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cherienymphe · 4 years ago

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Unrequited (Thor x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, side of Loki x reader, reader has it bad for Loki

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics }

summary: you, a servant, are in love with Loki, your prince. He’s never noticed, and while that’s unfortunate for you, it is much to Thor’s delight because he has noticed. And he can’t stand it.

You stood along the wall with the rest of the servants, waiting as patiently as ever. The other girls beside you had been fidgeting for a while, Ingrid huffing for the fifth time in minutes, and you supposed that you couldn’t blame them. The feast had commenced hours ago, and it seemed as if an end was nowhere in sight. You, however, were more than happy to wait.

A familiar hand lifted into the air, long fingers snapping to beckon you over. Without hesitation, you answered the dark-haired prince’s call, feet hurrying to take you to him. You knew what he wanted as soon as he lifted his goblet, and you were extra careful in pouring him more wine. You’d hate to spill any on him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he absentmindedly said, the words falling so easily from his lips.

You’d heard them probably a thousand times, and just like before, you always asked:

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

And just like always, he said:

“No, that will be all.”

You kept your smile in place as he waved you away, heart sinking as you turned to join the rest of the servants on the wall. Your fingers scraped along the pitcher in your hands, and you let your eyes fall to the ground as a particularly loud laugh climbed out of the king’s throat. You cringed at the grating noise, lip trembling as you forced your beating heart to still.

Your eyes finally rose again, landing on the prince, and your heart clenched in your chest. His dark hair shone as it brushed along his broad shoulders, long fingers dancing along the rim of his goblet. He stood out amongst the rest of the rowdy guests, his quiet disposition a stark contrast in the rowdy room. He was always quiet though.

That’s what you loved about him.

Prince Loki didn’t care to be the center of attention…just like you. He spent his time reading and writing. Occasionally, you’d walked in on him drawing a sketch or two. On most days, he was subdued, preferring to observe those around him. You noticed that he took his time when talking with people, seeming to really mull over his responses before voicing them. He was such a breath of fresh air from-.

Your thoughts were cut short by that laugh again, and you winced. King Thor bellowed, completely tickled by something Hogun had whispered to him. You straightened and glanced away from him with a small sigh.

You had no ill feelings towards the king…none of consequence anyway. Everything about him just seemed to overwhelm you. He was too loud or too big or too abrasive. He was just too much. For as long as you’d known him, he was loud and demanding and a bit spoiled. Not to mention impulsive. He and Loki were so different that you often found yourself wondering how the two could even be related.

Fortunately for you, it seemed that Loki had finally grown tired of the antics, waving you along as he stood. You set the pitcher down and rushed to follow him, trailing behind him like a pet would. Sometimes you thought that you should feel embarrassed at how completely devoted to him you were, but you couldn’t find it in yourself too.

The prince was beautiful, and not just because he was a god, but because he was Loki. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and his pink lips had never once formed to say anything to hurt you, the opposite in fact. His voice could soothe even the crankiest of children. Prince Loki had never been anything but kind to you, even allowing you to borrow his books.

You were irrevocably in love with him.

You knew it was silly. He was a prince, a god, the highest caliber of royalty there was, and you… You were a servant. He would never look at you the way you looked at him, but you knew that his brother had a reputation for pulling servants into his chambers through all hours of the night. Heat settled into the pit of your stomach as you thought of Loki doing the same to you.

It became clear early on though that he was not like that. At first, you thought that it had just been you, and disappointment and sorrow had eaten away at you for weeks, but you soon realized that no one was warming his bed. You hoped that one day that would change. Even if that was all the prince wanted from you, you’d happily give it to him.

You’d do anything to please him.

“Draw me a bath,” he tiredly murmured just as you closed his chamber door behind you.

“Of course.”

You breezed past him, and through his bedroom, making your way into the bath. Loki didn’t like his bath water too hot, and you waded your hand through it many times to make sure it was just right. You added some soaps to it, grabbing the bowl of flower petals you’d placed beside the tub this morning. You were seated on it, tossing them across the water just as he made his way inside. You set it down, hurrying to help him undress.

“Thor was more energetic than usual tonight,” he said, sighing as he eased into the warm water. “How do you always manage to get it perfect?”

That last part was said so softly that you wondered if you’d imagined it, and you knew that it must have been said more to himself, not meant for you. You smiled anyway.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my prince?” you genuinely wondered, resting your arms and chin on the large bath.

His head was leaned back, eyes closed as he soaked. A small smirk danced along his lips, and you eyed it.

“As well as to be expected, I suppose. I’ll never understand why Thor demands my attendance to such trivial gatherings. Nothing more than a self-congratulatory circle jerk,” he sneered.

You swallowed a laugh at his crude language.

“Pardon my wording,” he apologized.

“It’s alright. Would you like for me to wash your hair?”

You were already moving as you asked the question, but his soft ‘please’ warmed your heart. Your fingers were gentle in combing through his locks, massaging his scalp. A low moan rumbled deep in his throat, and you ran your eyes over him as he relaxed under your ministrations.

When you were done, you cupped some water in your hands a few times before letting it run over his hair. You swallowed when he began to rise, and as much as you didn’t want to, you looked away.

“I’ll go turn back your bed,” you told him as you turned around to give him some privacy.

As you pulled his sheets and covers back, you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over the cool material. You wondered how comfortable they were, how cool they’d feel against your skin. How cool they would feel while the prince had his way with you…

You snatched your hand back like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. You swallowed down your wanton thoughts as Loki exited, fully dressed for bed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

Your voice was soft as you asked the same question you did every night, hoping against hope that he’d finally say what you wanted to hear. That he’d ask you to stay, ask you to share his bed, ask you to please him…

He threw you a smile, so small it was barely there, but you knew him so well that you could easily spot the subtle change in expression.

“That will be all. You’re dismissed,” he told you.

With a shaky nod, you turned and left. The minute you were in the corridor, you pressed your back to his chamber door, tears in your eyes. The desire that coursed through you should have terrified you, but it only fueled the hope in your heart. You had to hope that he at least desired you half as much as you did him.

When you finally got your legs to move down the hall, you passed the king’s wing. A feminine giggle echoed down the hall, and you turned your head just in time to see his chamber doors slamming shut, the tail end of a flowy dress nearly getting caught.

You blinked, lips parting as your shoulders sagged.

Your fingers ghosted over the beauty products before you, brows furrowed in confusion. You knew that it was wrong of you to sneak into Ingrid’s room, but you were desperate. You only wanted to borrow a few things that she wouldn’t even notice were gone. She had so much.

You bit your lip, wondering if this was even the right thing to do. What if he laughed at you, thinking you silly for this? What if he didn’t take you seriously after this? What if he thought less of you? What if you were only making a fool of yourself? With a sigh, you dropped Ingrid’s rouge just as her door opened.

There was a frown on her striking features as soon as her eyes landed on you. It was late in the night, and her hair was perfectly mussed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. You had suspicions that she was the one you saw going into the king’s chamber earlier.

“Never pegged you for a thief, Y/N,” she chuckled, closing her door.

“I wasn’t stealing…only borrowing,” you replied unconvincingly.

“Uh huh,” she brushed you off, nearing you to see what you had.

She took it and turned it over, a small smirk gracing her lips.

“…and…just who are you trying to get all prettied up for?”

Your mouth opened and closed, words failing you as you pondered over whether or not you should tell her the truth. Deep down, maybe a part of you wanted to get caught. Maybe you wanted to ask for her help? You doubted that she’d help you without the truth though.

“Don’t tell me… You’re trying to gain the king’s favor…?”

Her voice was colder, eyes hardening as yours widened.

“The-the king?” you exclaimed, eyebrows rising.

She scoffed, running her eyes over you.

“I already have to fight for his attention with just about every other woman in this kingdom. I’d hate to have to put you in your place because you got way in over your head-.”

“No, no, heavens no,” you said, frowning in disgust. “I am not trying to seduce the king.”

The thought made your stomach turn. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes on you as you slowly rose to your feet.

“Well, then who? Because a girl like you doesn’t go rifling through other people’s things just to seduce no one,” she argued.

“Well, trust me, it is not king Thor. He’s all yours. He’s not exactly my taste…”

Her frown deepened.

“Who is?”

A soft sigh escaped you, and again, you wondered if you should be truthful or not. Ingrid would probably press you for details, and you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself further by admitting you were hopelessly in love with prince Loki. Your eyes reluctantly met hers again, and her face evened out as her eyes lit up.

“The prince,” she whispered, a genuine smile on her face, a light scoff escaping her. “I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet… I am. You were right. The king isn’t your taste.”

You swallowed.

“Can you…help me?”

“You sweet summer child,” she tsk’d. “You do understand that while the prince is definitely no Thor, he is still a man. There’s a very high chance that he’ll only want one thing from you.”

You rubbed your arm, gently shaking your head.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just…want him.”

She let out a long exhale, eyes softening as she eyed you.

“I see. How…cute, but I’ll help you.”

She grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

“You wait on him hand and foot. I always thought you were just being a dutiful servant, maybe even a bit of a pushover, but now it all makes sense.”

“You don’t have to tell me how silly I am,” you mumbled.

“I’m not,” she chuckled, placing a finger under your chin, lifting your head. “I’m commending you.”

You were sure the confusion was clear on your face.

“The prince has seen how wonderful a servant you are. I’m willing to bet that he has never had one complaint about you. He thinks you’re perfect, and now you will show him that you have even more to offer.”

Her smile grew, and so did your nerves.

The night was spent with Ingrid teaching you everything she knew. How to walk, how to smile, how to speak. You hadn’t realized that seducing required so much work, and you suddenly realized that it was going to take more than you thought to get what you wanted.

When morning came, she helped you dress, whispering words of encouragement to you. She assured you that you could do this, could have him right where you had wanted him for years, and with her guidance, you left to go down to the kitchens to gather his breakfast.

You breezed into the prince’s chambers like you did every morning. You walked through his receiving room and laid out his breakfast before making your way to the large windows on the far-left side of his room. You pulled the drapes aside, letting the sunlight in just as a groan sounded from behind you.

“Is it morning already?”

His voice was always husky in the morning, deep and groggy from sleep.

“Yes, my prince. Do not forget that the king requested you join him this morning for a meeting regarding the-.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he sighed. “Heaven forbid Thor tend to his duties as a king should without me by his side to guide him.”

When finished, you turned to help him out of bed. All of his movements halted as you neared, and you avoided his eye as you went to turn the cover back. You could feel his eyes on you, and your body grew warm under his scrutiny.

Ingrid had lent you one of her dresses. It was the typical cream garment that all of the servants donned, but the neckline sat lower, showing off a tasteful eyeful of cleavage. Where your regular dress had loosely flowed around you like water, this one hugged you, accentuating your curves.

You were startled when Loki’s hand found your wrist, stopping you. You finally looked at him, brows furrowed ever so slightly as he stared at you, a small frown on his own face. Your arm trembled at the feel of his hand on you, and he noticed, quickly letting you go. Much to your disappointment…

“Thank you, Y/N, but I can take it from here,” he quietly told you.

You nodded, backing away.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

For the first time, his reply did not come quickly. There was a brief pause, hesitation that had never been there before, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“…no.”

Your heart sank, and you nodded, turning away.

As usual, the king was the last to arrive, everyone else having long taken their seats. Loki had been one of the first to arrive, and you had happily served him water while he waited. Thor strolled into the hall like there wasn’t a care in the world, taking his time in sliding into his seat before beckoning one of the servants over.

Your eyes did what they do best and fell on the prince. Other than his perusal this morning, nothing had changed. For a moment there, you had thought that he finally saw you as you saw him, but whatever you thought you saw was gone just as quick as it had come.

Did he hate the look of the dress? Your face? You had applied rouge to your cheeks and lips, keeping your hair simple. Ingrid had assured you that you looked ‘good enough to eat’, and yet… Your shoulders sagged as a stifling sadness fell over you.

What if it wasn’t a matter of getting him to notice you? What if he already did and simply…did not feel the same way? The thought of Loki never returning your affections because you did not appeal to him made your heart hurt, and you blinked back tears just as the prince beckoned you over for more water.

As you refilled his glass, you felt the odd sensation of being watched. Against your better judgement, you glanced over only for your gaze to connect with that of the king’s. You quickly looked away, topping off Loki’s drink just as the blond spoke.

“Brother, you do not think to introduce your servant to her king?”

You frowned in confusion, and so did the prince as you both looked to Thor. His blue eyes were on you still as a secretive smile graced his lips. You tilted your head at him.

“As many years as Y/N has served me now, you’ve never thought to formally introduce yourself,” Loki told him, frown deepening.

A spark of recognition flitted through the king’s eyes as he gazed at you, and a chuckle left him.

“That would explain why she’s looking as if I’d asked her why the sky is green,” he jested.

As he pointed that out, you worked to even out your face. You nodded at him before dismissively turning to Loki.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Stay close though. I have a feeling Thor will drag this meeting far beyond what’s necessary,” he complained.

You nodded at him, eyes lingering as you hovered for a moment before your feet reluctantly moved you back to the wall. Loki offered his input throughout the meeting, but it seemed that the king never liked whatever the prince had to say. You could see him growing more taut by the minute, and you longed to place your hands on his shoulders, easing his tension.

You wondered if this was all you’d ever be to him. A servant. The possibility of that seemed to be growing by the minute, and you started to feel so silly for thinking you could ever be anything more. You considered being bolder, possibly even just confessing to him, but you didn’t want to think about the humiliation if he rejected you.

Or worse.

What if he was so affronted that he dismissed you for good? You couldn’t truly imagine such a thing happening, but your mind was running wild with the possibilities. When you came back to the scene before you, Loki was rising, voice clipped.

