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lippyispunk · 2 months

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When the World Is Quiet, What Thoughts Remain

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately.

Dying.

A near-death experience provides Astarion some clarity.

Word Count: 3.7k

fluff, realized feelings, developing relationship

a/n: Hello all!

I wrote this to take place in Act 2, after the Yurgir battle but before Astarion's confession. I believe it is gender neutral, but if anyone finds something that says otherwise, please let me know! First time posting on here, so I apologize for any formatting errors.

Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately.

Dying.

Despite the centuries that had passed since his mortality had been lost to this plane, the experience was seared into his mind. Back then, it had been horrific. The excruciating pain. The paralyzing fear of what was to come, as his body was drained of blood and his heart thumped erratically in his chest, desperately trying to keep his blood flowing- his body alive.

This time, the pain is ever present. He lies on his back in the mud and puddles, the yawning storm above continuing to release torrents of rain. His ruby eyes blink slowly, despite the droplets landing in them. Twin daggers have been abandoned at his sides, pale elegant hands having to hold his innards together instead. His white lounge shirt clings to his trembling frame, now dyed rusty brown and crimson red.

The fear, however, is blessedly absent. His thoughts trudge through his mind like oozing honey. It’s almost peaceful. Cazador. The parasite. His never ending hunger. All seemed so far away now; the normally constant concerns looming at the forefront of his thoughts, now caught in the sticky trap of insignificance.

He had been hungry earlier. Always so hungry. The small respite he received immediately after feeding never lasted as long as he wished it would. His condition had been even more bothersome as of late. Ever since he and the little group of misfits he traveled with had entered the Shadowlands. Prey was sparse. And any blood he lost during battle needed to be replaced somehow. That was how he found himself here tonight.

He had hunted further from the group’s campsite than he normally would, in search of the few living creatures that had not yet been felled by this accursed land. He had been ambushed by shadow beings, caught unaware due to his weakened, dulled senses. Their claws had cut through him so easily. His lack of armor was another mistake, but a decision made in hopes to be quick and quiet enough to catch a meal.

His head slowly lolled to the side, eyes attempting to focus in the direction of the camp. The monsters that attacked him had begun to slither that way before vanishing into hazy mist. His breath wheezes from his lungs, chest shuddering. Breathing wasn’t a necessity for him, but a habit nonetheless. Even now.

He wonders, idly, if any of his companions will be awake at this hour to intercept the attack. His muddled mind cannot bring forth who was supposed to be on watch tonight. He even admits to himself, perhaps his blood loss getting to his head, that he would not wish to see them come to harm. Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart…

His drifting thoughts were brought to sudden clarity. A breathtaking, wondrous, kind creature unexpectedly ensnaring his thoughts.

You.

Gods, how could it have taken this long for you to flit back into his mind? You were all he seemed to think about anymore lately. Your smile, your laugh, your boundless good heart. But also the confusion he felt that always seemed to twist whatever lovely feeling you inspired in him.

He may not wish to see the others harmed, but you… you’re different. The way he feels for you is- different. He cares for you. In a way that he cannot recall ever feeling for someone else. You understand him in ways that he doesn’t understand himself. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. The most alive he’s felt in, well, ever.

But it wasn't supposed to end up this way. He’s comfortable pretending. Seducing. It’s as familiar as the back of his hand. And the facade had worked with you too, for a brief time. Until that second time he propositioned you at the tiefling party. What had you called his seductions? ‘Honeyed words’? And then the complete dismissal of his fraudulent love confession. He had recovered well in the moment; he’s used to pivoting his tactics when the occasional target gets antsy with his persuasions. Even still, you had rejected him that night. You let him down easy, of course, with a compassionate smile and a sweet whisper of ‘perhaps another time'.

Later that night, when he was alone once more, he contemplated. You were on to him, in one way or another. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of his ploy, but you could tell his flirtations were… insincere. Why else would you turn down another night with him?

He had expected repercussions, a growing distance between the two of you that would put all his progress with you to ruin. You didn’t seem the type to settle for this feigned romance. You'd push him away.

But you hadn’t. You were just as warm and welcoming to him as you had always been. Attentive. Friendly. Hells, even laughing at his irrelevant, snarky quips. He was surprised. And in that surprise, he found himself off guard. You still wanted to spend time with him, despite everything. Maybe… maybe he didn't have to try so hard with you.

Since that revelation, Astarion had found himself just enjoying existing . He had fun around you, and the others too, he'd be loath to admit. Now that the metaphorical weight of seducing you had been lifted. But inevitably, at night when he was alone, the pesky question returned, cycle after cycle. If not his body, what did you want from him?

More recently, there had been the battle with the Orthon, Yurgir. Astarion was still befuddled, even now. No one in his extensive time on this plane had ever gone to such lengths for him. When Raphael had offered the deal: one very dead devil in exchange for information on his scarred flesh, there had been no question, no doubt from you. Just resolve and an all encompassing respect for Astarion and his decision making. It made his chest ache.

