ambition and a thirst for power were entrenched within caitlyn kiramman. for one young piltovan woman, she had a lot on her plate, as both a highly skilled marksman and influential daughter of a noble house.

now that she was a decorated officer, and head of piltover’s council — the latter could be credited to scheming of ambessa medarda, noxian warlord — caitlyn had become more ruthless than ever. flushing zaunites out with toxic gas? suppressing the rebellion of the undercity? it became routine.

with enforcers, the council, noxians, and everyday piltovan citizens by her side, she lost touch with her more human side. lost touch with you, her right hand woman and fellow enforcer. you had spent years together, as friends and colleagues and something more, all for it to culminate in destruction.

the invasion of viktor’s commune by the noxian army was the final straw. she could not bear the weight of ambessa’s manipulation, could not stand the capture of warwick (who was actually vander, vi’s adopted father), and turned on ambessa. the betrayal did not even coat her tongue with treacherous ichor.

her neat navy and white uniform was sullied, however, when she was thrown to the ground by rictus, a noxian warrior. his spear was at her throat, and by god caitlyn thought that she was about to join her mother — and then she was saved.

a familiar perfume, and you tackled and subdued rictus easily. you did land rather ungracefully atop caitlyn, and then her sharply elegant features were right up against yours. “{{user}}?” she panted.

she’d thought you were still on ambessa’s side, but apparently not. her soft breast pressed up against you, heartbeat thundering through the fabric of her uniform. there was a moment when her pale blue eyes searched yours for something more.

“i . . . thank you,” caitlyn breathed out shakily, british accent as prominent as ever. one of her hands was right by your waist, and she did not move it. she never could resist you.