He was angry, you realized, and you frowned. You took a small step forward as you eyed him, hating the way his face was twisted. He seemed to be scolding his brother, and when you looked to the king, you found his blue gaze already on you. Your frown deepened, and you hurriedly looked away just as Loki pulled away from the table, waving you along.

Without a second glance to the king, you hurried to follow him. He was grumbling to himself when you caught up to him, running a hand through his hair.

“What is my purpose of being there if he isn’t going to listen to a word I say?” he wondered.

“My prince, you know that your brother has always done what he wants to do,” you softly told him.

He slowed to a stop, shoulders heaving as he sighed. You reached for him before thinking better of it, pulling your hand back.

“You are right, but it does not mean I have to like it.”

You hated to see him so bothered, and you stepped closer.

“Would you like something to eat from the…?”

You swallowed the rest of your words as heavy footsteps approached, and you both turned to watch as the king neared. You took a few steps back to stand behind the prince, quietly acknowledging Thor. Your eyes landed on Loki again as his frown deepened at the sight of his brother.

“Loki, the meeting was far from over, and there is still much for us to discuss,” Thor boomed, a frown of his own covering his features.

The dark-haired man heaved a sigh.

“I’d hardly call it a discussion, brother if you aren’t actually listening to a word I say,” he complained.

Thor opened his mouth to say something when his eyes caught yours. He appeared to think better of it, blue eyes quickly running over you just as Loki turned to look at you as well. You frowned at the king’s perusal.

“Fetch something from the kitchens for us, and then bring it to my chambers,” he softly ordered, rolling his eyes.

You bit back a smile at his evident irritation with the king before nodding.

“Right away, my prince.”

As you walked past the king, you felt something catch along the fabric of your dress. You turned with a slight frown, but both the king and the prince were already walking away. You blinked, writing it off as you made your way to the kitchens.

It took you no time to put a platter together, grabbing some ale. When you returned to the prince’s chambers, he and Thor appeared to be locked in a stalemate. You set the tray down between them, filling their goblets as they glared at each other. You felt a bit awkward, so you touched Loki’s shoulder.

“My prince…”

He blinked, finally looking away from Thor before reaching for the platter with an angry huff.

“Thank you, Lady Y/N,” Thor said.

You sent him a quick smile in return, barely sparing him a glance before turning your attention back to Loki. His green eyes found yours, and they softened.

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Thor and I have much to discuss indeed it seems,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, and you could feel the king’s gaze searing into the side of your face.

“If you’re sure. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

He shook his head, and reluctantly, you stepped away. With a quiet sigh, you left his chambers without a farewell to the king.

The days that followed were…odd, to say the least. The king seemed to be around Loki a lot more, and by default, that meant he was around you more as well. You didn’t know how to feel about it, but you didn’t think you liked it. Not only was his presence upsetting the prince more than usual, and therefore upsetting you, but the king tended to stare a lot.

Having always been strictly a servant for the prince, you hardly interacted with Thor, but the few times that you did, you didn’t remember this being a part of his behavior. His ever-watchful eye unnerved you, and you soon started to wonder if he knew how you felt about the prince. You prayed not, because he didn’t strike you as the type to keep it to himself.

Unable to hold your tongue regarding his hard to ignore presence, you brought it up to the prince one night.

“It’s all rather tedious,” he sighed. “It’s nothing that I believe truly requires my input. That’s excluding his grand idea of me finding a wife.”

Your chin had been resting on the tub, fingers running along the smooth surface, when he spoke. You froze, feeling as if someone had taken a knife to you as you slowly lifted your gaze, eyes landing on him. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, the perfect picture of relaxation, a contrast to you at the moment.

“…what?”

Your voice was small, but the worry must have been evident, nonetheless. Loki chuckled.

“Do not fret,” he told you, finally opening his eyes. “No strange woman will be coming here to demand things of you anytime soon. I’m merely humoring him. Although, I will admit that he does seem to be rather persistent upon the idea.”

He moved to rise, and you looked away.

“It’s preposterous if you ask me. He suggests I began looking for a wife when he has yet to find a queen?”

You didn’t laugh along with him, knowing that the king had a rather annoying habit of getting whatever he wanted. The rest of the night was spent in silence as you helped Loki prepare for bed. If he noticed your strange behavior, then he did not comment on it, and for that you were grateful.

After quickly leaving his chambers, you found yourself amongst the rose bushes in the garden. Your shoulders shook as tears kissed your eyes, chest clenching at the thought of the prince binding himself to someone else forever.

A part of you had always known that this day would come, but you had never wanted to acknowledge it. You had hoped that something would happen before then. Of course, how could you expect that to come true when all you did was stare after him like some lovesick fool? A tear skipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away just as you heard footsteps.

You thought nothing of it, knowing that many people ventured into the gardens throughout all hours of the day. However, when the footsteps stopped behind you, you had no choice but to turn. Surprise and confusion filled you as your eyes landed on none other than the king. Unlike before, you couldn’t get away with ignoring his presence.

“My king,” you greeted, standing.

You worked to school your features as he looked over you, a crooked smile on his lips.

“It is rather late for you to be frolicking about all by your lonesome, is it not?”

You frowned at his tone but brushed it off.

“I just wanted some solace and fresh air to think,” you told him.

He hummed, and you moved to leave.

“Goodnight, my king.”

He stopped you, and you looked to him with a small frown.

“It is late and dark. Allow me to walk you back to your chambers,” he offered.

You shook your head.

“I appreciate the offer, my king, but there’s no need. I’ve walked these dark halls alone many times before,” you replied.

You went to step around him, but again, he was there. You swallowed down your annoyance, biting your cheek.

“I’d feel much better if you allowed me to. I’d rest easy knowing you made it back safe.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you nodded, choosing to pick your battles with the almighty Thor. He rested his hand on your back as he walked you out of the garden, and you stepped out of his reach. The walk back to your room was filled with silence, but you were not bothered. Your mind was too crowded with thoughts of Loki.

He said that he was only entertaining Thor, having no intentions of taking a wife anytime soon, but that could easily change. The king had a way of getting what he wanted one way or another, and for some reason, he wished for his brother to be married. Your frown deepened.

“I’m sorry for my odd behavior at the meeting the other day. You did not look as I was used to seeing you,” the king said after a while with a small chuckle.

“It’s quite alright,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence before he spoke again.

“I do hope everything is alright. You appeared rather upset in the gardens…”

You shook your head, somewhat annoyed at his uncharacteristic behavior. You had never known Thor to be so observant of another unless it affected him. The only time you’d notice him pay so much attention to a woman was when…

Your lips parted, and you looked away as realization hit you. Your eyes slowly looked to him, and you found his attentive gaze already on you. You pursed your lips, annoyance filling you.

“If it appeared that way then I apologize. It wasn’t my intention. I merely have a lot on my mind,” you told him, voice clipped.

“Such as?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Your tone left no room for questioning, and you heard him huff. Relief filled you when your door came into view, and you bowed to him with a quiet ‘thank you’ before walking away. You felt him grab your arm, gently, but it still startled you, nonetheless.

You looked to him with wide eyes, brows furrowed. He stepped closer, and if it weren’t for his hold, you would have stepped back. His gaze was intense, sparkling with something you had seen all too often, and disgust filled you.

“If my brother is mistreating you in any way, you are always more than welcome to serve me instead,” he quietly said, voice thick.

Your frown deepened, and you pulled your arm away before stepping back, watching as his face fell.

“Why would the prince be mistreating me? He has never been anything but good to me.”

He cleared his throat.

“I just worry that your behavior might have something to do with him-.”

“As kind as that is, it is not necessary. As I said, I merely had a lot on my mind. The prince could never put me into a foul mood. Goodnight, my king.”

You swiftly entered your room before he could reply, and you placed your ear to the door. He seemed to stand there for a while before finally leaving with a huff. You only sighed in relief when he was gone, quickly ridding yourself of your dress.

You quickly slipped into one of the night shifts Ingrid had lent you, feeling naked in the flimsy fabric. You felt like you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t allow the king to get his way and have Loki married. The night air felt even cooler as you stepped out of your room.

You felt scandalous, but so many of the other women had done what you were currently doing a thousand times before. There was no need to feel ashamed or weird about it. Still, if anyone caught you, you’d have to come up with something.

The walk to the prince’s wing felt long. It wasn’t late enough for him to be asleep, that much you knew. He usually had his nose buried in a book at this time. You slowed when you got to his door, heart surprisingly steady in your chest. With a deep breath, you smoothed the fabric before knocking on his door. You could hear his footsteps approaching, but with a frown, you realized that his weren’t the only ones you heard.

You looked over your shoulder just in time to see the king approach, his wide eyes taking you in. Your own widened just as the door opened behind you, and you felt your body grow cold at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Y/N?”

You spun around, facing Loki as confusion filled his features. He ran his eyes over you, a myriad of emotions swirling in their depths just before he finally noticed his brother.

“Thor. What is the meaning of this?”

Your mind whirled, and you blinked.

“I…believe that I must have been sleepwalking, my prince. I’m so sorry-.”

“Nonsense. Here, the nights are colder these days,” he said, taking off the robe he was wearing before covering your shoulders with it. “What are you doing here, Thor?”

You too wanted to know the answer to that, and it was hard to keep the irritated frown from your face as you looked to him. His own eyes were on you, and you knew then that he saw through your lie. He cleared his throat.

“I came to discuss something with you, brother,” he said.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, surely it can wait until the morning. I must walk Y/N back to her chambers to ensure she makes it to bed safely,” he told him.

You smiled at him at him as he pushed you along.

“Thank you,” you told him.

You caught the frown on the king’s face, but you ignored it as Loki rested his hand on your arm.

“You’ve never been known to sleepwalk before,” the prince murmured.

“I know. Well, at least not that I know of. I’m not sure what happened,” you lied.

“Anything could have happened. You could have fallen down the stairs, or one of the unscrupulous characters who roam these halls could have happened upon you.”

You sent him an appreciative smile. His hand was warm on your arm, and you inhaled, breathing in the comforting scent of him. You basked in his presence, but all too soon, you reached your door. You took off his robe, handing it back to him, but when he grabbed it, you didn’t let go.

A frown was on his face as you tugged on the fabric, pulling him closer. You blinked at him, smile widening as hope filled your eyes, unable to miss the way he ran his eyes over you.

“Stay,” you finally whispered.

His eyes widened, face falling as you made your intentions clear. Realization bled into his gaze.

“You were not sleepwalking…were you?”

Reluctantly, you shook your head. He heaved a sigh, and your face fell.

“Y/N…you are my servant. A good one. I cannot use my authority to-.”

“Why not? The king does it all the time-.”

“I am not Thor! I refuse to be,” he said, and your lips trembled. “I will not take advantage of you.”

You grabbed his shirt, pushing yourself against him. You watched his throat bob, a look in his eyes that you had always prayed to see.

“I want you to,” you quietly said, hurrying to continue when you noticed that he was about to protest. “My prince, I would do anything for you. I would give you anything you asked of me.”

He exhaled, and it was shaky, and you smiled. He hesitantly leaned in, and your nose brushed against his. He whispered your name so softly, the sound going straight to your heart…and stomach.

He kissed you, and you moaned against his lips. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and one of his hands pressed into the wall, the other going to your waist. Your heart soared, and you felt like you were floating as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Take me,” you breathed into his mouth.

He froze, and you could have cried. Your heart sank as he pulled away, his chest heaving, and lips swollen and red. He smoothed down the fabric of your night dress.

“I…am giving you the day off tomorrow,” he murmured, and you frowned.

“What?”

Panic filled you, but he hurried to ease it.

“Do not fret. I merely have much to think about and…I cannot do so properly when you tempt me so.”

Embarrassment filled you, and you looked away as a deep chuckle escaped him.

“Things are starting to make sense, and I’m realizing that you have been tempting me for days,” he whispered.

“I would do it again,” you said, kissing him.

He hummed into the kiss before pulling away and opening your door. He gently pushed you inside, green eyes sparkling in a way you’d never seen before.

“Sleep well for I shall not abandon you.”

You smiled at him, biting your lip as he turned to leave.

“Loki…”

He paused at the use of his name, looking over his shoulder. You sighed, lashes fluttering.

“I love you.”

He blinked at your confession, lips parting. He took a step towards you and kissed you one last time. You watched him walk away, and when you closed your door, you slid down to the floor, the happiest you’d ever been.

Your happiness only increased the next morning when you noticed a folded slip of parchment that had been slid underneath your door. When you opened it, Loki’s handwriting greeted you, and your eyes widened as they skimmed over each line.

He wanted to meet you tonight in the master chamber of the abandoned wing. You briefly wondered why there, but his next few words informed you that Thor’s presence had been rather persistent lately, something you too had noticed, and he did not wish to be interrupted.

You spent your entire day off in a daze, wondering what tonight would entail. You remembered everything that Ingrid had told you, even some of the things that had made you squirm, and there was a very high chance that you would be doing those things tonight.

When the night finally came, you felt your nerves increase like no other. It was late, and the corridors were empty, bare feet walking on the cool floor. You wore nothing underneath the robe, body bare and clean from your bath earlier. You weren’t afraid. You trusted the prince more than you trusted anyone else in the world.

The room was empty when you entered it, but light was cast onto your features from the candles placed around the room. The bed was made, but you wasted no time in turning it back, robe slipping from you, a whisper of fabric in the quiet room. It fell to your feet, and you slid into the bed, pulling the sheet to your chest as you waited for Loki.

You didn’t wait long, and you sat up when you heard footsteps approaching. A soft smile danced along your lips, excitement filling you as Loki approached. You watched as the handle turned, but when the door creaked open, it was not his form that filled the entryway.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, a frown taking over as confusion and fear and anger filled you. Thor’s eyes met yours, and you felt your breath pick up, chest heaving as he shut the door behind him. Your lips were parted, at a loss for words as you fought to voice your thoughts.

