? I guess that means you know how to—”
Before he can finish, the bartender finally looks up, and you realise with a pang of dread that you don't know what Sevika likes to drink.
"Whatever she usually drinks," you mumble, blindly pointing a finger at the woman who's merrily gambling money away, money that could be useful to you.
“What would I have to pay you to get you to sit on my lap like that?” The piglet nudges his chin towards a woman who's sitting on another man's lap, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck. "I'm sure I could make it worth your time."
You bite your tongue to keep from snapping, but then his hand slides from your hair, down your shoulder and to your ass. He squeezes the flesh, his nails digging in too hard, a sleazy smirk on his lips.
Without thinking, you whip around and punch him square in the face. A pleasing crunch echoes through the room and his eyes widen in shock. Blood bursts from his nostrils, staining his lips and chin. Time stands still as everyone watches the scene unfold.
Sevika's head snaps towards you. You swear under your breath, a real curse this time, and cradle your hand. You scold yourself for throwing another punch too fast, too recklessly. You shake the pain in your knuckles away.
You reach for the finished drink that bartender slides toward you, thankful for the distraction.
Looking over your shoulder, you meet the man's bloodshot gaze. “I’m worth more than you could ever afford.”
You toss a few coins on the counter, not even looking at them as they hit the counter. The bartender doesn't bat an eye. He's seen ten times worse, probably.
"Fucking bitch," he hisses, blood dripping from his broken nose. "I will kill you."
You don't flinch. "You'll have to get in line for that."
People's eyes follow you as you walk back toward Sevika. Although you feel a shimmer of pride in your chest, it quickly morphs into regret. What are you doing here? You should be home, celebrating, not here in a bar with nowhere to go. What were you thinking? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not to mention all the attention you're drawing on yourself.
You slam Sevika's drink onto the table, the glass clinking harshly, and toss the coins into her lap with a little more force than necessary. A cigar dangles from the corner of her mouth and the sharp stench curls into smoke, making you scrunch your nose and pull back instinctively.
“Sit down,” she says brusquely, pushing her chair back just enough to make space on her lap for you.
“No," you bite back, refusing to play into her twisted little fantasies of turning you into her personal lapdog.
Her eyes narrow and she exhales wisps of smoke through her nose. “Don’t test my patience, princess.”
You scoff, crossing your arms and resting against the nearest wall. “Why don’t you make me, Sevika?”
You can feel her gaze on you, and it’s not just her usual cold stare anymore. It's something else, much darker and predatory. Of course, it wouldn't take long for you to figure out her name. She licks her lips and scratches her chin with the tip of her thumb. Sevika has heard her name being tossed around many times, but the way you say it with your posh little accent gets under her skin.
Tugging on one of your belt loops, she pulls you forward easily. The movement is smooth, almost too natural, and before you can protest, you sit frozen on her lap, unable to escape as she drapes her metal prosthetic over your thighs. The heat from her body radiates through you and every molecule between your bodies feels charged.
You barely allow yourself to breathe. The tension is palpable, and it becomes heavier with every second. Don't move, don't move...
The pressure of Sevika's fingers on your waist makes it hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming feeling of being held. Even if you try to hate, it's consuming, holding every nerve in your body captive at gunpoint. When was the last time you felt like this?
You need to do something to distract yourself from the proximity. You watch as tendrils of white smoke rise to the ceiling just out of the corner of your eye. Blindly, you reach behind you, plucking the cigarette from Sevika's lips and bringing it to your own. You've never smoked before and you didn't expect it to burn in your lungs the way it does. The muscles in your stomach contract under the force of your suppressed cough and your eyes well up with tears, but you refuse to show weakness. You wouldn't dare admit that taking that stupid cigar was a dumb idea. There is no turning back now, so might as well continue to pretend to be a badass.
“Hands on the table," she orders, her voice low and firm. You fight the urge to clench your thighs, the feeling of her chin brushing over your shoulder tugging at your nerves.
Reluctantly, you place your hands flat on the table in front of you. The surface is sticky from spilled drinks. Around you, the men continue to pretend to focus on their cards, all while their eyes occasionally flicker toward you. What? Never seen two women almost suffocate on the sexual tension between them?
