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Chapter Text

"A wish as insignificant as you are... but I'll allow it."

A voice, as ethereal as it is arrogant swiftly cuts into your consciousness.

"Rare enough that a mortal's will was strong enough to draw me to their proposal. I suppose I can entertain it for now."

Instinctively, anger flares in your heart from the belittlement. Yet the disembodied voice continues, its tone now edging on sardonic.

"Of course, everything has its price..."

Before you can distinguish if this strange, one-sided conversation was dream or reality, you come to.

Chapter Text

You wake up in a crate.

You jolt awake, hissing in pain. Looking down, you realize that the pain is coming from a dozen scrapes and cuts on your arm - and did we mention the metal chain on your wrists, prominently tied to an anchor?

Oh, and the fact that you've been shoved into a wooden crate, with said crate haphazardly dangling off the side of a dock.

"Glad to see you're awake." An old woman's voice croaked behind you, "the Beasts Below can feast on your suffering this way - you'll make a great sacrifice."

"What the f-" You breath in sharply, and attempt to scramble to your feet, "Who are you and what god-forsakened cult thinks fish wants human sacrifices?"

The woman ignores you and gives the crate a hard shove. You sling a leg out just in time to catch the ground, but the momentum reels you backwards.

You reach out and manage to catch the old woman by her collar. Stuck in this precarious position, you barely have time to ponder how you got from your comfy bed to a crate before the woman starts bellowing in laughter.

Not evening mocking laughter. Completely maniacal laughter that somehow makes your field of vision darken and your throat close in. Your head starts swimming as thousands of indistinguishable murmurs cloud your hearing, and in your fading vision, you could swear that the woman's face is becoming fish-like, cheeks now riddled with scales.

"Hey! What is going on in my port?"

A female voice with a slight drawl broke through the murmurs. You take the opportunity to slip out of the crate, and notice the old woman raising up her staff, her muddy eyes reflecting the spark that was now charging at its tip.

"You've gotta be shitting me -" A string of curses spew out of your mouth as you desperately try to tug off the binds so you can retreat without an anchor chained to your ass.

The magic blast flies at you, and you glare indignantly, instinctively shielding yourself with your arm. At the same time, something heavy swung itself from the chain and landed squarely on the old woman's chest, its trajectory definitely defying every law of physics.

The old woman falls into the water with a comical splash.

You turn around to see a red headed woman with a hand on her holster, her eyes just as wide as yours when the anchor kept spinning around you like it was trapped in an invisible tornado.

She introduced herself as Miss Fortune, captain of the Syren, and showed an extraordinary amount of interest in your new-found abilities.

The whole situation was as strange as your rude awakening, but channeling gusts of wind from your fingertips suddenly came to you as naturally as breathing.

She looks you over, your now half-soaked pajamas obviously out of place against the medieval backdrop.

Your stomach growls.

She laughs, breaks your chains with a pistol shot and offers to buy you lunch.

By the third question, you realize that you're way out of your depth. Neither of you have heard of each other's city or country, much less know anything about how you ended up in the clutches of a zealot.

Miss Fortune sips her drink and shrugs, "I figured, Bilgewater ain't much of a tourist town."

You count up how many faces in the tavern match the wanted posters you walked by and agree.

"That's why we appreciate fresh talent around here." Miss Fortune holds out a gloved hand, "How would you like to come work for me?"

You shake it, figuring it's best not to starve to death before you can find a portal back the way you came.

2 weeks in and you wish you asked for a bigger cut.

Your daily job not only includes tediously managing the sails, but also making the cleaning crews obsolete. A deck that takes men full days to scrub is cleaned at the snap of a finger when you're around, and no other fleet bested yours in the open sea.

Sailing during the day and tackling the taverns at night, you start having to dodge invitations from other captains left and right - saying fair winds are important for a sailor is a massive understatement - but after the third coercion turned assassination attempt, you lost your shit.

Miss Fortune offers to off the assassin herself, but you refuse on the grounds that you're probably the least homicidal person in this city of criminals.

You end up stringing up the man by his ankles at the front of Miss Fortune's ship for a day. That managed to dissuade any further attempts.

As the weeks string into months, your daily routine is interrupted by an unusually crowded port.

Unfamiliar ships dock, and disheveled families step down into the spectating crowd. With children and alarmingly little luggage in tow, they embrace one another in a way only those who've just experienced true loss would, and you suddenly realize they're refugees and not sight seers.

The salty sea winds you've grown accustomed to now tastes like grief.

You and Miss Fortune share a somber look, and start barking orders to help the refugees settle in.

Within a day, news of the Harrowing that took place in Ionia spread across Bilgewater.

Everyone from Bilgewater knows the city's reputation, so the underlying implication of Ionians choosing to flee here spoke of their desperation.

Even the drunken bar brawls ceased tonight, replaced by tales of an all-consuming black mist with ghoulish forms writhing within.

The winds carried the weeps of a heartbroken widow to you, and you wave them away, wishing you had a spell to magically put yourself to sleep instead.

"Then you tell me.. what better time than now?"

Miss Fortune tapped the barrel of her gun on the table, her pose just as defiant as yours.

"At least not soon enough to make the Ionians go through two bloodbaths in one week," you gesture to the direction of the inn, "I understand you're looking ahead, but now is not the time -"

You're abruptly cut off.

You always knew that Miss Fortune wanted to unite the city under one power and finally quench Bilgewater's crime problem. With you in tow, she has been making quick work of it.

However, ever the visionary, she foresees an onslaught of unrest the refugees may bring.

In her words, "The locals will grow uneasy because they're afraid of that damn mist, and that leads to trouble. Best we strike down Gangplank 'fore that, before our new visitors get robbed upside down in a Bilgewater welcome."

Miss Fortune and the reaver king, Gangplank have been locked at a precarious standstill for some time. But while she sees this as a perfect opportunity to usurp the king, all you can think about is the possible collateral damage.

"If the black mist comes to Bilgewater, it'd be worse if you divide our forces now." You take a deep breath and approach from different direction, "We should spend time preparing for the worst instead of waging war-"

"Exactly what I'm doing, unite the city and none of this would be an issue." Miss Fortune interjects, "'Sides, when did you start caring for my city?"

Ouch. That stung.

Suddenly you feel out of place all over again. You see her face and you can immediately tell that she regrets those words.

But a small part of you collapsed inside. You think back to your home, to your past life, and felt for the same time, truly alone in this god-forsakened Cthulhu town.

"I don't," You said coldly, "Just wanted to see if you still remember what this is all for, Sarah."

With that, you left with the wind on your back.

You feel powerless.

You pack hastily and tread through the streets. You fail to understand how in a city bordering a sea full of eldritch horrors, men end up being the party responsible for the most body count.

You don't have the heart to stay and watch Miss Fortune's plans unfold, yet are equally at a loss for where to go.

In the horizon, a faint shadow grew until it overlapped the sunrise. Winds changed unexpectedly, carrying distant, echoing screams to your ears.

Suddenly, your vision was overtaken by black smoke and flickering flecks of necrotic green. You could only hear faint footsteps approaching as a tall, green-eyed man emerged before your eyes.

"At last," the man gracefully bowed, a gloved hand over his bare chest, "I have found you... My Queen."

Chapter Text

You're not sure what to make of him.

The man strides through the black mist towards you with slow, measured steps. His strange opening line still echoing in your ear, you carefully observe him as you went into fight or flight mode.

His eerily green crown illuminated his deep set features, and the more he closed in, the more unsettled you felt as you tried to see into his eyes, which possess the same telling glow, seemingly bereft of humanity.

Of course, the moment you think about getting off this rock, you encounter the human manifestation of the black mist -

Or the source? It's hard to miss the sword shaped hole in the middle of his chest that's leaking black smoke like a broken faucet.

Either way, you quickly wonder if your winds can cut a path through the thick mist. Without prior experience with the black mist, it's hard to calculate your chances - but again, you never expected to wake up in a different world and start fighting krakens with tornados.

"My love, do you not recognize me?" The self-proclaimed king took another careful step forward, and when met with your measuring gaze, you could swear that he tried to straighten up. He smooths his hair, and reaches out for you, those emerald eyes searching yours for anything akin to recognition.

A part of you is screaming at you to back off and sprint away as fast as possible, but the other half is strangely perplexed by this stranger, filling your heart with a steadfast faith that he wouldn't harm you.

You ignore both, and raise an arm to shield yourself. Closing it in a fist, a sharp stream of air spreads around you, and allowing you to see what the black mist was covering up, even for a second.

The streets are in complete chaos. People either fell limp where they stood, or rose with their appearance turning the same necrotic green. You quickly wonder about Miss Fortune and the crew's safety, but the crowned man closed the distance between you, suddenly bearing a crystalline longsword.

"Isolde, I do apologize, I wished for our reunion to be under better terms." He longing gaze lingered over your face, "Don't fret, it'll be just a moment before I dispatch this city that dared to stow you away."

Your eyes open wide in horror.

The strange familiarity you felt when you first saw him no longer gave you pause. You recoil away from his touch, wisps of wind working to bind his legs. The crowned man shrugs off your winds with ease, but starts frowning like a kicked puppy.

The dissonance between his innocent demeanor and the carnage shrouded by the black mist lends you a window into his madness. You start shouting something about him having the wrong person, and how you've never met him. You don't know how much this man even heard before another loud yell emerged behind you.

"Get the fuck back!"

Fortunately you sidestep the shot from what looks to be a huge shoulder cannon. Unfortunately for the lunatic trying to convince you to be his lost love, he gets sent backwards, landing with a resolute thump.

The mist thins enough for you to see the woman that took the shot. Dressed in white and gold with dreads spilling out of her hood, she roots herself between you and the crowned man, who lifts his head and proceeds to give you the saddest puppy eyes a man dressed in all leather could muster.

"It's me, Viego. It took me eons to search for you, but it seems you have forgotten my name."

You blink.

"I have never seen this man in my life."

This would be almost comical if you forgot about all the wraiths that are plaguing Bilgewater right now, just out of sight.

"Seems like your day just got a lot crazier," the woman starts aiming her gun again. In the blink of an eye, Viego springs up and dodges the shot, and you barely register his movement before his arm circles your waist and you're now several steps away from the gun lady, feeling more like you are held as a hostage than in a lover's embrace.

"Let her go!" Another man sprints out of the shadows and joins the first gun lady. You eye their matching uniforms and wonder when the world setting changed from medieval Cthulhu to modern superhero.

The king - Viego, as he introduced himself - completely ignores the pair and combs his hand through your hair. You inevitably meet his emerald gaze and you realize he's shaking. For all the finesse he just showed in combat, the arm that held you close is tentative and shaking, as if a firmer touch would have you shatter into a million pieces.

But you broke the moment. You're not a damsel in distress, and you're certainly not his Isolde.

"You have the wrong person," You carefully try to break from his grasp, "I'm not your Queen."

The telltale sound of a gun being charged up is all the queue you needed to break free. Underestimating his strength, however, you end up a lot closer to the beam than you would have liked.

The dust settles and you realize you've been pushed out of harm's way, except for a gash on your arm. Despite baring most of the impact, Viego showed no injuries, but his eyes are fixated on the wound across your bicep.

You look at your relative position and realized he was the one to push you to safety. You're a lot closer to the uniformed couple now, and with the way they're aiming their guns at his head, you doubt he can pull off another grab-and-go.

"My love, I will come back for you soon." He tears his gaze away and seethes at the couple, "And I will have your heads if you touch a hair on her head."

With that, he disappears into the mist, the roiling smoke around you slows to a halt, and you can see the sun again.

"I'm Senna, this is Lucian." The gun lady nods to the other man, and holds out her hand. When you shake it, she sighs and gestures to the chaotic street all around you, "You probably have a lot of questions... And so do we. Know a place we can setup around here?"

"Aw."

You hiss, and Miss Fortune manages to look some what apologetic.

So does Senna, who looks ever so slightly sheepish.

Her weapon seems more energy based, but even a graze was enough to leave a gash that needs stitches.

With your luck, the best anesthesia you had access to is a bottle of whiskey, which did more to rile you up than to numb your pain.

"So get this, he's a teleporting edgelord boy who's searching for pieces of his long-dead wife... To what? Revive her?" You hiss again and try not to think about whether the needle Miss Fortune is patching you up with is cauterized or not, "What's that got to do with me?"

"We're not sure either." Lucian shrugs, "So far we've only been trying to stop him from getting the fetters. Never seen him mistake someone for Isolde."

"Hell if I know which stage of grief that guy's on." You mutter, and when met with confused looks, you remember how much this world desperately need psychiatrists.

You're not sure what to think of being mistaken for a long dead Queen, but flattered is certainly not it - the Sentinels showed you a portrait of Isolde, and you would not call yourself a splitting image of her.

"I'm more surprised he left without more fighting." Lucian comments, "Usually it's a fight to the death for a basket or something -"

Senna cuts him off with a sharp look, and you catch her glance at your arm wound. Some kind of silent communication goes on between them and your tired brain wishes for sleep instead of trying to analyze their encrypted couple talk.

You know what Senna means. Despite looking like his main objective was to leave with you, he backed off the moment you got hurt. Putting yourself in the shoes of a crazy king of the black mist who's been trying to achieve the same thing for a thousand years straight, you appreciate the sentiment.

It feels odd to know that a stranger cares for your personal safety.

Miss Fortune is a good friend but a even better captain, you wouldn't put it past her to risk both your lives in search of a good score. But again, you spend so much time in the past months trying to acclimate to this strange bloody world that you probably forgot what real human interactions are like.

Moreover, it seems like they can't agree on what quite to do with you.

"We should set up a stronghold, get our forces together, and strike him down." Senna insists, "This bloodshed has got to end, it's not just fetters at stake here - he's obsessed with an actual person now."

"No," Miss Fortune retorts, "she's part of my crew, and I'm not gonna stand here idly and watch you talk about the best place you can imprison her."

Both of their gazes fall to you, and you can't help but rub your temple.

Is it supposed to be comforting that you have a say in all this?

Of course, if it were up to you, you want no part in trying to to bait out an undead king who now thinks that you're his long lost wife.

But this is way bigger than just you, isn't it?

"Are you sure about this?"

Miss Fortune shakes her head disapprovingly.

You look at the ruined town, then at the grieving civilians that bustled about the wreckage, and nod.

"Never took you as the kind for sacrifices." The captain crosses her arms, "But I guess the deal is too good to pass up for me."

"Don't worry about me, Sarah." You looked to the distance, where the first traces of black mist was already crowding around the bay. "No cage or chains can trap the wind."

"As promised, she's alive and sound, just a little sleepy." The red-head's voice echoes in your head while you're drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Well done. I'm forever grateful for your help." He replies smoothly, and as footsteps fade away, you can feel a soft kiss graze over your forehead. "At last, it's just you and me now, my love."

When you come to, you're laying in a large bed with soft sheets and ornate bedposts. Yet, all the colors in the lavish room seems flat and washed out .

Through the window, all you can see is a dull, lifeless gray and rolling fields of necrotic green. You raise, and realize even your getup has changed to an elaborate gown, the silk clinging to your skin as if it was weightless.

You raise out a hand, and all the sounds the wind carries to you are screams of the wraiths within.

You know where you are.

The Shadow Isles, home of the Ruined King.

You refuse to eat.

On the first day, Viego reasons that the long-expired food supplies in the castle are not nearly good enough for you and apologizes profusely. He sends his wraiths to scour the island for anything fresh and edible, and spends his day lounging around the same room you occupy, seemingly content to just watch you as you stare into space.

But hey, like you hoped, at least he has no reason to lay waste to some random nation while he's holding you on his island.

On the second day, he frowns when you refuse the spiky oranges he offers you. He caresses your hair, and when you don't immediately recoil like you always do, his eyes light up (more than usual) and casually suggests that he can go murder Miss Fortune if you so please, because your refusal to eat must be because of the pain of betrayal.

He really is oblivious. The Ruined King seems like he only chooses to believe what benefits him and only chooses to hear what reinforces his fantasy of romantic reunion.

You realize that in his head, buying out your boss so he can kidnap you is probably his way of saving you from mortal perils.

"Of course, my love." Viego says matter-of-factly, "The only place you belong is by my side."

You wonder how much of this the actual Isolde suffered through back in her day, and felt a surge of pity. Then you realize you should probably reserve that for yourself instead.

On the third day, Viego turns stern. He purses his lips and his accent breaks through more than usual as he places the plate of food in front of you.

"I will not stand to see you wither away in front of me again." He takes your hand and squeezes a little too hard, a far away look in his eyes like he's recalling a grave memory.

You swat the food from his hand so it falls on the bed with a thump.

He quiets, pale lashes fluttering as he casts his gaze downward like an ashamed puppy. Then he peels the orange and puts a piece between his teeth.

You barely had time to react before he cups your cheeks and overlaps your lips with his, tongue pushing in the orange piece right past your guard.

He drew back as fast as he approached, and for a second the madness fades and he looks like a young man teasing his lover as a playful smile crept up to his soft lips.

"Eat up or I may get a reason to do that again."

Despite yourself, you couldn't push down the flush that surfaced in your cheeks.

The fourth day comes and you're dying for entertainment.

If you thought your stint in Bilgewater with only the sea and pirate gangs for company was bad, the Shadow Isles is so, so much worse.

The only thing swirling around the mist are restless ghouls. There are no neighborhood gossip for the wind to bring to you, and no thief to trap with a wave of your finger before they can hook away valuables in the anonymity of a crowd.

You ask Viego, apparently now an accessory because he barely moved more than 6 feet away from you for days, and it never stops being unnerving.

"I spent my days searching for pieces of your broken soul," Viego says, like he's proud of it, "I can go wherever my black mist reaches, and I scoured the corners of the world for any-"

"Got it, so you're a nerd who's a part of the world's worst treasure hunt." You bury your face in your hand, "Then can we go anywhere instead of being on this muddy island?"

You would say you're trying to test the limits of his patience, but at this point you're so fed up with having staring contests with spiky oranges that death seems like the better option.

"Isolde, I cannot let you do that." He frowned in an almost adorable way, if you don't consider the contents of his words, "There are countless dangers that could cause you harm if you were to leave this place. But if you wish, I can overtake the land you wish to travel to under my rule and we can plan a date -"

Your hand is back over your face as soon as he stops talking. You again feel like you're just talking to a wall.

"How are you so sure that I'm supposed to be your dead Queen?" Your frustration overtakes your self-preservation instincts for a second and you can't help but splutter it out. "Whatever it is, I assure you we're nothing alike."

Oops, bad decision if you're trying to stay alive on the grounds of pretending to be someone else.

But you're pretty sure you weren't born with a single acting gene in your body. Not to mention - hasn't Isolde been dead for like, thousands of years? Any sane person who writes down that you = Isolde would fail the exam immediately.

To your surprise, Viego fixates his pretty-boy eyes on you and somehow speaks with a straight face like he was stating a rule of the universe.

"It pains me that you question this, my love. I know that you are mine like a man would never question the sky to be blue. Without your light, I would still be a lost man without a path."

Sensing your frustration, he shifts in a little closer and continues in earnest, "More precisely, I spent eons collecting your soul, hoping to piece you back together once more. I would be amiss not to recognize you, somehow whole and complete. To me, there's no greater joy than to have my treasure lost and found."

So, essentially he's just going on blind faith because he thinks he has an Isolde radar. Somehow you radiate "I am Isolde" energy just like the fetters do.

You flop unceremoniously into your chair and wonder how much longer you can stay like this before you go crazy.

Apparently, not long.

It's hard to judge passing of time in a land scarcely graced by the sun. So you sleep when you're tired, sleep when you're bored, and sleep when you're sleepy.

You end up sleeping a lot. You're fully aware that Viego doesn't need sleep and often just watches you like a weirdo, but he doesn't come too close or try to pressure you to do anything, so you let him.

There's a strange comfort in knowing that although you're the only human alive on this island, nothing can hurt you when he's hovering around like the world's chattiest bodyguard.

Then your dreams get weird.

It starts with beautiful scenery of rolling mountains and endless stretches of ivory coastline, marbled by blue, crystalline waves.

You appreciate the break from staring at the gray landscapes on the Isles, so you allow yourself to get lost in these dreams, until you realize that there's someone else in all the scenes, holding your hand.

You wake up and are met with the same chiseled face and for a second you can't distinguish dream from reality.

You dream right into a wedding ceremony, of a white dress and a handsome groom. You spend your dream days around a castle much similar to the one you're held in now, but with bright, saturated colors much akin to the hues of a oil painting. Viego is omnipresent in every scene, you feel him in the crook of your arm as you dance, and hear his laugh mirroring yours as you speak. And you feel him...

You refuse to think about that last part. When you wake up, you sprint away to wash up with cold water before he can notice your flush.

You can't quite look him in the face after that. You spend your precious alone time when he's fetching you food to wonder if too much quarantine is making this insane romantic fool grow on you. You force yourself to answer no and figures that this is pretty normal when you haven't gotten laid in awhile.

It doesn't help that to entertain you, Viego has taken to telling you stories. He must have an entire library carved into his head because his tales never repeats. Sometimes he sings them, and you pretend to hate them so he wouldn't do it too often. You already feel enough like you're in a musical.

Viego has a nice singing voice.

The dreams start shifting into a darker tone. You dream of letters. Elusive ones that you burn after reading because they always set your heart in a panic. Foreign words that you somehow understand telling you to keep Viego distracted, harsh words hinting at an uprising in the works.

You're a spy. Or Isolde is a spy? Or you dreamt that Isolde was a spy?

You wake up screaming, the pain of the poisoned dagger still ripping through you.

This is the first time Viego embraced you since your first meeting. You fall against his frame as he coos into your ear and runs a soothing hand through your hair.

You hug back, the motion all too familiar now after your dream ventures. You mouth out a syllable in the foreign language that plagues your dreams and Viego pauses.

It's his last name. It's not contained in any scriptures the Sentinels showed you, a royal name long lost to history, and his reaction confirms it.

Those were not only dreams, but memories.

"My Queen, do you remember?" He's ecstatic, squeezing you way too tight to his chest, eyes inches from your with what looks like tears in his eyes.

But you have bad news for him. You tell him about the ploy, about how what he thought was fate was merely a setup, and tell him about the deal Isolde made so she could become you.

Yes, the deal.

Once upon a time, she was still a child orphaned by war, but then adopted and trained into espionage. It's almost like fate played a cruel joke on her - that she actually fell for the King she meant to lead into doom. She chose his life over hers and dove in front of that dagger.

In her last moment, she wished for freedom. Wished for a life where she can be free as the wind.

Therefore you were born, a free soul in another world - though it seems like your paths intersected nonetheless.

It's a long and rather tragic story, and by the end you're parched. You don't really know what the best way of phrasing "your wife loved you but she'd rather die than keep living in that situation" was so you just dumped it on Viego without reserve.