“Well…this is a first,” his deep voice hummed. “A woman has never been disappointed to see me before.”

“…wh-what? What is the meaning of this? Where is Loki?”

He did not answer you right away, and your frozen frame finally moved as he took a step forward. You hurried off of the bed, clutching the sheet to you as you reached for your robe.

“I see the way you watch him. Such devotion in your eyes,” he murmured, almost in awe. “What man would not envy such loyalty from a woman such as yourself?”

You froze again, jaw clenching and fingers tightening as the truth hit you.

“You tricked me,” you quietly spat, glaring at him.

You didn’t bother to school your tone, king or no king. You were disgusted with him. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in his features, and your anger grew.

“How else was I to get you alone? Your eyes only ever see my brother,” he said.

“So you take it upon yourself to use deception to get me alone with you? Because that’s the only way I’d ever do so.”

His own jaw ticked, and he narrowed his eyes.

“You practically fall on your face to get away from me, but him you throw yourself at like a common whore,” he sneered, finally exposing himself.

You surmised that he saw you and the prince last night, and your stomach turned. You took no offense to his statement for it was true. You’d do anything for Loki.

“It’s okay for women to act that way as long as its for you,” you said. “I would do anything for the prince…and you can’t stand it.”

You shook your head at him, watching his face twist into anger.

“You’re like a child,” you said in disbelief. “You get anything and anyone you want, and still, you know no satisfaction.”

“You will watch how you speak to me,” he ordered, taking another step forward.

“You have tricked me! And for what? Because I want your brother and not you? You’re despicable,” you threw at him.

“One more word of disrespect, and I shall have your tongue,” he threatened.

“The prince would never allow such a thing to happen,” you smugly replied.

He straightened, and he knew it was true. You threw the robe around you, only allowing the sheet to fall once it was secured.

“You do not spare me a glance,” he finally said. “It is as if I am not there.”

You snorted.

“What does it matter? I have always shown you the proper respect, my king, but you are angered because I’d rather fall at the prince’s feet than yours? There are lines of women in this kingdom ready to do your bidding. Leave Loki and I be,” you snapped, flurrying past him.

He stopped you, and you sharply inhaled.

“Surely you could be just as happy giving me what you so desire to give him.”

You frowned, offended. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Thor was hurt by your rejection. You shook your head at him, disbelief coloring your tone.

“You do not understand. I love the prince.”

You watched his fall, lips pressing together as he registered your confession.

“My loyalty and devotion to him is because of my love for him. I am in love with Loki. Do you get it now?”

He took a step back, letting go of you as he blinked, realizing that this was no matter of fleeting lust.

“That look that you envy so much is love, not desire. It angers you so because you have never known it,” you told him.

He glared at you, and you returned the look. You watched as he picked at a piece of lint on your robe, lip curling over his teeth.

“Then I will simply have to make you love me as well.”

He yanked you towards him, and you yelped, kicking at him. He pressed his mouth to yours, forcing a kiss on your lips, and you pushed your hands against his chest. He tore at the robe that covered you, and fear gripped you, a scream bubbling in your throat, but he swallowed it down.

You had always thought that Thor was too much, a list of things falling under the vague statement, and too strong was quickly added to it. He had you naked before him in no time, and you bounced against the bed as he threw you onto it. He fell over you, hands pinning your wrists down as he took his fill of you, eyes tracing every curve of your body.

“There is a part of me that regrets taking you away from my brother, especially like this, but the part of me that wants you all for myself already won.”

He kissed you again, and you only started to cry when you felt him moving to release himself. You had been prepared to ruin your reputation for the prince, risking the fate of marrying a second son or marrying no one at all. You loved him, but you would never risk such a thing for the king. Yet here he was, taking that choice away from you.

You screamed for Loki, desperate and afraid, but Thor’s lips covered yours once more, swallowing your cries. His beard tickled your skin, and his blond locks brushed over your face. You could feel the tip of him brush against you, and you trembled beneath him. He ignored your cries and your please, pushing into you so swiftly that the pain didn’t even register until moments later.

You yelped into his mouth, and he moaned into yours, trembling at the feel of you wrapped around him. Tears spilled from your eyes, anger and sadness paralyzing you. The king was in heaven…while you were in hell.

“Loki,” you sadly murmured, chest hurting at the thought of never being with him.

This angered Thor, and he snarled just before pulling his hips back and snapping them against you. You gasped in pain, nails digging into his arms as more tears ran down your face. His lips kissed at your cheek and neck as he thrust into you, low moans leaving him.

You turned your head away, anger increasing at the extent of Thor’s selfish nature. You hit at him, slapping his shoulders and face, curses flying from your lips. He quickly grew tired of your antics and grabbed your wrists, slamming them down beside your head. You sobbed in frustration.

His heavy breathing filled your ears as he slammed into you, every thrust making your heart clench in pain. You struggled to get your arms out of his harsh hold, but he only tightened them. You knew they would be sore in the morning.

Against your will, your core grew slick under his ministrations, the sound of his assault reaching your ears, making you cringe. He tried to kiss you, but you kept moving your head, refusing to give him what he wanted.

“You shall grow to love me as well,” he murmured.

You shook your head, and he pressed his lips to your jaw, groaning against your skin.

“I wish for you to show me the same devotion that you give to my brother.”

His thrusts grew slow, gradually pushing into your slick walls until you were forced to feel every vein and ridge of him. He moaned, a low sound from deep within his throat. You felt him shudder, and you did as well as warmth filled you, his cum slowly leaking out around his cock. He softened, but barely so, and fresh tears spilled.

He forced another kiss on you, grinding his hips into yours as he fucked his cum into you, the wet sound reaching your ears.

“I can give you the world too,” he groaned into your mouth. “I shall not rest until you look at me like you look at him.”

tags: @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin

#dark thor #dark thor x reader #dark fic #dark!thor x reader #dark!thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #marvel fanfiction

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peachywrite · 4 years ago

Text

Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

#rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba reader insert #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jjba

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sideofmango · 4 years ago

Text

The Warrior Queen & Her Pharaoh: Part II

Part II: I Want a Rematch

Pairings: pharaoh! god! Bakugou x warrior! queen! Reader Warnings: none Description: xxxxx

*Extra Info: I’ve taken creative liberties in this, meaning I know that some/most of it will not be historically accurate

𓂀 PART I 𓂀 PART II 𓂀 PART III 𓂀

"Katsuki?” (Y/n) broke the silence between the pair, the girl having been moved into the newly renovated quarters and from her old bedroom where she was placed when she first arrived.

“What?” The blonde questioned, glancing at the girl from where he sat in his chair quietly reading some book that didn’t interest the girl.

“Your father and mine drafted our marriage agreement two days ago.”

“So?”

“We’ve been married for the past two days then, right?” (y/n) questioned looking at the art on the wall. Katsuki raised an eyebrow at the girl, letting out a sigh before he shrugged.

“Why do you care?”

“It was a question. Can you relax?” The black girl momentarily glared at the blonde before rolling her golden eyes in annoyance.

“Don’t tell me what to do if I can’t tell you what to do.” Katsuki remarked before flipping the page and continuing to read.

“Do you plan to entertain consorts?” The girl questioned, her golden eyes boring into his crimson ones.

“I don’t know.” He stated simply, only pausing a moment later to look up at the girl with narrowed eyes. “Do you plan to entertain other men?”

“I don’t know.” She responded sarcastically, flashing him a smile as a frown appeared on his face.

“That’s not an adequate answer (y/n). Do you plan to entertain other men?” He repeated it slower this time, the book long forgotten and set to the side, his full attention on the black girl with the dark braids.

“Just as your answer was not adequate to me, mine isn’t to you.” (y/n) smiled. “Why do you deserve an answer when I didn’t get one. We are supposed to be equals aren’t we?”

“What? Are you jealous or something? Is that what this is? You’re jealous over the thought of me even having consorts.”

“That’s furthest from the truth.” The girl scoffed. “Are you ill, Katsuki? Should I call for the doctors?”

“Oh shut up.” He rolled his eyes. “Is everyone as dramatic as you where you come from?”

“I’m not dramatic Katsuki.” (y/n)’s eyes narrowed as she frowned. “My mother is dramatic along with trifling and two faced, and maybe a few other things but I don’t believe I’m allowed to say those things, lest I be punished in the Afterlife.”

Katsuki laughed lightly at the girl he now called his wife. “What’s so bad about her? Your father spoke highly of her.”

“My father is bordering on senile. He isn’t to be taken seriously. He’s simply a puppet in my mother’s hands, a toy to be played with to her.” (y/n) frowned thinking about her mother. “My mother schemes...just like she plotted to bring me here under the guise of a trade deal, though I suppose my life was simplified down to one for her.”

“Aren’t children supposed to love their mothers?” Bakugou asked incredulously, (y/n) flashing him a sideways glance and crooked smile.

“I suppose so, but then again, mothers aren’t supposed to plan out the death of their child, just as a wife is not to orchestrate the death of a husband...she’s done both though.” (y/n) revealed before lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Your mother planned to kill you?”

“Yes, I was only a child but I don’t think a failed poisoning attempt is ever to be forgotten.”

“She’ll face retribution, if not by my hand then by those in the Afterlife.” Bakugou said nonchalantly, his eyes flashing with anger.

“By your hand, Katsuki?” (y/n) perked up slightly a shit-eating grin growing on her face.

“Is that all you got from what I said?” He quirked an eyebrow at the girl, an annoyed expression on his face though the faintest blush covered his cheeks.

“You would fight for me?” (y/n) asked as Katsuki shrugged. “You know that I can fight for myself right?”

“Of course. I don’t associate with weaklings.” He scoffed.

“You called me an extra.” (y/n) deadpanned.

“Well I didn’t know who you were.” He fired back.

“So you think I’m strong?” Katsuki shrugged in response as she laughed lightly. “I bet I could best you at chariot racing.”

“You wish.” The blonde scoffed, confidence shining in his crimson orbs.

“I don’t mean to brag but I am considered the best in my tribe.” She replied as they both stood deciding wordlessly to settle this once and for all.

“Well I’m the best in this entire kingdom.” Katsuki replied back as the two rushed to the common areas outside, seeing their friends talking quietly amongst themselves.

“Chariot race now!” Katsuki and (y/n) said at the same time to their friends, only pausing for a moment to look at each other before looking back to their friends.

“You better not give me the lame horses either, Katsuki!” (y/n) called back as they rushed back to their separate bathing quarters to get ready.

“Don’t think so little of me, Woman.” He called back before disappearing into his own bathing quarters.

The black girl appeared a short time later, her hair braided with gold and silver thread, gold plated armor placed onto her shoulders connecting to a chest plate and a metal skirt that was placed over a fitted tunic. A large green jewel set into the chest plate. A simple golden headpiece sat on her braids, matching the black and gold eyeshadow and black eyeliner she wore.

She walked down the steps and towards the chariot that sat waiting for her. Mina and Jirou standing beside the chariot under the shade of a nearby tree, their eyes brightening when their new friend approached.

“I hope he looses.” Mina said under her breath as she took her place on the side next to Kaminari, Kirishima, and Jirou. The four nobles stood under the shade of a tree as Bakugou and (y/n) stood in their golden chariots.

The ash blonde ruler smirked at the girl that he now called his wife, though he still thought she was more annoying than anything else. “He’ll win...like he always does.” Kirishima mumbled back, still not over the fact that he had most recently lost against Bakugou.

“Not this time, Kirishima!” (y/n) called as she held the reigns in her hand, ready to take off at the moment’s notice. Bakugou stood in a similar position, his crimson eyes ablaze as he stared out over the sand dunes in the distance.

“We’ll see about that!” Bakugou called as Jirou yelled ‘Go’ and they were off. The ash blonde had taken the lead from the start, his all white horses with gold and silver harnesses thundered through the sand, their strangely black eyes focused only on the landscape in front of them.

(y/n) snapped her reigns again, her own all black horses, running quicker than they were a moment before, easily running in time with Bakugou. (y/n) glanced over to her right, a large smirk on her face as she waved at the blonde before her horses ran faster, passing his chariot altogether.

“I win!” She announced, hopping off of the chariot when they both crossed the finish line within the same second. Bakugou rolled his eyes, scoffing as the girl danced around. “I guess I’m the best chariot racer in all of the land.”

“I want a rematch.” Bakugou stated sourly, shooting a glare at the girl, though she could tell he didn’t mean it since there was a playful glint in his eyes.

“Another time. We have to get back to the palace. You have duties to attend to.” Kaminari chimed in sheepishly, before spinning around and glaring at the three others who stood avoiding eye contact. He always hated having to be the one to ruin the fun, this time loosing the bet to Kirishima, so being the bearer of bad news was his punishment.

“What duties?” Bakugou questioned, his eyes narrowing as he thought about having to do actual work when they were all having fun.

“Well, you have to go visit the worksites and make sure everything is up to par, and then you have to visit the shop in the marketplace.”

“The marketplace? I’d like to come! I’ve never been before.”

“Well you won’t be going today. I’ll take you another time. You have things to do with my mother anyway.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know...girl things.” Bakugou retorted before walking off with Kirishima and Kaminari, leaving the girls behind with a simple half wave of his hand.

“He can’t tell me what to do! I want to go! He can’t keep me locked away here.”

“We have a lot to do today anyways. You have a whole new wardrobe to be fitted for!” Mina cheered, clapping her hands together as they headed back to the palace.

(y/n) watched from the palace entrance as the royal chariots seemed to disappear from view before she went back inside, heading to find Mitsuki and her ladies.

“What about this one?”

“No.” (y/n) denied quickly with a shake of her head, not even bothering to entertain the idea. “Why must I wear these anyway? I don’t find them appealing at all.”

