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ro-is-struggling · 7 months

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The Ballad of Orpheus and Eurydice || Geralt of Rivia x nymph!reader

REQUESTED

Summary: Life was good when Geralt was by her side. They were in love and happy... Until they weren't and she was left alone once again. After spending so much time under his protection, she had forgotten how dangerous the world was for creatures like her. Sad and heartbroken, she was unable to defend herself when the men came for her. Now locked up far away from her forest, she only hoped that her loved protector would come to her rescue.

Warnings: angst (with happy ending), major character death, reader gets imprisoned by a evil dude (I don't know how to tag this lol but I think it’s important to mention that she’s forced to serve him), fluff (it’s not all sad, I promise), forest nymph!reader, fem!reader, let me know if I missed anything!

English is not my first language

Word count: 12.700 (it's a long one)

Notes: A few things to have in mind while reading: It follows the timeline very loosely, and Geralt and Yen's relationship never got to that solid point in s3 cause it's not real love, just the product of Geralt binding their fates together with that wish

She never imagined that her story would end like this, locked in a cold and humid dungeon far away from her forest. Nymphs were not immortal beings —something she had come close to verifying several times in her long years on the continent—, so the idea of her inevitable end was something that she had thought about from time to time. It was not something that haunted her obsessively, but every once in a while her mind would wander to the imagining of the end of her days.

She lived a quiet life, making sure to be cautious around any unwanted people who passed through her forest. She had no enemies, at least not ones powerful enough to present a real danger to her. So she always imagined that she would die a peaceful death, slowly fading away as her birth tree withered away after having completed its cycle on this earth. If not, she imagined she would die a heroic death as she fought the greedy humans to prevent the destruction of her forest. Both scenarios brought her a sense of comfort in a way, because they showed that she had fulfilled her life's mission, the purpose for which she had been placed on the continent.

She never imagined that the end of her days would actually be so dark and torturous, forced to live in captivity away from her home and everything she loved. She never thought she would miss the feel of the wind on her face, or the warmth of the early morning sun, or the sweet scent of flowers in the spring. She had never imagined herself living anywhere but her forest, but that was an option that had been taken away from her the moment King Elian's men set foot in her home.

She had heard rumors of his infamous reputation from the mouths of other frightened nymphs. His name inspired terror among magical creatures, who chose to call him The Hunter as if the mere mention of his name was a sign of bad omens. He was known for his obsession with magical creatures and what he did with them after capturing them. Despite what his nickname implied, he did not always chase a magical creature to kill it and display some part of its body as a hunting trophy. No. There was a fate far more horrible and obscure than that, and that was to end up as a piece of his collection, just another exhibit, forced to smile in his presence and perform for his entertainment whenever he wanted it. It was the terrible fate that had unfortunately fallen upon her.

In the past she had not seen King Elian as a threat. His kingdom was on the other side of the continent and while he used to go on hunting trips when he heard rumors of a creature in his vicinity, he had never ventured this far before. Besides, she was under the protection of one of the continent's fiercest witchers, so she knew no one would dare mess with her. No one who knew Geralt of Rivia would dare to challenge him, and the poor bastards who, out of ignorance or arrogance did, usually didn't live to tell the tale. The bond they had was strong, a love unlike any she had ever experienced in her many years of life, so she never thought there would be a day when she would wake up without him by her side.

"The king requires your presence." A guard announced from her cell door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She rose to her feet reluctantly, stepping up to the bars so he could put the handcuffs on her before unlocking her cell. The dimeritium on her wrists was engraved with the same symbols as the bars of the box in which she spent her days. It was a powerful incantation that weakened her magic so that she could not use her powers to escape. It was painful since the metal burned her skin, but she had learned the hard way not to complain.

The guard led her to the throne room, where the king was shouting directions to the group of servants working on decorating the place, changing the curtains and adding chairs and tables to the sides of the room. She had been there long enough to know that the castle was being prepared for a feast, though she did not know what the celebratory occasion was.

She forced herself to bow when the king's eyes fell upon her figure, though her expression showed how little respect she truly had for him. "Your majesty." She murmured as a learned response as she lowered her gaze to the ground.

"I hope you used your time in the dungeon to reflect on your attitude." His voice was firm, almost as if he was still angry with her for refusing to comply with his demands almost a week ago when he had wanted to use her to entertain the king of the neighboring kingdom who had come to visit. "You have to understand that you belong to me. You are here to serve me and the only reason you are not dead already is that I find you useful. But that can change and it depends entirely on how you behave. Do I make myself clear?"

She clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to avoid causing a scene that would undoubtedly send her straight to the dungeon again. "Yes, my king." She wasn't able to look him in the eye as she spoke as she didn't want to see the satisfaction in his expression.

"As a demonstration of my great generosity and compassion, I have decided to give you a second chance to prove your loyalty. But do not mistake my mercy for stupidity for this will be your last chance to prove your worth to me. If you say or do anything out of place you will know the sharp blade of my sword."

After she submissively assured him that she understood the seriousness of his words, he explained that he needed her to take care of some of the preparations for the feast in honor of his daughter. During the week the entire kingdom had participated in the celebrations for the girl's fifteenth birthday, an event that would culminate with a grand banquet in the evening. She would be in charge of preparing the floral arrangements that would decorate the entire palace as well as being responsible for the main entertainment since there was nothing to match the singing of a nymph. But in addition, the king put her on a special task. He wanted to give his daughter a beautiful garden with different types of flowers —one for each year of her life—, and she was the perfect person for the job. She accepted without question, not so much because she valued her life or feared reprisals if she refused, but rather because after being locked up for so long she missed being in contact with nature.

"If it's alright with you, my lord, I would like to start with the garden." She said in the most respectful way possible, explaining that with her powers weakened it was the task that would take the most work.

She was escorted by a group of half a dozen guards, who grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her through the castle corridors to the garden. Normally she would have complained about their mistreatment, but it all stopped mattering to her when she felt the gentle breeze hit the skin of her face. It was a wonderful feeling smelling the wet dirt in the air and hearing the birds singing after having spent so much time locked up in the deepest part of the castle. It almost felt like freedom.

Working in the garden awakened a bittersweet feeling in her. On the one hand, it was the most comfortable she had been since she arrived at the castle. Walking barefoot on the grass, feeling the earth between her toes and the flowers growing under her hands was as close to home as she had ever been. It was liberating in a way, putting her powers to good use and connecting with the nature she missed so much. But, on the other hand, it was also a reminder of all that she had lost, the life she would never get back. As much as she loved being outside after so many days locked up, she couldn't help but notice that nothing felt like home. The flowers didn't smell the same, the grass under her feet wasn't as soft, and even the birds didn't sing the same. That wasn't her home. This was not her forest.

As she buried her hands in the ground, she couldn't help but question what she was doing, and more importantly, why she was doing it. Sure, avoiding further punishment for disobeying the king's orders was a valid motivation, but was it really worth it? Why was she trying to preserve her life when the only future she had was to live locked up there forever? Was dying such a terrible fate when the alternative was imprisonment and slavery? A life away from her home, forced to indulge the whims of a power-hungry monster was no life at all, so why was she there obeying the orders of that disgusting man?

Then she realized that she still held out hope of escaping. Her spirit wasn't completely crushed and her love for Geralt wasn't entirely gone, so even if it was foolish, she still hoped he would show up to rescue her. They hadn't seen each other for over a year, since that sad day when their story had met an abrupt end after he confessed to her that there was another woman in his life, but she still held out hope of seeing him again. She dreamed of seeing his long white hair move in the air as he skillfully knocked down the guards that separated them and freed her from her confinement. How could she not when he had been her savior on more than one occasion? In fact, that was how they had met.

She was frightened and hurt the first time she saw him, trapped in a cage with symbols carved into the bars. It was a powerful spell that weakened her powers just like the shackles of dimeritium around her wrists. The cage was too small for her, a confined space where she could barely stretch her legs or sit up straight if she wanted to. A group of well-trained men had managed to capture her, taking advantage of her distraction and temporary weakness to lock her up and take her back to their master. She was so terrified that when she heard Geralt's sword clash with that of one of her attackers, she curled up in a corner, her body folding in on itself in an attempt to make herself small and invisible to the group of fighting men.

She recognized immediately that he was a witcher and that brought her no relief. While his kind generally didn't tend to see nymphs as dangerous monsters —as long as they behaved and didn't do anything to end up on their list, of course— she didn't feel completely safe in the presence of a witcher. She tended to hide on the occasions when one passed through her forest, believing it was best to stay away from people like that just in case. After all, they were monster hunters, a concept that, in her experience, meant something different to each individual and there was no way of knowing for sure if she fell into that category or not. So, even though he had overpowered her captors, she still felt fear when he approached.

Geralt felt that fear as soon as he took a step towards her, it was almost as strong as the power and magic that flowed from her being. Her beauty alone was enough to let him know that she was a nymph of the forest. Behind the earth and blood, hidden in a grimace of terror, were the delicate features that the witcher had only seen in the creatures of her kind that he had encountered in the past. The nymphs had a certain look, a special glow that distinguished them from the rest of the magical beings on the continent. They were also one of the gentlest and most peaceful creatures on the continent, focused only on protecting their homes and turning to violence only as a last defense mechanism. That was why Geralt did not sense a drop of evil in her. And that was also why he set out to free her from her confinement.

Even though her captors lay dead on the ground, she still looked terrified, her eyes glassy with tears and her lower lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a sob. When he approached her, the nymph snuggled further into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest in a protective manner. He raised his hands in the air in an attempt to show her that he was not going to hurt her, walking slowly toward the cage so he could release her. It was then that he noticed the symbols on the bars and the dimeritium shackles, which helped him understand how she had ended up there and why she was so scared. She was in a position of extreme vulnerability without her magic and, despite having saved her, he was a complete stranger who could very well cause her more trouble. So the witcher made an effort to appear friendly and non-threatening.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He told her to try to calm her down, though it wasn't much help. She curled further into the corner of the cage, hugging her legs to her chest and looking up at him with watchful eyes from between her knees.

"I know what you are." She answered him, the fear clear in her voice. "You are a witcher, you kill-"

"Monsters, yes." Geralt spoke for her. "But you are not one of them. You're safe with me."

At that moment she had no way of knowing what kind of impact those words would have on her life and how genuine they were. She accepted his help because she had no other choice, but time would show her how fortunate she had been to cross paths with Geralt. At first he played hard to get, barely speaking as she nursed his wounds once her powers stabilized. She'd had to resort to using her charms a little to soften that hard exterior of his, but once Geralt began to open up to her, she discovered the man he truly was.

Geralt tended to lean into rumors about himself and his kind, pretending to be emotionless and not caring about anything or anyone but himself. But that was all an act, a protective shield. In reality he cared. He was capable of feeling emotions as deeply as any other being on the continent. He hated and held grudges, but he also loved and cared for those close to him just as intensely. And once she discovered that, she found it very easy to love him back.

She was truly safe with him, and in the long years that their love blossomed he did nothing but prove that to her. Geralt was her favorite person in the world. He was her home, her lover, her protector... A love like that was not easily forgotten and no one could blame her for holding out even the slightest hope that he would come for her, that he would somehow sense that she was in danger and rush to her rescue. It had happened in the past, their connection was that strong, so it wasn't an entirely far-fetched idea. It was just... naive of her.

Geralt had been traveling for days. He usually preferred to use alternative paths hidden behind forests or swamps, they were quieter and better for his business. Not many people used them so he didn't run into anyone that would bother him, and it was easy to run into the occasional monster roaming around, so it was a win-win situation for everyone. What he hated, however, was that most of the time it took him twice as long to get to some town where he could rest with minimal comforts and eat a hot meal.

Had he taken the main road he would probably already be at his destination, drinking in the dark corner of some dingy bar or locked in the room of some cheap inn, and not wandering the forest in search of an animal big enough to satisfy his appetite. He didn't mind being outdoors or having to hunt for his food on the spot —-in fact he was so used to that he almost preferred it—, but this time he was tired and couldn't wait to be anywhere but there. Perhaps that was why when he came across a king and his hunting party he accepted his offer to return to his camp to eat with him without putting up much of a fight.

Geralt hated royalty and King Elian was no exception. He was arrogant and self-absorbed, just like the vast majority of kings, but there was something else about him that rubbed the witcher the wrong way. He tried to decline his offer at first, but he was unwilling to take no for an answer.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist. My camp is not far from here and my tent is big and warm. I have more than enough food and I would love to hear some of your stories while we eat." The king insisted, pressing Geralt to accept his offer. "My men don't make for good company and I'm bored. I'm sure a witcher like you has been involved in a good share of adventures that make for fascinating stories."

In any other circumstances, Geralt would have found a way to escape from there. The last thing he wanted was to be used as the personal entertainment of an arrogant king. But this time he decided not to resist too much. He attributed it to his tiredness, he had been traveling for a long time and at least it wouldn't be a sacrifice in vain since he could at least get food in exchange for entertaining him for a while. But perhaps there was something more than that playing a role there. Fate itself had crossed their paths for a reason, even though he didn't know it yet.

"It's not as interesting or glorious as one might think." Geralt said with honesty.

In his experience there were two types of opinions regarding his people and what they did for a living. There were the people who despised them for what they were and believed they were no different than the monsters they killed and there were those who found them fascinating and longed to go on adventures like the ones they often experienced. To him both opinions were bullshit. He wasn't a monster, he didn't kill for pleasure or for fun as many people believed, but neither was he some kind of hero whose life was worthy of being immortalized in songs and poems. He was just a man who did what he knew best to survive, just like all witchers and all beings on the continent. He and his kind did not deserve hatred, but neither did they deserve to be crowned with laurels. They deserved to be left in peace, nothing more, nothing less.

"I have to say I'm grateful for the work you and your kind does." The king continued speaking without acknowledging Geralt's words. It was as if he was not there, his words were of little value to the king when they did not say exactly what he wanted to hear from him. "These creatures are dangerous and can't be left alone to live amongst us. Although some are fascinating creatures if given proper care and purpose."

Geralt looked at the monarch with a frown, unsure of what he meant by that. He said nothing, however, just remained silent for most of their journey to the camp, while trying to get a better read on the man beyond the typical arrogance of all of his kind. There was something about him that he did not like, something that caused a feeling that other kings and nobles did not. It was something more than his simple unpleasant personality, but he could not figure out what it was.

"You should come to my kingdom sometime." King Elian offered as they finally reached what appeared to be the camp where he and his hunting party had set up their base. "I have a collection of creatures I'm sure you would love to see."

The witcher halted his walk, looking at the king with narrowed eyes. "A collection?"

"Oh yes! I have the biggest collection of magical creatures in the whole continent." He admitted as if it was something to be proud of. "I have some pretty rare ones I'm sure you and your people would love to study. You're more than welcome to come over anytime! After all, we are all on the same side."

Geralt did not like the way the king referred to magical creatures and hated that he equated himself with witchers and the work they did. They didn't lock up monsters to brag about their large collection to strangers. They didn't see them as objects that gave them some kind of prestige. They saw them as living creatures, sometimes dangerous, sometimes misunderstood. Witchers did not enslave or kill monsters for fun as he seemed to do and Geralt was disgusted that he would even try to imply such a thing.

However, before he could voice his opinion, the king shoved him into his luxurious tent and the servants set a plate of food in front of him. It was filled with meat and potatoes and vegetables so colorful that they must have been freshly picked. It might have been the hunger talking, but it was the most appetizing food he had tasted in a long time. It was indeed fit for a king and Geralt thought it was definitely worth chatting with his host for a while in exchange for a share, especially after tasting the wine.

"It's good, isn't it?" the king asked him, studying his reaction as he lifted the wine glass to his mouth. "I have someone special that takes care of all the plants in the castle so I only eat the best of the best. It's actually one of my creatures. You can meet her, if you want."

Geralt let go of the piece of meat between his fingers and looked at the king with a frown. There was a subtle change in the air that made him instinctively tense, wondering what his host was up to. The king gave him a small smile before gesturing to one of his men, who left the tent without saying a word. The monarch's menacing aura put the witcher on alert, carefully watching his every move while he ate as if trying to predict what he would do next. His attitude had changed in a matter of seconds. Geralt couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but there was something about the way he looked back at him that put him on edge. It was almost as if he was waiting for something to happen —as if he knew something was going to happen—, the glow of anticipation clear in his eyes.

He didn't understand his attitude, at least not until the guard returned to the tent. Only he wasn't alone, but was carrying a girl on his arm who was shuffling her bare feet across the ground hesitantly, as if she really didn't want to be there. Her eyes were downcast and her long hair was tangled over her face, so that Geralt could not see her features. Her dress, which seemed to have been a beautiful piece of art at one time, was now dirty and worn, with the fabric torn to shreds on some sides. Her hands were bound together at her wrists, trapped by shackles of dimeritium that marked her condition of slavery. It was a sad sight that became horrifying when Geralt smelled the scent of flowers in the air.

His heart stopped as his nostrils were assaulted with the sweet smell of cherry blossom that he knew and had come to love. The world around him stopped as he was struck with the horrible realization of what was happening. He did not need to see the face of the captured young woman to know it was her. It was enough to feel her energy in the tent as he breathed in her characteristic sweet scent.

Geralt jumped to his feet, hand gripping his sword as he entered a state of desperation. He wasn't thinking, he couldn't, he had been reduced to his most primitive instincts by seeing her there in that condition. She was weak and injured in a way that Geralt had never seen, her glow and warm, positive energy almost completely extinguished after being tortured for who knows how long. However, when her eyes met his, he noticed a slight glimmer of joy and hope. That only further increased his desire to protect her, the murderous urge growing inside him and urging him to crush anyone who stood between them.

"Let her go!" Geralt demanded firmly, turning his eyes away from his former lover to look the king in the eyes.

He was furious and desperate, it was evident in his voice and in the hard expression on his face. Anyone would have given in to his demands if he looked at them with those murderous eyes, but King Elian did not flinch. He didn't seem to care that Geralt was pointing his sword at him or that he looked ready to take on an army on his own, he continued to eat as if nothing was happening while the tent filled with guards ready to defend him.

"Please, sit down. You barely touched your food." The monarch spoke in a calm, casual tone. But Geralt did not move, he stood his ground, sword held high and hate-filled eyes fixed on him. "Fate is its a curious thing, don't you agree? This invisible force pushing us to the right path so we might fulfill our destiny, making every little interaction, every little decision, integral... Take this as an example. This morning when I woke up I didn't think that I was going to cross paths with you and yet here we are."

"Let. Her. Go." Geralt interrupted the king's unimportant ramblings, pausing slightly at each word to emphasize his anger. He didn't care what the man had to say, he would slice him through with his sword right there if it weren't for the fact that his sweet nymph was bound and surrounded by guards who wouldn't hesitate to hurt her before he could get to her. "I won't ask again. Next time it will be my sword doing the talking."

"I don't want to fight you, Geralt. If anything, I want to thank you for helping me fulfill my destiny, my purpose of becoming the biggest collector of magical creatures in the continent... You see, if it weren't for you, I could never have captured a forest nymph as powerful as her. I admit that you ruined my plans the first time when you attacked my men, but in the end it was thanks to you that I was able to get my hands on her."

"What are you talking about?" the witcher asked, confused. It could be the adrenaline coursing through his veins and drowning out his thoughts —or the fact that his heart was beating so fast that it was pounding in his ears muffling all other sounds—, but the king wasn't making much sense to him. They had never crossed paths before, and if they had, he would never have helped him in something so horrible.

"I could never have caught her while she was under your protection. But when you left... well, let's just say she was withering away little by little, weakening day by day until she got to the point where she couldn't defend herself when my men came for her."

Geralt froze in place as the king's words echoed in his head. It was a lot of information to process and he was in no condition to do so. If he wasn't so devastated he might have reacted to the implication that the king had been watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike after he had saved her from his men the day they had met. But at that moment he could only concentrate on the feelings of guilt and regret that came over him.

