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softagenda · 10 months

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skin deep (leander)

leander x reader(f)

au - mc/reader ties up leander

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

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“You can tie me up first if it makes you feel better.”

After a moment’s contemplation, you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Leander’s grinning face went slack, his jaw dropping. His hands paused in the middle of removing the leather gloves from his fingers. “I - wait, what?”

“Let’s tie you up first. I think that would be safest, for both of us.” You glanced back at the Wet Wick. “Would they have a room we could use for a short while?”

His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, his cheeks flushed, before he asked, “You… want to tie me up?”

“Mm.”

“Oh. Uh. Hold on, let’s - ”

You led the way back into the Wick.

A dozen heads seemed to turn around as you stepped through the doorway. Hesitating, you glanced through the crowd but when no one met your gaze again you approached the bar. The din of the crowd pressed against you, laughter and the clinking of glasses ringing in your ears. Somewhere in the middle of the room, Leander caught up to you and trailed behind.

The barkeeper refilled a glass and looked up, her dark eyes flickering over you first, then Leander with something akin to boredom. “What can I get ya?”

“Do you have a room we could borrow?” you asked, mentally counting what little coin you had left in your purse. “We’d only need it for a short time.”

“Oh?” Her gaze swept you from head to toe, taking the measure of you, before she shot a narrow-eyed look at Leander. “A short time? I’d have thought this one would warrant more than that.”

Leander flushed and cleared his throat, his expression sheepish, but you cut in before he could speak.

“He’s been more than generous with his time,” you said, not wanting the barkeeper to think less of Leander on your behalf. “It’s at my humble request. I’d be happy to pay a fair wage.”

A thin, polished brow arched high. She seemed to digest that for a moment, then shrugged. “To each their own.” She reached under the bar and slid a key across the counter. “Your usual room’s open.”

You turned to Leander. “Oh, do you live here?”

The barkeeper snorted.

With a quick, strained laugh, Leander placed his hand on your back and guided you toward the stairs. “Not quite, but you know how it is. Late nights, plenty of drinks, good friends. I’m a regular.” His face was turned back toward the counter, exchanging a look with the barkeeper you couldn’t quite see except for the grin on her face.

“I see.”

Old, beautiful oak wood and iron finishings molded the second floor of the Wet Wick. A long hallway stretched into the back of the building, a new door fixed every few paces and labeled with their own knocker. As you walked, you took note of the emblem’s etched into the surface: a hissing badger, a sleeping squirrel, a dog with its nose and tail poised in the air. They’re well-made and charming, in a strange way.

“Animal motifs?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m curious to see what lies on your usual door.”

Leander’s boot caught on the floor, and he stumbled. His hand swept through his hair, a grin spreading on his lips. “Ah ha ha, don’t read too much into it. Barkeep’s got a twisted sense of humor.”

By then, they’d reached the end of the hall. One door took up the corner, its front and trim cast from a dark, glossy rosewood and decorated with more delicate filigree. This one too had a crest on the front, though much larger and finer than the rest. Initially, you mistook the shape for a large rat with a long tail - then you recognized it.

“A mongoose?” you asked, leaning closer. A narrow head grew out from the furred body, with gleaming gold eyes and a protruding fang, its tail curling high as though warding off predators. You considered that for a moment before glancing at his neck, where the golden earring of the sword and the snake, eating itself, rested. “Because of…”

He unlocked the door with a flare of his wrist. “Like I said. Twisted sense of humor.” He held the door open and gestured you in. “After you.”

You paused before the threshold, instinct rising like a wary wolf and baring its teeth in the back of your mind at the thought of entering a closed room with a stranger. A powerful stranger at that. A mage with abilities similar if not greater than her former teacher. A man nestled in the heart of his territory, surrounded by his pack.

That mental beast of vigilance had hunted you - dogged your footsteps through the journey to Eridia. Always wary. Always watching, waiting for the knife to swing on your back.

Forever you would look at every shadow with fear, every person with suspicion. After all, Mericka had been your teacher and companion, your guide in this volatile world - if even she could plunge the knife and turn it, why not a stranger?

Still, you had to try. Otherwise, how could you move forward?

Several people seemed prepared to vouch for Leander. The mysterious doctor, Kuras. The barkeeper. The unknown dozens of people who worked as part of the Bloodhounds. This - trusting him - was a calculated risk.

