Darkness was everywhere.
Even though it masked itself sometimes as light and innocence, the evil powers of the world were just waiting to pounce upon the hapless inhabitants of Valoran, and all the Realms beyond it.
This was a lesson Vayne knew all too well.
Stalking the darkened hallways of the Instutute during the night, Vayne quietly patrolled the building. One could never be too careful, especially considering the attempted escape of Nocture only a few week earlier.
Left only with her own thoughts, Vayne kept walking. She was now in the Northern Wing, slowly pacing past the dark doorways. There was the plaque showing Ashe's and Tryndamere's combined bedrooms, that doorway was where Nautilus rested, and the slightly frosted doorway over there lead to Anivia's perch on the roof of the Institute.
The next door was slightly open, a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway. The contrast between the light and the plaque made it impossible to read, and Vayne couldn't help but be drawn to the light like a moth is drawn to a lantern.
Bringing her right eye to the crack, Vayne slowly made out details in the room, while attempting to move her cramped legs and arms, painfully trapped in the confines of the cupboard.
Wait, what? The cupboard?
Panicking, Vayne brought up her right hand. No crossbow. She reached behind her and felt unbound hair- desperately grasping but not finding her trustworthy condemning crossbow. It wasn't possible- she wasn't-
She peered through the slit again, this time only able to put her eye up to it by painfully cricking her neck forwards.
Vayne was greeted by a nightmarish scene from the past.
The two guards that stood outside the doorway lay limp, like ragdolls on the ground. Her little brother, who she'd given a cookie to just that morning, lay torn in half in a wall, dark hair covering what was left of his torn face, twisted in agony. Her father still had a surprised expression on his face, as he stared blankly at the ceiling, lying in a pool of his own blood. And her mother...
She was currently screaming in ungodly agony, her 'friend' who she'd invited over for a cup of tea revealing herself to be that sick crone by tearing apart her family, and now torturing her relentlessly.
Vayne simply looked on in horror as her mother screamed, thrashed, as the witch slowly inflicted more and more horrifying curses on her mother. There were hundreds of small cuts, all slowly oozing blood, all causing untold agony. Her mother's body was grotesquely stretched in inhuman ways. Even more horrible spells were laid upon her every moment.
Then she took one last, shuddering breath, and lay still. Her mother, who Vayne had loved the most out of her entire family, who'd taught her everything she'd known and had loved her the most. She was gone.
The witch, still with an evil grin on her face, slowly started walking to the cupboard. Vayne let out a small whimper, as the witch slowly made her way over and reached out her hand-
Vayne flipped backwards, instinctively bringing her crossbow up in line with Morgana's startled face. The Fallen Angel simply raised an eyebrow as the Night Hunter kept her crossbow aimed, albeit shaking like a leaf.
"State your buisness, Night Hunter." Morgana said suspiciously.
Vayne furiously searched for an answer. There was no doubt Morgana suspected something, but if she told the truth, her reputation, so painstakingly built up, would be annihilated. She decided to try to buy herself some more time. "I want to know what is true evil."
Morgana gave out a short bark of derisive laughter. "Another one," she crowed. "Another one who wants to purge me, because I am 'evil'". Morgana's eyes narrowed as she stared back at Vayne. "And what, would you say, is 'true evil'?"
Beginning to warm to the discussion, Vayne replied in stride, "Causing unjustified pain to others."
Morgana snorted. "And when have my actions been unjustified?"
Vayne looked to the side. "It wasn't you."
"Oh?" came the response. "Then why did you stop at my door?"
"It was... a memory- an event that made me who I am today." The Night Hunter reluctantly revealed. "Your doorway reminded me-"
But Morgana had already been lost in the words "An even that made me who I am today." She remembered what hers had been.
Escaping an execution, where the sentence and beheading were carried out by her sister herself.
"Tell me Vayne," Morgana asked tentatively. "Can what's truly evil look like it's good?"
Vayne thought back to that fateful day, and remembered the disguise of the evil witch. "Yes, of course. After all, Evil lurks around every corner."
"And earlier you said that evil was forcing others to do things they don't want to do?" Morgana pressed on. Seeing Vayne's nod, Morgana kept talking. "So, wouldn't my sister Kayle be evil as well?"
"But of course," Vayne said. "She forces law and oppressive rule on all others. She is a perfect embodiment of evil."
"And what am I?" Morgana asked.