One part of you still feel every bit of Isolde's happiness and despair, and another part is unmarred and detached, like you were simply watching someone else's story.

"And so it was.. that love was the gravest sin of all."

Viego concluded quietly.

For the first time since you met him, he looks depressed. To be fair, that's a lot to get dumped on your lap.

You can't help but reach out for him, and before you realize, your hand is already brushing over skin, trying to smooth out the crease between his brows.

"Are you still mine?" He asked, he holds your hand in his before you can take it away and nuzzles your palm, the ghost of a kiss landing on your wrist.

His eyes are a question, but you know his heart is begging "Please don't leave me".

You recall the lively man that held your hand through walks on the beach. Then you look at Viego now, a pale shadow doomed to walk the earth with endless sorrow pouring out of his heart.

Your heart breaks for him too, maybe just a little.

"Yes."

You seal the deal with a kiss.

Chapter Text

Viego kisses you with the hunger and fervor of a man who does not need oxygen.

He probably doesn't, but that's the least of your worries as your thoughts immediately drifted to the way he licks at the roof of your mouth and the way he's holding your chin in his gauntleted hand. His silver tongue that usually works to recite grand romantic declarations is cleverly entwined with yours, and as you hold on to his shoulder for support, he takes the opportunity to sneak a hand to the small of your back, rubbing circles into the dimples of Venus and you kind of just collapse.

"It seems like I can steal your breath just the same," he's smirking now, and you respond by trying to wipe it off his annoyingly pretty face with your lips.

He moans into your mouth when you card your hands through his silky hair, so you tug on it so you can better explore the corners of his mouth.

His hand, void of his gauntlets now slip into the back of your dress. In a flash, the gown loosened and slides off your shoulders.

You instinctively clutch your chest in a yelp, and Viego just chuckles, his voice low and ravenous next to your ear.

"Don't be shy, my love. Let me claim what is mine."

You think your ears are pregnant now.

He rests his head in the crook of your neck and sucks a bruise right where he lay. You whimper when his hand roams over your breasts, toying with the tender flesh until your nipples turn hard.

His breath on your neck is sending chills down your spine, and you decide that he's wearing too much.

"Viego -" You tug at his jacket until he shrugs out of them, you appreciatively move your hand around his torso, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

Viego takes your hand and places it over his straining bulge instead.

Oh.

The phallic shape flexes against your hand and you don't think you've ever undone a belt with such haste in your life.

He inches closer until he's right between your legs, and you meet his eyes and the dark, lustful glow in them makes your knees weak.

Viego's smile lengthens. His fingers slip into your wet warmth and curls.

"There were nights where I imagined doing this to you," he whispers in your ear, "how I wanted to beg you to take pity in me and allow me to crawl between your legs and take, take, take, until there's not a patch of skin that isn't marked as mine."

He senses your shudder and keeps massaging the spot that makes your vision go white. He pistons his digits in and out of you until you're a panting mess, barely clutching to him for dear life.

Through blurry eyes, you catch a glimpse of him, fisting his cock in his other hand and teasing the leaking tip with his thumb.

He catches you watching and dial up the charm, emerald eyes fixated on your body through pale lashes. When you reach up because you will explode if you have to take one more second of this torture, he wraps a hand around your ankle and yanks.

You land backwards in a flash, Viego roots your hips with a vice grip and lines you up with an especially warm part of his anatomy and pushes.

Your folds start to yield at the pressure. They part as he breaches you, and you desperately grab at fistfuls of bedsheets to ground yourself.

You couldn't help the moan that escapes your mouth. The stretch, the heat, and unwavering eye contact. It's all too much and you're whimpering before he even bottoms out.

He moans your name shamelessly when he does, and entwines your fingers with his. They're slick and you remember they were wrapped around his cock when he was desperately pumping yourself and you flush.

"I am yours as you are mine." He pulls back enough to admire your glistening opening, and when you whimper at the loss, he fucks into you until your pussy clenches around every inch.

Setting a rhythm you can barely match, he stretches you over and over with every roll of his hips, marking you with his wandering mouth and his bruising grip.

The world crashes around you until the only thing left in your universe is Viego. The press of his body weight, the heat, his beautiful baritone repeating your name, and the generous inches pistoning in and out of you. You feel like he's trying to split you in half, and you can only hold on precariously like a swaying boat in the storm.

You've lost the ability to form coherent thoughts. There's a distinct coil of heat forming in your core, and the only sounds you can make are that of pleasure.

He basks you in, a vexed, desperate mess and presses on, hips slamming into you and bringing you ever so close to unravelling.

Suddenly, he stutters and curses, gripping your leg in such a way that he almost folds you in half, he thrusts into you one last time and you come undone, spasming around him.

He fucks you through your orgasm ruthlessly. You're sobbing and sensitive and he peppers your cheek with innocent kisses meant for comfort while he grips your thighs hard enough to bruise and claims you, desperate for his own release.

 There's stars behind your vision when you finally feel him spill inside you. He stays like that for awhile, finally pulling back when you complain about your sore legs.

 You lay on him and you can feel his chest vibrate as he laughs.

 "Already?" He pulls you closer by your waist, "The night's still young, my love. I do hope you'll forgive your touch-starved king for his affronts."

It's fortunate that none of his subjects are live people because their jaws would drop if they see their king cuddling you like an overgrown puppy.

His hair is strangely soft and you can't stop running your hand through it while Viego hums contently. His head is perched on your chest and his eyes are closed, head crooked to one side as if listening to your heartbeat.

"Viego." You say.

He cracks open one eye and form the beginnings of a lazy smile.

"Sing to me." You ask of him. "I like it a lot."

He does, and you stroke his pale hair until you drift off to sleep and this time there are no dreams.

Chapter Text

You wake up in a straw bed.

The unfamiliar texture gave you pause, as you blinked awake, a pair of small hands waived in front of your face, and your eyes focus enough to reveal the form of a young child.

"Grandma!" The child yelled out excitedly, "She's awake!"

At the declaration, several more small footsteps shuffle towards you.

You rub your eyes, still a little out of it and vaguely remembering having a strange dream where you were asked to make a wish. But when you take in the shambled room around you and the several children now crowding you, shooting questions at you left and right, you are immediately confused.

Where are you? How did you get here?

You're an art student just on your way to class. Deciding to sneak in a nap during your metro ride, you open your eyes and now you're... here?

The children in front of you are dressed in modest clothing, littered with patches and rough stitches. Despite their bright, innocent eyes, there's no missing their matted hair and sunken cheeks.

You voice your questions out loud. The old lady that entered the room kindly answered them, and the kids pipe up to add in details.

"We found you in an alleyway, passed out. The only thing you had with you was your travel bag." she pointed at your bag with her cane, which is now nestled in a corner.

"Grandma said we shouldn't leave you alone like that, so we carried you back!" The oldest child beamed.

"Yes," the old lady agreed, "these parts of Demacia are definitely not kind to young woman who venture alone."

At your blank face, she studies you curiously and concludes, "Oh, you're not from around here, are you?"

No one here has heard of your country or your hometown. Furthermore, none of the places the kind lady is listing out rings a bell - you're pretty sure you've never heard of any of these names, much less seen them on a map.

After a confused silence, the old lady breaks through your quiet panic with a soothing smile. She notes that it's lucky they found a lost traveler like you and offers you food.

You notice their already scarce food supply and feel a twinge of guilt. Ruffling through your bag, you produce a candy bar and offers it to the kids.

"Chocolate," the old lady notes in a surprised tone, "that's really hard to come by around here, thank you for your generosity."

You don't know how to feel about being called generous for an one dollar candy bar, but you watch the kids clumsily paw through the wrapper and dig in with glee and pat yourself on the back for bringing an entire box of them in your bag.

You wouldn't mind sharing them all.

The old lady introduced herself as Laia, and offers you a place to stay until you find the right way home.

You don't know how to find the right way home. Or if you even can. But you recognize their hardship and didn't want to be an extra burden. Refusal is halfway out of your lips before she insists that she could use the help of an able bodied adult around the place, and you finally agree.

You learn that the kids are all orphans, picked up from the streets by Laia much the same way they found you. Laia spends her days knitting for a living, and the kids help out with picking up supplies or parade the wares around, seeking buying customers.

Meanwhile, you're starting to acquire some unexpected skill sets - you can pretty much say you're an expert in fixing leaky roofs now. Maybe if you ever go back, you can put that on your resume.

Laia is tight-lipped about her own past and you start to recognize the contrast between her often sophisticated speech and the casual diction of most others who live around here. You don't ask why, just like how she doesn't press on about where you came from. You're all the more grateful for it, especially since you're not sure if this world is medieval enough to still have witch hunts.

You unintentionally take over in teaching the kids how to read and write because they somehow enjoy your derailed teaching more. One time, when they're groaning over having to learn animals, you take out a piece of sketchbook paper and started folding. Within minutes, the origami took form and you point to it.

"This one is a crane, they have long necks and can -"

You blinked, the origami flapped its paper wings and started flying.

If you weren't so busy gawking, you would slap yourself to see if you're dreaming.

"Uh." You croak, because that's what you say when your paper crane starts flying.

The kids are ecstatic, jumping up and down like cats trying to catch a laser pointer.

You're still pointing at the same spot like an idiot. The crane does a happy little twirl in the air, and comes to perch on that finger like it was trained.

"Um." You say, because Laia walked in just now and you have no idea how to explain this.

She physically turns red, her silvery hair even seems to stand on their ends and the hand holding her cane is shaking.

"Get it out of sight. Now." She starts to shout but immediately drops her voice to a whisper, addressing the kids, "Don't ever tell anyone about this, understand?"

They all sheepishly nod. You're still staring wide eyed at the origami crane pecking at your hand.

You do not get reported for witchcraft, but Laia sternly warns you and the kids not to do this - or mention it to anyone ever.

She's usually soft spoken and composed, but you figure if you were her age and just saw a supernatural occurrence in front of you, you would freak out too, so you oblige.

After an hour or so, the paper crane ceased moving. You poke and prod until you're sure it's not going to reanimate, and unfold it halfway so it's flush enough to use as a bookmark. Somehow unfolding the whole thing would feel like you're killing it.

Not even a day later, you're scribbling down vocab for the kids when you decide to add in some illustrations. Moments later, you're staring eye-to-eye with a 2D cartoon cat that's parading around your sketchbook like it owns the place.

It even reacts if you try to jab the page. After a couple more doodles, you discover that the more detailed the drawing, the longer it seems to come alive for - and if you consciously will it not to, the drawing wouldn't animate, instead staying flush like a normal sketch.

You keep your new-found superpowers close to your vest, but your lessons become a lot more exciting the moment Laia's head is turned. The kids love you for it, and you figure it's a rather fun perk and nothing more - hell, you already woke up in a different world, what more can surprise you?

Apparently, a lot can.

You're shoved awake in the middle of the night, dragged to the ground and pushed onto your knees. There's a lot of sobbing and screaming and you finally catch a glimpse of the source of the chaos.

It's a robed man in cloth armor, he has a metallic mask over his face and one of the kids in an iron grasp.

"I do not know what you speak of." Laia is also restrained roughly by a guard, but poised, answering indignantly, "There's no mage around these parts."

You realize that maybe this world is medieval enough to still have witch hunts after all.

"Then what is this?"

The man with the mask holds up a paper crane, still batting its wings to try to escape the pinch of his fingers, and your heart sinks.

"I'm sorry, grandma." The kid being held is trying to speak through sobs, "I took the crane and wanted to sell it, we wanted to get you some medicine for your cough..."

You blink, half in shock.

Well, this is certainly a surprise.

"Just let us know where the mage is, and we will let you go unharmed." The man crossed his arms, and his tone revealed the statement for the threat it actually is.

Laia opens her mouth but clearly doesn't have an explanation prepared either. The sight of an elderly lady being dragged up by her collar and brutishly stared down does not bring you joy, and you silently pass her a look, willing her to give you up before anything worse happens to her or the kids.

She shakes her head a fraction. You barely have time to react before a gush of hot air hits you in the face and sends you reeling backwards.

You couldn't believe your eyes. Sweet, dear Laia, whose hands have only held knitting needles is now on fire. In fact, fireballs are growing in her palms and she's chucking them at the scrambling guards, while battling anyone who dares get close with her cane. Noticing you still standing there stupidly, she hurls a fireball at your direction, which lands right on the guard that was lunging on you.

"Run!" She shouts, "Spread out, don't let them catch you together!"

Before you can protest, the roof of the house collapsed, landing between you. Then, a huge explosion radiated from where Laia was standing, which literally shatters the roof. You scramble to dodge the rock splinters and sheet metal, while shouts continue behind you until you stumble and fall straight into a ditch.

You wake up covered in dust and debris. Blood from your forehead seeps into your eyes and you try your hardest to see if you can make out any familiar figures in the wreckage.

All you can see are charred bodies.

You kneel over and gag but nothing comes out. Now both tears and blood are stinging your eyes.

You're wanted in every city in Demacia.

You learned that the hard way when a pharmacist recognized your face beneath your hood. You had no choice but to bolt before you get cornered by the mageseekers.

That's why you're now in the forest, bandaging your wounds alone. You have never appreciated lack of industrialization this much - the foliage provided plenty of natural cover, and the seclusion helps a lot with the "your face is plastered around every city wall" thing.

That is, until you hear a rather alarming amount of rustling in the dead of night. You scamper up a tree and observe these unwelcome travelers through their torchlight.

It's a handful of well-armed men and women. You notice their sharp features and dark hair and realize they're definitely not Demacian.

Their speech holds a slight accent, and from this distance, you discern a few words that makes you freeze in place.

"...where could the girl be?"

"...these Damacian fools. Ha! They don't know they've struck gold even if it hits them in the face."

"...that old woman, did you hear she's a runaway Buvelle? Sending your own family away just because they can light things on fire with their hands. And they think us Noxians savages."

"...we should be fresh on her trail. Couldn't have made it far in her condi-"

"Silence."

A woman's voice sets their conversation to a sudden halt.

She slowly stalks towards you, hand still held up. Through the torchlight, you start to make out her face - mocha skin adorned with a beauty mark, and an eye patch prominently covering her right eye.

In the same second, she stops right beneath your tree. With a swift kick to the trunk, you fall out of the leaves unceremoniously, suddenly staring down the barrel of her gun.

"The name's Samira," she grins, "you're about to be my next paycheck."

Chapter Text

For a Noxian enthusiast, this would probably be the meeting of their dreams.

At least that's what you gathered when the butler-looking dude who led you here introduced the man in front of you as "General Darius" and glared like you like he expected a reaction.

You draw blank. Mostly because you've only heard of Noxus, like, 2 times before you got rudely kidnapped by Noxian mercenaries and delivered to this military compound, but also because you're feeling kind of numb after the chain of events recently.

"You look pretty unbothered for a girl of your stature." This general guy commented. For some reason he seems to approve. "Good, I do not tolerate cowardice."

"Right," you nod, just kind of blatantly disregarding your personal safety now, "because I chose to be here."

He laughs and waives a hand dismissively. "Any method necessary to recruit a talented mage such as you!"

You ponder about the word "recruit" and wonder if that's how this country "recruited" most of of their soldiers.

You later find out that indoctrinated would be a better word here.

"Uh," you continue your blank stare, "I fold paper and they move. I don't see how that's useful with you have guns."

"You'll be grateful when Noxus helps you realize your untapped potential." Darius states matter-of-factly. Something about his speech remind you of how Demacians also yell out their country name every chance they get.

You decide right then and there to become an anarchist.

You do not get the chance to become an anarchist because it's been weeks since you've had a full night of sleep.

It's obvious you're not a respected guest and more like an indentured mage because the same butler-looking guy will randomly wake you all hours of the night to shove a brush in your hand.

You're provided with the finest paints in the land and the finest canvas money can buy. But you do not paint sceneries and still life. Armed guards watch over you as you paint out outlines of guns and war machines. When you're done, they rush past you and collect the weapons of war that the paintings turn into, and you try not to think about what they might be used for.

Deep down, you know.

You walk by meeting rooms that proudly display maps that are becoming more and more red. You hear whispers in the halls as you're escorted by.

What a glorious prisoner, helping her captors cause carnage from the safety of a desk.

You're strictly denied access to anything that resembles pen and paper unless under supervision. Even at night, there are guards posted outside your door and bars on your windows.

Sometimes, the mercenary that brought you in visits. She'll come with abstract ideas about new gear for her and ask you to design it. You do it because she's the only one that doesn't mention Noxus in every other sentence around here, and because she actually asks for your opinion instead of demanding you to create whatever blows off people's heads the fastest.

Most days, you feel like you're being suffocated.

You're not quite sure how it happened, but a small slip of note paper slid under your door one night.

You pick it up and pause. With slow, practiced movements, you fold it into the shape of a crane and watch it fly out the window, brittle wings flapping against the rigid winds.

The night is silent. Too silent. You testingly knock on your door and receive no response.

You twist the knob and realize it's unlocked. The air is cold and smells like copper, and you look down to see your keepers now laying in a pool of their own blood.

You bend down and test their pulse.

Their throats are slit with ruthless precision and their bodies still warm.

You feel like it's kind of alarming how you're not even fazed by corpses anymore, but press that thought to the back of your mind.

Strangely, through the shadowy halls, you feel another presence. Call it instinct or luck, you manage to turn towards your visitor before you met the same fate as the guards.

"Commendable reaction." Says the figure. He emerges from the shadows with the outlines of a scythe on his back, and for a second you're reminded about tales of the grim reaper.

But the voice is much younger than you expected. Your eyes keep traveling up from the chiseled abs to the toned chest and meet a set of differently colored eyes.

Well, if you're in an isekai, this guy is totally looking like an edgelord antihero trope come to life. Between the asymmetrical armor thing he's got going on and the rebellious blue streak in his braided hair - which you suspect is as long as you are tall - it's actually kind of hard to take him seriously.

"You here to kill me?" You eye him suspiciously because running into an edgelord inevitably leads to 30 episodes of back-and-forth about some kind of miscommunication which could have been resolved by a simple talk.

"My Order has tasked me with taking out the mage that's aiding our enemies." He answers, as if that's the most obvious thing in the world.

Oh, an edgelord assassin. You take off a point for creativity and sneak a couple glances at his shirtless torso.

If you die, you die. Can't fault a girl for looking.

Unfortunately, your gaze doesn't go unnoticed.

"Where are you looking?" The young man exclaims.

He lifts his weapon and walks closer, which would look more menacing if you missed the flush on his face. "You will answer for your crimes -"

A origami crane flies out from his pocket and happily flies to you before landing back on his head. Now he looks more like a shocked puppy and you can't help but start laughing.

"Who's there?"

Apparently your laugh is much more obvious than your exchange, because some guards are shuffling down the hall towards you now.

"Shit." You hear the young man mutter under his breath. He studies you for a second like a realization just hit him and slings you right over his shoulder in a flash.

"Hey, what are you doing, let me down!" You start thrashing, not really understanding why you're getting kidnapped for the second time in a row.

Wasn't this guy just trying to kill you dead earlier?

The young man steadies you with one hand and shushes you with marked frustration. Your world is upside down but you're not an idiot and realize he's running straight into a wall.

Your yelp is silenced as you both kind of just dematerialize and run straight through the wall.

The rest of the trip through the compound passes in a blur, because you're upside down and it's not like you've ever gotten a good look at this place.

You kind of just dangle off this strange man's shoulder, recounting life decisions that have led you to this point.

Why does he have your crane? Did he see the message you scribbled on it? And why are you being kidnapped, again?

You have so many questions.

You come to a crossroad and you can feel the young man's shoulder tighten, as if bracing for combat. You squint and see the outline of a familiar mercenary on guard duty.

For a second, you're not sure if she saw you. But she simply looks away and leans back against the wall.

"Whaddya think, nothing to see here." Samira casually chats up the guards that were on your tail, "Just mosquitoes eating me alive."

The man carrying you relaxes, and slips right by them without alarm.

You kind of think you saw Samira wink at you.

Somehow you're sleep deprived enough to fall asleep in that position, life or death situation and kidnapping be damned.

"Hmm?" Is the first noise you make when you wake up, because it looks like you're in a tent and you can hear birds chirping outside.

Hell, there's even covers on you, though it looks suspiciously like your own curtain back at the compound.

It's kind of chilly, so you wrap yourself up with the curtain and scoot uncertainly to the opening of the tent, peeking your head out.

"You look like an imbecile." The young man walks out of nowhere and you kind of jump like a surprised cat.

There were definitely no footsteps. It might not be a far stretch to say that he has the uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere.

In fact, even the bird chirping stopped too.

You look closer and realize the reason there's no chirping is because there's a pigeon in his hands.

"You should consider yourself lucky that you lived to see another day." He lowers his voice like he's trying to sound menacing. Unfortunately, the attempt is pretty futile because he's currently plucking pigeon feathers and half of the feathers are falling on his lap. "My Master taught me to not harm innocents."

"Thanks for not killing me?" You offer. It probably doesn't sound sincere enough because he shoots you a glare.

You shuffle over with reckless abandon. The daylight makes it much easier to take a closer look at his eyes, and while one of them reminds you of honey and amber, the other eye is red, glowing faintly with the power of something ancient and unspeakable.

Though if you combine that with the image of him slowly roasting the pigeon over a fire, he kind of just looks like an angry Persian cat.

"What's your name?" You unceremoniously plop down across from him. "Or do you guys use code names or something?"

"You may call me Kayn." He answers indignantly.

You wonder if this is just an edgelord thing, or speaking with dramatic flairs is actually a requirement for everyone in his Order.

You tell him your name, and he just nods. There's a little crack in his confident front, and you get a feeling Kayn is not used to people not being intimidated by him.

"I must take you back to my Order for questioning," he declares, "but it will not do me well if you pass from starvation on the way."

You see his outstretched hand with some pigeon meat and realize this is just an extremely roundabout way of saying "here's some food".

"Thanks."

You take a bite and try not to make a face. The meat is somehow bland and gamey at the same time. You may not die from starvation, but you definitely might from food poisoning.

Apparently you suck at keeping a poker face.

"It will not poison you, mage." He exclaims, though you can tell his embarrassment from his flushed ears, "It's the best I can do without seasoni -"

You crudely draw some shapes in the dirt and magically produce some marinades.

He glares at you, but takes the pepper and douses his meat in it.

You eat in a strangely comfortable silence, savoring the feeling of wind in your hair.

Kayn is right, it's better with seasoning.

Provoking Kayn has become your new hobby.

From the rough descriptions he gave of his Order, your familiarity with the Noxian military makes you valuable, so it's much better that you're delivered safe and sound.

