#WitcherReaderFic

[burntsecrets]

Beneath the Northern Lights

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader Word Count: 926 Prompt: @fluff-cember Day 5: northern lights Summary: Geralt takes you to a secluded spot to see the northern lights. Warnings: Mild language, romantic intimacy, mentions of Geralt’s past trauma A/N: I know days 4-8 are late, I thought I had queued them all up, but I guess I forgot. I went camping to take a break before I open my business. And it was so nice to detox, read, and go hiking with my doggo. 😊

The biting chill of the Skellige night cuts through the thick wool of your cloak as you follow Geralt up the winding trail. His silhouette is sharp against the pale shimmer of moonlight that filters through the scattered pines. Snow crunches softly beneath his boots, the faint sound mixing with Roach’s snuffling back at the campsite below.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, carrying on the still air like a secret meant only for you. His gloved hand brushes yours in passing, an unspoken reassurance as the incline steepens.

The stars above are breathtaking, scattered like shards of glass across a velvet sky. You’ve never seen them so clear, so vivid. Geralt glances back at you, his white hair catching the faint light, and offers a rare, almost playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Close your eyes,” he instructs softly, his tone gentle yet firm enough that you obey without hesitation.

The world narrows, your other senses sharpening in the absence of sight. You hear the faint rustle of leather as Geralt shifts beside you, his presence a steadying anchor against the vastness of the night. His hand, rough and calloused, slips into yours and guides you a few steps forward.

“Alright,” he says finally, his voice softer now, a rare trace of wonder woven through it. “Open them.”

Your breath catches. The sky above is alive. Waves of green and purple ripple across the heavens, like ethereal banners unfurling in a silent symphony. Streaks of pink and blue race between them, illuminating the snowy peaks of Skellige in surreal, otherworldly hues. The aurora dances, untamed and wild, a fitting reflection of the man standing beside you.

Geralt watches you, not the lights. His golden eyes glow faintly in the reflected brilliance, softer somehow, the hard edges of his usual stoicism momentarily softened.

“You’ve seen this before,” you say, barely above a whisper. It’s not a question.

He nods, gaze drifting upward at last. “A few times. Usually when I was hunting in the far north.” He pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, “Never stopped long enough to look, though. Until now.”

The words hang between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You don’t press him to explain. He doesn’t need to say it—that this is a rarity, a moment plucked from a life otherwise consumed by contracts, monsters, and blood.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, leaning into his side. His arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the thick fabric of his cloak, hear the faint sigh that escapes him as he relaxes against you.

“It is,” he says after a moment, his voice low, almost reverent. But when you glance up, his gaze isn’t on the sky—it’s on you.

A quiet descends between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the pines. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his body seep into you as the northern lights continue their dance above. For a while, the world feels impossibly vast and yet impossibly small, narrowed to just the two of you and the ethereal glow of the sky.

“Peace is... rare,” Geralt says suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone is contemplative, almost wistful. “Moments like this—they’re worth more than gold. More than any contract.”

You tilt your head to look up at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his expression. His gaze remains fixed on the horizon, the faintest crease between his brows as though he’s weighing each word carefully.

“When I was younger,” he continues, his voice softer now, “I didn’t understand what Vesemir meant when he talked about needing something beyond the Path. Thought it was nonsense. Distraction.”

“And now?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales, a sound caught between a sigh and a laugh. “Now I know better.” His gaze flickers down to meet yours, and for a moment, the intensity of his golden eyes makes it hard to breathe. “You’ve shown me that.”

The confession hangs in the air, raw and unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache. You reach up, cupping his face with a gloved hand, and he leans into the touch instinctively, his eyes slipping closed. The tension in his shoulders melts, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“You deserve peace, Geralt,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly under the weight of the moment. “You deserve this.”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand tightens on your waist, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your side. The gesture speaks volumes, even if he doesn’t.

The northern lights ripple overhead, vibrant and unyielding. You tilt your head up to kiss him, slow and soft, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours despite the cold. He kisses you back with a quiet intensity, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. There’s no urgency, no rush—just the two of you, grounding each other in the stillness of the moment.

When you finally pull away, the aurora is beginning to fade, the colors softening into the inky black of night. Geralt watches it with a faint, wistful smile before turning his attention back to you.

“Thank you,” he says simply, the words carrying a depth that makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t need to elaborate. You understand.

Together, you linger a little longer, wrapped in each other’s warmth as the stars reclaim the sky. Tomorrow, the Path will call again, but tonight is yours.