Backdoor Into My Heart

Hi.

I'm me.

I'm going to tell you a story that you've forgot.

What? You didn't forget? Well screw that just read this thing.

... please? == an author in desperate need of proof to his parents that he's DOING SOMETHING

Humans are human-shaped for a reason. These reasons are unknown, because the Creator had said: "Let there be humans." And there were humans, standing around with arms and legs and a head in the shape that can only be called Human, and it was then ever since. The theory of evolution attempted to explain that we are human-shaped because we evolved into it, but exactly why do humans need to have opposable thumbs were never explained, or why wouldn't it work if we were, say, a completely different shape.

Nevertheless there were certain significant… differences, so to speak, between being a human and being a fox. A human views the world differently from a fox. For one, a human can't view the world from around five inches off the ground and smell his way around, he definitely couldn't see the glowing trails of scent or the vibrations that rabbits or other foxes or even humans give off. Humans, instead, rely on their eyes so much, that they often fail to – oh.

Well, of course she'd trip over that branch that was hidden underneath the bush. Of course she'd fall on the one armed foxtrap that was left behind in this forest. Of course she'd scream in pain and attract attention from all over the woods.

She really loves her form, she does, but some things would be a lot easier, although admittedly, a lot more painful and threateningly fatal, as a fox.

She glanced at her arm, then at the gaping mess that was her belly. That's just one more injury to add to the list, then.

She dragged herself towards the distant opening in the trees, towards the small hut in the distance. She would scream, but if there was something about the human body that she'd fine remarkable, is the fact that the brain, which appears to be able to ignore and completely shut down organs that were screaming in pain at it.

Foxes were so much more sensible. If a leg hurts, it stays hurt to remind them that they shouldn't be that bloody damn stupid, and also to remind them that you're going to die since you can't hunt.

You'd wake up. You really would.

But hot damn, who'd want to wake up after a dream like that?

It was an amazing dream. It was an incredible dream. It's like you were fighting god-like entities whose forms you really can't quite remember – you put it down to the fact that you'll keep forgetting the tiny details in dreams, and they'll fade away entirely over time – and there were hot girls around you fighting with you, and you were throwing stars and everything –

But you know that as the day wears on, you'd forget. See, you're already forgetting the faces of the girls now. Dammit.

Still, the covers are very, very comfortable, and most of the work that you'll be doing happens at night anyways. You might as well sleep again, aren't you right?

Yes, you thought. Of course I'm right.

So you turned over, trying to find a more comfortable position in which to sleep in, when you hear a scraping noise.

No, not really a scraping noise. It's more of a dragging noise. Granted, you don't really hear something being dragged, but whatever the object was, it was clear that it was scraping dirt and grass off your front yard. It's not exactly your front yard – when you're living in a circular clearing in the middle of a forest, you don't really have a front yard, and given that you're only borrowing the house until the Demacians will allow you passage over the Great Barrier, even if this house had a front yard, it wouldn't be yours, per se.

You're going off on a tangent again, and you made a mental note to fix that. You also made a mental note to try and check whatever the dragging noise is, but the charm of the warm and soft bed is so powerful…

There was a knock on your – the house owner's – well, temporarily yours – backdoor. It leads into the kitchen, and it's the door you use when you need to throw away trash.

This is odd, because the back door must have been dirty. It would be the kind of back door that was, despite belonging in a house situated in the middle of a clearing, clearly said that 'this is the back of the house' due to the lingering pieces of wood, fruit skins, and the occasional garbage that fell out of the trash bag when he was taking it out. It was near the compost heap, for god's sake. Why would anyone knock there? Why would anyone with a sense of hygiene knock there?

Your curiosity engaged in mortal combat with your sleepiness and won in not only a curbstomp but also a boulder-stomp and possibly a castle-stomp, because your curiosity coupled with boredom by being held up by Demacian customs for so long could very likely move castles. You rushed out half-naked, because that's how you sleep. Besides, people said that they didn't really mind watching you half-naked. You kind of wonder why's would that be. Shouldn't half-naked people be against the law or something?

Whatever, you think. You're very, very befuddled about the state of, well, everything. You just woke up and you can't really think straight, and due to chasing this line of thinking down, you forgot what law was it you were thinking about. Was it the law on sleeping? No, was it the law on beautiful women? Staggering to your feet and swaying like a drunk, you try to think about things and put them into order, and wish you didn't, because you stood up too fast, causing your vision to scatter into black.