"You... you haven't hurt anyone innocent, have you?" Vayne asked. Morgana shook her head. "I only fought for peace and independence, but sought dark magics for freedom."
"You're fine then." Vayne said.
Morgana thought for a second, before offering, "You hunt evil beings, though, right?" Vayne nodded. "And Kayle is Evil, correct?" Vayne nodded again, beginning to understand where this was going. "Will you help me destroy Kayle?"
Vayne thought for a moment, before saying, "Deal."
Human and Angel extended hands, shaking, before Morgana leaned in, saying "so here's what we'll do...."
Okay, sorry for my painfully long hiatus. Finals and projects and sh*t are ripping me apart.
Summer is almost here though, so sweet relief (and perhaps more updates?) are coming soon.
-NOTE- If I get enough support, I'll make a part two, involving... well you guess =P
So sorry for randomly disappearing. Still here, thinking, and writing XD
And without further ado, here's the next one.
The Last Frontier
“Know your environment”
Ezreal repeated his main maxim to himself as he looked left and right anxiously. The Blond explorer had ruffled hair, wearing an inscribed jacket with a large hood and with a noticeable amulet wrapped around his left hand. He also had a large pack, including multiple tents, blades, flares, and instantaneous teleportation devices courtesy of the League- looking quite different than his usual gear on the Fields of Justice. The explorer was in Icathia, known to be one of the most dangerous locations on Valoran, hence the fact that the amulet was constantly up and tracking for any movement. There was a crumbling statue of an unrecognizable beast to his left, and the remnants of a building to his right. Plenty of places for something not friendly to hide, Ezreal thought as he shivered silently and continued walking.
It appeared that the street Ezreal had been walking on was a smaller one- despite the fact that it was tens of feet wide- because it intersected with another one, which was a 50 feet wide promenade. The blond explorer couldn’t help but follow it with his eyes to its end, where a massive Ziggurat still stood. Despite it being several centuries old, it still stood ominously, dominating the entire street, and indeed, the entire city. Ezreal shivered again, but slowly pressed on towards his goal.
Know your environment, Ezreal repeated to himself as he quickly swept his eyes around the area before slowly and carefully picking his way through the rubble-strewn street towards the Ziggurat, everything crumbling due to the fractured buildings lining up beside the street. He was constantly stepping past shadows, as the sun tried to break through the cracked and broken buildings. He stepped out of the light and into the dark again, when-
Suddenly, Ezreal heard a deep breath behind him. Before he could even turn around, a magical force exploded behind him, propelling him forwards and into a small pit created by the lack of rubble. Quickly twisting his head, Ezreal could only make out a dark shadow standing above him, the entire area around it cracking with Eldritch energies, and with a visible purple shape next to it. It slowly began to walk- no, float- towards the Explorer.
Ezreal tried to summon his magic, and teleport backwards, even maybe away from this city. But just as his will was about to activate his amulet, the figure shifted its arm while still floating towards him, and blasted him with energy. Ezreal managed to raise his arm in time to block the brunt of the blast, but when he tried to use the amulet, it simply activate. The explorer tried again and again to activate it, pouring mana into it, but the mana simply seemed to disappear into nothingness.
Seeing that the figure was still relentlessly floating towards him, Ezreal quickly twisted his torso and pulled out a blade from a compartment in his backpack, holding it up in defense against his mysterious foe. It kept going- until it seemed to duck and disappear.
Ezreal nearly put down his blade, but he repeated it again. Know your environment. And listening for a split second- he heard heavy breathing- not in front of him, but behind him.
Quickly turning around, the now-desperate exploerer used his turning motion to give additional momentum for his swing. It looked like the blade was going to home in true against his shadowy assailent- until the purple mass came up, revealing itself as a blade, and literally sliced Ezreal’s blade in two.
With the sight of that blade, Ezreal now knew who was before him. With the silencing, the teleportation, and that void blade, it could only be the Void Walker. Thinking quickly, he tried using his amulet again, but he still could not- it appeared the Void Walker’s abilities were amplified outside of the Fields of Justice. Perhaps, however, he could appeal to him as a fellow League champion.
“Kassadin, wait”, called out Ezreal.
Kassadin paused for a moment, blade still in midair, before booming, “Who dares address me?”
“Heh.” Ezreal raised his left arm. “Amulet.” He gestured all around him and to himself. “Exploring.” He grinned confidently. “I’m Ezreal.”
Kassadin now put down his blade. “And what, explorer, are you doing here?”
