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Caught up in the turmoil of your mind running wild and the burning of your lungs, you feel the need to stop for a while. You think a few seconds of much needed rest can’t hurt, and you desperately need a breather. As you lean against a sturdy tree and your breath barely begins evening out, you start to finally feel the fatigue seeping through your muscles and bones, how your chest feels tighter and your skin grows clammy from the sheen of cold sweat covering your skin. As your brain slowly calms down and the adrenaline minimally starts wearing off, you realise how much the cuts caused by the vegetation truly hurt, most of them thin and shallow, yet aching enough to bother you and cause a few desperate whines to leave your chapped lips.

As you simmer down, you start to better assess your situation. Aside from the cuts, your clothes are torn in a few places, your simple shoes covered in mud. They were all gifts from Leander, made of the finest and most delicate materials available in Eridia, and despite your current situation, it upsets you that things he gave you are damaged, even if it’s all his fault in the first place. You’re no longer panting, and breathing feels easier, but the panic and cold sweat are still very much present, and you know you shouldn’t stop for too long. And it’s only then that you realize – you haven’t heard a single noise in a while. Nothing human, at least. He was following you so closely not too long ago, surely he would’ve already caught up to you at this point. Wouldn’t he? He is stronger, agile, has far more physical resistance than you and most likely knows most of the city and its outskirts like the lines on the palms of his hands. He was at a clear advantage, and as much as listened to the instincts that told you to flee and hide as much and as soon as possible, you knew you never stood a chance; in the end you simply refused to go down without so much as a fight. That’s all it ever was, a matter of pride and stubborness rather than real odds playing in your favor.

The forest around you is uncharacteristically calm. Not even the birds dare chirp anymore. You stand away from the trunk and take a good look at your surroundings. The sun has begun setting and you know soon Eridia will be drapped in a dense, dark blanket, and any slim chance of survival you may still possess will slip through your fingers with the remaining sunlight. Not that you have anywhere to return to, anyways. Nor any money, any friends or resources to get you out of town safely and without the knowledge of the Adderstones, either. He was the only one you ever had, and you can’t go back to him now, and you pray to whoever may listen he doesn’t catch up to you, that by some sort of miracle he lets go of whatever got into him and lets you continue on your way, even if by your lonesome and empty handed. Anything is better than getting caught by those slimmy, dark green tendrils. You’ve survived prosecution, starvation and isolation before, and you know you will again, even if you don’t want to. You can, of course. Despite everything, you’re a survivor. That much you know. You can withstand anything, but after so much comfort and warmth, you’re not sure you can brave through the cold and loneliness again. He made you disconsider that possibility entirely. You believed you’d never be in that kind of situation again.

As these thoughts cause the pressure in your head to worsen and your heart to start racing again, you feel a familiar lump in your throat and your eyes start burning and wetting with tears. You thought this would never happen again, that these sensations would never overtake ever again, that you were safe and sound. He made you believe that you were adored, cared for and taken care of, that for once you were truly loved. For who you were and your mere presence, not for what you could offer, not for what your curse might entail or what powers and abilities it may hide, not for your potential or anything else other than simply… yourself. How foolish of you to believe someone like the Adderstones’ leader would ever be contentented with something so weak and easy to manipulate like yourself. Someone so foolish, pathetic, and desperate. How could you ever–

Your thoughts come to a hault as you hear the faint sound of something rustling the foliage. Your eyes produce no more tears to run down the streaks on your cheeks, and your breath starts hitching once again, that very well know feeling of dread spreading over your body and scaterring your reason all over your mind, making you feel like a deer caught in a hunter’s merciless aim, like prey.

Trying your best to not let fear consume you again, you begin attempting to regain control of your body and make it out of this, if possible. You slowly turn around in your spot, trying to see anything at all. You can see and sense is the faint fog slowly spreading through the dark, desolate forest. Before you noticed, nightfall brought its impenetrable cloak over Eridia and its outskirts. The tree tops are so tall and full, moonlight barely seeps through them, making you squint in hopes of at least seeing where you’re stepping. You were really in the woods now. With each passing second, you grow more desperate, despite your efforts in staying grounded, and the mist only grows heavier, trapping you in its embrace. Panic glues you to your spot as you reach behind you to feel the sturdy trunk against your palm. Oddly, the fog enveloping you and everything around you seems to acquire an increasingly green hue, the more it grows. It makes your head slightly dizy and your limbs weaker.

The tears return to your now frantic eyes, flowing even more abundantly than before. The air becomes increasingly harder to take in, every new breath coming with a slight sting, and a faint feeling of burning in your nostrils. As you try to swallow the lump in yout throat, with your back inevitably slouching against the trunk once more, you feel a delicate touch against your face. Maybe in another scenario this would be somewhat soothing to your racked nerves, but not today, not now and definetely not here. You slowly drift your gave to your peripheral, just se what seems to be an ivy branch touching your cheek. This confuses you, as there is no wind blowing through the forest, and the air currents don’t seem to flow so easily among the tall trees.