Unfortunately for Kayn, this means as a travel companion, he's all bark and no bite.

"I won't divulge more about my Order," he insists, and for the third time today looks like he wants to reach for his scythe, "you'll soon see for yourself when we arrive."

But when asked about your ETA, Kayn looks even more irked.

"It would take less than a fortnight if we did not need to avoid every major city thus far." He whisper-shouted, and you managed to look a little guilty as you two walked right past another one of your wanted posters.

You're both decked out in hoods, standing amongst a crowd waiting to board ship. This is the only Noxus port that has a direct route to Ionia, and Kayn is loosely holding onto your sleeve, eyes scanning the scene for any signs of danger.

The past two weeks has been a lot of beating around bushes and huddling around campfires. Every Noxus city you pass seems to have heightened security. It really seems like they want to find you - dead or alive.

So instead of being able to rest at an inn, you wake up every morning to the sound of Kayn chopping firewood with his scythe. There's definitely better tools for the job and the scene is pretty comical - the scythe is pretty much as long as he is tall, and he's swinging it around like it weighed nothing - but you get to stare at his torso while he's occupied, so you're not really complaining.

The madness of the situation might have gotten to you, because one of the mornings you could have sworn you heard his scythe talk. You quickly chalk it up to your imagination, and decide that it's time for you to rejoin civilization asap.

Fortunately, Kayn agrees.

That's why you two are trying to sneak onboard before the Noxian army lock down the ports too and force you to paddle across the ocean.

You hand your tickets over, and the guard inspects them carefully.

A quick sweep of the area reveals that there's a whole ass platoon of guards around the entrance. Your confidence in your rudimentary disguise is quickly waning.

"Follow my lead." Kayn leans in and whispers, and you're suddenly too aware of his hot breath on your ear.

Then, he circles you with his right arm and presses your face into his chest.

You've never been this close to him before, and you convince yourself the pounding in your heart is because of the approaching guards.

"My wife is feeling feverish today. Sorry for the trouble." Kayn says smoothly when asked about your pose.

The guards laugh, you're too busy staring daggers at Kayn to hear what they ask next.

"No, we're just visiting her family." Kayn answers, "We'll probably be back within the month."

He lets just a tinge of a Noxian accent slip through and the guards pick up on it perfectly. All suspicions seem to leave their faces and you're ushered on deck.

You're not too happy about the sudden backstory, but you're impressed.

You try not to let on, but he notices.

"I am skilled in many methods of espionage." He announces, arrogant as ever.

You roll your eyes and flop onto the first real bed you've seen in awhile.

Chapter Text

You watch the sunlight cascade over the shimmering waters, the beautiful stretch of blue filling your vision as far as the eye can see, and for the first time, the reality of your escape hits you.

"Kayn." You start, and the dark haired man raises an eyebrow expectantly.

There's only one bed in your assigned room, and he anointed himself to the chair without protest, citing something about not wanting to fight over a bed like a child. You don't suppose sleeping sitting up is very comfortable, and feel a twinge of guilt as you notice the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"What made your Order send you after me?"

It's a simple question. You've pestered him about it before without much luck, but you grow more curious with each passing day as you're nearing Ionia.

"The Noxian invasion isn't news to you, I hope?" Kayn chides, "They've been pushing on our borders for years, but their forces suddenly tripled in firepower in the span of a few weeks.

"Master Zed noticed the change in equipment and sent scouts." He concluded, "Traced it all the way to you."

You closed your eyes for a moment. Even now, hundreds of miles away from the source of your guilt, you can scarcely bring yourself to ask the next question.

"How many did the Noxian army kill? Hundreds? Thousands?"

Kayn's expression turns dark.

"Try tens of thousands." He sneers, "Noxus is a nation of despair and I will be the remedy. If that means I must kill one to save many, so be it."

You're silent after that.

The unusual lack of chatter from you must have alerted Kayn, because he actually shifts closer and gives your shoulder a tentative touch.

"It wasn't targeted towards you." He professes when he got your attention, the closest thing to an apology you've heard from him. "I understand your situation more than you may think."

"And how is that?" You huff.

"I also once fought for Noxus." He admits, "In fact, I was born Noxian and recruited as a child."

You spin around, wide-eyed. You can see the Noxian blood in him now: dark, straight hair and deep set features. You're surprised you missed it before.

"Hence I understand that you shouldn't blame the weapons for the bloodshed, and sometimes you shouldn't even blame the people wielding them." He says, in a softer, mellow tone you've never heard him speak in before.

He looks sincere. A long shot from the brash, arrogant assassin he usually presents as. You feel yourself relax, tension easing from your shoulders.

You can't help but let a small smile creep up your face.

There's a certain irony in having an assassin tell you to stop blaming yourself.

Kayn mirrors your movement, and you can't help but notice the particular way his eyes shine in the light, and the way the ocean breeze sweeps past his raven hair like a gentle caress.

You realize he's sitting too close, and your throat suddenly feels dry.

His hand reaches out to brush a piece of hair out of your face. You both freeze in the moment, and Kayn seems to snap out of the haze.

He quickly mutters something about needing to scout out the ship's security, and in a blink, he's out the door.

Given the inhuman speed, you suspect he even used shadow magic.

You don't see Kayn for the rest of the day.

Night falls and you get a little worried.

Not heeding his advice of staying in the cabin room unless accompanied by him, you hastily pull your hood over your head and head for the deck.

You evidently don't have any sea legs, because you're getting blown around by the ocean winds like a fallen twig. You form half a thought about how much more you appreciate modern cruises, where you can actually trust the structural integrity of your transport when you overhear the unmistakable sound of clanging metal.

"Kayn, all enemies of the Brotherhood shall have their blood spilled upon my blade!"

A sharp yell cut through the commotion, you turn the corner and see Kayn, scythe clashing with some masked man's chest plate while two other similarly dressed figures sprinted at him with raised blades, boxing him in.
.
Your pulse immediately picked up. He's outnumbered, and you haven't seen him fight in an open confrontation before, with his magic seeming more suited to stealth and skirmishes.

Your worry seems unfounded. He sidesteps an attack with ease, disappearing into the nearest wall, and reappears behind them, spinning the sharp edge of his scythe into someone's neck.

When another man charges again, Kayn smoothly kneels down, gliding along the floor until his scythe connects with the attacker's leg.

The last man standing gets a swift kick in the stomach from him, and impaled to the deck with his own knife.

The entire combination took him seconds to execute. It was nothing short of a massacre.

Then, as he's standing, wiping the blood off of his scythe, Kayn spots you in his peripheral vision. He freezes in place.

"I..." He opens his mouth and searches your face. If he wasn't covered in human blood, you would probably savor the dumbfounded look on his face. He kind of looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, instead it's not cookies but murder.

"So it's not just you, every Ionian just speaks like that?"

You approach him, because he kind of looks like he might freak out if you don't say anything.

"Uh.. not all of them," he moves to block your view of the splayed out bodies. "The Navori Brotherhood is more extreme than others."

You figure you probably shouldn't tell him you watched the whole thing go down.

You're feeling less repulsed than you thought you would. Maybe it's because it's a lot better than senseless slaughter on unarmed civilians - they challenged him, outnumbered him and still lost - or maybe it's the surgical precision Kayn moved at, making it feel more like you were watching an action scene.

You still wrinkle your nose at the smell and kind of pity Kayn that this is apparently his job.

"I shouldn't have left you alone." Kayn still looks a little out of his element. "We should leave."

You ask him what you're supposed to do with the bodies, and he kind of shrugs and goes to throw them overboard.

You walk over, feeling a weird obligation to help. Some vague joke about helping a friend hide a body crosses your mind and you brace yourself and push the limp body towards the sea and -

A dull pain explodes in your side. Your eyes widen as Kayn, who jumped between you and the pistol shot is knocked off balance. His frame is lost to the dark sea in a flash and without thinking, you jump in after him.

It turns out it's really, really fucking hard to drag a grown ass man to the surface, especially when he's ragdolled and all limp and not helping.

"Kayn does not know how to swim."

Yeah, obviously he fucking doesn't. You glance to the scythe strapped to his back - oh yeah, did you mention how heavy the scythe is too, but you're nice and Kayn would probably flip his shit if he lost it in the ocean -

Wait, who the hell was talking?

You're currently dangling off the edge of a make-shift raft. It's a little flimsy and barely rectangular, but it's the best your magic can do when you drew it on your shirt with fucking blood.

The salt water in your wound is making it sting like a bitch. The bullet mostly grazed you, and it looks worse than it actually is.

Kayn's shoulder, on the other hand, is a bloody mess. The bullet passed right through, and he's unconscious, the only indication of life being his chest undulating with shallow breaths.

"Dishonorable scoundrels." The same baritone voice spoke again, "But perhaps this will convince Kayn to finally ditch his fragile mortal form."

You look down and have a sudden epiphany.

Kayn's scythe is talking.

"Human girl, I underestimated your usefulness." The glowing red eye on the scythe seems to be studying you, "Crude magic, but effective."

You wonder if the blood loss is already making you have hallucinations.

"Ha! Ignorant girl." The scythe kept talking while you're trying to pick your jaw off the floor(raft?), "I'm Rhaast, the Darkin that inhibits this blade."

You spend the next hour floating in the ocean, carefully applying pressure on Kayn's wounds while coming to terms with the fact that he apparently gets powers from a possessed scythe.

When dawn breaks, you manage to spot land in the distance.

Your arms are sore from paddling, but you press on, determined to get Kayn to dry land as soon as possible.

You nearly crash the raft in the process, and with marked difficulty, you were able to lift Kayn enough to get him off the raft and into some shade.

It looks like you've found a rather secluded island, one of the many that make up the Ionian archipelago.

You scoot right up to Kayn's unconscious form. His shirt is in tatters, and you carefully remove it to inspect his shoulder. His bullet wound is a deep crimson, the skin tender around the area from soaking in salt water. His face is pale, and his usually well-kept braid is loose and clinging onto his skin.

You try to convince yourself that the tears welling up in your eyes are from sand.

"He shares similar levels of innate healing as a Darkin, " from the distance, Rhaast informs you, "if you checked any later, he would be healed already. Now mind picking me up before I fall back into the drink? "

You drag the scythe away from the shore, and plop back down.

You don't remember the last time you've actually seen Kayn so.. defenseless like this. He definitely doesn't have a welcoming aura, instead often coming off as cunning and arrogant. But now - with his eyes closed, blocking off that crimson, inhuman glow - he actually looks his age, his features youthful, almost delicate.

You reach out as if hypnotized and brush a thumb across his browbone.

Then, you set out to pick out the seaweed and debris stuck in his hair. You undo his braid and comb through the silky strands with your fingers.

How is it fair that an assassin has better hair than you? Someone should hire him for a shampoo commercial.

You get so lost in your work that when you look down, you fall straight into his sun-lit eyes. His gaze is soft and a little unfocused, and you wonder how long he has been watching you.

"Hey," he says, smirking, "you look terrible."

Well, yeah. You haven't slept the entire night and your hair is probably a mess, not to mention the scribbles on your shirt that are drawn on with fucking blood.

You must've looked crestfallen because he immediately frowns.

"I don't mean it like that." He sits up a little, and reaches out to you with his good arm. It's the one not covered in Darkin armor, and that spot looks awfully inviting. "Come here."

You shuffle over, and he places a hand on your waist.

You both freeze, but then he circles you with that arm and slowly pulls you closer.

You've seen men die by his hand, you've seen him slit throats as easily as a knife through butter.

You should be struggling, you should probably be running away.

But you're holding his gaze and you don't struggle or runaway. You let him pull you in instead, until you're practically in his lap.

Your head is resting right in the crook of his neck, and if you look up, you're close enough to count his eyelashes.

You decide that you like it here.

His eyes are hooded and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. His long, dark hair fell gracefully where he sat, now entangled with your own, and for a second you get the feeling that you're the prey that fell into a spider's nest.

"I like the way you look at me." He purrs, "No backing out now... I want to finish that kiss."

So you do.

It's a bit lopsided and both of your lips are chapped, but you don't care and the way he rubs the back of your neck while sucking on your lip and beckoning you to open up sends chills down your back.

Chapter Text

Kayn is a keen observer.

He feels the way your body shudders when he traces a line down your back, so he repeats it until you melt under his touch.

The kiss started out slow and tentative, but soon devolved into a battle of lips and tongue. He licks himself into your mouth and robs you of your breath, leaving you gasping for air. When you circle your arms around his neck for purchase, he takes the opportunity to undo the clasps in your shirt, long, nimble fingers working away at your collar, eager to reveal the patch of skin underneath.

You lean against his neck, and ghost your mouth over his exposed throat, because you can't be the only one all flustered and coming undone and you're going for the kill.

You're close enough to see the chills that ripple through his skin. You nibble and lick at his Adam's apple and he growls.

Your shirt is practically ripped off of you. Then, as his eyes shamelessly roams across your body, his lips form into a dark smile.

"You're perfect." His voice gained a raspy edge to it that sends a jolt of heat to your very core. "Can't wait to have you scream for me."

Your brain shut off for a whole second.

What happened to the Kayn that would blush if you stared at him too long and who replaced him with this sinful half-demon of a man?

He easily steadies you with one arm, while the other slowly - oh ever so slowly - starts to loosen his belt. It's wrapped around his waist way too many times and it feels like there's a million twists and knots. You find your eyes fixated on his iliac furrow, then straying downwards, where his loose fitting pants are not leaving much to the imagination.

He's giving you a show, and you're hanging onto every frame.

You're perched precariously on his thigh, all too aware of his shape, hot and throbbing and inches from you.

Kayn raises his clawed hand, and presses it to your side. He chuckles when you intake sharply, jumping in surprise from the cold temperature of the silver metal. Then, he trails a finger down and slashes across your thigh.

You feel a sudden coldness, and realize he literally cut away your pants.

"Beautiful sight." He purrs and you feel his human hand probe against your entrance. He pauses when his finger gets coated in slickness and you feel his low laugh again.

Kayn makes your knees weak and he knows it.

You reach out and hover over the dark mass in his pants. You resolve to get rid of these pesky layers between you as fast as a possible so you do, yanking down the already loosened cloth.

Kayn's cock springs out from its restraints, slapping against his stomach. It's hot and leaking and is the same kissable shade as his lips.

You consider it and question if you can deal with the girth. You'll probably need to be thoroughly stretched before -

Calloused fingers slide into you with absolutely no warning. They scissor inside of you, and you silently curse. The pads of the fingers caress your walls, and you have to bite your fist to suppress your cry when they brush against a specifically hard ridge.

It doesn't help that Kayn's gaze is burning a hole into you.

"Like what you see?" He teases.

And you do. He's leaning back against the sand and his hair is splayed out beneath him, framing his sculpted face. His pupils are blown, the gold flecks in his eye all but consumed by want.

Every movement he does draws attention to his toned form, and if your eyes dare wander a little lower - his cock on full display, full of blood and grinding against your thigh.

"You're drenched." He whispers.

He adds a finger. Pistoning in and out until there's little resistance, then curling them inside you so he can press right on the spot that sears stars into your vision.

Your hand shoots out and lands straight in his hair, tugging at the strands in a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

The pressure is building and you buck your hips. But then, his hand wraps around your thigh instead and the fingers retreat.

"Not yet." At your needy whine, he presses a kiss to your palm.

Then, he places you right on top of his straining erection and pushes you down.

Your entrance slowly yields and the tip lodges right between your lips. The warmth makes Kayn throw back his head and moan.

If it was at all possible, you probably just got wetter from hearing that.

You try to relax as your walls try their hardest to accommodate the intrusion. It feels at if he's trying to burn you all the way to your core. You peer down through half lidded eyes and to see Kayn's expression - brows knitted, eyes focused right on you as he sinks himself deeper and deeper, the stretch verging on being too much.

When your hips meet, you practically collapse on top of him. His tip is right against your cervix and you can feel his pulse through his cock with every shattered breath.

He tilts your head into his hand, overlaps your mouth with his, and jerks his hip upwards and -

Your voice is barely a whimper as you cum in a flash of white. Your vision is hazy and your thighs are shaking.

"Already? You did so good. For me." Kayn coos next to your ear but even in your haze, you can't miss the lust laced in his tone.

Sure enough, before you even ride out your orgasm. He grasps your hips hard enough to leave a constellation of bruises and sets a punishing pace.

Your world is flooded with sparks of pleasure and the burning ache of him being too much.

Kayn fucks like he performs a kill - with relentless pursuit and ruthless execution. He easily lifts you with one arm on the upstroke, while letting gravity do the work on the downstroke, embedding his length all the way inside until you're a sobbing mess.

You didn't know you were into that, the agonizingly deep penetration. But oh, you're ruined for other men for a while.

The friction builds with every slam of his hips, the rhythm an uncontrolled frenzy. You eyes shoot open when you smell copper, and you realize that his shoulder wound has been torn open.

"Kayn," Your mind tries to fight through its fucked out haze, "You're bleeding, maybe we should..."

"No." He growls into your ear and fuck he sounds like the embodiment of sex - desperate and insatiable. In fact, the smell seems to excite him somehow, and his thrusts become erratic.

You can no longer form coherent thoughts.

Even your cries are getting shattered with every roll of his hips, sounding more like broken whimpers.

"Look at me." He commands, and his hand snakes around you to rest on the curve of your neck.

You do, and he captures you with his unwavering gaze. Beads of sweat are rolling down his face and his hair is sticking to his temple and his lips are slightly-parted, swollen from kissing and he looks perfect.

"Say my name." His eyes are dark, hungry, and his free hand falls to your stomach, pressing down to feel the outline of his shape through the supple skin.

"Shieda - " you feel his breath hitch as you moan out his name. You reach out to him, and he holds you close and buries himself all the way to the hilt and his resolve unravels.

You spasm around him, your own climax immediately followed by his. You collapse on top of him, and feel his release slowly leak out of you as he takes your hand and entangles it with his.

"We fit so well." He lands a trail of small kisses on your cheek, and smiles like an idiot. "I hope that was just the first of many."

Your swollen entrance makes you seriously doubt that first part, but you lay there for awhile and take the opportunity to grope at every muscle you've been eyeing at, much to Kayn's surprised protests.

Damn his nice face and cute smiles, what kind of commitment did he just rope you into?

Apparently, the hard kind.

In more than one sense of the word.

Every night where you rest at an inn, he makes you scream so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name. Then, the day's journey begins with you still nestled in his arms, legs sore and wobbly and way too spent to walk on your own.

Everytime, you regret being seduced by him - he's young and territorial and has way too much stamina - but he dotes you with a string of praises and lovely massages and you forgive him the next day.

You're just not used to having such an unusual audience.

It's the third time today Rhaast has laughed incessantly about your "mortal needs for copulation" and how your walk "looks more dysfunc than a new-born deer" and you flip your shit.

You draw a line in the dirt, which turns into long string of rope. You tie one end of said rope to a confused-looking Kayn's waist and the other end to the handle of his chatty weapon.

"Let's walk." You say, and grab Kayn's hand.

So you do, with Rhaast sprouting some vague Darkin approximation of "Bros before hoes" while he's dragging behind you, scraping against every single rock in the vicinity.

It's pretty comical and you're holding back a snicker. You grow curious about the topic and turn to face Kayn, questions already springing to mind.

"How did you even find a sentient scythe, anyway?"

"Much the same as how I found you." Kayn smiles, thoroughly entertained by the memory. "Though I would say not nearly as dramatic."

"I come from a lineage of God-Warriors, and you would say our meeting dwindles compared to your toy?" Rhaast scoffs.

"This 'toy' is responsible for your current predicament." You tug on the rope, sending him a sour reminder.

"No matter." Rhaast laughs, "Temporary compared to my eternal imprisonment within this shell. One day, I shall break free, squander Kayn's spirit and lay waste to this realm."

"Right." You nod, and spin to face the assassin, brows raised in a wordless request for translation.

"The Noxians were hoping to harvest Rhaast's powers for their militant strength. I was sent to destroy the scythe." He elaborated, "What the Order saw to be a threat became my opportunity. He will not corrupt me, but is instead a prattling tool at my mercy."

A dark, sinister flame flickered across his eyes. You saw ambition, pure and relentless bubbling beneath the surface and press a chaste kiss to his face to interrupt his torrent of (probably violent) thoughts.

"All this power, what do you hope to achieve?"

His expression softens at your kiss.

"To defend my home. To leave a name for myself in the pages of history." He grip tightens on your hand, "To protect what's dearest to my heart."

You're definitely blushing. It should be illegal for an assassin of all people to be this smooth.

"What about you?" He tilts your chin up to face him and you can feel his eyes boring through you. "No one knows where you came from, you show up with little common sense of the world and with one of the most dangerous magic I've ever witnessed. Who am I to you?"

The road is quiet, the world falls silent. Kayn's face is close enough to yours for your breath to entangle. And you let out a small gasp.

You didn't expect to keep it a secret for long. He's more clever than he lets on and endlessly observant.

He knows how to take you apart by his hands and how to hold you together by his smile. He probably knows you too well already.

"I'm from somewhere far far away." You start, "worlds and eons away."

You tell him about your simple, carefree life. You tell him about buildings that reach the sky and carriages made of glass of steel. You tell him about being able to have any information at your fingertips through a few simple taps on a keyboard.

"It has its flaws, but it's much, much more peaceful than here." You complete your little speech with a melodramatic smile.

You look up and realize Kayn's face is entirely stoic.

You sidle up to him and ask him what the matter is. You touch him and realize he's shaking.

"Will you go back?" He asks, almost in a whisper, the closest to breaking you've ever seen him. "Will you disappear one day, as suddenly as you showed up?"

You reach up and bury yourself into his arms, you search through your mind for a response, until a sudden, distant memory springs into attention.

"No, I won't." You grasp his hand close to your heart. "I showed up here because I made a wish."

"A wish?" He locks you in the embrace with a hand on the small of your back, and asks right into the crook of your neck.

"With a cosmic dragon." You laugh at the absurdity of it, but soften your tone and plant a reassuring hand across his shoulders, "I wished to get to a place where my art could truly feel alive."

"It seems like your wish was granted with quite the twist of words." Kayn returns a soft kiss to the top of your head, "Fortunately, it brought you to me."

"Yes."

You agree.

You both stay in the embrace, the now setting sun dragging a long shadow behind you.

You feel like you forgot about something.

"Imbeciles, I would much prefer if you keep your exchanges out of my sight."

Rhaast loudly proclaims behind you.

You roll your eyes. Kayn pulls at the rope with thinly-masked annoyance, and returns the infested scythe to his back.

You tread, side by side, towards his home, with Ionia's winds at your back.

Chapter Text

Even through a mask, you can feel the ninja's piercing gaze, as if he was measuring your worthiness at a glance.