“Is this the room reserved for the rich and famous?” you asked, surveying the spacious room with a table, chairs, dresser, and a large bed in the center of the wall. Two bedside tables were draped in a green velvet cloth and topped with antique feylamps that cast the room in a golden, slightly greenish glow. A tapestry was draped over the wall and undulated under a breeze invading from the window opposite the door. Its many threads and colors depicted a map of the city itself.

“I’m about as famous as it gets for the Wet Wick,” Leander said, amused, as he closed the door and crouched down to untie his boots.

You hastened to follow. It’d be rude to dirty the floor for this, when there might be guests using the room later.

With boots and jackets hung by the door, you lingered just by the foot of the bed. “So… ropes?”

When you turned to look at him, your breath caught in your chest. Beneath the coat, the layers of shirt were skin tight and sleeveless. Taut muscles bunched beneath the black fabric but bared his arms, leagues of smooth skin threaded with the occasional vein. The scar that peeked over his jaw spread down his left arm, the edges jagged but faded, like ink across the thick bicep and forearm.

You blinked and forced yourself to look away. It’d be rude to stare.

At your question, Leander’s brows arched, but he clapped and said, gamely, “Jumping right in! Brave one, I see. Well, I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants.” He headed for the bedside table and began rummaging through the top drawer.

You’re the brave one . Your hands twisted together, your gut tightening.

“Luckily, I’ve always got the essentials on hand.”

“Rope counts as an essential for your nightstand?”

Leander’s shoulder twitched, and when he glanced over to you, his face was slightly rosy. “Well, you never know where the night will turn.”

You mused over that before nodding. In a sprawling city like Eridia, full of monsters and magic, you supposed the likelihood of getting ambushed while asleep was high. It’d be useful to have rope nearby to subdue your attackers for interrogation.

“Here we go!” Leander turned. In his hands was a pile of silk.

You stared at the fabric. “You’re… quite kind to your prisoners.”

Leander’s lips parted, his eyes searching for something in your face, before a single, awkward laugh escaped. “Not into that?”

“No. I mean,” you hastened to explain as his eyes widened, “It’s not that, just… It’s a good thing, I suppose. Just surprising. Will that truly be able to subdue a fully grown man?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned as he looked down at the silk, the slippery material almost dripping from his wrists. “It’ll hold.”

He spoke with such confidence that you assumed he must know from experience. You stepped closer and inspected the bundle. “Is there an enchantment on it? To make it binding?”

Leander met your gaze. The soft fringe of his hair fell across his brow, the ends caught in the fan of his lashes. “There could be. Do you want that?”

The quiet held between you for a moment. “That might be for the best,” you murmured, though you would understand his caution. After all, you were just as much stranger to him, as he to you. That he would even allow you to tie him up spoke volumes on his courage.

He leaned closer, and his next words brushed across your face. “So sure your touch will drive me to madness?” His eyes held you to the spot, the clear, emerald depths gleaming, identical to the magic that had conjured lilies from thin air in the pub below.

Your throat felt exceptionally dry. You swallowed, your gaze trailing across the strong nose and olive skin, his gold earring swaying from his ear, before lingering on the edge of the scar that cut up his jaw. “Yes,” you whispered.

A hum rose from within him, rumbling like the early boiling of dragon’s roar. “More and more,” he said, almost in your ear. “I’m starting to believe it.”

A shudder slipped down your spine.

With a quick breath, you stepped back. You cleared your throat and said, fighting the tremble that threatened to slip into your voice, “You should.”

Leander rolled his shoulders, the bones cracking, before his winsome grin returned, if a bit more subdued. “We’ll see. So,” he gestured to the bed, “how do you want me?”

You walked around the bed, grabbing the headboard and the frame to test the give of the wood. Luckily, the headboard seemed to have been nailed to the wall. Likely to prevent thieves from stealing such high quality pieces. There was even a decorative window of wooden spokes embedded across the length of it. “We can improvise with these.” You grabbed one and tugged hard, but luckily the wood held fast.

Leander’s lips pressed together as though fighting the urge to say something.

“Or not - think they’ll break?”

“Oh, no, they’ll be fine. They were,” he paused, his cheek hollowing, “practically made for that purpose.”

For tying rope ? You pondered that for a second before setting that aside to consider later. Perhaps weavers used the spokes to create custom throws and bed sheets.

Leander sat on the end of the bed before laying down and sliding over, his head nestled on the feather pillows. His arms stretched out to the corners of the bed, his muscles shifting beneath the shadow of his shirt. He somehow seemed even broader spread across the bed like this, the thick duvet holding him snug.