The feeling of the leaves pressing against your cheek becomes more noticeable, and you can swear you feel more branches sprouting of nowhere and touching your skin from every direction. They grown thicker and heavier impossibly fast, actively trapping you in your position, as your gaze becomes more fear stricken than ever. Though you feel the pressure of the ivy over your limbs and covering a good portion of your body, they appear to not mean any harm. They don’t choke, suffocate or even do as much as gripping you too hard. They simply act as if they have a mind of their own, and their purpose is only to hold, not harm.

Suddenly, you start hearing noises again. Not from the now still ivy and definetely not from an animal. It sounds heavier than foliage, and still lighter and more graceful than a soulless or any other inhuman creature could ever be. The distinct noise of whistling reaches your ears, and the melody is uncomfortably familiar to you. Despite not being able to put a name to it, you know you’ve heard this tune somewhere, even more than once. After you start accepting your defeat, you close your eyes as you rack your brain in order to identify the sweet yet chilling melody invading your ears and making your hairs stand on end.

Amidst your despair and your frail attempt to gain any form of control over your situation, you miss the sound of boots crunching the bed of leaves over the forest floor, and it’s only when it’s close enough for your to distinctly make out the sounds of whatever it was that was approaching you that you force yourself to open your eyes, only to be met with the sight you dreaded the most: Leander approaching you, frighteningly calm and with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. In any other circumstance, you would’ve prayed for his presence, but right now, you’d prefer a soulless coming to dilacerate you.

Leander stops not too far from you. He acesses the sight in front of him: you, trapped in his ivy grip, your clothes covered in cold sweat, your eyes frantic and wide, your chest heaving in accelerated breaths. You look utterly beautiful to him. Almost the perfect prey. Almost.

“There you are, little dove!” He chirps, that gut-churning smile plastered over his handsome face. “ Thought you’d never tire of running. Has common sense finally caught up to you?” His tone makes you feel your blood begin to boil and a chill at the base of your spine. The cold sweat begins to resurface and you can only stare at him with a mix of fear and rage.

He takes a few steps closer, and you follow him with a fear stricken gaze as he surrounds the tree and makes his way back around. You feel your jaw clenching as your teeth grind in your mouth.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Cat got your tongue?” He’s clearly mocking you, more than pleased with your helplessness. His gloved hand reaches toward your cheek, leather clad thumb slowly caressing the damp skin. He leans closer, cheshire smile stretching his features in the creepiest way possible.

You want to cry. You want to protest this nonsense by spitting on his handsome face. You want to kick him, punch him, shove him into the ground and beat him to a pulp for everything he’s done to you in the last 24 hours. You want him to free you from the grasp of his magic and hold you in his warm embrace as he whispers sweet words into your hair. You want him to apologize for everything and take you home on his back as you burry your nose in his neck and find comfort in his scent. You want Leander to go back to his normal self, and above all you want to wake up from this nightmare.

But what happens is that you, at the height of your rage and sill not entirely defeated, take advantage of his closeness and spit on his face. It’s all you can do in your situation, but it’s still better than yielding, you think to yourself. He shouldn’t expect you to surrender without at least protesting, however small a protest you can make.

You watch as his features briefly contort into a slightly shocked and displeased expression as the fat glob of your spit runs down his forehead, eyes, nose and cheeks. Contently, your lips into curve into a small yet pleased smile at his apparent discomfort. Only for him to grin and gather your spit with his glove, guiding it to his mouth.

His gaze locks on yours as he cleans his face, swallowing your saliva with hum and a more content expression than you’d wish to see him display, as you deflate and a disapproving expression takes over your face, something he seems to find even more joy in.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He coos, in a blatant display of faux smpathy.

“You’re so fucking disgusting.” Your voice smaller than you’d like it to be as you answer him. You look away, wishing this would just be over.

Leander sneers and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks and forming a slight pucker on your lips. “Look at me when you talk to me, dove.”

You thrash as best as Leander’s ivies allow you, feeling their grip only tighten against your resistance. “I don’t want to. I never want to see your fucking face again.”

He laughs then, and it makes you sick; sicker than you ever thought he could make you. It seems like a genuine laugh, but you don’t know anymore. Perhaps you’ve never known anything about Leander at all.

“You don’t mean that, angel.” His tone is condescending, his hand still holding your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I’m all you’ve got.” he leans closer, his boots crushing more leaves as he steps closer to your trapped body, and you feel the heat radiating off him. Ironically, it makes you feel, you didn’t realize how much you craved to feel him close to you again until now, and you hate yourself for it. “I’m your home. Remember? You are nothing without me.” He says through gritted teeth.