News of Kayn's return with you in tow spread quickly the moment you neared the Order's headquarters. Treading through both curious glances and malicious glares, you promptly followed Kayn into your first encounter with the fabled leader of their organization.

"This is the mage you were tasked to seek out?" Zed asked tersely. Half shrouded in darkness, the leader of the Order of Shadow was decked out in armor, the residual light in the room reflected across his blades in a sharp, silver glint. Even his voice carried a metallic edge to it.

"Yes, Master Zed." Kayn nods respectfully, "I believe her knowledge of our invaders and her magic will be of great use to our cause. I've learned of her imprisonment within the Noxus compounds, and it seemed unjust to take her life for involuntary offenses."

He's standing next to you, arms at his sides in a picture-perfect presentation of a good pupil. Yet, you can feel the tenseness in his pose. If you weren't smack dab in the middle of this conversation, you would probably find it comical that it highly resembles some kind of villainous scene you would see in a movie.

"The Order is a far cry from being harbingers of justice." Zed commented dryly. "But... I will trust your discretion for now."

You notice Kayn visibly exhale.

Zed stands up swiftly and nods his head a fraction, his movements a wordless dismissal. You begin to turn on your heels as well, but Kayn circles his hand around your wrist.

"One moment, Master Zed. I have one more matter I need to report."

Zed shifts his leveling gaze back to his visitors.

"There is no need to assign her to a dormitory. I would like to share my quarters with her. I chose to be her keeper and I wish to see it to the end."

Your heart flutters with warmth at his unexpected words. There's also a subtle flush across Kayn's cheeks, and you see the way he's waiting eagerly for Zed's response and realize Master Zed may be the closest thing to a father figure for your dear shadowy assassin.

Oh. You're pretty much meeting his parent.

You're suddenly not surprised Zed is just as edgy and elusive. Like father like son?

You take Kayn's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I see." Zed's eyes - at least from what you can assume through the mask - fell on your entwined hands, there was a slight pause before he continued, "If you insist. This rogue mage was and still is your mission. Understand that her actions will hold you accountable as well."

You blink, not able to tell his opinion from any part of that sentence.

If everyone in Ionia speaks in circles like this, you might go crazy before long.

"Duly understood, Master Zed." Kayn nods again, and leads you to the exit. Once out of earshot, you tug on his arm to get his attention.

"What was that supposed to mean?" You ask because you're not well-versed in edgy-speak.

"For Master Zed, a lack of objection means approval." Kayn translates, the beginning of a telling smile breaking through his composure.

You realize you just passed the world's strangest "this is my girlfriend" meeting.

It took a month for the acolytes of the Order to go from scoffing at your "arts and crafts" to lining up at your door with commissions.

Sure, your creations aren't permanent - unfortunately, this keeps you from becoming a real life infinite food and money glitch - but you're perfectly capable of becoming a human printer of crucial medical supplies, or churn out complicated gadgets that would take blacksmiths days to refine.

As it turns out, both are sorely needed by a group of underfunded combatants during wartime.

You're not a doctor or a fighter. You wake up at sunrise to send acolytes off with what you hope are ample supplies, and spend your days filling storage shelves with bandages and antiseptics.

It's the least you can do.

Many of them leave, a lot less return.

You listen to their tales of night skies coated crimson by blood, and entire villages slaughtered without opposition, and wonder how many people died at the hand of your own creations, Noxians and Ionians alike.

You wonder how many more will from the crossfire you personally enabled.

War is a never ending nightmare for both parties. You may spend some days ridden with guilt, but you won't let it consume you - your continued role in this war is both your sin and your penance.

Ionia's beauty simply does not go unnoticed. From the treacherous curves of its mountain ranges to the vast, untamed lands full of wild and turbulent magic - it strikes the balance perfectly between unparalleled grace and danger. Qualities that often remind you of your beautiful shadow reaper.

This precarious balance even seeps into their ceremonies of death.

You meet Akali at one of these funerals.

A sharply dressed assassin complete with a green veil across her face, she stands out like a sore thumb in a sea of dull grays and empty stares. Apparently you do as well - because it didn't take long for her to strike up a conversation, beginning with phrases like "you're definitely not from around here" to "did one of Zed's goons kidnap someone again".

Apparently, not everyone in Ionia speaks in riddles. In fact, judging by the dirty glares she's receiving, you have to actively shush her before more body counts are added to the funeral.

You narrowly avoid her offer to break you out and explain your situation. Akali's eyes widen when you get to the part about Kayn.

"You're with him? Never would've thought angry scythe boy actually has any game." She looks like you just told her dragons can tap-dance, "I mean, he's not bad-lookin', but it's the eyes." She feigns a shudder, "Can't deal with those eyes."

You start thinking about Kayn's eyes - how they darken deliciously when he makes eye contact with you - and totally space out for a good second.

You snap out of it, and shrug noncommittally. In a world without colored contacts, heterochromia is probably a pretty startling sight.

Unfortunately, Akali catches on.

"Oh, you're into it." She stands with her arms akimbo and looks you up and down, "Ugh, why are all the hot ones crazy. Match made in shadow."

You take the compliment at face value and laugh at the bad pun.

You become fast friends.

Turns out Akali is an ex-member of the Kinkou Order, which is where Zed came from before he took some disciples with him and left to create his own with edgier ideals.

Whereas the Order of Shadow treats death with a practiced numbness and see sacrifices as a means to an end, she's lighthearted enough to crack jokes at an old acquaintance's funeral.

"We all die eventually." She answers with ease, "Spirits born in Ionia will return to Ionia, the First Lands will always be with us. Mortality is what makes our actions have meaning."

You pondered about that line for a good while.

Being from a world with organized political machinations and easy access to modern medication, it's hard to understand the motivations of people who devote their lives for a simple cause - where both them and their opponents treat human lives as if it was no more significant than a paper weight.

But you do. And your heart breaks with every departure of a familiar face.

You realize you can't bear the thought of Kayn possibly falling victim to an equally-cruel opposition. Instead, you double your time commitment on printing out crucial supplies, hoping to arm the Order with as much preparation as they may need for this needlessly bloody war.

Days fall into a familiar, almost mechanical rhythm. You barely register how long you haven't seen Kayn before you're dragged out of your studio by an oddly ecstatic Akali.

"Victory celebration." She explains to you over the campfire, chugging a worrying amount of drinks down her throat with ease. "I even got invited - the Kinkou joined on the operation, and with the knowledge you provided us of the Noxian weapons, we were actually able to push them back across our western borders."

"Impressive work." Someone tapped you on the shoulder, and you can barely catch their face before they retreat back into the shadows. Typical.

You were given another friendly toast with something strong and herbal. The bitter alcohol dulls your senses as you manage to slur out a thank you.

You vaguely remember being huddled around by a crowd while verbal appreciations are thrown at you left and right. It's truly a rare sight - most interactions you have with the acolytes are reserved and concise, you're definitely not used to the sudden attention.

Suddenly, the conversation comes to a halt, replaced by an uneasy murmur.

You stand on your tip-toes, trying to pinpoint a reason for the sudden silence. Then, you catch the familiar strip of vivid blue amongst a sea of raven hair.

It's Kayn. With his scythe slung haphazardly over his back, and his lips pressed into a firm line. You can almost make out your own reflection in his eyes before he fades into the darkness just as suddenly as he appeared.

The last you've heard from him was when he was sent into the enemy backline for a covert mission. Come to think of it, you haven't seen him in weeks.

You're suddenly filled with an incessant need to see him. Right now.

"Sorry." You mutter some kind of incoherent excuse as you maneuver around the overbearing crowd.

Fortunately, before you go on a wild goose chase, you run into a smirking Akali.

"Scythe boy? He went that way." She points in a direction between slurps of ramen noodles, "He looked pretty gloomy, but that could just be his status quo."

You continue to follow the shadowy trail, until the drunken commotions by the campfire fade to barely a whisper.

"Not celebrating with the others?"

You're met with a silver haired man in a familiar crimson uniform. It took you several seconds before you realize it was Zed - mask or not, it's rare enough to catch the leader of the Order given the hectic past weeks.

"I left to find Kayn, I believe he returned from his mission?" You ask, and a look of understanding crept across the older man's face, which then turned to amusement.

"Kayn often goes to the training range when he's... upset." Zed seems to find humor in the situation and gives you an inquisitive look, "You will most likely find him there."

You thank him hastily and make a beeline for the training range.

Stepping through the creaky doors, you let them slam shut behind you as you scanned the dimly-lit area for a familiar silhouette.

"Looking for someone?"

You felt Kayn's presence before you heard him speak in your ear. His arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his familiar scent - light yet pervading, like the smell of pine under fresh snow.

But the touch was fleeting. He pulled back in a flash, and loomed just beyond your reach, face unreadable.

"In fact, I was." You cross your arms and examine him. Kayn looks unscathed from his missions, but his braid is a mess, loose hair swept unceremoniously across his face. The beginnings of a stubble dotted his chin, and his chest is heaving with quick, shallow breaths.

He must have rushed the trip back to see you.

"You can see me now." He mirrors your pose and casts his dual-toned gaze downwards. "Leave me, you have no further purpose in the training range."

You can't help but notice that he looks like a kicked puppy. You're not really sure what his fuss is about, but there's no way in hell you're leaving him alone like this - in fact, you need an excuse to climb all over him, like, right now.

"Ouch, that's a harsh assumption." You shuffle over, "Here I was hoping for a sparring partner."

"Sparring?" Kayn gave you a quizzical look and you're a hundred percent sure you've been slighted.

"I've been practicing while you were gone." You offer, and make a show of squeezing your bicep.

"Fine. Humor me." He laughs dryly, and stands in place, not even forming a ready position.

First mistake - underestimating your opponent.

You might not be the best disciple the Order has to offer, but you did learn a thing or two during your stay.

Closing the distance, you struck out with your arm, going for his neck. Kayn sidesteps it with ease, but you turn with him - you weren't going for him at all.

A quick yank and the strap that holds Rhaast in place loosens and unravels. True to his remarkable reflexes, Kayn quickly catches on and grips the handle before it clashes to the ground.

Without hesitation, you run straight towards his blade, no doubt looking like a suicidal idiot trying to face check an assassin's weapon.

"Wha -" His shocked face is priceless, and quickly spins the scythe away from your approaching form. But you've confused him enough for your purposes - a quick, ferocious flying tackle later - you've achieved victory, and are now happily nested on his abs, a triumphant look on your face. "Aha, I win."

"Do you have a death wish?" He exclaims, now twice as flustered, still carefully keeping Rhaast out of your range lest you make another suicide attack.

Meanwhile, Rhaast is bellowing in laughter, even the scythe seems to glow an even brighter orange-red than usual.

"The Mighty Kayn, taken down by such plebian tactics. Who would have imagined?"

"Shut up, Rhaast." Kayn hisses, then turns his sharp glare to you, "And you, if I reacted any slower, your head would be rolling on the ground right now. What were you thinking?"

"All warfare is based on deception." You say in a sing song accent. When met with an unwavering stare from the dark haired man pinned beneath you, you remember that Sun Tzu probably doesn't exist in this dimension and shrug.

"I'm sorry." you apologize, and plant a kiss on the corner of his lips, "Had to cheat a little, because I know you would never raise your blade against me."

Kayn's expression softens. You allow yourself to relax as well and slump into his shoulders, fingers tracing circles into his firm chest.

Just then, he locks an arm around you and propells himself back up, hoisting you into his arms. You yelp in surprise and instinctively wrap your legs around his trim waist, now suddenly very high up from the ground.

You realize a little too late that your back is now against a wall.

You also realize, still half startled, that Kayn's face is inches from yours, with half-lidded eyes drinking you in.

"Won the battle, lost the war." He mouths against the side of your neck and you try to supress the immediate shudder. It's proving difficult because his voice sounds like melted honey and you can't stop tracing his wicked smile with your eyes and -

A loud crash coming from the door interrupted your thoughts. You look over and realize Kayn has expertly kicked his scythe right into the underside of the double doors, effectively lodging it shut.

"Kayn? Not here..." You beg, now remembering where you are. Vacant or not, the training range is a place everyone in the Order frequents, and if anyone shows up -

"Hush." He coaxes, trained fingers deftly undoing your top. There's a familiar hunger in his eyes and you know there's no room to argue. "From now, everytime you come here, you'll remember what I did to you - what I'm going to do to you - in this very spot."

He uses his human hand to caress your exposed flesh while his armored side cages you in place. "Easy now." He warns as he brushes a thumb over your nipple, "If you struggle too much, I might drop you."

The rational part of you knows he can keep this pose up for hours, but your brain is in overdrive and the way his warm torso is flush against you while you're being shoved into a cold stone wall is making it hard to think.

"Did you miss me?" He chuckles darkly, when you're too dazed to respond, he unties his silk belt and grinds up against you, making you feel every inch of his arousal through the thin layer of fabric. "I did."

You let out a breathy moan, your body already craving more of his touch, warmth pooling in your core.

"How I stroked myself at night thinking of kissing you like this." He sighs, somehow sounding both greedy and content at the same time, and overlaps your lips with his. You pull him in closer by his neck, and felt a brief sting as his clawed hand closed around your thigh, forcing your legs open.

There's probably going to be marks and bruises there tomorrow - but you paid it no mind and focused on the way he's licking himself into your mouth and scattering love bites all across your neck.

Turns out, it's rather difficult to take off your underwear when you're being held mid-air. After several frustrating attempts, you hear Kayn let out an impatient growl and all too suddenly, the fabric is ripped and pried to the side and your breath catches in your throat as he lines up his length and pushes and fuck that's so deep...

You bite down on your lip before a cry can escape.

The girth is enough to deal with, but the burning stretch of the deepest parts of you being fucked into feels like too much. Kayn's hands are holding you by your hips, pulling you down on his cock over and over, while he shamelessly moans out syllables of your name. You're biting on your lip hard enough to draw blood when two slender fingers pushes into your mouth, toying with your tongue.

"Let me hear you." Kayn says through uneven breaths. Hooking a hand underneath your knee, he effectively folds you in half while he thrusts into you with reckless abandon.

You can barely hear your own desperate cries over the roaring in your ears. Your walls are clenching around him like a glove, and you swear you can feel his quickening heartbeat through his cock. With every thrust, you break apart a little, like he's trying to etch every inch of his shape into the deepest crevice of your memory and fuck he's hitting the exact spot that makes you see stars.

You finally give in, walls tightening into a vice grip as you sob and bite into his shoulder. The world is spinning beyond your vision and your nails are digging into his back as he stills and releases inside you.

You collapse into him, legs burning with effort and eyes glazed with a postcoital haze. He sets you down gently and you both lay awkwardly on the hard wooden floor until the smell of sweat and lust clears the air.

"I did not mean to run away." Kayn holds you close to his chest as he mumbles, "It was a childish act."

"I'd say we're even now." You laugh.

"I'm not so certain." You look up and Kayn is pouting, you have to refrain from kissing him because you do want to get some sleep tonight. "I used my shadow magic across half the country so I can return to you sooner. It looked like you didn't even notice my departure."

"Oh, come on." You roll your eyes, "People around me are sick of hearing your name at this point. You've been on my mind since you left."

"As were you." Kayn responds in kind, and you sweep a piece of cyan hair out of his eyes.

To be honest, you're kind of sad he stopped pouting.

You can't help but feel sheepish as you pulled your clothing back over your head. At your insistence, you both sneak out through the wall, and you seriously hope your collar is high enough to cover the hickeys planted all across your neck.

The campfire is still burning strong in the distance. A faint melody from a flute catches your attention as you stood to watch the fire roll into the night sky.

The tune is wistful, but calm. Like that of a rogue traveler who has finally found a place to call home. Like that of a country that has lost so much, but continue to fight for dignity and respect.

Tomorrow will always be a better day.

Chapter Text

You're not sure how you got into this situation.

You're smack dab in the middle of an unfamiliar street in your pajamas. A middle aged lady is clutching onto your arm, crying something about her stolen bag, while you're desperately trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes with your free hand.

"Please," she pleads, "you can have all the money, I just want those documents back."

Just moments ago, you were nestled happily in your own bed. You vaguely remember having a weird dream where a glowing dragon was offering you a wish, of course, in your infinite wisdom, you chose -

You snap out of your thoughts. Because the crying is getting a bit much and the sun is really bright and you realize you're standing on a man's stomach and he seems to be bleeding out of his head.

You can even smell the blood. This is probably too realistic for an episodic dream.

There are also bystanders pointing and shouting, and you manage to understand the string of events through their garbled speech - the man you're standing on stole the lady's bag and ran, you fell down from the sky and landed right on his head, but there's no bag to be seen and they seem to think you're his accomplice.

"Uh." you start, especially since there seems to be city guards approaching your way with spears and you don't even know how you got here, "Frankly, that sounds like a terrible idea for a robbery, I just happened to land on this guy, I'm not sure where the bag is -"

You pause. Everyone gasps. Because the handbag just appeared out of nowhere and is now proudly displayed in your other hand.

"Oh! Thank you!" The old lady exclaims loudly and took the bag back with uncharacteristic speed. "How nice of you to cheer my day up with a magic trick."

There's even clapping from the crowd that gathered around you, which seems to dispell the looming guards. You wonder if anyone even bothered to listen to a word you said.

You watch the very passed out thief being dragged away by some uniformed men and look down at your hands. You wiggle your fingers - they feel perfectly normal, which does not explain how you made an object appear out of thin air - and start to question every law of physics you've ever been taught.

"Sorry if this is impolite to ask, but..." the middle aged lady that narrowly avoided a robbery taps you on the shoulder, "I see that you're in costume, are you a theater lover?"

You're not sure whether to feel flattered or horrified that your pajamas are being mistaken for a costume.

Then you looked around and took a good look at the pedestrians, all walking around in everything from flowing robes to loose tunics, without a single T-shirt or jeans in sight. And is that a person with an actual, moving tail?

The thought occurred to you that not only are you in an unfamiliar city, you might be in a whole different world.

"Yes?" You offer uncertainly, because it's better to have this lady think you like theater than to have her report you for witchcraft.

"Excellent! I'm actually the director of a travelling theater, and - " She clears her throat, looking a little embarrassed, "we're currently in desperate need of personnel. We could use the help from a mage."

You consider the offer for a whole two seconds and shake her hand.

You currently know nothing about the world you just literally crash landed in, and you think your chances of getting other employment are slim to none.

She leads you to a modest two-story building and hands you a contract. You pick up the pen and are faced with your second dilemma since waking up - you don't understand a single word that's written on the page.

The nice lady's face turns sympathetic when you inform her of your illiteracy. Even more when you tell her that you're a traveler and very new to this town.

"It's okay, dear. You must have gone through a lot to escape to Ionia." She pats your hand, and you can only imagine what backstory her mind just conjured up about your life, "We accept all kinds here, mages or not. You will learn the written language in time, for now I can read the contract out for you."

And she does, you scribble out your name at the bottom, marking the beginning of your first job in what seems like a strange, magical land.

Fortunately, you manage to figure out your new-found powers the first day on the job.

You don't just make objects appear. You can store them in what seems like an invisible inventory and reappear them with an active thought.

You can only store inanimate objects, and you have to be physically touching it. Even then, this proves to be spectacularly useful as a newly-hired stagehand.

Props are switched out and set up with a wave of your hand. Heavy gear can be displaced with a simple snap of your fingers. You even get a few requests from crewmembers to help them move furniture.

At this rate, you might as well start a moving business.

Nyla, the director and the owner of the theater is ecstatic at the progress. Whereas previously, the small theater group struggled to stand out amongst the competition, whispers soon spread around town about their performance and their "flawless scene transitions". When asked about how it's done, Nyla simply gives people a vivacious smile and claim it's "trade secrets".

The trade secret is you running on stage between scenes in a black sheet.

One day, Nyla announces that the theater has acquired enough funds to start traveling again. You're just as excited as the rest of the crew for new scenary and a splash of adventure - until you realize the transportation of choice in this era is cramped carriages.

One long, motion sickness inducing ride later, you arrive at the new port city. The dressing rooms in this theater is less run down and actually well-lit, and the auditorium houses way more seats. You even get a bump in your salary for hauling most of the crew's luggage in your inventory.

Finally able to stretch your legs, you rub at the sore spots in your neck from your terrible napping position. Across the curtain, you can hear unfamiliar voices singing opera, and you start to remember that Nyla mentioned something about new recruitments.

These must be the auditions.

You're working out the knot in your shoulder when a tall, lithe figure emerges from the corner.

"Long trip from Sudaro, I assume?" He asks as he comes into view. Dressed in a bright, high collared shirt complete with slim fitting pants, his footsteps echoed faintly on the wooden floor. There's a strange rhythm to it - almost like even walking was a methodical performance for him, and you wonder if he's one of the new actors Nyla hired.

"No, I'm content working with ropes and pulleys." The man laughs, sounding earnest. His voice is smooth as silk, but unfortunately muffled by a wooden, undecorated mask.

You realize you voiced your question out loud. Realizing you finally have a new colleague - god knows the theater has been understaffed - you spring up from the chair and make a hasty self introduction.

"Pleased to meet you." He leans down and ghosts a kiss over your hand. All you can see of his face is a pair of bright, amber eyes, so you hold his gaze and can't help wonder what lies beyond the mask.

Someone calls your name from the next room over and you instinctively turn your head. When you look back, he has let go of your hand, but sents you off with a small nod of his head. "You can call me Jhin."

As the popularity of the theater group rises, your job gets ever more hectic.

The actors can rotate, have days off. But your magic is what binds the show together. In fact, the scripts are written with your efficiency in mind, and it would take days of rehearsal for the cast and crew to acclamate to a different tempo.

So you keep working, ever the silent, invisible stagehand. In fact, some of the new recruits don't even know what you do.

"Tired?" Jhin asks, and you're too out of breath to speak so you lean on him for support.

The closing music is playing, your long-awaited queue to rest. Jhin manipulates the lighting expertly as the actors bow, earning a round of applause from the crowd, all the while supporting your weight. You're close enough to hear his steady heartbeat, and it occurs to you that his agile form belies his strength.

"Thanks, appreciate it." You catch your breath enough to pull away. Dragging your heavy legs along, you make way to the storage rooms so you can get rid of the numerous props in your inventory.

It was the last show of the day, and you would like nothing more than a hot shower and a warm bed.

Quiet, measured footsteps followed behind you, and you figured you and Jhin were on the same way to the exit. Passing the dressing rooms, you still as you overhear your name in a heated conversation.

"...that girl, did you know when she was hired, she couldn't even read her own contract?"

There was a harsh laugh you recognized to be from the lead actress.

"Refugee or just had a ratty family, who knows." Someone else commented, "It's really not fair that an errand girl gets paid the same as us."

Some silence, then another voice spoke up, "I heard that the director wanted her to audition for a role."