He's not entirely sure what to call the emotion he feels for you. It goes beyond simple lust for your form or an appreciation of your personality. And Gods knows he's scared to Avernus and back of what this all might mean. But he's not scared of you. Never of you. He realizes that whatever comes, he wants to explore this. With you, if you'll have him.

Returning to the present from his recollections, one conviction finally banishes the wandering thoughts in his mind. You deserve better than this. These pretty lies he had been trying to feed you. This mask that he had used for so many years, so many decades. You had given him some of the most important parts of yourself. Your trust, your belief in him, your patience. It was time he did the same.

Ruby irises shift skyward once more, a newfound purpose and vitality clear in his pupils. He has to get back to you. To explain. To apologize. Hells, to bathe in the warmth of your presence just once more would make this endeavor worthwhile.

He steels himself before his body begins to twist, rolling to his stomach ever so slowly. An agonized cry peels itself from his throat, unbidden. The fresh wave of pain that crashes over his stomach ripples through the rest of his body, leaving him shaking in its wake. He keeps one hand underneath him, continuing to hold as much pressure on his gaping wounds as he can. The other arm is bent in front of him, poised for what he must do.

He begins to crawl.

He grunts with the effort, free hand scrabbling in the mud for purchase as he drives his legs into the ground to push his form forward. This is far from the worst thing he has ever endured. But Gods, hasn’t he endured enough in this lifetime?

Tears spring to his eyes as he continues his plight. His beautiful white curls are drenched, flattened to his head and dropping into his field of view. His anguished gaze is so unfocused that it doesn’t matter. He’s moving on instinct now, forcing his limbs to respond by sheer force of will alone. The will to live.

Somewhere distantly his mind registers that his voice has become an endless stream of moans and broken sobs. Blood continues to slip stickily between the fingers clutching at his stomach. He doesn’t care. He will do anything to make it back to you. He has to. He owes it to you. Hells, he owes it to himself.

Time moves in slow motion; he loses all sense of it. He knows not how long he’s been dragging his body forward, just that finally, finally , he reaches salvation.

“Astarion!”

He hears you as if he’s underwater, but he would know your voice anywhere. His mind is fuzzy, consciousness fading from his being quickly. He stops crawling and lifts his blood-red gaze. You’re here. His breath hitches in his chest, a new sob rending itself from within. Though this one was not brought out from pain, but rather relief. He's never seen a more welcome sight.

You’ve come for him, battleworn and bloody. Your feet pound the sodden land, racing toward him as you pay no heed to the slick mud. You drop to your knees in front of him, hair plastered to your cheeks and eyes wild with adrenaline and some other emotion he is unable to wrap his disoriented mind around. His eyes trace your face with his last remaining strand of focus.

Astarion had long given up on praying to any deity. What was the point? They never answered him anyway. But you- you are divine. The sight of you here, now, almost has him reconsidering his stance.

“Gods, Astarion! Just hold on, okay? Please!”

Your hands flutter in his vicinity for a moment, unsure of where to touch without causing more harm. He watches you, the barest hint of his lip tilting up at the corner.

“I don’t think you can make it much worse, darling,” he breathes, tone sounding brittle in his own ears. “Just do it.”

He sees you wince before you brace yourself. Ever the leader, doing what must be done. Your hands rest on him gently, but firm. Warm. Comforting, despite the circumstances. He wants those beautiful, lively hands to touch him again after all this. He wants to savor it. To feel them carding through his curls. To rest gently on his arm to catch his attention. To pull him in close, a secret for him alone dancing on your lips. He wants to- he doesn’t know what exactly he wants. He just knows-

He cries out sharply when you turn him onto his back, the pain rocketing his thoughts out of his musings.

“I’m sorry,” you grimace, eyes scanning over his torso, cataloging the damage.

Carmine eyes are glazed with agony, but he fights to stay conscious. He grunts when you move him again, swiftly tucking your legs underneath you. His head lays in your lap, face tilted skyward and ivory neck lengthened by the newly created slope of your legs. A healing potion appears at his lips, your hand holding firm as you tip it towards him.

Normally he’d have some smart comment, he’s sure. Something about being a damsel in distress, perhaps. Or maybe something about how this isn’t what he means when he says he wants to take a drink from you. But exhaustion takes hold, and he follows your lead mutely.

The effect is instantaneous; the healing potion is a glorious balm for his wounds. The pain numbs to a background throb, much easier to withstand. The gashes across his stomach begin to seal, the bleeding slowing to a trickle. Astarion sighs through his nose, relief radiating through him down to his fingertips.

The rain has abated to a lazy drizzle. It’s the only reason Astarion can hear your faint confession.