For what feels like the millionth time now, tears start forming in your eyes again. You feel weak, stupid and helpless. Your legs and feet are sore, there’s dirt and dried blood all over your clothes and skin, and mud on one of your favorite pair of shoes. Leander’s scent is more present now, invading your airways and making you want to betray yourself and beg him to just take you home and take care of you.

As Leander’s body comes closer to yours, you begin to forget why were you even running from him. You look around the both of you, and the fog is still present, despite not thickening any more. Your head is still dizzy, and your thoughts are swimming. You can’t shake the feeling that your limbs are growing numb, and that the ivies are slowly letting up.

You can’t bring yourself to stop crying because you know it’s true. He’s right. He’s the only one you’ve got, your one and only home. The only person who you’ve got left. You’ve got no family, no friends, no coin, no clothes, no connections, no city to return to. But you’ve got Leander. This patient man, who so kindly took you in and worried about you even though you were a foreigner, and a stranger, and a cursed one that. He’s been nothing but kind and hospitable to you, giving you any and all the nourishment you needed, and everything you wanted, whether you asked for it or not. And you ran from him. You tried to leave him. To abandon him. You fled him like the drunkards from The Wet Wick flee the soulless in the dead of night. You ran from him like the devil runs from the cross. How could you? And yet, all your naive efforts were absolutely useless.

As if feeling the remorseful aspect your tears took, Leander’s expression – until now overbearing and domineering – took on a softer and perhaps even somewhat empathetic aspect. His other hand comes up to cup the untouched side of your face, drying your tears, and you swear you can see worry flash across his fantly glowing green eyes. He removes his hands from your face, and you immediately react with a pitiful, small whine, that causes a discreet sign of satisfaction to settle in Leander’s face. As brief as it is, you catch it, and he knows you did. It makes no difference to him, he knows just how much power he holds over you and can only hope to someday get it through your stubborn little head just how much you hold over him as well. You feel his naked palms sharing intoxicating warmth with your cold face and allow yourself the brief relief of relishing in it, relishing in him. You close your eyes, doing your best to focus on the feeling of his sin against yours, hoping it will at least temporarily overtake all the different discomforts on your body, and you feel his lips on your forehead.

Still, the tears don’t stop. You don’t think they will anytime soon. “I’m sorry.” You manage to say through a hiccup. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You repeat until you lose count, until the phrase loses its meaning. You’ve got no idea what you’re so sorry for, what you’ve done wrong. You’re just tired and no match Leander. Perhaps it’s time for you to accept he’s the best you’ve ever had and ever will have and there’s no use in fighting like this. Surely, you can accept whatever it was you deemed unacceptable – you don’t even remember it at this point – up until his arrival.

Leander holds you in silence. You can’t see anything through your tears, but you feel the fog dissipating, despite your head not feeling any better, and you don’t think it will anytime soon. You keep sobbing hushed apologies over his leather coat, now wetting with your sobs.

You finally accept the defeat as the exhaustion takes over your spent and restless body. As if sensing your surrender, the ivies finally start to loosen enough for you to move your now numb limbs. You feel Leander carefully distance himself from you, and you eagerly clutch onto removing his coat and draping it over your shivering body. You stop apologizing as your teeth begin clattering.

“It’s okay, my love. You’re okay now, I’m here. I’m taking you back.” Leander says in a gentle tone, as his arms envelop your shaking form.

“It’s okay, angel. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” He coos with your head against his chest, as if he wasn’t the very thing endangering you. Though now, you don’t care anymore. You just hope he doesn’t run out of mercy and takes you back, that he forgives your offenses and all this becomes water under the bridge. You have no fight left in you, whatever you had was spent far too long ago, and Leander knows this too. He knew you’d give in, eventually. You could only fight for so long, and after hours of evading him, there was nothing that a little tenderness couldn’t do against your poor, conditioned self. He knew it was only a matter of time for you to beg him for his protection again, with your tail between your legs.

Leander crouches down, and you understand the cue, climbing upon his back. He lifts you, easily making his way through the thin layer of fog left. He knows these woods like the palm of his hand. You sigh into his neck, exhausted and broken, still lightheaded from the fog and all your wailing. You know this isn’t the end. No amount of kindness would make Leander allow this to slide. He wishes he could, really, but god knows what you’ll pull next if he lets you get away with such a horrible tantrum. Or even worse, what the witnesses of your failed escape might think of him if he allows this to slide. He’ll just have to reinforce his methods, nothing drastic. Nothing you can’t take. He's the kindest man you've ever met and the kindest man in Eridia, after all.

✧ note: this is my first fic in over a year, and my first reader-insert fic in even longer. i'm rusty and english isn't even my first language, so please be kind. if you don't like this type of content, simply keep scrolling. also, please share your thoughts with me if you'd like! :)