"Ludicrous." The lead actress concludes, "Takes years of training to be on stage, how -"

You stopped listening at this point. Opting to ignore them, you continue your walk, determined to get home before long.

"Strange, you're not upset at their antics?"

Jhin gracefully caught up to you with his height advantage. In your exhaustion, you didn't realize he overheard the whole thing too, but you form a response anyway.

"Nothing to be upset at." You shrug, "If I stop to address every rabid dog that tries to bite me, I might as well start a shelter."

"Ha! Well said." Your words seem to entertain Jhin, you catch a strange glint in his eye as he taps his chin in thought, "Beauty is a weapon, and you - my darling - is especially sharp. They seem afraid of it."

The compliment catches you off guard.

You don't intend on auditioning for any roles, no matter if Nyla offers or not, but deep down, it still stings to learn what some your colleagues actually thought about you.

However, Jhin is known for his poetic speech and his silver tongue. Most of the female actresses love him for it, so you don't take his words at face value and just interprets it as his way of comforting you.

"Thank you." You feign a theatric bow, and Jhin laughs, a pleasant sound that echos the hall.

"Oh, if only you know your true potential." He smiles. Or at least, you think he smiles judging by the lifted edges of his mask. "Your magic, capable of so much more than just a simple transportation tool. I can see it now - it'll make for such a volatile and unpredictable performance."

Now he's speaking in riddles. He often does this - muttering to himself while busied with work, like he's making absentminded comments.

"Tell me," he peers down at you through the crack in his mask, and for a moment you almost get a strange urge to run away, like you were facing something vicious and dangerous, "would you like to truly recognized for your work?"

You unconsciously take a step back.

"No, it's alright." You quickly shake your head. "I'd best get going, don't want to get back to the inn too late."

Just as fast as the meanacing feeling appeared, it dissipated. When you looked again, Jhin is giving you a friendly wave, to all the world a picture perfect presentation of a gentleman.

As you leave, you heard him speak once more.

"It seems like I must lead by example, after all."

When you turned around, he wasn't even there. You blink, not sure if you imagined his words. In fact, out of you two, it seems more like he is the master of disappearances.

You resume work the next day, despite the complaints from your tired legs.

On the bright side, another month and you'll get some actual muscle mass at this point.

The next time you walk by the dressing room, it's filled with giggles and flustered laughs. You glance over and realize Jhin is doing the lead actress's makeup, tracing her plump lips immaculately with a crimson lipstick.

On the days where the theater group's makeup artist is off, the actresses asks Jhin to help out. He has a keen sense of aesthetics and is more than capable to fill the role. The added allure from the mask and his quiet charm probably adds to the experience as well.

You realize you're staring and tear your gaze away. You're not sure how you feel - sure, you're not expecting him to immediately join your side and boycott them or anything. Obviously, if he wants to continue working here, he also shouldn't just give people the cold shoulder... So why does it feel like betrayal?

You ignore the question, and instead focus on your job.

The curtains will rise soon. You need to set the stage.

The day's schedule was interrupted abruptly when the lead actress claimed to feel ill.

She's clutching her stomach while beads of sweat are falling down her forehead. Nyla sends her home, and another new recruit fills in the role.

You dutifully wrap up the day and don't give it much thought.

That is, until a sharp scream wakes you at the break of dawn.

The inn you stayed at was mere blocks away from the theater. You push through an equally confused crowd and come to a sudden pause at the entrance.

You look up.

Perched on the roof, the frozen body of the lead actress stared back at you.

Her pose was graceful, hands outstretched as if she was simply bellowing out a high note. However, delicate yellow flowers sprouted from her eye sockets, while what looks to be an entire bouquet is growing out of her chest.

You would have screamed. Instead, you're too stunned to make a noise. The commotion of the crowd closed in all around you, but you felt like a bystander, numbly watching the scene unfold while a knot grew in your stomach.

This feels personal.

Yellow hyacinths, a symbolism for jealousy.

This is personal.

Chapter Text

You double over the sink, retching and coughing.

When you wipe your mouth and look at your reflection in the mirror, you're met with a blood splattered face and unfocused eyes.

The scene in front of the theater is still replaying over and over in your head - how the crowd gaped at the grisly sight of the body, how the actors huddled together and looked like they were seconds from fainting, and how Nyla's pleading eyes turned to you.

This is not the way you wanted to discover that your powers also works on dead bodies.

When the city guards finally arrive, they crudely instruct you to dump her body on a table for the mortician. Crowds are dispersed and an eerie silence falls over the theater.

You continue washing your hands, not able to shake the feeling of human blood sticking to your skin.

When you finally emerge from the washroom, you look more exhausted than before you went to sleep. Cast and crew are hovering in groups around the hall, and you catch whispers about something called the Golden Demon, and how the officials are vetting people, wanting to know when the actress was last seen.

"You missed a spot." A gentle hand held up a handkerchief next to your face, and dabbed at your cheek. You turn unsurprisingly to Jhin, who looked as pristine as ever: dark hair neatly slicked back, and a pair of expressive amber eyes studying you with what seems to be concern.

"Thanks." You reply, almost by autopilot. You're not quite used to the sudden closeness, but your mind is racing a mile a minute, so you allow him to pamper your appearance while your thoughts wander inevitably to the gruesome scene you bore witness to.

"What a shame." Jhin says. At first, it sounds like the same thing every actor has been reciting to the public, so you paid it no mind. But in your peripheral vision, you catch a strange glint in his eye - so very similar to the look he gave you when you walked by that upsetting conversation two nights ago. The closest metaphor you can form from it is that of an excited child showing off his creation.

You pause.

"They said she was poisoned! How terrible."

"Oh gods, what if I'm the next target? Will I have to second guess everything I'm offered from now on?"

The crowd clambered around in a cloud of panic.

You see through their terror and into the thinly veiled vanity and relief underneath. It's strange how this atrocity acts as the ultimate mirror. You see the actors gearing up to spin this murder as a tale for their minute of fame, and even Nyla, as lovely and kind as she is, forced you to deal with a body point blank just to negate public influence.

You have a feeling Jhin is referring to the humanity unfolding in front of you, instead of the morbid display the crowd was subject to this morning.

They scoured through everything the victim ate before her death, and searched through everyone's belongings.

Not a single trace of poison was found.

The lead seems to grind to a halt. Whispers about the brutality of the Golden Demon grows louder.

The streets empty with the practiced haste of a region that has been plagued by his acts for years. They theorize the Demon as a supernatural being with sinister magic and a twisted mentality, speaking his name calls to mind the unmeasurable horrors that lay in the night. Given Ionia's affinity with varieties of magical creatures, no one thought the theory to be far fetched.

But you're getting a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The sneaking suspicion ignites into certainty when the investigators failed to find anything suspicious in the actress's diet.

Despite the warmth of the hand on your shoulder, and the seemingly kind words the masked man is speaking into your ear. You're suddenly very, very, cold.

The lipstick.

You ask the director for an extended leave.

This turns out to be an easy feat - the city is essentially in an artificial curfew, few civilians wandered about, much less watch performances. Even in the day, an eerie silence filled the air.

You have no evidence to speak of, and a crafted theory is not going to lead to an arrest anytime soon. Moreover, despite the rational part of your brain already forming its conclusions, a part of you is still replaying all the interactions you've had with Jhin, hoping beyond reason to find a way to refute yourself.

You hate yourself for trying, so you choose avoidance instead.

Fortunately, the taverns still supply alcohol.

Unfortunately, curfew or not, there's never a shortage of drunkards on the street.

After refusing his third offer for a drink, the scraggly man that insisted on sitting next to you by the bar is now waiting outside the tavern exit.

Looks like he even brought an entourage.

You eye the crowd of equally drunk men and figure that this is definitely not your lucky break.

"You can stop playing hard to get now, sweetie." The first man gives you a toothy smile, and you immediately feel revolted, "You're coming home with me tonight."

The sprinkle of rain you felt before you entered the tavern is now making its way to a full on storm. You blink the rain our of your eyes, and shield yourself defensively against the prying eyes hovering around your cleavage.

The silent refusal enrages him. Moving closer, he flicked open a knife and gestures at you wildly.

"Now, we can make this easy or we can make this real - "

A sudden idea flashes through your mind and you grab for the knife instead, knocking it out of his hand. It disappears in midair, and you mentally calculate the momentum before releasing it from your inventory again.

With a pained cry, the knife lodges in his shoulder, and actually pins him to the nearby wall.

You put up a stoic face, and the rest of the men scramble off at the first sign of trouble. Realistically, you're just as surprised as the goon now clutching his shoulder and yelling bloody murder.

That hit a lot harder than you thought it would... you just wanted to wing him.

In fact, it's kind of comedic since you were the one about to get grabbed.

"Uh," you look at the gushing wound and hope you didn't hit an artery, "want me to pull it out? Leave it in? Get a guard?"

In response, the man screams louder. You're looking infinitely more like the villain in this scenario.

The whole ordeal ends up with you sitting in this world's approximation of a police station, while the staff hands you a bag of coins.

Turns out the man was wanted by the city. Fortunately, he was drunk off his mind and forgot how to actually fight with a knife.

Weighing the bag in your hand, you feel kind of surreal.

It's not that you don't know what your powers do. You just never fathomed it would be viable for self defense.

You knew that Ionia commended personal strength and training. Tales of traveling samurais are coveted but not revered, as warriors that can face armies are more than just a tall tale in this world. If anything, the brewing war near the coastline is bringing forth many new names who were once just another face in the crowd.

You look down at your hands with newfound interest.

If you have the means... You should really do something with it.

With a renewed courage probably fueled more by exuberance than anything else, you waltz back into work, only to freeze at the first sight of Jhin.

He chose a lilac shirt today, complete with the usual elaborate belt and even a fitted vest. Humming a melody to himself, he raised his head when you entered.

"What a pleasant surprise." He muses. And you see it in his eyes.

Like a droplet of red blossoming in a pool of amber, the predatory glint affixes you, reducing you to the barest of instincts: fight or flight.

You stand your ground.

The demon unsheathes itself from its disguise, revealing the man underneath.

"Excellent." He says, "I was beginning to miss you."

You think about your past days filled with deliberation, and the strange future commitment you've talked yourself into.

"So was I." You smile, and it barely feels forced.

Sometimes a girl can dream to be a hero. Sometimes she might even succeed.

The game is on.

Your second carriage ride is far more swift than the first. Judging by the look of relief on the stableman's face, you have a feeling he probably overworked the poor horse just so he can get out of the city the "Golden Demon" was haunting. You're not sure you have the heart to tell him the truth.

You cast a sideways glance at Jhin, who is exiting with his luggage in tow. There's a practiced elegance to his movements, and he even expresses gratitude for the ride - if only the driver knew, he would probably have a heart attack.

Raikkon is a city adorned with natural beauty. Surrounded by crystalline seas as far as the eye can see. The distant sound of seagulls flying overhead along with the salty sea winds does wonders to calm your nerves.

You allow yourself a moment to bask under the sun before you went inside and took your usual position. Fortunately, your stage attire has been upgraded from "black sheet" to a dark bodysuit, and not only does it look less ridiculous, you also get to borrow it for your ulterior motives.

Who is currently standing in front of you and setting up ropes and pulleys.

"Ah, the work never ends." Jhin complains melodramatically. You're not sure how he manages it, but he even sounds pouty.

"We can switch if you really want." You roll your eyes, preparing for yet another marathon.

As if by an unspoken agreement, the two of you has settled into an uneasy peace at work - well, mostly uneasy on your end. He knows that you know, and seems hell bent on irritating you until you do something about it.

It's definitely working. For the past few nights, you've been following his afterwork activities. Whenever you spy him setting up a hideout, you report it anonymously, and it gets ransacked. In exchange, you've been finding strange, lotus-shaped traps in your room at the inn. After almost losing your leg to one of them, you've been shoving them aside and using them to catch mice.

They work weirdly well at catching mice.

This reasonably results in none of you two getting much sleep at all. He hasn't gotten a kill, and you have to strip search your room everyday for murderous contraptions that can bite off limbs.

You sneak a peek at his undereye and realize both of you are wearing your dark circles like trophies. This may explain why your banter is pretty much getting ridiculous.

"Running around in a drab suit like that is so uninspiring. It's the same action a mule uses to plow a field."

He flicks a hand out and tch tch tchs at you as you prepare for a scene change.

"Better than looking like an idiot in a mask. How nobody thinks it's suspicious is beyond me."

You hiss as you run back, wiping the sweat in your brow.

"You wouldn't understand the fine craftsmanship that goes into mask making. It's all about subtlety, my dear." He practically glowers at you while you do your rounds, "Which you clearly lack."

"Well, I don't need to because I wouldn't want to cover this up." You gesture wildly at your own face, "Unlike some other less savory characters."

"Symmetry is so boring." He exclaims, "My own face is more of a lie than my masks, and you wouldn't even deserve to see my best work. No audience would stoop so low as to watch you ble -"

A very loud, angry hush came behind you. You both shut up, but it's clearly too late because you can even hear some members of the audience leaving their seats.

Oops.

So that's how you both end up exiled to an abandoned church as the show goes on without you.

"Um." You say, because Jhin is rubbing his temples, feet endlessly pacing the ground like he wanted to bore a hole right through it.

"Woah woah woah." You say, because he suddenly stops pacing, and deftly reaches inside the podium and produces what looks to be a comedically oversized rifle, slings it over his shoulder, and aims it straight at your dome.

"I had thought you to be special, perhaps worthy of being a companion." He speaks with the full force of his dramatic drawl, "But now I see that you're just hapless noise, a mere distraction standing in the way of my art."

You're not sure if you're going crazy, but somewhere in the background, you can even hear violin music accompanying his monologue. You're pretty sure his perpetual insanity is rubbing off on you, because the church is very obviously empty.

"I was not planning on becoming killing buddies with you!" You cup your hands around your mouth, and try to shout over the invisible orchestra.

Your volume startles him.

"So crass." He comments, "I shall grant you a swift death. Your suffering is not one I wish to immortalize."

The first shot ripples through the air and you duck immediately. It narrowly misses and you try your hardest to shuffle out of view.

Apparently, the mask does not obstruct his vision, because the second one flies straight at your head. You reach out for the bench behind you, puts it in your inventory, and immediately fling it out in front of you. When the dust settles, you're coughing and possibly just inhaled a wood splinter, but your head is still very attached to your body.

Whew.

"I can do this all day!" You peek your head out and flip him the bird. Another shot zooms towards you and you immediately pull your hand back, not willing to lose a middle finger just to make a point.

That's when the church doors swing open and an onslaught of men dressed suspiciously like assassins barge in.

"Khada Jhin." The man in the lead addresses the situation, "It's nice to see you alive and well... And not so nice to see our designated targets in the same state. Do you have an explanation for this tangent of yours?"

You hide right where you are and realize, with more than an ounce of surprise, that even serial killers have a quota to fulfill.

This would be your window to sneak out. To run away from this god-forsakened situation, but for some reason you stayed still and listened to this curious exchange, where Jhin seems to be massively outnumbered and for once, out gunned.

From what you can gather, these men belong to some shadowy Brotherhood organization, and are his secret patrons - the invisible hand behind the high profile murders you've heard about. Their chat is getting more heated by the minute, and you eye their getup and figure this can't possibly end well for your stupidly dramatic colleague.

The familiar sound of a rifle shot echos in the air, and you see the rest of the uniformed men immediately close in on Jhin's form.

You make a decision.

Something small and inconspicuous flies into the crowd. Seconds later, the church is filled with viscous smoke and a lot of coughing. You take the opportunity to weave between the stunned assassins, and yank Jhin towards the exit by his collar.

For once you agree with him, it could always be useful to carry a stage prop or two up your sleeve.

"What do you mean you're out of bullets?"

You cry out incredulously as you run for your life.

Clearly the men hot on your tail are trained - your surprise trick barely stunned them before they made a beeline for you.

This is where your months of theater cardio is coming in handy - you're managing to keep pace with your pursuers despite dragging a complaining Jhin behind you.

Yes, dragging. Turns out there's a reason he had to stand still while firing those shots at your face - the gigantic rifle is not only out of proportion, but also heavy. Very heavy and very out of bullets.

"Four is perfection. The most exquisite number befitting for my ultimate weapon of choice." He manages to sputter while being dragged by the collar. You take pity on him and switch to his sleeve instead.

"Got it." You say through clenched teeth as you narrowly avoid another throwing knife aimed for your heart, "So the magazine only carries four shots, and all your gear is back at the church."

"To be fair, I'm usually a lot more meticulous with supplies." If looks can kill, you would be long dead from the fiery glares you've been getting, "If not for a certain someone choosing to meddle with my routine instead of sleeping."

"So I can wake up to some other poor sap's body riddled with flowers and bullet holes?" You shout back between heaving breaths, "How about a 'thank you for saving my life'? Or better yet, let me carry the damn gun so I can stop dragging you while I run -"

You're abruptly cut off by the sight of another group of armed men appearing in front of you. Together with the others hot on your pursuit, you and Jhin will be completely boxed in in no time.

You've ran all the way to the outskirts of the city. The region is intensely mountainous, and there are no splits in the road as you're essentially at the edge of a cliff, with a short, rusted fence being the only thing between you and the sharp cutoff of terrain.

You gulp, and can't help but notice that this is a perfect place to dispose of a body.

"If you have any aces up your sleeve, this would be the time to use it." Jhin mutters to you under his breath, and you look back at the cliff and the wide expanse of ocean behind you and mentally check all the junk you've littered your inventory with.

Maybe you could...

Evidently, Jhin sees those gears turning inside your head. And he does not like where this is going. Before words of protest can leave his mouth, you shove him over the edge. You follow suit, and leave your pursuers with an infuriating little wave.

You've been in difficult situations before. You've been in stressful situations before. But you can say with certainty you've never had to jump off a cliff.

There's no "you jump, I jump" romance in it either, just a lot of yelping and flailing limbs and you desperately holding on to Jhin so you wouldn't get separated.

"Hold on!" You yell out, but the wind is rushing into your throat so you're not sure how much of that he understood.

You produce a large curtain from the back of your storage, and clamp your arms around its edges to use it as a makeshift parachute. You're not sure how well it works, but it does seem to be slowing your descent, until all of a sudden the water seems too close and you're trying your best to not scream underwater as a sharp pain explodes in your leg.

And then darkness.

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping.

Your eyelids slowly flutter open. There's a ray of sunlight casted across your face, and you study the dancing flakes of dust in the air for a moment before you fully realized where you were.

You are laying in a simple, wooden bed. The room around you seems to be constructed out of stone, with a slate cut out to serve as a window. You lift up the covers to find that your right leg has been bound tightly to a plank of wood with bandages, similar to a makeshift cast.

There's still a dull pain coming from it, along with an incessant itch that you can't scratch. You figure you don't need to unwrap the bandages to know that your leg is broken.

Now the next question - who fixed you up? And where was Jhin?

As if on queue, a man, appearing to be around his 50s stepped into the room with a bowl in his hands. He wore a gray robe, with graying hair secured on top of his head with a bun. Judging by his features, he was Ionian as well - and you feel relieved that you probably didn't drift too far away from Raikkon.

"You're awake, that is good." He notes, and hands you the bowl. A strong herbal smell immediately hits you in the face.

You try not to look as confused as you are feeling.

"This will help the healing." The man gestures, and tests your forehead with the back of his hand. "No more fever. Very good sign."

Comforting to know that your leg is not infected, but you're still at a loss for what is going on...

"Drink up, tell you rest later." The man crosses his arms, and you feel like a little kid being administered a flu shot. Figuring you would be dead already if he had ill intentions, you down the bitter liquid in one swing.

You think poison would literally taste better.

The man's stern face looks a little more pleased when you set the bowl down.

"A doctor can always appreciate a good patient." He nods, "I am Sho, the village doctor. One of our children found you and your partner by the river. It is a miracle you only suffered a broken leg. This is why we tell our children to stay away from climbing surfaces without proper equipment. Injuries take up resources, leave parents worried and waste valuable crop-laying time - "

He shifts into full lecture mode and you can only blink. You can barely get a word in to interrupt.

"My partner?" You make a strange face.

"Partner, boyfriend, whatever young people call it nowadays." Sho shrugs, "He says he got face injury during the fall but would not let me help. If he has a scar, you shouldn't shun him for it. Nice young man, helps us hunt. I say young people nowadays focus too much on a handsome face and not enough on substance..."

Your mind has already wandered off. You don't know whether to be more horrified by the image of Jhin helping Ionian villagers hunt or by whatever story he has made up to explain you two's appearance.

Sho insists that getting some sunlight would help your bones heal faster, and summons his son to help you up - a man in his mid 20s that he introduces as Khui.

Compared to his father, Khui seems a lot more shifty-eyed, and you're not a fan of the way he's staring at your chest like he's trying to see through the fabric.

You quickly find a branch to use as a crutch once you realize he's trying to squeeze your waist instead of providing any actual support.

You awkwardly hop through the village, your inconvenice quickly forgotten once you take in the scenery around you.

Fields of viridian stretch into distant, snowy peaks that are bisected by a singular, flowing river, like a colorful painting dotted with inky blues. Small yet picturesque houses are decorated with ivy and highlighted by the afternoon sun with a golden hue.

It's a completely different sight on the opposite side of the river, however. The ground is charred, and the few houses that stood burned beyond repair.

"The Noxian invasion swept through this region a few months back." A familiar silky voice floats into your ear, and a tall shadow overlaps with yours. You swivel your head around to see Jhin, looking not much worse for wear except for a grass stain at the bottom of his pantleg. He still donned the same attire, save for a simple cloak that now draped over his shoulders.

And is that a crack in his mask?

A long, singular crack ran diagonally from the bottom of the wooden mask all the way to the nose ridge. You catch a glimpse of his angular chin and a small patch of skin, paler than his arm from lack of sun exposure.

"Yes, yes. Stop staring. This only one of the consequences from your sublime idea of an 'epic getaway'." He sighs loudly. "Truly the most disorganized performance I have ever seen. If I didn't know better, I would say you planned to push me off a cliff."

Well, you did kind of enjoy doing that.

And you're not surprised Jhin is being a total drama queen about it.

"'Nice to see you' too." You roll your eyes, "My leg for your mask, and we escaped your weird shadowy patrons. I'd say we're even."

"Too early to tell." Jhin muses, "The world misunderstands my genius, there are always unsavory characters on my tail." He pauses, probably thinking about his time at the theater, "What a waste of a perfectly good alias."

"Is that why you fed Sho a fake story?" You eye him suspiciously, there's a faint smell of gunpowder on his person, "The people here trust you enough to handle guns?"

"The art of speech sometimes requires... A little framing." He tilts his head a fraction, "In fact, they requested my help - it's truly a shame that I had to use weapons with such mediocre design."