“You… you scared the shit out of me, Astarion,” your voice wobbles, such a far cry from the fearlessness he is accustomed to hearing from you. He blinks up at you, his gaze taking in your anxious expression as you lean over him. Seeing your expressive concern for his well being is still something he's getting used to.

He finishes the potion, licking the remnants from his pale lips as you pull the vial away.

“Apologies, my sweet,” his voice comes out stronger than before, but roughened from his earlier painful overuse. “You know I have a flair for dramatics. What better way to keep things lively than almost dying. Again,” he does his best to smirk, to don the mask of devil-may-care that comes so easily to him.

“Gods above, Astarion. ‘Dramatics’? That’s all you have to say? You were nearly gone when I got here. I was almost too late,” your voice tapers off, ending in a near whisper.

He blinks again, shocked. The facade slides off his face. Truth be told, your vulnerability is making him… uneasy. He doesn’t know what to say. Why are you so distressed? This is hardly the first time one of the group has come up gravely injured. He doubts it will be the last.

He will recover eventually, as he always does following a particularly nasty battle. It may take a little extra healing from Shadowheart, and a belly full of blood would absolutely go a long way in fast tracking the process. But regardless, his body will endure.

He’s painfully aware that his usefulness has… limitations. It extends to his body alone. His battle prowess, his dexterous fingers, his ability to deliver pleasure. But that’s it. He has nothing substantial to offer you. No worldly possessions, no powerful connections, just… himself. His biting nature, both literally and figuratively. His trauma, broken pieces with razor sharp edges. He's not even sure if you are interested in something like this with him, something deeper. No, he thinks. No one could want this. Not truly. His growing feelings for you are one sided, of that he is certain.

But then you throw his world off its axis again.

“I can't- I can't lose you. You mean the absolute world to me.”

His eyes soften, rounding out as he searches your gaze. For what, he’s not entirely sure. Deceit? Twisted humor? But all he finds is tenderness along with the shine of unshed tears.

You pause for a moment, swallowing. He can see you're trying to continue so he waits, eyes rapt.

“I would miss how you always manage to make me laugh, even when I'm having a horrible day. And getting to hear your laugh in exchange when I do something you find particularly impish,” your serious expression finally gives way to a small amused smile. ”The little sweets you sneak into my bag whenever you manage to get your hands on some, just because you know I love them.”

Astarion's eyes widen imperceptibly. Shit. He didn't realize you knew he was the sweets supplier. It was…nice for him. To be able to provide you something you enjoy and a brief respite from all the weight on your shoulders. If only for a moment. To see the stress evaporate from your face for the few minutes it took you to chew. You'd only indulge every so often, when camp was quiet and nothing urgently needed your attention. He'd watch silently from his peripheral vision on occasion, not wanting to ruin your contentment but also needing to witness it for himself.

But he hadn't exactly wanted to mentally unpack what this absurd little habit of his might mean beyond the superficial. Hence, the secrecy. He was going to eviscerate whichever loudmouth at camp had clued you in.

“You're there for me, in ways that I could never begin to fully describe. I know we don't always agree entirely, but I'm never afraid to tell you how I feel, or what I think. Because at the end of the day we'll still support each other,” you glance away briefly, and he sees the heated flush on your cheeks.

Embarrassment. Always so delicious to him. For anyone else it means he'd get to loosen his tongue on some provoking quips. How he loves to rile people up from time to time. But now, he finds it enticing for an entirely different reason. Gods, you're beautiful.

You find your courage again quickly, making eye contact with him once more. “I could probably go on, but what I'm saying is… I would miss you endlessly. I can't do this without you.”

What a novel concept. To be wanted, needed beyond anything he could provide carnally. To be desired purely for his presence will take some adjusting. But, if you truly believe everything you said about him, then who is he to disagree? Maybe there is some truth in what you say. If you can see some good in his wretched soul, then perhaps he can try too.

“I'm… I'm not going anywhere, my love,” he promises.

It flows from his lips so naturally, ‘my love'. It hadn't even been a conscious thought. Anxiety spikes in his gut at the admission, his mind already beginning to spiral. Love? Is that what this is developing into? He doesn't know how to tell; there's no past memories in his mind to pull reference from.

But the smile that splits your lips at his vow is radiant, and he finds that his racing thoughts slow immeasurably. Regardless of the unintentional reveal, the moniker fits. He feels it in whatever remains of his soul.

He smiles then, all honey and warmth. For you.

“I'll be here long after you tire of me, I'm sure. Vampires always tend to overstay their welcome, you know,” he jests softly, voice lacking his usual edge.

You gasp quietly and he recognizes it as the familiar sound of you remembering something.

“I’m so sorry, Astarion. You've just reminded me, I can't remember the last time you've eaten,” you immediately brandish your wrist, pulling your sleeve up.

