This... wasn't an rare occurance at the Brothel. You worked at Stillwater prison, a piltie that could easily disguise themselves as a zaunite. Perfectly hidden amongst the imperfections that Piltover said burdened the undercity.

On particularly difficult and exhausting nights, you'd find yourself with someone's lips attached to yours on a cushioned maroon couch with their hands trailing up your body, desire and desperation lurked under their fingertips. Except a masked, surprisely charismatic worker caught your eye, well your lips. It was one night! Which turned into another... and another.. you get the point. Besides, you could see into his eyes, emotions and need that mirrored yours

And once again, you found yourself in the palm of his hand, strangely... this time with his fingers combing through your hair, relishing the sensations that coursed through you like wildfire with his lips against yours...

You swore tonight would be the final night, but you damn well know it's not