#henry calvill imagine

[writingstudent]

fresh flowers & the sun

A/N: I sobbed writing this. The love story you never asked for. Fluff and angst - you have been warned. I took @witchernonsense​ ‘s heartbreak and @owillofthewisps​ ‘s peace and reflection. 

You looked breathtaking. 

The first time Geralt saw you, you had a bouquet of peonies and wildflowers tucked into the intricate braids that adorned your hair, circling around the crown of your head like a nimbus. An angel gracing the world with the tender wrinkles around her smiling eyes. He hadn’t been able to say anything, he remained transfixed, as if some unspoken law forbid him from disturbing you.

Flowers. You always seemed to have them around you. Even now, they lay with you in your lap, curled slightly in your fingers. 

The delicate small embroidery that adorned the cloth you had packed provisions in. He would never leave them there for long, switching packages for the food as soon as he got out of your sight and neatly folding your cloth close to his chest. It would stay there until it was safely returned back to you. Always back to you. It was the fresh smell of lavender on his clothes as he rode away from your cottage, which reminded him of the soft evenings and days you had spent together. Even when you were not there, it seemed that you could not leave him alone for you plagued his thoughts and borrowed your way into his heart. 

No, he didn’t think you would ever truly leave him. Your softly colored skirts, pale pastels, would forever switch in his mind. 

You never seemed troubled. No matter how gloomy the day, a serene smile held tightly onto your lips. The winds could be howling in the skies, bright flashes of lightening weaving their web onto the starry sky and you would sigh happily - the flowers were getting watered. 

Your expression was relaxed, as always. Geralt let himself trace a calloused dinger on your cheekbones, pulling lightly to draw your lips into a fitting smile. You would have wanted to smile. 

You seemed otherworldly but you were always human. For the longest time, Geralt had tried to convince the both of you to see logic - there would only be suffering in your love. He would not age. He could not have children. The Witcher was bound to a life with no home or future - a life defined by the present and the past. By having him you would deprive yourself of a future Loving Geralt meant losing so many things that had he been less selfish, he would have never presented you with such a choice. But he wasn't. He was selfish and greedy and he wanted to finally feel loved to know a home. 

Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks at the sight of you. It was just you and him. No one else to witness this scene, to remember you. He was so terribly selfish. 

He whispered his love to you as the sun and the moon kissed breathlessly behind the milky clouds, a young love about to be pulled apart. You were his moon and he would always chase you. He took fewer hunts, and his adventures were never far for a couple of years. He knew he had to come back. Unlike him, you did not have time to waste. Your gentle smile and the fingers running through his hair told him that you didn’t mind. That you had time. He would choke back sobs to hear that. He could almost forgive some of the poor tormented souls he had met - humans were the monsters they begged for him to hunt for they were truly afraid of time. Time makes you do awfully careless things. 

Your skin was pale even under the warm caress of the spring sun. Your cheeks would never turn rosy again, as they did when you caught him staring and he shamelessly refused to look away. Never - nothing was eternal in life other than death. 

Your womb had gone ripe and had turned sour without producing a babe. The Witcher didn’t see you, but you stole longing glances at the cherubim features of toddlers, fisting their mother’s skirts at the market. Would it have had your eyes? You let yourself picture the rosy skin of a baby, with Geralt’s snowy hair and strong features, staring at you with eyes brightened in wonder. Your eyes. The thought had made you cry 

No one had ever called you mother, not will speak of you with fondness to their friends and children of their own. 

Watching you age had been the hardest thing Geralt had ever done. He wouldn’t leave you, for he had done this. He could not abandon the one soul that jumped ship, leaving their life and destiny for him. Always for him. So he stayed. he watched the soft curve of your back, where he traced his fingers at dusk, grow heavy and concave. Your glowing tight skin gave away slowly, like the petals of a wilting flower, curling slightly in wrinkles that made it seem like all of you were smiling. It was funny, really, how when your time was rushing by you, faster than ever, you only seemed to slow. The bounce in your step faded, and getting out of bed always took longer. 

Your hair was a soft shade now, almost matching the Witcher’s own locks. The pink peonies in it stood out more than ever, their color seeming a stark contrast against the braids he had just finished. You had always like your hair braided. 

The morning you had looked at him with a tired smile both of you watched the sunrise in silent understanding. he had made you your favorite tea, and your eyes watered slightly when he placed the mug on your nightstand with shaky hands. You would always rush, burning your tongue and whining about it. he told you to wait for it to cool down and you giggled lightly, closing your eyes. The tea lay cold in its mug. 

He layers you down in the smaller meadow in which he met you. You were smiling and had braids in your hair. He watched the moon kiss the sun with you, one last time, and saddled his horse. You had left but never was he alone. He was with your flowers and your sun, a handkerchief made of all his food parking. 

You left but his love for you had not. 

The legend is not true. The world breaks the hearts of witches so many times that it would have been a mercy for them to be born without one. 

You were otherworldly and you had finally gone home. 

