velvet

You raise your hand in silence. A practiced signal. Every blade rises in tandem. Shields brace. Feet lock into the soil like roots. No rallying cries. No final speeches. Just breath.

Just silence.

And then—

Thunder.

Not from the sky.

From the earth.

You feel it before you see them. The rumble of disciplined destruction. Warhorses trampling over bodies. Shields clashing in rhythm. The Noxian war chant so deep it rattles the marrow in your bones.

And at the head of it all—her.

A golden lion amidst a tide of red and black.

Ambessa.

She doesn't ride. She walks. No need for speed. No need for armor. Just bare arms, drenched in blood, her blade already unsheathed.

Her soldiers part around her like waves around a jagged reef.

She wants to reach the gate herself.

And she will.

Unless you stop her.

"Positions!" you bark, finally breaking the silence, but the words are just muscle memory. Most of these men are already mouthing prayers under their breath.

The impact hits like a boulder. The first wave crashes against your line and sends three soldiers flying. You slam your blade forward, catching a Noxian clean in the throat before he can raise his axe. Blood sprays your cheek, warm and too bright.

Screams follow. Bone snaps. Steel grinds. Arrows fly. You’re in it now trapped in the blur of violence.

Another body falls against you. You shove it aside. You keep moving. You always do.

A soldier cries out beside you hen gurgles. His eyes go blank before he hits the ground. You don’t look twice. You can’t.

You cut, pivot, slam your shield into a helmet hard enough to hear something cave.

And then it happens.

Everything slows.

Because she’s here.

Ambessa steps through the wall of corpses like she's bored of the warm-up. Her blade drags behind her, painting a red line in the mud. Her eyes find you instantly.

And you move.

You sprint forward, blade raised—not out of rage. Not even revenge. Just necessity.

She parries like she knew your angle. The clash sends sparks up your arm, jarring your shoulder. Her strength hasn't faded. If anything, it's grown, tempered by war, brutal and precise.

You duck her backswing, go low, aim for her thigh but she knees you in the chest and you stumble back, breath stolen. She doesn’t chase. She lets you find your footing again.

She wants a fight.

She always did.

You spit blood and charge again, this time faking left and spinning right. Your sword grazes her arm, finally drawing blood, but she grins like she likes it.

Then she slams her fist into your jaw.

You hit the ground.

Hard.

Boots thunder past as the battle continues without you. But all you can see is her above you. Her shadow, massive against the pale morning light. Her chest heaving. Her fingers twitching around the hilt.

The blood on her cheek is yours.

And when she steps forward

you don’t crawl.

You rise.

Sword back in your grip. Grit between your teeth. Pain roaring in your ribs.

You're not finished.

Your legs scream as you push upright, but you lock them into place. No sway. No limp. She won’t see you falter.

Ambessa tilts her head—not in mockery, but interest. A fighter’s curiosity.

You give her nothing.

Then you lunge.

She’s fast, faster than she should be for someone built like a stone wall but this time you’re faster. Your blade strikes first, edge kissing across her ribs. A shallow cut, but it stains her tunic deep red. She exhales through her nose like it thrills her.

You don’t let her answer.

You twist behind her, shoulder driving into her spine, forcing her off-balance. Her elbow flies back connects with your ribs but you ride the pain, spinning low and slashing at her legs.

Steel meets steel as she parries just in time, sparks catching in her curls.

She pushes forward. You sidestep. Her blade sings past your throat.

You kick the back of her knee. She stumbles.

You swing.

She ducks, rolls forward, then pivots—slamming her shoulder into your chest.

This time you hit the ground, but you twist with the fall and bring her down with you.

The two of you crash into the mud and ash, wrestling for the upper hand. Her weight pins you, but you knee her stomach and twist your wrist your blade flicks up, slicing a line across her jaw.

She grits her teeth.

You drive your forearm into her throat.

Her hand wraps around your wrist, tight enough to bruise.

You hold each other in a deadlock. Breathing hard. Muffled shouts echo around you—men dying, steel clashing, a world ending just outside this blood-drenched circle you’ve carved into the battlefield.

She throws you off.

You roll to your feet, boot planting hard, knees bent, sword raised again.

She stands slower. Blood drips down her chin now. Her jaw flexes. Her eyes burn.

This time, she doesn’t wait.

Ambessa rushes you like a storm. The sheer force of her charge forces you back, step by step, each impact a thunderclap against your arms. You block, deflect, bend—then strike. You carve a line across her shoulder.

She doesn’t flinch.

She roars.

Her next blow sends your blade spinning from your grip—but before she can capitalize, you slam your fist into her nose. The crunch is audible.

You dive for your weapon. She grabs your ankle.

You twist, kicking her face with your heel. She grunts but doesn’t let go.

You both end up back on your feet, circling now, slower. Both bleeding. Both panting.

Neither willing to fall.

Your men are still fighting behind you, but fewer now. The air reeks of death. But here, in this circle, all you see is her. The ghost of what she was. The war that she’s become.

She wipes blood from her lip. Her gaze never leaves yours.

And you know: if you stop now, she wins. Not because she overpowered you—because you let her finish what you both started long ago.

You shift your stance. Grip your blade tighter.

“Again,” your body says before your mouth can.

You don’t remember the final blow.

Maybe it was a strike to the back of the skull. A sweep of her leg. A crash of something harder than your bones could take. You were too deep into the blood and grit to notice where the end began.

But you feel it now.

The ache in your ribs. The dull throb at the back of your head. The dryness of your mouth.

And the bed beneath you.

Soft. Too soft.

Wrong.

Your eyes snap open.

You don’t see the council gates. Don’t see your men. Don’t see the battlefield at all.

You’re in a room.

Lavish. Silent.

Stone walls veined with gold. A high ceiling hung with crimson drapery. A golden tray sits on the nearby table, fruit you don’t recognize, a decanter of wine, two glasses. The sheets under you are silk. Queen-sized. Stark white. The pillows smell faintly of cedar and leather.

You sit up sharply and regret it. Pain blooms through your temple, hot and immediate. Your vision spins. You blink it away.

You’re still dressed. Mostly. Armor stripped. Undershirt intact. Hands unbound, but bare. Your weapons are gone.

The door is closed.

Windows covered by long drapes, covering any sun that could shine trough. Just the lit candles lightning up the place.

The only sound is the crackle of a fire in the hearth—rich, steady, controlled. Not like the screams and chaos of the battlefield. No. This is intentional. Designed to lull.

You swing your legs off the bed.

The floor is warm stone. Heated.

You stand, slow and cautious, like you’re walking into a trap because you are. Every muscle tenses. Every instinct screams.

You scan the room.

No blades. No armor. Just silk, firelight, and silence.

The nightstand has a cloth folded over it—embroidered, expensive. The candle closest to it has nearly burned to the base. You check the corners: solid stone. No cracks. No rats. Not even dust.

Too clean.

You pace slowly, barefoot steps soundless across the smooth floor. Every inch of this room is curated. The books on the shelves are untouched. The wine glasses polished. Even the ash in the fireplace looks deliberately shaped.

You move to the drapes. Revealing a almost glowing city, due to the sunset. It wasn't your city, it wasn't in ruins.

Your heart pounds harder now—but not in fear. In fury.

You reach for the tray on the table. The fruit is untouched. One of the glasses is still half-full. Wine. Blood-red.

You sniff it.

Spiced. Strong. Too strong.

You don’t drink it.

Instead, you walk to the door.

You don’t open it. You listen.

Silence.

Then—footsteps. Slow. Measured. Metal on stone.

Heavy.

Her.

You step back from the door immediately, tension coiled in your gut like a spring. You scan again—nothing to use. Nothing sharp. Nothing throwable.

Except the glass.

You pick it up. Grip it low in your palm.

The footsteps stop.

Then—

click.

The handle turns.

You brace.

The door opens.

And she’s there.

Ambessa Medarda. Tall, broad, clean now. Her armor gone, replaced with black linen and a dark fur cloak that still carries the scent of war beneath it. Her arms are bare, gold rings circling her fingers. Her hair is braided back. Her skin still glistens faintly with oil and sweat.

And her eyes those eyes you’ve known in battle and in bed, land on you like a possession reclaimed.

The door clicks shut behind her with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand lingers on the handle. Not gripping—resting. Casual. Like she’s not in a room with the only living thing that dared wound her today.

You don’t lower the glass.

She notices.

Her gaze drops to your hand, where the stem glints in the firelight, trembling only slightly.

She steps forward.

You hold your ground.

The silence between you stretches. Thick with memory. Her boots hit the stone floor like a clock ticking down.

She stops just before your reach. Her eyes flick to your temple. To the dark smear of dried blood trailing behind your ear. To the bruise already blooming down your jaw.

“You fought well.”

You say nothing.

She takes another step in.

You shift your weight—subtle, but she catches it.

“You always did,” she adds, eyes dragging down the line of your throat, to your collarbone, to where your ribs rise and fall too quickly.

“You brought me here to compliment me?” you finally rasp. Your voice is raw, brittle from smoke and screams.

“No,” she replies.

Another step.

You hold the glass tighter.

She’s close enough now to touch, and gods, she smells like steel and something darker. The battlefield hasn’t left her. Not really. It clings to her skin, lives in her breath.

She reaches up again—this time for your wrist.

You twist out of her grip immediately, the wine glass lifting, ready to strike—

She grabs your throat.

Hard.