When they came back again, in little dots, you have already crashed into your back door. You don't really know why you're in the back door. What were you here for again? Gardening? Oh, wait, maybe you were trying to throw out last night's trash. God, you are so sleepy.

You stagger forwards into the door, and tried not to stagger again, because god, that hurts. Have to make it open outwards sometimes, but that makes it easier for you to go out half-naked and break that lawy thing and – you probably should think a little.

Whatever was the law on half-naked things, you stepped backwards and dragged the door open, and you saw a bundle of red and white fur on your feet.

Fur was probably the wrong word to describe it. To call it fur would be to compare, nay, equate it to other pelts that came from similar animal. This is the kind of fur with gloss even before it was treated. It shined. It glistened. It was the kind of smooth that made you feel the fluff of it even before you touched it.

Whoever was wearing all that fur must've been rich as all hell.

It was also wet and red, and you snap out of your hazy, sleepy stupor as you smell rust-like liquid in the air. Or at least you tried to, because your body is refusing to keep up with your mind, and so you still feel a little fuzzy and sick.

You threw up, barely missing the unmoving pile.

It could be a dead body. It could be a person, underneath all that fur, and that person has got to be a woman, because men simply don't have legs that was that hairless, and most definitely not that perfectly rounded. Also, her sleeves have embroidered dragon-like designs on them that were tattered but reveals a very definitely feminine arm underneath it.

It still could be a guy. God knows how many south Demacian celebrities were camp as all hell.

But then you noticed that there were welts on the person's arms, and you suddenly remember, again, the rust-like smell in the air that was most definitely not stopping and means that this person is very much alive, although probably for not much longer if you keep fucking around like this.

"Crap. Crap. Are you o-"

But she's not okay, is she? You'd have to be dumb to ask the question. You also decide to call this person a she, because even if she turns out to be a very effeminate male, that male deserves a decidedly more feminine pronoun.

So grabbed her by the legs, dragged her inside, and closed the door behind her.

The first thing that you did was to try and lift her onto your bed, and you found that she was gushing more blood than most humans could ever hope to generate in their lives, and on top of that, she's squirming feverishly as well.

You thought that your mind was probably exaggerating, in all this confusing haze, but hey – if you can't believe your eyes, who can you believe?

You're going to need a better way to do this. So you gently, gently lay her down on the floor, and took some of your clean shirts – because obviously, dirty laundry would just infect the wound – and then gingerly moved the fur aside. It was actually a rather tall order, because she kept squirming, and – even though you couldn't see her face – you thought that she was slipping in and out of consciousness, because she seems to both be going prone and trying to get away from you, alternately.

All this damn fur is covering her. You really should take the stupid coat off as soon as you can, but first things first: treat her probably fatal wound. And to do that, you need her on the bed. But since you can't, you're going to have to do the best you can on the floor next to your bed.

You're very sure this is proper medical procedure, but it's a bit difficult to think when you're panicking like this, isn't it?

So as gently as you can, you try to force your way through the tails in order to get to her face and main body and find the source of bleeding.

You the realize, right before you dive into the fluffy ball, that you don't really have anything to stem the bleeding with, so you grab some clean shirts that were off the laundry and bound them, after some difficulty, into a strip of cloth that could function as a makeshift bandage.

By the time you were finished – because, and let's be honest, you've never actually tied together a bandage, or any sort of rope with two shirts before – she had already gone prone again, and it didn't look like she's going to regain half-consciousness anytime soon. This should be your chance.

Taking a deep breath, because you should never try to fix someone's wounds while panicking, you took handfuls of the fur and yanked, then winced, because that is one damn heavy fur coat. You try to yank it off again, but after thinking about it, it's likely that her body's weight is resting on it. Working quickly, you flip her so that her legs are, more or less, lying upright on the floor, meaning that she's probably also lying upright.

You work on getting rid of her fur coat, but then you realized some things. That it is, in fact, not a coat, but a scarf. And that it was an unnecessarily long scarf – either that, or it was more than a single scarf. Who would wear this many scarves? And despite the urgency of the situation, you can't help but marvel again at the velvet texture of the scarf – coat – furry thing that was covering her body. She must be rich as hell.