Ezreal, seeing the blade withdrawn, now looked down at his feet. “I-“ He looked up again at Kassadin, still standing there impassively. “I was curious about the existence of Icathia I guess.” Ezreal forced out.
“Not only Icathia, I would think,” boomed Kassadin.
Ezreal’s eyebrow twitched for a second, before sighing. “I wanted to explore the void. What kinds of things are there, the dangers, the excitement!” Ezreal’s eyes gleamed as he thought about what he would be hailed as, the explorer mapping out the void, seeing its creatures, feeling its sun.
“Which I cannot allow you to do, untrained one.” Kassadin’s hand shot forwards, barring the explorer’s way forwards. His own head- with the mask over it- dropped a bit. “I cannot afford another Malzahar.” Nearly whispering himself, he said, “I cannot afford another me.”
“Wha-” Ezreal began, before Kassadin cut him off. “Do not argue! Unless you want to end up like this.” The Void Walker gestured to himself, with multiple breathing apparatuses and cybernetic implants just to continue breathing.
“I was like you once,” said Kassadin, now looking up at the weak Icathian sky. “Curious; wanting recognition and glory. I came to this forsaken place, searching for the Void myself.” Ezreal began to speak, but Kassadin continued. “And I found it. Or more accurately, it found me.”
“You cannot enter. You will be consumed, and aid the voidborn. I cannot allow that.”
Ezreal’s heart plummeted. His hopes of exploring everywhere he could, were totally dashed. It was why he’d mapped out the dungeons of Noxus, avoiding guards and soldiers (and Katarina going on a killing spree, but that was a different story) at every turn. It was why he’d ventured to the center of the Kumungu jungle, to try and make sense of the jumbled mass of incorrect maps, each promising treasure, but all granting nothing but death in a swamp somewhere. It was why he’d gone to the top of the Ironspike Mountains, seeking the trail to the nest where Anivia roosted, if only to see the sight of the majestic icy bird taking flight over the jagged edges of the mountains poking into the aurora borealis of the north.
It was why he was here. He couldn’t stay away. Adventuring and Exploring was in his blood, and he had to come here while he was still young, and had the greatest chance of surviving.
While Ezreal was pondering his plight, Kassadin had turned away and slowly moved towards one of the crumbling buildings. But suddenly, Ezreal thought of something.
“Wait!” he called. Kassadin slowly turned to face him again. “I can’t enter because it’ll corrupt me, right?” Kassadin nodded. “Can you… train me to not be corrupted?”
“Ezreal… are you sure you want to do this? Venturing into the void will change you forever, regardless of what I teach. Horrifying things await there, millions of beings even more twisted than the likes of Kog’Maw and Cho’Gath. If I am to teach you, it would take years, perhaps even decades, before you could possibly step foot in the portal and not go mad. Are you willing to do that?”
“Yes,” Ezreal said determinedly. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” He smiled sheepishly. “Because if you don’t take me, I’ll end up going myself. I have to.”
“Very well. Then let us begin our first lesson.”
Ezreal’s eye twited. “That fast, eh?” he muttered to himself. Quickly grabbing a blanket to sit on, and a kerosene lantern to fight the rapidly encroaching night, he sat and listened as Kassadin began.
“The first lesson is time. Time does not flow…”
The two sat there, shrouded in the darkness as the sun finally set, amongst the jagged edges of the crumbling, deserted city, exchanging words and ideas. But, Ezreal flicked on the kerosene lamp, and illuminated the area around them. Light poured out of the lamp, fighting furiously to hold back the darkness around the duo.
They would sit there talking and listening for a long time.
Alright, here's the next one. Enjoy =)
The sun beat down. It was relentless.
Just like the attack of the **** Ionians.
Riven shook her head for a moment, flicking some gathered sweat off her brow. She looked up again. A hopeless situation looked back.
Left and right, Noxian soldiers in the Fury company were falling. Ionians poured out from the forest in front of them, the never-ending stream beating back the remaining Noxians.
“Captain, what do we do?” a furiously shaking private asked. New from the conscription camps, Riven couldn’t even recall his name. “Ma’am, what do we d-“ his eyes went wide as an arrow pierced his throat. He could only gurgle as he slowly fell onto the ground. Riven looked up again, rapidly slicing upwards, quickly bisecting a charging Ionian.