When he left, he never thought about the consequences his decision might have. He never thought about how his departure would affect her or if she would be okay. He knew she would be sad and hurt, just as it hurt him to have to leave her, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. So he focused on moving on, hoping she would too, without stopping to consider the consequences. He thought about her a lot in the time they spent apart —when he lay awake at night, admiring the stars and the nocturnal sounds of the woods; or as he dressed quietly after spending a night with Yennefer—, but in his mind he always pictured her happy. She was strong and had lived many years alone on the continent before their paths crossed, so he was sure that their breakup would not destroy her. He was sure that she would find a way to get back on her feet and that it would be better for the both of them to stay apart.

Now he realized that was just an excuse. He was being selfish, protecting himself and running away from reality so as not to face it because it hurted him. It hurted to know that he was hurting her. It hurted that he fell in love with another woman behind her back. It hurted to have to leave her after all they had been through together, the love they shared, the moments of vulnerability and intimacy that had brought them together. It hurted because he had failed her, because he couldn't keep his promise to be with her forever. So he completely disappeared from her life, making excuses to justify his behavior and convince himself that he was doing the right thing even though he knew deep down that he wasn't. He ran away like a coward and she ended up paying the price for it.

The witcher's eyes searched the nymph's, hoping to find in them the answers to the questions he had not asked, some indication that the king was not lying. She escaped his gaze, feeling embarrassed and extremely vulnerable. But eventually their gazes met and Geralt knew the mistake he had made. He should have been there for her. He should have helped her when they came for her. He should have searched for her all over the continent once he noticed her disappearance. He should have protected her, just as he always had. He had failed her twice, but he would not let there be a third.

Geralt carried out his threat without hesitation, lashing out at the nearest soldiers in an effort to reach her. The clinking sound of clashing swords and the groans of his opponents were all that echoed in his mind, focusing on his enemy to keep his head cool and ensure victory. They were no threat to him. They were well trained and knew how to move around very well, but he was a witcher with decades of experience and unmatched reflexes and skills. He had defeated them once in the past and he would do it again now without breaking a sweat.

At least that's what he thought before he heard the voice of the young nymph in the distance calling out for him.

“Geralt!” She exclaimed his name for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Her sweet voice traveled through the air, piercing through the sound of metal and the grunts of pain until it reached his ears. She managed to get his attention immediately as he recognized the hint of fear in it. As he buried his sword in his opponent, his eyes snapped up to her, searching for her in the crowd following the sound of her voice.

When he finally found her, Geralt's heart sank as he discovered the reason for the fear in her voice. The king had his hands around her, holding her tightly against his body. His left hand was wrapped around her torso, restricting her movement, while his right hand wielded a silver dagger against her neck. The metal gleamed in the dim light, revealing the sharp edge that burned the girl's skin. Desperate, Geralt tried to lunge at the monarch, but he stopped him with a click of his tongue.

"One more step and she dies." He assured, firmly. Geralt noticed the honesty in his voice, so he stayed in place and slowly lowered his sword —though he did not drop it—, a desperate attempt to buy time to think of a plan to get out of there with her by his side.

"You don't have to do this." Geralt tried to reason with him even though he knew it was in vain. He didn't see her as more than an object, just another piece in his long collection of creatures, so it was safe to assume he didn't value her life very much. But still, Geralt didn't have much choice so he tried anyway.

"She has been nothing but trouble since the moment she arrived at the castle, isn't that right, darling?" The king grumbled, lowering his head just slightly so he could mutter the last question against the young nymph's ear. "Crying all day, disobeying my orders, upsetting the other creatures... and now your friend over here kills half my men after I feed him and show him my generosity."

"If we present so much trouble to you, why don't you let us go? I'll take her with me and I promise you won't hear from us ever again."

"You are ungrateful brats." The king continued speaking, completely ignoring Geralt's words. "You think you are special, important, and therefore above it all... but you are not. Your actions have consequences and I am the one who decides what they are... You do not deserve my generosity or my mercy."

Geralt didn't have time to think about the hypocrisy in the monarch's words because before he could process them his eyes watched in horror as he slid the blade of the dagger across his beloved's neck. Blood began to gush violently from the wound, the thick, sticky liquid sliding down the young woman's delicate skin, turning everything red. He screamed her name, his sword slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor with a muffled sound. He ran towards her, completely forgetting the guards he was fighting moments before. He only cared about her.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was moving in slow motion, as if his feet were twice as heavy and dragging them along the ground was more difficult than usual. Everyone around him seemed to slow down, the men around him, the gentle breeze of the wind... everything but her. He watched her collapse to the ground, blood covering her chest as she struggled to keep breathing. But he couldn't reach her. All he wanted to do was hold her in his arms one more time, but it was as if an abyss was keeping them apart. It felt as if fate was mocking him, punishing him for his mistakes by allowing him to be there with her, but not letting him do anything to save her.

He tried to stop the bleeding as he knelt beside her —placing his hands on her neck and feeling the blood gushing from the wound—, but it was too late. She was pale and weak, all the magic in the world could not have saved her at that moment. There were tears in her eyes, in those beautiful green orbs that were fading with each passing second. She was scared, Geralt could see it in her expression. She didn't want to go, but she knew there was nothing else to do now.

"I'm here, I'm here." Geralt whispered in the calmest, most comforting tone he was capable of uttering at that moment. He swallowed his anger and pain, holding back tears so he could give her some peace. He cradled her face in his hands, fingers caressing the skin of her cheeks delicately as if he were afraid of breaking it. "It's going to be okay... you're going to be okay. I will fix this."

She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but instead of sound only blood came out. Geralt caressed her gently, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks. She clutched her hand around his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. She was begging him to understand her, to read in her eyes her thoughts as he had done so many times in the past. It took Geralt a few seconds to understand her, although in hindsight it should have been obvious to him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, to assure him that none of it was his fault and that no matter what had happened between them, he would own her heart forever.

"I love you. I always will."

Geralt saw the reassurance in her face as the warmth of love enveloped her in her last moments. She gave him the faintest of smiles, an almost invisible sign of the peace his words had brought her. And then her grip on his arm weakened, her hand dropping to the floor as life left her body. Suddenly, that subtle smile, now permanently carved into her expression, was all he had left of her, of her life and the love they shared.

Geralt did not fight when the soldiers dragged him and tied him to a tree to leave him there to die while they escaped, he did not have the strength to do so. He was numb to the world around him, consumed by grief. The sound of the king and his men preparing to leave sounded muffled and distant, as if they were far away from him. And in a way they were, for his mind was not one with his body, but far away. He was focused on the slowly withering body of his beloved, on the fear as she called his name and the terror in her eyes as the edge of the dagger sealed her fate. He could only think of her and all the time they had lost and could never get back, feeling the guilt slowly consuming him as her body transformed into a pile of pink petals.

Geralt admired her face in the dim glow of the candlelight, thinking about how beautiful she looked tangled in the sheets beside him. Her hair spread across the pillow like a halo around her head and her smooth skin was covered with a light layer of sweat that gave her an almost ethereal glow. It felt like an illusion, a trick of his mind. He found it hard to believe he had someone like her lying next to him, looking at him with love in her eyes.

It wasn't just her beauty. No. It was the peace her mere presence awakened in him and the void he felt in his chest when they were apart. It was the way he dreamed of her and her caresses every night he went to bed alone and how his longing disappeared when he felt her warmth against him as their bodies melted into one. It was the way her kisses made him feel like he was home, safe and away from the complications of the world outside the little paradise that was her forest. It was much more than physical attraction, more than the effects of her nymph charm, as he had initially thought. It was love. Pure, honest love, like he had never felt before. He was in love with her, and while he hadn't put it into words yet, he wasn't afraid to admit it.

Her fingers aroused a warm tingle as they caressed his cheek. Geralt leaned into it, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the magic of the moment. It was amazing how such a subtle act, such a light touch, was able bring out so many emotions in him. It was something only she could do, a clear demonstration of how deep his feelings for her were.

However, when Geralt opened his eyes again, he didn't find the special glow he usually saw in them at intimate moments like this. She was looking straight at him, but it was as if she was looking right through him, as if her mind was lost in her thoughts. Something was bothering her, that much was clear in the green tint of her eyes. Her mouth would open slightly, almost in an imperceptible movement, only to close seconds later, as if there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn't quite bring herself to say. So he decided to ask her about it.

"What's wrong?" Geralt voice was low and raspy with sleep, looking at her with a slight frown in confusion. There was a moment of silence before she answered. Her eyes never left his, but her hand slowly slid from his cheek to rest on his bare chest.

"I'm afraid of losing you." She eventually said, her voice almost a whisper. "You travel across the continent, meet all kinds of people... I'm afraid one day you will get bored of me... find someone better and leave me forever."

Geralt could not believe his ears. It was ridiculous to him that she could have such a fear of abandonment when he felt the way he did. If only she knew how happy being with her made him... If only he could somehow transfer his emotions to her so that she could feel his heart race when they kissed, or experience the peace that filled him inside every night when he lay down next to her... If only she knew, she wouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts. So, he took her hand in his and pressed it against the left side of his chest, right over where his heart was beating with love for her. She needed to know that she was the only one who had a permanent place there. She was the only one he loved and he doubted that would ever change.

"Believe me when I tell you that there is no force on this continent that can keep me away from you." He spoke in a soft voice and watched as her eyes lit up full of illusion. "I love you, forever and always."

He sealed his promise with a kiss, showing her with his lips how serious he was about it. He loved her and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to be with her for the rest of his life, sharing intimate moments like this one and protecting her from any evil that might come her way. He felt complete with her and could not imagine how miserable his life would be without her by his side.

Geralt allowed himself to get lost in the passion of the moment, fingers tracing trails over his beloved's bare skin as he melted into the kiss. It was different this time, more intimate and charged with all the emotions that were left unsaid —it was their special way of communicating, one kiss and they knew what was going through each other's minds. The comforting warmth of love filled his heart, leaving him in a state of total bliss as she whispered sweet nothings against his lips. He was happy in a way he could not remember ever being before, in a way he knew he could only be with her.

But suddenly that comforting warmth that flooded his insides was replaced by a paralyzing cold, an emptiness that pressed against his chest and took his breath away. Geralt could no longer feel his beloved's lips against his. He could no longer smell the flowery scent her soft skin radiated or feel the warmth of her body. He was trapped in a black void, in emptiness itself, all alone. And in the distance he could hear his name being called.

Geralt

It was a cry for help, the voice of terror of someone who had been confronted with their own mortality. The voice trembled with fear, certain of the fatal fate that awaited them. Geralt could not escape its shrieks, no matter how hard he tried. It was his own personal hell, a void where he was forced to confront his pain, his guilt, and to listen again and again to his beloved's voice filled with terror as she spoke his name for the last time.

Geralt woke up tangled in the sheets, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and breathing fast due to his nightmare. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling as he tried to pull himself together. His beloved's voice was still ringing in his ears, only that with every waking second it became more and more distant until it became an almost unintelligible whisper. Anguish and guilt weighed heavy on his chest, but he was used to that by now. The emptiness inside him had accompanied him every moment of his life since that unfortunate day. He could not escape the pain and regret he felt, it haunted him even when he closed his eyes at night. He could not even enjoy the peaceful ignorance in the mornings, when one's mind is too sleepy to process life's tragedies, because his nightmares would remind him of every painful detail of that day so that he could not rest.

At a time like this, when life had become so overwhelming that he was unable to sleep, he usually reached out to her. With her gentle touch and sweet voice she was always able to calm his tormented self, wash away the anger and frustration and replace it with love and calmness. But now she was gone and he didn't know how to go on. He missed her more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone. He missed the melodious sound of her laughter and the light in her eyes when she was happy. He missed waking up next to her in the mornings, feeling the warmth of her body enveloping him as she whispered good morning to him, her voice hoarse from sleep. He wished he could once again feel the soft caress of her lips on his and hear her say she loved him one more time.

There was nothing Geralt wasn't willing to do to have her back with him, to be able to tell her how much he loved her and how he regretted leaving her. He had been an idiot to have given in to his desires for Yennefer. He should never have gotten involved with her, he should have let her own greed and obsession destroy her that day. He should have saved Jaskier and moved on with his life, after all Yennefer's problems were of no concern to him. But he could not resist his need to intervene, acting like a knight in shining armor instead of what he really was: a witcher. He made an impulsive decision, binding their destinies with magic and unknowingly triggering the death of his beloved. For if only he had been with her, if only he had stayed by her side to protect her as he had promised, he was sure things would be very different. She would still be alive and he would not be so miserable.

But Geralt was determined to make things right. He refused to let her die because of his mistakes. And looking at the cherry blossom tree growing outside his window, he knew the time was getting closer.

"I will fix this." He spoke to the tree, stroking the trunk with his hand as he sucked in a long breath of air. It smelled like her, a sweet scent mixed with the aroma of wood and wet earth. It ached and comforted him in equal amounts. "I will bring you back to me and I will keep my promise to you this time."

Geralt knew she was gone, but her essence was still alive in that tree. Born from the pink petals in which her body had withered when she died, it grew stronger with each day, keeping a fragment of her alive. Of course it was not her, but for now he was happy to make promises to the wind that its branches generated, clinging to the sweet scent of its flowers as the only sign that his words were well received by her. It was all he had, all he had left of her, and for now that was enough. He still wasn't sure how he would fulfill his promises or even where to begin. But he was sure of one thing, and that was that his love for her was stronger than fate itself and there was no force on the continent that could stop him from keeping his promise this time.

The solution to his dilemma presented itself almost by accident. And it came from the place Geralt least expected. He had spent the last few months visiting every library he had access to, reading every book and consulting with every expert he knew in his desperate search to find a way to bring his beloved back to life. But in the end, it was Jaskier who presented him with a solution in the form of a song.

They were traveling on a back road after a successful job. The bard had offered to accompany him under the excuse that he needed new inspirations, but Geralt knew he was doing it because he didn't want to leave him alone. Jaskier knew the pain he felt and being the good friend he was he wanted to accompany him in mourning. Geralt appreciated him even if he didn't have the strength to say it in words. His light-hearted comments and meaningless ramblings were exactly what he needed to distract his tormented mind. Even his spontaneous singing at the worst possible moment cheered him up instead of irritating him as usual. Anything to help him concentrate on something else was welcomed.

They had been walking for hours, hoping to reach the next town before dark and sleep in a comfortable bed in a warm room and not in the middle of the forest again. They were quiet, only the chirping of birds and the sound of leaves crunching under their feet echoed in the air. They had run out of things to talk about an hour ago and Jaskier was starting to get bored. So he did what he always did when he found himself in that situation, sing. Only this time Geralt didn't recognize the verses as one of his own original songs. It was one he had not heard him sing before, so he paid attention.

It told the story of a young man that had managed to win the heart of a forest nymph with his beautiful singing. The connection they shared was so strong that they married shortly after meeting, in the same place where they first saw each other. Happiness and love filled their days for a few long and joyful months. That was until fate, jealous and bitter, stood in the way of their happiness. So, one morning, after being bitten by a snake, the young nymph died. Her beloved fell into a state of despair when he heard the tragic news. Unable to accept that his wife had been taken from his life without warning, he descended into the depths of the underworld to plead for her soul. The song narrated the difficulties of his journey and the perseverance with which he had faced each difficulty until he reached the lord of the underworld himself, to whom he tearfully begged for the return of his wife. The emotion in his words was such that he managed to move Hades, who gave in to his prayers. Although he imposed a condition: that he would not turn around to see his wife's soul following his steps until he left the underworld.

The story did not end well since the young man had been too eager and had turned to see his beloved before she was completely above ground. But Geralt didn't care about that somber detail. His attention was focused on the young man and his journey to the underworld, not only because he felt somehow connected to the emotions of sadness and despair he felt, but also because he was fairly certain he could recreate his heroic efforts.

"Are you crazy?" was Jaskier's reaction to hearing Geralt's idea, his voice raised in a tone of surprise and concern. "Haven't you heard the end of the song? Things go wrong! He doesn't get his wife back!"

“I know, but I don’t care.”

“Geralt, the story it’s just a myth… a tragic love story that one could say is a cautionary tale! You’re not supposed to follow in his footsteps, you’re supposed to learn to live with the grief, process your emotions and eventually move on… Look, I know this is hard for you. I miss her too… What happened to her wasn’t fair, but it wasn't your fault either. Blindly following the words of a myth is not going to change anything.”

“But it’s not a myth, not all of it at least.” Geralt recognized that the love story of the young man and the forest nymph might be an invention, but he knew of the existence of a door to the underworld. It was hidden and required great power and extensive knowledge of magic to be opened, but it was real. And fortunately for him, he knew one of the most powerful and skilled mages on the continent. Though convincing her to help him would not be an easy task given how things had ended between them.

"Why should I help you?" Yennefer said with annoyance in her voice when he showed up unannounced to ask for her help. It was clear that she did not enjoy the witcher's surprise visit and was not shy about showing it. "And more importantly, why are you asking for my help with something like this? I thought you of all people would know how dangerous opening the doors of the underworld is."

"Why do you care?" Geralt answered her with another question. To be honest, he didn't think the difficulties in getting her help would come from a moral issue. Yennefer was not the type of mage who cared too much about such things. "Are you in this or not?"

"That depends... what's in it for me? I hope you know I'm not going to waste my energy in helping you out of the goodness of my heart, not after all the shit you did." Geralt smiled at her remark, surprised that it had taken her so long to once again blurt out her complaints about him saving her life. She was still angry at him for linking their destinies with the wish to the Djinn and at this point he doubted she would ever get over it.

"You get the once in a lifetime chance to traverse the underworld and possibly get knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension." He simply stated.

Yennefer was silent for a moment, watching Geralt intently, violet eyes piercing his yellow orbs. It alerted him to strengthen his mental shield to keep her from entering his thoughts.

"When you live as long as I have, once in a lifetime opportunities start losing power and meaning."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to explore the unexplored and that's your answer? This could have all the answers you've spent years looking for and you're not interested?"

"Oh I'm interested, I just can't understand why Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher who prides in his indifference and ability to not intervene, would be interested in opening the gates to the underworld?"

"I have my reasons and they are not of your concern. Are you going to help me or not?"

Yennfer was silent for a moment, considering her options. And then, she smiled at him, and he knew he could count on her help.

Preparing for such an adventure was difficult. It was the first time in his life that Geralt did not know what to expect. He had no idea what he was going to encounter once they crossed the gates to the world of the dead. He didn't know what kind of obstacles he would encounter on the journey or if he would even accomplish his task. But he had to try. Even if it was the last thing he did, he owed it to her.

It was difficult to prepare for the uncertain, so he tried to imagine all possible scenarios and prepare accordingly. He tried to be as meticulous as possible, but he knew it was impossible to stay on top of everything. What he never imagined, however, was that trouble would come from Yennefer's end. He always saw her as such a powerful and determined individual that he did not take into consideration that her energy could wear out and her magic could be consumed. Geralt had no way of really knowing how demanding the spell to open the gates of the underworld would be. He knew it was not something that just anyone could do, but he thought Yennefer could handle it without much trouble. He had never seen magic like hers. And what she lacked in skill, she made up for in stubbornness, so he thought that with her by his side things would not be so difficult.

However, the moment they took a step into the world of the dead, Yennefer fell weakly into the witcher's arms. She muttered something about having spent her energy and how the nature of the place did not allow her to pull herself together. Geralt suggested that she stay outside, after all, this wasn't her fight and she didn't have to risk so much for him. And at that instant, as if the walls were listening to them, the doors closed, leaving only one possible path.

The place was cold and dark, like a cave hidden deep in a mountain. There was not so much as a ray of sunlight, the little light that illuminated their way came from torches distributed along the stone walls. The air was heavy, stale, and it was hard to breathe. It was clear that this was no place for the living, but Geralt continued on his way despite the difficulties. He took Yennefer by the waist, letting her wrap one arm around his shoulders so she could walk, and followed the straight path that the torches seemed to indicate. At the end of the tunnel he came to a large river, and on the shore rested a boat. Inside it stood a hooded figure, long black robes covered its entire body in a way that Geralt could not see its face when it turned to look at them, only a void lost inside the hood.