Her palm against your pulse. Her thumb pressing under your jaw. She looks at you like she’s memorizing every twitch in your face. Instincts made you drop the wine glass to the ground, shattering around your bare feet, and Ambessa's heavy boots.

Her eyes drop once—slow, deliberate—to the mess at your feet. Red already blooming under your heel. Her grip on your throat tightens again, just slightly, as if testing how far your pride will stretch before it breaks.

“I could snap this,” she murmurs, her voice low and impossibly calm, thumb pressing deeper against the hollow beneath your jaw. “But that wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as watching you bend.”

Your lip curls. “Fuck off.”

She doesn’t.

Instead, she steps forward again. Forces you back inch by inch until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. She doesn’t shove. She doesn’t need to. One more step and you fall, but you don’t give her that satisfaction. You brace, legs tight, muscles locked.

Her body’s flush against yours now. You feel the heat of her, the tension in her jaw, the way her chest rises and falls in a slow, almost controlled rhythm like she’s been waiting for this moment. Like she’s been starving for it.

And gods help you—part of you knows she has.

Her other hand moves to your waist, not rough, but firm. Like she’s reestablishing ownership. Fingers curling into the thin fabric of your undershirt, resting just above the bandage binding your ribs.

She leans in, breath skimming your temple.

“I gave you a chance to kneel,” she says. “You spat on it.”

“I’d spit again.”

She huffs amused. Or disappointed. Maybe both. “You bleed just like the rest of them.”

You twist your head, fast, sharp, your forehead cracks against hers. A headbutt. Blunt and dirty.

It throws her back a step.

You move fast grabbing the jagged stem of the broken wine glass from the floor without even thinking, slicing your palm in the process. You swing it up—

She catches your wrist mid-air.

The pain doesn’t register. Only the heat in your lungs, the sound of your own breath, and her eyes locked to yours like she wants to drag you inside them.

You snarl. “Kill me, or get out of my way.”

Then she twists the weapon from your hand, throws it across the room, and shoves you back.

You fall onto the bed.

You kick at her, but she pins your ankle with one hand and climbs over you in one fluid motion, knee pressing between your thighs, your wrists slammed into the mattress. Her full weight above you now. Not just to dominate but to trap.

“You really think I’d let them have you?” she breathes, face inches from yours. “Let them waste what’s mine? You're not a fighter,” she pushes you down again harder into the soft matress, groaning ''but you definelty try.''

You spit in her face.

She doesn’t move.

The saliva trails down her cheek. She licks it off with the tip of her tongue. Slow. Unbothered.

The mattress groans beneath her as she shifts her weight, grinding her knee higher between your legs, knocking a sound loose from your throat that you bite down on too late.

Her expression flickers. Recognition. Satisfaction.

“You never learn,” she mutters, almost fondly. “But your body remembers.”

You twist beneath her, but she’s heavier. Stronger. Made of war and want and something crueler than either. Her hands slide under your thighs, dragging you lower on the bed—into position. The friction burns. The control is total.

You thrash.

She laughs under her breath, low and dark, her mouth dragging down your throat like she’s marking territory. Her teeth scrape. Then sink.

You choke out a gasp as pain flashes under your skin.

She bites you there, just above your collarbone. Not gently. Not to tease. To bruise.

“Still think I’ll let you go?” she growls.

You try to knee her again, but she pins your leg with her hip, grinding down hard enough to force your breath out in a stuttered exhale. Her palm presses flat against your belly now, sliding lower. Not rushed. Intentional. Claiming every inch.

“I should’ve done this on the battlefield,” she says against your skin. “Should’ve taken you right there in the mud. Would’ve saved us both the pretending.”

Her fingers shove your undershirt higher, baring your ribs, your waist, your bloodied side. She traces the bruises like they’re medals. Her touch is calloused, rough from a life of killing, and now she’s using those same hands to strip you down like plunder.

Your chest rises violently.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want this,” she murmurs. “Even now. Look at you.”

You hate that she’s right.

You hate how your hips twitch when she tears the rest of your shirt open, how your body arches when her palm presses down between your legs rough, full, without waiting. You’re wet. You knew it. She knows it too.

Her lips curl.

“There she is.”

You snarl, but your voice breaks halfway through.

She grinds her palm in slow, brutal circles, not for your pleasure—for hers. To watch you squirm. To feel you tense. To hear the little choked-off sounds you can’t smother fast enough.

“You’re filth,” you breathe. “You’re—”

She slaps you.

Not hard. Not to punish.

To remind you who’s in control.

The sting blooms across your cheek as she leans in and kisses the same spot, lips hot and cruel.

Her fingers slide beneath your waistband, and you jerk but she catches both wrists again with one massive hand and forces them above your head, pinning them into the pillows. Her other hand slides lower.

And she enters you without pause.

One thick, unrelenting finger. Then two.

You cry out whether from pain or the sudden stretch, you’re not even sure. Your head slams back into the mattress as she fucks you with her hand like she’s claiming territory. The rhythm is rough. Unforgiving.

You bite your own lip until it splits.

She watches every second.

“You’ll come on my hand,” she says, like it’s law. “And then you’ll beg me not to stop.”

You shake your head, lips trembling.

She fucks you harder.

Wet sounds fill the air, slick and obscene. Your thighs try to close but her body keeps them wide, keeps you open. Her grip never falters. Her gaze never softens.

“You belong to me,” she breathes against your mouth. “Say it.”

You moan through your teeth. “No—”

She curls her fingers deep.

You scream.

“Say it,” she demands again, voice rougher now, her own hips grinding down like she’s desperate too, like this is more than possession, it’s penance.

And gods help you—

You’re close.

Trembling. Writhing.

So close it hurts.

“You’re mine,” she growls, biting your jaw now, dragging her teeth along your pulse.

And when you come, it’s violent.

Your back arches. Your wrists strain. Your thighs shake against her hips. She doesn’t let up. Doesn’t slow. Just fucks you through it with the force of a war machine and the heat of someone who never let you go.

You sob something that’s not her name but could be.

She only stops when your body goes slack beneath her.

When your mouth won’t form words anymore.

Then—and only then—does she pull out.

Wet. Gloved fingers glistening.

She raises them to her lips.

Tastes you.

She raises her fingers to her lips. hen without a word, she wipes her hand on your thigh, casual, like you’re nothing more than something she dirtied and pushes off the bed.

The mattress lifts with her weight gone, but your body doesn’t move. You can’t. Not yet. Your muscles twitch when you try, but the exhaustion pins you harder than she ever did. You’re damp with sweat. Your legs are spread, still trembling. Your wrists ache.

You blink slowly, mouth dry, chest heaving, and watch as she straightens her coat. Smooths a wrinkle at her collar. Tucks a curl behind her ear.

Ambessa looks at you like she’s pleased with her work. Like you’re not a soldier, not a general, just her aftermath.

She walks to the door and opens it.

You expect silence.

Instead two figures step in. Servants. Uniformed. Eyes downcast. Well-trained. They take one look at you and do not speak. Do not blink.

You manage a croaked sound half-warning, half-threat, but Ambessa silences it with a glance.

“They’ll clean you up,” she says, voice smooth. Unbothered. “Change your sheets. Tidy the room.”

She glances back at you bleeding, soaked, broken open on her bed.

“I’ll be back to finish the job,” she says, like a promise.

Then she leaves.

It had only been a few minutes since the shimmer hit your system, and you could already feel it.

You lay sprawled on the bed you shared with Jinx, though she was nowhere in sight. Right after pressing the syringe to your neck, she’d only laughed, eyes bright, and told you she’d be right back.

Maybe it was the drug, but it felt like she’d been gone for hours. The ceiling above you swam; pipes and shadows twisted into shapes that wouldn’t stay still. Every blink made them dance.

Then a crash by the doorway.

Your head snapped toward the sound, too fast. The world spun, color and metal smearing together until you had to clutch the sheets just to remember which way was up.

“Looks like it’s takin’ a toll on you, pet.” Her voice drifted in, light and sing-song. Through the haze, you caught only a flicker of blue braids swaying, the shimmer light catching in them like sparks.

Before your vision could clear, she was already closer. A hand caught your chin, tilting your head toward her. You blinked up, and there she was, looming over you, grin wide and wild enough to make the room tilt all over again.

Something glinted in her left hand, impossible to focus on through the shimmer haze—until it clicked shut around your neck. Cold metal, snug leather. A collar. You should’ve known, but you were too far gone to stop it.

“Jinx, this feels—“ before you could finish two fingers were inserted into your mouth, cutting off your sentence.  

“Ah, ah. Pets don’t talk, do they?” Her voice was almost sing-song, but the edge beneath it told you the answer wasn’t optional. You gagged on her fingers as she pushed them further into your throat.  

She pulled them out just as fast again, your drool dripping down her fingers, she wiped them off into your cheek as you whimpered.  

She unclipped something from her belt and with a little flourish hooked it to the ring at your collar. The leash snapped home with a metallic click. A sharp tug tested it; the jolt made your head loll and your pulse skip.  

“Feels hot..” you moaned loudly as you felt your cunt throb. She must’ve laced the shimmer with something else cause all you wanted to do was get fucked by Jinx. 

A quick slap to your cheek snapped you back.

“Pet,” she hissed, all sing-song gone for an instant, “what did I just tell you? You obey your owner.” 

Her hand continued to slide down your body, Jinx already helped you before to get undressed. Knowing that it would be a hard task to do while you were so out of it.  