“How’s this?” He reached back and hooked his fingers through the spokes, tugging until his back lifted an inch from the bed, the muscles of his arms and abs flexing, straining.

Your heart was beating strangely fast as you considered him. Must be nerves.

“Hmm. It’d be a more effective hold if your arms were tied together. Less flexibility or leverage to maneuver.”

“Like this?” He lifted his arms above the crown of his head, his elbows loose by his ears.

“Yes. Same with your legs.”

As he shuffled into place, you picked up the bundle of silk from the bed and rubbed the fabric. There’s more to the texture than the silk you’d felt in the past - the old but well-cared for square that your teacher had spread on the altar - a sort of roughness that sparked beneath your fingertips. The strengthening charm, you’d bet.

You tied first his legs before moving up to his arms, Leander docile beneath you. As you leaned over his face, working the silk around his wrists and spokes into a double-looped mooring knot you’d learned from fishermen in your childhood, he shifted slightly. You glanced down.

He was watching you from below, his chin tipped back. His dark hair had fallen back onto the sheets, exposing his face to the warm glow of the feylights, their flickering embers dancing in the corner of his eyes. His lips were parted, his skin flushed once more.

You froze, realizing your position. “Sorry, almost finished.”

“Take your time,” he replied, sounding a little breathless.

You glanced down again with concern, looking at his chest. Could the position be restricting his ability to breathe? The shirt had seemed flexible, if rather tight. You’d better pick up the pace.

With a tug, you secured his arms and sat back to give him space. “How does that feel? Too tight? Not tight enough?”

Leander licked his lips and peered up at you from heavy-lidded eyes, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Just right.”

You stared back, bemused by his attitude. “You’re being awfully gracious about all this. Most people would balk at the idea of a stranger with a dangerous curse tying them to a bed.”

“I’m not most people,” he said, “and it’s not the first time I’ve been tied up by a beautiful stranger.” Leander rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck while you attempted to digest that statement before he continued. “Well, I’m ready for you. Shall we?”

You hesitated. “...are you sure?”

“That I want your hands on me?” He grinned. “Never been more sure of anything.”

“This isn’t a joke, Leander.”

He released a long, heavy sigh before shifting his hip to nudge your thigh. “All of this,” he began, gesturing to his tied up body with a flutter of his fingers, “is for your sake, not mine. Well, maybe a little for mine, but not how you’d think,” he conceded with a quick grin but held your gaze.“Listen to me. I’m confident in my abilities. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

A film of luminescent magic swept over his body, as thin and glossy as a spider’s web. He tilted his head to the side, his cheek brushing his arm.

“So,” he continued, his voice dropping deep and soft. “Touch me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, anxious, racing. His eyes were as calm and bright as the surface of a pond, without a trace of fear.

With a sinking feeling, you looked down. If you ignored the bandages, your hands could almost look normal. The size. The shape of them. You hadn’t been born with tentacles or massive talons or nails as sharp as knives. Maybe that would have been easier.

What made them grotesque far transcended their appearance.

With trembling fingers, you pulled the end from the bandage around your wrist and began unwinding. Each new layer revealed more of the skin beneath, dark and stormy like a bruise, threaded with strange cracks of hardened gold, until you’d dropped the last of the bandages from your black fingernails.

You flexed your fingers idly, dread sitting like a stone in the pit of your stomach. When you glanced over, Leander was watching eagerly.

“Interesting…” Then, with another warm smile, he gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the golden pin on the front of his shirt. “We match.”

You huffed before swallowing around the weight in your throat. “Where should I…” you trailed off, avoiding his gaze.

He hummed thoughtfully, sounding far more at ease than he should be. “Since I can’t hold your hand properly like this, how about my arm?”

You paused, wondering if you should do this on your feet for a faster escape, but in the end you simply twisted your hips until your leg pressed against the side of the bed.

Leander laid perfectly still and relaxed, as though he were out on the grass tracing shapes from clouds on a summer afternoon, rather than subjecting himself to potential insanity. The arm closest to you eased further into the bed as he settled in. His right one, where the edges of that scar reached around to the more tender flesh of his inner arm.

You checked his eyes again, searching for any hint - however tiny or hidden or cowed - of fear, concern, anything. He only smiled back.

You took a long, steadying breath, your heart in your throat. Then you reached out with a shaking hand until a point just beside his elbow. Retreating for a moment’s panicked indecision, you repositioned closer to the middle of his forearm.