"He's been waiting for you." The figure spoke, stepping aside so they could board the boat. Geralt hesitated, thinking back to all the catastrophic scenarios he had imagined in preparation for this moment. Surely that had to be a trap, things couldn't be that simple, could they?

"He wants to speak to you, Geralt of Rivia." The figure spoke again as it noticed the hesitation in the witcher's attitude. "He sent me to find you and ensure your safe passage through these waters." He did not trust it, but Yennefer pushed him into the boat with what little strength she had, so he had no other choice.

The dark figure did not utter another word. It went about its task in complete silence, paddling in the waters of oblivion until it brought them close to shore. It did not help them down once they reached their destination, nor did it open its mouth to give them directions. Just pointed a long, skeletal finger toward the horizon and set off the same way it had come.

A dark, dead forest loomed before them. Long, thin tree trunks, nearly leafless branches and shabby bushes decorated the path. Everything seemed to be in shades of black and gray, though that was probably due to the lack of sun. In the distance a structure could be seen, a castle whose colors matched the rest of the landscape. Although the neat and polished appearance of its exterior contrasted with the disheveled and dead environment around it. It was clear that that was where they should go, so Geralt took Yennefer in his arms once more and set off on his way.

There was not much distance separating them from the castle, but the witcher felt as if he had spent an eternity walking. And yet, at the same time, when he reached the large wooden gates, he was amazed to have reached his destination so quickly. His perception of time was totally altered, affected by the atmosphere of the place. Time did not flow there in the same way as it did on the surface. It was as if it was both stopped and accelerated all at once, as if each step took hours and at the same time a couple of seconds. It was more than the absence of sunlight confusing his perception. It was the way things worked in that place, a world separate from the one lying on the surface that he was not supposed to access.

The man who appeared in front of them when the doors opened on their own was imposing, but far less frightening than Geralt expected. It was enough to look into his eyes to know that he was the person in charge of the place. Power shone in his eyes in the same way the witcher had seen it in the kings in the world of the living. And yet, there was something unique about them, something that made it clear that he was no mere mortal. Geralt knew better than to challenge him, though he wasn't sure his emotions would allow him to be cautious if things didn't go as he hoped.

"I've been waiting for you, witcher." the god said in a loud, clear voice. "I'm surprised it took you this long to find me."

Geralt was not pleased to learn that he had been waiting for him. He had imagined it might be a possibility, but he thought the god would use that knowledge to stop him. The fact that he welcomed him without trials or difficulties, sending his people to look for him and opening the doors of his home to him without hesitation, made him suspicious. For all he knew, it could all be a trap.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, witcher! I have far more important things to do than to set you up." The god spoke as if reading his thoughts.

"You knew I was coming?" Geralt managed to say and the god nodded.

"And most importantly, I know why you are here. I knew you were going to find your way here the second she came in."

The mere mention of his beloved in the conversation had Geralt's heart racing, a gesture of both love and anxiety. He felt Yennefer's eyes on him, watching him with furrowed brows as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She knew of his former lover, the forest nymph he had abandoned after their destinies were linked, and he had no doubt that she would understand what was happening in just a second, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to have her back.

"So, I'm assuming you know why I'm here."

"I do, yes. And I will not be opposing to your wishes, Geralt of Rivia. I knew from the first moment that this was not her time and I am willing to give her another chance to live out her destiny without surprise interruptions from magic... However, I do have one condition."

"And you say it was not a trap..."

"It is not! It is just a simple... exchange."

"An exchange of what?"

The god paused, taking his moment to answer.

"Souls are complex things, Geralt. Very powerful, very strong... I can't just let one walk out of here."

"Why not? You have plenty here."

"It's a matter of balance, I don't expect you to understand that. But, if you want your dear nymph back, you'll have to give me a soul in return."

Geralt was silent for a moment, carefully analyzing his situation. After all the work it had taken him to get there, he didn't plan to leave empty-handed. But he also didn't want to condemn an innocent soul who had nothing to do with his mistakes. So he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Fine," the witcher agreed. "Take me then. My soul for hers, it's only fair."

Yennefer tugged on his arm, ready to argue with him —thinking he was acting like an idiot by offering his life as if it was nothing—, but was interrupted before she could open her mouth by the laughter of the god in front of them.

"It's a nice gesture, but your soul isn't nearly powerful enough. It's better than an ordinary human’s soul, I'll give you that, but she's a nymph. Do you have any idea how much energy her soul contains?"

"Then name your price." Geralt said. He wasn't necessarily going to give in to his demands, but he figured it didn't hurt to learn what the god's wishes were.

"To be honest, I don't think you can get a soul of such power... however, you do have access to one that is quite close." Geralt didn't like the suggestive tone in the god's voice. And he liked it even less when his eyes fell on Yennefer as he finished the sentence.

"No!" The witcher declared as he understood the intentions behind those words. He had brought Yennefer with him to help him open the portal and nothing else. He refused to sacrifice one more life. No one else had to suffer because of his stupid decisions.

"She wouldn't suffer." The god spoke after glancing at Geralt's thoughts. "She doesn't even have to be dead, she just has to stay here with me."

"I don’t care. We're not doing this."

"Why don't you let her decide?" The god said, resting his eyes on Yennefer's violet ones. "It is a good deal. You get your lover back and she gets-"

"She gets imprisoned here forever." Geralt interrupted and the god looked at him wearily.

"She gets to be the most powerful madge in history, sitting by my side ruling the underworld... isn't that what you always wanted, Yennefer of Vengerberg, to have power beyond imaginable? What's more powerful than deciding between life and death?"

Geralt snorted at such words, finding the god's tricks very ineffective. But when he looked back at Yennefer, she had a look in her eyes that made him doubt. "You're not seriously considering his proposal, aren't you?" he approached her, speaking in a lower tone of voice so as not to be heard by the god.

"If we leave now then we traveled this far for nothing. Don't you want to get her back?"

"No if it means hurting innocent people. You have nothing to do with this."

"Except I do since the moment you made that srupid wish."

"I didn't save your life then just to leave you here now."

"You're not leaving me, I'm choosing to stay."

"You don't have to do this, Yennefer." Geralt's voice became softer. She seemed quite sure of her decision and he knew it would not be easy to persuade her otherwise, but he had to try. He didn't like the idea of leaving her behind, of sacrificing her in favor of his own happiness.

"Oh, please! I'm not doing this just for you. I usually don't like to waste my time and energy just to end up empty handed. I came here because, as you said, it was an opportunity to find the answers I've been looking for. So why don't you worry about you and let me worry about myself?"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. And while she wasn't lying and really had interests of her own in that place, Geralt really was a big part of the reason she wanted to accept the god's offer. There was something in his eyes, the sparkle of true love, that shone every time he thought of his departed lover. It was something she had never noticed in his eyes when he looked at her. It was clear that what they had was real, it softened her hardened and withering heart, and gave her hope that love was real. Though of course, she would never admit that to Geralt.

The witcher growled under his breath, clenching his jaw. Even though part of him didn't like the idea of leaving Yennefer behind, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved to hear those words. If she wanted to stay there for her own selfish reasons, then accepting the god's proposal was much easier on his conscience.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her once more, giving her one last chance to back out.

Yennefer shrugged. "I lived a long time among the living, had my good share of adventures... maybe it's time to try my luck in the underworld. "

That answer was good enough for Geralt. He accepted the god's proposal, exchanging Yennefer's soul for that of his beloved nymph. She would stay in the underworld with him and in return Geralt would get a second chance with his lover. The god instructed him to return home and assured him that when he arrived, her soul would already be back in her birth tree.

As he made his way back, the thought that the god was tricking him crossed his mind. He realized that he really had nothing to assure him that he would keep his word. For all he knew, this could have been a strange move by the god to get to Yennefer and her powers for some reason he did not know. Perhaps he was being used as a pawn in a larger chess game that he did not know he was part of. Perhaps he had unleashed a terrible evil upon the continent without realizing it.

But then he felt it.

The sweet scent of flowers assaulted his nostrils the moment he set foot in the forest. It was strong, much stronger than it had been in a long time. He noticed then that everything looked greener and more alive, every flower, bush and plant glowing in the warm sunlight in a way that they didn't when he left. Even the birds seemed to sing louder and more cheerfully.

Geralt ran to the cherry blossom tree he had been tending for what had felt like an eternity. His heart was racing with every step he took, not from the physical effort, but from the anticipation. The hope of seeing her again was what had kept him sane since that horrible day he had lost her. All this time he had thought it was impossible, an illusion that only served to keep him on his feet until the pain subsided. But now it was a reality, and he had so many emotions swirling inside him that he didn't know exactly what to feel.

Suddenly, his eyes came upon a figure on the horizon. It was partially blocked by the rays of sunlight that kept him from seeing clearly, so he picked up his pace to get closer. Little by little the figure revealed itself in front of him, until it became clear to him that the one who was walking around the forest, picking flowers and petting the animals, was her.

She looked as beautiful as he remembered her, with her long hair blowing in the wind and a sweet smile on her face. It was as if time had never passed, as if that horrible day and the pain that her death had unleashed had been just a bad dream. It was as if he had never lost her.

Geralt stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on hers, paralyzed by the emotions coursing through him. All this time he had dreamed of this moment and now that he had her only a few feet away he didn't know how to react. His eyes blurred with tears, but he caught a glimpse of his beloved's figure running to him before he felt the warmth of her body in his arms. He held her tighter than he ever had, pulling her against his chest as a way of both making sure she was real and that she couldn't pull away from him.

"You came for me." She muttered, melting into the embrace. Her memory was somewhat fuzzy, but she remembered clearly the moment when the blade of the dagger had caressed her neck. She remembered how it had felt and the horror in Geralt's eyes as she fell into his arms, taking her last breaths. She remembered his words of comfort and his promise to make things right, as if he actually could. She still didn't understand how she was back there, but she knew it was Geralt she had to thank for her second chance at life. Somehow, he had found a way to bring her back, she was sure of that.

"I'll always come back for you."

The kiss they shared was unlike any other. It was passionate and desperate, yet soft and tender. It was charged with all the emotions that had been left unsaid between them, sadness, regret, longing, but, above all, love. They felt that spark the moment their lips brushed, just like in the old days. Geralt hadn't realized how much he had missed feeling her soft lips on his until that moment. He allowed himself to get lost in the joy he felt, letting the warmth of her body against his slowly remove the traces of sadness and pain that had haunted him all this time.

They remained in each other's arms for a long time, enjoying the moment they had both been longing for so long. It was just him, her and the chirping of birds in the trees. Breathing in the floral scent of her hair, Geralt knew that the gray days were behind him. Gone were the guilt and the pain, the sleepless nights and the cold mornings without his beloved. She was back by his side, just as she always should have been. And he was more than happy for the new beginning he had with her. A new chance to make things right, to honor his word and keep his promise, just as he should have done from the beginning. He was ashamed that he had had to lose her to realize how big his mistake had been, but now that he had her back he wasn't going to let her go. His love had proven to be stronger than everything, even death itself.

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billyrayjo · 5 months

Text

Drowning Without You

Azriel x reader

Warnings: some violence, sexual references and scenes. Mainly fluff , hurt/comfort

The first mission that you had together. You could barely contain your excitement when Rhys pulled you and Azriel into his office. Not excitement for the alone time, you told yourself, but excitement to finally have a purpose.

You had been in Velaris for months. Training with Cassian and Azriel day in and day out, trying to find that place of belonging. While you weren’t an Illyrian warrior, you had experienced the gruff life of battle before. In your place of birth, the Dawn Court, you were brought up training just like your mother before you. Only after Amarantha’s terror-laced reign did you decide it was time to get out, finding Velaris to almost call to you, beckoning you to visit.

What was supposed to be a short trip turned longer once you were introduced to Feyra, Nesta, and Mor. The three of you clicking immediately, especially during training. Elian was okay, too, you just couldn’t shake the sting of seeing her intimate moments with a certain shadowy figure.

It wasn’t jealousy, not when you had barely shared words with the dark haired, tanned god of a man. Other than in training and “family” nights in, as the group called it, did you ever really see him. You were confused when you first felt the longing. Desire to touch him, to speak to him, the desire to find him in the crowded rooms. You shoved the longing deep down into your gut the second you saw the beautiful, timid, sweet look of Elain looking at him that way too. You could almost see the exact explanation of the feeling in your chest, just by her look. And by the looks of it, Azriel replicated her looks of longing, only not towards you.

You had to remind yourself that you were new here. They had known each other for Gods knows how much longer than you had. Azriel was always kind, unless he was pushing you in the training field, but you never felt like he was seeing you the way you were seeing him. The only intimate moment the two of you had shared was weeks ago, when Cassian had accidentally landed a particularly hard blow to your arm, spraining your wrist. Azriel quietly lead you inside, helping you wrap it in the kitchen, before giving you a soft smile and retreating back to his room.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”. Your head jerked up at that, a small blush heating your cheeks when you realized Rhys was looking at you expectantly, realizing you had zoned out. You had to pull it together. This was your first chance to prove yourself, and you damn sure weren’t going to have it ruined by a petty childlike crush on the shadowy figure to your left. To your luck, Rhys continued on, explaining the purpose of the mission. He didn’t miss the small grateful look you passed his way.

“The Autumn Court guards were spotted by one of Azriel’s men just outside of the Winter Court. I need you both to watch, and listen. They are still under the guise of the Queen, and gathering what they know could be detrimental to our side. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.” Rhys explained, swiftly and strictly. You felt yourself nodding along, noticing one slight nod from Azriel on the other side of the room.

“We do not know their plans, who is with them, only that they are aiming to kill. We have spoken to Eris, and he is in agreement with you two staking them out. Remember, if the power of the crown reaches you, you will succumb to anything they desire. Be careful. I’ll winnow you a mile north from the soldiers at dawn.” He added, nodding to both of you, and disappearing into the house elsewhere. You forced yourself to remain stoic, awaiting words from the Shadowsinger. “See you at dawn, Y/N” he muttered, disappearing into the shadows around him.

Trying not to let the disappointment of the small encounter grace your features, you straightened your spine, heading up to your room in the townhouse to prepare. You took a particularly long bath, soaking in oils and scents. After removing all of the hair on your body besides your head, you slipped into a silk nightgown, brushing out your long, damp hair. As your head hit the pillow, you felt a nervousness deep down in your bones, anxious to get on with the mission.

Serenity. That’s the best way to describe what Azriel was seeing as he and Rhys stood next your bed. It was still early, but when they heard no noise coming from your bedroom, they decided to wake you so you had time to prepare. You laid on your side, facing the two sculpted men. Your lips slightly parted, no noise coming from you besides the small sound of your breathing. Your eyelashes were long, lying against your cheeks, a slight blush on your face from whatever thoughts invoked you in slumber. The strap to your nightgown hung off of your shoulder, resting on the top of your arm, and the blankets were pulled right up to the neckline of the silk garment. Just as Rhys was about to wake you, he got a distant look in his eye, muttering something about Feyra before instructing Azriel to wake you.

He really, really didn’t want to. You looked so peaceful, like the kinder opposite to the sleep Az had gotten last night. Tossing and turning, he was confused by the stress he garnered, most of it coming from you and your eagerness to go on this mission. He told himself to snap out of it, that you were strong and capable, but he couldn’t shake the eating feeling in his gut. His shadows kept him awake for most of the night, whispering horrifying thoughts and outcomes into his ear up until the early hours of the morning. He sucked in a deep breath as he approached your bed, sitting lightly on the edge, scared to touch you with his scarred, brutalized hands. Almost like it would hurt you… poison you.

“(Y/N)”. You stirred, another night with dreams tainted by a certain Illyrian warlord you assumed. You had just about fell back into slumber when you heard it again. “(Y/N)”. Only this time, you felt the gentle touch of something on your shoulder. Your eyes slowly opened, having to blink a few times to clear your vision before you took in Azriel, sitting in front of you on the bed. You shot up, the other strap to your nightgown falling, as you anticipated what he was doing here. “It’s okay. I just wanted to wake you up before we had to leave.” he almost whispered. With a few intakes of air, you simply muttered “oh” before you laid yourself back down, the air seeping into your nightgown suddenly donning realization that you were half naked in front of him.

“Before we go, I just wanted to remind you that uh— you can handle this. Your training proves that.” he stated, halfway stuttering as he thought of what to say. A small smile graced your face as you looked at him in thanks, and you almost didn’t notice his gentle touch as he lifted both straps of your nightgown back into place, his touch lingering for half a second before he was up, marching for your bedroom door.

After winnowing into somewhere deep in the cliffy forest, Rhys went over the plan one more time before he left you two, nothing but your leathers and packs, standing alone. “What now?” you asked, stretching out your sore ankles you glanced at Az. “First, we get to high ground. We’ll have better advantage that way.” a man of few words, you noted. You simply nodded, and that was exactly what you did.

Hours later, your breaths ragged, you dropped your pack onto a bolder. You had finally made it up the cliff, and boy was it challenging. Not only with the cold temperatures, but also the close proximity of a certain male, you struggled to find breaths that didn’t sting when you inhaled. Your eyes were glassy from the wind, and your hands frozen every time you wiped away a stray tear. Being a fae didn’t matter when it came to your sensitive eyes. Just before you, Az just watched as you gathered yourself, not a hair out of place. You slightly chuckled when you saw his look, almost of humor, pointed towards you. You could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lip raise before his back was to you, assessing the things in his pack.

By the time it was nightfall, you had dawned a few more layers, sitting on the cliff with a blanket wrapped around you. There was a lake at the bottom, the water almost as black as the shadows that danced around your partner. You couldn’t look away from it, even as Azriel had cooked dinner, rabbit meat, you assumed. You felt his presence before you heard him, and looked up to see him outreaching a plate towards you. “Eat.” He said “We have more climbing tomorrow.”. You grabbed the plate from him, and didn’t realize how hungry you had grown until you took the first few bites. In silence, Azriel plopped down beside you, his wing raising to fight off some of the biting wind from hitting you. “Do you ever wonder… wonder what things lie out in the world that we have no idea about?” you almost whispered, your empty plate having been deposited into the snow minutes ago. “Sometimes.” was all he offered, his gaze on the side of your face, before he spoke again. “We should get some sleep.”

With the wind chill and the dropping temperatures, Azriel decided that sleeping in a cave would be best. You both tucked into it, the only light coming from the moon outside the mouth. Just as you laid your head down, you felt Azriel shift beside you. He too, had laid down, only he was facing you. “If you get too cold, wake me up and I can share some of my blanket with you.” he said. You nodded, before saying “I’ll take first watch.”. He simply nodded at you, and turned the other way.

Dripping. Dripping was all you heard as you peered out the mouth of the cave. Dripping and a slight snore from the large man laying behind you. He had fallen asleep, and you didn’t trust not having eyes on the outside in case of emergency. You should’ve woken him hours ago, but he looked so calm and so peaceful, that you decided a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. Right as you were turning to tap him, you heard leaves rustling and cracking sticks outside of the cave. You crept onto your feet, being light as a feather kicking in by your instincts before you even thought about it. Once you reached the mouth of the cave, you peered out into the moonlight. You heard something. Someone. “(Y/N)!!!! (Y/N)!!!!” It screamed, your heart stopping. It was your mother. Your mother calling for help in the darkness of the night. Before you even thought about it, you were running. Running and running and running. Running until something hard knocked you in the head, and you collapsed. The faint screams of your mother haltering in the distance.

When you awoke, the first thing you noticed was the pounding. The head-splitting throb you felt right in the spot of that object’s collision. You groaned, slowly raising your head, and took in your surroundings. You were tied, both hands extended by ropes attached to the trees on either side of you, your feet barely hanging off the ground. Everything ached. Your wrists were numb, your shoulders contorted and tired, and you didn’t miss the trail of blood coming down your face from your hairline. Once you assessed yourself, you looked ahead. There, 25 feet in front of you, was Azriel, kneeling on the snow. They had his hands tied as well, and what looked to be ash arrows were protruding through his wings. His head was hung low, as if looking at you would disgust him.