She kneaded your tits before tugging on your nipples. Making you involuntarily arch your back and whimper. You couldn’t make out Jinx face due to the haze covering your eyes but you knew she was grinning ear to ear.  

“Because you talked twice, I think I get to punish you for that.” She stated out of nowhere as she continued playing with on of your nipples. Her other hand reached to god knows where.  

Then a hard sting came down onto your chest, you yelped as you trashed. That got you out of your drugged state quickly. Jinx pushed you down again as she continued.  

You tried your best to focus on what Jinx was doing, and fortunately you succeeded. You spotted the black crop she is using to punish you.  

When she finally quit she tugged on the leash harshly, pulling your limp body with it. Her hand hooked around your neck, behind the collar, making it even harder to breathe.  

“Good let, took your lesson perfectly.” She grinned as she made you kneel just like her on the bed. She supported your body, knowing if she let loose your body would drop down again. 

She looked into your dilated eyes, as she pulled the leash tighter, making your noses touch. God, you wanted her bad. Not thinking you leaned in to kiss her but she pushes you away quickly. “Seems I have to train you, huh dog?” She teased.  

She stood up and crawled behind you before pushing you face first into the mattress. The sudden movement making you dizzy. She slapped your ass hard before pulling it higher into the air. Giving her a perfect view of your wet cunt.  

“You’re so compliant like this.” She ran a finger trough your slit. Before giving a quick slap to your aching clit, making you moan into the mattress as you involuntarily wiggled your ass.  

“Iconic, you’re the pet, but I’ll be playing with the toys.” She snickered, you didn’t know what she ment until it was too late.   

The silicone dildo rammed into your cunt just as fast as it was pulled out of it. You made an embarrassing sound, a mix between a moan and a scream. You were so wet yet so unprepared for it to happen.  

The mix between pain and pleasure was extra intense due to the shimmer in your body. Then Jinx continued the movements, snapping the toy in and out of you. Almost reaching your cervix. 

You moaned and trashed into the mattress as Jinx didn’t slow down. “I can’t hear you~” she cooed. So she pulled on the leash harder so your back arched involuntarily. The leash was so tight you faces were now next to one another.  

Jinx licked a stripe down your neck, as she whispered dirty words into you ear, but you couldn’t make out any of it. You couldn’t even focus on anything else but the toy plunging into your poor pussy.  

“Such a good pet f’me.” She moaned into your ear. She tugged the leash again as you chocked due to the collar cutting off your airway.  

You did notice the drug made your body extra sensitive because you could already feel your orgasm approaching.  

“You gonna cum on the toy, hm?” She moaned. “Going to be a good little pet for your owner and soak the toy f’me?” She grinned and let out a giggle. Going even faster. 

You couldn’t hold it anymore, you came so hard you definitely were out of it for a couple of seconds. When your senses came back, as far as possible, you felt Jinx kiss all up on your back. 

Your breath came fast as you couldn’t support your body anymore and dropped onto the mattress, after Jinx let loose of the leash.  

“Such a good puppy.” She massaged your ass as she took out the toy from your pussy, watching your juices spill onto the sheets. 

“Sit.” She commanded behind you. It took you awhile for you to realize she was giving you a command. You slowly pushed yourself up and sat down in front of jinx.  

“Open up.” She held out her hand with a smile. Holding onto what looked like to be a gummy. You obeyed her without doubt. She pushes the gummy into your mouth as she petted your head.  

It must have been something magical because you immediately felt your body calm down. Jinx pushes you down onto the mattress and she laid her head on top of your chest as she continued petting your hair.  

You fell asleep just as fast.

a/n: this was so hard to write because i dont really fw pet play </3 TAGLIST: @blessupblessup @lonerslug @libbyofc @leehtocool @djena1d @angelz-void @celinealways @glassesnoraenjiz @crucifiedfem @nymanas @fartingmonki @thatgirlkii2025 @rawrspacecat @bichyy @urfav-izzy @abbyscoochiecruncher @l4dyaranea @blkgrl17 @keliamks @theflyingforklift @safobionic @astenth @nkeyaaa @loneliestafterparty @pinkrighthand @freddiemercuryscat @gclhn @lesbianeprincess @waitaminuteashh @sevikaswhresblog @chxrryvalxntine @ferretthegremlin @maefemmedreamer @vxtanne31 @daisii7

The door closed with a heavy thud, rattling the frame.

Ambessa filled the doorway in an instant, the room seeming smaller with her in it. Her armor was gone, left in the entry, no doubt carried off by aides but the weight of battle still clung to her. She wore only the padded shirt and trousers she kept beneath the metal, the linen stretched tight across her chest and shoulders, darkened with sweat and dust.

Her braid had loosened in places, strands falling around her face, and the hard set of her jaw told you she hadn’t had a moment to breathe since the fighting stopped.

You rose immediately from the couch, crossing to her before she even had a chance to take another step inside. “You’re home,” you said softly, your hands brushing up her arms, fingertips grazing fabric still damp with effort.

Ambessa gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, her gaze softening just slightly when it landed on you. “For a night,” she said, voice heavy with exhaustion.

You leaned up to kiss her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin. “Then let me take care of you while you’re here.”

For the first time, some of that weight slipped from her shoulders. She didn’t answer right away, she only breathed deep, eyes closing briefly as your hands slid down her chest, over the sweat-soaked linen, your touch slow and grounding.

Your hands were already working at her laces before she could protest. “Sit,” you murmured, tugging at the sweat-soaked fabric.

Ambessa’s brow arched at your sudden assertiveness, but she let you push her back until she dropped onto the couch with a heavy exhale. You stripped the padded shirt from her shoulders, peeling it off her damp skin. The linen clung before sliding free, leaving her chest bare, skin flushed from the long day’s fight.

Her trousers went next. You yanked the ties loose, tugging them down strong thighs, until Ambessa sat before you in nothing but the raw power of her body.

“Good,” you breathed, dropping to your knees between her legs. You kissed along the line of her stomach, trailing lower, tasting salt and sweat as you went. She groaned, head tipping back, muscles finally loosening under your touch.

By the time your mouth reached her cunt, she was already wet, not from teasing, but from sheer want after holding herself together for too long. You didn’t make her wait. Your tongue pressed in firm and sure, licking her open before circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes.

Ambessa growled low in her chest, her thighs tensing on either side of you. One of her hands buried itself in your hair, not pushing, just holdin, anchoring herself as you devoured her.

Her hips twitched against your mouth, and you only sucked harder, tongue working in deep, steady rhythm until the battlefield tension started to melt off her in ragged breaths.

Your tongue worked her clit, slow at first, then faster, sucking hard until her hips rolled against your mouth. Ambessa’s breaths grew heavier, deeper, her muscles twitching beneath your hands.

Then she groan a low, guttural sound that came from deep in her chest. Her thighs flexed around your head, and before you could react, her hand pressed down hard, shoving your face deeper into her cunt.

The sudden weight stole your breath. Her slick coated your lips, your tongue, her scent filling your lungs as she ground against you, riding your mouth like she needed it to survive.

“Stay there,” she growled, voice raw, the exhaustion forgotten now, replaced with hunger. Her thighs clamped tighter, keeping you locked in place as her clit throbbed against your tongue.

Your chest burned, but you didn’t stop. You licked harder, faster, sucking her clit between your lips, dragging the flat of your tongue over her folds. Each stroke drew another ragged moan from her throat, her body grinding against you, using your mouth without hesitation.

Every time your lungs begged for air, she ground down harder, her cunt smothering your mouth, your nose, until the only thing you could do was give her everything, tongue thrusting, sucking, desperate and greedy.

Her hand found your throat, broad fingers curling around it, pressing down just enough to make your head swim.

Ambessa’s groan ripped out of her chest as she rolled her hips against you, riding your face harder. “Gods, yes… lose yourself for me.” Her thighs flexed again, pinning you tighter, her slick soaking your mouth and nose.

You moaned against her cunt, the sound muffled, sending vibrations straight through her clit. She shuddered, her grip on your throat tightening just a fraction, her head tipping back. “You love it. The burn, the airlessness. You crave it as much as I do.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, chest convulsing with the effort, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Ambessa’s growls turned to broken moans. “That’s it. Gods, that’s it.” Her hips jerked once, twice, and then she pressed down hard, grinding against your face as her orgasm tore through her. Slick poured over your tongue, hot and messy, while her hand kept you pinned, her cunt riding your mouth until she’d wrung every last drop of release from herself.

Only then did she ease back, lifting her hips enough for you to gasp in sharp, ragged breaths. You coughed, chest heaving, your lips and chin shining with her release.

Ambessa looked down at you, sweat-slick and flushed, her chest rising heavy. Her hand slipped from your throat to your jaw, her thumb brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness.

“My perfect girl,” she murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “Starved for me, soaked in me. And still begging for more with those eyes.”

You should’ve known better than to say yes. Every time Vi asked you out for drinks, it ended in trouble. She got loud, reckless, hands everywhere. And yet, when she leaned on your doorframe earlier with that grin all pink hair, cocky smirk, and promise of “just one drink” you agreed anyway.

The club was already thumping when you arrived, bass shaking through the floorboards, neon lights flashing against chrome and glass. Bodies packed the dance floor, heat and sweat thick in the air.

You spotted her immediately. Of course you did. Vi had claimed a booth in the back, lounging like she owned the place. Two glasses already sat on the table, one half-empty, one waiting for you.