You narrow your eyes. "Whatever bullets the villagers use for hunting not good enough for your rifle?"

"No." Jhin looks at you like you grew two heads, "You have my gun."

Oh.

You mentally look through your storage and - there it is, in all its curves and ridges - Jhin's rifle. You're not sure how it happened, but you probably subconsciously disarmed him when you were falling down the cliff.

At least you don't have to worry about him going on a randomly-inspired murder rampage. It sounds like the villagers are using weapons Noxians left behind to hunt, and it's highly unlikely they'll allow Jhin free reign of them.

Also explains why Jhin didn't just run off.

As beautiful as the village is, Jhin is obviously anxious to retrieve his gear. He ushers you back to Sho's place - which looks more like a makeshift infirmary than a living space - and quickly announces your departure.

Sho looks disapproving. "It would be best to wait until her leg heals. The nearest city is still miles away."

You produce a bag of coins.

"For taking good care of my injury." You say.

"More coins if we can buy the village's fastest horse." Jhin adds. You glare at him and he acts completely nonchalant as if he wasn't bargaining with your money.

"Money is not the issue. We did not take you in because we expected payment." Sho furrows his brows, looking pensive, while from the corner of your eye you can see his son practically drool at the bag in your hand, "There will be narrow roads that you can only lead a horse through. She is in no condition to walk far distances -"

"I will carry her if I need to. No further harm will come upon her leg." Jhin promises.

It gives you pause because you can hear the seriousness in his voice. You don't know why, but you sneak a glance at Jhin's arms, where his sleeves revealed ripples of toned muscle.

You quickly tear your gaze away before Jhin notices. There's a rising heat in your ears and you hope your hair covers it up.

You curse yourself for your reaction. He likely just wanted to accelerate the trip so he would get his gear back.

"Of course, we can definitely get you two a horse." Khui jumps into the conversation and reaches for the coins before Sho can protest further, "Right, father?"

Sho looked at Khui with faint disappointment, but didn't push the matter further. "If you insist. But you should stay one more night while I prepare the horse, I also wish to make sure her condition is stable in the morning."

"I'm in agreement." Jhin nods curtly.

There's even a surprisingly sumptuous farewell dinner, apparently prepared by Khui. The taste is mediocre but the plate held quite a generous amount of meat.

You've been unconscious for most of your stay here, so you give Jhin a questioning look.

"As I said, I'm an excellent shot." He replies. You think he even winked at you.

It could be the injury, but you find yourself feeling tired rather quickly. You hop over to your bed, but realize with a start that since Sho thinks you and Jhin are a couple, you were assigned to adjacent beds.

Which also means for the past few days you've been passed out, Jhin has been sleeping just a few feet away from you.

You're not sure what to feel about that. On the one hand, there's the he's-an-actual-killer-on-the-loose thing. On the other hand, you think either there's something terribly wrong with you, or it's just been really long since you hooked up with someone, because thinking about it makes it hard to breathe and you're even feeling dizzy -

Really dizzy. Abnormally so, and it's apparently contagious because Jhin is stumbling too and placed a hand on your arm to cushion you as you both fall over -

Shit.

You suddenly remember the doctor's son and how he didn't touch a single bite of the meat.

The dinner was drugged.

Chapter Text

The sudden creak of a wooden door being nudged open. The blunt crash of cabinets being flung open. The uneven sounds of aimless rifling through loose articles of clothing.

Your eyes flung open when a pair of sweaty hands grabbed for your pockets.

The figure in front of you sharpened into focus. It was Khui - the village doctor's son.

Unsurprising discovery given that he would have easy access to herbal concoctions with his father's occupation.

Apparently, that's not the only thing he took from the village's stash - the cool metal of a gun barrel was forced to your temple as the disobedient son melded his face into a sneer.

"All your coins in exchange for your life." He half-whispered, "Where did you hide them?"

Your eyes shift over to Jhin's prone form. The moonlight pooled at his feet, so his face is entirely entrenched in shadow. You wonder if he's unharmed.

Khui jerks his arm back and brings the butt of the gun down on your forehead. Hot, blinding pain shoots through you and you immediately see stars. You can feel your eyes involuntarily well up with tears.

"I'll ask one more time." The aggressor barks, and upon a closer look at you, his tone turns vile and his eyes starts wandering, "Or I can just do a strip search."

You could throw up right now. Preferably on this asshole's face.

Unfortunately for you, you're down one leg and there's a gun to your head, which makes evasive manuvers difficult. You're mentally sifting through the tools in your inventory when you suddenly feel a sharp tap on your ankle.

One.

Khui starts to tug at the hem of your pants, your hand form into a fist and when it opens again, a screwdriver sat idly in your palm.

Two.

He's practically drooling, and you can feel the press of the barrel loosening on your head. You breathe in and twirl the sharp end of the screwdriver between your fingers.

Three.

Your disgusted grimice suddenly morphs into a smile. The sudden change in demeanor does not go unnoticed, and the armed man brings back his arm again, planning on giving you another lash in the face.

Four.

Behind him, the demon opened his eyes, the amber shade of his eyes replaced by a sinister crimson.

As if by a wordless, tacit agreement. You striked at the same time. You kick out with your good leg, knocking your attacker off balance while you lunged out and stabbed the screwdriver into his hand.

Khui cries out in pain, and the gun slips out of his grasp.

Jhin stood, and in one fluid movement, he knees Khui right under the ribs, knocking all the air out of his lungs, and raise the sharp tip of an ivory blade to his throat.

You swiftly catch the handgun, and turn the barrel onto Khui's face instead.

"P.. Please..." He stammers, beads of sweat now rolling off his contorted face. "Don't kill me. I didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to drug everyone in the house?" You laugh coldly.

He tries to turn to Jhin instead, and the sight of those unnaturally red eyes terrifies him further.

"Think carefully." Jhin peers down at him, "Your next line may be your last on this stage."

You can practically see through Jhin's thoughts - no doubt toiling over the many shades of carnage he can derive from this man's blood. It's not anger that drives him, more like a hidden, yet persistent compulsion. He's pressing the knife into Khui's neck now, and you think back to the body of the lead actress - how the kill managed to be both astoundingly detached and ironically personal.

"No," you say to Jhin, halting him from slitting the attacker's throat. "Let me."

Instead of anger, something akin to delight shined in Jhin's eyes. "At last." He sighs, "If you wish to perform, I will be your faithful audience."

You know this is what he originally wanted to lead you to. The body on the roof wasn't a warning, it was a presentation. A demonstration to allow you a sliver of insight into a cruelly beautiful world. He was right about what he saw that night outside the dressing room - contrary to your blasé words, your heart is driven by a quiet, yet relentless rage, clawing up to the surface with whispers of vengeance.

But he was also wrong.

You check the gun.

"Idiot." You sneer, "There's only one bullet in the chamber."

Then you aim the gun at Khui's right leg and pull the trigger.

You and Jhin left the village in the middle of the night on horseback.

"He thought he could take advantage of me because I couldn't fight back, so I made him a cripple for the rest of his life. Living like that is a better punishment for men like him than death."

You answer his unspoken question with marked ease.

His gun is back on his hip now - you traded it for Khui's life, before Jhin jumped in, intending to finish the kill.

"You did read me well." You continue, more talking to yourself than anything, "I'm definitely not the most angelic person in the world. Not gonna pretend I never wished ill on people who wronged me."

There was a long silence before Jhin addressed you.

"Clearly, my observations were not astute enough." He stated.

His hands are on the reins since you have no idea how to command a horse. Your back is inches from his chest, his warmth radiating into you against the brisk night air.

"It's not my job to be judge, jury, and executioner. No one in the world should have that power." You say plainly.

"You insult me if you think me a vigilante." Jhin's laugh vibrates through his chest, "I have no interest in such pedestrian motivations."

You grow curious. You've had countless guesses, but nothing is better coming from the man himself. "Then what are they?"

"To create art." Jhin answers matter-of-factly, "I see in my canvases all the qualities they wish to hide. Greed, deceit, jealousy - all strokes of color. Simply waiting to be transcended by my hand. Not all pain births beauty, but beauty... It is pain."

His voice curls around his words like they were gospel. As if that's what he was in his mind's eye - an artist just like any other, bringing joy to his audience through pouring his heart and soul into his creations.

You think you almost understand.

"Back in the church, why did you save me?"

Perhaps it was the privacy of the night, or perhaps it was the way you listened attentively without judgement - he suddenly asked you.

By his tone and the way his body reeled back, as if surprised by himself, this question has been on his mind for awhile.

"Same reason. Moral code and such." You answer nonchalantly, "If justice comes for you one day, it shouldn't be at the Brotherhood's hands."

There's a long pause before Jhin spoke again.

"I see." He says, but his voice sounds a little strained. "The same moral code that made you trade your only leverage over me for our assailant's life?"

"Laugh if you want." You shrug, there's a wicked glint in your eyes that Jhin can't see, "Besides, I'm pretty sure your gun isn't the only leverage I have over you."

His grip on the reins visibly tightens. Even the horse neighed, startled by the pull.

You start to turn around on horseback. Your broken leg makes the movement difficult, so you stumble.

Jhin immediately frees a hand to support you until you find your balance.

You look down at the hand, and then up at his intense, amber gaze.

"Tell me, Khada." You smile, and lift your arms until you firmly grip the bottom corners of his shattering mask. "What do you see when you look at me? What color am I?"

He doesn't pull away when you start to lift the mask. He sits, frozen by your touch until the mask is lifted over his lips.

"Golden." He says, lips moving in tandem, "You're golden."

Chapter Text

For all his decorated speeches and elaborate diction, a kiss is all that's needed to reduce him to a faltering mess.

Looking at Jhin's face almost feels like a sacrilege.

You start by kissing up his angular jawline, and then by tracing the delicate curve of his lips. You entwine your fingers into the hand he's using to cover his eyes, and plant your lips over the back of his hand until his already waning resistance fades away.

He's a masterpiece.

You brush your thumb over his sharp cheekbones. He's a feast for the eyes, a prime representation of the symmetry he so hates.

The bed boards creak with your movements. The pale moonlight paints over your overlapping figures, the moment eternal as your entrance finally accepts his length.

And you dance. Sometimes to the rhythm of a waltz, and sometimes a frenzied tango.

When you're on top of him, capturing his face with open mouthed kisses, he's slow and attentive - almost shy.

But the lead changes when he moves behind you. Lining you up, he cusps his hand around your chin, forcing your eyes to the ceiling as he sets an unforgiving cadence and pounds you, making you fist the sheets and cry out his name in wretched, incoherent syllables.

He roams over your body, studying every tantalizing detail.

"Darling," he says as you whimper and lean into his touch, "you're the poem that can make an atheist believe in heaven."

You don't remember when dawn falls, but you remember when he pulls you in closer, ragged breathing spilling on your neck as you convulse around him.

In a private show for two, the performer is also the audience.

Your pleasant morning was cut short when you came back with breakfast - riding back into the city finally allowed you to get an actually supportive crutch - only to see Jhin shoved to the ground with shackled arms.

The brunette restraining Jhin was a brute of a man, while two others also stood guard around the doorway.

You narrow your eyes and produce the screwdriver into your palm. There's obvious discomfort in Jhin's pose and you're quickly accessing the situation to see your best approach. Broken leg or not, you do still have some stage contraptions that could act as a distraction...

You've had enough of dealing with Jhin's patrons.

"Don't hurt her." Jhin coughs, making your grip tighten around your makeshift weapon with renewed urgency, "She's not an accomplice."

"Not only is the infamous Golden Demon only a man, he has a love interest." The brunette raises an eyebrow, and you try to read Jhin's state from what little you can see through the cracked mask.

You analyze his words, growing unsure that these men are more of Jhin's patrons. In fact, it seems like they may be pursuing the "Golden Demon" instead.

"Makes no difference to me." A white haired young man scowled, and lunges at Jhin with a knife, "He needs to die for his crimes."

Your heart skips a beat. Without thinking, you chuck the tool in your hand at him like a throwing knife, and hope that your untrained accuracy doesn't fail you.

The sound of metal clashing against metal fills your ears. A middle aged man stepped between the attacks, easily parrying both with a thrust of his sword.

"Stop." He commands, "No matter the circumstance, as the 'demon' we were chasing is a man, he will be taken to Tuula Prison instead."

And the situation became clear to you. These men are not from the Brotherhood, they are capturing Jhin for a whole different set of reasons.

"And you. How did you come to be a part of all this?" The man interrogated.

"She's not involved." Jhin pipes up immediately, "Leave her out of this."

"It's alright." You raise your arm, the image of you shuffling along with a broken leg seems to disarm the trio, and you make your way closer to Jhin. "At the very least, I'm a friend. Let me say goodbye."

"A demon with a 'friend'." The white haired young man scoffs, but is ushered a few steps further by what looks to be his master. That doesn't leave you much room for privacy, but you'll make do.

"I suppose sometimes the bill comes due." Jhin muses, you hear a slight smile in his voice and you're not sure how he thinks any part of this is entertaining.

"Sometimes they do." You lean down as far as your leg would allow and meet his eyes, "How many years?"

"Maybe many, maybe only a few." Jhin shakes his head, and then that wicked glint shines in his eyes again as he drops his voice to a whisper, "Every good artist is an opportunist."

You don't respond to that. Instead, you pull his mask up a fraction and press a chaste kiss to his chapped lips.

"Will you wait for me?" He suddenly asks. A rare flash of vulnerability showing through his façade.

"No." You say, and watch the gold flecks swirl uncertainly in his eyes, "But if your murderous compulsions become unchecked again, I will find you."

You straighten up. Jhin is still looking at you unwaveringly.

"That's not encouragement." You add, and you both laugh.

You watch the trio load Jhin onto a boat. A light misting of rain falls on your shoulders as they sail away into a blur of shapes in the horizon.

You turn around.

The rain tastes salty.

You sat cross-legged, admiring the vast expanse of the cyan sky as an unreadable smile played on your lips.

"Enticing contract." You say, a manicured finger drifting over the document as the silver haired woman across you carefully studies your reflection.

"Clan Ferros treats its business partners with unmatched generosity." She states, her diplomatic tone tinged with a faint robotic whir. "That will include you, if you choose to accept our offer."

"Maybe, but Clan Ferro's business partners also seem to have short life expectancies." You stir your coffee absentmindedly while you scan over the pages in front of you, "There's also no explanation for why my services are required when Piltover's Hexgates are in full operation."

Camille Ferros gives no indication she heard your rebuttal. Her hands are clasped over her lap and her pose poised, ever the elegant aristocrat.

But you felt her shift ever so slightly, so the sharpened edges of her robotic legs are now facing you, and you knew you struck a cord.

"Unless..." You drag out the syllable for effect, enjoying the upper hand you just gained, "These wares needs to be transported in secret, even off the clan records."

"I am more loyal to my clan than any." Camille's cyborg eyes flashed orange for the briefest second, "But sometimes the occasional pest needs taken care of."

"Of course." You take a sip of the bitter liquid, "Completely fair."

"What are your intentions?" Camille fixes you with an emotionless stare. "Be straightforward."

"40 percent more." You hold out your hand, "Upfront. And I'll tell people we've never had this little chat."

The Steel Shadow herself studies you for a long moment.

"Done." She finally says, "Now let's see if you're as good as your referrals say."

The zeppelin slows in its descent and you stand to take your leave, wrapping your trench coat back around your shoulders.

"Oh," you smile, "I am that good."

That's how you ended up roaming the streets of Piltover with an entire arsenal of firearms in your inventory.

It's been three years since your "my-not-quite-lover-who-is-also-a-crazed-killer got sent to prison" debacle.

His face still comes to your dreams in aimless nights. Sometimes he's talking, recounting his macabre obsessions like one would proudly show off a collection. Sometimes he's unmasked and completely at your mercy, eager to pull you closer like a drowning man craves salvation.

There has been no letters, no communication. Though your frequent... business trips probably doesn't help with getting in touch.

Funnily enough, you did start a moving business of sorts. Though instead of furniture, you transport everything from fragile antiquities to untaxed goods.

Apparently, your reputation precedes you. Now you can add "an unnecessarily big pile of fucking guns" to that list.

You're kind of glad your invisible inventory isn't actually tangible. You can see the headlines now - "Breaking News! Tourist Spontaneously Combust Into Flames In City Square" is not the way you want to go out.

Piltover is a segmented, vertical city. There's a particular steampunk beauty in it - the way the decadence and corruption seeps down to the underbelly of Zaun. Swept up by the monsters of their own creation.

As above, so below.

You reach the drop point before long. At a wave of your arm, the warehouse fills up with crates of hextech guns and ammunition. You stand around, waiting for the soldiers to check your delivery when you're very rudely dismissed and promptly escorted out of the warehouse.

Now, this is unusual.

You haven't had a client who didn't at least count up your deliveries, since this is definitely a less than legal business and it's not like there's professional integrity to rely on.

You study the soldiers from afar and decide either their asses on fire, or they really have somewhere to be. The supplies you brought in are immediately distributed and the whole scene basically oozes urgency. You kind of regret not getting a bigger cut now since apparently your services were even more direly needed than you thought.

The whole madness of the situation is probably rubbing off on you too. Because instead of backing off and doing actual tourist-y things, you're thinking: It can't hurt to go take a look, right?

They say curiosity killed the cat.

You hope not, because you're feeling pretty similar to a cat burglar right now. In fact, you're following the soldiers' convoy by jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Fortunately, Piltover's roofs are littered with ledges and an excessive amount of mounted decorations. This leaves you a clear path towards -

A theater. Immaculately designed and certainly an impressive piece of architecture, but a theater nonetheless.

You land near the theater's roof entrance, where you can faintly hear the mellow notes of a piano, in stark contrast to the chaos from the storming soldiers below.

You decide they can't possibly get armed to the teeth just for their favorite musical, and slip down into the opening.

You find yourself landing on the catwalk. The piano piece is picking up in tempo now, and you can't help but commend the performer for their expertise.

The soldiers march through the door with guns held high. From your height, you barely make out the sharp, metallic silhouette of Camille Ferros in the sea of swirling flashlights.

You suddenly remember Camille's description of needing the weapons to take out a "pest".

You're hit with a foreboding feeling.

You only know one fool who would go through the whole melodrama of setting up a grand finale in a theater, of all places. And be extra enough to play the piano for a whole group of attacking soldiers who are now very armed, thanks to you.

As if on cue, a colorful explosion shook the theater, and the catwalk you're standing on shakes violently. A supporting beam is toppling over, and you barely have time to react before it crashes down on top of the chandelier and right into a stupidly familiar-looking trap.

POW!

Another violet explosion fills your vision.

The catwalk starts to collapse, and you grip the railing with one hand as all the spotlight is suddenly on you, dangling off a half-broken railing that's precariously lodged in the chandelier.

"Hi?" You offer and sigh when Camille gives you the deathliest death glare you've ever seen.

You sigh again when the Ferros soldiers now train their guns at you.

"Is it too late to convince you all that I was just passing through?"

They start shooting.

On the other end of the theater, the masked man is also looking at you.

He stood up from the bench in a flash, his cape sweeping across the ground as he readied his hand cannon and shot into the engaged crowd.

You see surprise melding into recognition in his singular golden eye. Despite yourself, you laugh. Pretty appropriate reunion given your parting words.

"Guess we can't resolve this peacefully." You shake your head. The moment the bullets approach you, you raise up your free arm and sweep across the space in front of you as a sheer, crystalline armor crawls up your hand.

You can feel the scorching heat of the rifling bullets, but none of the impact. They disappear the moment they make contact with your skin, and you even use their momentum to swing backwards from the barrage, sailing through the air and landing with a resolute thump on the stage.

A rather harsh landing, but the glow of the armor has reached your feet and reduced most of the impact.

"Also hextech." You grin, even though it probably looks more like a grimace, "Who says money isn't a superpower?"

"Foolish of you to be an enemy of Clan Ferros." Camille narrows her eyes. "Though it was a clever setup."

She leaps into the air, grappling onto the ceiling through her augmented legs. Next to you, the overdressed diva of a man has the gall to look confused before you grab him by the shoulder and yank him out of the way of two very deadly leg blades.

Unfortunately, Camille seems to think you planned this whole thing with Jhin. You silently mourn the other half of your payment and start looking for the nearest viable exit.

"An.. unexpected entrance." Jhin says, and allows you to keep dragging him in lieu of dodging.

You're getting a sense of deja vu.

"No cliffs this time." You absorb as much incoming bullets as possible and roll sideways as Camille's leg almost slices off your nose.

Three years, and it seems like besides amping up the firepower on his traps, Jhin has not changed much - at least he still has a complete lack of regard for his personal safety because he's laughing right now.

"Unexpected but welcome intrusion. Would be a shame if this did not end in carnage."

He takes out his gun again and starts blasting. You have no choice but to provide cover fire as well, as Camille is even deadlier close range.

The bullets you stored up are sent back in a multitude of directions, zoning Camille off. You hear various pained cries as well, and a quick count tells you most of the reinforcements you followed here has been incapacitated.

"Marvelous." Jhin compliments, and starts assembling extra components onto his gun, converting it to its rifle form.

You know exactly where this is going. And because you know exactly where this is going, you run over at the speed of light and confiscate his gun.

You really do not need Jhin to be a slow shooting, immobile target right now. Especially when Camille is one grapple away from cutting his head clean off and creating bloody artworks of both of you. You haul Jhin along and sprint towards one of the side exits you've been eyeing. You deposit the very grand and very heavy piano Jhin was playing behind you, forming a rather effective blockage.

Hopefully the theater owner wouldn't be too mad.

Fortunately, the inhabitants of Zaun do not seem to care when you drag a bleeding, masked man in theatrical costume towards the nearest place that would rent you a room.

The attendant who threw you a key barely looks interested. "Extra fees for disposing of a body." She says, and you keep your head down and briefly regret all the life choices that has lead you to be in this situation, right now.

He hisses sharply when you carefully peel back his silk shirt to reveal the laceration underneath. You clean the wound with the first aid kit you always carry ever since meeting this insufferable bastard, and he moans as you douse the cut with antiseptics and start to wrap bandages across his side.

You pause, and raise an incredulous eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you like it."

He leans into your arm, the smile carved into his new, ivory mask probably just as infuriating as his real one.

"It hurts.. But it hurts so good." He purrs.

You get the familiar urge to shoot him with his own gun and just pay the damn body disposal fee when you leave.

"It pains me that this is your sentiment upon our fated reunion." He must have read your face, and feigns a deflated tone.

"They really let you out this quickly?" You sigh in defeat and just continue patching him up instead.

"Art cannot be trapped." He says plainly, "My return to the stage was inexorable. They mistake me for evil - but how can art be evil?"