“Well…. Look who decided to join.” a deep, older voice sounded. Berron appeared in your line of vision, and you could’ve sworn you saw Azriel’s head snap up just over his shoulder. Surrounding you, there were a dozen Autumn Court warriors, all with that familiar glassy look in their eyes. “Now we can really get to the fun.” he growled. Without a warning, his fist collided with your face. With nowhere else to go, your head jerked backwards, your gaze landing on the clouds above you for a split second. Another blow, this time to your gut. Nothing but a gasp escaped your lips at the impact, the breath being knocked out of you.

“Stop!” Azriel growled, and you almost sighed at the sound of it before Berron started laughing. “I’ll stop when you tell me what business my son has with the night court.” Berron mused. You sagged. He knew, he knew about the alliance, and he damn sure wasn’t letting either of you go without answers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Azriel growled. You caught Azriel’s gaze, and quietly said “I can take it Az.” A silent pleading to give up nothing to save you. He didn’t dare look your way and out himself. Internally, he was panicking. They had dosed you with Faebane in your sleep, your wounds still slowly bleeding. You didn’t have long before you succumbed to blood loss, and Az didn’t have a plan. The guards were too close, too feral for him to get to you. “Maybe this will motivate you..” Berron drawled, inching closer to (Y/N). In half a second, he had drawn his sword, slicing through the ropes hanging you from the tree, and launched his foot into your chest, sending you flying backwards. Only, you didn’t hit the ground. Between the blood loss and the impact, you barely registered that you were still falling, falling so slowly you could see the birds flying above you. Your back impacted with something sharp, something so cold it had you alert in milliseconds. Right before you submerged into the beautiful lake you were analyzing the night prior, you heard a deathly roar rattle the world around you.

Darkness, darkness, and more darkness. What you had failed to notice earlier, was that along with your wrists, your legs had been bound as well. As you kept sinking deeper, your hands struggled, fighting against the rope tying them together. You were going too deep, too deep to be able to reach the surface before you drowned. Focus. Focus. Got it. The rope snapped from your ankles, and you immediately pushed to ascend back to the surface. Right has you started kicking, something sharp seared into your ankle. You shot your gaze downwards, and some creature had dug its claws so deep into your leg you let out a shout in the water. You started kicking it, fighting it, but it was relentless. Its claws sliced up and down your legs, pulling you further down with it. Air. You needed air. You started to internally panic as you fought against the creature. Right as everything started to go dark around you, your body stilling, you saw a blue glow just in the distance of the water.

Rage. Rage and fright was all Az felt as he watched your body soar over the cliffs edge. Without even thinking about it, he tore himself from his restraints, taking down all 12 soldiers in the matter of seconds. Berron only watched as Azriel sprinted to the edge, and dove right down into the water. It shocked him, but he kept going. You had been under for too long. There was no way you were coming back up. He pushed deeper and deeper until he heard it. A slight yell in the water. Without his vision, he used the blue glow to guide him in the darkness. Down towards the bottom, he saw you thrashing against a creature so mortifying he was even slightly scared. In a quick battle, he used his shadows to bound the creature to the sandy floor before he grabbed you, pushing off the bottom and racing to the surface. All he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, and he felt your body jerking with the intake of water.

The surface broke. Just as you were fading out, your lungs ingested a breath of air so hard it hurt. Coughing, you pushed your hair backwards, reminding yourself to kick your feet. You looked beautiful. Your hair was slicked back from the water, your eyes large and clear, eyelashes dripping. Your lips were slightly blue from the cold, your delicate neck and chest expanding and shrinking with each breath you took. All Azriel could do was stare. Stare at you as you pulled yourself together. He was panting, too, but nothing could tear his gaze away from you in this moment. Just as he was about to speak, you launched yourself towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your fingers in his hair, your face tucking into his shoulder. You pretended you didn’t notice your legs wrapping around his waste. His arms snaked around you, shadows too, as he gripped you just as tight. You both breathed together, grounding yourselves on eachother. When you pulled away, eyes looking up, so intoxicatingly into his, he didn’t even fight it when he cupped your face, and kissed you. A kiss so deep, so cold, that your eyes had no choice but to close. His hands were all over you, on your neck, in your hair, on your ass. Nowhere and everywhere all at once. Your tongues met each others in a pattern, his grip landing right on the front of your throat. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t rough, it was perfect. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, and ran your fingers through his hair, earning a low groan from him, making heat pool between your legs, even in the frozen water. As if he could sense your arousal, he arched your back into him further, and you let out a slight moan.

Azriel yanked his head away from you, and with a frenzy in his eye, growled “mine” before pulling you back in.

(Should I make a part 2???) IM IN LOVE WITH HIM

Update: PART TWO IS ON MY PROFILE ;);)

#azriel #azriel x reader #hurt/comfort

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acourtofinkandpapyrus · 7 months

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My Little Shadow: Epilogue/ Part fifteen (Azriel x Reader) Final Part

Warnings: OOF, jealous Elain, smut, smut AND MORE SMUT- Oral, F-receiving, fingering, shadow bondage play, and Y/N losing her virginity to her mate!

Part fourteen (I will be starting another series once the vote I started ends, you can find it here

Tag list: @mis-lil-red @bubybubsters @luvmoo @rorel1a @minakay @foreverrandomwritings Note! If any of you want to be on my Azriel tag list for *any* stories involving him, please message me! I'm still new to tag lists 😅

After healing, you and Azriel find some alone time, and talk about the future a little bit.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I felt cool hands wrap around my midsection, hugging me from behind.

Azriel pulled me into a hug, nuzzling my neck and breathing in my scent. “Hello, what have you been up to?” He asked in a pleased tone of voice.

I was told Rhys had found us in the hall, the both of us passed out from our injuries.

Apparently, the collapse had killed all those people following Meave, and of course Meave herself.

With Madja’s help, we had healed extraordinarily fast, almost none of my injuries had scarred over, healed over as if they had never been there in the first place.

Except for my hands, which now matched Azriel’s.

“Not much, just reading.” I say with a grin, putting down the book I had been so invested in.

He chuckled, and I sighed sadly as he pulled away, taking his warmth with him.

“I’m going to have to go again, I’m needed at the townhouse.” He said, petting my hair comfortingly.

I couldn’t help but to whirl around, biting my lip in worry. “Will Elain be there?” I ask, trying to seem less worried about it than I am, even though it’s a lost cause.

He frowns a bit, worry crinkling his brow. “I promise you Y/N, there is nothing there. I love you, and only you.”

I looked away, crossing my arms, I knew I looked pouty, but I didn’t care. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Elain had been strange to me since Azriel and I announced the bond, and if I didn’t know any better she was purposely trying to make my life hard at times.

“I’m sorry my little shadow, but you know that you’re the only one I want, right?” He said, smiling down softly at me.

I don’t know what spurs me, but I say with the utmost confidence, “Why don’t you show me then?”

His eyes go wide, and I immediately think I’ve gone too far, getting ready to run off and hide.

He pulls me forward and traps my mouth in his, kissing me deeply and exploring my mouth with his tongue.

I shiver as he pulls away, his eyes darkened with lust. “When I get back shadow, I’ll show you exactly how much I want you.”

And with that he disappears, leaving me with my legs snapped shut tightly and hands shaking.

I make an effort to not think about Azriel while he's gone, one so I don’t worry about Elian, and two, so I don’t look flustered all evening.

I head down to the library, helping Nesta and Gwen with random chores.

“So what’s it like being mated to Azriel?” Nesta asked as I lifted a particularly heavy set of books.

I tried not to blush as I flashed back to that look he had given me earlier, the way my breath had caught in my chest when he did.

“It’s nice. I love him a lot.” I said, hoping to quickly change the subject to something else.

“So you two have a plan to make the mating bond official then?” She raised a brow, as if to ask me why I’d been holding out on her.

I blink in surprise. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Nesta smiles comfortingly. “That’s fine, but you’re inviting me, no matter what you plan.”

I giggle, “Of course I will, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out of something so important.”

Something so important that neither Azriel or I have brought up.

I was quiet after that, thinking of ways to bring it up to Azriel. That I wanted to be his mate, for the rest of our immortal lives.

The edge of my mouth quirked up at the thought. I think I would like that.

I had spent hours in the library with Nesta, and as I made my way back to the river house, I saw something in a storefront that made me stop in my tracks.

It was a lingerie shop.

Azriel and I hadn’t done anything of this sort yet, after everything that happened, I don’t think Azriel wanted to push me into something I wasn’t ready for.

Biting my lip, I look at the dark lacy set on the mannequin.

I made it back to the little place Azriel and I were calling home. I paused in the doorway when I caught a fresh wave of his scent.

I grinned, sending my shadows out to look for him.

We had this game, him and I. We would see who would hide from the other the best.

So while my shadows searched, as did I. Though, I quickly realized he wasn’t in any of the main rooms.

“Az?” I called out, giving up for today.

I just wanted him to hold me in his arms, tell me how much he loved me.

One of his shadows found me, gently wrapping around my wrist and tugging me upstairs. Toward the bedroom.

My thighs clench together, and I take a deep breath, concentrating on getting up the stairs and finding Azriel.

The shadows tugged me toward my bedroom, the door already cracked.

Leaving me, they slid back into the room. My shadows follow them in, and I’m standing there, biting my lip.

I finally step forward, opening the door to see Azriel lounging in my bed, book in hand.

He didn’t look up as I entered, and I realized he was reading one of the romance novels I had told him was my favorite.

“Hello Little Shadow, what took you so long?” He asked, his voice low and seductive.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, fussing with the end of my shirt. “I was helping out at the library in the house of wind. You’re not usually home this early.”

He stood, stalking over to me. “After your request? How could I leave you waiting?” He asked, his breath hitting the shell of my ear, making me shiver.

His hands went to my waist, bringing me closer until we were touching. “What do you want Y/N?” He asked, his pupils wide with love as he brought a hand up to brush away a strand of hair.

“This.” I gasped as his other hand grazed my side. He must have smelled my arousal that was now pooling in my panties, because he grew taught, as if he was holding himself back.

“Hmmmm.” He said, leaning down to nuzzle my neck. I moved, granting him access as he planted kisses and little nips there, making me pant.

“I love you so much Y/N.” He whispered into my skin, making my eyes roll into the back of my head, pressing my thighs together.

He went to move one of his beautiful hands down my pants, and one of my shadows wrapped around his wrist as I gasped, “Stop-”

Suddenly, he took his hand back, and stopped kissing my neck, his eyes wide in worry. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry- I-”

I shake my head. “No- no. That’s not it.” I say, still breathing heavily. “It’s just… I’ve never done… this, before.”

I swallow thickly, expecting him to look disappointed. But instead, his eyes gain a predatory glint, which has me struggling to stay standing.

“If anything gets to be too much, you tell me, okay?” He asks, half growling, and I nod.

He picked me up, and I straddled his waist, whimpering as I felt the hardness of him through the layers of clothes separating us.

I make a little noise of protest as he lifts me away, but he quickly places me on the bed, and I love the way he looks, towering over me with eyes only for me, tracing my form.

“Let's get these clothes off, hmm?” He said, running his calloused thumb along my jaw and tipping my chin up.

I can’t help the sly smile on my face as I peel my shirt off, revealing the top part of the beautiful black lacy set I had bought on impulse.

The decision was a good one, I decide as I see Azriels face as he growls with desire.

I shimmy out of my pants, and Azriel helps, and he just stares at me for a minute afterward, taking it all in.

My cheeks turn red, and I realize he can see all me scars, ever single one.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the ones littering my arms and legs, but this was different, I was more… vulnerable.

I go to sit up, but he leans forward, kissing me passionately as he runs his hands up the planes of my stomach.

“You’re so beautiful shadow, and I’m never going to let anyone else lay their hands on you again.” He says after pulling back, and then he goes over and starts kissing where the tattoo from our bargain curls over my shoulder bone.

He undoes the latch on the bra, whipping it off and I gasp, melting into a moan as he lowers his mouth to my breast, taking my nipple into his mouth and rolling it gently with his tongue, teasing the other one with his hand.

He stayed there for a while, building me up until I just couldn’t stand it anymore, reaching for him.

I gasp as both my and his shadows wrap around my wrists, pinning them above my head.

Azriel looks up at me, grinning before he nips at my breast in reprimand.

“I’m gonna take my time with you baby, I’ma make you feel real good.” He said at my whimper, trailing down and planting kisses as he reached the panties, taking his thumb and pressing lightly through the fabric, making me gasp as he hit that bundle of nerves.

Shadows slither around to my breasts, teasing me and leaving a cold trail in their wake.

Az pulls the panties off, and I have no time to react as he places his mouth on my wet heat, tasting me with little licks.

I moan, hips bucking as his thumb comes up to rub tight circles around my clit.

Even though I had never done this before, I knew that no one else would have ever been able to make me feel this good.

He pulled back, looking up at me as he licked his lips. “Enjoying the show, shadow?”

Before I can respond, my eyes are rolling into the back of my head as he stuck a finger in me, pumping slowly.

He growled in pure satisfaction as he listened to the noises of pleasure I was making.

After a minute, he stuck another finger in, stretching me out blissfully as he placed his mouth on my clit, licking it teasingly before pulling it fully into his mouth, moaning around me in a way that made me see stars.

Pumping harder, he brought me over the edge, and I cried out his name in bliss, revealing in this new feeling.

He was softer as he pleasured me through the waves of pleasure crashing into me.

I was panting when he pulled away, his shadows freeing me. He pulled me up against his chest, and looked down at me longingly. “May I, shadow?”

I whimpered and nodded, and he took a step back, making quick work of undressing.

My mouth went dry at the size of him. I wondered if it would even fit, but I knew that I would make it.

He had beautiful tattoos on his chest, and when he stepped closer again, I traces them with my fingers lightly.

His wings flared slightly before they settled behind his back.

I smiled at the dark, beautiful male I could call my own.

“I want to make the bond official.” I said, looking to his face to gauge his reaction.

His expression softened into something soft, and he smiled a little bit. “Then we will.” He said, gently nudging my legs open.

“I would do anything for you Y/N. Anything to make you happy.”

I glow in his praise, and he slowly nudges at my entrance. I gasp, wincing a little as he enters me slowly, stretching me out in all the right ways.

“Move.” I beg, and he chuckles.

“I have to go slow, shadow. Hold onto me.” He says, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he slowly pulled out, and then pushed in all the way, making me moan lewdly.

He grinned against me neck as he did it again, and again, going just a little bit faster with each stroke.

I moaned as the shadows came back to my chest again, and azriel used his fingers on my clit as he shifted, hitting me even deeper than before.

“Azriel- Azriel, I’m gonna cum-” I said through moans, barely able to think straight.

“Good.” He growled, thrusting harder, if not a little less smooth as he neared his release too.

I spotted his wings, and I remember something Feyre had told me and grinned mischievously. I reached a hand out, grazing his wings lightly until he gasped, groaning as he thrust into me hard, and we both toppled over into bliss together.

After we rode it out, I shivered and let out another moan as he pulled me off, carrying me into the bathroom to get us cleaned up.

He set me on the counter and started a bath running, and I couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles shifted under his beautiful skin.

He noticed and chuckled, coming back over to place a kiss on my forehead. “What type of mating celebrations would you like, darling?” He asked, and I grinned.

I really did have him wrapped around my finger, didn’t I?

“I’m not sure yet, but Nesta sort of invited herself, so I guess we’ll have to invite your brothers and her sisters too.”

He huffed a laugh, pressing a feather light kiss onto my puffy lips. “We have all the time to decide my little shadow, and I’ll love whatever you decide.”

“Because I love you.”

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otomiyaa · 6 months

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Re: 💌

Finally getting to respond to those who were so kind to me in messages, comments, and reblogs in the past week! @otomiya-tickles was a blog with mainly tickle fics, but you guys definitely made it feel like there was more to it :)

I piled all my answers into one big post and will treasure them for as long as Tumblr decides to keep me online this time 🤭

@lovelymessybubbly: Ahhh I remember sending that ask long ago and always wondered if you received it. I still think the timing (of my leave and your return) is ridiculous hehehe, but I'm also glad to stick around and to see you back! I hope the hiatus has been good^^

@dokidoki-muffin: absolutely honored to have inspired you and not only that, I think you're a great friend and I love our chats and our recent collab had me filled with joy^^ !! 🧁

@fluffandgiggles: I love your blog, the fics you write and the fandoms you choose and your kind personality, I'm glad you got to go from anon to your own blog and hope you can have fun with it for as long as you like to!

@skayleay: Sending love back to you, thank youu*w*

@beth-bethar00: Thank you 🥺

@tiredleekaz: Your message made me giggle hehe thank you for the support for the x amount of years, I also realized how easy it is to lose count when I think of all my different 'tumblr eras' 😂

@lilliee0: Sorry you had to find out this way hehe, and thank you! My account is in a good place *dramatic music plays* (no it's actually not lmao)

@rachi-roo: The Real OG 😳 I'm not sure I can accept that compliment but I thank you for it!! :3

@blobbirobbi: Sending love right back, also your tickle stories are always welcome hohoho

Anon #1: Heheh right! I know I"ve once said that even if I would quit my blog, I would never deactivate voluntarily (and definitely not without announcement) so it would have to be Tumblr to take care of that. To think that actually happened :). Hope you have a lovely day too!

Anon #2: Ahh I'm glad I could help introducing you to the tk community! Thank you for enjoying my fics, all the best to you too!^^

@infrequent-creator: Don't miss me yet, I won't be gone entirely :) I'll be here, and I'll be loud. Just my fic production will come to an indefinite stop, or break. Who knows.

@yourgigglebugmaya: Ahhh that flatters me! Thank you so much^^

@shyanon01: Thank you for the sweet message!

@hakurei-k: Hahaha! Well I'm still here too and ready to adore Solomon together.

@dirtpie39: I had to google that lololol ('sike'). Thank you for re-following^^

@sunstone-smiles: T-T thank you a lot!!

@moongeonight: 4 years ago!! ahhh I'm happy to hear it and hope you're still having fun! :D

@shy-lee-chu: Love you sweetie, I won't write many new fics so hope you won't be bored by me ;)

@eliankrios: Elian, I'm definitely okay thank you! I'll be mainly here to eat up the content you post ^^

@flames-tstuff: I DON'T DESERVE YOU! ❤️❤️ Hehe answering all these messages to me feels like an entire ceremony already 🙈 And thank youuu, those 13k posts and 7k followers were from a total of 7 years of active fic writing on Tumblr though for a ton of various fandoms, I don't deserve too much credit for it ^^

@kusuguricafe: Thank you for staying with me too 😘

@crazy-as-a-jaybird: *hug* thank youuuu T-T

@ticklystuff: Thank you so much, will do!! I am reviving my animal crossing island (inspired by you and sezzie🤭)

@fantasizes-tickles-daily: I read about so many heartattacks and feel so sorry hehe, thank you for finding me again and for supporting my new one!^^ I can't believe I even considered not making a new blog. Your blog alone gives me the serotonin I need.

@intheticklecloset: Thank you for the kind words and support!! T-T I look forward to enjoying the community from the sideline hehe:)

@ppystkposts: All these from anon to blogger stories make me kick my feet in delight! It's a chain reaction, I'm sure you will inspire others to start their blog as well. Your art and kindness most surely will do that^^ thank you for the support!

@giggly-squiggily: waaa that's so sweet, thank youuuu!*0* I'll remember it!^^

@fanfic-chan: Ahhhh thank youu:D I used to call my blog my happy place and am more than happy to turn this one into that as well. Thank you for your message!

@tickle-panile, @kiwithelee, @ticklish-sidekick, @mai-mei thank you for your concern*w*!