“‘Bout time,” she called, waving you over with a grin. The lights caught on the barbell in her tongue as she spoke, a flash of steel every time she licked her lips.

You slid into the booth across from her, eyeing the drink she’d shoved toward you. The amber liquid glowed faintly in the neon haze. You lifted it, took a sip and nearly choked. Strong. Strong enough to burn all the way down.

Vi laughed at your face, tipping her own glass back with ease. “C’mon, don’t be a lightweight.” Her words slurred just slightly, not from clumsiness, but from the heavy alcohol she was already buzzing on.

You frowned, leaning in closer. “You’re already drunk.”

“Tipsy,” she corrected with a wink. Another glint of the piercing. “Loosens me up.”

Your gaze lingered on the flash of metal in her mouth. You tried not to imagine what that piercing would feel like dragging over sensitive skin but the thought planted itself anyway, hot and insistent.

Vi caught the look and smirked wider. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, tongue flicking out deliberately to toy with the piercing. “You keep staring at it, babe. Wanna find out what it feels like?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at her boldness. “In your dreams, Vi.”

“Already had those dreams,” she shot back instantly, winking as she tipped her glass again.

You shook your head, determined not to give her the satisfaction. Instead, you sipped at your own drink. It burned going down, sharp and strong, loosening something in your chest with every swallow.

The minutes blurred with neon and bass. Vi kept talking, leaning close across the table, her voice louder than it needed to be. You tried to focus on her words, but every time the lights hit just right, you saw it, that glint of silver against her tongue. She played with it constantly, clicking it against her teeth, rolling it slow across her lower lip.

You told yourself not to stare. Not to imagine the cold shock of steel flicking over your skin.

But the alcohol worked fast. Warmth spread through your limbs, your head buzzing just enough to make your gaze linger too long. You caught yourself watching her mouth again, heat curling low in your stomach, and looked away quickly.

Vi noticed. Of course she noticed. Her grin stretched slow, cocky. She leaned back in the booth, draping an arm over the seat, studying you like she had all the time in the world. “You keep sayin’ no,” she drawled, tongue poking out just far enough for the piercing to gleam under the lights, “but your eyes are telling on you.”

You flushed hot, biting your lip, staring down into your half-empty glass. The bass rattled the table, your pulse quickening with it.

Vi tilted her head, smirk sharpening. “So, what’s it gonna be, princess? Keep drinkin’ and pretending you don’t wanna know… or let me show you exactly what this piercing can do?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. But when your eyes finally lifted to hers, the look was enough, heat flushed across your face, your breath uneven, thighs pressed tight together under the table.

Vi’s grin widened. “Knew it,” she whispered, smug as sin.

Before you could think of a protest, she slid off the booth seat and disappeared beneath the table. The bass shook through the floor as her hands found your knees, prying them apart with an easy strength.

“Vi—” your voice cracked, half-warning, half-plea.

“Shh.” Her laugh was low, muffled in the dark space between you. “Ain’t nobody payin’ attention.”

She shoved your skirt up, fabric bunching high on your hips. Her breath hitched when she saw the damp patch on your panties, and she leaned in to press a slow kiss right over it.

“Fuck,” she muttered, lips grazing the soaked fabric. “You’re already this wet? And you were frontin’ like you didn’t want me?”

You bit down hard, stifling the whimper that threatened to break out.

Vi’s laugh vibrated against your cunt. “Cute. Tryin’ to keep quiet.” She dragged her tongue across the damp fabric, the cold press of her piercing catching perfectly against your clit even through the thin barrier. The shock made your thighs tremble, your hands gripping the edge of the table hard.

She kissed the inside of your thigh next, teeth grazing your skin before her tongue followed, slow and deliberate. The piercing traced little circles against the sensitive flesh, making you shiver.

“Bet you can feel that,” she murmured against your skin, her voice muffled but dripping smug satisfaction. Another hot lick, the stud pressing in again.

Vi chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your clit. She closed her lips around it suddenly, sucking hard, piercing grinding directly into the sensitive bundle of nerves. The shock made you bite down on a cry, head tipping back against the booth.

“Mmm, yeah,” she groaned, pulling back just enough to talk, her lips wet against you. “Bet you wish you could scream right now, huh? But you can’t. You’re in public, baby. Everyone’s just a few feet away,” she flicked the stud across your clit, hard, and you jerked in her grip, “and here you are, letting me eat you out like it’s nothing.”

She sucked again, harder, piercing rubbing mercilessly, her tongue swirling tight circles until your thighs were trembling. She didn’t stop talking, didn’t stop teasing.

“Stay quiet for me, gorgeous,” she murmured, her words punctuated with another slow drag of her stud across your clit. “Don’t give us away. Just sit there, smile pretty, and let me make you cum.”

Your nails dug into the table, your whole body taut with the effort of holding back as her piercing worked you closer and closer to the edge.

Your whole body tightened, every muscle trembling against the ropes of Vi’s grip. Her mouth worked you mercilessly, tongue circling, piercing flicking your clit over and over until you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

The orgasm ripped through you hard, sharp, your hips jerking against her face as you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. Heat flooded you, your slick coating her tongue as the piercing pressed one last perfect grind against your clit.

Vi groaned low at the taste, holding you through it, sucking until you were shaking, until your thighs squeezed helplessly around her head. Only then did she finally pull back, lips wet, chin shining in the neon light filtering under the table.

“Fuck yeah,” she whispered, grinning smugly against your thigh. “Knew you couldn’t resist this piercing.”

And then like nothing had happened she shoved your skirt back down, gave your knee a quick squeeze, and slid out from under the booth. She plopped down across from you, snatched her drink, and tipped it back in one easy motion.

Her grin widened as she caught the look on your face, flushed, still trembling, desperately trying to steady your breath. She licked her lips slowly, the silver glint of her barbell flashing in the club’s lights.

“What?” Vi asked, feigning innocence, leaning back against the booth like she hadn’t just eaten you alive under the table. “You look hot, babe. Maybe it’s the drinks.”

a/n: is this considered semi-public or just public? cus idk anymore..

The bedroom was dark, shadows stretching long across the walls. A few candles flickered on the dresser, their glow soft but steady, painting the room in amber light.

You lay on the bed, ropes cutting tight into your skin. Your arms were bound firmly behind your back, elbows straining, wrists pressed together in an unforgiving knot. Your legs were bent high, thighs tied wide so your knees nearly touched your chest. The position was merciless, every shift only made the ropes bite deeper, every breath a reminder of how utterly exposed you were.

Caitlyn stood at the bedside, pristine in black lace beneath the loose fall of her robe. She looked composed, deliberate, her posture as perfect as if she were standing in front of a council. Candlelight caught on the sharp line of her jaw, the precise gleam in her eyes.

“You make quite the picture,” she said at last, voice calm. “Bound and helpless, yet so presentable. Exactly how I like you.”

She leaned down, gloved fingers brushing along the rope digging into your thigh, pressing deliberately against the marks it left. You gasped, squirming. Caitlyn’s mouth twitched faintly, a cruel smirk.

“Already restless. Tsk.” She shook her head, straightening. “We haven’t even begun.”

She reached for the long red candle resting on the nightstand. The match hissed, flared, then caught, the flame burning steady.

The first drop hit your stomach, sharp and hot. You flinched hard, breath catching, the ropes straining against your skin as if they mocked your useless struggle.

Caitlyn’s lips curved faintly. “There now. Already so reactive.” She tilted the candle again, another bead sliding free, striking just above your navel. You gasped, hips jerking before the ropes forced them back into place.

“Still,” she warned, voice cold and clipped. “Or I’ll add another knot to remind you of your place.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow the sound building in your throat. But then she let three drops fall in quick succession, splattering across your lower belly, the heat blooming outward and a whimper broke free anyway.

Caitlyn smirked. “Hopeless. Your body always tells the truth, no matter how you try to hide it.”

She trailed the candle higher, slow, deliberate. The wax slid across your stomach, then splattered lower on your ribs. Another line followed, crossing just beneath your breasts. Each drop stung sharper, the sensation lingering even as the wax hardened in messy trails.

Your back arched involuntarily, straining against the ropes, chest thrust upward like an offering. Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “Good girl. Present yourself properly.”

The candle hovered above your left breast now. She held it steady, just long enough for your nerves to scream, before finally letting a single bead fall onto the curve. You jolted, head tipping back, a hiss caught between your teeth.

“Sensitive,” Caitlyn murmured, almost clinically. “As expected.”

Another drop, this time directly above your nipple. The heat bit deep, sharper than before. You gasped, body twisting, but the ropes only dug harder into your arms and thighs, locking you in place.

“Pathetic,” Caitlyn whispered, though her smirk betrayed her enjoyment. “I’ve barely touched you, and look at you squirming.”

She tilted her wrist again, letting wax drizzle down across the swell of your breast, painting it in red streaks. One bead struck your nipple square, forcing a strangled cry from your throat.

Her free hand caught your chin instantly, fingers gripping firm. She tilted your face until your eyes met hers, gaze sharp and merciless. “Eyes on me,” she ordered. “I want to see you fall apart.”

Another drop, then another. Your nipple throbbed under the sting, your chest heaving as wax hardened in uneven trails across your skin.

Caitlyn’s smile grew as she dragged the candle slowly across your body, marking the other breast just as thoroughly. Each drip landed precise: the curve, the pek, the underside. By the time she was finished, both breasts were splattered in hardened wax, glowing faintly in the candellight.