"Uh huh, you just 'orchestrate performances' from unwilling actors." You try very hard not to roll your eyes because at this point they will get stuck in the back of your skull permanently.

"Aha, I knew you would understand me." He says. And despite your panicked commands for him to stop moving or you're going to start bleeding again and if you die from blood loss I'm not paying for a funeral, he nestles his head into your shoulder and stays there.

He calls your name.

"You're a difficult character to hate." He says, voice muffled, "Even if you did upstage my performance."

"Is that really what you're concerned about right now?" You press the palm of your hand into your face.

Jhin laughs. "No." His armored arms are circling your waist now, and you can't help but shiver from the distinct coldness of metal. "It's simply what I tell myself to dispel my own confusions."

"What confusions?" You ask, but you're already meeting his eyes and he's grabbing your hand and moving it towards towards his mask.

He leads your hand until it slips beneath his mask, there's even another layer of cloth, and you can feel his tongue dart out and give your finger a slow, sensual lick.

"Of why my world had suddenly been stripped of its colors." You can feel his softness of his lips as he makes you press your hand to them, "And now I have regained them again."

You can feel your pulse quickening.

Jhin and his stupid, flowery words. And his stupid, captive eyes and his skillful, mischievous tongue -

"There are many ways I can demonstrate my skills. And if you wish, specifically with my tongue."

Jhin says, and you can feel your brain short wire and your sanity flying out the window.

You yank the layers of masks off of him and kiss him before he can tell you any more distracting words.

You feel him smile into the kiss. A hand snakes up your back and kneads at the expanse of skin there and you deepen the kiss. Another hand is rubbing into where your waist dips into your hip and you're having a really hard time battling his corded belt.

"Not hiding your face in front of me now?" You chide him as Jhin seems to make it his mission to get access to as much of your bare skin as possible.

"The mask I wear depends on my audience." He responds, and lowers his voice to a whisper, "And for this duet... I know which would be the best to seduce."

He's right. You're too busy trying to eat his face to object and he can relish in this victory all he wants.

He makes you press your hand into his bandage again. When you do, he moans your name and bites your neck and you barely form a coherent thought to wear a higher collar tomorrow before he hooks your legs in the crook of his arms, peel the last shreds of clothing you have on to the side and -

Jhin's right, he really is skillful with that tongue.

The soft, warm flesh flicks mercilessly against your clit as he massages your entrance with two fingers, prying you apart. A finger slips onto you once it's coated with your own slickness and you can help the noises that are escaping lewdly from your mouth.

"That's it." He says, and adds another finger. "Sing for me."

The fingers curl until they find that exact spot that makes you whimper. His tongue is alternating between directions as it flicks across your clit, over and over again.

And his voice, it might just drive you over the edge.

Your eyes slowly open when you realize he has stopped touching you.

"Art cannot be rushed." He says coyly, your core now pulsing with an empty longing. He tightens his grip on your thigh and you feel the ravaging heat of his erection right against your entrance.

You reach out and touch it, and he keeps your hand there as he eases into you, making you feel the length pushing against your hand and disappearing inside you.

Your breath is shaky, the delicious stretch evaporating all pretenses of speech. Jhin's eyes are closed, while his lips are ever so slightly parted and he looks like he's savoring you. His hands are clamped around your thigh while he builds a steady rhythm and all you can hear is the sound of his hips colliding wetly against you.

You fit like puzzle pieces, lost and found and now complete, and you pull him down by his neck so you can bite on his lower lip and moan into his mouth.

He speeds up before you can word the request. Your catch his gaze through half lidded eyes and you barely register your own cries of pleasure before he mutes it with a kiss and there it was -

Something bright and starry beyond your eyes, roaring in your ears.

It takes you a long moment before you gain back enough common sense to feel embarrassed by your volume. By then, Jhin is laying right on top of you, eyes closed and humming some unrecognized tune.

You contemplate whether you should show mercy to a wounded man or kick him off because he's currently crushing your lungs.

But there's a rare, earnest smile on his face that's unrelated to his endless theatrical metaphors. So you suppose you can stay like this just a little longer.

Chapter Text

What would you do if you're dreaming about the night sky, and a shiny dragon suddenly asks you to make a wish?

Like any normal person, you blink, and say.

"World Peace."

"Not possible." The dragon responds, and you make a face.

"I thought you said you were the 'strongest being in the cosmos'?"

You can't really tell which stars make up his eyes, but you think he's glaring at you.

"Ok." You reconsider, "Immortality."

"There's no true immortality in the universe. Even for beings of pure energy." The dragon says, and you don't understand how a dream is being so difficult.

Growing bored of staring at the same spot in the night sky for so long, you sigh and say dismissively. "Fine, can you at least make me have a good day tomorrow?"

There's a distinct pause like the dragon was actually pondering your words.

"'Luck', is that what you're wishing for?"

"I mean, being lucky is never a bad thing." You shrug. But then a sudden wave of dizziness is washing over you and you figured you must be waking up -

Except you have no idea where you are.

The sky is clear and blue and the trees surrounding you are taller than three of you combined. There's even the faint chirpings of birds ahead.

But you're one hundred percent sure you have never seen this place before. A quick painful squeeze to your arm reminds you that you're definitely awake.

Your only plausible explanation is that you've managed to sleepwalk across half the continent and possibly right into a national park.

You pick a direction where the trees seem to be thinning and walk.

An hour passes and you're still right smack in the middle of nowhere. You're hungry and thirsty, the forming blisters on your foot remind you why slippers are unideal shoes for hiking - and you remember your dream and wonder what part of this counts as "lucky".

Until a rabbit sprints into view, runs straight into a tree stump at your feet, and falls over.

A few more steps and you can hear water running through a stream.

You grab the now very-passed out rabbit, and promise to yourself that you will never make any strange wishes again.

You have neither the tools or the knowledge to dress a rabbit, so you follow the river upstream, hoping to find any signs of civilization.

Your wish is granted in the form of a man who is now aiming a bow between your eyes, and you're not sure whether death by arrow or the fact that the group of people you found have animal ears should faze you more.

"Uh, I promise I mean no harm." You raise up your arms, rabbit and all. "I was hungry and just wanted to find a way to eat -"

The man in the lead frowns and looks you over. He slowly lowers his bow. "You're not Ionian."

You blink.

"What's an Ionian?"

Animal ears or not, this might be the best rabbit stew you've ever had.

Nevermind the fact that you had to pick your jaw off the ground when you saw them start a campfire by simply waving a hand over some branches.

"You must be pretty lucky." What seems to be the leader of the small group eyes you with equal parts apprehension and bewilderment between bites, "This area borders both vastayan tribes and human cities. Not many live prey remain. Even the forest is losing its magic."

You're just happy to share and not get set on fire by any of them.

You learn that the land you're standing on is Ionia, and these people with mostly human features save for a few more fur are called vastayans.

They're born with at least a crude command of natural magic, and generally live for hundreds of years - reminding you of animal demons that exist in Eastern mythologies.

At least, you tried not to look aghast when you're told that the youngest member in this group - a teenage boy who shoots death glares at you whenever possible - is 80 years old.

You decide to ignore his snide comments and punchable attitude because you're nice to the elderly.

You're not quite accepted by the group, per se, but even the snobbiest vastaya can't turn their noses up when wild game seems to run into your traps from all directions.

Even magical beings need to eat, after all.

A few more chance meetings (which equally saved your ass because you really have no idea how to field dress any of your catches) and you manage to earn enough trust to ask for advice.

"Space-time magic that can transport an entire living being is unheard of in our tribe." The leader says, "We specialize more in elemental magic."

You must have looked crestfallen, because even these people who usually look at you with suspicion and wariness took pity and pointed you at the direction of the nearest city.

"There's a building there." The leader gestures wildly and you're really questioning your ability to understand such abstract directions. "On the coastal side of town, big, with a dome. You'll find more mages there."

You nod and happily prepare your leave because you've had more than enough of sleeping on trees and taking baths in rivers.

You're fully aware how crazy the scene of a girl wearing pajamas with leaves in her hair, while hauling a huge bag of animal carcasses looks like.

But you're so happy to be back in some semblance of civilization that you can almost ignore all the gawks and stares the passerbys are shooting in your direction.

You trade the bag to a very happy butcher for some local currency, and manage to clean yourself up nice and even find an inn that will house people without identification papers.

You set out to find the magic administration building the vastaya described to you, and for a good first impression even purchase a nice white dress to look more formal.

By the coast. Big building with a dome.

You recount to yourself as you wander right into an upscale building, where a line was already forming at the entrance.

The crowd gathering there was peculiar.

There's people that look like your run-of-the-mill fisherman, and there's armored women that look like they can break your neck with one arm. There's Ionians with piosed attitudes dressed in fine silk and there's even a few vastayas thrown in the mix.

You figure magical administration in this world is probably as hectic as a modern DMV and sidle right into line.

Then when it came your turn, you're faced with a billboard filled with different seating prices and a very impatient looking doorman.

"Uh." You say, "I'm here to set up a meeting?"

The doorman eyes you with the tired eyes of someone who wishes it was the end of his shift.

"Down that hallway." He points, "End of the hall and to the right."

The people behind you have already pushed past, so you keep walking and try not to let the pure confusion show on your face.

Turns out, you should really trust your instincts.

Especially when doing the opposite lands you in a fighting pit.

You're standing opposite a man twice your size, bloodshot eyes pretty much bulging out of his head as he scrapes his dual daggers against one another.

"Is this a joke?" He twirls his knives around, earning yet another roar from the crowd, "Who sent the cannon fodder in here?"

Well, you. The genius who walked into the entirely wrong building, and continued walking right into what looks to be a slow, painful death.

The pit official waves his scarf, and the man laughs maniacally and just charges at you. You're frozen in place, half from fear and half from swearing at yourself for your stupidity.

You make a rather feeble attempt to dodge out of the way at the last second. The man follows, and you can hear the bloodthirsty cheers of the crowd.

There's a certain kind of hypocrisy in seeing clothed human beings scream and shout like uncivilized beasts at the sight of two strangers fighting to the death.

Sure, you've seen gladiator movies, but this? This was surreal.

One of the blades makes contact with your arm, and you feel a searing pain. The other is millimeters from stabbing into your stomach and you kick at him to try to knock him away.

It feels like you've kicked a rock. You move backwards instead, and the knife only nicked through the waistline of your dress, coloring it red as well.

The man bellows in laughter and runs back at you again. He's not even going for vitals and you just know he's playing with his food.

"You asshole." You touch your side where your dress is now a bloody mess. "I liked that dress."

The crowd is laughing too, no doubt at you. You take off the silk belt on your dress and stand your ground.

When the knife wielder comes close again, you jump up onto his back with all your strength. He starts to shake you off and you pull the belt tightly around his eyes so he loses vision.

You're not sure why you did that, but it was a strange intuition.

He's swiping at you blindly with his knives, which is a difficult feat since you're on his back. Just then, his boot laces loosen and he steps on them, stumbling and losing his balance.

You manage to bat a knife out of his hand because he's trying to instinctively use his arms to soften the fall. The knife clatters onto the ground and you jump down.

The crowd goes silent when the man lands squarely onto his own knife, now embedded into his side. All you can hear was your own panting and your contender's pained cries.

It took awhile before the announcer shook out of his daze. Your name was called and you slowly make your way out of the pit while the crowd cheers again, even louder this time and in time with the beating of your heart in your ears.

You're wrapping bandages around your arm when a man with slicked back hair and shined shoes beckons you to follow him.

"The Boss has some questions about your participation." He introduces himself as Ryo and explains his appearance.

You're led through a maze of hallways, lined with meticulously well-kept furniture and even some plants before you come to a set of wooden double doors.

The sight you were not expecting is a tall, red haired man looming over the doorman that waved you inside.

Compared to the former, the doorman looked tiny. He certainly also looked like he wanted to disappear into a crack in the flooring while the red haired man is shaking him by the collar and shouting a slew of insults at him.

"Boss." Ryo raps lightly at the door and gives you a gentle push. "Found the girl."

The red headed hunk loosens his grip on the poor doorman and he slides back down on the ground. You've never seen someone look so relieved and terrified at the same time from your presence.

Your logical mind is telling you that this man Ryo is calling "Boss" can probably smash your face in half in a split second, but your intuition didn't ping so you stay still and get a good look at him.

"The Boss" is a surprisingly young man with a built physique and - now you can't unsee them - fluffy animal ears.

Somehow that one feature now makes this scene incredibly entertaining.

"Just in time." "The Boss" says, "Now we can deal with the lost girl this idiot let into my pit."

"And won." Ryo added. You spy the red haired man shooting him with a death glare.

"Not a hair on this girl looks like she belongs here." He eyes you and turns back to the doorman. "I would beat ya up for this, but it might just make ya even stupider."

Your eyes wonder to his white leather pants, which is weirdly tight and you can't decide whether it looks more stripper or yakuza.

You only realize you've been caught staring when Ryo clears his throat.

"Got a problem?" The wearer of said pants is now glaring at you, and you quickly shake your head because those brass knuckles are definitely not for show.

"Sett. Let's stop threatening the girl too and talk something out." Ryo suggests helpfully, and you would hug him for being the only voice of reason if you weren't in the office of a pit boss who looks like he was ripped out of a page in a wrestling comic.

"Sure thing. As soon as I figure out what to do with these two fools." Sett rubs his temple, "There're rules for a reason - now she's on next week's docket list, because Sherap here thought she came for a fight, and this one - what's your name again? - just kept walkin' without thinkin' twice 'bout it."

You offer your name. You don't think that helped the situation because Sett is still glowering at Sherap, and the doorman looks like he's shrinking.

You should probably take this as an opportunity to get far, far from here and never come back. But Ryo hands you a literal bag of coins - the winnings from your last match - and you make your second stupidest decision of the day.

"How much if I win the next one?"

You ask.

Chapter Text

You wear less constrictive clothing to the second fight.

You're not sure how much you needed to dress for the job though, because your opponent ends up clutching his foot and screaming bloody murder when he hits himself with his own ricochetted bullet.

This continues for awhile.

The audience that actually gathers at your scheduled fights are probably pretty resilient, because they've seen every manner of fighters losing to strange coincidences that leads to them to get injured by their own weapons possible.

Sett finally cracks when your latest victory ends with your opponent twitching on the ground because the ceiling lights fell on them.

"This ain't it." This is the closest you've seen him to facepalming himself, "The pit really ain't the place for ya. Best you move on, really."

You look at him, incredulous.

"You're kicking me out?"

"Not kickin' you out, just a suggestion." He says, "Pits are for fightin', which this ain't."

"I put on a great show." You roll your eyes, "Is that what you people want?"

You knew you fucked up when Sett narrows his eyes at you. Sure, it was a little harsh - but you're not one to sympathize with someone who runs a bloodsport for a living. Plus, you've managed to find the actual magic administration building since and this is the quickest way you can collect funds for the insanely high consolation fee to even see a mage who knows about space-time magic.

"You people?" He stalks closer, and you're hit with the reminder that he's a walking fighting machine of a man whose palm is the size of your face.

You back up until you hit the wall, and he places a hand right next to your head. Close enough to play with the strand of hair that's fallen past your ear.

He smells like whiskey and adrenaline and heat.

"You people?" He repeats again, voice lower this time, and you get shivers for reasons that you can't quite distinguish. "No grace. No sportsmanship. No mystery. Come back when you learn a thing or two about throwin' punches."

He walks off. You're no less hurt by the commentary but get an untimely urge to pet his fluffy ears.

True to his word, Sett seems to care a lot about sportsmanship because whenever you come back, your usual time slot is always jam packed with fights and you can't find a way to squeeze back in.

Ryo shrugs when you find him.

"Sorry. Can't help." He says, apologetic but busy counting the till for the night. "Dunno what you said to get Sett so riled up, but he seems pretty determined."

You remember that Sett is the man that sets up strict rules to keep order in such a hectic environment, and that he seemed willing to break the rules when you first met so a wandering girl doesn't get forced into more fights she didn't sign up for. You feel a little guilty.

On second thought, you probably have his image pretty misunderstood.

As if on cue, Sett struts by in his usual fur coat and leather pants and just completely ignores you.

Well, feeling bad or not, now the competitive side of you is pissed.

You glare daggers into Sett's back, and when you look back, Ryo looks like he was holding back a snicker.

"What?" You fix the stare on him instead.

"Nothing." He says, still trying not to laugh.

You're not sure you believe him.

You get a marvelous idea and walk over to the gambling section of the crowd instead.

You eye the fight in the pit, and literally take out a coin and flip it.

You bet on whichever side the coin tells you until nobody at the table is even surprised when the announcer shouts out the same name your money is laying on.

It only takes a couple rounds of this before Ryo comes over and personally records your bets in pen and paper before all the wild gamblers lurking around you start leeching off your unprecedented accuracy.

"If you're trying to get attention, it's working." Ryo whispers, and you follow his gaze to see that Sett himself is stepping into the pit.

You've been hanging around long enough to know that Sett doesn't often fight in the pit. In fact, he almost never does unless an oblivious mouthy idiot comes along and challenges his reign.

You squint. His opponent seems to be sweating up a storm and does not look the type to challenge Sett on a bad day.

Sett steps into the pit. He looks up.

Straight at you. Everyone in the surrounding area collectively step back.

You realize that the oblivious mouthy idiot may have been you.

But your pride is apparently more important to you than your personal safety because you wave, and make a show of placing your bets on him.

You try not to show your wince as Sett simply goes to town on his contender who took a knife to a fist fight.

The short-lived fight ends with him receiving standing ovations while you are almost literally swimming in coins.

"Could someone -" You start, contemplating the large pile of money you have now accumulated.

"Get the cart!" Sett's voice overlapped with yours, his a lot less polite and for a much bloodier reason.

You watch his cart haul Sett's opponent away while yours leaves you with layers of gold on wheels.

You figure you should probably stop being a hypocrite and hate on a bloodsport when it gets you showered with profits.

You hover outside Sett's office until the last fight of the night ends.

You're raising your knuckle to the door when his voice addressed you right through it.

"Ya gonna keep standin' there all night or ya gonna tell me what you're here for?"

You shrug and just barge into the door instead.

"I was wondering..." You stand aside and show the entire cart of shimmering gold and smile at his blank face, "If you can teach me how to fight."

You've never seen someone get a wolfish grin on their face so quickly.

"Gladly." Sett says, "Thought you'd never ask."

"You've got some guts." Sett crosses his arms, "So I'll let you throw the first punch."

You're standing in the middle of the pit, and man if it doesn't feel a little too quiet.

You look around and realize it's the lack of people in the stands. You wonder how you went from someone who would stammer when giving presentations to being accustomed to an audience while watching your opponents beat themselves up.

You bend your knees just enough to allow full range of motion, and steadily ball up your hands into fists.

Compared to you, Sett's pose is a lot more casual. He's challenging you with his eyes, and you can't quite figure out how someone can look so vulnerable to attack while having impenetrable defenses at the same time.

You run towards him and strike for his eyes. While he's moving to defend his face, you jab for his exposed stomach instead.

He sidesteps the attack with enough speed to alleviate most of the impact. You clutch your stinging fist and somehow get the feeling the punch hurt you more than it did him.

"Not half bad." Sett says, and returns with his own attack.

Even without wearing his brass knuckles, his own brute force is not one you can directly match, so you've already been planning on skirmishing as much as you can.

Yet his punch is approaching you with such speed that you can just about feel wind blowing towards your face. You try to spin away, and you would be too slow if not for the random piece of rock you suddenly tripped over. You almost lose your balance and have to do an awkward roll to avoid eating shit, which perfectly helped you avoid the dent to your ego. And possibly your jaw.

"All planned." You say, and use the momentum to spring from the ground, opting to kick Sett in his stupid, pretty boy face instead.

He catches your ankle with one hand.

"Woulda fooled me." He smirks.

You're stuck in a strange pose now, teetering on one foot while wishing you were more naturally flexible.

Sett's gleeful grin didn't last long, however. You watch it morph into a barely concealed grimace while he let go of your leg and went to hold his own side instead.

When he speaks again, it's like he can't believe his own words.

"Pulled a muscle." He sighs, "Comes with the territory, I 'suppose."

You take a second to wonder how high your luck stats must have rolled to have a seasoned fighter pull a muscle by doing a simple, no effort move.

Evidently, pretty high.

Because Sett's inviting you to his office to share a drink.

You think about the cabinet of expensive wines you saw on display and nod so fast he could barely finish his sentence.

Sett then looks at you, wrinkles his nose in an oddly endearing way and gestures in a direction with his chin.

"Place's got a shower, ya know."

You're too distracted by the offer of alcohol to take offense.

Sure - he practically beat you in three moves and you're all dusty from rolling on the ground while he barely broke a sweat - but you caused some level of bodily harm to the Boss and you consider that victory enough.

More so when you slip into a comfy change of clothes and get handed a nice, cold glass of something that just smells like it'll go down nice and smooth.

You've visited taverns once or twice so far, and quickly realized what Ionians call "beer" is more like an unfiltered bitter concoction and a far cry from what you're used to in your own world.

But the booze Sett has in his collection are far, far better. To be fair, it is coming from a man whose coat probably cost more than your entire wardrobe.

"You're a quick learner." Sett raised a glass, "Didn't think you'd take what I said to heart."

You would insert some kind of snippy remark here, but you're too distracted by Sett's hair. His wet hair, literally still dripping water from his shower which is gliding down his neck freely and disappearing past his loosened collar.

"You ripped the moves from your last opponent in the pit." He swiveled his wrist so the amber liquids would bounce against his glass in gentle waves, and you can't help but notice how the color almost matches his eyes, "Been studyin'?"

You did steal the fighting style from your last match. That was your hardest victory yet - if not for the ceiling lights incident, of course - and you don't have a lot of references for technique. You're more surprised Sett actually watches your matches.

"I did ask for a lesson." You shrug, and nurse your own drink, "Didn't want to embarrass myself immediately."

"Lessons now." Sett says pointedly, "You've got a lot to work on."

That gave you pause. You honestly weren't very serious about the offer, since the last thing you expected is a busy pit boss to actually become your fighting teacher. If anything, it was mostly to vent your frustrations at being cut from the fights - an one off deal.

But your brain is only half functioning because you're too busy looking at his (also) wet, droppy ears, and you definitely don't have the heart to reject the arrangement.

"You've got the right idea already." Sett continues commenting, "Elbows are more useful than you'd think. And kicks to keep 'em at bay."

"Unless you're against me, of course." He grins again.

You roll your eyes and remind him about his unfortunate "injury" as well, which earned you a dismissive chuckle.

A couple drinks in and your speeches both get a little slurred. The conversation devolves, and somehow you start to ask why Sett chose to run this kind of business.