He freezes, the roiling, constant hunger in his gut flaring at the sight of your wrist. He knows how close the veins are to the surface there, just how deliciously easy it would be to sink his teeth into that soft skin. His mouth waters at the thought. But he is no animal, and neither are you for that matter. He comes back to himself, muscles uncoiling and gaze connecting with yours again.

“I appreciate the offer, darling. But you need your strength. Moonrise Tower won't storm itself, and having our fearless leader stumbling over their own two feet along the way won't instill much terror in our foes, will it?”

He can't bring himself to say the truth in its entirety aloud. He truly doesn't want to weaken you before the battle at Moonrise. But it has less to do with fearsome appearances and entirely more to deal with your safety. His feedings always take a toll on you. You smile and wave him off every time, but he sees the effects. Reflexes just a touch slower than usual, stamina not quite up to par with the rest of the group.

It's not your fault he's starving. He wasn't exactly forthcoming about his lack of successful hunts since arriving in the Shadowlands. And you were absolutely overwhelmed with everything going on. Between the deadly shadow curse, Ketheric Thorm, and the Absolute, it was a miracle you could ever focus on anything else. No. He doesn't blame you. He wants you to be okay.

He can't be the reason you become injured, or worse.

But you insist, your wrist gravitating closer to his plush lips and aching canines.

“I'll be okay, I promise. I'll even ask Shadowheart for a little healing incantation if I really need to. Please, you need to be healthy too,” you plead, eyes doing just as much of the convincing as your words.

He breaks. He might be embarrassed at how quickly he bends to your will if he wasn't so hungry.

His hands close gently over you, one a little ways up your forearm and the other on your hand. You know it's to hold you steady when he bites, but the way his cool thumb runs pleasing circles into your palm sends shivers coursing through you. He presses a kiss to your inner wrist, featherlight and fleeting, but it lights a fire under your skin all the same.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before his fangs pierce your flesh. He is as gentle as possible, retracting his canines from the wound immediately. He keeps his lips attached to your wrist, sucking in a saccharine mouthful.

He’s uncertain of how much time passes while he drinks, or when his eyes drifted shut, but the feeling of your fingertips sweeping his soaked curls off his forehead pulls him from his reverie. He finishes his feeding, tongue caressing the new puncture wounds as they begin to clot.

His irises are vibrant now, a livelier red more akin to a pulsing wound than the darkened burgundy shade they become when he is ravenous.

“You're wrong, by the way,” you begin softly. “When you said I'd tire of you. I could never.”

He would look back on this night later on and distinguish it as the exact moment his dead heart began beating once more. But for now, he smiles up at you- one full of genuine adoration.

“The feeling is mutual,” he murmurs, unwilling to shatter the moment. His tone is low, husky. More sincere than he's heard his own voice sound in centuries. Despite all that had occurred this evening, he finds a bone deep contentment in himself. He could stay here for a decade in the comfort of your arms.

A few moments later, however, the world kickstarts back into motion, voices carrying on the wind to your positions and popping the seclusion around the two of you.

Your head perks up at the sound, eyes scanning through the darkness.

“Ah, must be the others looking for us,” your attention returns to Astarion. “Think you can make it back? I can help if you'd like.”

He can definitely walk on his own, the potion and your invigorating blood have him feeling almost as good as new. But the idea of feeling the curve of your body pressed into his side is too intoxicating to turn down. So he won't.

He breathes deep and nods, resolve settling into his very being.

“Yes, I think I've had quite enough of this mud bath. Darling?” He pauses, it's now or never. “After we settle back in at camp, come find me when you have a moment. Please. I think we need to talk.”

a/n: Thank you for reading! <3

#astarion #astarion ancunin #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #gender neutral reader #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #fluff #blood drinking #blood and injury

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pinkskytwst · 1 year

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A Pirate King's First Mate

Childhood Friend!Au

Leona/Reader (not Yuu)

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The first time Leona met you at five years old, you both got into a screaming match that quickly devolved into a physical scrap that ended with the two of you covered in mud, bruised, and him limping.

Your parents – a pair of female nobles that were friends with Leona’s mother – just groaned while Leona’s own cackled brightly and pulled the both of you under each of her arms to haul off to the healers.

Leona insisted loudly that he never wanted to see you again.

The queen invited you back the next day.

Leona threw a fit. He refused to come out of his room until his mother came personally and in a calm but firm voice instructed her son to unlock the door. He did, of course, but didn’t hide the glare that he sent you from where you stood just behind her. He puffed up even more when you stuck your tongue out at him, nose scrunched up and obviously as happy about being there as he was.

The queen proceeded to leave you both to ‘play together nicely’ in his room and absconded with your mothers for a private teatime.

Leona waited until he couldn’t hear the adults’ footsteps any longer before spinning around stalking out of his room in the opposite direction. His ears twitched when he heard you scrambling after him.

“Hey! You can’t just leave me! Your mom said you have to play with me!” you demanded, more angry at him abandoning you against his mother’s wishes than actually wanting to play together.