Caitlyn adjusted her grip on the candle, lowering it slowly, deliberately. The flame bobbed, glow flickering across your trembling stomach as she traced a path downward.

Your thighs flexed instinctively, but the ropes held them wide apart, knees bent to your chest, cunt spread and glistening in the candlelight. You could feel the wetness cooling in the air, impossible to hide.

Her eyes caught on it, sharp and knowing. “Already dripping,” she murmured. Her smirk widened. “How indecent.”

She tilted the candle.

The first drop hit the inside of your thigh. The sting was immediate, sharper against the delicate flesh, and you cried out, jerking against the ropes. Caitlyn’s free hand pressed down hard on your other thigh, pinning you open.

“Still,” she warned, her voice a cool command. “You’ll take it exactly where I place it.”

Another bead of wax fell, higher up, closer to the crease of your thigh. The burn spread, heat lingering, your body straining to twist away even though there was no escape.

Caitlyn studied you like a hawk, candle poised above your trembling skin. “Twitching. Shaking. Your body betrays every thought in your head.” Her eyes flicked to your cunt, wet and swollen. “And I can see exactly how much you like this.”

She let the wax fall again, closer now, just shy of your folds. The heat made your hips buck, your gasp sharp, but the ropes and her hand kept you pinned wide, helpless.

“Already soaked,” Caitlyn whispered, tilting the candle dangerously near your slick.

Another drop hissed against your inner thigh, so close you could feel the heat radiating across your cunt without touching it.

Caitlyn smirked down at you, perfectly composed. “Patience, darling. Patience.”

You felt your breath catch when she tilted the candle, and this time the wax landed squarely on your clit.

The sting was blinding. Your whole body arched, a cry ripping out of you, only for the ropes to hold you cruelly in place.

Another drop followed. Then another. Each one sharp, hot, unbearable against the bundle of nerves, and you thrashed helplessly, thighs jerking against the rope until Caitlyn’s hand pressed them down harder.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, watching you twitch, her tone clinical and satisfied. “Completely undone by three drops of wax.”

You were panting now, chest rising fast, cunt throbbing, wetness smeared against your bound thighs.

And then she pulled the candle away. The flame retreated, leaving only the afterburn on your skin.

Her glove slipped down instead, fingers parting your slick folds with precision, finding your clit swollen and desperate beneath the cooling wax. She rubbed slow at first, controlled circles that made your breath shudder.

“See?” Caitlyn whispered, her lips brushing your ear as she leaned close. “Rewarded only when I decide.”

Her pace quickened suddenly, gloved fingers pressing harder, dragging wetness across your clit. The ropes cut deeper into your skin as your body strained, pleasure spiking sharp after so much denial.

“Come for me,” she ordered, tone low but firm. “Now.”

The command cracked through you as hard as her fingers. Your body seized, release tearing through you, cunt clenching, slick spilling down your thighs. You moaned openly this time, no control left, every sound swallowed by the candlelit dark.

Caitlyn didn’t stop until you were shaking, until your orgasm wrung you dry. Only then did she pull her hand away, wiping her glove slow against your thigh as if to leave another mark.

Her smirk lingered, precise and satisfied. “Very good, darling. But remember…” Her eyes locked on yours, sharp and merciless. “Next time, I might not be so generous.”

Your father always believed himself untouchable. Too clever, too well-connected. When he gambled with Zaunites, he never thought he could lose. Not really. He thought he was buying gadgets from idiots, men with oil on their hands and nothing in their heads.

He was wrong.

He lost. And what he lost was you.

His words still rang in your skull as you ran: “Go. Hide. Don’t let them take you.”

Now you were in Zaun, and the city itself wanted you gone. Rain sheeted down, slicking the metal walkways, turning every step into a risk. The air was thick, damp, sour with chemicals. You were slipping, stumbling, lungs burning as you ducked under a half-collapsed bridge.

You pressed yourself against the wet stone, gasping for breath, clothes clinging heavy against your skin. Your stockings were ruined, your blouse plastered to your chest, your polished shoes long since scuffed to nothing.

For a moment, you almost believed you’d lost her. The rain was so loud it drowned everything.

Then boots. Steady. Heavy. Echoing through the waterlogged alleys.

Sevika.

She wasn’t in a rush. She didn’t need to be.

You bit your lip, swallowed your panic, and bolted again. Your feet splashed through puddles, water soaking your hems. Every turn looked the same, rusted pipes, dripping gutters, neon signs bleeding light into the storm. You ducked through narrow passages, climbed slick ladders, tore your hands open on rough metal.

Still, the boots followed.

“You really think you can outrun me?” her voice carried low through the rain. Calm. Steady. Almost amused.

You pushed harder, your chest on fire, thighs screaming, slipping more than running now. For one terrifying heartbeat you thought maybe you could escape, that maybe she was too far behind.

And then she stepped out of the dark ahead of you.

Her silhouette filled the mouth of the alley, rain sliding down the curve of her metal arm. Broad shoulders, a cigarette still glowing at her lip even in the storm.

Your heart stuttered. You spun on your heel, bolting the other way. But she was already moving, her boots splashing through the puddles, closing the distance.

You made it three turns. Maybe four. Then a hand closed around the back of your neck, iron-tight, and yanked you off your feet.

You hit the ground hard, water soaking through your clothes as your knees scraped against the stone. The storm drowned your gasp, but not her laugh, low, rough, cruel.

“Your old man lost big,” she said, leaning over you, her grip unyielding. “And now you pay up.”

You clawed at the mud, trying to get your knees under you, slipping again and again. Rain soaked your hair, blurred your vision, stung your eyes. You pushed forward on your elbows, crawling, trying to get away, anywhere, any direction.

Sevika stood over you, boots planted wide, rain dripping off the steel plates of her arm. She didn’t even look winded. Not a scratch, not a mark. Just amused.

“Look at you,” she drawled, smoke and storm in her voice. “Piltover’s little doll, crawling in the mud like a dog.”

You scrambled harder, nails breaking in the muck. Her shadow fell long across your body as she crouched low, then a sharp yank snapped your head back. Fingers knotted in your wet hair, her grip iron as she hauled you upright.

You gasped, feet barely finding ground before she pressed her chest flush against your back. Heat radiated through her soaked clothes, the solid weight of her metal arm locking tight around your middle.

Her breath brushed your ear, rough, steady, mocking. “You know what I thought when Silco told me who I was collecting?”

You shook your head weakly, throat tight.

“That I’d finally get to ruin one of you posh little brats.” Her tongue clicked against her teeth, and you felt her smirk in the curve of your neck. “Always wondered what a Piltover cunt feels like when it’s wrecked on my cock.”

You shivered, rain rolling down your cheek, chest heaving.

“Guess I get to find out.” She gave your hair another cruel tug, forcing your head back against her shoulder.

Rain hammered down, running cold down your face, soaking through silk that had never been meant for weather like this.

Her eyes swept over you, sharp even in the storm. “Look at this getup.” She gave your ruined blouse a sharp tug, silk plastered to your skin, mud streaking the hem. “Daddy’s doll, dressed up like money’ll save you. Doesn’t do shit down here.”

Her metal arm flexed around your stomach, keeping you caged, while her other hand slid lower, over your skirt, gripping the soaked fabric until it tore under her fingers. She pushed hard between your thighs, and you bucked in her hold with a gasp.

“There it is.” Her lips brushed your ear, breath hot in the cold storm. “That prim little Piltover cunt. Bet it’s never been touched by someone who knows how to use it.”

“Please—“You whimpered, thrashing weakly, but her grip didn’t budge. Two fingers shoved past the lace of your panties, plunging deep without warning.

The sound was obscene, slick even in the rain. She laughed, low and satisfied. “Already wet. Knew it. Knew you’d be aching for it, even while you ran.”

Her pace was brutal from the start. No teasing, no build-up. Just rough, relentless thrusts of her fingers, curling hard inside you until your cry cracked in the downpour. Her palm ground against your clit, dragging sharp pleasure through the humiliation of mud and cold.

“That’s it,” she hissed into your ear, voice dark and smug. “Make a mess for me. Let Zaun ruin its pretty prize. You’ll come on my fingers in the dirt, and then I’ll strap in and fuck you ‘til you can’t crawl.”

“Come on,” she growled in your ear, voice low, commanding. “Give it to me. Show me how a Piltover doll squirts in Zaun’s mud.”

You bit down, trying to hold it back, but your body betrayed you. The pressure built sharp, unbearable, until it broke, pleasure ripping through you so violently your legs buckled.

Hot, messy release gushed around her fingers, mixing with rain and dirt, splattering against her hand. She laughed, dark and rough, holding you through it. “There she is. Look at you, uining yourself all over my hand. Posh little slut.”

Before you could catch your breath, she shoved you down into the mud. Your palms slipped, sinking deep, your blouse plastered filthy against your chest.

Sevika stood above you, unhurried, pulling her strap from the bag she’d dropped. Rain slicked the leather as she buckled it on over her pants, tightening the straps with sharp jerks.

Sevika shoved it between your folds. She didn’t give you time to brace, no mercy, no prep, she just drove in, burying herself deep in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, face grinding into the mud, the sound swallowed by the storm.

“There it is,” Sevika growled, hips slamming into you, strap splitting you wide. “made to be ruined.”