“They aren’t for you to find appealing.”

“I won’t be using them around Katsuki, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“He is your husband, child. You’re expected to birth an heir eventually.” One of the older woman said, looking through the different linens to find something that you may like.

“I will not lay with a man I barely know. We’ve only just started sleeping beside each other.”

“There’s only one bed in the room, (y/n).” Mina said, blinking her eyes.

“I’m well aware.”

“You didn’t make him sleep on the floor did you?” Jirou giggled, as a few women looked at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“No...he offered, but I told him so long as he not touch me, we could share...so we do.”

“But this morning, you both were wrapped in each other’s arms...Kaminari said that we should’ve gotten papyrus and sketched it for safe keeping, but we didn’t have time.” Mina sighed whistfully.

“You watched us sleep?” (y/n) questioned, staring into her friend’s eyes with a slight laugh.

“No...” Mina said, but not very convincingly. “Anyways, you should wear something this shade. I’ve noticed that he seems to like it.” She pointed out the orange fabric. “Then you both can match!”

“Whatever...it’s fine.” (y/n) finally agreed, thankful to finally be done with the wardrobe fittings, at least for now.

The girls wandered around the large palace for some time before Bakugou and the two boys came back, Mina and Jirou telling the girl to go and change so she would be ready for when Bakugou would arrive.

She walked into the room at the exact moment that the explosive blonde walked in, his red eyes locking in on the girl with dark skin, the orange toned fabric matching nicely with her complexion and making her golden eyes stand out.

“Woah...you look beautiful.” Jirou smiled widely, high fiving Mina as Kirishima and Kaminari nodded in agreement. (Y/n)’s gaze quickly shifted to the strangely quiet Bakugou, confused as to why he wasn’t saying anything when all he usually did was talk.

“You look...nice Dumbass, now come on.” He stated gruffly, quickly turning from your view so he could hide his pink tinted cheeks from her. She followed him outside to where a large Sedan was waiting to take them to their destination, though (y/n) was still unsure as to where that would be.

“Where are we going Katsuki?” The girl wondered, glancing at her surroundings before focusing back on the boy.

“You’ll see.” He answered cryptically. A short time later they arrived at the secret destination, Katsuki exiting the sedan first, then extending his hand out to the girl as she jumped down, her sandals hitting the cool sand with a soft thud.

“It’s just over here.” He stated, grabbing her hand and pulling her along when she began to walk the wrong way. He led her over to a large colorful mural, bright flora and fauna bordered the people in the middle.

“Is that..us?” She questioned, pointing at it with her free hand. Although he no longer needed to, Katsuki had yet to release the girl’s hand, but she wasn’t complaining. He nodded at her question. “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you’d like it...” He shrugged. “I was planning on showing you earlier, but Kaminari thought you would like it more if I showed you when it was finally completed.” Katsuki noticed the way the girl’s eyes seemed to remain on the painted version of herself, the boy growing slightly worried that she wouldn’t like it...he had painted her himself. “Do you not like it?”

“N-No! It’s not that! It’s just...she looks like me...like actually looks like me...” The girl trailed off, her eyes wide in wonder and shining in the dim light of the setting sun.

“Is that a problem?”

“Usually that doesn’t happen.”

“Well I did it myself...I wanted it to be accurate and no body else is good enough anyways.” Katsuki replied, his usually cocky attitude resurfacing and ruining the gentle moment.

“You painted it yourself?” He simply nodded. “You’re really talented.”

“Why do you sound so surprised? I’m not just devastatingly handsome, you know.”

“Yeah right.” (y/n) scoffed, nudging him with a laugh as he smiled softly at her, his eyes going down to her full lips more than he would like to admit.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

“No.” He stated, while continuing to stare, ignoring the confused expression of the girl in front of him. “Can I do something?”

“Y-yeah.” (y/n) said softly, noticing the way he stood impossibly closer, the boy standing a few inches taller than her. His large hands gripped the sides of her face softly, before he looked at her again.

“Can I kiss you?” The girl nodded before mumbling out a soft ‘yes’, Katsuki not wasting any time before bending slightly and taking her lips with his own. His lips were soft against her own, surprising her since she had expected him to be rough about everything, it just seemed like that was his nature.

Apparently not though, since the kiss, though short, was soft and sweet. Their lips moving in sync against each other’s before they finally pulled apart, only far enough to breathe, their noses still touching.

“Your lips are soft.” (y/n) remarked out loud, causing the boy to roll his eyes.

“Just because I’m aggressive, according to some people, doesn’t mean I’m a heathen.” He stated as the girl laughed.

“You are aggressive.”

“Well you don’t seem to mind.”

“I never said it was an issue.”

“Well that’s not what your tone said.”

“Do you just enjoy ruining moments and starting arguments?”

“You’re the one who started the argument in the first place. This isn’t even an argument.” He stated back as they walked around with each other, their guards making a perimeter, while allowing them space.

“Whatever...I was going to let you kiss me again, but since I start arguments...”

“That’s not what I meant, (y/n).” Katsuki mumbled shortly after, causing the girl to bite her lip to hide her smile.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” (Y/n) smirked as Katsuki rolled his eyes again with a scoff.

“Get over yourself.”

“Says you.” (y/n) called back, running a few steps ahead as Katsuki chased her, the empty area the perfect place to goof off without having to maintain royal appearances.

Tags

@that-chick212 @bakugous-mamas @chefakari

#katsukisblackteddy #pharaoh bakugou #warrior princess reader #bakugou x black reader #Ancient Egypt AU #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x black reader #in honor of black history month #Ancient Egypt #TWQ&HP Mini Series #i don't know how many parts I want to write for this yet #black history month 2021 #mha x black reader #mha x poc!reader #pls i love mitsuki #part 2 yeeeeee

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sunflowersseemhappy · 4 years ago

Note

Hey there! Could you do Arcana main 6 finding and reacting to MC's sketchbook full of cute little drawings of them? only if you feel like it !

This feels a bit messy but as I’ve been moving I’m probably just too tired to notice! Now I want to draw these sketches tho...

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, but in the meantime here is my Masterlist

Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Asra

A leather-bound book falls to Asra’s feet from the stack he’s putting away onto the shelves.

He hadn’t really noticed it until now, among all the knickknacks of the shop it seems like any ordinary notebook but he’s struck by familiarity.

It’s like the book and its contents are calling to him, like a long-forgotten memory.

Kneeling, Asra hesitantly turns the open book over and there is… a drawing of him. Sitting slouched against a table as his hand hovers over an image of Faust looking for his affection.

He remembers now, you drew like this before the plague but he had searched for that sketchbook and never found it after you were gone. He knew you had taken it with you to the Lazaret and it had burned with you.

This is a different book, in a different life almost but your careful sketch is just the same.

Asra is almost in disbelief as he flicks through the book, there are sketches of Faust snuggled up to the crook of his neck, Selasi the baker and Asra with armfuls of Pumpkin bread, Asra walking the streets of Vesuvia, there are more sketches of him than he can count.

He can’t believe he never noticed you drawing, but truth be told he never expected to see your drawings again. He thought your abilities with a pencil and paper were forgotten with your memories.

He should have known better…

As Asra reaches the last page he shakes his head in disbelief at the soft sketch of his sleeping form, perfectly drawn by your hand. Just as he remembers the pages in your old book looked like.

That in itself gives him hope that maybe your memories aren’t as lost as he thought.

Nadia

Nadia has noticed that you’ve been very engrossed in that little notebook of late, spending the late nights and early mornings scribbling on the pages.

Although Nadia doesn’t make a habit of prying into other people’s (even yours) business, she is starting to wonder what’s so important about that book.

And why you keep glancing at her as you write in it.

Oh, how she tries to resist but its just sitting on the bed and she plucks it up and flicks to the latest page.

Her gaze stares back at her, why it’s a drawing of her!

Nadia is intrigued, she recognises this particular moment from earlier in the day when the council meeting had run late.

In this book Nadia has the same aspirated expression as she stares at her tea rather than drawing her attention to the talks.

She flicks backward through the book and there they are, more sketches of her face, serene and placid.

She’s impressed, dare she say it they are better than many of her portraits. Nothing is left to the imagination, they’re just her as you see her.

Scratching Chandra feathers with a soft smile on her face, tools in her hands and oil and grease on her fingers as she makes a little invention, hair drawn back and laughing as she gallops on her horse.

Clear cut and real, smoothing her fingers against the page Nadia mulls over an image of her with wet hair with just her robe on.

How you manage to catch these moments and put them down on paper like this she’s always wonder but she’ll let you know how flattered she is that you enjoy drawing her so.

Julian

Another late night at the desk it seems, Julian’s had a few of late but even he is starting to feel the hours catch up to him.

Retiring to bed where you are already softly snoring, Julian takes immediate notice to your little book you’re always carrying around lying in his space.

Usually he would just move it and go to bed, but as he draws close, he notices a face drawn on the page.

Scooping it up Julian almost thinks his eye is deceiving him in the darkness and sleepless haze, is that a drawing of him?

Slipping into bed with the book in hand Julian takes of his eye-patch to get a better look, it is him! Leaning over his desk with a concentrated gaze over the papers in his hands.

He can’t help but give a sly smile to your sleeping form, so this was what you got up to when he wasn’t looking.

He thought he was an alright artist, but you? Wow, he’s speechless over how much care has been taken to get the curve of his nose and the curl of his hair just right.

So as not to wake you Julian takes quiet care as he leaf’s through the pages, most of them have drawings of him and he marvels over them all.

There’s a drawing of Malak preening Julian’s hair (his comical wince obvious), hugging his little sister as if his life depended on it, holding up a pint of salty bitters with that roguishly silly smirk he does.

If he didn’t know any better than he’d think you like him!

Next time he’ll definitely make sure to pose!

But for now, he’ll settle on returning the secret favour by getting his own book and drawing you whenever he can.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to give him some pointers.

Muriel

It’s a lazy morning for Muriel, a rare treat? He’s still getting used to sharing the chores and not having to do as much as he used to.

You’ve gone to work the shop leaving him and Inanna alone for the day, but before he can even begin to guess what to do Inanna plops a familiar looking book next to him.

Your notebook, he’s seen you writing in it all the time and you never go anywhere with out it, he wouldn’t admit it but right now it’s the only excuse he has to go see you.

Picking it up and calling for Inanna to follow the two make their way to Vesuvia, book in hand.

Whatever is in it seems important…

Muriel can’t ever remember looking inside it though, he’s not usually that curious but before he’s even thinking about it, he opens it as he’s walking and halts in his tracks.

There’s a carefully crafted drawing of him, sitting by the fire as Inanna lays at his side whilst he whittles away at a little figurine.

He snaps the book shut a red blush racing against his cheeks, whatever he’s feeling it’s new and he doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or happy that you’ve drawn him.

Now curiosity has completely taken over and he hesitantly flicks to the first page, that one is Asra but as he progresses, he sees Inanna, the hut, your favourite tree, and that doe with her fawn.

His cheeks get redder every time he crosses a drawing of himself, most have tense gazes but between them he sees in each face his soft smiles and almost unnatural gentleness in his eyes.

Is that how you see him? Soft? Gentle? He’s never seen himself that way before, but the drawings don’t feel fake, they’re almost too real.

He sees his hand buried in Inanna’s fur as he cradles an ill chicken, weaving his braids in the morning, standing bare chested in the evening as he cooks dinner. Scars mirrored in the pencil work.

He takes your sketch book to you with a knowing smile.

Portia

One of the few day’s she gets off from working the palace and she can’t spend it with you.

Apparently the shop has been so busy you’ve had a que going out the door. Portia is disappointed but in times like this it can’t be helped so she decides to indulge in some light reading.

Browsing her small shelves Portia almost doesn’t notice the small book with bits of paper sticking out of it.

But she notices it there, it reminds her of the journal’s Julian kept on medical procedures and stuff, maybe he accidentally left it here or she picked it up from his?

But there on the spine are your initials, plucking it from the shelf Portia turns to a random page and…

There she is on the paper, a drawing! She’s sitting with a blanket on her lap and a needle and thread in her hand as she works at the patchwork quilt she’s been making.

Ooh, she’s never seen such a pretty drawing of her and its not long before she’s jumped on her bed and is flicking through the book.

She’s awing over the drawings and they’re almost too amazing for her to believe.

There are so many; sitting on the beach, dancing with Pepi in her arms, munching on that delicious cupcake from last week! Oh, she misses that cupcake.

She’s squealing in excitement over the drawings, she has such a talented and cute partner.

Lucio

Lucio’s been without you for all but an hour and he’s already bored, how did he ever entertain himself without you?

He’s never been a willing reader but soon enough he finds himself browsing the shelves out of pure boredom.

Then he spots it, small leather-bound book with one of Camio’s gorgeous feathers peeking out from the top. How did that get there when Camio has the same aversion to books Lucio does?

Disinterested Lucio plucks it from the shelf and turns to the page where Camio’s feather sits and wow…

There’s a wonderful drawing of Camio sitting proudly on the back of a chair as Lucio pets the bird. Sure, it’s only pencil but its better than the painting he had done of the bird.

And there’s more, as he flicks the page, he finds himself. Standing bare-chested with the dogs and giving them a fuss, he remembers that. Last week if he’s right.

As he flicks through the rest of the carefully crafted sketch book Lucio can only guess this is your work, how busy you’ve been drawing him...

He is absolutely flattered; you draw him much better than the portrait artists (maybe because it actually looks like him).

There he is applying his makeup, chasing the dogs after they stole his prosthetic, Camio sitting on his head with proudly puffed up feathers.

He’s enthralled that you draw him so well, maybe he’ll commission you to do some portraits but for now he’ll enjoy the ones in the book.

Maybe he’ll do a cheeky pose for you when you’re back!