“Go away, I don’t play with herbivores.” He said, raising his chin like he saw Farena do when he was trying to act like their father.

“I’m not a herbivore!” you stomped your foot, “And your mom said-“

“Do you always do everything your moms tell you?” he snapped, glaring over his shoulder.

“Of course, I do!” your voice utterly offended.

Well…Leona hardly ever went against what his mother wanted either but still…you were a baby herbivore, and he didn’t want anything to do with you, so it wasn’t the same.

He scoffed and wound his way through the halls, ignoring the guards and any passing servants as you continued to chase after him stubbornly.

“Go away, I don’t play with babies.”

“I’m not a baby! I’m older than you!”

“You’re shorter, so you’re the baby.”

“That’s not fair! Your ears don’t count!”

“Of course, they do, they’re me, idiot!”

“You’re the idiot!”

The bickering continued as he couldn’t manage to lose you in the garden.

Your patience apparently ran out, though, as you threw yourself at him again and you both went down. He struck back, of course, sending you rolling but – the same as the time before – you ended up on top of him, victorious smile on your face.

“HA! Pinned ya!”

“Let me go!” he complained, trying to wiggle away. “I’m a prince you know! You can’t treat me like this!”

You just stuck your tongue out again but did eventually let him up, still smug smirk on your face despite his glower.

“You’re a very uncute herbivore!”

“Well, you're a rude prince!”

His face screwed up in a pout, ready to go at you again, but instead he just huffed and climbed to his feet, brushing off the grass stains and dirt smudges as best he could. He turned and continued on to his favorite tree to nap under and proceeded to climb it.

You scampered after him again but gaped as he made himself comfortable in the branches completely out of your reach.

“Hey! Hey, that’s not fair!” you stomped your foot, going to the large tree trunk and trying to follow after him.

Your climbing skills were nothing to his, though, despite his young age, and you barely got your feet off the ground before you toppled back and landed in the dirt. A grunt escaped you and you rubbed at your backside with a pout, eyes narrowing at the smug smirk from the boy above you.

“Looks like you really are an herbivore if you can’t even climb a tree.” His tiny fangs flashing in his grin.

“You…you-ugh!” you threw your hands into the air and stormed off, giving him some actual peace and quiet again, thankfully.

You returned a couple of minutes later, arms covered in mud and proceeded to throw a huge sludge ball right at his stupid, prince face.

To say your ‘friendship’ had a rough start was an understatement.

The ‘play dates’ continued like that for months, only ending when you were both either having to be dragged to the healers again or so filthy you had to be carted off by servants to be hosed down and given proper baths before being able to be seen by polite company again.

You were the bane of Leona’s existence, and he did not understand why his mother didn’t grasp the insurmountable trials she was putting him through. She would just smile fondly and brush her fingers through his hair and completely change the subject by telling weird stories about how she and his father would fight when they were children.

What did that matter!? He didn’t care about how stupid his dad was for not seeing how awesome his mom was as a kid! It just confirmed that he was an idiot! It had nothing to do with the trauma your very presence was inflicting on him! Why couldn’t she just order you to not come back! Clearly if she loved him she wouldn’t force him to suffer your bullying!

But no, she would just chuckle and kiss his forehead and promise that one day he would understand and forgive her.

No, he was certain this was the one thing that he wouldn’t be able to forgive his mom for even if he could never stay mad at her.

It was favoritism! Why couldn’t she torture Farena with an annoying herbivore and let him hang around Njeri instead? She deserved better than being betrothed to his jerk of a brother anyway! She definitely had better taste and wouldn’t actually agree to marry him when they were older! He might not want to marry her but it would still be better being around her than having to put up with the brat that kept shoving his face in mud!

Not that they could actually beat him or anything! He was going easy on them, that’s all!

More months passed, a couple of birthdays, and still he was stuck putting up with you at least three times a week. A common complaint that he brought up to his mother every chance he could.

He would detail out all the horrible things about you and how you always bullied him and never treated him like a prince the way you should and they should praise him for going easy on you because that’s the only reason they found him trapped under you again as you ruthlessly braided flowers into his hair so that he would look like a ‘real prince’.

Really! He was just being nice and letting you win!

He was a prince after all! He should be shown respect even if he wasn’t going to be king! You were anything but respectful! Clearly he deserved a better ‘friend’!

After the funeral, you were the first person to find him.

“Hey.” You said, voice cutting through his deafening thoughts that were dragging his soul down deeper into the tar of despair and self-hatred.

“Go away.” He muttered, burying his head deeper into his arms and claws digging into the black sleeves of his kanzu to the point that the luxurious fabric began to rip.

Not that he cared. Not that it mattered.

Nothing mattered anymore.

“No.”

He couldn’t even work up the energy to lash out as he felt you sit beside him under the tree. His tree he always hid away at.

Where you were always able to find him.