Her metal hand pinned your head down, forcing you to eat dirt while her hips pounded into your ass. Every thrust was relentless, jarring, the wet slap of skin and leather mixing with the patter of rain.

“You feel that?” Her mouth pressed against your ear, voice low and venomous. “That’s debt being collected.”

You whimpered, body betraying you, walls clenching around the toy with each rough stroke.

“Already gripping me,” she laughed, cruel and satisfied. “Didn’t take long, did it? All that running, all that hiding, just for you to gush on my cock like you were waiting for it.”

Her hand slid from your hair to your throat, holding you arched back against her chest while she drove in harder.

“Come on, doll,” she hissed. “Squirt for me again. Pay me proper.”

And you did, your body convulsing, another gush spilling down your thighs, lost to the storm and the filth.

Sevika groaned low, grinding deep, holding you there as you shook apart in her grip. When she finally let go, you collapsed forward into the mud, trembling, ruined, your cunt still dripping around the strap.

Then Sevika pressed her lips to your temple, cigarette smoke curling past your cheek. “That was good, doll,” she murmured, quieter now. “You did so fucking good for me.”

From the bag, she pulled a towel and wiped the filth from your face. Another she wrapped around your shoulders, pulling it snug against your shivering body. Her arm locked around you, holding you steady as her thumb brushed across your jaw, grounding you.

“Back to mine?” she asked, more a promise than a question. “Hot shower. Dry sheets. Then I’ll hold you until you stop shaking.”

You nodded weakly, letting her lift you.

“My good girl. My perfect Piltover doll. Always mine.”

It had started innocently enough. One skipped breakfast. Then two. Then a missed dinner, brushed off with a weak joke about being too tired to eat.

You’d gotten good at pretending you didn’t hear Sevika’s concern in the kitchen, or see the way Ambessa looked at your untouched plate. You’d gotten good at acting like you were just fine.

But today, your body betrayed you.

You were mid-way through your fourth consecutive training circuit, muscles already failing, legs burning with fatigue, arms straining to hold your weight on the bar. You’d skipped lunch again, lost in your own head, determined to push through the fatigue as if breaking yourself would somehow build you faster.

So when you lost your grip and hit the mat with a hard thud, sweat-slick and panting, you didn’t immediately notice the presence behind you.

Not until the room fell completely silent.

And not until that voice low, deep, impossibly controlled, cut through the thick air like a blade.

“You’re going to collapse.”

You froze, the breath catching in your throat before you could force yourself to look up.

She stood just inside the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of the hall sconces, arms crossed loosely over her broad chest, not angry, but resolute. Still. Utterly immovable.

Ambessa.

She stepped forward slowly, like one might approach a frightened animal. You tried to sit up straighter, to show her you weren’t weak, but the tremble in your arms betrayed you, and your attempt only drew the smallest flicker of disappointment across her otherwise unreadable face.

“You’re overworking. Starving. Ignoring us.”

She spoke the truth without accusation. She didn’t have to raise her voice to hold power over the room. She was the room.

“I’m training,” you managed, dragging a hand over your damp face. “I’m trying to—”

“To what?” she cut in, her tone sharp but not cruel. “To break?”

You finally met her eyes, your own blood buzzing with the hum of too many days spent running on empty. You wanted to lie. To tell her you were fine. That you had it under control.

But the look in her eyes made the words catch in your throat.

She walked to you with slow purpose, crouching before you with practiced ease, her large hands settling against your thighs like anchors. Her gaze softened, but only slightly.

“You think I don’t know what this is?” she murmured, her thumb brushing along the edge of your trembling knee. “You think I haven’t done it myself.. skipped meals, cut off the people who cared, beat myself into the dirt for some illusion of control?”

Your throat tightened, guilt swelling in your chest.

“You don’t have to do this to be worthy of us.”

Her voice dropped lower, gentle but firm.

“Let me take care of you. Before you burn yourself out so badly you forget who you are.”

You wanted to argue. To hold on to the last scrap of control. But it fell apart when she stood and offered you her hand.

The bathroom felt like a sanctuary, an oasis from the haze of training and strain and pressure you had wrapped around yourself. Warm candlelight flickered along the marble walls, the air rich with the scent of crushed herbs and rose oil that lingered in the steam rising from the enormous circular bath carved into the stone floor.

Ambessa said nothing as she helped you undress. Her fingers were patient, her touch reverent, her eyes never once lingering anywhere they shouldn’t. She peeled your sweat-soaked top from your torso, then your shorts, slow and steady, as though rushing would somehow undo the moment.

When you were bare, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with nudity, she stepped behind you and wrapped one arm firmly around your waist.

“Slow,” she whispered into your ear, her breath warm against your neck. “We go in together.”

You let her guide you down the marble steps and into the water, the heat wrapping around your skin and sinking deep into your sore muscles like balm. You exhaled a shaky breath as she pulled you back into her lap, her solid chest against your back, her legs cradling yours under the water.

And for the first time in days, your body stopped fighting.

She dipped a cloth into the water and began to wash you, slowly, methodically, dragging the warm fabric down your arms, across your collarbone, over the soft curve of your chest.

“This body is mine to protect too,” she murmured against your ear, her lips brushing your skin as she spoke. “You don’t have to destroy it to prove something.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you didn’t try to answer. Instead, you leaned back against her, your eyes fluttering shut as her strong hands moved across your skin like a prayer.

Then came the plate of fruit, melon slices, pomegranate seeds, slivers of fig. She lifted each piece to your lips, feeding you with a kind of tender command that left your throat tight with unspoken emotion.

“You need this,” she said between bites, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your temple. “Let us give this to you.”

You hadn’t realized tears had begun to prick at your lashes until she kissed them away.

And then, so seamlessly you barely noticed the shift, her touches grew slower. Lower. Hungrier.

Her palm dipped below the surface, sliding down your stomach with gentle pressure, fingers finding the heat between your thighs like she already knew exactly what you needed.

“May I?” she whispered, her lips against the side of your neck, her breath making you tremble.

You nodded, unable to form a proper answer.

And then her fingers sank inside you, slow and deliberate.

You gasped, back arching instinctively, your hand flying to her forearm beneath the water.

She was careful, unhurried, her fingers curling with practiced precision, her free hand pressing against your chest to keep you grounded.

“That’s it,” she coaxed, her voice silk and steel. “Let yourself feel it.”

The water rippled around you with every shudder, your breath catching, your body tightening.

When you finally came, it hit you so hard your vision blurred. Your head lolled back onto her shoulder, your body limp, boneless, entirely hers.

She held you like that for a long moment, stroking your hair, kissing your cheek.

“We’re not done,” she said gently. “Come upstairs.”

The bedroom was lit in low amber light, soft shadows cast across the wide bed.

Sevika was already waiting.

She just leaned back on her elbows, legs spread, watching you with a gaze that left no room for modesty. Her robe had slipped fully open now, draped carelessly across the bed beneath her, and her bare skin glowed with heat under the soft, golden lights. One of her hands moved up her own thigh, slow and unapologetic, her fingers stroking lazy circles near her cunt as she looked you over, damp, flushed, half-unsteady on your feet.

But Ambessa didn’t let you falter.

She guided you forward with a hand on your lower back, firm and warm, her presence unshakable behind you.

“On the bed,” she said, voice low and absolute. “On your back.”

You obeyed without hesitation.

The sheets were cool beneath your skin, contrasting with the burn of your still-sensitive body. You could feel your pulse in your thighs, your throat, your fingertips. You were soaked, and not just from the bath, your slick had begun dripping down your inner thighs the moment you spotted Sevika sitting naked spread on the bed.

Sevika shifted onto her knees beside you, eyes dark and steady. She reached out, cupping your jaw, her thumb brushing softly across your cheek before dragging down to your lips.

Ambessa stepped between your legs. Her broad, powerful form blocked out the light, and when she knelt onto the bed, the mattress dipped beneath her weight like gravity itself bent around her.

She wasn’t naked, not yet. Her sheer black robe clung to her curves, open at the front, exposing the gleam of dark skin, the sharp lines of muscle across her abdomen, and the thick black strap already harnessed around her hips.

Your breath caught.

“Spread your legs for me,” she said, not raising her voice, because she didn’t need to.

You did, opening yourself wide and slow, trembling as the cool air hit your cunt.

Ambessa settled between your thighs, dragging the tip of the strap through your folds once, twice, just to feel how wet you already were. She didn’t rush. She watched you squirm, watched the way your lips parted, your hips bucked, your eyes begged.

Then she leaned forward, pressing the length of her body over yours, her hand sliding behind your neck, her mouth inches from yours.

“You want it?” she asked, her voice like smoke. “Say it.”

You nodded, breathless. “I want it. Please.”

“Then take it.”

She pushed in with one long, slow thrust.

The stretch was instant, deep and perfect and you cried out, hands flying to her shoulders, anchoring yourself to the solid mass of her body. She didn’t stop. She filled you inch by inch, the curve of the strap hitting places that made your head spin, her hips grinding flush to yours when she bottomed out.

You were soaked. Open. Pulsing.

Sevika leaned down beside you, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered. “That’s it. Let her fuck it into you.”

Ambessa pulled back, slow and deep, then drove forward again with force, enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Your cry turned into a moan. Then another. Then a desperate, choking sound as she found a rhythm, steady, merciless, her hand gripping your thigh to keep you wide and still.