Special thanks to @lovelynim and @wertzunge for their instant share of my update, to @ticklygiggles for dealing with the questions about my absence, even the nasty ones. Sigh, I don't like they were rude to you! ah and also, it was Mia's message I woke up to when my blog was gone x) Never forget.

....and also ofc special speciaaaaal thanks to everyone else who reached out in DMs (I hope I answered you by now but will check soon), and to my dear friends on discord 😘

even though tumblr makes it look like my blog never existed, my evil spirit will live on and I'll keep being annoying 🤣

If I forgot anyone's message I deeply apologize ToT !!!!

#<333 #otomiya-tickles

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stardxxstbae · 10 months

Text

WITH ARMS WIDE OPEN ✦ cl16

CHAPTER 2: RUMEURS

Previous: Chapter 1

"A SURPRISE IN PARADISE! AMÉLIE DUPONT, THE FAMOUS DESIGNER, RETURNS TO MONACO WITH A SWEET TREASURE."

Monaco is in the midst of a whirlwind of emotions with the triumphant return of talented designer Amélie Dupont. However, what has left everyone speechless is not only her return, but also the adorable baby she carries in her arms!

Since her departure a few years ago, Amélie has kept a low profile, but it seems that destiny has brought her back home to Monaco with a beautiful baby in her arms. And while rumors and speculations about the baby's paternity have circulated, the names of two prominent men have been mentioned: Charles Leclerc, the talented Formula 1 driver, and Esteban Ocon, another prominent figure in the racing world.

Amélie, known for her success in fashion design and her unmatched charm, has kept her personal life private for a long time. But her return to Monaco has sparked a whirlwind of questions about who the lucky father of her precious baby is.

Some close sources suggest that her past love story with Charles Leclerc may have left a gift that has been kept secret until now. Other rumors point to a close friendship between Amélie and Esteban Ocon, leading to even greater intrigue about the baby's paternity.

Although Amélie has chosen to keep the details of her personal life private, we can't help but be excited about this new chapter in her story. Who will be the true father of the baby? What will this mean for the relationship between Amélie, Charles, and Esteban? Only time will reveal the truth behind this fascinating story.

"Those nosy motherf...!" she exclaimed with annoyance as she closed her laptop and set it aside.

"Matteo, leave your sister alone!" shouted Charlotte, Amélie's mother, from the kitchen.

Matteo looked up from his phone and frowned, causing his sister to giggle.

"What? I didn't do anything!" he defended himself. "Tell her!"

"It wasn't him, Mom."

Charlotte walked over to the dining room, curious about what was happening. Amélie wasn't someone who easily lost her patience. She was calm and focused, so seeing her yelling wasn't common unless it was Matteo who was bothering her.

"What's going on, then?" she asked, sitting in front of her two children. Matteo shrugged.

"She's crazy," he muttered, earning a small slap from his mother.

"The magazines have started talking; there's a photo of me with Eliane from the day I arrived," she murmured sorrowfully. "Of course, they've begun speculating about the possible names of Eliane's father."

Matteo grimaced as he took Amélie's laptop and opened it again to read whatever had upset her. He let out a couple of expressions of surprise as his eyes scrolled down that column of words whose sole purpose was to feed the morbid curiosity of others.

"What do they care about who the father is?" he complained, leaving the laptop where he had found it before.

"That's why I didn't want to bring Eliane," she whispered, visibly worried.

Their peace had lasted only four days, during which she had wondered how long it would take for the news of her return to be in the tabloids. She had tried to be as careful as possible to prevent something like that from happening, even avoiding going out with the baby at all costs.

"I have a friend at La Gazette," Matteo said, immediately taking out his phone. "I'll talk to her and see if we can get the article taken down."

"Thank you, Teo, but even if they agreed to do it, I'm sure everyone in Monaco already knows about it," she slumped back in her chair and sighed heavily. "At least Esteban's name is being mentioned."

The younger Dupont almost choked on his orange juice upon hearing that, as he was also unaware of the identity of his beloved niece's father. He had never wanted to speculate, as he believed his sister must have had a good reason for keeping it a secret.

"Esteban is Eliane's father?" he asked, astonished.

"For now..." Amélie replied.

"For now?" Matteo repeated, his mouth still full of food.

"Matteo, don't speak with your mouth full!" their mother scolded him, pinching his ribs.

"Hey!"

Amélie looked at her mother for support, and Matteo noticed the complicity in their gazes. He pointed at both of them while still coughing.

"Darling... I think if you and Eliane are going to be here for a while, it's better to tell your brother and your father who Eliane's father is," Charlotte said, taking Amélie's hand across the table. Amélie looked at her with sorrow, and her mother nodded, smiling to give her some encouragement. "If they don't know, things will only get more complicated."

Amélie knew that was true. If she maintained her facade completely, she would prevent anyone from revealing details that could let people know that Eliane was Charles' daughter. She would only be visiting for a few weeks, so as long as Charles didn't cross her path, everything would be perfectly fine.

The blonde sighed and nodded gently, shifting her gaze from her mother to her brother, who was looking at her expectantly.

"Eliane is Charles' daughter," she said simply, causing Matteo to have another coughing fit. "Oh, for God's sake..."

"You can't expect me to react any other way when you're giving me news like this," Matteo slapped his chest, trying not to choke further. "Why doesn't he know? Didn't he want to take responsibility? That idiot..."

Matteo stood up from his chair, and his mother hurried to make him sit down, gesturing for him to let Amélie speak.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked.

Amélie immediately shook her head and gathered the courage to tell the story. She couldn't help but cry, pausing from time to time to wipe her face. She told him the reasons why she had decided to leave, she told him how Arthur had been helping her, and she also told him how Esteban had agreed to help. In the end, Matteo ended up crying with his sister as he embraced her. Their mother had left them alone because it was a moment between siblings, after all, she was already aware of everything. Matteo couldn't believe that his sister had to go through all of that alone, only to now endure people pointing at her in the street, questioning her about the father of the child.

"Why don't you tell him?" the younger one asked seriously. "It's a big secret, Mellie..."

"I know, but if I had ruined his career back then, imagine now," she said through tears. "You have to understand, you see him on the track every weekend. He's at the peak of his career, and I believe he can win the championship this year. I don't want to ruin everything by suddenly showing up with a baby and asking him to be her father overnight."

Matteo pondered for a moment, knowing that what Amélie said about Charles was true. As a Formula 2 driver himself, he knew how well Charles was doing, and like Amélie, he believed that this could be Ferrari's year.

"I know that if he had to choose between you and a championship with Ferrari, he would choose you," he said.

"We don't know that, Teo."

"No, Amélie, believe me," he assured her, taking her hand. "He hasn't been the same since you left. We're not very close... But on the few occasions we've gone out partying... Charles always ends up crying your name, Mellie."

The blonde's heart stopped for a second because she had indeed seen in the gossip pages how many parties the driver attended. She had thought he was enjoying all the things he couldn't do while being with her. But now that Matteo was telling her this, she wondered how broken she must have left Charles' heart and how much he must hate her.

"Take it easy," her brother comforted her, seeing the shattered expression on her face. "Whatever will happen, will happen."

______________

"Do you know why I can't access any news websites?" he asked, looking at his phone as he sat down next to Pierre.

"Yeah, it's because I blocked them," he said, taking a sip of his orange juice, shrugging his shoulders.

Charles opened his eyes in surprise, puzzled by his friend's strange behavior in recent days. First, Pierre had decided it would be a good idea to spend a few days with him in Monaco, something he never did. Gasly was more of a one-day visitor, at most two, except for race week. Then, he had removed him from all the Monaco WhatsApp groups and had a serious conversation with Joris, although Charles never found out what they talked about. And now, he was blocking him from accessing the news.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked, his tone serious.

"Of course," Pierre set aside his breakfast and leaned back in his chair. "We want to avoid collateral damage."

"Collateral damage? Who are 'we'?" Charles' face remained puzzled, prompting Pierre to continue speaking.

"It's about Amélie. Carlos and I want you to find out things directly from her, not through a bunch of gossip websites that have nothing better to do than talk about people's lives."

"But how am I supposed to talk to Amélie? You won't even let me go out," Charles said, picking at his fruit with his fork but not eating it. "And I don't think she wants to see me either."

Pierre narrowed his eyes and looked at him suspiciously. Charles furrowed his brow and turned his attention back to his food, feeling strangely judged by his best friend.

“Something about the way your relationship ended still doesn't sound right to me," the Frenchman declared, shaking his head. "How is it possible that your mind failed you so much that you decided to cheat on Amélie?"

Charles never told anyone the true reason for his breakup with Amélie. People in Monaco had quickly started inventing endless rumors about her, saying that she had abandoned him because she never loved him, labeling her with the worst things. Of course, he wasn't going to allow that, so he quickly spread the rumor that he had been the one who mistreated Amélie. That way, if she ever returned, no one would point fingers at her in a negative way.

"Men are stupid," he shrugged, not lifting his gaze from his plate.

"Yes, but you're smart and sentimental enough to do that to the love of your life. You idolized Amélie, you treated her like a treasure."

“But I was stupid," he raised his voice, and Pierre understood that he should drop the subject. "What is it that I can't know, according to you guys?"

“Charles...”

“Does she have a boyfriend? Is she married? Tell me!”

“No! That's precisely why we don't want you to see things on the internet," Gasly complained. "You get all worked up."

“Who gets all worked up?” Max's voice came from behind Charles, and the Dutchman placed a hand on his shoulder, earning a half-hearted smile from the Ferrari driver.

“Charles, when he hears Amélie's name.”

Max looked at Pierre, surely he had also read the article about Amélie's return to Monaco. That's why Pierre made a gesture to let Verstappen know that he shouldn't talk about it.

“Max, Pierre is being completely irrational. He blocked the news websites so I wouldn't know anything about her," he complained like a little child accusing his brother. "Is there something I should know? It seems important if you want to hide it from me so much.

“Baseless rumors," Max shrugged as he called over one of the waitresses at the club. "But I'm with him on this, it's a... sensitive topic.

“Don't say that, it will only make him more anxious" Pierre said as if it were obvious, and Max rolled his eyes.

“I'm right here, don't talk about me as if I were a baby”

Max chuckled at the mention of that word, and Pierre discreetly hit him under the table.

“Well, I'm not in the mood to put up with this today," the Monegasque finally said, getting up from the table. "Let me know when you stop acting like two idiots”

“Sure, let me know when you've gotten over Amélie," Pierre teased harmlessly as Charles walked away.

Leclerc stopped a few meters ahead and returned to the table under the watchful gaze of both drivers.

"If you see Amélie, let me know too," he said sorrowfully, and then left before they could say anything to him.

"He's a fucking mess," Verstappen muttered as he watched him walk away.

"Yeah, he definitely is."

______________

The winter in Monaco was not ruthless, but one couldn't stay outside all the time like in the summer. After a while, the cold started to seep into the bones, and the wind blew stronger, especially in the Dupont's house, which was located in a higher area, making the air feel even chillier than in other parts of the principality.

It wasn't that Amélie wasn't prepared for the cold because she knew Monaco well. However, when one becomes a mother, they tend to put themselves as the last priority. For Amélie, it was more important to ensure that Eliane had warm clothing before going out in the cold weather, even if it was just for a few seconds. In her haste to get Eliane ready, she often completely forgot to bundle up herself. She would simply grab the first sweater she could find, without paying much attention to its effectiveness.

"Come on, Eli, it's very cold out here" the blonde complained as she adjusted her sweater.

The little girl searched behind the bushes for the small animal that had been inside the house all morning but now seemed to want to escape from the child.

"Where cat?" she asked, looking at her mom. It seemed like she had given up on trying to find it herself and it was time to call the one who knew everything.

"The cat has already gone back home, and we should do the same, or we'll get sick," her mother pleaded in the sweetest way she could.

"I want pet" the younger one complained, looking around for any sign of the animal. "Pet, Mommy."

"Perhaps the cat doesn't want to be petted right now," she finally said, approaching her to take her hand.

"Why?"

Amélie chuckled; it was only a matter of time before Eliane started questioning everything, regardless of the answer she gave, the little girl would always have another question.

"Because he's in a bad mood," she replied, gently tugging at her hand, internally grateful that Eliane started walking.

"Why?" came the persistent question.

"Because cats can also be in a bad mood, just like you when you're hungry," she mentioned, and the girl stared at her intently, eliciting a giggle. "We shouldn't bother them when they..."

The girl quickly let go of her hand and ran towards the entrance of the house. Amélie immediately looked up to see what had caught her little one's attention.

She wasn't surprised to see the younger Leclerc holding slices of cake in one hand and balloons in the other—a giant daisy flower with a smiling face and a transparent one that said "Welcome Home," with smaller yellow balloons inside.

"ThurThur!" the girl exclaimed, running towards her uncle. Amélie followed closely behind. "Up up!" she said, raising her arms towards him.

Arthur didn't hesitate to entrust his things to Amélie as he lifted the girl and embraced her.

"Thank you?" Amélie murmured, looking at the items.

"How are you, beautiful?" he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek. The girl giggled and nestled into his neck. He then turned to look at Amélie. "Oh, you're here too."

"Rude," Arthur burst into laughter and approached Amélie to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. "What's all this?"

"I wanted to welcome you," he shrugged, stroking his niece's back. "The balloons are for Eliane, and the tiramisu is for you."

Amélie smiled, touched by Arthur's thoughtfulness. It had been too easy for her to consider him a part of her family after he left Monaco. She held a great affection for Arthur and mentally punished herself whenever she had the chance, knowing that he was in a difficult situation because of her. But it also warmed her heart to see Arthur treat her niece as if she were his own daughter.

"I also wanted to ask if we can take Eli out for a walk," Amélie immediately tensed up. "Charles will be at the club until late tonight."

"Arthur, I don't want people to see us together and start speculating that you're also Eliane's father," she nervously requested. "And for some reason, I don't want us to run into him."

"I promise he won't be around. We can go to Princesse Antoinette Park. There won't be many people, and Charles doesn't visit that park often," Arthur suggested.

"Arthur..."

"Please, Amélie, Eliane deserves to know her home," Arthur pleaded. Amélie was about to argue when Arthur spoke again, "I don't mean Milan with its many buildings. I mean her true home."

She didn't know if it was worth taking such a risk. She had spent all this time keeping Eliane as far away as possible from the curious gazes of people, and now she was contemplating risking it all for a few minutes of entertainment.

"Mellie," her brother's voice called her attention. "Elie can't continue living in seclusion. She can't come to the place where her mom was happiest and stay locked up in the house all day."

Arthur looked at her brother gratefully, and he nodded gently.

"Teo..."

"We have an escape plan. Everything will be fine."

"we go?" Eliane asked, looking at her two uncles.

Amélie sighed heavily and nodded her head gently.

"Okay..."

______________

He didn't know why he ended up there. He supposed it was because of his search for tranquility, the desire to be away from everyone for a moment. He felt frustrated because the conversation he had with Pierre a couple of hours ago had left him with many unanswered questions wandering in his mind. They were definitely hiding something big from him, and not knowing what they were referring to made him overthink everything.

Could Amélie be married? Could she have a boyfriend?

Just thinking about it made his stomach churn. The thought that he hadn't been good enough for her shattered his soul. Because it didn't matter if others saw him as insignificant, as long as he was enough for Amélie, everything was fine. But when he ceased to be enough for her, it felt like ten buckets of cold water were being poured over him, one after another. Suddenly, Charles Leclerc was no longer the confident guy who raced for Sauber.

He had been fine for a while, trying to convince himself that everything was okay and that maybe it was for the best. But over time, depression and anxiety attacks became more constant, and being good on the track wasn't enough because he knew that everyone out there loved him for the victories he could achieve, for how high he could elevate the name of his team. They didn't really care about Charles Leclerc; they only cared about il predestinato.

Far from all the suffering he went through with Amélie's departure, Charles only wished for her happiness. He knew she had achieved her dream because he had read about her work in the news, so he hoped that being apart from him had been beneficial for her, that she had a good life, and of course, he hoped to see her again. Charles held onto the hope that, upon seeing her again, the feelings would resurface. Perhaps he had watched too many romantic movies, perhaps he was clinging to something impossible, but being with Amélie always felt like the most beautiful romantic movie. So why not indulge in the illusion of a fairytale ending?

He adjusted his beanie over his ears as a gust of wind blew in. The temperature was dropping rapidly, so he probably wouldn't stay in that place for long. He would just appreciate the view a little longer and then leave.

He sighed deeply, crossing his arms to seek more warmth.

"Come, kitty, come."

The little voice made Charles turn his head, and there he found a small girl. She was wearing a brown overall over a gray sweatshirt, white shoes, and a matching hat, with a few strands of blonde hair peeking out. The Ferrari driver smiled at how curious she looked as she chased after a white cat that seemed to be playing with her.

He looked at her for a moment, feeling touched by the scene, then he snapped out of it and realized there was no one near the girl. He looked around and couldn't find any adult who seemed to be looking for her.

The cat ran between Charles' feet, quickly darting through the bushes that separated the park from the streets below. The girl ran after it, and Charles instinctively stopped her.

"Cat running!" she exclaimed, pointing at the animal as it leaped far away from there.

The racing driver's heart raced, and he took a moment to recover from the momentary fright.

"Come on! Cat!"

"We can't go there, ma jolie," he said gently as he lifted her off the ground. "Look, it's very high," he pointed downwards.

"Why?" she asked, looking at him intently, trying to figure out where she recognized the man's face from, as she was sure she had seen him before.

"If you go there, you can get hurt," he explained kindly. "Where is your mom?"

The girl then seemed to become aware of her mother's absence and started looking around, her little chest rising and falling quickly as she desperately searched. Her eyes became watery, and her hands started trembling.

"Calm down, sweetheart, we'll find your mom and...

"Eliane!"

The woman came running and practically snatched the girl from Charles' arms. He didn't blame her; if he were a father, he would have reacted the same way.

"She was chasing a cat and almost ran over there," the Ferrari driver explained.

The girl's mother was squatting down, examining her daughter from head to toe while muttering several curses in Italian.

"Don't worry, she's fine. I stopped her in time."

"You have no idea how grateful I ..."

The woman lifted her face, and both she and Charles were petrified.

It was her, it was Amélie, his Amélie.

His heart raced, and he felt his head spinning. It was as if the blood in his body had decided to abandon him at that very moment. A dreadful tingling sensation ran through him from head to toe, and his eyes began to fill with tears.

He couldn't believe that she was standing in front of him after all this time. He never thought he would see her again, let alone this close. For a moment, he wondered if he had started drinking again and was dreaming. He wondered if he had finally gone crazy and was hallucinating her.

"Charles..."

It was the sound of her voice that made him realize that this was real. He knew it because, much to his dismay, Charles knew he was forgetting how her voice sounded. He no longer dreamed of the sound of her voice. But now that he heard it again, it was as if it had never stopped. It was like a melody in a music box, waiting for someone to wind it up and work its magic once more.

"Ma petite lune..."

Next: chapter 3.

#fanfic #charles leclerc #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 drivers #max verstappen #original character #secret child

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pen-of-roses · 5 months

Text

Posting this because I think more than just @concealeddarkness13 and I should suffer from this.

"Could I watch?" It's meant to be humorous, but there's still the woven thread of anger and pain there. He sighed and sank to the floor as close to Chess as he thought safe. "It wouldn't stop them though. As good as it might feel in the moment, as much as you'll wish to do it over again afterwards, it doesn't stop the memories."

Icy cold darkness dragging him down down down. Cruel eyes and laughter singing with the clash of steel and shouted spells. Hand crushing his throat. Abomination abomination abomination.

"Did I ever tell you how I learned I would revive no matter what happened to me, and that I was bound to my promises?" His own voice asked, dragging him back to the present. "The first time I killed for no other reason than revenge?"

Tears stained her face as she looked up at him. "What happened?" she whispered, but in the dark and ruined temple, it echoed in his ears. Had anyone asked him that before these past few months?

"The ship I sailed on, my home, my first family, was attacked by another crew, searching for something or other. They killed some of us, and in the scuffle, slit my throat."