You give up on trying to take the coat – scarf thing off her, and instead tried to shift the thing aside. You definitely have wasted too much time on trying to take it off her. She couldn't have that much time left.

And the more you shift the fur apart, the more you discover that it wasn't a coat or a scarf at all. As you grabbed a handful, it became more and more apparent that they were more tail-like in nature. There was heat emanating off the tail, and a level of flexibility that suggests the presence of muscle inside, the same way a fox's tail would feel. But that fact isn't really registering in your brain at the moment.

That's because you finally managed to force a gap between the furs – no, are they probably tails? Regardless, you finally got a glimpse of your patient's face and body.

And gasped.

The first thing that you register is that she is, no matter how you look at it, beautiful. Despite the fast-drying clusters of blood splattered all over her face, her beautiful pearlescent skin glistened unnaturally, and there was a certain angular, sharp quality to her face that give her the appearance of what can only be described as royal. Despite how messy her hair is, none of the strands were tangled together – that is, even though she looks like a person that barely survived a ship in a storm, not a single strand of her hair became twisted and angular. Each strand retained a sort of glossy look about it, even though they seem to be going in all sorts of different directions at once.

There were parallel lines from the edges of her jaw angling towards her face, like whiskers from a fox, but they were smudged under scratches and several bruises. In fact, you manage to stop gawking at her – oh gods, she's beautiful – face for a moment to pry open the fur-tail-thing that was covering the rest of her body to find that she has practically no stomach.

It also complicates things a little to find that she was wearing more red than anything else, because her blood and the red tattered garments makes it difficult to discern where the wound stops and where the clothing begins. Still though, it was far worse than what your little tourniquet was equipped to handle – you could see dark blue bruises and jagged cuts in areas where the tattered remains of her clothing couldn't cover.

You tried very hard to not puke. You could see some of her organs. Beautiful is beautiful, but you never really signed up for this gore stuff, and… argh…

A feeling as if your stomach was crawling your way up your mouth passed, and you felt something very warm and sticky crawl out of your mouth. Your hand feels like it was dipped in acid, and your throat burns, but none of the vomit made it on top of your patient, so you sigh in relief. At least, you tried to. You feel so light-headed that you probably just vomited a little bit more on the floor.

It surprised you that you were relatively calm, and judging by your thought processes, slightly snarky, but you suppose that for some people, the panic settles in later, and you resort to being numb first.

Well, it can't be helped, could it? You're gonna have to resort to doing that.

You quickly run over to one of your shelves and took out The Codex of Reginald Ashram, all two thousand pages of it, and cursed very loudly as your still-disoriented body – first from sleep, now from panic – dropped it on your foot.

"FEAAAAAAARGH."

That's going to hurt for days, you thought angrily, but the pain was muted. Truly, the human body can choose to ignore practically everything. You flip the book open on the floor and found the spell for healing.

As a summoner-in-training, you could at least do a basic, level one spell.

But without the energy of the institute to back up your heal, you're going to need…

Oh, who gives a fuck. Lives are in danger here. Which very well could deserve the plural form that you gave it, because if you mess up this next spell…

You breathe in, and close your eyes. There was darkness.

A green light erupted into existence in the darkness. It was a tiny speck, more or less a firefly hovering in the abyss, but then a second one blinked into existence.

Then four.

Then eight, sixty-four, hundreds, more than you can count – but it never reached the thousands. This is because you were looking at the life energies of living things, the part that made them tick and move. You saw yourself, a tiny dot next to an enormous green star, and you realize with a shock that it was the woman's life force. It was massive, as if it was an essence of multiple living things.

It was also draining out quickly. As you concentrate to find more life force, you saw its size diminish by half, and then even that halved itself. She was bleeding out of life, quickly.

So you concentrated. A knot formed on your head.

God, you'd better not fuck this up.

Suddenly, all the other small green dots of life vanished – no, not vanished. Rather, they blurred towards your current location, each becoming a streak of green. Leaves withered. Grass simply vanished without a trace. Insects just curled up and died.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry…

You opened your eyes.

Green light swirled, no, sloshed between your palms. It grew brightly, vividly, and you slam it down on the chest of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen –

Then the world went black for you.