“You’ve been starving yourself,” she growled against your throat, thrusting harder, deeper, each word punctuated by the slap of her hips against your soaked cunt. “I’ll feed you through your fucking pussy if I have to.”

Your walls fluttered, already close again, overstimulated from the bath, from the hunger, from the intensity of her voice.

Sevika kissed your shoulder, her hand sliding down your ribs, over your belly, until she was pressed against your clit, rubbing firm, tight circles that made your legs jerk.

“Come,” Ambessa ordered, not asking. “Come for me.”

You broke.

Your orgasm crashed through you like heat lightning, all nerves and white light and clenching muscles. You screamed, legs kicking, hands clawing for something to hold, but Ambessa didn’t let up. She fucked you through it, her thrusts slow but relentless now, dragging every last drop of pleasure from your shaking body.

When your legs finally dropped open again, limp and twitching, Sevika leaned in and kissed you, hard. Mouth open, tongue sliding against yours, her hand still wet from your slick.

“You’re not done,” she said against your lips.

Ambessa pulled out, slowly, the strap leaving you empty and gasping.

“Turn her over.”

You barely had time to breathe before strong hands flipped you onto your stomach.

Ambessa’s strap was already buried deep in your cunt, a slow, devastating rhythm that had your thighs shaking, your eyes glassy, your hands clawing at the sheets beneath you with no anchor in sight.

The stretch had stopped hurting ages ago. Now it just throbbed,overstimulated, swollen, slick as fuck. Every thrust made you jolt forward, mouth open in a silent cry, your skin flushed and dewy with sweat.

Then she grabbed a fistful of your hair.

“Up,” she ordered.

You gasped when she hauled your upper body upright, hips still slapping into yours from behind. Your legs nearly gave out from under you, but her arm slid around your middle, holding you up by sheer strength.

You didn’t even notice Sevika moving, not until her hand was gripping your jaw.

She stood in front of you now, tall and close, her strap thick and ready between her legs. You blinked up at her, dazed, whimpering.

“You want more?” she asked, voice low, steady, her free hand sliding between your thighs to cup the mess Ambessa had already made of your cunt. “You think this pussy can handle both of us?”

They didn’t wait for your answer.

Ambessa growled low, fucking you harder once, a warning. “She can.”

Sevika smirked and stepped closer.

And you realized what they meant.

“Breathe, baby,” she whispered, pressing the slick head of her strap against your already stuffed cunt. “We’ll go slow.”

But they didn’t.

Not really.

Sevika gripped your thighs, lifted one leg up and around her waist, and started to push in, into your pussy, where Ambessa was still buried.

The stretch was unbearable. Two thick straps forcing their way into the same soaking hole, the slick drag of leather grinding against each other inside you as your walls spasmed and clenched with no chance of resisting.

You screamed not from pain, but from sheer, maddening fullness.

Their cocks moved together, grinding inside you, forcing your cunt to mold around both at once, pressure so intense it felt like your brain short-circuited.

You sobbed, legs shaking, head falling back onto Ambessa’s shoulder.

“Look at you,” Sevika growled, fucking forward as Ambessa thrust up to meet her. “Fucking ruined.”

Your clit throbbed, untouched. Your cunt clenched with every impact.

You were so wet it was dripping down your thighs, your skin sticky and trembling from pure overstimulation.

And then they slammed in together, both of them burying deep, hilting you from both ends, grinding together inside you until your orgasm tore loose like something feral.

You screamed, shaking, vision gone white.

You gushed, slick pouring down both of their thighs as you came, overstretched, overstimulated, overwhelmed.

And they didn’t stop.

Not until you were sobbing.

Not until your cunt was leaking and trembling, and your legs wouldn’t even hold your weight.

Not until Ambessa finally lifted you off their cocks slow, wet, your hole stretched wide and pulsing as they both pulled out, covered in your slick.

Your body collapsed.

And their hands caught you.

“C’mere,” you said, sliding behind her. Your hands found her shoulders, thumbs digging into the knots under her skin. She hissed through her teeth but didn’t stop you. Slowly, under your careful press, you felt the stone give way.

“Mm. Feels good,” Sevika muttered, voice low, rough. Her head tilted forward, exposing the long line of her neck.

You leaned closer, whispering against her ear, “You know, I’ll never understand how you manage to carry all this strength around. These shoulders… these arms… you’re like a goddess carved too large for the world.” Your hands roamed down the hard planes of her biceps, marveling at the difference in size.

You kissed along the ridge of her bicep, slow and lingering “—and still somehow the most beautiful sight I’ve ever come home to.”

Her breath caught, and a low chuckle rumbled from her chest. “Flattery now?”

“Not flattery. Truth.” Another kiss, just below her ear. “You’re so strong. So large, so steady. And all mine.”

Sevika leaned back on her elbows, eyes half-lidded as you kissed your way down the broad line of her throat. The day’s tension seemed to pour out of her with every brush of your lips.

Your fingers traced the edge of her collarbone before sliding lower, palms smoothing over the hard planes of her chest. “You’re so strong,” you murmured between kisses, voice soft but certain.

She hummed, a low, content sound, closing her eyes as your lips lingered at the curve of her shoulder. You shifted in her lap, straddling her properly now, pressing your body close to hers. Her warmth wrapped around you, her size making you feel small, safe, cradled.

You kissed her jaw, then the corner of her mouth, then finally her lips. The kiss was unhurried, deep and melting, her hand sliding up your back to hold you there.

Her breath mingled with yours as she whispered, “You always know how to take the edge off.”

“I like taking care of you,” you answered, nuzzling against her cheek before trailing more kisses down her neck. Your hips rolled slowly against her without thinking, the rhythm gentle, coaxed by the closeness.

Sevika’s hand tightened on your waist, but not to control, just to feel you closer. She let you set the pace, her touch steady and grounding while your mouth worshipped her skin.

“You’re… incredible,” you whispered, kissing along the swell of her chest. “I could kiss you forever.”

You tugged gently at her shirt. “Let me…” you whispered, waiting for her nod before easing it over her shoulders. She sat up just enough to help, the fabric falling away to reveal the thick muscle beneath. You couldn’t resist, your mouth found her collarbone, then the swell of her chest, your kisses soft and adoring.

Her hands, slower but steady, slipped under your clothes in turn, brushing the hem upward. She didn’t rush, didn’t tug, just touched as though she wanted to savor each inch of skin as it was revealed.

Piece by piece, you undressed one another. Fingers brushing bare arms, lips finding new skin, each layer falling away like a quiet offering. The world outside disappeared until there was nothing but warm skin, shared sighs, and the soft sound of fabric hitting the floor.

When at last you lay together, bare against bare, you kissed her deeply, pressing your body close. Her arm cradled you, the size of her holding you effortlessly, but there was no weight of control, only closeness.

Then you shifted, swinging your thigh over hers, and Sevika followed instinctively. The moment your cunts touched, slick against slick, both of you gasped into each other’s mouths.

The first slow grind made your whole body tremble. Your clit dragged against hers, wetness mingling, heat sparking so hot it was almost unbearable.

“Sev,” you moaned, nails biting into her shoulder as your hips rolled again.

Her jaw tightened, her forehead pressing to yours. “Fuck… feels too good.”

You rocked together, no one leading, just your bodies finding the same rhythm. Your thighs locked, grinding harder, wetter with every stroke. The swollen press of her clit against yours made you shudder, your moans spilling freely now.

Her hand rested on your hip, not controlling, just feeling you move with her. She kissed you sloppily, hungry, while your cunts rubbed together in a slick, messy slide.

The sound of it filled the room, wet, obscene, each grind louder than the last. Your breaths tangled, both of you gasping, groaning, caught in the same wave.

You broke the kiss to cry out, hips rolling faster, desperate. She met you stroke for stroke, your bodies slapping together, clits grinding so perfectly you saw stars.

“Don’t stop—please don’t stop,” you babbled, your voice breaking.

“Not stopping,” she rasped, her hips jerking against yours, her face tight with pleasure.

It hit you both at once. The world went white, your cries tangling together as your cunts slammed one last time, clits throbbing, orgasm tearing through you in sharp waves. You clung to her, shaking, her body shuddering beneath you as her release broke too, slick flooding between your thighs.

When it was over you collapsed onto her chest, breathless and trembling. She kissed your hair, voice raw but tender.

“Stay. Don’t move.”

You smiled weakly against her skin, still pulsing with aftershocks.

“Not going anywhere.”

You pushed yourself up from the chair and went to the board, stabbing a finger at the cluster of pins around the warehouse district. “These drops don’t follow patrol gaps. Whoever’s moving this Shimmer isn’t picking the usual windows.”

“Because it isn’t random,” Caitlyn answered, her eyes flicking down to the map, her gloved finger tracing a slow line between the pins. “They’re following a schedule we haven’t seen yet.”

You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half frustration. “A schedule only you could believe in. Maybe some of us rely on instinct.”

Her eyes cut to you, sharp enough to pin you in place. “And some of us prefer evidence.”

It went on like that for hours. You suggested bribery, she shot it down; you talked about scaring witnesses into talking, she told you to lower your voice before you embarrassed the both of you; you muttered that she was too uptight, she reminded you she was Sheriff, and every time she straightened her back you wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, just to see what it would take for her to finally crack.

By the time the clock hit two in the morning, the tension had gone past sharp words. The room itself felt tight, your movements brushing too close every time you reached for another file. Your head throbbed from the lack of food and too much bad coffee. Her hair had finally loosened just enough for that curl to frame her cheek, and you caught yourself staring at it longer than you should.

