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burntsecrets · 8 months ago

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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.

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burntsecrets · 8 months ago

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Sins & Sweaters

Pairing: Lucifer Morning Star, Reader Word Count: 742 Prompt: @fluff-cember Day 4: christmas sweater Summary: Chloe ropes you and Lucifer into a Christmas sweater contest. Warnings: mild language, holiday themes, light teasing/bullying, competitive behavior, festive over-the-top antics, brief mentions of Lucifer’s devilish nature, mild alcohol use 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 cozy glow of Christmas lights fills Lux, softening its usual sultry atmosphere. The holidays have crept in despite Lucifer’s best efforts to pretend they don’t exist. You’re perched on a barstool, swirling your drink idly while Lucifer plays a lazy melody on the piano. The notes fill the air like velvet, but the peaceful moment doesn’t last long.

The elevator dings, and in strides Chloe, her expression alight with purpose.

“Good evening, Detective,” Lucifer drawls without looking up from the keys. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you come to be dazzled by my musical brilliance?”

“Actually, no,” Chloe says, stepping closer and fixing him with a look. “I came to recruit you two.”

“Recruit us?” you ask, curious.

“For the precinct’s Christmas sweater contest,” she announces with a mischievous grin. “It’s for charity.”

Lucifer halts mid-chord, the sound reverberating ominously. “You want me—the Devil, the epitome of class and sophistication—to degrade myself with some... knitted monstrosity?”

“It’s festive, and it’s for a good cause,” Chloe says with mock patience. Then she adds the real kicker: “Dan’s already signed up.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrow. You can practically see the flames of indignation flicker behind them. “Detective, you insult me. I would never stoop to such frivolity.”

You exchange a glance with Chloe, both of you holding back a smile. If there’s one thing Lucifer can’t resist, it’s outdoing Dan.

✦✦✦✦

For the next week, Lucifer insists he won’t participate. “I have a reputation to uphold,” he declares more than once. But you notice little hints—secret phone calls, the way he eyes the rack of sequined sweaters at a boutique during one of your strolls through the city. Something is brewing.

Meanwhile, you find your own sweater: a bright green monstrosity with blinking reindeer noses. It’s charming in its hideousness, and you can’t wait to see the precinct’s reactions. You expect Lucifer to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t even comment, too preoccupied with whatever scheme is unfolding in his head.

✦✦✦✦

The night of the contest, Lux transforms into a surprisingly festive venue. The bar is draped with garlands, and soft jazz renditions of Christmas carols play in the background. When Lucifer emerges from his penthouse, your jaw nearly hits the floor.

His sweater is an event. Custom-made and impossible to ignore, it’s a red velvet masterpiece adorned with golden devil horns, sequined flames, and glittering stars. LED lights pulse along the edges, and every movement sets off a jazzy rendition of "Santa Baby."

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say, stifling laughter.

“I never kid about fashion, darling,” he replies, striking a pose.

“What happened to being above all this?”

“If I must endure the indignity of participation,” he says with a smirk, “I’ll do so magnificently.”

✦✦✦✦

The contest is as chaotic as you’d hoped. Chloe is decked out in a knitted sweater with working Christmas lights. Dan jingles with every step in a sweater so covered in ornaments you wonder how he can move. Ella’s sweater features a full nativity scene, complete with a miniature star that actually twinkles. But when you and Lucifer step into the spotlight, the crowd erupts.

He plays it up, spinning you dramatically to show off the coordinated design he somehow convinced you to wear—a matching sweater adorned with tiny velvet flames. His hand lingers at your back as he bows, relishing the cheers.

The two of you easily take first place, a fact Lucifer brags about loudly as the night goes on.

✦✦✦✦

Much later, when the party dwindles to a few stragglers nursing their drinks, you find Lucifer back at the bar. He’s still wearing his over-the-top sweater, the golden horns catching the light as he sips champagne.

“Admit it,” you tease, sliding onto the stool beside him. “You had fun.”

He tilts his head, considering. “I don’t know if ‘fun’ is the word I’d use.”

“Luce.”

He sighs, the corners of his mouth curving into a reluctant smile. “Fine. It wasn’t... entirely dreadful.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He raises his glass, his smirk returning. “Let it be known, though, that this moment of festive indulgence was for the sake of victory. Nothing more.”

But as his gaze drifts to the trophy sitting proudly on the bar, you catch the faintest hint of something softer in his expression. Even the Devil, it seems, isn’t immune to a little holiday spirit.

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