The first thing that you thought about when waking up is that you were grateful that you managed to not die. You always had problems with the targeting bit – which bit of life force to take out, from where, and everything else, and you always seem to bite out a lot more from yourself than from anywhere else. To put it simply:

You want to feel your arms, but they're more or less dead, and so is your legs, because there's simply no more life energy in them.

The second thing that you thought about was about how soft your pillow is. And warm. And… how… dynamic it is?

Are pillows meant to go up and down like this?

And now that you think about it, while you can't really feel your arms or your legs, you know that your body is, in somewhat of an upright position. You can also feel, in a pins-and-needles kinds of way, that your legs are somewhere folded up underneath your buttocks.

You open your eyes, or tried to. But all you're seeing is darkness.

You were looking at hair. Not your hair. Your hair isn't this long, isn't this glossy-smooth, and importantly, doesn't smell this nice. Oh, sure, it belonged to a woman that just dragged herself through an entire forest, probably crossing paths with more than one excrement, piss, goo, and just general slime-ooze things that you don't really have words for, but you can't really smell that. All you smell is the scen-

Wait another minute. Woman?

With great force of will you forced your hands out of their numb paralysis and wiped your face of all the hair strands. You stare down the remains of a ripped kimono – that is, an old Ionian dress – and looked at a pair of beautiful legs, both inert and unmoving. You could see slender thighs, and a perfectly sculpted stomach – not anorexic, not plump, but achieving a perfect balance between fat and muscle and slenderness that most women would have murdered for. You stare at it for a while, trying not to drool, but your lack of energy meant that you did anyways.

The offending liquid travelled down between two mounds of fles-

You're lying down on her breasts.

You automatically cringe, but it appears that the divine slap of retribution would be withheld, mainly due to the fact that your patient is still unconscious. You want to move away from her breasts, for the sake of politeness, decency, and the fact that someone would probably be along soon to investigate and then he'd be in deep shit and deep rumor.

But hey. It's soft, it's warm, and it's many billion times better than what you imagine breasts to have been.

So you fake your exhaustion for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes.

Then, reluctantly, you slide off her, and you fell asleep – no, fainted - on the floor. The unused bandage became your pillow.

The little vixen smiled. What a cute little boy, she thought faintly.

He also saved my life. And it's not like I mind… well… that.

Then, due to exhaustion, she, too, fainted.

You wake up with a crystal clear mind. It's always like this, after you faint – you wake up knowing exactly when you fell asleep, and then wake up with a pounding headache – and yet, your mind goes hyperactive. Absorbing all the details that you missed. You're really not sure why, it just happened.

And what it absorbed was this:

It was night already. There goes your lunch and your breakfast, although, to be fair, you really couldn't do much to make it at the moment. That's because your room is a mess. Tree roots were growing out of your bookshelves and wooden kitchen counters, and some of the books fell over. The apples appears to be growing roots as well, and your sofa –

Giant-sized moths. Again.

You really should work on your targeting.

Whatever. You'll clear that later in the morning.

Right now, you're more concerned about your sleeping patient, but you don't really feel like moving from your sitting position. It's very comfortable.

She was dying.

That was what jolted you into full remembrance. You stood up in a rush and –

Found a beautiful girl lying down, very nearly naked, on your bed.

You can't really blame her for being naked. She seemed like she's been through hell. Despite the absence of a gaping, gigantic wound, your spell did not fix the various cuts and bruises that she suffered throughout her entire skin. Thankfully most appear to be surface wounds and superficial, and most have already formed scabs over the wounds. However, she'll be covered in that for several weeks. Her face when you found her – no, don't get distracted by her beauty – okay, so her face when you found her was a rictus of pain. Now, it was the face of a sleeping lady, if that lady happened to be a goddess, and that goddess happened to have fox ears.

You touched them experimentally, and she twitched in her sleep. Strange, but not as strange as the other part of her body.

The strange part was, of course, her nine tails. Snow-white is the wrong color – perhaps a little bit more towards gray – but it was still a pure color, primal in its purity. It was as if the tails themselves have spirit inside of them, a life-force that you were unaware of. Was it what was keeping her alive?