#the arcana #julian #nadia #asra #muriel #portia #lucio #drawing #sketch #the arcana mc #the aracana nadia #the arcana asra #the arcana muriel #the arcana julian #the arcana portia #the arcana lucio

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brandywine-tomatoes · 3 years ago

Text

One of the Bad Ones

From a little thought of mine <3

Masterlist

Pairing: (platonic) female!oc & crosshair

TW: sad/depressing thoughts, a little bit of human experimentation, self-depreciation, PTSD

Word count: 1895

QUICK NOTE: this is a concept with my oc Dain and her (platonic) relationship with Crosshair. Dain is a chiss jedi who hates the republic. She was the TechnoUnion's test subject years before Echo got there. She was rescued by the Batch and Co. when they went to rescue Echo. If you want more details, let me know!

There were good days and bad days for Dain. This day would be one of the bad ones.

Hunter and Wrecker were getting some much-needed rest, recovering from the day before. Tech was messing with a small part of the hyperdrive in his bunk with Echo helping, not getting the rest they needed. That left Dain piloting through the ridiculous amount of traffic on Pasaana, their new mission destination, with Crosshair as her co-pilot. A content silence consumed the ship, only Tech’s fiddling with a blow torch, Hunter and Wrecker’s soft snores, and the clicking of controls filling the cramped space.

Dain was consumed whole by her usual track of mind. The horrors of Skako were always her first destination. It was hard not to think about it, she was there for years. She constantly had to rhyme off the different things she could see, focus on the light reflecting and refracting around the ship, squeeze her eyes shut and dive into the life forces of her crewmates to bring her back from the fluorescent-lit laboratories and chilling surgical tables. Her limbs disobeying her commands as her captures messed mercilessly with her eyes. She could feel the tiniest of needles embedded in her iris, the sorry excuse for a numbing agent being injected.

She could still feel the helplessness that she constantly felt every second she was conscious on Skako. The bacta tube she was confined in when the surgeons needed a break still haunted her. Her long hair frail and coarse flowing like a separate entity, her oxygen mask so tight around her face practically another body part. She felt like she was being slowly and carefully pulled back to it, she could feel the warmth of the liquid seeping up her calves and past her knees, almost above her waist.

“You okay?”

Those few words violently pulled her out of the tank she was sinking into.

She didn’t feel the little drops staining her cheeks. Of course she wouldn’t, she was too messed up to feel the things that made her organic. She saw a sparkling on her cheeks refracting the light of the speeders and pods held up in front of her.

Dain quickly wiped them away. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Simple question,” he said, his usual snark present.

“I am perfectly adequate; I don’t know where you’re getting your ideas from.”

“Your bullshit doesn’t fool me,” Crosshair sighed.

Dain whipped her head around to his dead serious face gazing out at the fully stopped highway. “I beg your pardon? I am not, as you say, bullshitting.”

“You’re suffering. You really think this act is convincing?”

She was perplexed.

“Don’t look so surprised.” He went back to prepping the ship from its parked mode to move a couple inches further.

Dain did her part in guiding the ship the few little inches. They stayed in silence for quite a while, Dain trying to stay afloat by following the train of speeders and pods zig and zagging across miles and miles towards the capital city. Crosshair had propped a tiny black book on his raised knee, sketching away like he always did when he had extra time.

“How could you tell?”

Cross continued with his pen. “Hm?”

“How could you tell?” Dain asked a little louder.

“Well crying doesn’t cover anything up,” he gestured with his pen to her newly wet cheeks.

She quickly went to work wiping them dry, the force drawing a deeper blue to her skin. She dropped her hands in her lap in defeat, her shoulders sagging. “I can’t control it.”

“Nothing special.”

“I misspoke. I can’t feel it.”

Crosshair seeded his sketching of the pods and speeders.

“I remember what lacrimal feels like, seeping from the tear ducts,” she continued. “But I just... I don’t function like that anymore.”

He didn’t know what to say. What do you say to such a horrific fact? What did they do to you?

“I, um, overshared. Apologies.”

“No,” he objected. “It’s, uh, fine.”

Dain sunk into her seat, pulling her knees up to her eyes instinctually. Making herself as small as possible eased a little itch in the back of her mind.

She was a leader before all of this, she didn’t want to shy away into a corner and fade away in her own shadow. She stood with purpose and commanded respect. She was a decorated soldier, higher in rank than most Jedi. She had a family who she loved and who loved her. She depended on the Wolffe Pack as much as they depended on her. She was one of them.

She held a burning passion against the Republic. She fought to someday end the war so she could help burn it down and build something better in its ashes. Something that didn’t negotiate living being's lives like they were poker chips to be tossed in a pot.

It was all gone. It disappeared. She only wanted to melt into the soil, maybe help the earth flourish with trees and wildlife beside a rushing river. She didn’t hold a passion for anything she used to. She wasn’t the leader she needed to be, she didn’t have a family, she didn’t have anything to fuel her anymore. She was empty and purposeless. Maybe I’m better off melting into the earth.

“Here.”

Crosshair tossed the little black book and the pen to Dain, landing in the space between the armrest and herself. Dain stared at it for a moment, unsure of what he was playing at.

She slowly unfurled herself, her feet setting on the floor without a sound and her nimble hands bringing the book and pen to her lap.

“You can’t stay in there forever, you know. It’ll drive you insane,” he started.

Dain’s shoulders deflated. “I know.”

“It’s impossible.”

She eyed him wearily. And I thought this was going to be a pep talk.

“You just have to escape long enough.”

She stayed silent and a small bit of intrigue nipped at her fingers.

“Try it,” he gestured to the open landscape in front of them.

Dain shimmied to the edge of her seat to prop the book to a blank page against the dash in a free spot of any controls.

“Any requests?” She asked without an ounce of cheek in her words, only what seemed to be defeat.

“Nothing you can remember.”

She looked around the desert in front of her. Only a city that looked like a birdbath all those miles and miles away and the pods and speeders backed up were to see. Nothing she could see really sparked interest in her, nothing ever did anymore.

Just as she was about to toss the book back, she found her subject. A little patch of orangey clouds against the scorching sun. The entire sky was filled with them, the light bouncing off every fluffy edge and casting long shadows, but this patch’s edges were sharply defined and outlined against the glowing of the sun. There was no double meaning, no metaphor she could attach to it. Nothing sad to see in the clouds, it just looked graceful and meaningless.

She scribbled away on a page, not having enough energy to criticize her chicken scratch. She remembered a piece of advice from someone she hadn’t thought about for what felt like decades. You always get caught up in what you think you’re seeing, not what’s actually in front of you. Exasperated laughter echoed in the aftermath.

She proceeded with that in mind, trying to stay out of her head and only taking what was in front of her to transfer messily onto the textured parchment.

Crosshair was the smallest bit surprised the broken woman in front of him kept sketching away for more than five minutes. He half expected her to toss it back and retreat into whatever hell her mind had become.

He didn’t believe it when Anakin told the rescue team on Skako that it was Force Marshel Dain Lec in the bacta tank, floating eerily like a dead specimen with a tight black shirt and shorts that gave away how much she looked like a dead, decaying skeleton.

She was basically a myth in the GAR. Force Marshel Lec was one of the most decorated soldiers in history; her battle plans and strategies were studied by captains, commanders, and generals. The Bad Batch admired her work, it was exactly their style of getting things done. But she only worked with Commander Wolffe and his battalion, she didn’t ever grace the rest of the GAR with her presence. The fact that she was one of the only Chiss serving the Republic only added to the mystery of Dain Lec.

But it wasn’t just her bat shit crazy plans and strategies that she was known for, her humanity and empathy were only dreamed of. The regs all had their fair share of generals who hated them for existing, some even had the unfortunate fate of serving under Krell, but the Wolffe pack only spread the word of her immense empathy and compassion. Ruthlessness and compassion never went hand in hand, but somehow the universe broke logic and made Force Marshel Lec.

Crosshair couldn’t put the myth to the face. Sitting beside him, still sketching away on the consul, was a shrivelled and washed-out woman who couldn’t feel her own tears. Granted, it had only been a few months of her being dumped on them along with Echo, and she hadn’t been in the thick of the action yet, only drawing up plans and flying the ship, but he couldn’t imagine what else an escaped science experiment could do.

“You underestimate my abilities a staggering amount, Crosshair,” Dain’s permanently shaky voice broke his thoughts and sent him into a panic.

His thoughts staggered. “You- you-”

“Force users can’t read other beings' thoughts, but I can most certainly piece together the ones that float by.”

Crosshair thought someone raised the temperature in the ship by 20 degrees.

“I... I...”

“I’ve made the best snipper in the GAR speechless,” a small smile spread across her lips. “It’s perfectly fine, no ill will befalls this situation. I’ve endured far worse than the judgement of others.”

He didn’t know what to say. Again. He felt embarrassed over anything, over the fact he’d stoop to such lows. Why was he like this? Why did he have to point out the worst in people who were already suffering enough? Was it some kind of ego thing? Was he that insecure?

Dain tossed the book and pen back to Cross, making him jump. She looked at him intently, trying to catch his gaze that was anywhere but on Dain.

“Cross.”

He sighed and met her foggy crimson eyes. It didn’t seem like a confrontation. She brought her knees up to her chest again and fidgeted with something in her lap. How could she be considered a leader? Stop it.

Her gaze turned to one of sympathy. Pity.

“You should consider your own advice, you really think this act is convincing?”

He scoffed and leaned back against the co-pilot's seat, turning his attention to the backed-up traffic.

She sighed deeply, like the weight of the world was getting heavier with each conversation they had. “I’m still here, even if everyone here doesn't want me to be.”

A/N: HELLOO PEOPLE!! It's been a while!! I haven't been writing a lot lately, that's not true, I've just been writing a long marvel fic and making new OCs that no one's interested in I'm sorry for that. If you want more of my bb Dain, please let me know! I'd love to share her with y'all!! Go drink some water, get a snack, take a break, you deserve it so much!! I'M SO SORRY IF THIS WAS OOC, I TRIED MY BEST OKAY

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #sw #bad batch #the clone wars #tcw #echo #tech #wrecker #hunter #crosshair #omega #original character #anakin skywalker

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kintatsujo · 3 years ago

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So like, i know it's not the weekend anymore but i was deciding what to write. Remember a couple of years ago? I was 18 or about to be 18 and i told ye that i started writing a comic because you were an inspiration to me? That went nowhere sadly. It might have been too big and unfocused to ever work as a first comic project and i have made my peace with that. Later i made a simple 4 page watercolour comic based on a dream setting. Feels good. January 2019 my future best-worst frenemy begged me to write a script for their webcomic. I did it reluctantly. But i got the expirience of writing in a set schedule, sure, it was a shaky schedule l, but i made a complete story that I really enjoyed and i got a hang of writing scripts that would, mostly help set in stone what kindn of visualisations i wanted. So i immediately started writing a comic long strip format that would take that to its fullest. Wrote 11 episodes, sketched the prologue, then my wind died out. I read it again recently and i still really love it, might rework it and put it in my pot. What's my pot? July 2020 i started drawing a comic based on a dream i had, and decided to like. Not bother too much with how i drew it. Drew badly on purpose, and currently it has the most done out of anything i ever made (4 chapters drawn, another two sketched out, and overall plot planned out), erm, only 2 chapters drawn in that first year but still. It made something click in me, and now heres where the pot comes in. I started drawing a practice comic for a different story, i actually managed to work consistently on that. How, i just, i am working with my adhd brain and just tunnel hyperfocus when i can and when i cant i work a small bit on each story that is in the pot. Some are just written, some are comics. Those hands i showed you last time? Thats the third comic that is like most active in the pot. Will i finish anything in the pot? Maybe not, but ill definetly finish the badly drawn comic if nothing else, out of spite. This is a bit over 1500 characters.

Anon, every bit of that is wonderful, and I mean it; no bit of effort is a waste if you're having fun, and it's good practice to try

And managing a big project of any kind when you've got adhd is pretty much like that, you have to learn how to direct your energy when you have it and how valuable working on things a little at a time is.

It's not what neurotypical patience looks like but it's definitely a kind of patience.

I like this "putting it in my pot" phrase, that's similar to what I mean when I talk about putting a project on my back burner X3

(also I very understand being hesitant to work on a project with a "frenemy" bc working on projects with someone takes a kind of chemistry and mutual respect you don't see in a lot of marriages.)

I am enormously proud of you for continuing and keeping on with your art and comics, and I'm just absolutely honored you're continuing to share with me about it. Thank you for that. <3

#Also yeah that's an impressive character count

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Text

A new us will begin (4/ 11)

word count: 9.8k

AO3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 5 / part 6

content warnings: brief mention of blood, rat bites, illness, Major Character Death, feeling unloved, alcohol

Ahh Belletyn. The day when the town was decorated in bright colours, songs flew through the air like birds and almost-lovers that had been dancing around each other for months finally get so swept up in the festivities that they turned to their beloved and confessed their feelings. Truly, if there ever was a day to give inspiration to artists of all kinds, it was this.

Yarrow tightened his hold on his pencil as he let his eyes wander over the merriment before him, willing himself to find as much as a spark of inspiration.

When he put his pencil to the paper once more, he didn’t sketch the scene before him; the dancing couples, the decorations, not even the mouth-watering food.

As his pencil danced over the page of his sketchbook, it created what it always did: a pair of eyes. Even though he didn’t use his paint – he had them in his bag, of course, but using paint would have been a little impractical without a table and it took so long for them to dry – anyone who bothered to look at his sketch knew what colour they were supposed to be: the most piercing amber.

One time he had tried to change things up a little and colour them blue, the same shade as his own eyes, just to see if he would like the result. He hadn’t. Before that painting had even been finished, he had crumbled it up and tossed it to the side. It just hadn’t been right. It was yellow eyes or nothing.