But it didn’t matter. The enraged Ionians had now circled around them, outnumbering the remaining Noxians more than a hundred-fold. The only Noxians left were pressed into a small circle, a few moaning wounded protected by the backs of the soldiers left standing.
The two sides stood at a temporary standstill for a moment, staring at each other.
But Riven stepped forwards, out of the ring. It was a small chance, but if her soldiers could prove themselves strong enough, they might make it out of this fight.
She looked behind her. The remaining soldiers, grizzled veterans and new conscripts alike, nodded back at her, readied their equipment, and narrowed their eyes.
And at that moment, Riven knew. Noxus was stronger. Noxus would prevail.
She concentrated on the Ionian leader before her- a young woman, eyes infused with magic. She saw nothing but that woman and the obstacles between them. She tasted nothing but her sweat, her body stressing itself to prove itself. She heard nothing but her own labored breathing and the rush of blood.
She took a step. Then another. Then another as she broke out into a run, sword held behind her, prepared to spin around and allow rotation of her body to aid in her strike.
But something was off. She was alone.
Where was everyone else? All the other soldiers- Marcus, John, Peter, Mortius- where’d they all go?
She turned around- just in time to see a green ball splatter half of her remaining men, as well as a large amount of surrounding Ionians.
Two seconds later, there were no more men anymore. There were only rapidly disintegrating armor, weapons, and skeletons.
But- what- what were they? What had the power to just make men disappear, to just melt-
Riven turned left in horror. John and another Ionian were engaged in a furious duel- John was winning, on the offensive when they were suddenly lathered in caustic green.
She turned right- Matthias had just plunged his spear into the heart of a flailing Ionian before turning and slashing at another one, eager to avenge his comrades. But it didn’t matter, because a new mixture, now red, burned through them, leaving nothing but a burnt odor.
This wasn’t a contest of strength. Noxians everywhere were proving themselves, yet it didn’t matter. The acid that fell from the sky didn’t care who was stronger- just who happened to be in its way.
How was this right? Why did being strong even matter anymore, when people just melted regardless of strength or skill?
And why was she still fighting? Noxus, with this barrage, had showed they didn’t care who might or might not live, just indiscriminately slaughtering everyone in the area. Why was she still here?
It appeared others had also reached that conclusion, as Ionians and Noxians alike began sprinting for the safety of the forest. But the Melter fire just followed them, men screaming in horrible agony as their flesh and bones disintegrated within moments.
Suddenly, due to a hidden sixth sense, Riven pirouetted and slashed. The cannonfire directed at her splashed over her left arm and torso rather than hitting her on the face. Caustic acids quickly began eating throught the Noxian black plate she wore.
It was then that Riven made a choice. She would not allow these traitors to the Noxian way to destroy the true path. She would prove herself stronger than them. Forcing all her inner will through her sword, light burst out from her in a nova of green, exorcising the poison from her form, and granting her renewed will and strength.
She would not give up. She would be stronger.
And she would turn Noxus back into the great ideal that it once was.
Riven watched with saddened, yet determined amber eyes as the sun rose over the scene of the battlefield. It had happened so many years ago, yet the memory was so clear.
She sighed. It always hurt, coming back to the site of her greatest nightmare, and moment of greatest conviction. But she needed to remind herself what she needed to do, and why she needed to do it.
She gazed out over the patches of brown interspersed with the meadows of bright green grass and colorful wildflowers. Those Melter patches never did go away.
Her eyes narrowing in a squint, Riven noticed a person standing a bit further away. Who else would come here?
Slowly making her way over to the other person, Riven debated what she should say, as to not startle the stranger.
That question was answered for her, when the figure suddenly turned around and said with great venom, “What do you want, Noxian scum?”
Riven jumped for a moment as she realized just who was standing before her. “Soraka. What brings you here?”
Soraka’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “I could say the same for you… Noxian.”
Riven glanced away for a moment. “Some…memories,” She managed to force out.
“Memories? What mem- oh” Soraka interrupted herself. “And just what happened here for you?”
“Just the scene of the worst betrayal I’d ever encountered,” said Riven bitterly. “Apparently, the entire thing I’d fought for my entire life was a lie, to be thrown away at a moment’s notice.”
Soraka let out a bitter laugh. “Betrayal?” she howled. “You don’t know betrayal.” Riven’s only response was to **** her head in confusion. Clairifying, Soraka said “This was where I saw the Melters in person. I called upon the stars to do something, but they refused. I had to take matters into my own hands- and they turned me into… this” She gestured at her own legs- now like a goat- and her unicorn-like horn. “My only hope now is to make the stars understand the horror that is Warwick and Singed.” Soraka turned away to study the stars that had not yet been chased away by the morning sun.