"Vastayas, Ionians, Noxians..." He pauses, "They might fear me, despise me... But they can't stop watchin'. And that fills up my coffers."

"'Sides," Sett adds, "fightin' to get paid is a helluva better than fightin' for nothin'."

His answer gained a grim tone at the end that the alcohol couldn't even mask. You ponder for a moment and realize he's referring to the ongoing war.

You also realize with a start that despite the war, this city manages to keep a precarious peace. The Noxians soldiers passing through mostly keep to themselves, the townspeople untouched by warfare.

The only animosity you see is in the pits, where the pent up grievances translate themselves to blood money, while the order is upkept with an iron fist.

"Now you're lookin' at me like I'm the good guy." Sett raises an eyebrow, "That's rare."

Well, you're not. But it does warrant a change of opinion, at least.

Not that you would admit it.

"'S why they call me the Beast-Boy Bastard." He muses, almost to himself, "Well, the Beast-Man Bastard now."

The word "beast" beckons your attention right back to his ears. In your drunken haze, you're probably not doing a very good job of hiding your stare because Sett literally perks up his ears and watchs as your eyes follow their movement.

"Gifts from the better half of my folks." He says, almost fondly, "You like 'em?"

You will not give in to the urge to touch the mafia anime cat boy's ears.

You will not give in to the urge to touch the mafia anime cat boy's...

You stand up, grab a towel, and pat his entire stupid head dry before you have to endure one more second of his puppy-stuck-in-the-rain impression.

For an era with barely widespread industrialization, the alcohol absolutely slaps.

Slapped you in the face, that is. To the point where all you can remember of your drunken memories are snippets.

Of you climbing and hanging off of Sett like some kind of strange spider-monkey, while laying and rolling across his toned torso with avid excitement.

The worse part is, he just kind of lets you while watching you with this equally-drunk and incredibly-amused look.

You wake up wishing there was a crack you can hide into, and swiftly run away before any staff can see you sneaking out of the Boss's office at ungodly hours in the morning.

You've been hiding in your rented room for days before you decide to bare the embarrassment and actually go to your scheduled fight today.

Mage appointments don't pay for themselves, after all.

You know you should be glad to be back on the docket, but the inquisitive look you're getting from Ryo as he checks you in for the fight is not helping at all. You can practically hear the gears churning in his head, no doubt imagining what happened since the last time you wheeled an entire cart of coins to Sett's office.

Now that you worded it that way, it sounds even worse.

You take it out on your opponent instead.

The man wielding a belt full of axes feels like a minion compared to fighting Sett. Most of his attacks you dodge with ease, and even manage to catch his own weapon midair, and pin him to the wall with it.

You feel like he's the luckier one out of you two - the array of axes are perfectly nestled either under his armpits, or in the bulk of his clothing. You didn't even draw any blood, despite the murderous glare you're receiving from his immobile form.

By the cheers you're getting, the audience is equally impressed with you actually taking an engaged fight, though there's always the odd few that shout at you to go for the kill.

You leave Axe Man right where he is and walk off with your share of the gold. There's even a bounce in your step as you head back to the inn and count your coins, happy to procrastinate any confrontation with Sett.

You spy a note at the bottom of the bag and groan. Written in Sett's familiar scrawl was a date and time for your next fighting lesson.

You shove down the small pang of excitement in the back of your mind and make a beeline for your room.

As you reach for the handle, the sharp crash of something being roughly swept to the ground catches your attention.

You immediately tense up. Slowly easing the handle and pushing open the door, you breathe sharply as you come face to face with a destroyed room and several armed men and women, weapons drawn and bloodshot eyes transfixed on you.

Axe Man is in the lead. He unholsters a pistol and loads a bullet into the chamber.

"How 'bout that unfinished match now?"

Chapter Text

You may be fast, but you're not faster than a bullet at point blank range.

A sharp pain explodes in your shoulder, and the bastard is grinning because he got you right in your dominant arm.

Another woman steps out from the corner, and drags her serrated blade on the ground while a manic smile takes over her face.

You vaguely recognize her as someone who's been pitted against you as well. Except she probably had a lot smaller of a knife back then.

"We'll take our time. I'll enjoy cutting you to tiny pieces... There's even an audience already."

You think you might be sick. You quickly decide that your new least favorite crowd are bloodthirsty psychopaths that hold a grudge.

Too bad that seems to be most of the crowd you deal with.

You weigh the bag of coins in your hand and chuck it straight at the gun-wielding man. You hit a bullseye on his head and he stumbles, causing his next shots to miss.

The string tying the bag shut loosens in the process, and the contents of the bag spill all over the ground.

The woman with the blade trips on the circular coins, and her blade accidently stabs right into the leg of the third man, who was flailing around a whip and aiming for your face.

A string of incoherent curses and pained cries followed as you took the opportunity to run towards the stairs.

You manage to get a couple feet ahead before the man with the whip hooks the wooden railing near you with his weapon and grapple himself towards you with a mean glint in his eye.

You watch warily as the railing crumbles from the weight, and he falls down three stories to the ground with a loud thump.

Unfortunately, the other two are hot in your tail. Whip Man is also getting up to his feet with a noticable limp.

Instead of jumping down where you might get cornered, you opt to hop onto the roof instead, while the trio gives chase on the ground.

While you're trying to keep property damages to a minimum, your pursuers don't seem to give a single fuck. The woman even pulls out a crossbow and joins Axe Man in his long ranged barrage.

You slide across a couple roof tiles and narrowly avoid another piece of lead that flies by your head. This whole ruckus is happening at the crack of dawn and you start to wonder if the entire town is hungover or something, because no one has even peeked their head out the window, much less call for city guards to help out.

The road is coming to a sharp incline, and the houses along the way are getting a lot more sparse - far enough where you don't think you could jump across even if you were some kind of bunny vastaya.

You access your situation, looking like a sitting duck while perching precariously on a slanting roof. Your breathing is becoming haggard now, and your face is probably getting paler from the blood loss from your injured arm.

The Crossbow Woman cackles and starts to scale up a nearby wall to get a clearer shot. She takes it, and a sudden gust of wind blows the bolt off course and right onto a nearby flower pot.

The flower pot teethers and spins dangerously before falling off the window sill, and right onto Whip Man's head.

You would wince at the sound if he wasn't so insistent on killing you into pieces.

With one man down, the duo shares a look and starts climbing up to your location instead.

You don't have a single weapon to your name and only one usable arm, so you would really like to avoid hand to hand combat right now.

Silently panicking, you yank off your own belt and tie it into a loose knot around a nearby clothesline. You thank youself for bothering to train your upper body strength, and hold on to the belt with one hand while hopping off the roof. Using the clothesline as a makeshift zipline, you slide across the street with relative ease and right into a well decorated yard.

You barely get a moment to catch your breath before your pursuers are following suit. You sidestep their tumbling mass as they crash headfirst into countless garments and then right into a metal bucket.

You wince at the sound this time. That can't be healthy fo human skulls.

The bucket tips over as well, and now your pursuers are a soggy mess of limbs, all their movements trapped by the sleeves and hems they're laying in.

"My-my, what happened here?"

There's a gasp behind you, and you turn to see a beautiful woman with lilac hair sliding open her door, wide-eyed and holding a watering can.

You look at the myraid of grass stains that now dot the beautiful clothing the duo is trapped in, and a flush rises to your cheeks.

"Uh," you stammer, "it's a long story..."

There's clearly something wrong with the image in front of you. Maybe your eyes are not working.

Because the graceful woman that greeted you is now beating up the two culprits with a watering can.

Her lithe frame clearly belies her strength, because at first you can hear the duo groaning in pain, but now you're not even hearing much at all.

You're not sure if you just witnessed a murder scene.

You laugh nervously.

"Oh! My apologies." She turns around and covers her face while she feigns a cough. When she straightens up again, she looks so composed and dignified, it makes you doubt what you just saw with your own eyes, "It's delightful to meet you! You must be scared terribly by these bad bandits. Come inside and I can take a look at those wounds... Would you like some tea?"

The lilac haired woman introduces herself as Mako, and fusses over you as she carefully dress your wounds.

Dozens of scapes and cuts from your haphazard parkour across half the roofs in the city, not to mention the bullet wound - went clean through and no damage to the bone, luckily - but more than enough to put an empathetic frown on Mako's face while she wraps you up in bandages.

"Thank you." You say, grateful to not be bleeding through your shirt anymore, "You're very good at this."

"Ah, comes with practice." Mako smiles fondly the way a proud mother would, "My son would get into all sorts of mischiefs growing up. He's still so clumsy that he often hurts himself at work! Young people, never taking care of their bodies when they should."

She gives you a disapproving look, presumably over the danger you put yourself in, but she's beaming with so much maternal warmth you find it impossible to dismiss the notion this lady who looks to be in her late 20s at most seems to have a son your age.

You hastily drink some tea to push down your feelings of surprise. Mako furrows her brow when she sees you fumble with the teacup with your non dominant hand.

"Should have given those two a piece of my mind. Targeting a nice young lady like that." She puts her arms on her hips.

Your gaze shifts uneasily to the vaguely-twitching forms in the garden.

"Don't you worry about them anymore." Mako says, "I'll get my son to bring them to the city officials later. He's a big boy, it'll be no trouble for him."

Dawn is shifting into morning now, and you sit on her couch and sip tea while Mako tells you all about her upstanding citizen of a son.

Tall, strong, construction worker with a heart of gold.

"His last building project was an orphanage! Can you imagine." Mako shakes her head appreciatively before glancing at the clock.

As if on cue, there's a knock on the front door, and Mako emerges from the kitchen with a bag of packed lunch.

You hear their conversation trickle in from the doorway.

"Oh, Settrigh, you wouldn't believe the scuffle I got into this morning! These bad, bad men were pestering this young lady and I just had to help out. Be a dear and help her escort these criminals to the guards, will you?"

You stand up, figuring you should try to make a good first impression despite looking like a half mummy.

"Sure thing, Ma."

The familiar voice gives you pause. You look up and meet the golden eyes of Sett, the Beast-Man Bastard himself.

"Yeah, I can't really believe it either."

You mutter under your breath.

"Appreciate you not tellin' on me."

"Your mother makes you lunch?"

It's an awkward walk away from Mako's house.

You and Sett both speak up at the same time.

Even without the two half-conscious people stringing behind you, the scene of Sett holding a lunch box is strange enough.

Your mind darts back to just a few minutes ago, where Mako clapped her hands in delight upon your looks of recognition.

"You two know each other?"

You've never seen Sett get a look that's this close to pleading.

Construction worker.

Builds orphanages.

You try not to look too incredulous.

"Yeah, um..." Your voice almost cracks, "I'm his.. colleague? I help supply the building materials?"

"Wonderful!" Mako beams, then turns to Sett with a glare, "Settrigh, you should be more caring to your coworkers. Help them out before they get in danger."

Sett looks at you, who is barely suppressing a snicker. He takes a deep breath.

He looks in the garden. And takes another deep breath.

"I will, Ma." He says, pretty much through gritted teeth, "Don't worry, we have internal affairs to handle this."

Now trotting through the streets of Ionia and obviously making a beeline for the pit, you can sense Sett's anger just by walking behind him.

You walk by a familiar shattered flower pot, and peel the third unconscious man off of the road and add him back into the trio.

Sett gets all three tied up and is dragging them behind him with absolutely no effort.

"Rough night?" He asks flatly. He looks peeved, like he wants to punch something.

You hope that anger is not directed at you.

"Something like that." You respond.

You spent the whole night being chased around like a rabid dog with more than a fair share of weapons aimed at you.

It could be the fact that you're next to the biggest, baddest wolf now and it can't possibly get any worse. But your body relaxes in the presence of Sett and the exhaustion really sets in.

All you want is a warm bed right now, you've possibly lost a liter of blood and are really not in the mood of dissecting Sett's best kept secret right now.

Sett lifts his free hand, his claws get closer to your face.

You're not sure why you don't flinch.

He runs his hand through your hair instead, and then cups your cheek. He turns your face gently towards him and there's something indecipherable brewing in his eyes.

"This won't happen again." He says.

You blink. It sounds like a promise.

You just about collapse when you walk through the front doors to the pit.

You're caught by a warm embrace. Strong arms circle your back and loop around your knees, and you're suddenly up and being carried through the halls.

You're basking in familiar scent of whiskey and spices and heat, so you do not struggle and lean your head into him instead.

You mutter something you do not remember. Probably complaining about your wounds.

"I know. Baby girl. I know." A low voice coos next to your ear and the gentle swaying of his steps almost puts you to sleep.

He lays you into something soft. What feels like a blanket is pulled over you.

You drift off to dreamland faster than you can whisper his name.

Chapter Text

You wake up to a delicious smell wafting into your nose.

You can feel the afternoon sun cascading over you even through your eyelids. You feel unbelievably warm, and it takes until you open your eyes to realize it's because Sett had placed his jacket over your body.

You were laying on a soft leather couch, and smack dab in the middle of Sett's office. There's a bowl of soup laying on a nearby table, and your stomach growls with picture perfect timing.

You unconsciously pull the jacket over your shoulders as you sit up.

The fur is soft. Almost as soft as Sett's hair when you dried his ears that one night.

You physically shake your head to get rid of the thought.

As if on cue, the office door opens and shuts while you're fumbling with the soup, and the aforementioned man joins you on the couch.

Sett is not a man whose presence is easily overlooked. Especially not when just his weight on the cushions is enough to make your body sink towards him.

He takes shameless advantage of this to snag the spoon into his own hand. He brings the spoon to his mouth, and blows on the liquid until it's lukewarm.

All you can do is blink when he moves the soup back against your lips.

"Ma's secret recipe." Sett says, as if that's enough to explain the fact that he's feeding you.

You consider your overly-bandaged arms, and open your mouth.

It's chicken soup. The meat's tender and flavorful and all but melts on your tongue. You chew kind of on autopilot, and Sett winks at you.

"Told ya you'd love it."

He continues feeding you, ensuring each bite is at the optimal temperature before bringing it to your mouth.

You're not sure how you're expected to eat normally when he's looking at you with the same intense singular focus he usually reserves for pit fights. You're suddenly completely incapable of meeting his amber eyes, and all too aware of the fact that your thighs are currently touching.

This might be the most memorable soup you've ever had in your life.

You let out an audible sigh of relief after your last bite.

Sett laughs.

It should be illegal for a man who already has such a velvety voice to have a contagious laugh too. You barely register your own smile before he leans in even closer, and brushes his thumb over the side of your neck.

"My jacket suits you."

His movements are slow, almost testing. You're not sure if your brain is getting enough oxygen, because all you can think of is how his sentence doesn't make any sense because your own frame pretty much gets swallowed by his jacket.

You don't move away. Sett inches closer until all you can see is his face, and you're busy counting his eyelashes when he speaks again.

"Now I'm askin' for my share."

Only Sett can phrase a question like a command. Especially for a god-damned kiss.

You proceed to yank him into you by his stupid, fluffy hair and your eyes flutter closed when your lips make contact.

You probably bumped noses, and his arms wrapped around you so quickly you can't even fathom moving. But you don't care because his tongue is mapping your mouth expertly and he's sucking at your lips just enough for you to feel his canines across the soft flesh.

You regret not pulling him into a kiss the first time you've had him alone with you. You regret any prior moments where you weren't close enough to be engrossed in his scent while your hands are buried in his hair.

"Shoulda done that sooner." Sett says, like he can read your mind. "A lot fuckin' sooner."

It only takes one look at his eyes to get lost in them.

But he closes them and puts his forehead to yours while he evens out his breathing.

"Won't take you like this." He says, and the lustful tone behind it makes you shiver, "When you're feelin' better, I want the only thing your body can feel to be me. Only me."

Your heart is beating so fast, you're surprised it's not flying out of your chest. Sett presses a chaste kiss to your face and somehow coaxes you into laying down. A pair of warm hands start to massage your legs instead, and you feel your sore muscles relax under his touch. He's careful to avoid any bandaged areas, and before long you're making happy little hums.

"What happened to those three?" You ask, almost as an after thought. You're barely able to keep your eyes open as is.

Sett pauses. You pry open an eye, and he's smiling nonchalantly, the corner of his lips lifted into a cruelly handsome curve.

"Won't be seein' much of them again." He answers, and you figure they're probably kicked off the roster and leave it at that. It's pretty difficult to keep a train of thought when your calves are being massaged.

You find Sett's brass knuckles with teeth stuck in them when you're rifling through his cabinets.

You close that drawer, and find the whiskey you were searching for in the next one.

You take a swig and finally understand why all the staff has been walking on eggshells around Sett for the past week.

You're strictly forbidden from participating in any fights while your wounds scabbed over.

You seriously consider the possibility that this weird fantasy world has made you into an adrenaline junkie - because you're practically itching for action, and it has nothing to do with your healing injuries.

You glare at Ryo, he throws up his hands. So you go bug Sett, who huffs and essentially grabs you by the back of your collar and chucks you right into his overly-doting mother.

You stare at Sett in a silent cry for help as he smirks away to work at his "construction job".

Mako beams at you. You look down at the platefuls of food she has laid before you and seriously consider if it's possible to die from overeating.

Sett just raises an eyebrow if you threaten to tell Mako about his business ventures, and you know he can read your bluff. You threaten to tell his employees about his embarrassing baby photos instead, and he finally agrees to at least let you continue your fighting lessons.

You take that as a win. Even though Sett seems to be taking opportunities throughout his instruction to hold on to you for a bit too long.

Small price to pay to finally get some exercise. At least that's what you tell yourself when your heart starts beating too fast.

You don't realize you're in too deep before the whispers around you get incessant.

Sure, you're often seen hanging around even if you don't have any fights scheduled - but it's not like that was your choice, and your fighting lessons are in the pit, afterhours. Where else would you go?

If not for the few lingering touches here and there, you would almost feel like the kiss you had was just an imagination. You're perfectly content in your slightly-flirty little bubble, thank you very much.

You only realize something was up when a quick tallying on your calendar shows that Sett's been popping up everywhere with alarming frequency.

One day you're being led to a nice restaurant saying that they serve "good proteins, makes ya heal faster". And another day you find gift wrapped bags with silk dresses outside your door, with notes asking you to drop by for dinner.

You wear the dresses and you eat the food. You tell yourself it's because Sett's mother is a godsend and you adore her too much to let her down.

You're not sure where all your free time went and you silently suspect Sett has spent way more on your gifts than the amount you initially paid him for lessons - the lessons that started as a way to get a ruse out of him, but are now a weekly thing that he's taking very, very seriously.

You get antsy and ask to be scheduled on the next available fight. This time, surprisingly, Sett agrees.

You're not sure why, but you wear the prettiest dress Sett has bought you to the fight.

When you show up, Sett stops dead in his tracks. You look up, expecting an incredulous look, but his expression is completely unreadable.

Some of the familiar faces around you tell you good luck. You look at Sett, expecting one from him as well, but he's already facing away. His knuckles are gripped so tightly around the stair railings that they're turning white, and you roll your eyes.

Would it kill him to have some faith? It's not like you're planning on ruining another dress over a pit fight.

There's not even a speck of dirt on you when you dropped your opponent. You stand amidst the cheering and applause, and meet eyes with Sett, who's standing in the tallest booth. You wave, and the audience starts hollering your name - you're the only one that knows you were waving only for him.

They say luck favors the bold.

Yet your name sounds so different when it's growled next to your ear while your wrists are pinned above you.

"Took all I had to not take you right there..." Sett nips at your earlobe, and his low chuckle vibrated all the way down your spine, "No backin' off now."

He has you with your back to his office door, and you already heard the faint click of the lock besides you. It only takes him one hand to circle both of your wrists, and he slips in his knee in between your legs and effectively cages you with his torso while he roams his free hand across the portion of skin your dress exposed on your back.

You close your eyes and bask in his scent.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be." You say. And Sett grabs your chin, parts your lips with his thumb and devours you.

You've never been kissed like this until you've met Sett. Desperate, frenetic, and hungry. Like he's a stranded man in the dessert and you're the only drink that can quench his thirst. He kisses you until you forget how to come up for air.

It's like kissing before you met him was only a pretense of what it should be. He kisses you with all the certainty of an invasion and you're glassy eyed before he pulls away to continue mouthing at your neck.

"Promised you I'd take you until your body only remembers my shape." His breath is hot against your skin and you can only whimper as he hikes your dress up and slide his hand greedily up your thigh. "Can't wait a second longer."

Sett's voice is husky, and just dripping with dark anticipation. You move your wrists a fraction, arching into his touch and he grips them tighter and shushes you.

"Shhh... Or people might just hear me claimin' you." He smiles coyly, "Or don't."

He flips you over and you yelp in surprise. Your palms are on the wooden door now and your back is facing Sett. His hands find your hips, and you're suddenly very aware of a particularly rigid part of his anatomy.

There's a faint rustle of fabric and the bruising grip on your side. Sett's voice is next to your ear again.

"You might wanna hold on to something."

Your brain barely registers his next words before he yanks your underwear out of the way and sheathes his length inside you.

You didn't even realize you're soaked. The lubrication coats his tip and he mercilessly stretches you. Every second you feel like you've already been filled to the brim, he eases another inch in and you don't stop shaking until the front of his thigh meets your ass.

You're almost sure he's right at your cervix with just one thrust.

"Good girl..." Sett coos, and eases halfway out of you before slamming his hips into you again. "Taking it so well."

He does it again. You're biting your lips so hard to keep from making noise that you might draw blood.

You can hear muffled footsteps and distant conversations through the door, and it's all you can do not to sob.

He's going so deep that he's reaching sensitive spots you didn't even knew existed. When he pulls back, your core aches at the loss, and when he thrusts back in, your breath hitches and you claw helplessly at the door for purchase, or anything to ground yourself on that's not the generous inches being pistoned in and out of you.

There's none, and Sett sneaks two fingers into your mouth and toys with your tongue as he speeds up. You're a mewling mess that's barely standing save for the vice grip on your hips, and Sett is ghosting his teeth over the back of your neck as he fucks into you with an increasing frenzy.

You can't keep quiet. Your cries are turning from his name to strings of incoherent curses to "right there, yeah right there" and then to uneven, broken breaths.

There's fireworks beyond your vision as Sett buries his shaft into you, chasing his own release. He's hitting that spot just right and you all but scream while he spills inside you.

When he does, he whispers your name like a prayer. He wraps his arms around you while you try not to collapse and you stay there for a moment while tasting salt on his skin.

You're carried to the couch. The leather, combined with Sett's natural body heat makes you feel like you're burning up. You mumble a vague complaint to no avail and he just nuzzles closer against you and twitches his ears.

Maybe you can give in to the urge to touch the mafia anime boy's ears. Just this once. Or twice.

The bastard knows you like them, anyway.