Yarrow might not have been very creative when it came to coming up with new ideas, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew people scoffed at his inability to paint anything other than this. The thing was, he didn’t care. He didn’t need anyone’s approval to be confidence in his abilities as an artist. Or, well, perhaps he did care a little, but not for his lack of originality. He cared because somehow, this – painting – didn’t feel quite right. Just how the name he had given himself in the spur of a moment, seemed to be lacking something, though he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on what it was. He loved creating, so why wasn’t painting enough? He loved the sound of his name – at least the first half – and what it stood for. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. He was lacking something. Something he was sure he would find if only he painted enough amber eyes.

So that’s what he did right now. Not paint, of course, but sketch. He kept sketching, sad eyes, eyes narrowed with focus or anger, eyes that crinkled at the sides with mirth. The changes were only miniscule. So small in fact, that he had been told multiple times that they all looked exactly the same, but Yarrow knew better. He knew there was a depth to these eyes, that other people could only dream of recognising.

It must have been hours until finally the tip of his pencil got dull enough that it would ruin his artwork if he continued sketching with it, and, clever as he was, Yarrow had forgotten to take a spare pencil or something to sharpen it with with him.

With a sigh, he put the pencil and the sketchbook into his bag and turned to watch lovers dance around the decorated pole that has been erected in the middle of the town square.

A strange sense of longing filled him, an inexplicable urge to approach someone to ask them for a dance. But he didn’t even know how to dance and there was no one in this town that liked him enough to accept such an offer out of anything other than pity and awkward politeness. Best to spare them that fate.

Still, Yarrow’s eyes wandered over those sitting to the side same as him. Most of them didn’t seem to mind sitting this dance out. They talked amongst themselves, drank wine or stole kisses from each other before leaving the festivities with giggles that were not nearly as subtle as they probably thought.

There was only one person other than Yarrow that stood out. A girl, barely twelve if Yarrow had to guess. She sat on the floor, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her hands were tangling her hair into knots.

Yarrow’s brows knitted together. He stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the girl and sat on the floor next to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, if a little awkwardly.

The girl sniffled and nodded unconvincingly.

“You know,” Yarrow said, leaning back a little, “when I was younger I always dreamed of going to this festival with the prettiest braids in my hair.”

The girl looked up and eyed him critically. “Is that why your hair’s so long?”

“It sure is.” It wasn’t. Yarrow just didn’t know how to cut it. Still, he shook his head to let his hair fly into his face. “But braiding my own hair is so hard and there’s no one around who could help me.”

He threw a side-glance at the girl, whose shoulders sagged at his words. “You tell me. My sister said she’d braid my hair but then she saw Jakub and left me behind.”

“That’s mean.” Yarrow waited a second before perking up, playing the part of someone who had just been struck by genius. “What do you say, I braid your hair? I might not know how to do my own hair, but I should be able to do yours.”

The girl’s eyes began to shine, but then her lips tilted down again. “I can’t do yours. I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you, if you want. You can practice on me and then you’ll never need your sister to help you with that again.”

Without a hint of hesitation, the girl nodded and shifted so that her back was turned to Yarrow.

Carefully, he began untangling the knots the girl had put there earlier and began explaining what he was doing as he split the hair into sections and began to plait.

It felt strangely familiar. Yarrow had no sisters and no daughters – the gods knew he was too young for that and besides, he would make a terrible father – but something about teaching a child how to do things felt right. As if he had done it before. For a second, he thought he could almost remember a voice. A girl excitedly asking him to braid her hair back so it wouldn’t fall into her eyes while she learned how to sword fight.

No, that couldn’t be a memory. It was nothing more than a silly thought. He had always been a dreamer and the alcohol he had drunk earlier hadn’t helped slow his imagination.

“There, all done,” he finally said and pulled a pink flower out of an arrangement in a pot and put it into the braid.

The girl turned to him with a brilliant smile that Yarrow returned. For the briefest moment, he could almost believe that he would make a good father one day. Or maybe he would have made a good one in another life, when he could have actually provided for a child.

His smile dimmed a little and he turned to hide it. Soon though, his grin was back in full force, when the girl did her best to apply what she had learned and plait his hair. Yarrow didn’t need to look to know that his hair was now a mess resembling a bird’s nest.

Still, he bowed gracefully when the girl announced that she was done and thanked her. She giggled a little before running off to join the dancing.

He watched her with a strange melancholy, an echo of a thought, an impossible memory of watching a daughter grow up and leave her home. Maybe he was getting old after all. Or maybe he was just lonely.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world, the dancing, the laughter, the clapping. Instead, he got lost in that fantasy of his, in which he had a family - a daughter, who would fly into his arms and tell him about all the things she had done that day, and a man, who would have been Yarrow’s lover, would ruffle her hair and look at Yarrow fondly, while the artist sang a song for the two of them.

No, not a song. The song. Yarrow wasn’t sure what that thought was supposed to mean, but in that daydream of his, he was close to understanding, so close! The beginning of the melody was already at the tip of his tongue, he could almost taste the notes, the words –

A different voice cut through the illusion of a memory and shattered it like a mirror. A different song.

Yarrow opened his eyes again and scowled at the minstrel that had dared to interrupt his dreaming. He wasn’t a bad singer. Yarrow might not know much about music, but he was pretty sure that he was actually pretty good. But the song…Something about it grated on Yarrow’s nerves.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

Wrong, and yet achingly familiar. There was something about it that Yarrow recognised, but it was twisted, whether by time, bad translations of a different language, or the minstrel’s own changes to it, Yarrow couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either way. All he could think about was that this was wrong. This wasn’t how the song was meant to be sung. It wasn’t supposed to be danced to, it was supposed to be slow and soothing and speaking of love. It was supposed to be a lullaby. This…this wasn’t it. This was a cruel, mutated version of that song.

The minstrel didn’t care, didn’t even notice. He just let his voice soar higher in a way that was utterly unbefitting of that song.

Yarrow reeled back, eyes wide and his breath frozen in his lungs. That line…that section of the song…he knew it. Truly knew it.

It sounded far too much like the little melody he sometimes hummed while he was in deep concentration while painting.

He had never heard anyone else sing that line and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. All he knew was that an age-old ache settled into his chest, burning him from the inside.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here.

So he didn’t. He all but fled the festivities, but not before snatching one of the wine bottles and taking it with him.

He hadn’t even reached his home before he had gotten well and truly drunk. Not drunk enough to get rid of that inexplicable pain in his chest, but certainly drunk enough to make him stagger into the wrong alley, not caring that it was taking him farther from his home.

He didn’t want to go home. The small house he shared with an older woman and a couple that he barely had any contact with, wasn’t the home he was yearning for, even if he had no idea if such a place as a true home even existed for him or if it was yet another one of those cruel dreams of his.

It wasn’t until he reached the town’s inn that he stopped in his tracks, wrecking his brain what on earth he wanted here. He had never really been to an inn, never really needed to. After all, he had stayed in the same place all his life. Yet, it had felt as if something had pulled him here, as if the sight of an inn meant safe, not alone, home.

It didn’t, of course. Inns were the furthest one could have from a home. Yet Yarrow only shrugged and marched on, let his feet carry him where they would. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

The door to the inn was slightly ajar and coming from the inside, he would hear arguing. Something about someone being denied a room and something about too much coin and something about the alderman having made promises and something about bringing a head to him.

Maybe if Yarrow had been sober, he would have figured out what was going on, but as if was, he couldn’t be bothered to even try and make sense of what he heard. Instead, he left the angry voices behind and made his way to the stables instead. Even from afar, they smelled familiar, soothing in a way that dirty stables really weren’t supposed to. Maybe a pleasant side-effect from the wine. He’d have to try more of that later.

Before the stables, a horse was bound to a post. It eyed Yarrow distrustfully but with curiosity in its eyes.

A smile twitched around Yarrow’s lips.

“Sorry, don’t got any treats for you,” he said when he was close enough for the horse to nudge at his bag. “There’s only some art-stuff in there. Nothing you’d want to eat. And nothing that I’d allow you to eat. Even though you are beautiful.”

And she really was. Brown with a white stripe down her face. Yarrow cocked his head to the side. Actually, now that he thought about it, she looked utterly basic. In the midst of a group of horses, she wouldn’t have stood out at all. That didn’t change a thing about the certainty in Yarrow’s chest that she was the most special horse he had ever seen and that he would recognise her anywhere.

He came closer to pat her on the neck and –

“What in Melitele’s clapping arsecheeks is that?”

The horse only snorted at his undignified shriek, but he paid her no attention. He was too distracted by the blood-dripping something fastened to her saddle. It was disgusting. Yarrow should have jumped back. Any sane person would have run for the hills, but evidently, Yarrow wasn’t very sane, because he stepped closer to inspect the thing. It was a head. A monster’s head, but he had no idea what kind.

In the back of his head he could almost hear an annoyed but amused voice tell him the answer, but it was too faint to grasp and understand.

Yarrow swallowed and rounded the horse again until he came to the post that she was bound to. He scowled. The horse wasn’t supposed to be fastened to anything. She was smart enough to stay where she needed to wait for her owner and if there was danger, she wouldn’t be able to run away like this.

So Yarrow did the only logical thing. He freed the horse and lead it away.

Just as before, he had no idea where he was even going, but the horse didn’t seem to mind following him. She just kept nibbling at his hair and shirt.

Her trust filled Yarrow with irrational pride as if getting this horse, that he had known all but a handful of minutes, to like him was a great feat worthy of being one’s life’s work.

It wasn’t until the horse began throwing her head around nervously at sounds growing louder around them, that Jaskier realised that he had marched right back where he had come from: the town square where the celebrations were still in full swing.

Well, not for much longer.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before the first people started noticing the drunk and the horse he had stolen. More importantly, they noticed the gruesome thing the horse was carrying.

The minstrel from before ended his song in a terrified screech and the reels and jigs turned into people staggering backwards, stumbling into tables and crashing into flower pots.

Someone called for the city guards, people pointed and Yarrow, cursing him and all of his ancestors.

Their shouts and frantic movements didn’t make the situation any better. The horse grew more agitated by the minute, rearing up and making the chaos even worse. Try as he might, Yarrow had no chance of calming her.

“Roach!”

He turned to see a man run towards them. Yarrow’s line of sight was obscured by the nervous horse, allowing him only glimpses of the one who had shouted, but even so he knew that his face was a snarling grimace of fury that made Jaskier hide behind the horse.

Before the angry stranger could get to him, Yarrow was grabbed tightly by the arms and yanked back. He turned to see the city guards, who scowled down at him furiously. For a second, Yarrow almost wished the angry stranger had gotten to him first, but it wasn’t as if he could change anything about his fate.

At least as he was dragged away by the guards, he didn’t have to find his own way through the maze that was the town.

Surprisingly, this was the first time Yarrow ended up in a cell. Well, actually, it wasn’t all that surprising, considering, all he ever did was paint and stay out of other people’s way as much as he could. But the thought that he should have gotten into trouble earlier still didn’t leave the back of his mind.

When the guards threw him - actually threw him! - in the cell and shut the door with an overly dramatic bang, they probably meant for it to intimidate him. If that had really been their goal, they had missed it by a mile. Being thrown in prison was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Yarrow!

At least it was for all of five minutes. Then the boredom set in. Yarrow had heard of people that cried and raged in prison, of people who pleaded to see the light of day again. He had never heard of anyone who sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. Granted, that would make for a pretty terrible story and once he got out of here, he would definitely spin some tale about how dramatic his stay in the prison had been. Not that anyone would even ask him, but still. It was nice to fantasise about having someone who cared about him enough to ask about his whereabouts.

What else was he supposed to do other than lay around on the hard floor? The guards had taken his bag with the art supplies and even if he still had them with him, it would have been too dark to use them.

So of course, Yarrow perked up in excitement at the first sign of something happening. He heard the door to the cell next to his creak open and the grunt and rattling of chains as someone was shoved in before the door fell shut again.

Then it was quiet. The newcomer didn’t beg or shout to the heavens or curse the injustice. Yarrow had no way of knowing, but he liked to imagine that his new neighbour was throwing unimpressed glares at the door.

The thought made his mouth quirk up.

“Welcome, stranger,” he said loud enough that it might carry through the cracks in the wall. No reply. Louder he repeated what he had said.

“Stop shouting,” came a gruff voice. “I can hear you.”

Ah, so his new neighbour was a man and judging from his tone, one who was pissed off.

“So sorry.” Yarrow winced at his own voice. He barely recognised it himself, rough from alcohol and the dry air of the prison. Too much drink might have made him lose all sense of direction and change his voice, but most importantly, when he was drunk, Yarrow had the unfortunate habit of babbling. Well, maybe babbling was the wrong word. His manner of speaking became more like the imitation of a second-rate poet than of a loner who mainly spoke to himself while painting. “We don’t have to be strangers, of course. Not even mere acquaintances! I’d love for you to be my new friend instead and –“

“We’re not friends,” came the instant reply. “Fuck off.”

A grin spread across Yarrow’s lips. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid that’s rather impossible.”

“Then shut up.”

Yarrow was quiet for all of ten seconds, then he narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t think I will.”

His new friend made no sound in reply. Yarrow’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. He had hoped for at least a dismissive grunt. But no matter. Yarrow had more than enough practice talking to himself and what was the difference between doing that and talking to someone who didn’t reply?

So he took advantage of the fact that his friend wasn’t able to just leave and began talking about his paintings. One might think that there wasn’t that much to say about paintings that all showed the same thing, but once Yarrow began talking about different ways to use a brush, shading and line work, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know if his new friend was listening – unlikely – but it felt nice to be able to share his thoughts. It wasn’t often that anyone cared enough about him to let him talk that much. No one cared to get to know him. Speaking of which –

“My name is Yarrow, by the way.” He stumbled a bit over his own name, ending in an unfortunate slurring. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And the fuck kind of name is that anyway?”