Warwick and Singed- it always went back to those two. They’d killed Riven’s company, they’d killed all the Ionians, they’d destroyed the Noxian ideal. Warwick and Singed… they had to be stopped.
Maybe this was a possibility of doing so.
“Soraka,” Riven burst out. “Help me punish Warwick and Singed.” Soraka turned back around, with a raised eyebrow. “They need to be stopped somehow, and together we can do it,” Riven continued.
“And how do I know you won’t just backstab me, Noxian?” Soraka asked.
“I have a grudge against them too,” Riven said. “They destroyed the thing I lived for. As long as they still live, I cannot rebuild it.”
Soraka turned her head, studying something far off in the distance. After a few long minutes, an answer finally came. “Alright.”
Riven stepped forwards, holding out a hand still surrounded by her last piece of Noxian plate. Soraka stepped forwards, her small hand engulfed by the massive gauntlet, but pulsing with magic.
Together, they clasped their hands, silhouetted against the sun.
Together, they would get revenge against Warwick and Singed.
And together, they would make the world a better place.
Dorry, Dorry...Listen to me.
I will suggest some pairings, and the only way that you will be able to escape them, is if you get inspired.
Maokai and Zyra
Zyra and Varus (No pants rules)
Zyra and Lulu
Udyr and Lulu
Galio and Blitzcrank
Cho'Gath and Malzahar
Nidalee and Udyr
Nidalee and Janna (Bob Nashashago incident)
Graves and Fate
Fate and Caitlyn
And now, by my troth, I am off to work!
sorry for disappearing for so long D:. The next pairing is suggested by KobuZero (another writer, go read her stuff), and here it is:
Another day, another suitor.
This was Ahri's life, one which she was readily growing weary of. Yes, she used to prey on men for their souls. Yes, she used to have *** with men in order to do that. No, she did not appreciate every other man (self-entitled League Champions and Summoners, *******s all of them) attempting to bend her over and try to ravage her because her breasts and hips were larger than normal.
The truth was, Ahri flirted with everyone, but that was for a purpose. She wanted information, maybe influence- it was amazing what secrets an enamored Summoner might divulge, or the hesitation that might occur in a Champion on the Fields of Justice. It was true, she wore revealing clothing, and shook her hips maybe a little more than was necessary. But honestly, these days, too many people thought that being able to lift a cow over their head with one arm was enough to get sleeping rights with every woman in a 10 mile vicinity.
Ahri wasn't looking for strength- there were too many muscle bound idiots in the League for her to be impressed by feats of fortitude or power. She wanted someone who could do more than scream, rage, and mindlessly beat upon something in front of them. She wanted someone smart, disciplined, precise, creative.
Her thoughts distracted her from where she had been going, and Ahri found that her feet had carried her to the practicing grounds, where Champions could hone their skills against straw dummies, against trained warriors that the League provided, or in tightly controlled environments, even other Champions. Looking towards the dummy section of the grounds, she saw a perfect example of her disgust.
Olaf currently had two axes, and was furiously whipping them at the dummy in front of him. A loud roar constantly issued from his mouth, and foam dripped out of the corner of his lip.
Suddenly, Olaf jumped upwards with both of his axes raised high, and brought them down upon the dummy with a thundering crash. There was a huge plume of dust that rose into the air. When it cleared, Olaf was panting, a large cut bleeding on his foot where he'd cut it by accident. The remnants of the training dummy sat in front of him, straw spilt everywhere, and totally annihilated.
Seeing the injury, medical orderlies hurried towards the berserker, intent on treating his wound. Olaf pushed them away in anger, and walked past another occupied pit on his way back to his quarters.
This particular pit had someone else in it, with a totally different style. The dummy had multiple small red dots painted on it, each one a vital point or weak point in typical armor. As Ahri watched, a rapier almost danced around dummy, each time making a careful slice or stab- each one piercing one of the red dots with what seemed like minimal effort, before darting out again to puncture the dummy in a different spot.
Ahri's eyes moved from the rapier assaulting the dummy to the person that was wielding it. There stood Fiora, a her mouth pressed into a thin line in concentration as she brought her rapier around to slash at the dummy yet again. She watched as Fiora, despite the sweat that ran down her forehead and arms, and despite the obvious tiredness of her body, continued to lunge and slash away at the dummy.