You've heard the tales, of course. A beautiful fox-girl that was roaming Demacia, and seducing men left and right and draining them of their life-force. It could explain why she was being chased. It could explain why she had nine, extremely beautiful and… okay, you touched a tail. It was cold, but it was fluffy, and felt like touching fur in cold weather: freezing with a hint of warmth in it.

Wait a minute.

Hurriedly, you touch yourself, and realize that you feel like you're freezing. You glanced at her.

God, she could be getting hypothermia right now.

You drew the covers over her and hurriedly found some clothes, because you haven't been in a shirt since yesterday morning. Just as you drew the covers over her, you gently stopped and hesitated.

Exactly how much trouble would you get into when you hide a clearly marked-for-death fox-girl? You don't really know, but you are an HONORABLE summoner-in-training and you would be damned if you leave a girl to die, past murders or not.

So you leave to buy yourself some very late lunch. You'll deal with the goddamn living living room later.

Walking towards town on an empty stomach was a horrible idea, but it was an even worse one to leave a girl half-naked in a chilly night when she may or may not be terminally ill. Besides, at least you got some food there. You hoped that you got the right sizes for her.

Girls can get very stroppy with you if you buy them too big OR too small.

You also bought an extra blanket. Two of them, in fact. You need one for you, and you also need one more just in case she gets cold, although considering all of the fur on her, she shouldn't really have problems with that. With high spirits, you march on home.

Next thing that you do, as soon as you get home, is to reach into your shopping bag and pick out some Piltoverf Soup. It's apparently a thing in Piltover, where you simply boil water and pour the contents of the packet into a bowl, then add the water to make instant, warm, delicious –

Soup.

Not sure what kind of soup, though. This one says tomato.

Whatever. You're pretty sure that she needs food, warm food at that, and since you totally fucked up the life distribution process in your spell, your entire kitchen became unusable. At least her major wounds are gone. To be honest, that was the first time a heal spell went so well. Must be that life-and-death thing settling in.

You knock on your front door, out of principle, before entering your own house.

Now that you thought about it, your – at least, your rented – house is actually pretty small. It's literally a living room with a kitchen in the back and a bed on the side. A bookshelf sits opposite of the kitchen, and it's filled with summoning books, spells, books about past summoners, about the legendary heroes of Runeterra…

Well, that's pretty much it. It's a temporary residence, after all.

Your bed is going to be a problem though. Sleeping on the floor was very uncomfortable, fainting or not, and there's no way you're bunking next to girl, a sick one at that –

No matter how sexy and beautiful she is –

Besides, it's really, really disrespectful. Maybe. What do you know? You're 17 and you're more or less the type that studies all day to become a summoner. Do girls do that? People keep asking you out, but you've always turned them down, because honestly, there's no way in seven hells you're going to be good enough for them. You're clumsy, dumb, and – well, generally living trash, aren't you? Look at your living room. That was just from one spell.

Sighing – because really, there's no way you're going to be able to work with your living room kitchen thing, because it is now, in fact, living, due to the fallout and bad accuracy when you cast that heal spell, you set to work on boiling water with magic. Then stopped. That would probably cause the rest of the house to go on fire.

You instead cut off some of the sprawling roots and built a small fire outside of your house. The wind was chilly, and you hope that the insulation that the house naturally provides would stop the girl from catching a cold.

It was really hard to keep your mind from not straying to the girl, and the fact that she is your guest is only half of the reason why. You suspect that this is what a 'crush' feels like.

Whatever. Feelings aside, you have to make sure that she's healthy enough to do… well…

You don't really know what she's up to. She could be running from authorities, and she could have been on the run from murders, like the rumors say, and who knows – maybe you're the one about to get murdered. But those kinds of thoughts, you reflect, ultimately don't exist in your mind, because this is your patient – your guest – well, whatever you call her exactly. She is under your custody and fugitive or not you're damn sure making sure that she'll come out of it alive.

You thought all of that as you were making the fire. Then, you took out a small tripod – standard summoning stuff – and boiled water atop it. That should take around fifteen minutes, considering the amount of water that you put in.

You then proceed inside, and hope that the wind wouldn't blow the fire the wrong way, or extinguish it, or make the water topple over, and then you rushed out and took some precautions, like stabilizing the tripod with rocks and books and stuff, before you went back inside.