You stared at your own fingertips, enduring that familiar loathing and fear down to your marrow. Please. Please, don’t hurt him . You prayed whatever powers that Leander believed in were steadfast and watching.

Then, you let your fingertips drop to his skin for a single moment, before immediately yanking them back to your chest.

His body twitched, the bed creaking at the sudden movement. That luminescent web of magic flared, rippling across his skin for a brief, bright wave, before vanishing. His eyes were closed, his face blank.

“...Leander?” Pulse pounding, barely daring to breathe, you waited.

Then as his mouth slowly twisted into a smile, one eye peaked open. “Is that all?”

You watched with bated breath, still on the edge, still waiting.

Leander tossed his hair back from his face and stretched his arm out toward you, encouragingly. “Come on, you’ve got me all wrapped up like this - it’d be a shame if you stopped there.” His voice lowered, rich and sweet as honey: “Keep going.”

Inch by inch, your shoulders began to sink. The tension in your body ebbing away with every word - every confusing, vaguely ridiculous word. You suddenly felt your body again, as though you’d been adrift as a spirit before getting sucked back into your mortal flesh: the sweat sticking to your back, the ringing fading from your ears, your heart beating against your ribs.

Your lungs pinched, forcing you to suck in a quick breath, and the relief seemed to burst over you.

“Leander, you’re - “

“Just fine.” His eyes softened, more of that genuine warmth seeping through the cracks of his charismatic facade. “That’s one hell of a curse. Nothing I can’t handle, though.” Leander gestured once more with his chin. “C’mon. Try again?”

Inexplicably but hopelessly tempted, you reached for him again, still wary, your eyes darting from your hand to his face. You let your hand fall until your whole palm was pressed against him, skin to skin, checking his expression all the while.

He’s flushed around the cheeks and collar, but there’s warmth and humor and life in his face.

You could hardly believe it, but it’s there.

You smoothed your hand up his arm carefully, in awe at the feeling of his body heat against your bare skin. Fingertips pressing in here and there, tracing the curvature of muscle and bone, your thumb lingering on the pulse just beneath his glove, his heart thumping beneath your touch.

You’d touched people before - even been intimate and embraced others - but always through the veil of the bandages. You’ve spent the past few years on the cusp of giving up all hope that you could ever have this.

Now, at the threshold of your final desperate chance, the very day after you’d made your peace with death as you laid bleeding out in a swamp, at the claws of a vicious monster - you’ve found it.

You traced your hand back down his arm, following along the path of a vein, your other hand gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles strained white. The feeling was unlike anything you’d ever known.

Leander’s hushed voice broke through the dream-like trance you’d fallen into. “Am I the first person you’ve been able to touch like this?”

Caught between embarrassment and abject longing, you admitted, “So far.” Idly, your fingers continued to delicately trace his scars, the raised edges contrasting vividly against his smooth skin.

His lips parted, the look in his eyes inscrutable, before he said, his voice slightly rough, “Anything you want.”

You froze.“What?”

“Touch anything you want,” Leander said again, his cheek nestled against his arm. “I’m all yours.”

Your hand stilled as the bold, frankly outlandish offer sunk in.

For having only known you for a few hours at best, Leander was proving to be very generous with his time, his skills, his magic, and - apparently his body too. You’re even a little concerned at the prospect - as he himself had said about the Senobium, things that seemed too good to be true usually were. But was the truth here that Leander was creating a trap, or that he was by nature generous to the point of endangering himself?

Still. You licked dry lips as you fought with yourself. No one had ever offered a second touch before. No one else had survived the first.

Feeling your morals losing the battle against utter temptation, you asked, “... you wouldn’t mind?” You knew you shouldn’t - truly he’d been generous enough, you shouldn’t take any more than that. But you wanted to, more than a little desperately.

“Not a wick.”

Treading with caution, you braced one knee on the bed and rose over him. You reached forward until both hands stopped, poised above his wrists. Being able to touch another person with one hand - that had been barely more than a dream. Both seemed like utter fantasy. With a small breath for fortitude, you gingerly laid both hands on his skin.

A breathless laugh escaped you as you stroked gently down, the sensation electric for all it was a barely-there touch. Once you’d reached just above his armpit, you trailed them back up again, this time with the lightest scratch of your nails.

Goosebumps chased your fingers up his arms. Leander seemed to shudder under you.

His eyes narrowed on your face for a long moment before he clenched them shut. “You’re really not doing this on purpose, are you,” he said, the words more like a pained truth than a true question.