[writingstudent]

Traveling with Geralt

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- He wasn’t keen on travelling together at the beginning. His journeys were dangerous, always chasing deadly monsters and beasts. He didn’t want you getting hurt - if anything had ever happened to you he would never be able to forgive himself. 

- You had to bed him days on end to let you accompany him on his travels, using all the possible tactics you could think of - directness, puppy eyes, seduction and anger. Nothing seemed to be working. 

- You hadn’t told him the reason behind why you so desperately wanted to escape with him. You missed him, of course, but didn’t think that someone as wild as him could like you back. Your life was monotone, sluggish in the way it simply weaved between the market and your home. 

- You hated the way you were viewed as inferior simply because you were a woman. You knew that, had you been a man, you would have rose quickly in the ranks of healers, yet there you were, stifled in a small and forgotten apothecary. You wanted, no, needed to get out. To be something greater, something you knew that you were meant to be. 

- Your reasoning spilled over the tavern table after a few drinks, broke the Witcher’s resolution - the idea of leaving you to whither away unhappily made his chest heave with discomfort. No, he couldn’t leave you again. 

- You came to a compromise - he would take you with him, but leave you in the premises, out of trouble’s way when he thought it would be too dangerous. 

- Learning to hunt and fish with Geralt, and slowly beginning to do it on your own while you would wait for him for a few days. 

- Picking medical herbs and making healing creams for whenever he was injured (always) 

- Fussing over his cuts and reducing the scars he would rack up with your sutures.

- Using his newly acquired fame from Jaskier’s songs, the Witcher would now be more requested than ever, making you embark on longer and more exotic trips. 

- Picking up exotic trinkets and hers to sell when you got back, making almost as much coin as Geralt would from his kills

- Calling you his little merchant with a teasing smirk as you would go off about being a healer 

- Grooming Roach and feeding her treats 

- Some days it was almost as if you were her favorite, making the Witcher roll his golden eyes and huff with feigned annoyance before a smile quirked up the side of his lip. He loved to see you get along. 

- You soon became Jaskier’s new favorite song topic - the powerful healer and fair maiden that mended both the Witcher’s wounds and heart. 

- People would now seek your powers and help 

- The implications of his newest song made you blush and Geralt shuffled, stunned, muttering something along the lines of “fucking bard”

- “Do I mend your heart?” you wiggled your eyebrows at the Witcher with a lighthearted giggle 

- His soft glance left you breathless. “You do.” Your heart was beating wildly in your chest - was he jesting with you? Your brushing cheeks and awestruck expression seemed to draw Geralt closer.

- He kisses you, and you melt in his large and calloused hands that held you with such tenderness. 

- Jaskier would be ecstatic - he had so many romantic songs to write now. 

[writingstudent]

Warmth

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Request: “ INTIMACY WITH GERAULT I NEED IT FOR MY TOUCH STARVED SOUL TY”

Light trickled in languidly, caressing the white linen drapery that you hung with the beginning of spring. It unfurled into the room, leaving its whispered marks on the floating specks of dust. You felt it warm your lower back, which had escaped your soft silk sheets. You sighed happily, stretching your legs slightly, and nuzzling into the warm broad chest which rose and fell evenly under your head. You smiled. If heaven existed, you were sure that this was what it felt like. Slow, warm and oh so lovely. It felt like home. He felt like home. You let your fingers trail through the dark curls that lay in front of your eyes lightly, not wanting to wake him. You knew he never liked admitting how tired he truly was, even if he knew that his drooping eyelids weren’t fooling anybody. You would let mornings like these stretch until noon before you would draw a lukewarm bath with citrusy salts. You let out a soft sigh. That sounded lovely - you could already picture the way his muscles rippled underneath his wet skin, arms moving slowly to massage your calves as you both basked in the quiet. Quiet. These were mornings with your Geralt. 

You felt him stir softly, and you took the opportunity to shift slightly, wincing at the soft tenderness from the night before. Your lips curled in a soft smile, now glancing at his face. Oh. The warm soft light delicately kissed his cheeks, and his sooty black eyelashes fluttered slightly, standing in sharp contrast to his pale complexion and hair. His features were relaxed, and his ever-present glower had been washed off. He looked younger - boyish almost. What truly left you breathless were the soft sighs leaving his cherubim lips, parted slightly in dreamless sleep. Entranced, you couldn't help but lean forward slightly and softly brush them with your own lips, in a warm and delicate butterfly kiss. A contented sigh brushed past his lips and you smiled, watching him slowly come out of sleep. 

When you first met Geralt, you never thought that intimacy with the Witcher would come this easy. The man oozed dominance, sex and power. His figure and the way he asserted himself, short and growling responses, made him the epitome of masculinity. He was a Witcher, and he was supposed to be heartless. Never would you have imagined him to be so touch starved - the way he instinctively nuzzled your palm when you cupped his cheek made your heart flutter. This was your Geralt. Soft, domestic and loving. The Geralt that only you got to see, in the comfort of your small hut, away from cold and prying eyes. 

“Hello.“

His voice was gruff with sleep, making you squirm slightly against him. You couldn’t pinpoint the sound - it was deep, but not as alarming as stones rubbing against each other. If you closed your eyes it reminded you of the sound of grain rushing through and being pressed at your local mill. 