Six of them. Six members of their crew had died in that fight alone. Elian, Kira, Nikolas, Adalea, Dale, Erik. Their blank faces still stared at him in the night, just as accusatory as the others. For what happened after, or for him having survived it?

"I of course, only choked up the blood and tried to fight back. Swore to kill them and they threw me into the sea. Where I drowned. I tracked them down, alone, stupidly. Got myself captured for it. They discovered that the water--the water scared me and drowned me over and over and over again, calling me an abomination. I tried to run but the mere attempt to leave them alive burned deep within in my veins and forced my hands until I stopped fighting."

How long had that been? Days? Weeks perhaps? Of failed escapes and deaths he'd lost track of.

"And I didn't regret a moment of killing them, I relished in spilling their blood, staining their home with it like they had mine, making them suffer, alive long enough for me to ensure they choked on the water as well in the end, after watching me destroy everything else."

Their screams and choked breaths echoed in his ears even now, and it twisted his face into a cruel smile.

Then he sighed, his hand rubbing his throat at the ghost of salt and blood. "But in the end, the sea, the place I had thought my home, my freedom, still haunts me to this day, I still wake thinking brine is filling my lungs as I stare into their cruel eyes." He looked up at her finally with a smile that had lost it's edges. "Mind you, their blood and screams were still a rather beautiful offering, of course."

He didn't regret what he had done after all. Would have done it again and again if given the chance.

The only thing he would ever regret was what it cost him in the end.

#writeblr #writing #amwriting #conor #excerpt #wip excerpt #tw: death #tw: drowning #tw: murder

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liminalmemories21 · 7 months

Note

023 assault, if that strikes you? (Or TK, lol)

Opening the loft door is an assault on his senses.

The music is turned up to 11, and he's vaguely impressed by the insulation in the walls because he hadn't heard it at all from down the hall. The couch and the table have been shoved back, and Luisa and Gabriela are attempting to teach TK how to do something that he's going to charitably call a salsa. Ana is leaning against the kitchen counter laughing, and Elian is jumping on the couch egging them all on.

Nobody noticed him opening the loft door, and he's not surprised, but TK turns, stumbling over his feet and Luisa's when he hears the loft door click closed. 'Baby!"

He takes a cautious step into the living room, leaning in automatically for a kiss when TK steps up and into him. "Hi." He nods at his sisters, and crouches to hug his niece and nephew, pouting dramatically at them. "You all decided to have a party without me?"

Ana makes a dismissive noise. "Your Tio Carlos is just worried what stories we've been telling Tio TK about him." Which is, to be fair, not entirely untrue.

Elian tugs on his shirt. "Nothing bad, Tio Carlos, I promise."

Luisa gives him a smirk which makes him side eye her with concern. He looks at TK who grins at the floor. "We made ropa vieja, and there's cinnamon ice cream and hot fudge sauce for dessert," TK offers.

"Oh, well if I'm getting dinner out of it, I suppose that's worth the loss of my dignity."

Ana comes over to hug him and kiss his cheek. "Glad that we are in agreement. It is so much easier when you don't try and argue with us."

"What," he asks, "did you do with your husbands, and can I go join them?"

Luisa shrugs. "And leave us here alone longer with your fiance? Your funeral, hermano."

TK tugs him in again. "They're out getting wine and some kind of fancy limeade, and avocados because we forgot them." He kisses the edge of Carlos's jaw and he can feel TK's lashes on his cheek, and TK's voice just loud enough for Carlos to hear, "love you babe, and your sisters didn't tell me anything bad, they love you too."

He gives TK a narrow look, and then the song changes and he steps away from TK to offer Gabriela his hand. "Can I interest you in dancing with someone who doesn't step on your feet?"

TK's outraged "Hey!" blends with Gabriela's giggle, and the beat of the song and Ana and Luisa's laughter. They're not sounds he ever expected to hear in his house, and he blows kisses at his sisters and mouths 'love you' at TK as he spins Gabriela.

#writing prompt #word - assault #911 lonestar

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kwisatzworld · 6 months

Text

Vale's Last Year in 250cc - 1999

Malaysian GP, Sepang “The winter was fun. Usually I don’t like the winter because it' s too cold, but where I live, near the Adriatic coast, there are so many people in the summer. That didn’t used to be a problem, but now everyone recognises me, so it’s Rossi! Rossi! Rossi! all the time. I don’t like it!” “I spent a lot of time with my friends, as that’s when I’m happiest. We went skiing a few times, a big gang of us. Mad! Snowboarding is more fashionable nowadays but I’m faster on skis, so it’s better! Melandri came with me once, he’s my best mate in the paddock, plus Alessandro Brannetti, a new Italian 125 guy.” “I moved into my new house just before Christmas and that was great, though my mother came with me! I wanted to live alone, but she said no. It’s okay living with her, I’m so busy it’s good to have her around.” “My girlfriend Eliane came out to Malaysia with me. We’ve been going out for almost two years now, though she doesn’t come to so many races. Women need a lot of attention, so having her with me at races is both good and bad!”

Spanish GP, Jerez “Halfway through my victory lap I knew I’d never make it back to the pits without a piss, so I had to stop in that marshal’s toilet, otherwise disaster!”

French GP, Circuit Paul Ricard “I got into some big trouble for my celebration at Jerez. The GP bosses fined me after I won the race and then stopped at the toilet on my slow-down lap, but you’re not allowed to stop on the track after the race. But I was right off the track, so I wasn’t being dangerous. I don’t care if they fine me anyway, because Aprilia pays! Seriously, they should worry about really improving safety and also improving the show. For sure I will do the same thing again because I like to amuse the fans.” “I think the GP bosses want to make motorcycle racing like F1 cars and I don’t think that’s right. Sure there is more money in F1 and there are more fans, but bike racing is more fun and more exciting. The bosses don’t seem to understand that bike fans are very different from car fans, maybe they’re a little more crazy. I don’t like F1 because it doesn’t seem like a real sport to me. It seems that everyone in F1 is only there for the money, while motorcycles are about passion.” “You may have noticed I had some new stickers on my bike in France, they are insurance and tax stickers, just like you have on the street. Just for a joke!”

Italian GP, Mugello “Races in Italy are always difficult for me, so much pressure, so many people. But fun also. I’m used to all the fans coming after me now, the only way I can get around is to ride my scooter fast, and don’t stop; otherwise I get a hundred autograph hunters. Of course, I sign a lot, but I wouldn’t have time to ride my bike if I signed them all! A big gang of my fans camped out at Curva Casanova at Mugello. They made a lot of noise, but not as much as the crazy fans who rev their engines all day and night at Mugello. You cannot believe the noise!” “They liked my special paint job and leathers, it was a homage to the seventies, the age of love and peace: Valentini Peace&Love! I think they were good times and they were also the times when my dad won some 250 GP races. Respect!” “I crashed twice at Mugello, once on Friday morning and then once on my victory lap. It was crazy, the fans came on the track and tried to take my gloves, helmet, anything. Then I ran into Gigi [Soldano], one of the Dorna TV cameramen, and toppled off my bike. I guess he was looking through his lens, so he didn’t see how close I was!” “Before Mugello I spent some time at home, riding my 250 road bike and going motocrossing. I have a new motocross bike at home, but I can’t tell you what it is, because it’s not an Aprilia!”

Catanlan GP, Catalunya “People are already asking me what I’ll be doing in 2000. I’m not sure at the moment but I think I’ll stay in 250 for a third year. If I win the title I’ll probably stay, and if I don’t I’ll definitely stay. I’m not worried about running the #1 plate before I change classes again, #46 is better than number one.”

Dutch TT, Assen “After Barcelona I drove my camper van with my friend Uccio to Assen, but we broke down because the engine lost all its oil and water. We got it fixed and then carried on to Euro Disney. We spent a day there, very funny. I’d already been there once, back in ‘95 between two European championship rounds and I like it, it’s for kids and big kids like me. It’s a lot of fun, but you spend too much time waiting in queues for the rides.” “My favourite? The space mountain rollercoaster, it’s very, very, fast and turns left and right really suddenly and you’re in the dark so you don’t know which way you’re going to go next. I wouldn’t say it’s more fun than riding a GP bike, but you can sit there and enjoy the ride without worrying about your lap times.”

British GP, Donington Park “I like Donington Park; the only thing I didn’t like was the weather. I still don’t like racing in the water, so I just asked God to make it dry for the race. He did what I wanted, but only just!” “Me and my girlfriend Eliane dyed our hair bright green for Donington. Why? Because I like green! I’m almost running out of colours now, I’ve had my hair orange, yellow, grey, blue, yellow and black and the colours of the Italian tricolore. Tell me if you have any other suggestions!”

German GP, Sachsenring “I have been doing a lot of thinking about my future over the past few weeks. It’s not easy to decide what you want to do, especially when you have so many people offering you jobs. Number one, I know I am very lucky to be in this position and it’s very flattering to have so many people wanting me to ride for them. I’ve even been approached by Mick Doohan who wants me to ride for his Honda 500 team. Mick has talked with my father Graziano and my manager Gibo Badioli, and to get a job offer from a five-time World Champion is incredible.” “Basically, there are three offers open to me. The first is to ride a 250 again with Aprilia, who I’ve been with since 1996, and then two from different Honda 500 teams, Mick’s new team and the official Honda Racing Corporation squad. Everyone expects me to move up to 500 one day and I suppose I will some time, but I’m in no hurry, I’m not obsessed with doing 500. I love riding the 250 and this is only my second season in the class. Also, I’m still quite young so I believe time is on my side. Ideally I want to win the 250 title before I go to 500.” “That’s a problem because all the people who have offered me a ride want me to decide much sooner than that, whereas I would prefer to finish the championship and then think about next year during the off-season. Anyway, at the moment I feel like the three offers are in this order of priority: Aprilia, the official Honda team and then Mick’s team. So I think I will stay with Aprilia in 250s for 2000. I have a good relationship with the factory and I see no reason to leave them in a hurry.” “Now we have a four-week holiday, hooray! All I really want to do is sleep. During the break last year I went to Tunisia with a bunch of friends like Melandri, but all I want to do now is stay home and rest. My home is near a holiday resort anyway, near the Adriatic Sea, but to be honest I don’t like the sea so much. I prefer snow...”

Czech GP, Brno “I did pretty much nothing during the four-week break after Germany, just stay home, stay quiet and sleep very much! I did a bit of motocross with my friends, also some water skiing and a few parties. On weekends when I’m not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it’s a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me!” “Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I’d be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good at 24-hour racing!” “Next race is Imola, another home GP for me, so big stress from all the media and all the fans. But that’s okay. As usual for an Italian race I will have a special paint job on my bike and special leathers, but I can’t tell you what they’ll be because I don’t know myself! We never plan this kind of thing, I’ll sit around with my friends, having a few beers, and someone comes up with some crazy idea and that’s what we go with!”

Imola GP, Imola “As always, I had to do something special for the weekend because it was an Italian race, so I had my hair done exactly like my chief mechanic, Rossano Brazzi. He’s a great guy, fantastic to work with, and he does such a great job on my bikes. I shaved the top of my head just like him, because he’s all bald up there, and you could hardly tell us apart! He’s quite old, but so am I nowadays. Twenty isn’t so young!” “Everyone was asking me at Imola about what I will do next year. If I got a few thousand lira for every time someone says ‘Valentino, what bike will you ride in 2000?’ I think I would be a very, very rich guy! Anyway, I’m planning to decide very soon and, of course, I’ll let you know as soon as I make up my mind.” “I’m looking forward to heading down to Australia, I like the place and the people have a lot of spirit, maybe that’s why they also seem to appreciate us Italians. My only worry is the weather. You always think of sunshine when you think of Australia but the race is too early in the spring and it can be really cold. The track even has a corner called Siberia!”

Australian GP, Phillip Island “As well as the cold, the other big thing about Phillip Island is jetlag. I arrived in Melbourne on Tuesday and you’re really tired for the next few days, waking up at four in the morning and all that. A lot of people use sleeping pills but you can’t really do that if you’re a rider, your head feels a bit dizzy the next day, which isn’t good at 280km/h. I was better by the time the GP started but still tired.” “Last year I was so tired I fell asleep during dinner at a restaurant in Cowes. It’s funny because we go all the way to Australia and everyone thinks it’s a very hot country, and it’s maybe the coldest GP of the year. They have penguins down there too, so maybe they should rename it the Grand Prix of Antarctica!”

South Africa, Welkom “We got to South Africa on Tuesdayand went straight to Welkom. This was my first time in Africa and I have to say I didn’t like it so much, though maybe we didn’t visit the best place. A few days before practice we went to a small safari park, not a zoo and not a game reserve. Some of the animals were in cages and some weren’t, the lions were. It’s better that way!” “Before I go to Brazil next week I’m going to spectate at the Italian round of the World Rally Championship at San Remo. I love rallying, it’s a fantastic sport and maybe I’ll have a proper go it if I ever get bored of bikes. I already do some rallying every year, in November I’ll be competing in a rally at Monza, probably in a Subaru. I know [Carlos] Sainz and Liatti, they’re great guys.” “Everyone says I have signed to ride 500 for Honda next year but it’s not true. Honda has made a great offer but the Aprilia offer is still more money, not that money is the most important thing. The big thing with the Honda is that it’s the best bike in 500, so I have a great chance to enter the 500 class with a really good machine and a great team.” “The Italian press is already going crazy about the whole thing, they make a big casino, a lot of noise about it! This is because I will be racing against Max for the first time, if I go to 500s. For sure Max would be difficult to beat, especially in my first year. He’s one of the best few 500 riders in the world but at the end of the day he’s only another rider.”

Rio GP, Jacarepagua “I am the champion! It' s difficult to compare this with the 125 title I won in ‘97 because while the 250 title is obviously more important and more difficult to win, the 125 was my first world title and it will always be special for that reason.” “Aprilia organised a big party at a Rio yacht club on Sunday night, right near the Sugar Loaf Mountain. It was fun because I paid for 20 of my best friends from my home town of Tavullia to fly to Rio. The guy who came around with me on my victory lap, dressed as an angel, was the 21st of my friends. He paid for his own ticket! I’m sure Aprilia will arrange another big party when I get back to Italy, but for sure the best party will be at my house, with all my friends!” “For sure there was even more pressure on me over the weekend, with the championship ready to be mine. But I don’t have a big problem with that kind of thing. So long as you can keep your concentration, nothing else matters, because you don’t let anything bother you when you’re on the bike. Life definitely gets easier when you’re on the bike, because you can stop worrying and get on with the fun part: riding!” “Before I went to Rio I spent a couple of days at the San Remo round of the World Rally Championship. I had a lot of fun there, even though I had to get up at 6.00am two mornings in a row, and as you probably know I hate getting up early.” “I spent some time with (Didier) Auriol, the French Toyota driver. He’s a crazy guy with a crazy face, he has really wild eyes, but he’s a good guy, very friendly. I also did some motocross during the break after South Africa. I’m much faster on a motocross bike than I was last year but I have to be very careful, especially because of the championship. I know how easy it is to hurt yourself doing motocross because I injured myself like that in ‘95 and I was in so much pain that I lost the next round of the Italian championship I was fighting for. My father was very angry!” “As far as next year goes, the situation is still the same, and I’m not going to make up my mind until I get home to Italy after the Argentine Grand Prix. I’m getting a lot of advice about what I should do from a lot of different people, but in the end it’s only me who can make the right decision.” “I have to be careful. I know that if Honda offer me whatever I want, the money I want, the team I want and so on, and I turn them down, maybe they won’t ask me to ride for them ever again. But if we can’t agree on which team, money and that kind of thing, maybe we can talk again another year when I’m ready to make the move.”

Argentine GP, Buenos Aires “So long as I’m up there fighting for the wins I don’t care if I’m on a 125 or 250. Or a 500! The biggest difference for me is off the racetrack. Every year there’s more journalists and television guys that want to talk to me. One day it will get to the stage where I won’t have any time to go out and ride the bike! I guess in some ways I preferred life when I wasn’t famous, but if I wasn’t famous it would mean I wasn’t winning races. So maybe I have no choice but to like being famous.” “I’m probably going to have my championship celebration party at my house in the middle of the month. It’ll just be my team and my friends, not a big press event like the one we had at Rio. Parties are more fun without cameras everywhere.” “The Rio party was a bit crazy, we had it at a big yacht club and everyone got thrown in the pool, fully clothed. I got thrown in twice and thought I was going to die of pneumonia.” “Then when there’s some snow I’m going to do a week’s skiing somewhere in Italy. And I want to go somewhere hot too, maybe Miami or somewhere in South America, so long as there’s sun, sand and sea, I don’t really care. I’m just going to spend seven days on the beach asleep. Perfect.” “As you know I don’t like riding under the water. I feel my wet-weather riding is improving and that’s important because it seems to rain at pretty much every GP these days.”

#valentino rossi #motogp #250cc #the valentino rossi files: everything i've ever written about vr #by mat oxley #reading

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whovianwriter · 3 months

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Do you love me?

Lucien x Elian

AN: This is inspired by two tiktoks made by @bookishlyaries, using lines from bridgerton and Outlander. My first fic back, hope you guys like it. My requsts are open. Enjoy!

It had been like this for the past couple of years, the constant glances from the both of them. Too afraid to say something to the other, too nervous after so much has happened. How could they, but there wouldn’t be a story if neither one of them has not budged. So this is how they finally got their happy ever after.

It was flashes from her, of how they were kidnapped and brought to the room and she saw her sister and the group of people that came to their house asking for help, then she was being dragged to the cauldron, and then the pitch black of being in the icy depths, to coughing on the stone floor and looking up to see himself. And the words “She’s my mate,” were being said before everything came rushing back to Lucien.

This was the second time he had this nightmare, he knew that it was terrible, he knew he should have waited but it was too late now. Too late to see if he changed what happened would there be a chance that she would have accepted the bond, would have accepted him. He knew that there was no point in trying to fall back asleep now and so he got up and started to get ready for the day, but that night when he went to sleep something was waiting for him, and then he felt it, the fear.

Glimpses of Ferye, glimpses of everyone that Lucien had gotten used to when he went to the night court, and then the sight of what happened to be Nesta doubled. In one she was laughing at what Cassien had said in her ear while the one she looked like she was ready to leave the party and gave a gaze that held so many emotions he didn’t know where to start to untangle the meaning. But then it changed to him, to where he was sitting on a blanket with her laughing and the other where he was laying on the ground seeming to be bleeding and him dying.

That woke him up as he sat up in bed with sweat running down his face, he felt the panic and when that subsided the sorrow fell down the bond before her shields snapped into place. He remembered when she was not fully herself after Feyre and himself finally got to Velaris. Seeing visions, and stuck in a fog that she couldn’t get out of, was that what all of her dreams were like? All different ways of what would happen or would be happening? Was he going to die, or live long enough to see the first option come true?

He decided then and there he was going to check on her, if she sent him away he could understand. He just wanted to tell her this. So he got dressed and started on his way to the court of dreams.

It was just after lunch when he finally arrived there, and then he got to the house of wind, and looked up to the top before he let out a breath about to start the climb, he slowly made his way up, and up, and up and up. It was a good half of an hour at least when he finally reached the top. He had to take a couple of minutes to breath before he opened the door. There sitting in the room was Cassien eating with Nesta reading beside him. And Elain looked out the window to the mountains. It was Cassien who looked at him first, “You must have something important to share to climb up all of those stairs.”

“I do, to Elain. Would you and Nesta give me a couple minutes to talk to her alone, please?”

They shared a look at each other before getting up as Nesta gave him a look to tell him, 'She would make sure to kill him if he hurt her.’ He got closer yet still gave her space, when he looked at her. She looked beautiful to him even though it looked like she had been crying and he was wondering if she had seen him coming here.

“Elain, I realized that I had never properly apologized to you for what happened that day. I am so sorry. It must have been terrible for and to hear me say that you are my mate must have been shocking and upsetting. I understand, and if you never wish to see me again I will understand. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry that you were never given a chance to decide what you wanted without someone else chipping in.”