You frowned, unsure what he meant. You started to pull away, but the moment your hands left him, his head whipped up.

“Wait, that’s not - Ignore me.” When still you hesitated, Leander attempted to shuffled closer, his back lifting from the bed as though intending to close the distance himself. The bedframe creaked ominously, something wood letting out a hissing wheeze. “Keep touching! Do with me as you will. Don’t stop on my account, please.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t move so much - your wrists - “ When you glanced up, his hands were turning purple from the tight pull of the silk rope.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and tried to unravel the knot as quickly as possible amidst the shaking of the bed, only for Leander to grow suddenly still underneath you. You paused in your struggle to unravel the mooring knot and looked down.

His face was just inches from yours. You froze, staring into his shocked green eyes, the thick fan of his lashes, his flushed skin and full, parted lips. He held your gaze for a moment before glancing down at your mouth, then back, and something about the way he looked at you snapped a curl of fire through you, like a lit match sparking on a line of gunpowder.

Purely on instinct, you grabbed the headboard and pushed yourself back, almost tumbling off the bed in your haste. “Sorry, sorry,” you hastened to apologize, burning from head to toe. “That was - an accident.”

On the bed, Leander was silent for a moment, still angled toward the ceiling. Then he sighed. “...I know.”

You turned away to hide your face, working furiously to get yourself under control. You couldn’t believe how thoughtless you’d just been. Here Leander was, sacrificing his time and safety and comfort to help you, and you just - smothered him in the process? And to almost -

The sight of his lush, parted mouth flashed through your mind.

Immediately you began silently reciting the Register of Alchemical Ingredients , fighting for distraction. By the time you’d reached spirit of nitre, your once teacher’s voice echoing in your head, you turned around and cleared your throat.

“I apologize again if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Leander’s brows rose, but he shook his head. “Not at all. Well - “ He glanced down his body before avoiding your gaze. “No harm, no foul. Want to continue?” He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling, but soon frowned when you shook your head.

“It’s probably for the best that we stop here.” Clearly, you’d need to prepare for the next opportunity. If there was one, either with Leander or someone else. You felt dizzy with this new opportunity, this freedom you’d been searching for all your life. Even so, you couldn’t lose all sense of respect like that.

You untied him, from the side of the bed and well out of his personal space. As Leander slowly sat up and rubbed his wrists, the skin now bright red and raw, you felt a pinch of irony well bittersweet in your chest. You took a seat next to him and pulled a small vial of salve out of your pocket. He’d already begun tugging his gloves off and offering his hands at the sight, an eager smile on his face.

It’s enough to make you genuinely fond of him already.

“It’s funny. We restrained you in case you lost control, and then I…well,” you trailed off, delicately holding his wrist and smoothing the salve across the angry marks. To have bruises this dark, even with silk…. “I should have been more considerate of you.”

“I disagree. If anything,” he said in a low voice, just above a whisper, “you could’ve been greedier.”

For what felt like the thousandth time that afternoon, you glanced at his mouth again, your blood heating at the sight of that whiskey sweet smile spreading across his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Still could be, if you want,” he continued, leaning in, his shoulder bumping into yours. The swing of his earring caught the glint of the feylamps, the light flickering down the length of the sword.

You got to your feet and tucked the salve back into your pocket, along with your other meager belongings. “I couldn’t impose.” He looked a second from arguing the point, until you met his gaze solemnly over your shoulder. “Thank you, Leander. I can’t express how much this meant to me.”

Then, you smiled.

It was undoubtedly an awkward, cracking thing - you couldn’t remember the last time you’d attempted more than a half-smile or a short laugh. This one seemed to fill your cheeks up.

You had a moment to witness Leander’s jaw drop, before you hurriedly turned and began gathering your things. It’d be rude to overstay your welcome, after all.

Your eagerness to get back out into the city had nothing at all to do with the way his mouth kept popping up in your mind or the way your hands ached with the desire to touch him again.

________________________

“How about you, sparrow? I did say I’d buy you a drink earlier.”

“No, no, no, my treat. ”

“If anything, I should treat you, Leander.”

“Oh? ”

“As an apology for the rope burns.”

“..."

“...”

“It’s, uh. Both exactly what you’re thinking and not.”

_________________________

a/n: thank you for reading!

#touchstarved leander #touchstarved fanfic #touchstarved reader fic #leander x mc #leander x reader #leander fic