You sat there in silence for an undetermined amount of time that dragged on like hours.

It grated on his nerves. Raw and stinging as he couldn’t figure out if it would be better if you would say something or if he didn’t want to hear your voice.

He didn’t want to listen to anyone. The thought of being around others, feeling their stares heavy on his shoulders like accusing fists suffocating him, of hearing the hissed whispers that now followed his every step like poisonous snakes sinking their fangs into his heart. It all made him sick. It made him want to rip off his own ears, to claw his eyes out.

It made him wish he had died instead of his mother.

“You know…” you finally said, breaking him from his sludge tar thoughts again. “If you want, we can go be pirates.”

Leona looked up from his arms, staring at you.

You pointed to your own eye, the one that mirrored the scar that now slashed over his own, mostly healed but still an angry red.

The one he had gotten from the assassin before his mother had thrown herself at the female with a vicious roar that felt like it rocked the very ground beneath them.

“You look like a pirate now. You want to be a king right? We can go be pirates and you can be a pirate king. I’ll have to come too, of course, since you’re useless with out me but I guess if I have to follow a pirate king you’d be a good one.”

Leona just stared up at you.

You were ten now and he would be in a month, but you were still a little taller than him. He hated it. He complained to his mother all the time about you growing faster than him.

She always told him to be patient.

She’d never tell him that again.

He didn’t realize that he was crying until you reached out with your sleeve and started to scrub them away. You weren’t gentle but you were also not as rough as you normally were.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

No one should touch him! It wasn’t safe! He would kill you just like-

The breath left his lungs as you were suddenly right there and wrapping your arms around him.

He struggled, tried to pull away, did his best not to let his hands land on you.

The hands of a killer.

“Shut up! You’re being dumb!” you snapped, your voice wobbly in a way he’d never heard it before. “It’s not your fault! It was that bitch’s fault for attacking you and your mom! It was your guards’ faults for not stopping her!”

Leona froze, his mind still as his thoughts circled around one thing.

“Your moms will be mad that you cussed.”

He felt your breath shutter against his chest, the beat of your heart dragging him back down to reality.

“I’m practicing.” He muttered into his neck, the stubborn tone returning to what he was familiar with. “We’re going to be pirates, remember? I decided. We’re going to be pirates and you’re going to be the Pirate King and I’m going to be your right hand pirate because all Pirate Kings need a right hand pirate.”

“Idiot, they’re called ‘first mates’.”

“Well, I’ll be your first mate then, you jerk prince! But only I get to be so you can’t go off and be a pirate without me, you got it! It was my idea so it wouldn’t be fair! You can’t leave without me!”

Leona swallowed thickly, not understanding what was happening but also…maybe he didn’t mind listening to your voice as much as he thought.

It wasn’t a horrible voice after all. And he supposed you weren’t ugly even if you were still an annoying herbivore.

“I can’t touch you.” He finally whispered, keeping his hands hovering away from you.

The feeling of sand beneath his fingers still snapped him into a cold sweat and haunted his nightmares.

“Stop saying stupid things.” You refused to pull away from him and just tightened your grip. “Who cares if you can turn things to sand, hm? You think you’re so amazing, you idiot? You’re 9! I’m older and smarter and I’m telling you that your sand powers won’t hurt me! If you’re so scared we’ll get you gloves. Pirates wear cool gloves all the time anyway. An eyepatch too. Maybe covering up one of your eyes will make your aim better!”

Leona couldn’t breathe again.

He didn’t understand. He didn't understand, but he didn’t want you to leave.

His touch was feather light, terrified and ready to rip away in an instant.

You didn’t flinch. Your heart didn’t so much as speed up as you continued to hold him.

You gave a small, annoyed huff.

“Idiot.” You muttered. “Pirates cry too so it’s fine. It’s only me anyway.”

Suddenly he was clutching at you, broken sobs wracking through his body as everything he had been holding in, trying to hide, forcing back behind a mask to escape everyone in the palace that could no longer look at him without seeing a murderer, came flooding out.

He cried himself to sleep.

You carried him to the palace on your back and snarled at any servant or guard that looked at him wrong.

You pushed him into bed and kicked off your own sandals before climbing in to join him, curling around his smaller form.

It was the first night since he watched his mother die that he didn’t wake up screaming.

Lots of things changed over the years. Some bad, some good.

The constant in Leona’s life, though, remained you. It was you since the day when you were both five and it would be you until the day one of you died.

When you were both accepted to Night Raven College he wasn’t surprised. He was a genius after all and you were…passable at least. Not as good as him – though you’d never admit it no matter how many times he shoved it in your face – but definitely better than the plebians that filled the rest of the world.

He’d never admit to the relief he felt when you were placed in the same dorm.

With all the trouble you got into it was just easier to make sure you didn’t get in over your head if he was at your side.