“You came all this way to say that?”

“For the most part yes, and to ask this to see if you ever want to see me again. Do you love me?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Do you love me?”

“I.. I cannot. This conversation.. I never wanted a mate, Lucien.”

“Is this because you do not want a mate, or that you could not love me. I don't care about the mating bond, I just want you. I love you, Elian. I love you so much that I will do what you wish. If you do not, all you have to say is you don’t love me, and I will go. I will go back to the sun court. And we can live our separate lives, I will fill my days and survive. But first, you have to say that you do not love me. You have to tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.”

“I am a madwoman, I’m a danger. In my mind there are different worlds creeping in. The future and the present collide, I do not know how to save them all.”

“Do you love me?”

“You do not wish a life with me for yourself. No one wishes that.”

“Elain! I will stand with you between the present and future. I will help you save them all. Do you love me?”

“I love you!.. From the moment in here when I asked if you could hear my heartbeat, I loved you desperately. I cannot breathe when you are not near, I love you, Lucien. My heart calls your name.”

As the tears rolled down her cheeks she got closer to him and pulled him into a kiss, it took a second to pass before he returned the kiss. As one hand cupped her cheek and the other on her waist. After a couple moments they broke apart. “I love you too.”

“I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know.” She said as he rested his forehead against hers. “This sight has been a darkness has been my burden and you have been my light.”

He kissed her again not wanting this moment to end, to let it continue on.

After a couple of months of courting where they actually learn about each other, and they did little days where he would help her with gardening, or they both sat in the house and read when it was raining. I had been a constant of hand holding, and cuddling when they were alone. Elain talked about her visions as Lucien tried to help her through them. And Lucien talked about when he was the son of not the autumn court but the Day court and how he had a family that actually loved him and a court where he wasn’t a joke.

One day when the sun was warm and not too hot they decided to go on a picnic as they sat together and he was resting against a trunk of a tree when he felt a gentle tug and he lost his balance as his head was now in Elian’s lap and she brushed hair out of his face. As he fed her a couple of grapes, she was also snacking on a piece of jerky when she went to feed him a piece he stopped her wrist from coming closer. “It is tradition that if you serve your mate food you accept the bond, which is silly I know but

I wanted to let you know.”

“I know.”

That made him sit up, as he looked at her and stared at her like this was a dream. He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands with a shaky laugh as they moved to his legs. As she served him the simple piece of food, which was gone in a flash they stared at each other with tears running down both of their faces. As he wiped the tears from her cheeks the bond finally clicked into place for both of them. “You have my name, my court, my family, and if necessary the protection of my body as well.”

As he cupped one of her cheeks in his hand and she went to hold onto his hand when he moved it to run down her lips. As they both smiled and were still crying a little as he leaned over to kiss her. To hold her in his arms and wasn’t going to let go anytime soon.

#acosf #acotar #acomaf #acowar #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #elain acotar #elain archeron #fanfic #I would sell my soul for this to be true

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niemernuet · 5 days

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5 Times Arnaud Wanted to Kiss Franjo

And 1 Time Franjo Took Matters In His Own Hands

Rating: M pairing: Arnaud Boisset/Franjo von Allmen characters: Arnaud Boisset, Franjo v. Allmen, Alexis Monney, Elian Lehto, Gilles Roulin, Marco Kohler, Ralph Weber, Lars Rösti, Tanguy Nef, Justin Murisier, Loïc Meillard words: 7'500 tw for: emetophobia (skip part 2 in that case. the parts are mostly stand-alone anyway)

Lodgings for the second groups, with the athletes not part of the national team yet, usually have to do with less.

“But this is a new low,” Arnaud mutters to himself as he leans deep into the closet, one of the shelves wedged between his foot and the wall, and pulls at the rusty bracket. The musty smell that lingers in the entire room fills his nose to the brim in there, and he can feel the dust bunnies under his fingers as they press against the wood.

“FUCK!” he yells when he slips off the bracket again. He pulls out his head, and inspects the damage to his skin. A short knock to the door is the only warning he gets before it bursts open, and a mountain of bags tumble inside.

“Sorry, this stuff is killing me,” the guy following behind pants as he pushes through the door, and drops his things at the foot of Arnaud’s bed. He puts his hands on his hips to catch his breath. A few strands of his long bangs cling to his sweaty forehead.

“Third floor without a bloody elevator, are you kidding me? We really have to make it into the national team this season, this is unacceptable. Hi, I’m Franjo.” His eyes turn into two narrow crescents as a big smile spreads over his face. He holds out his hand, and Arnaud only has to extend his because the room is not big enough to keep a reasonable distance anyway.

“Arnaud,” Arnaud says after a moment that is just a tad too long.

“I know,” Franjo says, still smiling, and begins to kick his suitcase and bags towards the other bed.

Arnaud blinks at him. He is wearing shorts, and the shirt with their organisation’s logo has wrinkles where the backpack pulled it up.

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be with Lars again?”

Franjo looks over his shoulder. “There was…a change of plans…as I understand it.”

Arnaud frowns, and Franjo rolls his eyes.

“Don’t tell him I told you but he doesn’t want to bunk with you anymore because you talk too much. He’d rather be with Ralph because he says he talks a lot too but only to his phone…or the kids in his phone, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Arnaud snorts. It is as good an excuse as any. He wonders how much Franjo really knows.

“Though I can’t say that you do, at least so far.”

Arnaud blinks again. “You’ve been in here one minute.”.

Franjo stops kicking his bags, and opens the zipper of the biggest one. “True, I give you that,” he concedes. “Also I’ve heard you yell ‘fuck’ out in the hallway so I guess I’ve interrupted at a very inconvenient time. Sorry about that.”

“I did not…,” Arnaud exclaims, sputtering indignantly until he realises that Franjo is laughing.

“Very funny,” he mutters, and hopes that the ancient, unsightly drapes keep enough of the sunlight out so his burning cheeks are not too visible. His hopes at his embarrassment staying hidden shatter though when Franjo turns around, and steps right next to him.

“Thanks,” he smiles, and takes in the large gap between the shelves in the closet. “Is there something wrong with it?”

The faint smell of his aftershave cuts through the mustiness emanating from the closet, and it takes all of Arnaud’s self-control to answer within a socially acceptable time. “It wobbles and tilts back as soon as I put a stack of clothes on it. I think the brackets aren’t on the same height but I can’t get them out.” He looks at the superficial scratches along his index finger, and the small scab that is already forming over it.

“Oh no, what happened to your dainty fingers?” Franjo asks, and again Arnaud sucks in air before he recognises the wide grin on Franjo’s face. “Let me try, this looks like a job for a pro.”

“Of course, as soon as I find one,” Arnaud snorts, though he does take a step back until he bumps against the nightstand.

“Ha ha,” Franjo says, his head stuck into the closet. “I’ll have you know you’re…come on you little bugger…aha!” With a triumphant laugh he stands up straight again, and holds up the rusty piece of metal that used to carry one corner of the shelf for the last few decades.

“See?” he says, and holds out his hand towards Arnaud. “That’s why you need a carpenter for a job like this. Though I don’t think we can put this back in, it is totally rusted…” He sticks his head back into the wardrobe, and examines the other three brackets. “I’m sure one of the service men will have a pair of pliers to get the rest out. And the supermarket’s still open, if we’re lucky they’re carrying a box of those…and if not we could go to Sion tomorrow after the training…”

“You really are one?”

Franjo break off, and tilts his head until he can look at Arnaud from the inside of the closet. The hair on top of his head is longer than the rest, and falls over his eyes.

“A carpenter?” Arnaud adds.

“Of course,” Franjo answers. “And what are you? Other than a fast skier.”

Arnaud shrugs, and awkwardly crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I work in a bank in spring and summer.”

“A banker?” Franjo laughs, and takes a step back. “That’s good, you can calculate the depreciation of the new brackets, and whether they fit in our budget while we go to the supermarket.”

Arnaud laughs, staring at the rusty piece of metal in Franjo’s palm. For a second he wonders what it would feel like if he put his own hand in his, and again takes too long to realise that Franjo is staring at him.

“Unless you want to stay here?” Franjo asks. “But it’s not like we have to be anywhere until dinner.”

“No, no!” Arnaud hurries to say. “I’d love to come along.”

With a grin, Franjo turns around, and tears the door open. “Cool.”

The journey from their house to the top of the only mountain where they can practice halfway decently during the summer months is not only long but made even more arduous by the baggage and the masses of tourists slowly waking up for the day. The three pairs of skis slowly slip out of Franjo’s grasp as he waits for the man ahead of him to untangle his photography equipment from the bars of the turnstiles. Arnaud catches up to him just as the path clears, and can just barely hold him back by the shoulder.

“Don’t sit on the opposite side of Elian in the next gondola,” he mutters in his ear before he pushes him forwards. Franjo does not even have time to look at him, the barrage of people pressing against them is simply too strong, and all he can do is go with the current. It is the very last stretch of the journey, and they watch as the giant gondolas file in and out of the station one after the other. The snow is close now, already visible through the gap in the building where the gondolas enter and leave. Arnaud does not know whether he even understood him, and when the time comes, he pushes past Franjo, and deftly loads both their skis into the quivers attached to the outside of the door. Franjo has no time to thank him as he is pulled inside, and jostled across the wobbling cabin so he lands on the bench across from Arnaud, the small space between them filled with their heavy backpacks. Arnaud stares at the small bead of sweat rolling down Franjo’s temple, his face almost as red as his jacket but Franjo’s attention is only on the three other people piling into the cabin. There would be space for more but both Ralph and Marco wait as the gondola ambles out of their reach, using their equipment as defense against the onslaught of the tourists behind them. Their grinning faces are the last thing Arnaud sees before the doors shut, and the cabin tumbles out of the building into the early morning. For a while nobody says anything as Gilles and Alexis sort their limbs and bags while next to them, Elian sits with his eyes closed, his face almost as white as the snow. Franjo throws a glance at Arnaud who answers with a barely visible shrug and a lopsided smile.

“Is everything…okay?” Franjo eventually asks when he can no longer hold back.

Elian snorts. “Obviously! Everything’s peachy.” There is no joy in his words, and certainly none of the good humor he showed yesterday during their first dinner.

“It’s just the first two days,” Alexis says, softly patting Elian’s leg. “And we already went up yesterday, so really it’s only today and then it’ll be okay.”

“Moose sometimes have trouble with heights,” Gilles adds, and laughs as Elian’s weak kicks miss his shins. His laughter dies though when Elian stops abruptly, and shoots up.

“Shit!” Alexis mutters when the colour of Elian’s face changes to an unhealthy grey, and his shoulders start to heave.

“Keep it back another second!” he yells as he pulls a plastic bag out of a pocket somewhere and holds it under Elian’s chin just in time.

Franjo’s eyes have the size of saucers, and his shoulder is pressed flush against the glass of the gondola as if he wanted to pop it out of the frame. When his helpless gaze lands on Arnaud, he cannot hold back any longer.

“Oh, chill it!” Arnaud giggles when Gilles’ warning look lands on him. “You have to admit it’s pretty funny.”

“Can’t stop laughing,” Elian pants, hunched over and resting his elbows on his thighs, his head wedged between his and Gilles’ legs with the drooping plastic bag dangling underneath.

Gilles rolls his eyes but a fond smile washes over his face, and he strokes calming circles over Elian’s arched back.

“Happens every time we come back from the summer break,” Arnaud explains to Franjo who still looks like his mother abandoned him in the queue to the checkout at the supermarket.

“It’s my second year with you losers,” Elian mumbles into the plastic bag. “Get out of here with your ‘every time’!”

“And I can’t wait for the next one,” Arnaud smiles, and his heart skips a beat when Franjo bursts out laughing.

“Sorry,” Franjo mutters as all eyes land on him, even Elian’s who turns his head up to glare at him. “I’m sure that sucks…or, pukes.”

Again Arnaud howls with laughter, and he is only saved by the gondola shooting into the mountain station and everyone scrambling to get out before the doors close again. They take a little bit of pity on Elian, at least, and lug his things through the turnstiles while he ties the handles of the bag together in a knot and shoves it into the nearest bin.

The air outside is crips from the cold, and a sharp wind shoots around the corners of the building. Arnaud is the fastest, and he leans on his poles, his head feeling light from the thin air up here while he waits for the rest to get ready. In his back, a pair of skis slowly glides over the icy surface, and comes to a halt just underneath him. Franjo also stands on a pair of short slats, far from the usual length they use to practice downhill. Today they will only do free skiing to get accustomed to the height and the feeling of the snow under their feet.

“You’re my guardian angel,” Franjo grins, his eyes once again two crescents. “I would have walked right into the trap.”

Arnaud laughs at him. They are the only ones around, with the rest of the team still getting dressed in the shade of the building, and the coaches halfway down the first turn. Franjo’s head reaches just to Arnaud’s shoulder, and all he would have to do was bend his knees slightly…

“I owe you one,” Franjo adds, and pushes away from Arnaud with his poles.

“Absolutely, you do!” Arnaud yells after him, and follows as fast as his trembling fingers and beating heart allow. “I know a place.”

“Uh-uh!” Franjo shouts back. “No place around here has the stuff you deserve.”

“It’s Zermatt!” Arnaud laughs. “You can find everything here!”

“Everything except my specialty!” Franjo says, and with one last wink disappears around the first bend.

What turns their daily commute into an intensive workout, the elevated site of their house at the very edge of the town, becomes an invaluable gain once the sun starts to set behind the mountains and douses the valley below them into the warmest red.

“The guys in Chile had a steak the size of their thighs yesterday but I think we win with our homemade smoked sausages,” Marco says from the depths of a worn-out lawn chair.

“It will go away soon,” Lars snaps, and tries to wave away the billowing clouds rising up from the rickety barbecue with the tongs.

“Yeah, because the neighbours are going to call the fire brigade,” Elian says as he drops another beer in Alexis’ lap, and wraps him in a hug from behind.

Alexis’ deep laugh rumbles into the kitchen where Arnaud is almost done chopping another carrot into the giant plastic bowl of pasta salad.

“And?” he asks, and throws a glance over his shoulder. “What’s the judgment of your first week in the new team?”

Franjo purses his lips. He closes the fridge, and dumps the bag of tomatoes into the sink. “Survivable,” he says, and begins to wash one after the other.

Arnaud laughs, and Franjo throws him a grin, his bangs falling over his eyes, and Arnaud hastily turns his attention to the next carrot.

“I think I got quite the hang of it,” Franjo adds. “Well…mostly.” He grabs a knife, and begins to dice the first tomato. For a while he chews on his lower lip, deeply lost in thoughts.

“The thing between Alexis, Elian and Gilles is a bit…confusing?”

Arnaud snorts. “Right.”

“And of course I’d totally get it if you wanted to swap rooms once the season begins…maybe with Marco or Ralph, or someone from the world cup team. But all in all I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Arnaud pauses in his chopping. He frowns. “Why would I want to swap rooms?”

Franjo shrugs, his gaze pinned on the half-diced tomato on the chopping board in front of him. “I know why Lars jumped at the chance to switch…though, if things were fair you’d have to room with neither of us.”

Arnaud shakes his head. “Don’t be daft! The past is in the past, and I’m fine with both of you, really. You barely snore at all.”

Franjo laughs, and Arnaud drops the last carrot into the bowl. He grabs a tomato from the sink next, cuts it in half, and is almost done with it before he realises that Franjo’s eyes are resting on him.

His shoulders slump. “Okay, maybe I do think about the past…sometimes. But I mean, it wasn’t his decision. And I would have done the same.” If the head coach were from Valais, he adds in his head. But he is not, he is from Berne like Lars, and gave him a starting place in Wengen last year even though Arnaud had beaten him in the tryouts.

Franjo puts his knife down. “This time you’ll start,” he says, and raises his fist. “We both will.”

Arnaud smiles, and bumps his fist against Franjo’s. “Fuck yeah we will!”

The bowl is almost full now, and Arnaud begins to mix the vegetables with the pasta. Next to him, Franjo has put his knife down, and stares out into the garden. Elian and Alexis are still cuddling, Marco is typing away on his phone, and Gilles has joined Lars at the barbecue.

“Have you seen Ralph?” Franjo asks, and cranes his head.

“Probably videocalling his kids again,” Arnaud answers. “Why?”

His breath hitches when Franjo grabs him by the wrist, and pulls him further down the kitchen until they are out of view of the window.

“Because I don’t want anyone to see this,” Franjo whispers, his face suddenly so close that Arnaud can see the thin lines around his mouth that were carved there by his smile.

“Wha…see?” Arnaud babbles, cold showers racing up and down his spine.

Before he can move, Franjo opens one of the cupboards, and retrieves a small bottle filled with a bright blue liquid from behind a stack of chipped soup plates. He grabs two glasses, both milky from the many scratches acquired over the years, and with a beam hands one of them to Arnaud.

“Don’t think I forgot my promise from the first day on snow,” he says, and fills two fingers’ breadth into the glasses. “But I was just waiting for the right time.”

With a bright smile he waits expectantly as Arnaud eyes his glass, and takes a sniff.

“Minty,” he coughs. “And…uh, strong.”

“I invented it myself,” Franjo explains, and Arnaud bursts out laughing at the sight of his proud smile. He waits while Franjo hides the bottle again.

“Of course I’ll let the others have some too…eventually. But I wanted you to have it first.” He clinks his glass against Arnaud’s, and it takes all of Arnaud’s self-restraint not to lean over and close the last gap between them.

“I appreciate the honour,” he smiles instead, and throws the drink back.

Franjo giggles while Arnaud fights for composure and against the next coughing fit. They stand still close, so close Arnaud can observe Franjo’s cheeks blush from the alcohol once the burning sensation in his throat has died down, and the fluttering lashes as his gaze darts between Arnaud’s eyes and lips. Time stops, or maybe only Arnaud’s breath, and picks up again when Marco’s voice booms through the kitchen.

“Sausages are almost done!”

They shoot apart in opposite directions, and Arnaud is back at the bowl and Franjo by the fridge when a shock of brown hair pokes through the open door.

“And by done I mean burnt,” Marco adds. Then, he pauses, and a frown washes over his face. “What?”

Arnaud glares at him, distinctly aware of his burning cheeks, and picks up the pasta salad. “What what?” he snaps back. “Not used to seeing people work?”

“Work, huh?” Marco grins, and hurries out of Arnaud’s reach.

In the brochures on the counter at the reception, every picture of Val Gardena is shot from high above, with the sun shining down on the snow-white peaks and dark green forests. The truth is that a sizable part of the valley, mostly the inhabited one, spends most of the winter in the icy shadow of said peaks, with parts of the town never seeing one ray of sunshine between November and March. Arnaud bears the inspection as best as he can, his entire face hidden behind ski goggles and a scarf to fight the cold, barely listening as the coach explains the turns and how to best move over the frozen solid snow. His ears only start to burn when one of the assistant coaches realises that he is there too, and tries to give him helpful advice for the Super-G tomorrow. The others from the team barely register him, too focused on the upcoming race, only Franjo glances at him from time to time as they slowly make their way through the blue shadow of the steep mountain. Arnaud makes sure he stays close to the other Romands and on the opposite side of the track as Franjo, and once they reach the finish area he hands his skis over to his service man, and slips away unseen. Only Meillard almost walks into Arnaud when he makes his way across the lobby in a tracksuit but luckily he is too focused on the camera in his hands to recognise him. Arnaud spends the rest of the morning trying to forget that he is the only athlete not nominated for the downhill by first running on the treadmill until his lungs threaten to give out and then by cooking himself to death in the sauna. Neither works, and after a lonely lunch he ends up in the small library of the hotel, shielded from the prying eyes of everyone going through the lobby by a row of bookshelves. He does not check his phone but of course he cannot evade the results of the race as they get discussed and commented by patrons and staff passing by, from Odermatt’s splendid run to Kilde’s that is just a hair’s breadth better and then the great upset when Bennett passes both of them from behind. The crime novel he picked from the nearest shelf barely holds Arnaud’s attention but he does not put it down once the team trickles back. First arrive the ones who missed the points, most audible of all Justin who gripes at his bad luck and the unfortunate circumstances to someone Arnaud cannot hear. The coaches follow later, their loud voices carrying through the cracks in the shelves as they discuss tomorrow’s plans. Odermatt is last, arriving with the last stragglers and the rest of the staff. Zoé’s high voice floats above all the others, listing his schedule for the evening with a long list of papers and tv stations. Arnaud is turning the page to the third-last chapter, with the protagonist coming closer to the murderer that Arnaud has known for the last 75 pages, when a new voice stops him in his tracks. It also hovers above the constant hum in the lobby, as clear as if he was standing next to Arnaud’s armchair.