Entranced by the swordplay in front of her, Ahri was startled when Fiora suddenly stopped, muttering "three hundred". The Duelist stepped backwards, put her sword in a guard position, then suddenly lunged from 5 feet away to pierce the dummy in one of the dots. Muttering, "one", Fiora stepped backwards before lunging yet again.
"Two." came the number automatically out of Ahri's mouth. Fiora looked up, only just noticing the spectator. She lowered her rapier and quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, wondering why the Fox had been watching her practice.
Ahri, understanding the unspoken question, opened her mouth to say something, anything that might explain her presence. But what could she say? "You're different than the men that try to **** me every day"? But even as she tried to come up with a response, Ahri realized that was the exact reason why she had been drawn to the pit- a style different than the brute-force methods used by the majority of champions.
"It's just..." Ahri began, stammering for the first time since her transformation. "The way you fight is different. It's not about brute force- it's grace, a dance of death." She looked away, embarrassed to say the next words. "It's not as much combat as it is... art."
"But of course," declared Fiora, before a devious grin appeared on her face. "I am an artist with a sword..." turning towards wooden board, with her rapier up and slashing in an instant. "In more ways than one," finished Fiora with a smirk. A moment later, Ahri's head moved forwards unconsciously to behold "Teemo?" The smirk on Fiora's face widened a bit more.
"I must say, Ahri," said Fiora, stumbling over the name for a moment, "you are an artist as well. I may be one with my sword, but you," her gaze moved down, before continuing. "you are an artist, with your body as the canvas."
Ahri shivered for a moment. Had Fiora just flirted with her? Although nothing changed on the insides -Ahri was a master at concealing her emotions- a devious smile played on the inside. Two could play at that game.
"Oh, but your grace and speed knows no bounds, Duelist." replied Ahri. "I wonder if it could be so even in places other than the battlefield."
Fiora's eyes widened comically as the full implication of Ahri's words hit her. The foxy lady pressed on with, "and your creativity is unmatched, Fiora." Ahri's voice rolled her name around playfully, promising so many things left unsaid. "Why don't we go... make some art together," finished Ahri with a conspiratorial whisper, and with the promise of so much in the intonation in her voice.
Fiora found herself drawn to that way Ahri pronounced words, the sway of her hips, the fluffy white tails waving lazily in the breeze. She almost found herself saying yes without thinking, but suddenly a wave of horror hit her. Honor. Discipline. Honor. Discipline. She repeated these two words in an attempt to stave off the foxy lady's charms, but she knew she couldn't hold out for long before those large, deep, pleading, black eyes got to her, or the tails which she could imagine curled up lovingly around her wai-
What am I thinking? Fiora asked to herself. She opened eyes which she hadn't remembered closing, and looked at Ahri. Perhaps she could scare her away with bravado before she succumbed. "My art lies with the sword only, and not with anything you can offer." She followed it up with a half-hearted sneer, but knew even before Ahri responded that it wouldn't do anything to dampen the fox's enthusiasm.
"Two artists always paint a greater picture than one alone..." Ahri whispered in her ear. Wait, when had Ahri gotten to her ear?
Fiora stood stiffly, but feeling Ahri's breath on her ear was tantamount to unbearable agony. Ahri's tongue then darted out, just barely brushing Fiora's ear. The Duelist was now shaking in her attempt to remain standing, and not just fold to the ground like her joints were jelly, because they totally weren't, Ahri wasn't doing this to-
Fiora promptly crumbled to her knees as Ahri planted a small kiss on the crook of her neck. "Uuuuuuhhhh..." was the only sound that came out of Fiora's mouth as Ahri became increasingly frisky, first only starting with kisses on the side of the neck, then beginning to fondle Fiora's relatively large bosom.
Ahri's hand turned Fiora's head to meet her own. "Let's go make some art together," Ahri whispered again, a mischievous grin on her face. This time, Fiora had no power to resist, as Ahri slowly tugged her to her quarters in the League's dormitories.
Fiora couldn't resist saying one last thing before they entered Ahri's room. "Why-"
Ahri cut her off with a kiss to the lips, and began darting her tongue out onto Fiora's lips and into her mouth, before opening the door, and pulling them both inside.
Those who went into that particular hallway could hear moans, screams, and other noises of pleasure for the entire night.
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