Yarrow’s grin widened. So his friend was listening after all. Granted, he had hoped he would get something other than insults out of him, but it wasn’t as if he would go anywhere. Yarrow had plenty of time to get his friend to properly speak to him.

“It’s my pen name. Well, artist’s name. I don’t really use pens all that often. Oh! And a yarrow is also a flower.”

His friend made a strange sound, something between choking and cursing. Yarrow furrowed his brow and glared at the wall as if his friend could see the expression.

“Hey, no need to react like that. I’ll have you know yarrows are beautiful. In fact, the whole reason why I stared painting is because I once saw a field of yarrows and they were just the most inspiring thing I had ever seen.”

His voice trailed off and his smile softened. It had been years ago and yet the image was still fresh in his mind. A field filled with the white flowers, and there, right in the middle, a just a couple of yellow ones. The combination of the colours had touched something inside him and his fingers had itched to put a pencil to his notebook and – he hadn’t been quite sure what exactly he had wanted to do, but an hour later, his notebook had been filled with pages upon pages of eyes and when he had gone home that day, he had purchased his first set of colour pigments to add that bit of yellow that his drawings had been missing.

Yarrow cocked his head to the side when his friend made no move to acknowledge anything he had just said.

“You know, normally, when someone gives you their name, you tell them yours in return.”

No reply. Big surprise there. Yarrow sighed and scooted over to the wall, leaning his head against it.

“When we get out of here, I’m going to show you my paintings and you’re going to give me a review. And I expect you to use actual words.”

“Don’t.”

“What are you in for anyway?” Yarrow tapped the floor with his knuckles, his smile turning a little dopey. “I’m here because I befriended a horse.”

A rustling of clothes was heard and steps coming closer to the wall Yarrow was leaning against.

“You’re the fucking idiot, who stole Roach?”

“Befriended her. And don’t you dare make fun of my name when your horse is called Roach.” He let out a quiet laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

For a moment he thought he was going to get no answer, but then his friend let out a resigned grunt.

“She’s my horse so they said I was to blame for the chaos you unleashed too.”

“Oh.” Guilt welled up in Yarrow. “Well, fret not. I’m sure interrupting a celebration and scaring some people isn’t that bad of a crime. They’ll probably let us go tomorrow. How about I’ll make it up to you then? Buy you a drink?”

His friend scoffed. “I think you should stay away from alcohol for a while.”

Yarrow hummed in reply. “Yeah, probably. But I’d still love to get to know you. You know, without a wall between us.”

“Trust me, you don’t. And I don’t need a new friend.”

“Too late,” Yarrow said cheerily. He was sure his friend was able to hear his smile. “I have already decided I like you. So? Tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get released tomorrow.”

“What, why?” Yarrow sat up straighter. “What crime did you commit other than owning a horse?”

A long pause, then –

“I’m a witcher.” He said it like a death-sentence.

Yarrow waited for an explanation, but none came. He had never had much contact with witchers before other than the one that had passed through town when he’d still been a child and even then he hadn’t spoken a word with him. Out of all the people who formed opinions about witchers, Yarrow was probably the least suitable judge when it came to witchers, but throwing a man in prison just because he was a witcher? It sounded unfair.

“If…” Yarrow began tentatively, but broke off, not really sure what he even wanted to say. “If you’re right and I get released first, I can take care of Roach until you get out.”

The witcher let out a snort. “She’d bite your fingers off if you tried.”

“Ah, but she didn’t before.” A triumphant smirk accompanied his words. “Really, it wasn’t that hard to get her to like me. I just complimented her a little.”

His friend let out a snort and mumbled something that Yarrow couldn’t understand, but it sounded amused, so he doubled down.

“And what a gorgeous lady she is! Even more beautiful with flowers braided into her mane –“

“What?” His friend’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Yarrow rolled his eyes. “No need to get jealous. I’m sure you’re gorgeous too. If you let me see you in the light of day some time, I will compliment you too. I can do it now, if you want. You have the most beautiful voice and truly you eloquence is unparalleled.”

“That’s not-“ The witcher made a frustrated noise. “Roach didn’t have braids. There were no flowers.”

“Oh. Huh. Guess not.” Yarrow scratched his head, running his hand through the mess of a braid that girl had left there hours ago. “I could have sworn I’ve seen her like that before though.”

“I’ve never come here before,” the witcher said tightly.

“Must have been another horse then. It’s not as if brown horses are rare.” Yarrow pulled a face for the darkness to see. He hesitated. “But did Roach ever have a braided mane?”

“Stop asking,” came the harsh reply. “You’re drunk.”

His friend’s voice sounded strange. Strangled and on the verge of breaking. Desperate.

“That’s true,” Yarrow said, aiming for a cheerier tone. “But no less delightful for it. Unless of course you really think I’m annoying. In that case I promise you, I’m far better company when I’m sober. I talk less than, you might like me more like that. You should really give me a chance.”

His tone was teasing, but he knew he couldn’t hide the clinginess in it. He really wanted the man in the other cell to like him. Even separated by a wall and with that staggering conversation, Yarrow felt more comfortable with him than with most people he had known for years. He wanted – needed – to get to know him better. He needed to find out what would make him smile softly or throw his head back laughing. He needed to see if he would ever look at Yarrow with fondness or casually touch him as if they really were friends and not just strangers who Yarrow called friends because he knew that he had no one else to give that title to.

And still, Yarrow didn’t even know his name. And why would he? Yarrow was the reason why the witcher was in this cell right now. He had every right to want to get as far away from Yarrow as possible as soon as he got out. It would be a blessing for the witcher to have the annoying artist, who wouldn’t shut up and had only gotten him into trouble, off his hands.

Yarrow’s throat became tight and he had to clench his hands to fists to stop them from trembling, even if no one was around to see him break down over a stranger not liking him. It was irrational. He had been alone for practically his entire life and he’d managed just fine, hadn’t he? His eyes shouldn’t be burning at the thought of continuing life on his own. But damn it, he just wanted a friend.

For a long time that felt like an eternity, there was nothing but silence, only interrupted by Yarrows shaky breathing as he tried to calm himself.

“Are you alright?” The voice of the stranger, who wasn’t his friend, was quiet, tentative.

Yarrow sniffled and nodded nonsensically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaked out and grimaced at how utterly unconvincing he sounded even to his own ears. He ran a hand down his face and grasped the first excuse he could find. “Just don’t like the dark.”

He expected silence. Maybe a scoff. Witchers probably didn’t mind the dark, what with going hunting in the dead of night or whatever it was they did. Either way, there was a good chance he had just made the witcher think he was pathetic and unlikable as well as whiny.

But no scoff came. No reprimand or dismissal.

Instead there was a sound Yarrow couldn’t place and then the darkness was illuminated. Not by much, but faint light came flickering through the cracks in the wall.

Yarrow let out a gasp and lifted a hand to let the dim light dance across it.

“This is incredible!” he whispered. “How did you do that? Did the guards not search you for flint stones?”

His friend – he gave him light! He must be a friend…right? – made a grumbling noise but this time it sounded almost shy.

“Witchers can make fire with signs. Magic.”

“Incredible,” Yarrow repeated, the awe in his tone as clear as day. After a brief pause, he added softly, “Thank you, my friend. This really means a lot.”

He could practically hear the witcher grit his teeth and shift uncomfortably, but his voice wasn’t cutting, when he replied, “Maybe I just wanted you to stop whining.”

Yarrow’s expression softened. “You know you could just accept when someone’s thanking you. It’s alright if you don’t want to be my friend, but you don’t have to make yourself belief that I don’t like you.”

Maybe it was just Yarrow’s imagination, but for a split second he was sure the light became a little bit brighter.

“Just try to go to sleep,” the witcher tried to grumble, but Yarrow knew, he was smiling. At least he hoped so. “Maybe when you wake up, it’s already time for you to get out.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Yarrow’s lips. “What if I prefer spending my precious hours in this lovely place talking to you?”

The witcher let out a snort that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and made Yarrow’s heart speed up in his chest. He wanted to hear it again. He needed to –

“Just sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Fine.” Awkwardly, Yarrow laid down again, trying and failing to find the most comfortable part of the floor. At least he still had the hints of soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone on the other side of this wall who cared for him, even if just a little. “Will you let me have this light until I’m asleep?”

“I will.” The faceless voice was silent for a heartbeat, then so quiet that Yarrow almost couldn’t hear it, the witcher said, “And you’re welcome.”

Yarrow’s chest grew warm. He closed his eyes, wishing he had something to give the witcher in return. But he had no magic and the only thing he was good at was painting. He doubted the witcher would appreciate a painting, even if Yarrow had the means to give him one.

No, he had nothing. Nothing but…

A soft melody filled the air. It wasn’t much, just one line, repeated over and over again, but it was all he had to give. Perhaps it would soothe the witcher enough to let him forget for a little while the injustice he had been shown.

A strangled noise came from the other side of that wall. If Yarrow hadn't known any better he'd have said it sounded like a stifled sob. His chest clenched painfully and he raised his voice, putting as much comfort and gratefulness into it as he could.

It was strange singing for someone else and his heart beat frantically from the nerves, but at the same time it felt like pieces slotting together, as if this was what he had always been meant to do. As if his whole life had lead up to this: to singing a soft lullaby for the person who seemed to need a friend just as desperately as Yarrow did.

He wished he knew more of the song. He wanted to give all of it, every piece of affection and safety that surely was weaved through every word to the witcher.

A dull thud made Yarrow flinch. His voice broke as he sucked in a startled breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly. "Did you just punch the wall?"

"How do you know that song?" The desperation in the Witcher's voice did nothing to lessen the sharp worry that pierced Yarrow's chest.

"I-I don't know. It's just a song." His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through hair until the agitation left the witcher. If only there wasn't this damned wall between them! "Are you alright?" He repeated, though he held out no hope for an answer. He didn't need one. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can stop singing of you want—"

"No! “ The sharp shout came so unexpected that Yarrow winced. Softer, the Witcher repeated, "No. Don't stop. Please."

There was something utterly wrong with that. The witcher shouldn't plead, shouldn't have to plead for something like this, for comfort and the reminder that he wasn't alone in this. And worse than that, something scratched at the back of Yarrow's mind, an inexplicable certainty that this witcher wouldn't beg for anything - other than his loved ones' lives.

That thought didn't make sense. There was no reason to think such a thing. Hell, just a few minutes ago, Yarrow had felt a bond between them because they were both lonely. As far as he knew, the witcher didn't even have any loved ones he could plead for. Or maybe he didn’t anymore.

Yarrow swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. He could become a loved one. Maybe not now, maybe not in a month's time, but if the witcher gave him the chance, they could become something to each other that might come close to that.

His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick from the tightness in his throat, but the witcher didn't complain about his singing. Perhaps he was somewhere far away, with someone else, in his mind. Perhaps he was just pretending to be asleep. The light remained, even as Yarrow's song slowly faded and he drifted off. His last thought before he closed his eyes was that he wished it wasn’t sleep that was embracing him but a set of strong arms that made him feel protected and loved.

Pictures fluttered through Yarrow’s dreams, soft ones, lovely ones, ones that he hadn’t known he’d longed for. Or rather…it wasn’t pictures as much as feelings. He couldn’t really see the people he knew were with him. He couldn’t make out faces, eyes, bodies. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what those dream-figments were: a family. His family, one he had never had. He felt the certainty of it burning in his heart, filling him out and making him want to lift his voice in a song. He felt someone lying next to him, curled against him instead of being separated by a wall. He felt loved. He felt –

Being needed. Someone was calling his name. It came from far away, too faint to really make out the name, but he knew it was his. He had to go to the one calling him. He had to see who it was. He had to –

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dark surrounding him. Being plunged into this cold nothingness after having felt light and bright and like he belonged, was like being thrown into icy water.

He wanted to close his eyes again, force his mind to bring him back to that place he had just been in, to melt into the embrace of his dream-family again. He needed to see them again! He didn’t want to – couldn’t! – stay alone.

But there it was again. Not a call as he had thought in his dream, but a whisper. A sob. A name. Coming from the other side of a wall and unreachable for him.

“Jaskier…”

It wasn’t his name. Gods, he wished it had been his name. His chest ached with the unruly need to hear his own name being spoken like this, just once. With longing. With love. With unnameable things that no one would ever feel for him.

It wasn’t his name and none of the things, that clung to the deep voice, was meant for him, but he couldn’t help but yearn and imagine.

He turned towards the sound and was greeted by light. For the flicker of a moment, he almost thought it must be a campfire someone had set up to keep him warm. But no, that was ridiculous. Those weren’t smouldering flames. It was faint and distant in a way that reminded him that he was separated from the source of the light. It didn’t matter. The name might not have been spoken for him, but this light? This was just for him. Even though he had been asleep, the witcher had kept his promise. Maybe it was his way of reaching out, of making himself feel like there was some sort of connection between the two of them. Yarrow prayed that that was how he felt.

He scooted closer to the wall, desperate to breach the distance between them as much as he could. He reached out to press his hand against the cold stone, imagining that maybe the witcher on the other side was doing the same thing.

Instead of the wall, his hand met something soft and squishy. A squeak pierced the air and suddenly a sharp pain erupted in Yarrow’s hand.

He let out a sharp cry, bringing his hand to his chest as fast as he could. Blood tickled down, not much, but enough to churn his stomach.

He barely registered the taps of small claws on the floor as the something that had bitten him scurried away.

“Yarrow?” The alarmed way the witcher said his name was nothing like he had said this other name, but it still sent Yarrow’s heart aflutter. It was so full of concern that Yarrow was sure the witcher would never admit to.