You hiss as Sevika presses the bottom of her ice-cold glass against your knuckles, but it's nothing compared to the way her mechanical arm locks your hand in place when you try to pull away.
“You got a surprisingly nice punch,” she comments, her voice a quiet rasp.
You mumble around the cigar, keeping your face void of emotions. "How would you know? I missed when I tried to hit you."
"Seeing the damage you've caused is more than enough proof for me," she replies, the hint of a joke tugging at her lips. It's a subtle tease that catches you off guard.
Then, without warning, she lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a gentle, almost tender kiss to your knuckles. A spark of electricity jolts through you and a rush of emotions runs havoc in your body. Butterflies flutter their wings wildly in the pit of your stomach, and you exhale harshly, as though you could force them straight out of your body. What's going on with you? You try to push the thought away. Is this Stockholm syndrome?
Sevika places her glass back down on the table, her mechanical arm resting across your lap again as she reaches around to take the cigar from your lips. The prosthetic feels cold even through your pants, but the weight of it is grounding. She turns her focus back to her and as soon as her attention returns to her cards, the men around you start conversing again. You don't move at first. You're too caught up in the strange pull of this interaction.
You lean against her, suddenly exhausted, the weight of the last few days settling over you. You close your eyes, listening to the steady sound of her breathing, trying to convince yourself that you don't mind being close to her. The warmth of her body is soothing, even if you can't explain why you're allowing it to affect you in such ways.
"Gambling is bad for you, you know?" you say, cracking one eye open and glancing at the card in her hand. You've never seen a game like this, but you're too exhausted to try and understand the rules.
“It’s only bad for you if you lose," she replies smoothly, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "And I rarely lose."
You roll your eyes, but keep your comment about her arrogance to yourself. She's probably right, anyway.
Leaning your head to the side, you let your cheek rest against her shoulder. There is something oddly comforting about her smell: smoke and metal with a faint trace of something earthy, like leather. You like how she smells, not that you would ever admit that. And for some reason, you feel safe here. Too safe, Maybe you hit your head a little too hard earlier.
Seconds turn into minutes and minutes blur into hours. Exhaustion begins to weigh down on you. Somewhere in the haze, you find yourself muttering the one question that's been on your mind since you left Piltover: "Where will I stay tonight?"
Your words hang in the air, soft and uncertain, and you wonder if she even heard you. But then you notice that she's rooted to her spot, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around her cards. She glances at you from the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable.
You're staring at the ceiling, lost in your thoughts. You don't notice how her jaw tightens, a flicker of something, maybe sympathy, maybe irritation, maybe both, that crosses her face. That annoying feeling won't leave her alone, no matter how much she tries to shake it, and she hates it. Hates you a little too for stirring it in her in the first place.
"Rotten luck, boys," she says suddenly, tossing her cards on the table.
She reaches for the pile of gold coins, ignoring the groans and complaints from the other players.
"Eh, Sevika, come on, one more round," one of them protests, throwing his card down in frustration.
"Nah," she says, leaning back in her chair as she gathers her winnings "We gotta go."
You blink in surprise when she gently nudges you off her lap and rises to her feet.
She walks past you and out of the door before you can register that she's actually leaving. We? Does that mean you’re supposed to go with her? Perhaps she has made up her mind and will sell you to some brothel. You shiver and discard that thought quickly. If that was her plan, she would've done it already. Right?
You follow her, despite your hesitation. When you step into the hallway, you find her waiting just outside the door. She leans against the wall, arms crossed with her head slightly tilted as she watches you approach.
"Took you long enough," she teases, but there is a peculiar tenderness to her voice that makes your stomach twist.
Silence stretches between you as she turns and climbs the stairs. You trail behind, counting each creaking step and noting how the air grows colder and the music quieter the higher you go.
At the top, she stops at a door. The music from downstairs is barely audible now, just a dull buzzing you wouldn't notice unless you searched for it.
"What's in there?" you ask, curiously peeking past her but still unsure if you really want to know the answer.