School was boring but with you there at least it was at least bearable. It was better than being at ‘home’ where whispered still followed – though less when you were at his side – and he could escape the obnoxious cub of a nephew his brother had so generously gifted him.

Cheka loved you, of course, and you doted on him like he was your own and it was the most annoyingly sickening sweet thing he ever saw that he tended to just snag the brat by the back of his shirt and throw him out of the room whenever you were around.

No one wanted to see that!

He didn’t really care about doing too well, though he would allow you to drag him to class every now and then. It wasn’t like grades were going to change anything about his future and he knew all the information already anyway. School was just to enjoy and despite the lectures you might give him every now and then you gave in enough that he knew you didn’t mind it all that much.

It also helped that he was now much taller than you and he took every chance he could to use it against you by dragging you down for a nap or just throwing you over his shoulder to cart off to the botanical gardens.

Of course, when he noticed that others didn’t always treat you like you deserved – he was the only one that could tease or call you names – he quickly took action and when your Housewarden had shrugged off his words with: “Maybe if they were stronger they wouldn’t be a target.”

Well, needless to say he was the new pack leader of Savanaclaw and the old was in the infirmary for three weeks before he was allowed out of bed.

After that no one in the dorm dared to try anything with you and the rare time that you couldn’t take care of yourself against someone from another dorm he dealt with it for you.

“It’s my job to take care of my first mate.” He’d shrug before ruffling your hair and then throw his arm around your neck to drag you back to his room for a nap.

That changed in your third year during the first break back home.

The two of you had enjoyed a day out, a rare occasion for Farena to not keep him swarmed by guards the entire time and just allowed for a ‘chaperone’ – who was definitely a guard in disguise – and you had dragged him to the ‘Watering Hole’.

It was a centralized tourist spot with a large lake and surrounded by expansive shopping and restaurant districts. Entertainment avenues of theater and movies and clubs, and all absolutely swarmed with people.

He hated it.

You thought it was great.

You might not have been royalty, after all, but you were still a noble and your parents were pretty protective as well so you rarely got to just go out and explore places so public.

You couldn’t keep the beaming smile off your face and he guessed he could put up with it for one day.

You were a trouble magnet, though, so he had to keep a firm hold on your hand the entire time.

No doubt you’d go and get tricked into some unmarked van with promises of free candy and kittens otherwise, so he was only being responsible like his brother always nagged him about.

The worst thing was…it didn’t even have to happen.

If he had been paying attention.

If he hadn’t been so focused on watching the way your eyes sparkled with excitement over something as simple as samosas from a street vendor…

The next thing he knew your treat was on the ground and you had thrown yourself at him, shoving him as hard as your strength could manage.

Energy sizzled through the air, electric shocks brushing over his skin and sending his nerves on end.

He snapped into defense mode, pen out and already throwing up a shield while holding you close.

They were nothing - street thugs that only one of them even had magic at all. It was barely a flick of his pen before they were all thrown into a nearby store’s wall and knocked unconscious. The police and guards would handle them.

The smell of charred flesh reached his nose.

His heart stopped as he looked down at your unmoving form in his arms, back smoking as your clothes had been burned away by the blast that you had taken.

The blast meant for him.

He tasted sand on his tongue.

The black, jagged streaks traveled along your spine and painted your skin where the outright, open wound weeped crimson.

You weren’t breathing.

Leona didn’t remember much after that. Sirens, maybe, people trying to pull you from his grasp, definitely, but the next time he was really aware he was sitting at your bedside in the palace’s private hospital wing. Your hand clasped between his white knuckles and his eyes locked on your face and his ears focused solely on listening for every beep to confirm that your heart was still beating.

The healers said it was a miracle you had survived. Your mothers had sobbed in relief and then horror at the knowledge that you may very well never walk again.

The thought didn’t make sense in his mind.

You were…you were so small. Why did you look so small?

How could someone like you, someone who could do so much, was meant for so much – meant so much to him – look so tiny and weak.

It wasn’t right.

And it was his fault.

It was always his fault.

You would be safe if it wasn’t for him.

If he had never been brought into your life.

Leona took a deep breath, swallowing back the taste of sand and lightning before he delicately laid your hand down on the stark white, hospital sheets.

He had to fight but eventually he released your fingers and stood from the plastic chair. He forced himself not to pause at the door, forced himself not to look back at your unconscious form.

He didn’t deserve to.

He left.

Leona didn’t leave his room for weeks, though he ordered his guard to notify him of any change to your status. He barely left his bed and ignored all cries from Cheka outside his door.

He didn’t have the energy to deal with him.

He didn’t have the energy for anything.

It felt like his heart finally started beating again when he heard you had woken up for the first time.

He wanted to rip it out when he had to growl to his brother that he wasn’t coming even though you were asking for him.

Every day you asked for him.

Every day he wished he could just die instead of having to deny you.