It happened a few minutes later, over something small and stupid. You both went for the same file at the same time. Your hips bumped hard against hers, papers spilled to the floor, and the little bronze bell she’d been studying clattered off the desk.

“For stars’ sake,” Caitlyn hissed, trying to gather the mess.

“Maybe if the Sheriff didn’t have elbows like a battering ram—”

You didn’t finish. She moved faster than you thought she could, seizing your wrist in a firm grip and pressing you back against the desk. The force rattled through the papers and knocked a mug onto its side, spilling cold coffee onto the floor.

“Shut up, detective,” she said, her voice low and steady, her face close enough that you could feel the heat of her breath.

Something inside you went hot at the sound of it, sharp and electric. You stared up at her, chest heaving, and managed a hoarse laugh. “What, out of arguments already?”

Her hand tightened on your wrist, her eyes narrowing. “Say you’re wrong.”

You tilted your chin, reckless. “Make me.”

That was when she kissed you.

The kiss hit like a storm—angry, desperate, teeth clashing as though you were still fighting, only now it was with mouths instead of words. Her hand braced against the desk, the other still pinning your wrist, her thigh sliding between yours until you gasped against her lips. You fought her, kissed back just as hard, bit at her mouth like you were still daring her to push further.

“Behave,” she murmured against your lips, her hand sliding from your wrist to your throat, not squeezing but pressing just enough to hold you still. “Keep your hands where I put them.”

“And if I don’t?” you whispered back, your voice breaking.

Her mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Then I’ll make it impossible not to.”

And she did.

She dragged open the drawer without breaking eye contact, and when you heard the sharp jingle of metal your heart skipped. The cuffs. Of course she had cuffs.

“Caitlyn—”

“Sheriff,” she corrected, her voice sharp and controlled.

The sound made your knees go weak. “Sheriff,” you echoed, breathless.

She snapped one cuff around your wrist, then the other, chaining you to the desk rail. Not tight enough to hurt, but secure enough that you couldn’t pull free unless she let you.

Her eyes flicked over your face as though she was memorizing it, then her mouth was on yours again, slower this time but deeper, her tongue sliding against yours until you moaned. Her free hand tugged open your shirt one button at a time, brushing over your skin, then slid lower until you gasped outright.

“Quiet,” she warned, her breath warm against your cheek. “Do you want the whole precinct to hear?” 

That warning only made it harder to stay still. You tried, biting down on the inside of your cheek to hold in the sound, but the moment Caitlyn’s fingers curled just right, pressing into you with steady precision, your whole body betrayed you. You gasped, sharp and loud, jerking against the cuffs that held your wrists above your head, the chain rattling against the desk as your back arched up.

“Quiet,” she hissed again, her tone sharp but her eyes lit with something almost wicked as she felt how soaked you already were around her fingers. She didn’t stop, not for a secod her movements only grew more deliberate, her hand pumping in a rhythm that forced your hips to lift, desperate to meet her, to take her deeper. Her thumb brushed over your clit, slow at first, then harder when you whimpered, until the tension coiled so tight in your stomach you could barely think straight.

Pinned down, helpless, you had no choice but to let her work you open. She leaned over you, her body pressing you into the desk, her lips brushing your jaw as she whispered, “That’s it… let me hear you, detective.’’

Your answer came in the form of a broken moan, your thighs trembling as her fingers slid faster, curling up into that perfect spot again and again until you were shaking against the cuffs. The ache built fast and sharp, your chest heaving, your lips parting around words you couldn’t form, and Caitlyn’s eyes never left yours, watching every twitch of your face as if she wanted to memorize the exact second you lost control.

When the orgasm finally hit, it ripped through you hard enough to make you cry out. Your wrists strained against the cuffs, your whole body arching off the desk, and Caitlyn caught your mouth in hers to swallow the sound, kissing you as you shook apart around her hand. She held you there, fingers moving through the aftershocks until you were left panting, boneless and trembling, forehead pressed to her shoulder.

She slowed, finally pulling back, her lips brushing your temple as she murmured, “Good detective.”

But as she stepped away, adjusting her shirt like she could just return to business as usual, you felt heat flare all over againnot just from what she’d done, but from the thought that she thought she could stop there.

“Keys,” you rasped, your voice rough but sure.

Her eyebrow arched, that smugness still on her face. “Left pocket.”

The second the cuffs clicked open, you grabbed her wrist, spun her, and shoved her down against the desk. She let out a surprised sound, sharp in her throat, but didn’t resist; if anything, she leaned into it, bracing her palms on the desk until you caught them and dragged them behind her back.

“Hands there,” you ordered, your voice low and heated.

“They’re there,” she breathed, a tremor in her voice now.

“Good girl.”

The words landed, making her shiver. You snapped the cuffs back on, securing her wrists behind her, and for the first time you saw Caitlyn Kiramman, the perfect Sheriff, the picture of Piltover order, trembling against a desk with her hands bound.

You didn’t waste time. You slid your hands down her waist, unbuttoning her blouse, tugging it open to expose pale skin flushed with heat. You pressed your lips to the curve of her neck, biting just enough to leave a mark, then trailed kisses down to her shoulder. She hissed when your hand slipped lower, beneath her skirt, your fingers pressing against the thin lace of her underwear, already damp.

“Sheriff,” you murmured against her ear, “already wet?”

“Shut up,” she panted, muffling her voice against her arm.

You grinned, sliding the lace aside and pressing two fingers into her in one slow, deliberate push. She gasped, the sound sharp and uncontrolled, her hips rocking back against you without hesitation.

“You don’t sound very quiet now,” you teased, curling your fingers inside her and drawing a low moan from her throat.

Her hips rocked back against your fingers with instinct more than control, the wet heat of her coating you as you worked her open, the lace of her underwear already pushed aside and useless.

You leaned in, your lips brushing her ear, your voice low and rough. “I think you can be louder for me.”

And then, without warning, you pulled your fingers from her. She gasped at the sudden emptiness, her body jerking as if it had been denied something vital, but before she could protest, you dropped to your knees behind her and shoved her skirt higher, baring her completely to you.

“Detective—” her voice cracked, half warning, half plea, but the rest of her words were swallowed in a strangled moan as you pressed your mouth against her, licking into her wetness with long, slow strokes of your tongue.

She bucked forward, nearly losing her balance, the cuffs rattling as she tried to catch herself against the desk, but you held her steady with both hands on her hips, dragging her back into your mouth, your tongue circling her clit before dipping lower to taste everything she gave you. She was hot and slick against your tongue, the sharp scent of arousal filling the air, and you groaned as you buried your face between her thighs, eating her like you’d been starving for her all night.

Her composure cracked completely. She whimpered, then moaned, then gasped your name, her voice breaking as she tried to bite it back and failed. “Stars—fuck—don’t stop—”

You didn’t. You licked her deeper, your tongue pushing into her, your nose bumping her clit until she was shaking, her thighs quivering around your head. You pulled back just long enough to look up at her. her back arched, her hair coming loose around her flushed face, her lips parted as she panted and then you dragged your tongue flat up the entire length of her, ending with her clit caught between your lips, sucking hard until she cried out, high and desperate.

You couldn’t get enough of her, the way she tasted, the way her body ground down against your mouth like she couldn’t control herself, the way she begged in a voice rough and breathless: “Please—please, don’t stop, I’m—”

You slipped two fingers back into her just as you sucked on her clit again, and that was it, her whole body went rigid, her wrists pulling against the cuffs, her legs trembling as her orgasm tore through her. She cried out your name, loud and unrestrained, her hips jerking against your mouth as you worked her through it, your tongue and fingers moving relentlessly until she was shaking so hard you had to hold her up.

When she finally slumped against the desk, limp and breathless, you eased back, licking your lips, her taste still heavy on your tongue, your chin wet with her. You kissed the back of her thigh softly, savoring the sight of her undone, her perfect Sheriff composure nowhere to be found.

You stood, fixing your shirt with deliberate slowness, tugging it back into place as you crossed the room toward the case board. You didn’t even glance back at her when you spoke, your tone casual, smug, like you hadn’t just had your mouth buried between her thighs.

“You know,” you said, dragging a finger across the red lines on the map, “I actually figured out the pattern a while ago. Bell codes, foghorn cycles, drop spots, it all lined up hours back.”

Behind you, Caitlyn let out a sharp breath, halfway between a scoff and a curse, her cuffs rattling as she shifted against the desk.

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder just long enough to catch the fire in her flushed face. “But I thought…” You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “…why waste the moment? May as well let the Sheriff work off some of that tension first.”

Her eyes narrowed, cold and furious despite the red blooming across her cheeks, despite the way her body was still trembling from what you’d done to her.

“Detective,” she said, her voice tight, clipped, barely holding itself together. “Undo these cuffs. Now.”

You grinned and turned back to the board, pretending to study it, enjoying the burn of her glare on your back. “Mm. Later. We’ve got a case to close, don’t we?”

The chain clinked as she pulled hard against it, teeth grit, and for a moment you thought she might snap the rail just to get her hands free.

“You are insufferable,” she hissed, her voice shaking with fury and something else you’d already tasted.

You didn’t look back, but the smile on your face said enough.

The case was solved. Caitlyn was furious. And you had never enjoyed yourself more.

★ plagarism not authorized ★