Sevika doesn't respond, instead she rummages through her pockets. The sound of a key chain clinking fills the quiet hall before she slides one of them into the lock. With a push of her prosthetic arm, the door swings open, revealing a small apartment.
You tilt your head, surprised by the revelation of Sevika's apartment. A worn leather couch dominates the rectangular living room, and a low coffee table with a pack of cigarettes and a half-empty bottle of something sits in front of it.
The room is small, much smaller than any room in your family's estate, but it makes it cozy. There are shelves lined with a few old books and records, little trinkets are discarded on every available surface and you find yourself absolutely enchanted by everything.
Sevika tosses her red cape onto the couch and kicks her boots off near the door. She disappears into an adjoined room, leaving you alone in the doorway.
"Are you going to stand there all day and let the cold air in, or what?" she calls from somewhere inside, her voice muffled and laced with impatience.
The smell of her hits you as you step inside. It clings to the air, to the furniture, probably even to the plain wallpaper. At this point, there is no doubt that this is her space.
You untie your shoes, placing them neatly next to Sevika's worn combat boots, and allow your fingers to drift over the spines of vinyl records that are lined up on a shelf. Most of the have worn sleeves with scratched covers, but there is definitely an organisation in how they've been arranged. There are little things lying around, little trinkets. A book with yellowed pages here and a fancy tool there. It seems chaotic at first but it actually gives the room a lived-in feeling. It's odd to think that Sevika is the kind of person to enjoy music and collecting little trinkets.
"I'm assuming you haven't eaten in quite a while?" Her voice cuts through your thoughts, making you jump. You withdraw your hand from a particularly interesting artefact, your cheeks turning pink.
You follow the sound of her voice into a cramped kitchen. She's leaning over a small sink, washing vegetables and cutting off the stems.
You linger on the carrot, of all things. Not to be a terrible person, but you somehow didn't think that people down here even knew that a carrot is.
She turns to look at you, a brow arched in amusement "What? Don't tell me you don't like vegetable stew."
You furrow your brows. "Why are you doing this?"
She rolls her eyes, mostly because she doesn't have a response for that either. "Would you rather stay on the streets?"
You swallow and shake your head. There is no point in pushing. You'd rather not annoy her too much. If she's willing to let you sleep here, who are you to judge? But the uncertainty does gnaw at your guts. Why is she doing this? What's in it for her?
She dries her hands on a kitchen towel and brushes past you without another word, disappearing into the other room. All you can do is stare at her sink with pursed lips. This has to be some sort of trick, right?
You hear drawers opening and closing. A moment later, she returns back to the kitchen with folded clothes and towels in her arms.
She shoves the bundle into your arms and you blink at the items with parted lips. "What–"
"The bathroom is through there," she interrupts, jerking her chin toward the door across the kitchen. "Take a shower, get changed, and then, we can talk about the rest."
You stare at her for a beat, trying to read her expression, but her face empty. Something unspoken lingers between the two of you, and you hate how much this uncertainty is bothering you.
Cradling the clothes against your chest, you nod and shuffle toward the bathroom. You have nothing to offer to her right now, so what does want? Certainly it can't be mere kindness that's forcing her to help you.
You go through the motions of showering with little awareness for your surroundings. The warm water washes over you, but it does little to ease your thoughts. A few hours ago, she wanted to toss you out and forget you existed. Now she’s giving you her clothes and cooking dinner. None of it adds up. Does she know who you are? Panic flares for a moment. The thought of her cashing in a bounty on you sends your mind spiralling. Or maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. Is this all just a concussion-induced hallucination?
You barely notice the steam rising behind you as you step out of your bathroom. Sevika's shorts hang low on your hips and the shirt she gave you feels oddly comfortable. When you look up, Sevika's eyes are on you, lingering and trailing over your legs.
Her lips are pressed into a thin line and something flickers across her face, but she looks away too quickly for you to tell which emotion it is exactly. Your hair is still dripping wet and leaves wet spots on your shirt. A lone strand sticks to your cheek and Sevika has to fight the urge to brush it behind your ear. She didn't expect you to look this good in her clothes, but it is too late for regrets now.