“I’m fine,” Yarrow pressed through gritted teeth. “No, wait, actually, this fucking hurts.”

“What does?” The witcher’s voice was impatient and closer to the wall than it had been before. “What happened?”

“Something bit me. Probably a rat or something.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled “Fuck” that shouldn’t have sounded so endearing to Yarrow.

“Don’t worry.” Yarrow waved his uninjured hand through the air. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The witcher didn’t reply. It didn’t come as a surprise and really, Yarrow had no right to feel bitter disappointment well up in him. But after having had the witcher’s attention on him, having him call out his name – remember his name! – in a way that made Yarrow believe that the witcher truly cared about him and then being hit with this silence, was unbearable.

“Are you still there?” His voice was small and he was well aware that it was a nonsensical question, yet when a gruff grunt came from the witcher, it made his heart soar. He pressed the forehead against the wall, hoping it was somewhat close to where he had heard the witcher’s voice come from.

“I’m glad you’re there. Not glad that you’re in prison, of course, just…. I would have hated to be alone in here.”

Another grunt. Not agreement, but not quite dismissal either. A smile danced across Yarrow’s lips.

“You were worried about me.”

A snort. “I’ve seen the chaos that you can bring. I’d be an idiot not to be worried. Figures you’d get in trouble here too.” The witcher’s voice held no hint of humour. Then again, people said Yarrow’s paintings showed no emotions and he knew better than anyone that that couldn’t be more false.

“My dear witcher.” His smile turned into a full smirk. “Are you teasing me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yarrow lied. Well, maybe he really wouldn’t let it get to his head. But he would let this moment strike roots into his heart. He hesitated, praying this wasn’t crossing some line. “Does this make us friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“You could though.” Yarrow held his breath as he waited for an answer. It had been too forward. He should have taken the dismissal for what it was and not pushed. Yet he hoped beyond hope that he would hear a smile in the witcher’s voice when the reply came.

It took unbearably long until the witcher spoke up again and when he did, a smile was the furthest thing one could imagine in his voice.

“No.” A broken, regretful sound that cut into Yarrow’s heart like a knife. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Yarrow sighed. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t want to keep pushing, didn’t want to annoy the witcher any more and clearly his words were distressing to him. Still, the words tumbled from his lips, “Because you don’t need to be my friend, but I would love to be yours, witcher.”

Another pause. Then, “Geralt.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Geralt.”

“Geralt.” A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Yarrow’s chest as he tasted the name on his tongue. “I like that.”

A grunt, half amused, half sounding like an eye-roll.

Another silence settled over them, but this time there was nothing uncomfortable about it. After what felt like endless hours in which Yarrow let his eyes drift over the lit-up cracks in the stone, he lifted a hand and traced one of the cracks.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

Yarrow bit his lip. “Thank you.”

If Geralt were to ask him what exactly he was thanking him for, Yarrow wouldn’t have known what to say. Thank you for the light. For being here. For listening and talking. For trusting me with your name.

But Geralt didn’t ask. Instead, he just said “You’re welcome.”

This time, Yarrow had no doubt that there was a soft smile rivalling his own on his friend’s face.

Just as Geralt had predicted, Yarrow was released from his cell first. Not quite as soon as Yarrow had hoped, but what difference made one day more in prison? At least he got to spend it with his new friend. A friend who teased him mercilessly about his hangover, calling it his rightful punishment for trying to steal Roach.

Yarrow was quieter without and far less eloquent without the alcohol infusing him with bravery, but the witcher didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, he even encouraged Yarrow to talk more, as if he actually liked listening to his rants the day before.

When the guards eventually came to unlock his cell, Yarrow was stupidly close to insisting on staying right where he was until Geralt too was set free, but he didn’t have to see Geralt’s face to know he’d be scowling at him if he suggested such a thing.

As it were, Geralt didn’t make a single sound as Yarrow left, not even acknowledging that they were friends now that the guards could hear them.

Though that did shoot a pang of disappointment through Yarrow’s chest, he didn’t let that deter him. He wouldn’t leave his friend without at least saying goodbye. As he was lead through the corridor that lead to freedom, Yarrow threw one last glance over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see into the cell.

“See you around, Geralt.”

A choked noise was the last thing Yarrow heard from his friend.

Then he was free again. He didn’t feel like it. His bag was pressed into his hand. He’d rather hold Geralt’s hand in his.

He was told to go home. He’d rather turn back to his cell; at least in there he had known that he wasn’t alone.

Still, he left. His feet didn’t carry him to his home. It was almost ironic that he took the same route as he had two days ago, when he had been drunk and lonely.

Just as last time, the horse, Roach, was standing in front of the inn, though this time she wasn’t bound to anything. Maybe someone had brought her here, though judging from the way Geralt had talked about her, it was unlikely that she would follow just anyone – other than Yarrow of course, for whatever reason. She probably had trotted back here on her own, waiting for her owner to come back.

Yarrow’s heart clenched at the sight, but he let out a relieved breath. At least Geralt had one companion who was loyal to him like that. Perhaps…perhaps Yarrow could be such a companion too. Being forced to talk for lack of anyone else being there while sitting in a prison was one thing. Waiting for him on the outside world was something entirely different.

But someone had to take care of Roach and no one else was going to do it, most likely. A pang of displeasure passed through Yarrow when he realised that no one had bothered to take off Roach’s saddle. At least the disgusting trophy was gone, but other than that, no one had lifted a finger to make the horse comfortable in any way. Without hesitation, Yarrow reached for the bridle. It shouldn’t be too hard to get it off. For a second there, the motions almost felt familiar, as if he had done this a hundred times before. That moment of confidence didn’t last long. He started fumbling and cursing when he realised that he actually had no idea what he was doing. It took him forever, but somehow he managed to unsaddled the horse with clumsy fingers, shooting glares at everyone who snickered at him when the saddle almost fell onto him when he failed to lift it off her. Really, it wasn’t his fault that he’d never had to do something like this before and judging from the way she nosed at him, searching for something to eat, she hadn’t been taken care off at all these past days.

Staying here with her was totally selfless.

Yarrow couldn’t even convince himself of that.

He stayed with Roach to assure that Geralt wouldn’t leave without a trace, only leaving her side to buy something to munch on for both of them. As long as he was with her, Geralt wouldn’t be able to skip this town without meeting Yarrow at least once more.

So he stayed and waited. Waited a day that felt like forever. It was boring, almost as much as those first hours in the cell had been. Yarrow let out a huff. Talking to someone who didn’t want to talk to him had worked once. It might as well work a second time. At first talking to Roach wasn’t that different from talking to Geralt. Yarrow let out a snorting laugh that made passers-by give him dirty looks. Geralt would have probably taken it as a compliment being compared to his horse. Then again, Yarrow could dream all he wanted, even he couldn’t pretend that Roach listened to his words. Roach wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to. He didn’t need stimulating conversation; all he wanted was occasional rough grunts and snarky comments.

He gave up talking, taking up his sketchbook instead. The familiar weight of the pencil in his hand brought a calmness to his restless mind. He let the pencil dance over the pages, as it always had done, drew what he always had drawn. But for the first time since he had decided to become an artist, he hesitated when he reached for his colour palette. His fingers itched to colour the eyes that stared up at him from the page amber, but he couldn’t. Not yet. For once, he didn’t want to paint his fantasy’s eyes. He wanted to draw his eyes. Geralt’s, wanted more than anything to know what they looked like. So Yarrow snapped his sketchbook shut. He’d just have to wait until he met Geralt to finish this drawing. In a spur of the moment decision, Yarrow stuffed the sketchbook into Roach’s saddlebags. It was a silly idea, but perhaps if Geralt insisted on leaving without him, Yarrow could follow him with the excuse that he had forgotten his sketchbooks in the bags. It would be obvious how desperate he was, but he could live with that, if it meant getting to keep his friend a little while longer.

The extent to his pathetic need to see Geralt again became painfully obvious, as soon the sun began to set and made it impossible to keep drawing. He should have returned home. Instead, he rented a room at the inn for the first time in his life. It was an expanse he shouldn’t allow himself, not when he had a perfectly good home in this very town. But his home was too far away. If he left to sleep there, it might take him too long to get back in time to catch Geralt.

He waited another day, kept himself busy by putting braids in Roach’s mane. Smug satisfaction filled him when he was done. He couldn’t wait to gloat to Geralt how he had been right: Roach really did look gorgeous with braids. For lack of anything else to do, he began braiding her tail as well. Far too soon, the joints of his fingers started to ache and he had to shake his hands to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. It didn’t work. This was ridiculous. Yarrow wasn’t nearly old enough to have aching joints yet. Maybe it was because he had slept on the hard floor in the cell. That couldn’t have been good for his body. He’d have thought that one night sleeping in a bed should have rectified that, but apparently he had been wrong. Be had to make sure to get some better sleep this night.

The next day, the ache wasn’t gone. In fact, it had gotten so much worse, to a point where his fingers ached too much to hold a pencil and his elbows protested any time he lifted his hands to stroke Roach’s nose or even just turn a page in his sketchbook. It made little difference. He wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on drawing anyway, not when his head felt like it was bursting, the insistent hammering against his skull even worse than when he’d had his hangover. This would go away. Surely, if he just waited a couple of hours, or maybe even a day, this would go away.

The next morning came. Geralt didn’t. It was strange just how much Yarrow missed Geralt after only so short a time of knowing him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He knew it was inappropriate to dwell on such things, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from imagining how Geralt’s arms might feel around him. He was sure Geralt’s body would be warm. He would never allow him to snuggle into him, of course, but maybe if Yarrow asked, Geralt would make the flames for him again to warm him?

He shouldn’t need to be kept warm. It was spring. The sun was shining bright in the sky and people were fanning themselves to get rid of the heat. So why was Jaskier so cold? He pressed against Roach, who begrudgingly tolerated him. She was warm. Not warm enough to keep him from shivering. If he was so cold, why was his hair plastered against his forehead and neck, drenched with sweat? When he rubbed his face, why did his trembling and aching hands meet burning skin? He wished Geralt was here. Maybe when Geralt had been worried about him back in the cell, he had had a reason for that. Maybe once he got out, he’d know what to do.

Another day. Always another day. How many other days would he have to wait until he could finally see Geralt?

He refused to allow himself the thought that maybe he wouldn’t get to see him at all. Such thoughts were poison, especially on a day like this, when the thought of getting to meet his friend was the only thing that gave him the strength to get up in spite of how much his muscles ached and protested at every slight movement. His legs hurt with every step and he couldn’t even steady himself by holding onto things, though the reason for that must be the ugly swelling of his hand. A small amount of puss had dried on it overnight and the small puncture wounds from where the rat had bitten him almost a week ago was swollen and purplish red.

He should go see a healer. He needed to see a healer. It was the only right thing to do in a situation like this. For days he had ignored his pains. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to risk getting any worse. No, he wasn’t stupid. What he was instead was desperate.

If Geralt came to get Roach while Yarrow was gone, he would forever regret the moment he had decided to let a healer look at his hand. He could stay a little longer. It wasn’t just that he needed Geralt; he also knew in his heart that Geralt needed him too. The witcher couldn’t get out of the prison that he didn’t deserve to be in and go out into the world all alone again. Geralt needed him to be here. Just one more day. Yarrow would wait one more day. Surely, he would make it. The rat bite couldn’t have been that bad. What was a little headache and pain in his muscles? What did it matter that he couldn’t hold his pencils or brushes anymore because of the swelling and the shaking from the chill? One more day. Just one more.

He asked around. Everyone who passed him and tried to avoid eye contact so they wouldn’t feel bad for ignoring how Yarrow trembled and tried not to keep the bile from rising. He called out to each and every one of them. It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set that a guard who had just finished his shift could give him an answer. Geralt was going to be released the next day.

Relief flooded Yarrow. Tomorrow. He could make it till tomorrow. He would get to meet his friend again. He would get to see him. He just….he needed to rest for a little. Just a couple of hours. Just until the world stopped spinning around him and his legs refused to buckle beneath him. If Geralt was about to be released tomorrow, Yarrow could go to his room for a little. He would be back before Geralt could miss him.

He barely made it up the stairs of the inn. Everything hurt. His muscles were ablaze. More than once, Yarrow had to lean against a wall to catch his breath and allow his legs a break. But he had to keep going. The sooner he got to bed, the sooner he could get up again to make sure Geralt wouldn’t leave without him.

He fell against the door to his room, pushing it open with his body weight and stumbling into the room. He couldn’t catch himself. With a pained groan that was barely drowned out by the door falling shut again, he landed on the floor, too weak to catch the fall. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up. The bed was too far away. With an inhuman effort he tried to crawl across the room. He hadn’t made it more than a few feet before he collapsed. Again on the cold hard floor. Again alone.

He had to make it. He had to get to the bed so he could get back to Geralt. He had to get back to Geralt.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to. He might have been an artist, a dreamer, but even dreamers had to wake up and face the ugliness of reality some day.

His breath came shallow and he curled in on himself as if that could stop the ache in his body. His swollen hand was cradled against his chest, but this time, there was no soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, no voice showing that there was at least one person who cared that he was in pain.

He thought of the picture he had drawn days ago and how he would never know which colour the eyes should have been. It wasn’t a very nice thought to be his last. He’d rather think of the voice of his friend. Of his care.

He wished he could be there for Geralt. He should have hoped he wouldn’t become another Jaskier for Geralt; another name to whisper in the dark and mourn.

But he was selfish. In his last moments, Yarrow was just happy that he had someone to think about as he lay on the floor with rattling breath and fear in his heart.

#reincarnation au #geraskier #my writing #fic #geralt #jaskier #fanfic #witcher #witcher fic #so much for keeping this fic short #angst #mcd #major character death #illness #sickness

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