Inside, you took out the clothes that you got for your patient. The vendor called it a hanbok, another ancient Ionian clothing, except that this one was a bit more… modernized. Eh, what can you say? Your patient does appear to be Ionian, after all. Might as well get her themed clothing.

The fact that your strong and very vivid imagination said that she would look goddamn amazing in it has nothing to do with it.

You also got her a jacket, which is standard wear, and some long pants. You don't have long pants on you, and it was always a good idea to cover her le- Wait, she didn't have anything covering her legs, except for perhaps your blanket. Damn, she's definitely going to catch a cold like that.

Moving swiftly, you positioned yourself sitting next to her head, and gently moved her into a sitting position. This, however, meant that you had to touch her back, which is now completely exposed.

You've honestly never felt skin this smooth. And yet, it was also slightly bumpy and resistant to the touch – it was probably due to her having goosebumps from the cold, and, of course, the bruises that she had.

You gulp. You move your other hand to her stomach. Then, slowly, slowly, you propped her up, letting most of… well… most of the rags that she had left covering her body fall. This way, you wouldn't be tempted. No, you wouldn't be tempted at all.

You had this brief urge to just flip to her front and just take a peek. A primal, sudden and spontaneous urge, to just take a look –

That spasm passed. God, it's like one of those times when you stand on the edge of a cliff, and you get that urge to just jump down. And a lot of your body, mainly the area right between your thighs, really wants to see, and were getting really really antsy and

PLEASE get this over with, you pray.

You close your eyes, and took a normal shirt – your shirt, a clean, white, all-purpose shirt, and, without opening your eyes OR facing the general direction of her body, you grabbed her wrist and shoved it into the sleeve. You did the same with the other one, keenly aware of how smooth the skin of her back was against the fabric of your shirt. Sweat dripping down your face, you gently angled her head, taking great care to make sure that her head goes through the somewhat tight opening of the shirt in a gentle manner. But in doing so, you are able to see –

Her sideboobs.

They were every bit as smooth and round as he expected them to be, except for the slight scars, but the imperfection is making this so hot. Why are you such a teenage boy. Why hormones. You hate them. You hate them so SO very much. You really don't want to notice how slender her arms were, even though there were strength in them, a kind of musculature that only a goddess would have. You didn't want to notice the way her waist came together to a perfect hourglass, completely proportional, adorned with soft skin, and even the way that the scars and bruises covered her only served to compliment, not tarnish… No, you have to stop-

Get this done, now, now, now-

NOT FAST ENOUGH, CMON.

You never before believed in cliché statements such as "every passing second is like an hour" or similar, but that's probably because you've never been in a situation where you mind and body actively wants to make every single second eternal. It's the hormones, probably. It's like your body is fighting to keep your arms slowed, to not push her head through, to lengthen the moment that you can stare at her scarred yet beautiful skin. And the more you do, the less you can resist the urge to grab her.

But there was an inner strength, an iron will that prevented you from doing so.

Because it was the discipline and honor of a young summoner.

You forced her head through the shirt, and then yanked the shirt to cover her chest and the rest of her body, then sighed in relief. As for her pants, you figured that the covers will have to suffice. There is no way you're going to resist the temptation from those.

Oh god, oh god, oh god…

Breathing heavily in relief, you slide down, away from your bed, and went away to your bathroom.

When you were done with your business of relieving, well, we'll just say, things –

Your patient still isn't awake. At least the soup is cooked, though. You rushed outside to get the soup, and then went back in. Luckily enough, during the entire time, the soup wasn't burnt or overcooked or was eaten by wild animals attracted by the scent.

You sit cautiously next to her, drawing up a chair (but first clearing it of its random growths of tree roots ) next to the bed. Because somehow, her sleeping face combined with how… tight… your shirt is against her chest, makes you extremely careful with being near her for the next… say, entire twenty-four hours.

Is your heart supposed to be thumping this hard?

You don't really know.

From here on, I'd like you people to provide the input. Where do I continue? What will we do with our sick, lovely vixen? Provide scenarios and stuff for me to continue with, please. I'll probably 'end' the fic, but that's no reason to stop suggesting, because I'm just going to write short section after section of short, fluffy drabbly things and insert them in between. I've provided the setting -

Now, since it's, well, YOU, you're going to decide the story.

Enjoy!