"I will take a quick shower too," she says abruptly, rising from the sofa. "If the timer dings, lower the heat on the stove."
You nod, all snarky comebacks suddenly forgotten. She doesn't wait for a reply before she disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of the water running fills the silence. You release a heavy breath, finally allowing yourself to let your guards down a little.
Left alone, your curiosity gets the better of you. You wander through the apartment, tracing over shelves with your fingertips. You study little snippets of Sevika's life and are surprised by how organised it seems to be. Everything has its place. Even the blanket on the sofa is draped with precision. The thought makes you smile. She's a control freak, no surprise there.
And then, your mind begins to wander too. Back to the way her fingers expertly tied you up. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing those thoughts to stop. No, you really shouldn't go there. You don't want to think about her naked body and how she'd behave in bed. You swallow the saliva that's pooling in your mouth. There is no doubt in your mind that she likes to have the upper hand behind closed bedroom doors.
The shower turns off, and you quickly sit down on the sofa, folding your hands in your lap and pretending like you weren't just imagining your host in improper positions while snooping around her apartment. When Sevika emerges, her hair is damp an a towel slung over her shoulder, you forget how to breathe.
She's dressed in nothing but a sports bra and a low hanging pair of comfortable pants. Her toned stomach and broad shoulder are on full display, teasing you. Even though you already saw parts of her body, this is something else entirely. Your mouth goes dry and you have to remind yourself to blink.
A smirk spreads across Sevika's face while your eyes leave a hot trail over her skin. It's almost like she can hear your thoughts. The kitchen timer chimes. Even the kitchen appliances seem to have mercy on you, and you use the opportunity to escape the room.
Your fingers are shaking as you lower the heat. You should leave. You should say thank you and go, you think, gripping the kitchen counter for moral support. Every warning signal in your body screams for you to walk away, to go back to Piltover, to try and fix things before you dig yourself a deeper hole.
You nod to yourself, rehearsing the words you'll say. But when you turn, she's already there, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed. Her biceps flex with the motion and you forget how to form proper sentences. You're not strong enough for this.
"You can stay here until you've figured things out."
You blink. "You want me to stay?"
"I wouldn't say want," she replies, the corner of her mouth twitching. "But I'm feeling rather generous today."
You swallow hard, touching your burning cheeks. She's enjoying this, isn't she? If she had known this was all it took to turn you into a sweet, flustered mess, she would've stripped hours ago.
"I don't want to be a burden," you say, trying to sound steady but failing miserably. "I already took up so much of your time. Gave you a headache–"
She closes the gap between your bodies, trapping you between her and the counter. "Just say thank you, birdie."
The back of your neck prickles and your chest tingles. Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip. This isn't the first woman you've been around. Quite frankly, you've been with your fair share of beautiful and charming women, but there is something about Sevika. The way she gets under your skin and doesn't stop until your blood pressure is through the roof.
"You should eat something," she murmurs, her lips dangerously close to your ear.
Oh, you can think of several things you'd like to sink your teeth in right now, and none of them include food.
You twist around, brushing against her in a way that makes your heart pound louder than the music downstairs. She shifts closer, pressing her pelvis against the curve of your ass. The heat between you is suffocating and you wish you could shed some layers. You can hear your heartbeat in every corner and crevices of your body and blood rushes through your body so fast it leaves you dizzy.
Her hand moves off the counter, but you grab her arm before she can touch your burning skin.
"You don't want me, Sevika" you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a Topsider and I have more baggage than I can carry."
Her expression shifts from bewilderment to realisation. She mouths your words silently, tasting them on her tongue before a mask slips over her features.
The truth of who you are serves as a bucket of ice-cold water. A Piltie hiding in the trenches means trouble and you're already so much trouble. Of course, she doesn't want you. It's the stress of the day that clouded her judgment. She clears her throat and steps back.
"Right."
She grabs two plates from a cabinet, her movements stiff and distant. Her face is unreadable again, but the brief flicker of hurt in her eyes is burned into your mind.
You should feel relieved. After all, pushing her away was the right thing to do. But all you can feel is the bitter sting of disappointment.
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