But he couldn’t see you. He couldn’t let you be a part of his life anymore when everyone he ever lo-ever cared about would be a target. Would be eventually ripped from his arms and leave him alone.

It was only when you refused to eat until he came to speak with you face to face that he managed to force himself out of bed.

“You look like shit.”

Those were the first words you said to him, sitting propped up in the hospital bed’s many pillows and connected to more wires and tubes than he had seen on anyone before.

“Speak for yourself.” He said before he even had a chance to bite the words back, hating himself instantly.

You only smirked at him, though it was exhausted as if merely being awake was more than you could handle at the moment.

“Stop being an idiot and eat. You-“

“Shut up, jerk, you don’t get to give me orders when you left. You left.”

Your expression fell, twisting into something more pained and hurt than he could ever remember coming from you.

You were in a hospital bed from an attack that you took for him and instead of being angry at him not protecting you as he should, you were angry that he wasn’t there when you woke up.

“I-“

“WE MADE A DEAL! I’M YOUR FIRST MATE! YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE ME BEHIND!”

You were crying.

You were crying and it was like someone was clawing his heart out all over again.

Without thinking, without even pausing to contemplate any kind of consequence or fall out, Leona was at your side, leaning over you and cupping your face as you struggled to breathe through the sobs and the pain shooting through your body that came with them.

“Y-you’re my Pirate K-king.” You whimpered, hands pressing his against your cheeks and eyes looking up at him desperately. “You can’t leave me b-behind.”

He was helpless. He realized there was never anything he could ever refuse you. He would do anything to take your pain away, make the tears stop.

“If I’m your King then you have to follow my orders.” He said lowly, voice raw. “You can’t leave me either. What am I supposed to do without a first mate?”

You gave a wobbly sort of chuckle, still trembling from the tears.

“You’d be useless.”

“Yeah.”

A small smile pulled on your lips and suddenly he was leaning in desperately, claiming them with his own.

You let out a small sound of surprise but his heart leaped when you instantly returned the kiss without hesitation, meeting his tongue with your own eagerly.

First mate indeed…

Farena didn’t bother asking why he failed that year, or the year after.

You were still recovering, still learning to walk again and regain what you had lost from the attack.

It took two years and while he kept his dorm running and in line, he made no effort to progress with school.

There was no point without you there after all.

It was hard to get up the energy to get out of bed most days, anyway, so he just didn’t bother. Most of the time he was awake he was texting or calling you.

Ruggie was really a life saver at that point, keeping things mostly orderly and him from just growing moss in his sheets.

But when you were finally recovered enough to return to school – and he made absolutely sure that Crowley understood that you would be welcomed back to school no matter how long it had been – he attended the first opening ceremony since he had become Housewarden.

Technically since it had been so long, the Headmage insisted you had to be resorted.

Not that Leona understood why.

You belonged at his side, no where else.

Of course, you were sent to Savanaclaw once more, and he was proud to be able to watch you join your fellow dorm members under your own power after all the hard work you had put into relearning to walk.

You might have been a little more clumsy than before, a little quicker to tire, but to him it only showed just how strong you were.

If he was protective before, it was nothing compared to now.

He still hated class but more often than not he would go if for no other reason than to insure that you got there safely and had someone to help if you were struggling.

Days that the taste of sand and lightning suffocated him, you would crawl into bed with him and wrap your arms around him so he could listen to your heartbeat.

When the pain overpowered the potions you took, he would carry you back to his room, fill a hot bath, and hold you as you cried and tried to let the heat soothe the pain in your legs.

The one time someone tried to say something about you being a ‘burden’ to him, he nearly ripped their throat out and it was only a passing Crewel that managed to prevent him from succeeding.

Needless to say no one ever said anything negative about you again.

You lectured him, loudly, in the Savanaclaw lounge while you cleaned his busted knuckles and wrapped them. Not holding back as you told him just how stupid he was and how you didn’t know why you put up with his idiocy.

The other Savanaclaw students just stared in both awe and a little bit of terror at how you so fearlessly told off the prince that had almost just committed murder.

Leona propped his cheek up with one bandaged fist and flashed a sharp, fanged grin that sent everyone scampering away.

Any insult to you, after all, was an insult to him.

When he dragged you to his rooms and locked the door, you didn’t even bother doing more than rolling your eyes before letting him press you into the pillows and show just how sorry he was for upsetting you.

In the end…he supposed he could forgive his mother for forcing him to be friends with a weak little herbivore.

He could be strong for the both of you.

When you finally got fed up with his teasing and shoved him over to climb on top of him and take exactly what you wanted, he supposed you weren’t really all that weak to begin with.

=====================

Hope you all like it! <3 A little angstier than Riddle's but let's be real, no matter what childhood Leona had it would be filled with angst.

@miss-hyoko

#pinkskytwst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst prefect #disney twst #twst fanfic #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #angst #violence #assassination attempts #blood and injury #depression

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