“Did you see Arnaud anywhere?” Franjo asks. “He’s not in our room.”

Gilles answers, his voice too soft to reach the library.

“Okay,” Franjo says. “If you see him, tell him…” His voice dies down and disappears, only to return a few pages later.

“Hey, Loïc! Sorry, Gino told me I’d probably find you here. Do you know where Arnaud is?”

“No idea, I didn’t meet him,” Loïc answers. “I was out all afternoon to catch the light. It was just perfect for a few pictures.”

Franjo’s answer is delayed, as if he first has to dodge a camera put in front of his nose. “Cool. But if you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure. Have you checked the gym?”

“I did, he’s not there.”

“How about the sauna? Or the pool?”

Whatever Franjo answers does not make it to Arnaud’s corner. He reads the next few pages, and is almost at the reveal when all of a sudden, someone rounds the corner, and stops in front of him.

Justin puts his hands on his hips, and stares at him with an accusing glare. “What are you doing here?”

Arnaud blinks up at him. “I know you’re not the…scholarly type but even you must recognise this,” he says, and waves with the book in his hands. Laughter erupts from somewhere around Justin’s hip.

“Is that coming from your pocket?”

With a sigh, Justin raises his phone, and reveals the head of Tanguy on the screen.

“I was asking myself, where would I hide if I was a pouting nerd, and when I couldn’t think of anything I called one,” Justin explains, and falls down in the other armchair.

“I’m not pouting!” Arnaud sighs the same moment that Tanguy erupts in protests.

“You didn’t answer my texts either,” Tanguy says, his voice full of accusation. “All afternoon long.”

“The book was very interesting,” Arnaud answers defensively, and both Tanguy and Daniel laugh again.

“But you must have heard the abandoned puppy looking for you in the entire hotel,” Justin says.

“Not the entire hotel, obviously,” Arnaud mutters, and tries to go back to his book. Before he can open it fully though, Justin picks it out of his hands.

“Don’t do this, man!” Tanguy says. “You can’t get bitter, not today of all days when you finally get your chance.”

“I’m not bitter!” Arnaud lies, and realises how silly he looks as soon as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He still leaves them there.

“You don’t need to be nervous then,” Justin adds. “You’ve got this, and you know it!”

With a heavy sigh, Arnaud drops his head against the back of the overpadded armchair. Three pairs of expecting eyes stare at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I just wanted to be alone for one afternoon,” he eventually says. “Is that forbidden?”

“It is if you’re hiding,” Justin says.

“Especially hiding from someone in particular,” Tanguy adds.

“I’m not hiding from anyone!” Arnaud protests, emphasising each word.

“Right,” Tanguy laughs. “That’s not what a little birdie told me.”

Arnaud stares at him with a dumbfounded look before he turns his attention on Justin. “What the hell are you gossipping? You don’t know anything!”

“Of course I do!” Justin shoots back. “I also have my little birdie. Technically it told the news to his best friend but I was sitting on the same branch and…” He shrugs, and grins at him.

“Marco…,” Arnaud snarls, and to his friends: “If you spent as much time practicing as you waste on gossip you’d both have three globes by now.”

“We’re versatile,” Tanguy answers light-heartedly. “Justin says he’s cute?”

Arnaud jumps out of his chair. “Sorry, we have to go to dinner,” he announces.

Justin laughs, and stands up too. “He is,” he says to his phone. “And we do have to go.”

“Come on, I need details!" Tanguy yells out of the phone. It is the last thing Arnaud hears from him as he walks away. Justin follows slowly, his focus fully on his phone, unaware of the turmoil he caused in Arnaud. The dinner only just started, with the buffet only halfway assembled and the hall almost completely empty. Usually, Arnaud would never eat that early, and he hesitates in the door, pondering where he should go. He does not get to decide.

“There you are!” Franjo laughs, and runs the last stretch between the stairs and the hall. Arnaud’s heart skips a beat when Franjo pulls him into a short hug.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says, and punches Arnaud lightly in the arm. “Where the hell were you?”

“I was reading in the library,” Arnaud answers. In Franjo’s back, Justin walks towards the elevators and winks at him with his dirtiest grin. Arnaud hastily puts his arm around Franjo, and pulls him into the hall.

“I was all alone today, what was I supposed to do? Watch the race?”

“For example!” Franjo laughs. “You missed a real doozy.”

They grab a plate, and slowly amble along the buffet tables as servers bring out the last steaming pots and bowls. Luckily, Franjo is more than willing to recap the race, and spare Arnaud from talking. He is too busy to talk anyway, staring at Franjo between piling spoons full of food on his plate, at the long strands of hair almost hiding his beaming eyes, and the red cheeks still flushed from the biting cold outside.

“At first I was annoyed,” Franjo confesses when they reach the salad bar, and piles two bread buns on top of his noodles. “But in other races I’d be like twentieth with today’s margin, so it wasn’t too bad either. It was just really tight today.”

“You’ve still got tomorrow,” Arnaud says. “And the day after tomorrow.”

“Exactly!”

The older coaches file into the hall as they take their seats at a free table but still no trace of their colleagues. Slowly, Franjo’s monologue dies down, and Arnaud is wiping up the last remains on his plate with a piece of bread before he speaks again.

“I know why you hid.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Arnaud retorts quickly without looking up from his plate.

“Justin said you are,” Franjo continues unperturbed. “He said he’d find you. But I don’t think he gets it.”

Arnaud pauses, and looks up. He is no longer smiling, and Franjo’s laughter seems a bit lopsided too.

“I saw your post. From back in Beaver Creek, I mean. I guess it doesn’t sound like much unless you…know from experience.”

Arnaud has put down the remains of his bun but now picks them up again, and starts to soak up the last drops of the salad sauce.

“I get it,” Franjo adds. “Sometimes you just want to be alone.”

Arnaud attempts a nod that ends in a half-shrug, and between bites of his bread throws a quick glance over the table. The irony is not lost on him that he can write about his father where the whole world can see it but not manage one word to the one who understands him most. Franjo’s shoulders are slumped. He looks too young without the laugh lines carved around his cheeks.

“I know he would be proud,” he says softly. “Really.”

Arnaud swallows the last piece of his bread. Maybe time plays a role too. Maybe in a few years he can talk about it like Franjo. Now, though, all he wants to do is lean over the table and melt into his touch again, even for only a second.

The moment passes before Arnaud can move.

“Don’t tell me you already ate!” Elian exclaims as he steps to their table. “Jesus, guys, you are spending way too much time with Grandpa Ralph. I hope the prostate’s not bothering you too much. Can I bring you a decaf before bed?”

Suddenly, Arnaud can bear Franjo’s eyes again. They grin at each other.

“We’re just getting a headstart for the dessert,” he says, and throws his crumpled napkin at Elian.

Through the artfully wavy glass separating the dinner hall from the reception, Arnaud watches as the distorted silhouettes of the GS team walk towards the exit. Nobody else at the table is looking up from their meal, their own thoughts too heavy to perceive much of the rest of the world. Arnaud wonders whether the mood in the other team sometimes is the same. That is, Justin's and Gino's mood; Odermatt of course does not have much in his life to be moody about. He glances down the table. Elian throws in a remark from time to time but other than a weak smile from Alexis he barely elicits a response, and Arnaud has learnt over the past year that his sarcasm is not well received in times like this.

Franjo always manages to lift the atmosphere but his thoughts are still up at the Hausbergkante where he missed the gate, and is of no help. Warm fondness spreads through Arnaud's chest as he looks at Franjo's scowl, the deep crease between his brows and the glare at his cutlery as if it was responsible for his misery. Eventually, Arnaud cannot contain himself any longer.

"Ow! What the hell?" Franjo flinches and bends over to rub his shin while glaring at Arnaud.

"Stop being such a sourpuss," Arnaud says.

Franjo keeps staring at Arnaud, one shoulder still almost touching the edge of the table, his mouth hanging open as if he is still struggling to grasp what just happened. Usually, they do not touch, the big exception being the short hug last year in Val Gardena, half a season and lifetime ago. Franjo probably regretted that outburst, or at least Arnaud assumes that he did because he has made sure to keep the appropriate distance since. If Tanguy were here he would probably laugh at Arnaud, maybe compare him to a boy pulling a girl's pigtails. Arnaud counts himself lucky that the slalom coach called a last meeting before the race tomorrow. Marco would for sure tell them to get a room, if he were here and not in the hospital tending to his broken knee.

"'m not a sourpuss," Franjo grumbles, and spears another piece of meat on his fork.

"Well you're not exactly spreading cheer either."

"There's not much to cheer about."

Arnaud sighs. "You can't win shit without taking a risk. Today it didn't pay off but next time it will."

Franjo snorts, shakes his head. "Great, thanks. I'll keep that in mind for the coming year."

"You'll be plenty of times on the Streif," Arnaud retorts, "but I'm not talking about that. I mean the next race."

Further down the table, Ralph laughs joylessly. "Right. Enough time for another chance, and another, and another…,” he mutters.

Arnaud grimaces as the temperature in the hall instantly drops a few degrees. Franjo stares at his plate as if it was the most fascinating thing on earth all of a sudden.

"Just always another chance, 'ok, this time you get a pass but I need to see results', and another chance, and another reason to be grateful…"

"But he has!" Gilles interrupts Ralph, his tone sharper than anything Arnaud has ever heard from him. The warning is unmistakable. "He's not an oldie like us. He has more than enough time, and every right to try again."

Ralph's shoulders slump, his entire form seemingly withering under Gilles' glare. After a second he pushes his shoulders back, grabs his empty plate, and stands up.

"Who do I have to fellate to get a fucking beer around here?" he mutters, and trudges away.

His leave prompts a frenzied bustling around the table, as the others grab their things, and prepare to leave. Arnaud keeps still, staring at a speck of dirt on the table, and only looks up when Franjo leans over. His eyebrows disappear underneath his bangs hanging over his forehead. He washed his hair before coming to dinner and forgot to put gel in it. Arnaud grabs the fork from his empty plate to fill his hand with something.

His voice is barely louder than a whisper, only intended for Arnaud. "You mean Garmisch?"

The heavy embarrassment lifts from Arnaud's chest. He smiles. "Exactly."

A soft grin spreads over Franjo's face. "And what makes you so sure?"

Arnaud shrugs. "I just know. Next weekend, podium for Franjo von Allmen."

Franjo laughs softly. They are alone now, Alexis being the last who leaves with a little wave.

"Well, if I do, prepare to get it all back."

"All?"

"Your kick!"

"That was one little nudge!"

Franjo giggles at Arnaud's exaggerated outrage, and Arnaud's heart picks up a little bit of speed.

"Just be prepared," Franjo warns, and starts to stack up the empty plates.

He has all but forgotten about Franjo’s promise, the week full with practice and preparations. The first race is too warm, the snow in Germany too soft but over night the cold returned. Arnaud is jumping up and down, his hands hidden inside the sleeves of his jacket, when Niels crosses the finish line as the thirtieth racer and everyone realises that the podium is as good as settled. Franjo’s laugh appears on the giant screens overlooking the arena, his narrow crescent-eyes and glowing cheeks competing with Odermatt’s beam. They pose for another slew of pictures and shots before the intermission ends, and the race picks up for the next set of starters when Franjo finally walks towards the baggage area. Arnaud’s heart starts beating even more furiously when the laugh lands on him and Franjo falls into a jog, and stops beating at once when he recognises that he is spreading his arms. At the last second though he dodges to Arnaud’s left, and delivers a punch to his arm that makes him double over.

“What the fuck!” Arnaud groans, clutching his upper arm with his right hand, barely audible over the murmur springing up around them.

“Umm…everything okay?” Loïc pipes up in his back.

“He probably deserves it,” Justin says.

“See?” Franjo laughs, and bends over so he can look in Arnaud’s face. “I told you I’d get you back for that kick in Kitzbühel.”

“But did it have to be that side?” Arnaud gasps as he blinks away tears.

Franjo flinches, and drops to his knee. “Oh fuck!” he breathes as the realisation hits him like a truck. “Oh god! I am so sorry! Fuck!”

Arnaud bursts out laughing, or maybe sobbing, he is not quite sure himself. Slowly, the shooting pain in the bone that he broke last season when he clipped a gate at a hundred kilometres per hour simmers down to the well-known throbbing ache that used to follow him for months.

“It’s okay,” he says, mostly because Franjo’s hands rest on his shoulders, and Franjo’s worried face is right in front of him as he slowly rises from the ground and he can see the anguish in his hazel eyes and he needs it to go away right this moment.

“I’m such an idiot!” Franjo babbles, “I completely forgot about your arm, I’m so sorry.”

Before Arnaud can assure him that he will not die quite yet, Zoé suddenly materialises by their side, and practically throws herself in the tiny gap between Arnaud and Franjo.

“You stop that at once! Guys, what the hell?” she scolds them, and shoves Franjo back with her shoulder. “I expect better of you! This will…”

Franjo and Arnaud stare at her with blank looks, and it is Loïc who interrupts her tirade. “They’re not fighting, love! Well, not for real, at least.”

Zoé stops, and glares between the two of them. “Oh?”

Arnaud nods. “Really! It’s just fun,” he assures, though Franjo’s contrite face does not seem to convince her yet.

“From back there it looked as if it was serious. If it is, I expect you to behave yourself like adults! We can solve this tonight, whatever you…”

“It’s nothing!” Arnaud says. “I swear, I deserved it.”

“Told you!” Justin sings.

Zoé rolls her eyes. “Well, can you please keep it down? I don’t want to spend the evening squashing rumours about the atmosphere in the team.”

“Sorry,” Franjo mutters, and Arnaud nods.

She stares at them for a moment longer and finally, her expression softens. “Fine, then. But you better get a move on, Franjo. They need you for interviews.”

She waits by his side, her foot tapping, while Franjo hastily packs all the things he needs to hold into the camera, and follows her towards the media corner. Arnaud’s fingers have started to go numb again, and he starts to jump on his feet again to stay warm.

Justin’s breath is revoltingly close when his head suddenly peaks over his shoulder. “So, you two like to touch each other?” he asks innocently. “And before you do anything remember that Zoé said we’re supposed to play nice.”

Arnaud lowers his elbow. “It’s fine, I’ll postpone it until the club championships.”

Justin grins. “Can’t wait.”

+1:

Arnaud’s heart beats in his throat, both from the number flashing up on the screen and the bumpy ride through the heavy snow of Saalbach. The searing pain in his thighs and calves slowly dies down as he comes to a halt in front of the rubber fences. Before he can fully comprehend the meaning of the numbers on the screen the image changes and now broadcasts a full-body shot of himself staring up into the air. He turns around just to come face to face with the camera man who tapes every awkward movement of Arnaud as he tries to gather his things with trembling fingers. Sheepishly he waves, and staggers out of the arena. People talk at him from all sides, somebody takes his skis out of his hands and leaves him with nothing but his poles. Loïc is still catching his breath when he pulls him into a hug, and still Arnaud does not understand.

“Well done,” Loïc mutters.

He is still hanging over the railing fencing in the victor’s chair and gasping for air when Rogentin crosses the finish line, and takes Loïc’s spot. Slowly he begins to peel out of his sweaty race suit, and he laughs when Zoé urges him to hurry up.

“They need you for interviews in the tv break,” she says, and is halfway across the grandstands before he can remind her that only the three guys on the podium have to step in front of the cameras.

He is closing the zipper of his backpack when Franjo shoots across the finish line, and Arnaud blinks in amazement when he sees the number flash up.

“But he didn’t make any mistake,” he says to himself, and both Loïc and Rogentin burst out laughing.

“It’s not about mistakes now,” Stefan answers, and throws his arm around his shoulder. “You better get comfortable here.”

Arnaud stares at him, then back towards the race course, and ever so slowly the reality settles in his chest.

“Fuck…,” he mutters to himself.

“Exactly,” Rogentin says.

His heart keeps beating an insane rhythm, and almost jumps out of his chest whenever another racer crosses the finish line, or when Franjo eventually approaches, his poles dangling from his wrists.

“You did it!” he pants, and underlines his hug with two rough pats on Arnaud’s back.

“Not yet,” Arnaud answers, and it takes all of his composure to let go of him again.

Franjo laughs. “You’ll see,” he says, and leaves.

Odermatt’s expression is rather surly when he comes to a halt and recognises the unusually high number flashing up on the screen. Arnaud sinks against Rogentin’s chair but flinches when someone grabs his hand all of a sudden.

Franjo is leaning over the railing. This time he is halfway out of his race suit and in sneakers instead of the unwieldy ski boots. His bangs are glued to his forehead by the sweat, and his cheeks are still glowing from the run across the wet snow of Saalbach.

“Come! I need to show you something!” he urges, and waves at Arnaud to follow him. Arnaud throws a glance across the arena; Zoé is distracted with the radio, and does not realise that one third of her charge is suddenly missing from the most important spot in this entire place. The medical tent is abandoned, the medic following the race outside in the sun. Arnaud laughs when he slips through the flaps and joins Franjo. It is hot inside, though only a few rays of sunshine manage to shine through the gaps and illuminate the small cot waiting for an injured athlete.

“Let me guess: your specialty,” Arnaud grins. “I’m not sure I should have some of that before the last interv…”

He cannot finish his sentence, only just realises that Franjo’s hands are completely empty when he closes the gap between him and Arnaud, and pulls him in a lingering kiss. The world slows down, and for a moment there are only Franjo’s lips on Arnaud’s, and his calloused fingers on Arnaud’s cheeks. The typical smell of Franjo, aftershave and sunblocker and something Arnaud has not identified yet even after all these months together, that has lingered faintly in every hotel room of the past season, suddenly is all around him; almost more tangible than Franjo himself. He breaks the kiss first, leans back and stares wide-eyed at Arnaud. His eyes are round, not the usual crescents, searching for a reaction across Arnaud’s stunned expression. Arnaud only finds out of his stupor once his body forces new breath into his lungs, and like a drowning man he throws his arms around Franjo, and kisses him again. Franjo mewls, sinking easily into Arnaud’s touch. Arnaud cannot keep his hands from wandering all over Franjo, not after the barrier has finally broken down, stroking through his hair the way he has wanted to all these months, feeling his muscles underneath the tight undershirt.

This time they only break apart to catch their breath. “I’ve promised myself I’d do it before the end of the season,” Franjo whispers against Arnaud’s lips. “I wanted to do it after Kitzbühel but…”

Arnaud snorts. “And then that…unfair retribution got in the way?”

Franjo laughs against Arnaud’s cheek. “I felt really bad and…kinda didn’t dare anymore.”

“You should have kissed it better.”

Franjo’s laughter rumbles through his chest, and Arnaud gasps when he licks and kisses a trail down his throat and across his clavicle. Franjo’s hands are dangerously low now, moving over his hips and the button of his ski trousers.

Zoé’s bright voice pulls Arnaud back to reality, and with a pained groan he pulls away from Franjo.

“Has anyone seen Arnaud? God damn it, where did he go now?”

Franjo grins, his hazel eyes sparkling even in the dim twilight of the tent. “Tonight,” he whispers.

#not quite the rhythm i wanted but we move #text #rpf #alpine skiing #franjo von allmen #arnaud boisset #mine

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