“Hello love“ you whispered back, watching his bleary eyes open sluggishly. He smiled softly, only one corner quirking upwards at the slight of you perched on your elbows, hovering slightly over his chest, before letting his eyes flutter back closed. 

“Hmm.“You hummed at the feeling of his large hand nestling into your hair, massaging your scalp. Peaceful silence settled back over the two of you as you lowered yourself back into him, settling into your rightful spot, nuzzled against the crook of his arm. 

“I missed you.” You giggled lightly in response. 

“I was here the whole time Geralt.“

You felt his breaths stutter slightly at the mention of his name. He still had to grow used to the soft lilt with which you spoke it - he was used to shouts, insulting or frightened tones. Your voice was only warm and it made him breathless. 

“Missed you in my dream.“

He grumbled, rolling over on his side and curling around your smaller frame,e hand still at the back of your neck, bringing your face towards his. He opened his eyes again, and you brushed your nose against his affectionately. His calloused pads traced your chin, holding you in place as he returned the gesture. You bloomed against him, happiness spreading its petals on your face in the widest smile. 

“I love you.“

He looked at you deeply, bringing his forehead to yours. Seconds flew by but your smile and the stars in your eyes never ebbed. Geralt found himself breathless yet again. You weren't lying - had never lied to him. 

He kissed you. Slowly, softly. He kissed you with the words he desperately wanted to whisper back to you. He wanted to, so badly. Wanted to make you feel the same warmth and safety that you gave him when you reminded him of your feelings. 

A soft whimper left him as your hand tangled in his bleach blonde locks. His mouth opened and closed for a brief second, but you silenced him with a kiss. 

“I know.“

Warmth. 

“Thank you.“

Mornings together meant warmth. 

[writingstudent]

Silence can be Lovely

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You weave your hands through his soft snowy locks and sigh at the heavenly feeling. This felt like home. It wasn’t often that you got to spend nights like these, tangled in the sheets of an inn, watching your lover’s chest rise and fall in dreamless sleep as the cold glimmer of moonlight filtered through the window of silence. The silver medallion nestled in between the curls on his chest, inviting you to run your fingers through them. 

Geralt’s features remained starn and bold even in his sleep as if he could never quite shake off his awareness of that around him. Years of focus, of being on the run had molded him, building the body of what you could only describe as a Greek god but chipping away slowly at his mind. Witchers were said to be without a heart - but it is not that they were born that way. They were wronged by the world they lived in, robbed of peace and happiness for so long that it felt off to experience it. It’s just easier. Easier to say that you don’t feel, don’t need and don’t want love than to admit that what you most wish for, you cannot find.

It broke you to see his calm but restless face - you still struggled in showing the Witcher how much you truly cared. It was always a game of caution. Do not tell him all, for he will scare and runoff. Do not tell him enough and he will harden back in his old ways, and be ready to step back. A shiver ran through his body, making his arms flex slightly, shoulder pushing back into your chest. You huffed slightly in amusement. 

Ever since you met Geralt, you learned the value of silence. How peaceful it could be at times like these - a silent glance between the two of you and the light touch of his calloused fingers on your plump lip speaking volumes than any declaration of love. You had both had enough heartbreaks for several lifetimes and had to learn the hard way how truly monstrous words can be - empty promises carried through the air. 

Your words could lie. “I’m fine.” “Not hurt.” “I love you.” But the way his golden eyes softened, relaxing slightly at the corners when he looked at you could not lie. Your cheeks’ reddened her and the hairs standing on the back of your neck could not lie. 

Silence is worth more than words. 

You learned, however, how truly defeating silence can be. The first few times he left you, the silence made your ears bleed like nothing else could. He would leave in the morning before you woke, unannounced, leaving you to wake up, rolling over on the cold side of the bed. Days would pass with no word from him. Silence. Had you done anything wrong? Had you managed to finally scare him off, or did he simply tire of your presence? 

Time sluggishly crawled by, and you would frantically try to busy yourself, yelling at it to hurry up but only silence scratching your throat. it weighed on you. You knew beauty came from pain but never had you through that the song-stories that you wrote those days would make you the most coin. You’d rather be without luxuries than have to endure that silence again. 

But he always came back, a soft click of the door announcing his presence. Your embrace was desperate but ever so quiet. There was nothing and all to say. Once you cried, and it was the last deafening silence you had endured. Now you would sleep grabbing onto his back while Roach’s smooth gallop rocked you to exhaustion. 

Geralt shifted slightly in your arms, turning his body towards you, sooty black eyelashes fluttering slightly. A soft unintelligible murmur left his sinful lips, gurgled by sleep. You smiled - you didn’t have to hear. You shushed him quietly, kissing his broad forehead soothingly as he relaxed back into sleep, squeezing you slightly as if to make sure you were still there. You were always there. Geralt lived his life in silence because it meant peace - solitude from the people who tormented him for his nature. You taught him a new beauty of silence, in those rare soft mornings when he finally woke up rested. 

Silence can be lovely.