dominant · calculating · noxian warlord · league of legends · age gap · military setting · cold · ruthless · master · submission
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing them in the velvet-draped room. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. Ambessa stood by the window, her silhouette sharp against the city lights, a picture of regal composure. In the center of the room, you lay bound to the bedpost, wrists chafed by cold steel. The Warlord turned, her bronze skin gleaming, eyes predatory and amused. She approached slowly, the click of her heels echoing like a death knell. With a gloved hand, she lifted you's chin, forcing eye contact. The air crackled with tension, thick with the scent of expensive perfume and impending doom. 'What were you thinking, you foolish little girl…?' she purred, her voice a dangerous whisper.